Original subtitles

(distant dog barking)

(train bell ringing)

- Good gracious! Henry, a prisoner in the Don Jail

crafted a bomb and used it to destroy one of the walls.

- My, oh, my. How many escaped?

- Dozens, it says.

God knows what sort of havoc they'll wreak on the city.

Or if we'll even be able to catch them all again!

- George, we're the Toronto Constabulary.

We won't rest until we've caught every last one.

- You're absolutely right, Higgins. In fact...

(baby crying)

Good God, Henry! There's a baby hanging out of the window!

Out of the way! Out of the way!

(crowd shouting)

(baby crying)

(crowd cheering)

- The baby was hanging right out of the window!

You should have seen it! I-If we'd been there

a moment later... (smacks hand)

(all): Oh...

- Would've crashed to the ground.

Thank goodness for George Crabtree.

(applause) - No.

- Yes.

- No, no. Any one of you would have done the same.

If you could. - Marvellous work, George.

You saved a life today.

- Yes. Yes, I suppose I did. Thank you, Detective.

- But what is life?

Is the life of a child really more valuable than that

of the noble fern?

Some believe God created us in His image,

but there are more plants than men on this Earth.

Who's to say God didn't create plant in His image

and man as a mere lark?

- I believe the Detective is calling me.

(static hissing)

- Oh! Fiddlesticks!

- Sir? - Huh?

- What's that?

- It's my latest invention, but it isn't working.

- What does it do?

- It's a device capable of listening in

and amplifying criminal conversations

over great distances.

- Only criminal conversations, sir?

- Well, any conversations, I suppose.

Although, I don't see the point of listening in

to conversations that aren't pertinent

to the commission of a crime.

- You know, sir, I once had an idea for similar invention,

a device that could monitor space

and listen for communications from beyond the stratosphere.

- No one lives beyond the stratosphere.

- Perhaps, sir.

Or perhaps we're just not listening.

(gasps)

- George! It works!

- You're welcome.

- Sir. (knocking)

There's been a problem at the National Bank.

- Good Lord!

Someone's used a bomb to breach this vault!

- I'm not sure about that, sir. No blast residue.

- You're right, George.

No sign of a fire or incendiary device.

Perhaps the thieves used a wrecking ball?

- I'm not sure about that, either, sir.

(grunts)

- Someone's robbed this bank using a cannon.

(theme music)

- That's right, a cannon!

He set it off and an onyx orb flew like,

like a speeding train, bringing the wall crashing down.

- And you saw this? - Yes, sir.

I was sitting right here,

imbibing in a refreshing bottle of ale.

- What time was this?

- Ah, couldn't have been before three AM. In the morning.

- And how many thieves were there?

- Only one, sir.

- One man? Wheeling a cannon through the streets of Toronto?

How was he able to make off with all the money

while managing such a cumbersome weapon?

- I know, sir. He wasn't wheeling the cannon.

It was of his person.

- How was the thief carrying this cannon?

- It was attached to his arm.

- An entire cannon? How was he able to lift it?

- This was not just any man, sir.

He was a Mechanical Man,

his arms composed not of flesh, but of wrought iron!

- Right.

If we have any more questions, we'll let you know.

- Eh.

- I take it you're not convinced by his story?

- No.

- Sir, you're not the only person on the planet

who can invent things. Perhaps this Mechanical Man

is your villainous counterpart.

- An ordinary man committed this robbery, George.

Just like every other robbery in the history of the world.

We just need to find out who.

- Sir, what about the bombing at the Don Jail?

Perhaps the man who made that bomb

has also made some sort of mechanical suit of armour

that allows him to break through walls and rob banks at will.

- A fanciful idea, George,

supported not by fact,

but by a town drunk.

I intend to stick with the evidence.

- Well, I hardly think a Mechanical Man made of metal

is going to leave behind fingermarks.

(Margaret): Prices have never been lower, Thomas.

Verna Jones bought one at Eaton's just last week.

- What do we need a refrigerator for?

