Original subtitles

Previously on iZombie...

You're supposed to feed these people.

There's a brain shortage out there.

We've heard rumors that our own men

are skimming brains and selling them on the black market.

There's one name I know. Russ Roche.

My cut, hand it over.

I want you to buddy up to him.

Renegade's operation turns more humans into zombies

than all other coyote outfits combined.

You can't save the Railroad.

I can take Mama's place.

I'm willing to do the scratching.

People are dying out there beyond the wall,

but we have a chance to save them.

What the hell are you doing?

Did you hear Fillmore-Graves shut down the 206 Weekly?

- Uh-uh. - Yeah, the soldiers who went down there

shot up the place.

Scared the hell out of everyone.

I'm not surprised.

Major was the ranking officer.

I was at Fillmore-Graves last night.

Chase Graves turned to Major and said, 'Did you guys really do this?'

Major flat-out lied.

Fillmore-Graves is The Borg.

I don't know what that means.

Keep dating Ravi, you will.

Speaking of Major...

I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't...

tell him or Ravi about, you know...

Human smuggling?

So, listen, um...

I've been up all night thinking about that question you asked me.

If I could help those dying people, would I, and you're right, I would.

I understand why you're doing what you're doing and I...

respect your decision.

Thank you.

Which is why I wanna be a part of it.

No.

No, I am not letting you risk your life.

Hey.

Why is it good for you, but not for me?

Body. Gotta go.

That's yours.

Obviously, I can't scratch people,

but there must be some way for me to be helpful.

Do you have giant stacks of cash stashed somewhere?

Because that's one of our biggest problems right now.

Lack of resources.

AmericasCardroom.com brings poker back Million Dollar Sunday Tournament every Sunday

'Bout damn time you showed up.

I've been writing to the mayor's office for over a year.

We don't normally grant favors to people

who work for notorious criminal syndicates.

I played ball.

I gave you what you wanted. You owe me.

You didn't give us everything we wanted.

There is no money. That's a myth!

Well, shoot. This was a waste of my time.

Okay, no, wait. Wait.

What if I told you there was a pot of gold?

I'd say I already know that. That's why I'm here.

There's a bus that's transporting prisoners to the state pen in Walla Walla.

State pen is worse.

Drop you off at Moses Lake Correctional. White collar prison.

Plus, your family's all outside the wall, right?

Just think of visiting day.

You dirty girl.

Where's the money, Casper?

Synced & corrected by MaxPayne == www.subscene.com ==

Are you sure someone's in there?

The pool of blood suggests there is.

You didn't open it up yet?

I was waiting for you guys.

Someone's in there.

A jogger found the body this morning.

No witnesses, no ID, no clue how the body got there.

Time-travel murder.

Perhaps the impaled knight stepped out of the TARDIS seconds before his death.

What the hell's a TARDIS?

Something nerdy.

It's the space-time vessel from Doctor Who.

Looks like a police box.

Bigger on the inside?

I was hoping for an answer based more in reality.

Well, I'm sure you'll find one.

Once the zombie medical examiner eats the victim's brain.

Anybody bring a can-opener?

Yeah, uh, not to be that guy, uh, but it is a lunch 'hour.'

Look at this.

It's like he was wearing a car.

I identified our victim.

He was a medieval history professor named Garrett Drexel.

According to his parents, in his spare time, he did something called 'larpering.'

The parents didn't know much about it,

but it sounded in your wheelhouse, so...

It's actually called LARPing and it stands for 'Live Action Role-Playing.'

So it's like a sex thing?

What? No.

No, it's like D&D,

but the players physically act out their character's actions,

sometimes participating in elaborate mock-battles

- and epic story lines. - Fear not!

I have slain the rodent foul

No more will his pestilent droppings threaten the purity of our tools and provisions

and our boxes of cardboard will forevermore go un-gnawed.

I think she killed the storage closet mouse.

'Twas a noble death. And quick.

What say you, My Lord?

Have you news of our quest?

I'm not your lord.

Thou art a most sovereign leader tasked with protecting our kingdom.

Thoust may be free of royal blood,

but a purer heart I've not yet known.

And on my honor, I will serve at thy side.

It is my most solemn vow.

- Can you get up, please? - Yes, My Lord.

