All language subtitles for american.horror.story.s11e02.1080p.web.h264-cakes

- 550, you're live.
- Robyn?

- Yes.
- Hi. My name's Robbie.

I just want to tell
you I love your show.

Thank you so much.

I have a question for
the dancer, actually.

- Yes.
- Hi.

- Hi. How you doin'?
- Um, you say you've done one film?

- Yes.
- Yeah, was that the one

in which you're
dressed as a sheepdog

and lick a little
boy's unwiped tushy

in a film called Sadie?

- No, not at all.
- Oh, I'm sorry.

Nine rows, 28
centimeters. That's good.

No. Not yet.

Mm.

Oh. That must be
really hot, still.

I don't know why I
sterilize the needles.

It's... an old habit.

I'm going to lift your arms

until the shoulder
joints dislocate.

You will feel it.

The Vietcong perfected that.

Stop moving.

I don't want any fluids on this carpet.

I can tell from your
face that you're angry,

scared, in pain.

The others were, too.

There's a lot of pain in us.

I want to make that legible.

I made some mistakes by removing

things from the others.

They were just bodies.

I need to give them people.

Homosexuals are central

to the natural order of things.

And you will be a totem to that.

They think we bleed differently.

But we're all the same.

And they will see the blood.

There's a war that's coming.

It will fix some things.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, that won't do.

A fellow brother-in-arms.

You can't serve twice.

I'm going to put
you back to sleep.

You'll wake up.

You can tell the
police all about me,

but they'll do nothing.

They don't want to.

If they haven't
caught me by now...

Thank you for your service.

Hey.

Hey, you okay in there?

Hey.

Help.

Well, you have something
called cryptosporidium.

Spare me the details. All I want
to know is what pills to take.

The ones that my GP
gave me did shit,

which is what I've been
doing for three weeks.

- Which is why I'm here.
- It's an amoeba,

which I think is
sexually transmitted

and incredibly rare.

I've seen four people
with it in the last month.

Usually the immune
system takes it down.

These pills should
get rid of it.

And you should stay in bed
for at least three days.

Oh, luckily, bed's my
favorite place to be.

Mm. And I don't
have to tell you

to refrain from sexual activity.

And yet you just did.

Thanks, Doc.

She's got me on this new
thing called... zimelidine.

Helps with serotonin
levels or something.

- What are you depressed about?
- Oh, I don't know.

The world's such a perfect
place for queer people.

Oh, no. I'm too angry
to be depressed.

I just can't figure out why I'm
so tired all the fucking time.

I got this weird rash.

Nobody can figure it out.

Hopefully Dr. Wells can.

What about you?

I know you're listening to us.

There's a thing called
medical privacy.

It's protected by law.

I could sue you just
for asking me that.

I'm just joking.

I'm in for a little scratcheroo.

Damn cat bit me, little
hellion.

If she weren't so cute,
I'd ask you if you wanted

- to adopt her.
- Mr. Whitely?

Are you
ready for me, Doctor?

Uh, yes. Mr. Whitby?

It's Whitely.

And I have a rash.

A rash that won't go away.

This is, uh,

my friend Sully, John Sullivan.

I was hoping you could print
something in your paper,

a notice or anything. I mean,

the police don't seem that
interested in finding him.

- What's your name again?
- Adam.

Yes, Adam, I'm well aware.

What happened to your hand?

"Do you know what it feels like

"to have hot needles
hammered into your nail beds?

"It feels like an
injection of flame,

"an incineration of
every nerve in your body,

"shooting inward
from your fingertips.

"I was abducted last night.

"Someone drugged me,
tied me up, tortured me,

"held a blade to my heart.

"I was held captive for hours.

"I don't know who
did this to me,

"but I am certain that
our boys in blue know

"that a killer is preying on

"and butchering gay
men in lower Manhattan.

"For God knows what
reason, I was spared.

"I was saved by better angels

"when I was sure
no one would come.

"I survived.

Who will be next?"

- You think there will be more?
- I'm tracking

a 30% increase in
violence against gay men

in the last two years.

17 beatings and bashings
in the last three weeks

in the Village alone.

And guess where there's
no use in going?

The NY-fucking-PD!

- Taxi!
- They hate us. The police

- hate us. This city hates us.
- Fuck you!

And I know
people in City Hall

and in the NYPD... gay men...

And some of them I
know really well.