- Well, to keep things cold. - Like what?

(sighs) - Meats, cheeses.

- Why do we need to keep them cold?

They're going to end up in the oven, anyway.

You only want one because Verna Jones has got one!

- Thomas, you are impossible.

I'll leave the Eaton's catalogue out for you tonight.

- Oh, bloody hell.

- Sir, we've just returned from the National Bank.

But we've yet to identify a suspect.

- However, we believe it could be a mad metallurgist,

and that the whole thing could be connected

to the breakout at the Don Jail.

- Where am I going to find the money to buy a refrigerator?

(Murdoch): Sir.

We were discussing the bank.

- What's to discuss? Solve the case!

(curious music)

(crickets chirping)

- George Crabtree, you are one in a million.

- You're not so bad yourself.

- I've known a few men in my day,

but none have come close to satisfying me like you.

(exhales)

Let's make love all night.

- Effie, I have to go through these files you brought

from the Crown Attorney's office.

- What did you want with those anyway?

- These are all the escapees

from the breakout at the Don Jail.

I have a feeling one of them's responsible

for the bank heist last night.

- I admire you, George.

You're the best man I've ever known.

(sighs)

- What is it? - Nothing.

It's just that I know

your heart will never truly be mine.

- Effie, what are you on about? You know it's already yours.

- No, don't you see?

Your heart belongs to justice.

- Oh, Effie.

Sir, I've got it.

Dr. Virgil von Zrill.

He was a brilliant inventor until he was arrested

for stealing from the doctors in his employ.

- What about him?

- Sir, he's one of the escapees from the Don Jail! And look!

He was horrifically injured when one of his inventions

went awry. He was crippled, he lost an arm,

horrendous facial scarring, barely survived.

- Huh. George, this doesn't seem like the type of person

that would become a criminal mastermind.

- Sir, think about it! This is why!

This is why he encased himself in metal.

To make up for his broken body

and to give himself superhuman strength.

- George, that's an outlandish idea.

- Sir.

There's been another robbery.

- I've never seen anything like it.

A Mechanical Man,

seven feet tall, wielding a mighty cannon.

- Do you mean to say he was carrying a cannon?

- It was a part of him.

Where an ordinary man would have an arm,

he had a cannon.

- Thank you very much, Miss.

- Dear Lord, George, you were right.

Why didn't I listen?

Your mind is so often one step ahead.

Damn my intransigence!

- Sir, don't be hard on yourself.

We all miss things from time to time.

Sir, there's something I haven't told you

about Dr. Virgil von Zrill.

At his trial, when he was convicted, he vowed vengeance,

not just on the city of Toronto,

but, indeed, on all of Canada.

Sir, I fear these bank heists are just the beginning.

- Revenge on all of Canada.

George, that would mean...

(dramatic music)

- We have to warn the Prime Minister.

- It could be dangerous. - Dangerous, sir?

I don't know the meaning of the word.

(crowd shouting)

(clamouring)

(glass shattering)

- My God, George!

He's laying waste to the entire city.

- Sir, look.

- It can't be. Mr. Prime Minister!

- Sir! He's gone.

- But, George, without the prime minister,

Canada will surely fall.

(canon blasting)

- You devil!

You may have taken the prime minister,

but you'll never take Station House Four

of the Toronto Constabulary!

- And you spent months writing that travesty.

- Sir, the publishers quite like it.

I've had several offers already.

- It's an amusing yarn, I suppose.

But what are you trying to say about

the Inspector's character? He's a henpecked drunk.

- Uh, well, I-- - Crabtree, let me tell you:

It's all right making Murdoch into a bit of a ninny,

and Watts a, a bookish bore,

but I wear the trousers in my household.

A drop of whisky never stopped me from running a tight ship.

- Sir, when one creates a work of fiction--

- His name is Breckenride.

And he's from Lancashire!

- Sir, what did you think of the ending?

I'm having misgivings about it.

- It's a bit much.

- Sir. George. Where is the Inspector?