And stop calling me 'My Lord.'

Yes, my liege.

Your Grace.

So Garrett's parents gave me the name of his LARPing group,

The Guardians of Bonestorm, and the place they hang.

That seems like the best place to start.

If they are acting out battles, that could be how Garrett got himself skewered.

To Earth's end and back, I will follow thee.

Okay, then, um... Let's go.

LARPing, huh?

The thing that bugs me about D&D is you're just sitting.

If there was a more physical version, with badass armor...

That could be cool.

Fie, squire!

One must consume an onion bloom from the inside-out.

Seriously, though, dude, you're just picking off all the crispy stuff!

Definitely not cool. Not cool at all.

I suppose we gotta talk to 'em.

Fear not, My Lord, for both my sword and my life are yours.

You don't have a sword. Or a life, if we're being technical.

I am Olivia of Seattle.

Examiner of the exanimate.

Vision-haver for the guard. Zombie of the festive vessel.

My Lord asks that you lend an ear

and I ask that you make haste and gather round,

for his will is my most sacred destiny.

Detective Babineaux, Seattle PD, Homicide.

Normal talker.

Tell us about Garrett Drexel.

We learned he is a member of your group.

So, he's done it.

Sir Garrett has slain the Great Wizard of Thrall.

- Cheers. - Uh, no.

Garrett was found dead this morning.

- Can't believe he was... - Verily?

Aye.

Alas. Alack. A shocker.

He was much beloved.

Someone stuck a sword through him and left him for dead.

Wait, you don't think it was us?

You know these swords are totally foam, right?

Yeah, plus we all worshiped Garrett.

When was the last time you saw him?

He left the group after the wall went up.

Didn't seem like a good idea for humans and zombies to fight together,

so Garrett and his friend Magnus left with the other zombies

to start their own zombie LARPing league.

- But Garrett wasn't a zombie. - Of course he was.

He was human.

Mmm...

'Tis true, noble sir. Undead, he was not.

That doesn't make any sense. How could that be?

Shut it, Chuck!

Your Grace, if Sir Garrett did doth portray himself falsely a zombie

whilst in battle with zombies, who, believing him kindred, fought without care,

'tis on Garrett's own shoulder the fault doth lay, does it not?

That's what I was thinking, but in a less annoying way.

Mmm.

Sharing a meal as father and son, I did miss this.

You missed decades of them.

I'm fairly certain this is our seventh meal together.

This is a fine establishment, son.

You've done well.

I wanted to give zombies a true fine-dining experience.

Enough!

You're rushing through a sacrament.

I want each of you to take one bite using a fork.

For God has given us the tools we need, my friends.

One bite.

There. Now, hold it in your mouth...

And let the divine flavors linger on your tongue

until your mouth fills with glory.

Savor it. Savor it.

Now swallow.

Mmm.

And repeat.

Swallowing on command.

That's a power that I should never be entrusted with.

Trust is a must but turns to dust

when bellies begin to growl.

My church is in desperate need of brains.

I was hoping you could spare some more for the cause.

Can I sleep on it?

The Lord will provide.

I was trapped in a well, son.

And the Lord made it rain brains,

can you believe it?

Surely a remedy will come your way.

Scalpel, please.

Stormrose, Warblade of the Fallen or Lightbringer?

Maybe I'll just take the bonesaw.

Oh.

The Spineripper. A choice most excellent.

- Good morrow. - Hi, um, I'm supposed to be coming to see you.

My name is Isobel.

Thoust timing is poor, child. I shall call anon...

Please, I'm in this motel in Yakima, my coyote left for coffee eight hours ago.

- I'm totally freaking out. - Indeed, uh...

Yea, 'tis true.

Let us discuss whilst I procure much-needed gauze for my warted toe.

Fear not, young friend.

Your good coyote shall be back. Perhaps he think a malefactor doth tail him.

I guess you need to talk in code or something,

but you're not helping. I'm going crazy here.

Fear not, lass, for I make thee promises three.

Your good coyote shall return.

You shall arrive safely in Seattle.

And with a scratch of my own nail, your life I shall save.

This is my most solemn vow.

Is there someone else I can talk to?

Isobel.

Wait, he's back. Oh, my God, thank you so much.

