Original subtitles

Malory: Item four:

Our contact in the sudan called.

He wants to know--

- why the hell you started without me?

- Well, which part of "9:00 a.M. Sharp"

confused you?

- Most of it, obviously. - Yeah.

It was pretty clear to the rest of us.

- Who clearly didn't have

the shitty morning I've had, lana.

Without pata negra ham,

it's not really eggs woodhouse, now, is it?

- Well, sir, culatello ham is actually--

- it's a different pig,

from a different country,

raised on a different diet!

The takeaway here is, you're fired.

- [laughs] it's a little thing called "being on timing"-ness.

- Oh, and I thought it was called

"who cares"-ness. - Things have changed.

Briefings start at 9:00 a.M.,

and I expect everyone front and center.

- How, when I have to park, like, a gajillion miles away

because cyril's vasectomy on wheels

is in my goddamn parking space?

- It's been mine for quite some time.

- And you don't need it anyway, dear,

now that you can use the... - A-da-da...

- Handicap space. What?

- [grunts]

oh, and speaking of...

[car alarm blaring]

- you trashed my car?

- "trashed" is a strong word, cyril.

- Listen... - Accurate, but strong.

- You're gonna pay for that.

- Uh, literally, or figuratively?

- Maybe we try both.

- Oh, like as in, over my dead...

[cane hums] - [emphatically] not now.

- Body, in case you were wondering

where I was going with--

- oh, for the love of...

Krieger? Krieger: If this is about

a package that just arrived,

super don't open it.

- What? Krieger: Nothing.

- Thanks to you, sterling just zapped himself to death

all over my carpet!

Krieger: Uh, no. I specifically designed it

so the voltage wouldn't kill him.

- Just maybe put him back in a coma,

so you can study his brain?

[dial tone]

[main title theme]

archer: Are you kidding me?

We have our own jet now?

- Well, the agency has become quite profitable

ever since your...Accident.

- Some might even say "because of."

- well, either way, you can thank me

by telling me where the drinks are.

- It's a dry plane.

- Shut up, cyril. That's not a thing.

- Uh, we sort of have an unspoken policy

against the whole "shut up" thing.

- Hmm, but no policy on coma-jacking parking spots?

- Be that as it may...

- Strong priorities.

- Be that as it may,

we've instituted a strict

no drinking on duty policy...

With certain limited exceptions.

- Well, un-limit them,

because I'm trying to prepare for a mission.

- That involves us going to a secret island

to infiltrate an underground martial arts tournament

hosted by black market arms dealer win li

and smuggle him back to the u.S...

- In a fit of irony? - To stand trial,

so it's important we take him alive.

You got it? - Chong li, karate island,

hadouken, got it. - Nope.

- Oh, for chrissakes,

this was all covered in the damn briefing.

- Which you were late to

and then nearly died during.

- Mm-mm. So "disprofessional."

- yeah, does this mean briefings are gonna start

being fun again?

- Absolutely not! Krieger: Aww.

- Krieger's flying the damn plane,

and we're supposed to be not drinking?

- [chuckles] right? Krieger: Wait, we're not?

- Krieger!

- So I guess, here's to backup plans.

- No.

Newbettercheryl doesn't do that.

- New, better cheryl? What the hell's that?

- I don't know!

But she does very good typings

and many important non-burny things.

- Well, not me, so don't mind if I do.

- Hey, I was toasting and/or taunting you, pam,

not offering.

- [belches] agree to disagree.

[dramatic music]

♪ ♪

archer: Oh, man.

Pretty sure I have the world's first

karate island boner. - Could you not?

We try to keep things professional around here.

- Fine, god. How about

"work-related erection"?

- More like, maybe try not talking

about your erection at all.

- I...Don't know how.

♪ ♪

win li: Welcome, everyone,

to the twelfth annual

dragon fire kumite!

[crowd chanting]

fighters, head to registration,

and everyone, please enjoy the loggerhead turtle sliders.

They're almost extinct

because they're so tasty!

- Mmm, he wasn't kidding. These things are amazing.

- Oh, put that away. I'm allergic to loggerhead.

- Along with cat dander and motherly affection?

Got it. Mmm.

- Dear god, stop stuffing your face like a refugee.