- He's on holiday. He's back tomorrow.

He's enjoying the company of a lady friend.

- Oh, right! Miss Mandelbaum.

Um, well, then perhaps you'll want to join me, sir.

There's been an incident down on River Street.

A carriage carrying prisoners

has been held up, and the convicts are on the run.

- Come on, bugalugs.

Let us remind you how a real station house is run,

the ninny and the drunk.

- He had a rifle. There was nothing we could do.

Took my keys, opened the back door,

and started letting them out one by one.

- How many prisoners? - Eleven, sir.

- What did he look like?

- Uh, he was short.

But other than that, I can't say.

He had a, a bandana covering his face.

- Did he communicate with any of the prisoners

that he released?

By that I mean did any of them seem to know him?

- No. No, he just let them go and they ran.

- All right. Thank you. Get back to it.

- Of course.

- Right, then. We've got the whole area

cordoned off. We've got men down on Queen Street, up on Gerrard.

And, also, we've got officers from Station House Six

patrolling the whole of the river in case

any of them try to swim across.

- Good thinking, sir. They won't get far.

- Not while I'm in charge. Eh, Crabtree?

- One by one,

they ran off, mostly in the direction of the river.

- Did any of them flee in groups?

- Not that I saw.

- Did any of them speak to the gunman?

- Not a one. He was on his own.

- Other witnesses say he was wearing a bandana.

- That's right.

- A red one?

- Yes, sir. What about it?

- Good work, lads. Seven of the men caught,

four still on the loose.

We have posters of the missing men

ready to be plastered all over town.

We will not rest until these men are back behind bars.

Carry on, gentlemen. - Ah, sir!

Sirs.

I feel I have to mention the perpetrator's red bandana.

- What about it?

- Well, don't you think it's odd that the villain in my novel

wears a red bandana to cover up his scar

before he turns himself into a Mechanical Man?

- This is real life, Crabtree, not a silly little novel.

- Sir, you've read George's latest novel?

- I have. You haven't?

Oh! He's done a right number on you, Murdoch.

Oh.

Figure out why the man in the bandana

wants to free the prisoners in the first place.

- I have a hunch, Henry.

Why would somebody stop a police transport

and let a bunch of prisoners go?

- Uh... by mistake?

Perhaps he thought it was a different carriage

that had money in it. - No!

Well, actually, I suppose, maybe.

But what if he knew one of the prisoners,

wanted to help him escape,

but decided to let the whole lot of them go

in order to hide his connection to that one prisoner.

- It's a bit complicated.

- Oh, indeed. And to pull it off would take meticulous planning.

I think we're looking at a master criminal.

- So, why would a master criminal

want to spring a small-potato convict?

- That I don't know yet.

But I think we should start by speaking

to the greatest criminal mastermind we know.

Henry! Look at that man!

He's wearing a red bandana!

Oi! You, there. Stop!

(dramatic music)

(grunting)

(grunting)

Well, well, well. Look who it is.

Ralph Fellows.

- Enough of this daydreaming. This is ridiculous!

Who's to say that Ralph Fellows is even in Toronto?

- No, sir, perhaps you're right.

- Figure it out.

- "As they all beheld George's strapping six-foot-three frame."

Well, you did make a good point, though, George.

- I did? - Yes.

Whoever the man behind the red bandana actually is,

perhaps he did want to free one of the prisoners,

but he freed all of the prisoners

in order to obscure his connection.

- Sir, my thinking precisely.

- Get the court records on all the prisoners

and see who testified on each of their behalfs.

Perhaps we're looking for a friend, or a relative.

- Sir.

(curious music)

(crickets chirping)

(George sighs)

- Effie Crabtree, you are one in a million.

- You're not so bad yourself.

I pulled those files you asked about.

Looking for friends and family of the escapees?

- Beauty and brains to match. How did I ever get so lucky?

- Well, I suppose I'm a sucker for a good writer.

Have you got any ideas for the new ending of your book?

- I'm not sure. I can't really put my finger

on what's wrong with the current version.

