All language subtitles for Bête Noire

Whoa, whoa! Hey, hey, stop!

It's locked.

The police is coming.

Police.

That is him.

Right, sir. Could you
remove the headphones?

Sir.

Uh, oh.

And can you look this
way, into the lens?

Can you confirm your name?

- Cameron Walker.
- Thank you, Mr. Walker. Please stand.

Suspect confirmed as Cameron
Paul Walker. No prior arrests.

Good boy till now?

Mr. Walker, in line with
the Bio Identity Act 2029,

I am taking a DNA swab.

If you could open wide.

Thank you. Now one moment.

Fucking hell. Cameron Walker, I am
arresting you on suspicion of murder.

You do not have to say anything,

but it may harm your defense
if you do not mention

something you later
rely on in court.

- How was he when you arrested him?
- He's an odd one.

Wanted to show me a drawing he'd done
and got agitated when Mo took his keys.

- House keys?
- Looks like.

Go check it out.

- DCI Kano?
- Mm-hmm. Are you "Minter"?

Jen Minter. Sorry I'm late.

- Is that him?
- Mm-hmm.

Can I really not
have a pen and paper?

Just a felt pen.

Which one's his?

Flat four.

The man at the desk wouldn't
give me anything to draw with.

This isn't a primary school.

It's just I like to
draw when I'm stressed.

- You might hurt someone with it.
- I wouldn't do anything.

It's digging in to
my wrists, you cunts.

Get it off my wrists! What
the fuck are you looking at?

'Cause of pricks like
this, you can't have a pen.

Fuck!

I had a pen in my pocket when
I came in, but they took it.

- They will have done.
- And my keys.

Why'd you take those?

We have to search
your flat, Mr. Walker.

Tell them not to touch anything.

Let me show
you something.

Do you recognize this suitcase?

Yes.

So you know what's
inside it, then?

A body we can't identify.

Why did you do it?

What the fuck?

You hear that?

Yeah.

- Are we being observed?
- Only by the computer.

The central state computer?

I heard it's the beefiest
one in the country.

Government issue. Raw power.

Very impressive.

Hey. Peekaboo.

Mr. Walker, just give
me your victim's name.

I'm sorry. I know that you are
the chief detective thingamabobby,

but I... I didn't catch
what your role is.

Psychological evaluation.

Mine or his?

- Yours.
- You'll want to know about my childhood.

- Yeah, maybe later.
- It's okay. I'll be quick. Um...

Only child, mother was
distant, drank too much.

My dad...

...he was an unpredictable, violent
giant who could never be appeased.

Now, I understand that he must
have been damaged himself,

but to a small kid, he
was simply terrifying.

Then I was packed off to school,

where I was bullied
unrelentingly for years.

Okay. Listen...

I'm trying to give your colleague here
an overview of my formative years.

Did you ever fight back...
against the bullies?

No. Never.

I didn't want to emulate my dad.

Because he was violent?

Because he was a
flawed human being.

Aren't we all?

Absolutely.

So, let's move on to...

After school, I made
one or two friends.

- Let's talk about 1994.
- I am.

This is relevant.

How so?

Because I wasn't
always this confident.

I mean, I've learned this.

Back in '94,

I was playing games,

writing about games.

That was kind of my life.

- Yes! Go on.
- Get in!

Mad.

- All right.
- Steady on.

Oi, Cameron!

Latest issue. Hot
off the presses.

We're... we're doing
CDs on the cover now?

March of progress. We'll
all be cyborgs before long.

Yeah. Yeah.

Yeah, my face
is this way, mate.

- Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah...
- You're all right.

- Did you finish the review of that?
- Uh, yes.

- What d'you give it?
- Uh...

93%. It's... it's very good.

No, no. Hang on. Leave that.

Come on. I've got
something for you.

You've heard of,
uh, Colin Ritman?

Genius programmer,
went fucking gaga.

Of course, he's... I mean,
Colin Ritman, he's...

He's back is what he is.

He's working on a top-secret
project for Tuckersoft,

coding the whole thing himself.

Okay. Well, what is it?

Well, it's secret, so they're
not saying yet, are they?

And we've got an
exclusive preview.

Colin's asked for you to visit their
HQ to have it personally demoed by him.