If I hadn't been spared,

would they have even
looked into my death?

Risked outing themselves by
demanding answers, or would they

just have gone on
with their lives?

"Whatever that gay
guy got mixed up in

must have gotten him killed."

But I woke up.

I am alive.

And I will do whatever I can.

I will sit in front of this

pathetic, shitty typewriter,

and I will tell the
six-dozen like-minded homos

who read this that
they are after us.

At least that's something.

Your friend isn't
coming home, Adam.

He's probably dead.

And you're gonna have
to have a long think

about what you want
to do about that.

What if people had
a number to call?

Someone on the other end of
the line who'd just listen,

- writes it all down?
- I'm sor...

You want to start a hotline?

No. No, just a way
to... gather, I guess.

Get tips and report on
what's really happening.

Make a record of it all.

Give them a phone number to
dial so that they can say

what they've seen,
and-and we record it.

- We share it.
- We?

I'm angry, too.

I've been angry. I just...

I didn't know what
to do with it.

I want to start a fire.

You'll be putting a
target on your back.

I already have one.

I don't know. I just... I...

I didn't think this was
gonna be a job interview.

Neither did I.

Oh, Jesus. Keep
them away from me.

Uh, hi. Excuse me.
Can I help you?

- We want to talk to him.
- Um, he's on a deadline.

- Uh, can I tell him anything?
- Yeah.

Tell him we read his piece.
Pulitzer level stuff.

It's moving, and we're so
sorry about his ordeal.

Oh, dear. It looks like someone
could use a good manicurist.

- Fuck you.
- Fuck you.

Fucking fuck you.
You came to kill me?

Come on. Let's go.

Give me that before
you hurt yourself.

Came to ask you what
we did last week.

To transform this gay paper...

The only legitimate
one, anyway...

Back to the way it started

and now only pretends to be.

There's nothing in
this rag about lesbians

or anyone without a penis,
not one fucking thing.

You're a gay male chauvinist.

You don't write like
a stupid man, Gino,

- but what else are we to assume?
- Maybe we can find a time

to sit down and discuss
all this, but right now,

there's a real-life
killer out there,

right here, right now,

stalking, torturing,

maybe even someone that we
know. You want to join us?

- 'Cause we could sure as hell use the help.
- Excuse me.

Sorry. Uh, he wants your top
choice for the cover art.

It's a full page, and
he said to remind you to

"make it fucking sexy."

Make it sexy.

Boring.

This fucking queen.

No.

She makes me smile.

Not one woman in his picks.

I guess she doesn't count, huh?

All right, here's an idea.

I have to do a double
issue for Pride

because it brings
in advertisers,

but I do not want to do it.

How about this? You three...

You take that dusty little desk
over there and do your thing.

You can rail about
the stalled ERA,

pap smears, male-only gay
bars... I don't care...

Whatever blows your skirt up.

Please just stay out of my face.

Mmm.

Jesus. Go.

Can I get a Coke or something?

We've been here for hours. I
got to use the bathroom, too.

Please.

Why did you give an interview

to that faggot reporter?

You have a thing
against cops? You, uh,

trying to make us look bad?

You get busted sucking
dick in the Rambles

one time too many?

I personally took your
statement about your friend.

Does that sound like
the cops not caring?

Huh? You told me. You
stated in that article

that your friend was attacked
by some big leather guy.

That makes no sense.

The men in that community are
usually harmless and benign.

After all the shit we put up
with protecting your people!

Hey! Hey, I'm allowed to
say what I want to say

without getting
harassed or detained.

Yeah, he's right. He's right.

We are sworn
officers of the law.

We are constrained by
the limits of the law.

You better
call that reporter back

and tell him you
were wrong about us.

Fuck you.

Tell him you
lied for attention.

Fuck you! Fuck you!

Okay.

Lock him up.

How long are you going
to keep me in here?

Well, the boss wanted to lose
your file and let you rot.

I'll let you out soon.

Anyone here know about you?

I don't know what
you're talking about.

Right.

- Do you still have my card?
- Mm-hmm.

You do?

If you see or hear
anything out there,

you call me directly.

I'm working on something
here, but quietly.

And stay off the streets, okay?

I don't want to hear a
story about you getting shot

in the back running
away from cops.

Gino, hi. Uh, excuse me.
I need to talk to you

- about something important.
- Why would I want to talk to you?