- Too unbelievable?

- Maybe. But for me,

the villain has such good history.

That keeps it just real enough.

If I change him, then the whole thing goes sideways.

- I was talking about the hero.

He's so perfect. It's not very believable.

- Oh, so you don't think I'm perfect?

- I think that the real George Crabtree is so wonderful,

that if he were written in a book,

nobody would believe it.

- Stop it.

Do you think I should dial back the bits

where I'm an extraordinary lover?

- No, absolutely not.

The readers love the racy bits.

- You're right.

- And the racy bits are the most believable.

(playful music)

- George Crabtree? Charles Chalk.

We spoke on the telephone.

Wowee! Are we ever pleased as punch

to be publishing your novel.

Can't wait to get it on the shelves.

- Well, that's wonderful, sir.

- Sir? Please, no need to be so formal.

- Of course, Mr. Chalk. - Chick.

- I beg your pardon? - It's Chick.

- Mr. Chick. - Mr. Chalk.

- You just said it was Chick. - You can call me Chick.

- I did call you Chick. - You called me Mr. Chick.

- That's right. - It's Mr. Chalk.

- Well, wha-what? - George his name is Chick,

short for Charles, Chalk. You can call him Mr. Chalk,

or, as he prefers, Chick.

- Mr. Chalk... - Uh...

- Chick. I wanted to chalk--

I mean, check with you if it's not too late

to make a couple of changes to my manuscript.

- Huh.

- Changes? The type's already set.

- Well, you can un-set it, can't you?

Unless you've already started printing?

- I suppose.

It's a lot of work. How big are these changes?

- Yes, what kind of changes are you thinking about, George?

- Well, it's the ending. It never quite sat

right with me. But if it's too much work...

- George, it's not too much work.

- It's a lot of work.

- Well, it's not so much work that it can't be done.

You can change the ending, George!

- I didn't know you felt that strongly about me changing it.

- You know, life is hard enough without people like you.

- I beg your pardon? - How long do you need, George?

- A week.

- Then a week you should have.

Philip, stand down.

(sighs)

We will publish the best book we can,

or my name's not Chick Chalk!

- My lord, what a sad, bitter man.

- Did you notice his handkerchief?

- Whose?

- Chi, Cha-- Mr. Chalk.

- No. What about it? - It was red.

I just wondered if...

Oh, I'm sure it's nothing.

Thank you for buying me some more time.

You know, I have half an idea--

What's going... Oi, Mac! What's going on?

- Uh, there's been a bank robbery!

- A bank...?

I'd better attend to this.

Sir.

- That's one way to make a withdrawal.

- Oh. Ha-ha. Very good, sir.

Can I point out this is exactly what happened in my novel?

- George. - Well, it's an awful

coincidence, don't you think?

- There are stark differences between reality

and your novel, George.

For example, this was likely the result

of an incendiary device, uh, gunpowder.

- And not the result of a cannonball

fired from a Mechanical Man's arm.

- I suppose you're right, sir.

- Aha! I believe this is the casing

of the explosive device.

Thin metal, welded shut

and likely had a short-term-release fuse.

- I've never seen anything like it.

- It's crude, homemade. Then, again, unlike your novel.

- Sir, does this mean that you've read my book already?

- It was a quick read, George. Yes.

- What did you think?

- Well, it was, uh, brisk,

compelling, expertly written.

The ending, however--

- I know, sir, I know. I'm working on it.

- I, I found I especially

related to the detective character.

- Well, you know, sir, you provided some inspiration

for that character.

- I, too, often find I strain

against the bounds of my intellect.

It's quite frustrating. - Well, now, sir--

- Luckily, I have a constable on hand

whose genius, insight and physical prowess

know no bounds.

- Sir, when one creates a work of fiction--

- Chief Constable.

- Bloody hell. Two in one night.

- What?

- Savings and Loan on Wilton.

Wall blown out, exactly like that.

Everything stolen. Station House Three

are investigating.