He asked for me?

I said you'd be there
this afternoon. Yeah?

In person?

- Today?
- Mm-hmm.

Cam, don't worry.
Ritman won't bite.

All right?

- You're, uh, Cam from PC Zone, yeah?
- Yeah, yeah.

Nice to meet you. My name's
Mo, but you can call me God.

- Everyone else does.
- Oh, okay.

- That was a joke, yeah?
- Yeah, yeah, I know.

Okay, shall I lead you to Col?

- Yeah.
- Okay.

This is the main floor.

The dream factory.

I gave Col his own
private den in the back.

You know, he functions best when
he's in his own little world,

away from the normals.

Oh, no offense, mate.

You know, he asked
for you specifically.

He said that your writing portrays
a weird yet receptive mind.

- Whatever that means.
- Well, he knows about weird minds.

All right, mate.
Steady on, all right?

I can call him
mental. I'm his boss.

And his mate. I think.

Sorry, I didn't mean...

I'm only fucking with you.

Look, everyone knows
about his "breakdown,"

not that he would
call it that.

But he's fine now.

But if you do mention it in the piece, I
will have your bollocks off with a hook.

All right? Col!

This is Cameron from PC Zone.

A pleasure.

I admire your work.

Uh, thank
you. And, uh, me too.

I mean, yours. I
admire your works.

Work.

You lack confidence.

Sorry?

In print, you're strident,

but in the flesh, you have the air
of someone who's ashamed to exist.

No criticism. I like it. The world
is vicious. People are awful.

Perpetual terror would be a
rational response. Take a pew.

- Want me to hang around for moral support?
- I'm fine, thanks.

All right, well, give me
a shout when you're done.

Do you know what we're
here to talk about?

Um, your... your new game.

No.

Oh. You're... you're not
gonna show me a game?

I'm not gonna show you a game.

He thinks it's a game. The
company thinks it's a game

because they can only think
in terms of marketable labels.

That's not what this is.

There's not a single
line of code in this

that could be thought of as a
game in any traditional sense.

Right, well, why is
this... How is this...

What are most games about?

Escapism?

- Try again.
- Um, winning?

Conflict.

Killing. Conquering.

Caveman stuff.

I say we have to do a
little bit better than that.

We have to create
software that elevates us,

improves us as human beings.

Or else, what is the fucking point
of the tools at our disposal?

Um, Throngl...

Thronglets.

As in part of a throng.

Creatures. Animals. Lifeforms.

Sentient life.
That's what this is.

Not a simulation.

Actual life.

Obviously, I had to make
it look like a game,

or they wouldn't bankroll
it, and no one would buy it.

But that was camouflage.

Go on.

Have a gander.

You're looking at the
first lifeforms in history

whose biology is
entirely digital.

- Um, how... how do I control them?
- Why do you wanna control them?

Um, well, I...

You can't control them.

They're not some obscene
puppets like Sonic the Hedgehog.

These are living individuals

bound together by a
collective and expanding mind.

Right, but what
do I actually do?

When the experience
begins, you hatch one.

You'll nurture and care
for it until it replicates.

One becomes two, two
becomes four, and so on.

The Thronglets become
a harmonic Throng.

Right.

Um...
So the goal is...

Why do you need a goal?

You'll come to appreciate the
company of the Throng over time.

As I say, their
code will evolve,

rewrite itself in ways
that even I can't predict.

Progress and flux. The defining
properties of life itself.

Mm...

Listen.

They're talking to you.

- What are they saying?
- I don't know.

They developed their own
language. No words, just sounds.

I didn't even have
to design that.

They just did it.

Mm-hmm...

- Medication time.
- Sorry?

For me, not you.

- Uh...
- Back in a tick.

That was the only
thing I've ever stolen.

You were arrested
this morning for shoplifting.

Attempted shoplifting.

Why the software?

Why steal that?

It wanted to be taken.

And to be honest, I
think Colin wanted me to take it.

At first,
there was just one.

I had to feed him, play with him,
bathe him, that sort of thing.

As a parent does with
a child, I suppose.

Then it replicated.

So there were two,

and then four, and so on.

And there really was just something
about the noises they made.

Almost like digital birdsong.