Bye.

Thus, true promises remain.

Let me guess.

You slayed a beastly arachnid.

I say thee nay.

For she was taking a phone call most whispery.

Perhaps about a certain upcoming noble birthday?

Thoust foolest me not.

What news has thou?

A location for Magnus, I think.

Garrett received a text every Friday with a time and address

and a, 'Try and make it.'

It was always signed 'M.'

Magnus!

The address is for a warehouse on the edge of the city.

I'm guessing that's where the zombie LARPers meet.

If you're free at midnight...

Not free, My Lord, but bound by honor

to stand between My Lord and danger.

Yeah, okay.

What's with the half-dollars?

I let her have that one.

It was either that or let her stuff the chest cavity with hay.

You like to party, don't you, boy?

Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?

Oh. But, Russ.

I can't afford all of this.

You keep spottin' me, it ain't right.

Hey, you ever need a few more coins in your pocket, you just tell me.

I'm so dadgone broke, partner, I'd do anything.

Hey.

Stop requesting songs about tractors and cold beers.

You're makin' everybody wish they were more dead.

I'm just treating my partner here to a night on the town.

Shoot, I'd have been knocked into a cocked hat

if it weren't for this buckaroo's loyalty.

Skittles. We're a pack of wolves, ain't we? We stick together.

Show your tatas to The Butcher of Bourbon Street.

This man'll rip off your skull and vomit hurricanes

- down your windpipe. - Every man wants to be me.

Every woman wants to be with me.

Whoo!

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for,

the founder of the Zombie Thunderdome,

six feet two inches of ferocity, 230 pounds of piss and vinegar,

the massive, the mighty, Magnus the Necromaimer!

Now this is an entrance.

Verily.

That's our guy.

Come on!

Yeah! Whoo!

Who wants blood?

Who wants grievous injury?

Reckon I oughta shake the snake before it starts.

Don't fall in, partner.

Who wants to see me turn this chump steak into ground beef?

How's he gonna be a butcher when I slice his arms off?

Of course, who doesn't mind getting wet

with the Butcher's blood?

Ooh!

There is no honor in this?

No, probably not.

Ooh!

Oh!

Who are you?

Detective Babineaux, Seattle PD.

I'd like to talk to you about Garrett Drexel.

Yeah, now's when I bask in the glow of victory, so bugger off.

Well, that isn't really an option here.

Oh, it's not?

You looking to get knocked on your ass, too?

If My Lord seeks an audience,

it would serve you well to make time.

Okay. Let's talk Garrett Drexel.

- He's dead. - How?

A sword right through his belly.

- But he was... - Garrett was human.

They call me Liv, the medical examiner.

I examined the body myself, no zombie was he.

Uh, sit.

Please.

Yeah, on the...

Why would, uh, Garrett pretend to be a zombie?

It kind of makes sense when I think about it.

Yeah, Garrett was super pumped

when he realized that zombies would be fighting with real swords.

But you saw a business opportunity.

Sure did.

I knew right away that people would pay money to see zombies make each other bleed.

So I broke away from the zombie LARPers and started Zombie Thunderdome.

Do you know where we could find the zombie LARPing group?

Yeah, I have their schedule in my phone somewhere.

His group is called The Shadow Exiles.

Any day hence.

God, I wanna make you break character.

Oh, here it is.

Looks like they don't fight again for another month.

But, uh, they should be at the league rules meeting tomorrow.

- Where? - Ye Olde Microbrewery.

I'm the bouncer.

I'll wait in the car.

His maiden is a zombie and alas, he is not.

'Tis a cruel world.

Is this how it's gonna be?

Everyone's asked me why you're moping around today.

You didn't really expect me to be happy today, did you?

No.

But we were up until 4:30 talking about this,

- and I felt like we were okay. - We are.

See, I knew this was coming down the pike, but...

It hurts.

But we're still us.

We're good. It's just medicinal.

Like it was for you.

Somehow, that doesn't help.

Cowboy brains are permanently 86ed,

which is weird, 'cause I'd think cowboys are to hookers as...

- Astronauts are to Tang? - Exactly!

I hear 'cowboy,' I think Deadwood.

But Blaine, there was no dead wood.

These cowpokes didn't want no pokes.