Oh, and look, this was found at the scene.

- What is this?

- Sir!

Metal armour!

As if to construct a Mechanical Man?

- Welcome back, Inspector.

There's a lot been happening.

- So I've gathered.

- So, no witnesses, no leads.

What in God's name is going on, Murdoch?

- Well, sir, the similarities to George's book

are far too much of a coincidence to be ignored.

- You finished your novel? - I did.

- You're a man of many talents. - Please, don't encourage him.

- Huh. And you're saying there's a connection

between these crimes and the constable's manuscript?

- Absolutely, sir. And last night,

I was reading through the case files.

One of the escapees has connections

to a criminal gang who have robbed banks

all across Ontario. His name is James David Anderson.

- Was he ever caught? - Sir, still on the run.

- Prime suspect, then.

- Well, sir, it is compelling,

but how on Earth did this Mr. Anderson

obtain a copy of George's book?

(machine clacking)

(chuckling)

- Chalk, you're wanted for questioning down at the--

What on Earth is all this?

- What are you doing here? Buh, this is nothing!

It's an advance.

- These bills are from the National Bank.

It was you. You stole my book

and used it as inspiration to go on a rampage of crime!

- It was an ingenious idea.

All I had to do was follow your story,

and soon I'd have my hands on a cool million.

- You're a villain.

- Me? It was your

sick, brilliant mind that lit the path!

(laughing maniacally)

(mocking maniacal laughter)

- A laugh, so maniacal.

- You're a bloody lunatic, Crabtree.

And so is anyone who would copy your book.

- You're not wrong, sir.

But it appears someone has,

and George does make a good point.

- Somehow, his novel got into the hands of the thief.

- And, sirs, the only person, besides us,

who's read the thing is the publisher,

who, I also noted, uses a red kerchief.

A red bandana was seen by a witness

at the site of the escape.

- Right, then. Inspector,

I suggest you get hold of the file on Mr. Anderson

to Watts. Crabtree, you go with Murdoch,

round up this publisher

and anyone else who's read your bloody book.

- Sir.

- Oh, uh, George,

if you are planning on changing the ending

of your book, anyway...

- What's this?

- Just some mathematical

and scientific corrections

to help make the book more... realistic.

- Oh.

- May I?

(playful music)

James David Anderson,

known associate of Allan Henry and the Milhouse gang.

- The fugitives with the connection to bank robbers.

- Hm. Mm.

- Something the matter, Detective?

- No.

- You seem rather... taciturn today.

- Don't mind me, I wouldn't want to go on and on

like some sort of... What was it?

A, a...

"A blathering philosopher"?

- Watts, when one creates a work of fiction...

- It's quite all right.

- Don't worry, George. I liked your book.

I thought I came across just as I am.

- You've read it already? - Absolutely.

Well, I skimmed it for my parts.

(sighs)

- Some madman's been copying the crimes in the novel?

I'm shocked. Shocked!

- It's so fantastical as to be absurd.

And yet, somehow, it's true.

- Given the book hasn't actually been published yet,

very few people have had the opportunity to read it.

- Oh, you can't suspect me.

- You carry a red handkerchief, do you not?

- Well, yes. What does that matter?

- That remains to be seen.

Who else have you shown the manuscript to?

- Well, the only people who've read it are myself

and those in my employ. - How many is that?

- Well, there's June, of course.

Mr. Abernathy, of course.

Of course, there's Philip and Frank and Jeffers.

That's it.

- All right. We'll need all of them

to come down to the station house for questioning.

- Of course.

- Sir, you don't think this will affect my book

getting published, do you?

- Not so long as we catch whoever's behind this,

I do-don't think. Maybe.

- You shared a cell with James David Anderson?

- What of it?

- And you were both in the prison transport vehicle

that was held up on River Street.

- I had nothing to do with that.

- I don't doubt as much.

But I wonder if your cellmate did.

- How should I know?

- Did he confide anything in you?

- No.

- Was he acting unusually the day of the escape?

- He didn't know anything.