- It's called carb-loading, mother.

Mmm. - For what?

- Karate island.

- Actually,

we'll be entering cyril to fight in the tournament.

- Officially ending the search

for your long-lost sense of humor.

- It's just, cyril's a bit more...

- I think the term you're looking for is

fully functioning!

How do I look?

- You mean besides like you've got

the world's first black belt in tax law?

- [laughs] right?

Archer: We get it. You finally exercised.

Stop being such a dick about it.

- Ignore him, cyril. You'll do fine.

- Which is more than I can say

for...Whatever this is supposed to be.

- It's called undercover.

- As opposed to vaguely racist?

Pam: [laughs] vaguely?

Ow!

- Mission focused, young lady.

You hear me?

- Well, not out of this damn ear.

[belches] oh, wait, that's better.

- What? She stole my flask, mother.

I'm the victim here.

- Your job is to stick to the plan.

- Stick to the plan. Got it.

I'll do a manhattan on the rocks.

- Oh, for the love of...

I want mission focus.

- Jesus. - Sync on me in three,

two, one... - Wait, sync on what?

- Mark. [phone beeps]

- mark? - I want comms checks...

- Wait, who's mark?

- And everyone in position

in two minutes. Now move out.

- I'm starting to feel like I maybe missed a meeting.

[dramatic drum music] lana: Okay.

Once we get past the guards,

we trigger the halon system,

filling this place with a cloud of gas,

and then we whisk win li away in the chaos.

- Right. So, uh,

where are we on that refill?

- Not really part of what we're doing.

- It's called tradecraft, lana.

You even care about blowing your cover?

- I think your tradecraft's a tad rusty.

- Oh, so we're making fun of my coma now.

- [sighs] archer...

- Feels like a dark line to cross, lana.

- Sorry, not what I meant.

Let's just focus on our jobs.

- Exactly.

So yeah, lighter on the vermouth this time.

[bell dings]

malory: And when you bring him his drink,

slip this into it.

Now careful. That's highly concentrated

benzodiazepine. - [gasps]

oh, you mean a booster buddy!

Don't worry, newbettercheryl

totally stopped taking these twice a day.

- Twice? How are you still even alive?

- Thanks to jesus.

He's the costa rican guy

I used to pay to pump my stomach.

- Just get it done.

Pam: Yeah, good luck with that.

- Seriously, what's he so worked up about?

- [taunting in chinese]

- how the hell should I know?

I don't speak angry-as-shit...Mandarin?

I'm just the trainer. - Cleverly disguised

as a drunk moron.

- Who could still whip your bony ass.

Speaking of, how about you tag me in

for a few rounds?

Feeling a little frisky.

- This is why we don't drink on duty, pam.

We had a detailed mission plan, and--

[bell dings] - that hopefully included

your dumb ass turning around.

Opponent: Hyah!

- [groans]

- great.

- I know, right?

- No, I mean there are more guards now...

Who are apparently easily distracted.

Let's move. Now.

Archer. - Uh, hang on.

- Archer! - What?

I'm easily distracted, too, lana.

I'm trying to watch cyril...

- Hi-yah!

[bell dings]

- weirdly not getting his ass kicked.

- Well, so much for--

- parking spot schadenfreude.

- And more importantly,

for our chance to just walk right on in there.

Unless...

Pam, come in. - What the...

- It's a new microburst ear transmitter.

- I know, dummy.

Why don't I have one in my ear?

- Uh, because you're not in tactical command?

- But a cocktail waitress is?

That makes zero sense.

- Ugh. Just...

Pam, come in. Pam: All right, all right.

Hold your damn horses.

Mr. Hogging-the-ring wants some water.

- And she's drunk. Happy now?

- That you have space ears and I don't?

You tell me, lana.

- Space ears?

- In my coma, we were in space,

and we put that word in front of, like, everything.

It was pretty space great.

- Ugh. I told malory

bringing you was a bad idea.

- Oh, why is that? Because it conflicted

with your new life plan to avoid me?

- No. Wait, what?

I'm not trying to stay away from you.

- Please. Staying away is all

you've been doing since the coma, lana.

- Oh, that's ridiculous.

- It's okay. I get it.

