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Summary
Two fingers, thick as lampposts, hooked under Neo’s arms and lifted him from the ground. His coat hung from his shoulders, his ruined trousers sagged, his legs dangled helplessly.
“You fought me,” Smith’s voice came, not from the ventilation shaft, but from the very air, a subsonic vibration that Neo felt in his teeth. “For so long. This is the end of the fight, Mr. Anderson” The words were slow, heavy with a desire that had been refined through years of hatred.