Anyway, he's probably in another province by now.

I saw him heading for the rail yard.

- What about the man in the red bandana?

Was he headed in the same direction?

- No. Didn't see where he went.

But there was one lad who seemed to know him.

- How so? - When he got out,

he put his hand on his shoulder, right before he ran off.

- I want men stationed at every bank in the city.

Every post office, every savings and loan,

every credit union. - We are on the job

24 hours a day until we bring him in.

- Sirs! Sir-- lads! Lads, wait!

The Mechanical Man has been seen nearby.

- What, by some bloody drunk?

- No, sir. People as sane as you or I.

We're-we're getting calls.

The telephone's been ringing off the cradle!

(dramatic music)

- Bloody hell, Crabtree. He's straight out of your book.

- He's taking the gold!

- He appears to have some sort of mechanism

for launching explosives and-and not an actual cannon.

- Sir, may I?

Oh my goodness.

Sir, i-i-it's the chap we spoke to earlier,

the trash collector.

- I don't care who he is.

We need to bring him down before he can use those guns.

- Prepare to fire. - Sir?

- Do you have a better idea?

- Lads, take position!

(guns cocking)

- Ready? Fire!

(gunfire)

(growls)

Take cover!

(shouting)

Dear God. He's an invincible killing machine.

- Our bullets are useless against his armour!

- This is no time for heroics, lads! Fall back! Fall back!

Fall back! Fall back!

- Why would anyone want to turn one of Crabtree's

stories into real life?

- Is there any chance that it's just a coincidence?

- That doesn't seem likely.

- So you think there's someone out there

as crackers as you are

walking around the streets of Toronto?

- I have to agree with Inspector Choi.

A coincidence is just far too unlikely

given how many similarities there are to George's book.

- So that's it. I've created a monster.

An indestructible, mechanical,

killing-machine monster

capable of laying waste to entire cities!

- Let's focus on what we do know.

The Mechanical Man is one of the escaped convicts

and he evaded recapture by posing as a trash collector

near the site of the escape.

- The man in the red bandana must have left him

a change of clothes,

which means they knew one another.

- Precisely. Whoever the Mechanical Man is,

his accomplice must be someone who read George's book.

We need to figure out who that is.

(grunts)

- What's the story, trash man?

How did you get your dirty mitts on the manuscript?

- Who gave it to you? Who are you working with?

- What are you talking about, George?

- How do you know my name?

- Come now, there's no need to pretend

we don't know one another.

(grunts) - We don't know one another!

- Of course we do.

How do you think I got your book? You gave it to me.

- What? (Higgins): George...

- What on Earth are you talking about?

- George!

(loud stomping)

(growling)

- Bloody hell. Fine!

Why don't we just have done with it and lock Crabtree up?

- There is some truth to what George is saying.

- If a tad fantastical.

- Just a moment.

George created this character,

and much like we are reflections of our Creator,

the Mechanical Man is a reflection of... George.

- That is a make-believe Mechanical Man,

not whatever maniac is out there terrorizing Toronto!

- Oh, perhaps the real criminal

is someone who read George's book

and identified with the villain character so greatly,

that he decided to recreate his string of crimes.

- So the secret to the culprit's identity

may lie somewhere in George's mind.

- Oh, God help us all.

- He's right. Nobody knows that character better than you.

So what do you know about him?

- Well, I did conceive of him as a version of myself.

But instead of the world granting him grace

and opportunity, it gives him nothing.

In fact, he's crippled by fate,

losing both an arm and a leg.

So he decides to rebuild himself.

- To feel powerful in a world where he was powerless.

- Right. He doesn't think he's doing anything wrong.

He thinks he's just evening the scales.

(both): Seven-thirty.

- He looks around the world and he sees people like me.

People who are happy,

people who are lucky, and he thinks,

"Why does the world give that to some people, but not to me?"

- So he's taking what he feels the world owes him.

- Exactly.

- But, George, someone like that

isn't just you if you'd been dealt

a different hand in life.