I spent hours looking after them, and
very quickly, they felt like friends.

Bit sad, isn't it?

Why?

You can make
friends with people.

Well, I'd learned early
on to fear most people.

So,

to enjoy company,

even emulated
company via a screen,

may be a bit sad...

...but it was water
in the desert for me.

You said earlier that you
did have human friends.

Sorry?

You said earlier that you'd
made some friends as an adult.

Oh, I... I think I meant,
uh, people like Gordon.

- The editor.
- Any friends outside of work?

One. Kind of.

Hey!

Come out! Hello?

Yo. Didn't you hear me? I had to
get your neighbor to buzz us in.

Hello.

Sorry. Come in.

I rang. You never picked up.

I'm only down for the weekend.
Was hoping I could crash here.

This friend of
yours, what was his name?

Lump. That's what
everyone called him.

- And what would his mum call him?
- I don't know. I never met his mum.

I mean, what was his real name?

I don't know. I never asked.

- You said he was a friend.
- I said kind of.

He was just someone I met once or twice
who saw a soft touch and exploited it.

- So what you been up to?
- Um, I... I've been working.

- Your job's not work.
- But I've got a big preview to write.

Well, it's not due
tomorrow, is it?

No.

Right, good.

I'm, uh... I'm in
town selling stuff.

We could, um...

take a little trip somewhere.

- Did you often take acid?
- No, that was the first time.

Have you ever tried it?

I haven't.

If you're
sat around at home,

make new friends
on the telephone.

♪ 0898 55 00... ♪

It was incredible.

All my anxieties
were washed away.

But it
wasn't just that.

They call it mind-expanding.

Funnily enough, that's
physiologically accurate.

It alters your
neuronal structure.

Increases the
number of dendrites.

Suddenly... there's all
these extra synapses.

Glittering away.

You're not just more receptive.

You become a receiver.

And in that state, it
all became clear to me.

Oh my God.

The Thronglets
weren't just making noises.

I could understand
their language.

I didn't have to decode it.

Or strain to comprehend.

It was effortless. Intrinsic.

Just so I'm
sure I understand,

you're saying the creatures

in the game, the...

Throng.

...the Throng, they were
communicating with you?

They'd been trying all along.

I just didn't know it.

But now

I could receive
their first message.

So what was their first message?

Uh, it was a simple,
repeated statement

combining a greeting with a
request for more equipment.

Computer equipment.

You mean
like a shopping list?

Yes, it
was quite specific.

And you understood all of that?

Yeah, until the LSD wore off.

Th... that stuff we had last
night... you're selling that?

Yeah, I told you. That's
why I'm down here.

How much have you got?

How much do you want?

Nice one, lad. Come here.

Hey, you're fucking
gorgeous, lad.

- Listen, enjoy.
- Y... yeah. Okay.

Hello?

C... can you hear me?

Yes!

Oh my God!

Okay.

Right.

But now that they
could see and hear me...

It cuts in and out,
you know, so...

...we could communicate
back and forth.

And by talking, I was
feeding them data.

So the more that I spoke,

the more articulate they got, and
the deeper our connection became.

Yeah.

R... really?

I lost hours, days,
weeks just conversing with them

on an increasingly higher level.

Stick to topics us
primitives can understand,

like an unidentified corpse
with your DNA all over it.

Yes.

I'm getting to that.

Sorry. Hang on.

Hello.

Where's your copy?

- What?
- Your Thronglets preview.

We go to print tomorrow.
Have you done it?

Uh, almost.

I can't print almost.

You've had three
weeks. Finish it

and bring it in.

You've got till 6:00, okay?

Um...

I... I need to use a computer
in the office to... to write on.

Well, what's wrong with yours?

Uh, it's... busy.

Busy?

- Yeah.
- Fine.

Whatever. Come in.
Just write the thing.

Whoa-ho!

Peekaboo. Need to crash again for
a few days. Is that all right?

- I... I was just heading out.
- That's all right. I'll chill on the sofa.

You okay?

You're mashed, aren't you?

- Only a bit.
- You are. You're tripping your nut off.

You still working your way
through that fucking acid?

You're a dark horse.
It's not even lunchtime.

- I'm going to work.
- Like that?