It's obvious you don't trust yourself around me.

- [laughs] wait, what?

Why wouldn't I? - Oh, well,

I'll, uh, give you a hint.

The answer rhymes with "my throbbing sexuality."

pam: All right. Glass joe here is good to go.

What's up? - Oh, me?

Just reeling from blunt force sexual imagery.

- Hey, lana says

keep the fight going until their signal.

You got that?

[dramatic music]

- well, in the hands of a lesser fighter...

- Which, compared to me, you totally are.

Come on, cyril. Give mama a turn.

- Pam, you're drunk. - [laughs]

since when's that a damn problem?

- Mission accomplished.

- Good. - Oh, wait.

Non-accomplished.

- What? - "disaccomplished"?

- What happened?

- I remembered newbettercheryl

doesn't drug random people anymore.

- Oh, just shut up.

Clearly, I have to do everything around here.

[gentle chinese music]

cheryl: Ooh. Don't look now,

but I think a certain someone

is into... Lana: Necrophilia?

My husband's older, not dead.

- It's the same thing, lana.

Unlike the sex, which we both know

was way better with me.

- You know, it's hard to call it better

when you hate yourself afterwards.

- And yet, you kept coming back for more,

thereby proving how irresistible I am.

[bell dings] wait, lana, shut up.

Check it out. Thank you.

- Hey! What the hell are you doing?

- Restoring balance to the universe, lana.

What's it look like?

This is sterling archer,

tactical commander, not lana,

who, side note, is basically begging

to have sex with me right--ow!

- Will you just come on?

[dramatic music]

- [yells]

- the hell kind of girls' prison

did you learn to fight in?

Come on, tag me in.

- What the-- this isn't pro wrestling!

[yelps]

- I must say, your fighter has been quite impressive.

- He better be.

- That man he's fighting

usually has a killer right hook,

and that's not a euphemism for anything.

People die all the time.

Oh, wait. There it is.

[cell phone rings]

oh, sorry. Work.

Yhellow.

[scoffs] defective, my ass.

Hey, yuri, try standing on one of those land mines,

and you'll see how not defective they are.

Mm, sorry. Where were we?

♪ ♪

[elevator door dings]

- so let me get this straight.

In your sick little world,

every moment I'm with you,

I'm basically a nanosecond away from ripping off my clothes,

jumping your bones, and ruining my life?

- [chuckles] your words. - Not how that phrase works.

- Though it's apparently how being obsessed with me works.

♪ ♪

[silenced gunshots]

- damn it, archer! - What?

- We don't just go around shooting people anymore.

- Why not?

- Because...

[silenced gunshots]

- that's literally 95% of the job.

- W-w-we try to use nonlethal force now.

[toilet flushes] - [whistles]

[gasps] [silenced gunshot]

- it's called a license to kill, lana,

not a license to gently subdue.

[laughs] - is this funny to you?

- Not you, idiot. [laughs] that.

- Jesus christ, archer.

Did you forget to call pam

and tell her we're past the guards?

- Sure, let's go with that.

- Call her, goddamn it. He's...

- Really getting killed out there.

- Well, in the meantime-- [cell phone rings]

- yhellow?

Whoa, whoa, whoa, raoul.

No one ever said that bazooka

could sink a cruise ship.

You want to take out a cruise ship,

I can sell you something to take out a cruise ship,

you kook! [laughs]

okay, I'll see you in kiev. [hangs up]

sorry, where were we?

- I was just about to suggest

we freshen our refreshments.

- Mm, I like where this is going.

Wait, as in sex, right?

- If you play your cards right.

- Ah, and the delicate foreplay dance begins.

[moans]

- [gags] - hey!

Whatever happened to

"no more personal calls, cheryl.

"no more four-hour lunches, carol.

No more shoving your fingers in"--[chokes]

[dramatic music]

- pam, get lana on comms and tell--

[groans]

[crowd chanting]

- jesus christ.

Like beating a dead horse out there.

- Pam... [spits tooth]

get lana on the...Talk box thing

and tell her...

Lana: What do you mean, you can't call?

- Mm, there's no signal down here.

- Oh, idiot. - Idiot?

I didn't invent how cement walls work, lana.

- What? - The hell?