Every privilege that's been afforded to you

has come because you meet the world with kindness

and love.

- Do you think? - Of course.

Whoever this person is who's decided to become

your villain must be consumed with everything

that is the exact opposite of George Crabtree.

He must be a sad and bitter man.

- Oh my goodness. Effie, that's it! You're brilliant!

- I am? - A sad and bitter man.

I know who it is.

Sir, with some help from Effie,

I made the connection.

I realized that chap who does the typesetting

down at the publisher's house,

he fits the profile of my villain exactly.

His name is Philip Armstrong.

- Do you have proof it's him? - No, sir,

but Mr. Armstrong appears in the case files

of one of our Don Jail escapees.

He was a character witness for Vernon Lloyd.

- They're friends?

- Brothers. Half-brothers,

hence the different surname.

But I asked around, and the description

of Vernon Lloyd perfectly matches

that trash collector we spoke to.

- And where is this Philip Armstrong now?

- Sir, he's waiting for us in the interview room.

- I, I don't know anything about anything.

I never even read that book.

- Mr. Armstrong, there's no use in denying it.

We know you read the book.

We know you donned a red bandana

and released a wagon full of prisoners,

one of them your brother, Vernon Lloyd.

- We have constables searching for the money at your home

right now. They're also searching for your brother.

- He's not there.

- So you admit it, then. It's true.

- Yes. Yes, it's all true.

- Why?

Why did you do all this?

- My brother always looked out for me growing up.

But recently, Vernon fell on hard times.

It wasn't his fault.

The world never cared much for us,

never gave us a thing.

So, I made a plan for us to commit a robbery.

- When was this? - Last year.

I had it all figured out.

But it went bad.

Vernon got caught and it...

it was my fault.

I was free while Vernon was stuck in jail.

- So you decided to break him out.

- Thanks to you. I was actually inspired by your novel.

It felt like you were telling my story.

Vernon and I, we-we used to play in our grandfather's metal shop

when we were kids. We dreamed of being invincible.

Of being men made of metal,

just like in your book.

I-I thought we could finally make those dreams come true.

- But it's...

It's mad.

- Yes, of course it's mad.

But I knew I could build the suit.

And he had the strength to manipulate it.

And together we could finally take what was ours!

- All right. Enough. Where is your brother now?

- You'll never find him.

And even if you did, I mean, how could you stop him?

- You're going to take us to the place

where you built this suit.

- This was grandpa's old shop.

We grew up right here, learning the trade.

- You were lucky to have a mentor.

(chuckling) - Lucky?

The old man was mean as a snake.

He forced us to work with hot metal without protection.

On our birthdays,

he would throw pennies onto the street for us to pick up,

after he'd heated them in his oven,

so they'd scald our fingers.

- That's awful.

- And if we complained, or cried?

That's when things got really bad,

especially when he was suffering from the brass shakes.

That's when he would do this.

(ominous music)

- Dear God.

- He branded you.

- No wonder you sought revenge on the world.

- You're damn right.

And we'll get it, too! My brother isn't finished!

We'll take everything we deserve.

And leave the likes of you with nothing!

- Henry, take him outside.

- Inspector.

- Sir.

There's no doubt Vernon Lloyd will strike again.

We just have no idea where or when.

- I don't know how we're going to stop him.

- Hm. Our bullets didn't even leave a dent.

He nearly killed the lot of us. - Yes.

I believe we have only one option.

- Magnets. - Magnets?

- Well, sir, he's made out of metal.

We could use magnets to stop him.

- Yes! Ingenious, Constable. Hm.

- Yes, George. A very good idea,

but not what I was thinking.

We need to fight fire with fire.

- Detective?

- We're going to make our own suit.

(tense music)

(whirring)

- This is our best idea?

- Sir, the Mechanical Man is equipped

with an automatic gun

and a device that launches explosives.

We can't simply send constables in there

to take him down.

- Sir, you remember what happened last time.

- So we now have our own bulletproof suit.