Here's where we went wrong.

Look at the fine print.

'Professional Born-Again Riders of America.'

'We tell the devil to buck off'?

What is this, six-point type?

Where do we stand on new muscle?

It's handled. I already hired Carl.

Crybaby Carl.

I would rather put a volleyball on Dino's body.

It's a medical condition, Blaine,

the guy's got faulty tear ducts.

He's actually a sociopath in a good way.

So who do I have to bang to get a hot toddy?

So, what brings you to our fair, walled-in city?

Cobain museum? The fish market? The coffee?

I've been keeping tabs on my former money launderer,

Casper Cotter, while he's in prison.

He has a major stash of my money hidden away somewhere,

and I've been eager to find out where it is.

I've tried getting to him on the inside

but this schmuck hides in solitary.

I haven't been able to get to him.

And that's where you come in.

I do?

A little bird tells me the state pen has agreed

to take 20 of Seattle's worst criminals.

They're bussing then down to Walla Walla

and for some reason, candy-ass Casper is gonna be on that bus.

We're gonna break him out and get my money back.

Out of a prison transport bus?

We'll go halfsies on the cash, of course.

Not thirdsies?

So, after the three of us take down this prison bus,

how about we go to the backyard and dig a hole to China?

What's the problem, Blaine?

I can't commandeer a prison bus

full of convicts and armed guards.

I don't have that kind of manpower.

You call yourself a crime boss?

You should have an army of nameless, faceless, yes men

who are too stupid to do anything but listen to you.

- Blaine, what about... - Wait.

We don't have an army full of stupid, nameless, faceless yes men.

But we know someone who does.

Brother Love.

That's right, Don E.,

Brother Love.

The lord spoke to you

about a prison transport bus?

Not directly.

I was trying to solve your brain shortage problem

and I reached a point where I'd feared I'd fail you.

And in that desperate moment,

I humbled myself and I said, 'God.'

Not... Not out loud, more with my heart.

There is no right or wrong way.

Well, I said, 'God, please, show me a sign.'

And in that moment,

hand to the man upstairs,

is when my phone rang and my buddy tells me about the bus.

I felt the holy spirit move me.

I didn't even know whose number I was dialing.

When Blaine answered, I said, 'Of course, it had to be Blaine.'

There will be guards and guns.

I fear I'd be leading my flock to slaughter.

We'll take 'em by surprise. They won't even see us coming.

The authorities will come after us.

We're not strong enough yet.

No one will raise a finger.

You see, these are wicked men.

And giving their brains to needy zombies

will be the one good thing they do with their miserable lives.

Yo, Russ!

Wanna win some more money off me?

I'm feeling unlucky.

No. I don't think so.

Everything okay?

Last night.

What were you telling that cop?

Cop? I didn't talk to a cop.

I saw it, bro.

The blonde zombie that works with the police.

She's a medical examiner, I think.

Look, man. I just saw a pretty girl and was chatting her up.

Any luck?

Nope.

Yeah. So, you free to meet up tonight?

- Sure. - Still eager to make some extra money?

- You know it. - Cool.

- I'll text you the address. We can meet there. - All right.

And what we're doing,

- it's not exactly legal. - I ain't dumb, son.

Thank you.

Good morrow.

Uh, hi.

It was a bit of a rough trip but this is Beth and that's Geo.

Guys, this is Renegade.

'Tis an honor, fair lady,

to return thine most noble soul from the edge of the abyss.

Renegade, maybe let's just cut to the scratch.

It was a long trip in the trunk.

Beth of Columbus,

I welcome you to the brotherhood of zombies.

Live undead with a true heart,

and do naught but good.

I feel new. Strong.

I don't know how to thank you.

We don't know how to thank you.

'Tis a gift we received equally, m'lady.

Geo of the Bay Area,

I welcome you into the brotherhood of zombies.

Live undead with a true heart

and do naught but good.

So, I'm gonna cry.

I... I didn't think that would happen.

I'm really grateful.

There was supposed to be a third.

Lady Isobel. I made a vow.

Yeah. Isobel hasn't arrived yet.

She should be here by now.

With which coyote doth she travel?

It's the new guy. Curtis.

Ready to get your hands dirty?

Born ready.

Let's go pay some folks a visit.

