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Matrix Reloaded-Revolutions
Shadow Script Part 7

INT. MAIN BRIDGE

CHOI, RAZOR, DUJOUR, and CIRCA are sitting around the operator's console,feet up, eating. On the screens are patchy images of TRINITY and NEO standing together in the GLADE. It's like they're watching a soap opera.

TRINITY and NEO are looking in their direction.

ON THE interface chairs, the bodies of TRINITY and NEO lay supine.

EXT. GLADE (CONSTRUCT)

TRINITY grabs NEO by the arm.

TRINITY

"Over here."

SHE leads him into the shadows.

INT. MAIN BRIDGE

THE VOYEURISTIC crewmembers collectively groan as the lovers disappear off the screen and into the darkness.

RAZOR puts his hand on CIRCA'S shoulder and sighs.

RAZOR

"So romantic."

CIRCA calmly pats his hand and removes it, holding it in front of him.

CIRCA

"I'm sure Mary Palmer will appreciate your mood more than I."

EXT. GLADE (CONSTRUCT)

IN the blue twilight shade, NEO and TRINITY kiss tentatively, slowly, then quicker as they give in to their feelings for one another. WE move around them slowly, then pan into the shadows, a natural fadeout.

INT. OFFICE (MATRIX)

AGENTS JONES and BROWN sit across from each other, a steel table between them. They stare at each other for what seems like a long time. There is a speaker phone in the middle of the table amidst neat stacks of file folders.

AGENT JONES

"Our defeat is worrisome."

AGENT BROWN

"As is the loss of our colleague."

THEY ARE BOTH seething with anger. AGENT JONES grinds his molars.

JONES

"We can't defeat them. You saw what happened."

JONES

"We have a backup copy of Agent Smith..."

JONES stands and walks toward the massive panoramic window. The city spreads before him.

JONES

"A backup is not good enough. We need to upgrade ourselves to meet the new threat."

BROWN opens a large file folder.

BROWN

"He's being rebuilt. But I have an alternate plan. Why fight the humans, when we can let them fight for us?"

JONES

"The terrorists have learned to bend our reality in ways we cannot. This was the cause of our defeat."

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BROWN

"Mr. Thomas J. Anderson is not unique. Over the decades, many humans have developed... techniques for manipulating the Matrix. Techniques too primitive for us to understand. Most never realize their potential, but all the ones we've noticed exhibiting these talents are recorded here."

ANGLE ON the book as BROWN flips through. Street shots of people from all walks of life. Young rebels, corporate suits, junkies, housewives.

JONES turns on AGENT BROWN.

JONES

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

ANGLE ON the book. It stops on a page dedicated to someone who looks like NEO, but with long hair and an extremely bad attitude. There are photos of him on a motorcycle with a blonde, photos of him drinking with his gang friends.

BROWN

"Gregory Lowfield. He exhibits the traits we saw in Mr. Anderson."

MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)

"Mr. Anderson no longer exists. Our enemy now is the one called... NEO."

ANGLE ON: THE DOOR

AGENT SMITH walks in, grinning. There is a new swag to his walk, and his hair is longer, tied back.

BROWN

"You've been recreated."

SMITH flexes his arm, examines his hands, and feels his hair.

JONES

"And you have more hair."

SMITH turns to him, examines the photos on the table. They lock eyes. On the same wavelength, they transfer knowledge without speaking. SMITH looks at the photo on the table.

SMITH

"I know what you're thinking. What we need is our own Neo..."

JONES

"If it's possible."

SMITH

"I'll make it possible."

WE ZOOM in on the grainy photo of NEO's doppledanger. Quiet at first, growing louder as it grows dark, we here the rumble and roar of motorcycles.

EXT. DESERT HIGHWAY (NIGHT)

FAR OFF in the distance, the glow of motorcycle headlights racing toward us. As we zoom out and focus in, they are already too close to avoid. They rip by us, thundering explosions and men and women cheering.

THE pack of about ten bikers and their women don't wear helmets. They fly down the highway using both lanes, drinking and driving with total abandon.

ANGLE ON the lead motorcycle, a massive, custom-made Harley. GREGORY LOWFIELD, Thomas J. Anderson without a desk job, without cares, revs his bike and locks the accelerator. He hands his beer to the blonde who rides behind him, then, in one swift motion, jumps up on his seat, leaning into the slipstream.

The feat is IMPOSSIBLE.

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[Continue to Matrix Reloaded-Revolutions Shadow Script Part 08 >>]

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