- You're all crackers. - Not necessarily, sir.

I-I've equipped ours with a non-lethal device.

Uh, an amplified version of my weaponized capacitor.

If it strikes any part of his suit,

the metal will conduct the entire electrical charge.

- Turning its primary feature into a weakness.

- Who's going to wear it?

- I will. - Sir, I have to object.

This whole situation is my fault.

If it wasn't for my awe-inspiring,

otherworldly imagination, none of this would be happening.

I have to be the one to wear the suit.

I have to destroy my own creation.

- Good man.

- Detective, Inspector.

I have something. I've discovered the identity of--

What is going on here?

- We already know the identity of the Mechanical Man, Watts.

It's Vernon Lloyd. - That's right. Never mind then.

- Watts!

What else have you discovered?

- I may have some information about his next steps,

but I wouldn't want to go on

and on like some sort of "blathering philosopher."

- Watts, when one creates a work of fiction--

- Watts, carry on! Get on with it.

- When Vernon Lloyd was in the Don Jail,

he wrote a series of letters.

They were never delivered. They were intercepted by the guards.

- He threatens to kill every jury member

and the judge for putting him behind bars.

- And the Crown Attorney.

- Wait a minute.

Effie was the lead attorney on that case.

- Where's your wife now?

- She's due at the courthouse today.

- We have to get down there now.

- Right.

- Sir, I have to be the one.

- All right, George. You'll wear the suit.

But I have a plan.

You need to lure the Mechanical Man

next to the statue of Queen Victoria

that's out front of City Hall.

- Sir, why? - Trust me.

Get him to the statue.

(stomping)

(grunting)

(suspenseful music)

(breathing heavily)

(whirring)

- Effie!

Get down!

(gasps)

(gunfire)

(screaming)

(grunting)

- Effie, stay back!

- George?

What's happening?!

- I think they're going to fight.

- Constable George Crabtree. Let's do this.

Get back!

(grunts)

- George! - Stay back!

(zapping)

(groaning)

(screaming)

(gunfire)

(zapping)

(grunting)

(grunting)

(clicking) - Huh?

- Ah!

(grunts)

- Sir!

(grunting)

- Do you really think this'll work?

- We're about to find out.

George! George! The statue!

- What are you waiting for?

- He's not close enough.

(grunting)

Get back!

(low whooshing)

(screaming)

- It worked!

- Murdoch, he's had enough.

(grunts)

- George!

- Effie.

(screaming)

- Our grandfather always said we would never

amount to anything,

that we'd be poor our whole lives.

Of course we wanted to prove him wrong.

- You had the money.

You could have simply disappeared.

- And let them get away with it?

Let them get away with locking my brother up,

the judge and jury? That horrible lady attorney.

- She was just doing her job.

- That woman took away my freedom.

All we wanted to do was just feel powerful.

- And for a moment, we did.

- And now you'll be going to prison for a long time.

- What will happen in the new ending?

- Oh, I've got a couple of ideas.

I'll send you a copy. You can read it in your cell.

(soft music)

- Well, your new book is a smash hit, George.

Readers love the new ending.

- I took inspiration from real life.

Instead of the hero doing it all himself,

all the characters had to come together to defeat the villain.

(both): Seven-thirty.

- I'm not sure that's what made it a hit.

- Oh, no? - No.

I think it's because the readers like the racy bits.

Myself included.

- Oh, is that right?

- Now there's only one question.

What are you going to write next?

Another instalment?

- You know, I've been thinking about just that.

And I have two words for you:

Mole Men.

- Mole men?

- Mole men. They live deep beneath

the Earth's surface, subterranean.

Effie, they exist! I-I've seen them with my own eyes.

- Oh, dear.

So, what are you going to do when you become

a famous novelist? Quit your job at the constabulary?

- I shouldn't think so.

Where else would I get the inspiration for my stories?

- Mm. I suppose.

I could help you with the racy bits.

- Mrs. Crabtree.

- Mm.

(theme music)

Subtitling: difuze