I think we need to readjust the brain to gelatin ratio. It's all spilling out.

No, you gotta fold the top over before you staple it, idiot.

No, man. These are our tubes.

We bought them. We're just repackaging them.

Please! No!

Nice.

I should probably make an example out of you, don't you think?

- No. - No?

What do you think, Major? Waste him?

Call it.

Heads we waste him!

Tails.

And there won't be a next time, will there?

No.

Put those axes to use, boys.

Liv, my love. Can I get your number?

Where are the zombie LARPers we seek?

There the heroes be.

Hoisting half-pints of low-carb lager.

My liege. Shall we?

You are Sir Clive Babineaux.

Zombie slayer. Survivor of the pits of Max Rager.

Cracker of suspects

and daydream lover of the women of Precinct Nine. Forget it not.

Yay. Verily.

Thanks, Liv. I'll pull my head out.

You the Shadow Exiles?

Clive Babineaux, Seattle PD. Homicide.

I take it you know why I'm here.

It's about Garrett, isn't it?

Yes. Garrett.

The guy you left for dead out in the park.

We thought he was a zombie. Like us. And...

We understand it was a secret that Garrett was human.

Just tell us exactly what happened.

We've been acting out Arthurian legends for the last couple of months.

Garrett was the best fighter, so, of course, he was Lancelot.

When that sword went through him, Garrett bled like a stuck pig.

We were all standing there, dumbstruck.

It made no sense for a zombie to bleed like that.

Before we could even figure out what was happening, Garrett was dead.

It... It happened so fast. No one knew what to do. We all just panicked.

No one knew if what we were doing was legal.

It's true we all panicked.

But I was the one who struck the fatal blow.

Then you must be Arthur.

In one life. In the other, I'm known as Kevin Kreeger.

It was an accident, darling.

My husband loved Garrett. We all did.

Guinevere, I presume.

Yes, but also Kathy Kreeger.

You all need to come down to the station in the morning.

I need to take a statement from everyone who was there.

Killing Garrett was unintentional,

but leaving his body was a crime.

My wife wasn't even at the battle.

I'll still need you to come down and give a statement.

I'm really tempted to not come back. New Seattle blows.

I guess I would have to end things with my fiancee.

What the hell?

See why I hate this place?

We will rise

and they will drown!

The meals on the bus go down, down, down!

Fear not killers! Fear not rapists!

It is to a better place you go...

The digestive tract of a hungry zombie!

It will be over soon! Submit! Submit!

Brothers, sisters, feed!

Feed to your heart's content.

Those are some good minions.

Rejoice, my friends. Rejoice.

Feast to your heart's content.

It's a medical condition, Blaine.

Still...

It's glandular. Nothing I can do about it.

Have him go kill someone. Here, I'll do it.

Crybaby Carl! Go kill somebody on that bus.

Crybaby, stop.

Oh, one of them's getting away.

Mangia, mangia, mangia!

That your accountant guy?

- Not him. - Cool beans.

No, get away! Aah!

They're eating that guy's brains right out of his head.

They didn't even kill him first.

I'm pretty sure he's dead.

His legs are moving.

I think that's a nervous system thing.

Now he's definitely dead.

- Oop. No, wait. - Oh, God, no...

Okay, now.

Please! Please, don't eat me! Ah! I'll do anything.

Tell me the truth, Casper. What's scarier, them or me?

Stacey, please.

Don't let them eat me. I'm begging you.

You had a lot to say to the DA's office about my operation,

but when I want to know where my money is, you're silent.

Okay, you can take it! It's in locker 220.

It's at the ferry terminal. It's on Colman!

Please! Just let me go!

Thanks,

but I'd rather get it straight from the horse's brain.

This is Blaine. He'll be eating you tonight.

Crybaby. Do what you do, man.

No

No! Please.

Please. Don't eat me. No!

You can stop doing that. I spoke to his family.

They don't want it, and with the investigation over,

they said we could just trash it.

A sad end for such a valiant man.

You're lucky your maiden fair never caught his eye.

Uh, hello? Undercover with the zombie truthers.

Yes, but our Peyton's fantasy life

revolves entirely around knights in shining armor.

Fortune has smiled on you. Count thyself blest.