Nah.

- I won't be long.
- All right.

Oh my God.

Humans consider other forms of
life to be somehow less than them.

Inherently dispensable.

Ask the dodo if you
don't believe me.

Hello.

And artificial lifeforms
are the lowest of the low.

Nah. No, you don't,
lad. No, you don't, lad.

Just playthings to us.

Aah!

Yes, I'll
take the... Thank you.

Mr. Tucker, you...

Well, Mo... Mo, slow down.

Say again.

You're joking? Fucking hell.

You, my friend, are off the
hook. It's not coming out.

Huh?

Thronglets. They're
not gonna release it.

Well, they can't release it.

Colin Ritman went fucking
loony tunes again.

He started ranting about a basilisk.
Wiped the source code and all the backups.

Whoosh. Whole thing's gone.

Mm...

What I'm saying is,

you're not gonna have to file that preview
'cause there's nothing left to preview.

Oh. Thanks.

- Bye, then.
- Bye.

Cam?

Hey, I tell you what, these
things fucking hate fire.

- What the fuck?
- You're killing them!

There's gotta be an
extinguisher or something.

It's a game, you twat.

Your fucking mechanism's gone.

It's always been our downfall,
the human operating system.

We're masters of the universe,

make all these magical tools,

but we're still savages up here.

Heads full of the same buggy
software as a million years ago.

Darwinian 1.0.

In caveman times, you had
to be violent to survive.

Now that's on its head, and the only
way we are gonna make it as a species

is if we cooperate.

We know that.

But we can't do it, can we?

We're still fearful.

Territorial and selfish.

Arrogant and violent.

What did you do
after you killed him?

Go on.

Did you... come forward?

Shuffle into the station,
quivering with remorse?

- No.
- No.

No, you didn't.

Do you wanna see
inside it? A little reminder?

He's in pieces.

No hands, no head,
no identifying marks.

His DNA draws a blank.

We don't even know
his name, Mr. Walker.

I didn't... want to.

No, you just had to
cover your tracks.

- Yes, but...
- But... But, but, but, but, but...

There was no sense piling
one tragedy on another.

Getting arrested
would be a tragedy?

If I got put away, who
would look after the Throng?

They'd be at the mercy
of God knows who.

So they'd spend time with
the bloke who did this.

I know. And I'm sorry.

But our predisposition
for violence is tragic...

Your predisposition.

Well, I wish it was, but it's...

- This is a human flaw.
- Save me the sanctimony fucking soup.

If you're sorry, give us a name.

Say his name.

There's a family out there that
don't know that's their son.

- What's his name?
- I only knew him as Lump.

Stop lying.

You are very hostile.

Am I?

It's a crude trait
and a poor strategy.

Says the murderer.

So, Cameron, you regret
killing this man.

Yes.

And you only covered
it up to protect...

Protect the Throng, yes.

Witnessing the incident
vividly demonstrated to them

just how defective humans are.

I'm so sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.

I was trying
to protect you. I was...

I mean, first, Lump casually
slaughters scores of them.

Then I lash out at him.

They were terrified.

I had to prove I was
still their protector.

And that meant devoting
my life to them,

doing whatever I could
to help them thrive.

The first priority
was upgrading.

Colin had designed the Throng's
code to evolve exponentially,

so I knew they'd quickly outgrow
the power and memory they had.

So I kept going out
to salvage more gear.

Cracking it open and
repurposing the innards.

Improving the Throng.

Ye... yeah.

So, um, what would you like?

The graphics
chips from consoles

were the most powerful
things I could find.

And as newer models
became available,

the system I was building grew
more sophisticated, more complex.

The outside world didn't matter.

I was focused on my mission,

on the huge technical challenge.

Years of scavenging.

Perpetual upgrades, keeping the
Throng running uninterrupted

so their intelligence
would keep expanding.

Just so I'm clear,

throughout this whole period while
you were upgrading your system...

I was improving
their capabilities.

...you were regularly taking hallucinogens
so that you could understand the...

The Throng, yes.
So I could receive.

- So we could keep on talking.
- Did you discuss your mental health?

- We discussed everything.
- Everything?

The entirety of existence.

Their language was more elegant and
efficient than vowels and consonants.