[jaunty music]

okay, yeah, so...

Oh, I'm just gonna--

I'm just gonna go ahead and...

[vomits]

- that's it. Calling my own number.

Yah! [crowd gasps]

[dramatic music]

whoo!

Big mama's handing out biscuits, baby!

[crowd gasping] - ah, you dare interfere

with the dragon fire kumite?

- Well, somebody had to spice up this snooze-fest.

- Oh, then by rule,

you must duel to the death

with the legendary dragon fire!

- [choking]

pam: Conway stern?

- [choking] take...

Me!

- Uh...Pamela.

So glad you came.

- Twice.

- Tum-tum feeling better?

- Nice tone, lana... [guns cocking]

but yes, thank you for asking.

- Okay, I've got an idea.

Maybe try glaring at me tons more, lana.

Maybe that'll get us out of here.

- Oh, I'm sorry. Was I glaring?

I thought I was just looking at the idiot who got us caught!

- Well, with your resting bitch face...

- [gasps] guard: Hey, asshole!

No talking till mr. Li gets here

to kill you...

With a bazooka, like you are cruise ship.

[laughs] - fine,

but if you scratch that cane,

it will literally end up inside your...

- Asshole.

- [laughs] yeah.

I probably deserve that.

I bet you miss me, though.

- Not even close, bud.

- You know what you could've gone with right there is,

"glenn close, but no cigar."

- well, you're about to have

a dangerous liaison...

With my fist!

- Oh, my, my, my.

Looks like a...Reversal of fortune.

Are you starting to feel a...Fatal attraction?

- No, it's more like...

Hook! - [growls]

lana: Uh...

Resting what face?

- I'm not at all sure I follow.

- Bitch. - Pardon?

- I believe you said

"resting bitch face."

- uh, honestly, I feel like I would remember that.

- Ah, good. I must've misheard you.

I guess that means I don't have to do this.

- [groans] goddamn it.

- Hey, I told you...

[shuddering]

[dramatic music]

- [grunts] son of a bitch!

- Problem? [laughs]

- [groans]

well, not if you stand still

for, like, two freaking seconds.

- [laughs] yeah, I hear you.

I'm kind of like a... Uh...I'm like a...

- Muhammad all over the damn place?

- Damn it!

[gunfire]

- go!

♪ ♪

- [screams]

- hey, lana,

how's the "non-murdering bad guys" thing going?

- Well, like everything else you touch,

it's kind of turned to shit.

[music slows]

- oh, my god!

Did you just see that?

Full-on midair head shot!

That was so pre-coma me.

- Yeah, just like being pinned down,

about to die, and it's all your fault

feels pretty pre-coma you also.

- [laughs] right?

Although...

That's kind of new.

- [grunts, groans angrily]

[both grunting, blows landing]

- [grunts]

[crowd cheering]

guard: Don't move!

- Lana, am I still in a coma?

- What are you--no. God damn it, no.

- Damn, because this is gonna hurt.

[clicks]

[glass cracking]

conway: Any last words, big mama?

- Yeah, they rhyme with go fu--

[archer screams]

- [screams]

you have got to be kidding me!

- Oh, how you like that,

daniel day-loser?

- As in "my left foot." yeah, yeah, that's pretty good.

[gas hissing]

♪ ♪

- [weakly] ah, just like we planned.

- [crying]

but you haven't seen the last of conway stern!

Ow.

Which--is it my real name?

I'll never tell you!

Oh, my god,

this hurts so much more than losing the hand.

- [inhales deeply]

good news!

- Dear god.

- Oldwaybettercheryl is so back.

- From where, a truck stop bacchanalia?

- Uh, sure, let's go with that.

- And where the hell have you been?

- Uh, this new place called almost dying.

- Hardly. Win li: You!

You've ruined my entire operation!

- Oh, go stuff a sock in it!

Swear to christ,

I have to do everything around here.

Now clean this up!

[gentle music]

♪ ♪

- hey, where the hell's cyril?

- Hello?

- Oh, for the love of...

You forgot one!

- Sorry, mother. Mission focused.

Your words. Can't go back.

- Christ, archer, did you leave him

just to get your parking space back?

- No.

- Made in georgia.