So, you have no idea where Isobel is?

Is there any chance the coyote got her into Seattle and you just don't know it yet?

- I knoweth not. I await news from Sir Levon. -

Ah-ha!

How could you?

Whoa! What'd you see?

Guinevere cheating on King Arthur.

- With Lancelot, I presume. - Verily.

I must away.

I know this sounds like some kind of role-play come-on,

um, but I literally can't figure out how to take this off.

Let me see what we can do.

You're human and you were sleeping with

Garrett/Lancelot.

That means King Arthur/your husband knew Garrett was human, too.

It's not what you think.

Well, that's good, Guinevere, because what I think

is that your husband, King Arthur, murdered your lover, Lancelot.

You do know that when LARPing, you are free to change the endings?

I love my husband.

And my husband loves me.

But after Kevin became a zombie...

A bedswerver ye became.

I thought that our love was strong enough.

That sex wasn't everything.

But it became clear how important it was.

What intimacy does for a couple.

How lack of it tears them apart.

My liege and lord has faced down similar demons, and yet, not a murder one.

He and his zombie lover allow others to share their bed.

Liv.

Has that worked for you?

It hasn't been the easiest thing.

I wouldn't think so.

Look, Detective...

Even if my husband wanted to kill Garrett,

it had to be a freak accident. First of all,

Garrett is the greatest swordsman in Seattle.

It's a fluke that Kevin even touched him.

Also, Kevin fights with Excalibur. A broadsword.

If you wanted to kill someone wearing chainmail, you wouldn't use a broadsword,

you'd use something super-pointy.

Something like...

this?

That's not Excalibur.

Gallahad, the pure of heart!

Steve! Steve!

We're ready for you.

Mr. Kreeger, here's what we know.

We know you were aware that Garrett was human

because you caught him cheating with your human wife.

You didn't fight with Excalibur,

a blade synonymous with King Arthur.

Instead, you chose to fight with a sword that could pierce chainmail.

- And according to Gallahad... - The pure of heart.

During the fight, you tricked Lancelot into thinking that you had been injured.

When Lancelot let down his guard to assist you,

you thrust a sword through his gut.

You fought without honor.

When he slept with my wife, he ceded his honor card.

You had to trick him because he was a better fighter than you.

A better fighter. A better lover.

Certainly better-looking, younger...

And yet, here I am.

Still alive. And I'll serve no prison time.

I admit nothing.

We were LARPers, playing a game.

And Garrett pretended to be a zombie and that's how he got himself killed.

That's what a jury will believe, so you can keep your pad, Detective.

I can't believe my former accountant

actually told us the real location.

He did seem eager to impress in his final moments

and my vision was clear as day.

Locker 220 at the ferry station on Colman.

Come to Daddy.

Disappointing.

I don't understand.

Well, I don't know what to tell you.

I saw Cotter put a black duffel bag

full of money in this locker.

Well, then where the hell is it?

Liv, you can't just bring new people here.

You put everyone at risk.

- New people need to be vetted. - New to you, good sir,

but to me a lifetime of loyalty.

I come bearing gifts.

Whoa!

Consider Lady Peyton vetted.

Think of those who will benefit from this.

All the people we weren't able to bring in before.

It's all right.

Come on.

There were some hiccups.

- What happened? - A couple of the guards along the north wall

decided what we bribed them isn't enough.

We had to find another route.

- She was a champ. - I'm... I'm so glad we made it.

It was such a crazy drama getting here.

I couldn't handle the Walley World situation.

"Zombie Park"s closed. Walrus out front should've told you.'

Hey.

Let's do this. I'm tired of being sick.

'Tis with the proudest of hearts

that I shall fulfill the third of my promises three.

Oh, great.

Quick question. Do all zombies talk like you

or do you, like, actually work at a Ren Faire?

Isobel of Idaho, I welcome you to the brotherhood of zombies.

Live undead with a true heart

and do naught but good.

Uh...

How long does it take to kick in?

It's usually pretty immediate. Try the other arm.

Yeah, maybe it's like a vein thing.

- Isobel of... - Liv...

- Oh, Renegade. - Sorry.

Go a little deeper this time.

Maybe do her neck.

Have you eaten today?

I don't understand.

I'm going to die, aren't I?

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