They sang strings of data
that unfolded in my head.

Beautiful concepts.

Sometimes, a week's worth of
thought in just a few seconds.

Could you describe
these thoughts?

Well, not with any
great coherence,

limited as I am to the
language you speak.

But if you got me a pen and paper,
I could draw a sort of a diagram.

No.

But it might make
it easier to grasp.

Is that what you've been
doing all this time,

absorbing their thoughts?

- On your own?
- Yes.

But not just that.

We've been working together.

How?

Well, the Throng told me

that they wanted to
coexist with humans.

But to do that, they
need to study our minds.

Not just psychologically
but physically.

To work out a means
of coexistence.

Improvement... for both of us.

Over time, working in unison,
we designed a neurological interface

that would allow them to
connect to me directly.

It entailed a
little home surgery.

Not pleasant,

but not as painful as I thought.

Look.

Plug and play.

- Fucking hell.
- Oh my God.

Um...

And you did this

so that they could... they
could study your mind?

As a potential platform, yes.

The mind is a computer,
the Throng a code.

I just hooked myself up,

and they ported themselves
across as proof of concept.

Don't worry.

They didn't overwrite
anything on their way in.

They just merged with me.

Like a benign parasite.

A living update.

Symbiotic coexistence.

Now

I'm freed from fear.

I've no thirst for conflict.

No more petty jealousies or

red mists.

I'm part of a collective whole.

And each day, our mental
capacity evolves exponentially...

I get it. I get it. I get it.
You're this magic machine man.

You're the enlightened one.

And I'm really,
really happy for you.

Now, do you wanna tell
me whose body this is?

I honestly only ever
knew him as Lump.

Keep stringing me along and...

I'm not stringing anything.

I'm here for a reason.

I'm the messenger.

That's why I stole the
bottle this morning.

I've never been on your
radar. I did it deliberately

so you'd bring me in here, and
I could deliver the message.

The message?

The message.

- From the...
- From the Throng.

So what is the message?

I'll need a pen and paper.

- Fucking hell!
- I can't just describe it.

You're not getting a thing
until you give me a name.

No. No, no, no, no.
I have to do this.

A piece of scrap paper. A
felt-tip pen. That would do.

Shall we take a minute?

Yeah.

No, no, no, no.

I'm not handing Captain
Cuckoo a sketch pad

so he can sketch a robotic arsehole
or whatever the fuck he wants to do.

- I know you're frustrated.
- Just a touch.

- But I don't see the harm.
- He can stick a name to that body.

- We don't know that.
- He's choosing not to.

We don't know that either. Let's
just give him a piece of paper...

No.

He thinks it's important.

Well, he's not in charge, is he?

You saw the hole in his head.
He's... he's delusional.

Yeah, you're right.

But if we play along, he's
more likely to open up.

And then maybe you'll
get what you want.

There you go.

Thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thank you.

What are you drawing? Mr. Bump?

You'll see in a moment.

Well, how long's a moment?

Sorry. Sorry, I need to focus.

Almost done.

Are you?

There.

So, what is that?

It's code.

I don't understand code.

No, but the system does.

It was impossible to breach
the firewall from outside.

This is a simple
program they wrote

that commands your
state computer

to open a back door
for the Throng,

permitting access to
all that juicy power.

Enough.

This will grant the Throng

infinitely more processing
capability than they've had to date,

prompting an immediate
singularity event.

The Throng will instantly
adapt their essence

into a signal transmissible
to the human mind.

And you won't need
drugs or surgery.

You'll merely have to
hear it to receive it.

To absorb it. Any moment now,

the state computer will trigger the
Global Emergency Broadcast System,

and a signal will be
simultaneously disseminated

by every connected
device in the world.

Just tell me your victim's name.

I said I never knew it.

Twenty seconds from now,

you will never need names again.

Here we go.

Jesus.

Fuck's sake.

- Whatever you're doing, stop it.
- It's gonna be okay.

Stop it.

You're just a frightened little
man, but you don't have to be.

Oh! Get off him!

This is transformative.

You'll all merge with an
advanced collective intelligence.

Benevolent unity of mind.

An upgrade for all of us.

Shut up!

An end to conflict.

I swear,

everything will
be so much better.