You've made Patrick's
life a living hell.

Oh, well, I'm sorry if I
got a little mad sometimes.

I guess living with
someone who lies to you

with every breath can make
a woman a little unstable.

- What do you want?
- Are-are you okay?

What happened? Did you get
into an accident or something?

I read your article.

- Oh, you read The Native?
- Yes.

I live in the fucking Village.

Do you really think
there's a killer out there?

I know there is.

You don't have to worry.
He just likes killing boys.

Yeah, for now.

So, I've just been clearing out
the rest of Patrick's things.

You know, the owner lets us
store stuff in the basement,

and, uh, I found this box hidden
under some of his other things,

so...

Is this the kind of
thing you two like to do?

Oh, is that what this is?

This is you trying to trick me
into talking about our sex life.

Okay, no, that's not it at all.

Okay? These things scared me.

Now, I told you that
Patrick is a very good liar.

And if he lied to me, he
could be lying to you.

He could be lying to everyone.

Your jealously has just...
it's made you paranoid.

Oh, you didn't know
about this, did you?

I got to go.

Thanks for picking me up.

I wanted a witness so they
know someone knows I was there.

Thought I was gonna
have to bail you out.

No, they didn't even
charge me with anything.

These psycho cops
just brought me in

and roughed me up for
hurting their feelings.

This city's gone insane.

The cops are just as
bad as the criminals.

It was always like that.

You were just too
white to notice.

Enough with this doom and gloom.

Summer is here. Lighten up.

You should come out
with me tonight.

There's a party. It
will blow your mind.

It's in the most run-down
part of the city.

Why would I want to go
somewhere like that?

It's not what you think.

This rich queen bought a
big old warehouse down there

where they used to store stuff
before loading it on to ships.

- Uh-huh.
- He throws these wild parties.

Everyone gets all
dressed up in costumes,

and there are candelabras
and poetry readings.

Real Parisian shit.

He likes the contrast of the
decadence with the squalor.

He sounds like an asshole.

He is, but so what?

All the cool downtown
artists will be there.

Daniel Kanowicz, Hans Henkes,

and me, of course.

You have to come.

You may even get laid.

If you wanted monogamy,

you should have
been born straight.

Oh.

Jesus was a carpenter. He
can't save you from the bomb.

Maybe he can. I don't know.

I don't know. Can't
even take care...

Something is coming.

Something is coming!

Something evil on the horizon.

Something is coming.

Something is coming!

Something is coming!

Something is coming for you.

How are you feeling?

I could get you some Tylenol,

or, uh, something stronger...

A lude or some pot from the
guy on the corner at Bleecker.

He knows you're a cop.

You're looking at me like I was
the guy that did this to you.

When I went down to the police
station to file a report,

they acted like I had
made the whole thing up.

I showed them my
wounds and bruises.

They didn't even
bother to take photos.

- Who'd you talk to?
- Some guy named Mulcahey.

Okay, Mulcahey's a caveman.

I will find someone
for you, I swear.

Don't bother. You know
what that psycho told me

right before he
let me go? He said,

"You can try to tell
the police about me,

but they won't do anything.

They don't want to."

A fucking psychopathic killer

knows more about the
cops than you do.

- Not fair, Gino.
- Oh, really?

-No.
-Okay, so talk. What are you doing?

You know what happened,
you know the facts.

Tell me, how's the
investigation going?

- These things take time.
- I gave you

a perfect description
of this guy,

and we know he must have
been in the service.

You can't fucking do
anything with that?

What about The Brownstone?

Anybody bother to go
over there? Maybe...

I don't know, I'm just
spit balling here...

Question the fucking staff?

When are you gonna
tell them you're gay?

Oh, you think that'll help?

- Huh?
- It's just...

It's not good for a
man to live a lie,

especially one this big.

I just left my wife, Gino.

Okay.

All right, fine.

But we're not gonna just
sit here on our asses

waiting for a cavalry
that's not gonna come.

Fine. All right.
Where are we going?

- So, we know this guy is a sadist, right?
- Mm-hmm.

So, how many bars could he
feel comfortable hunting in?

Well, he could be at
any number of them.

- We already know he was at The Brownstone.
- Right.

But he also knows what the
bandanas mean so it must mean

- he frequents leather bars, too.
- Right.

Right. So pick one.

Let's go.

What's the matter?

Those places not your scene?

You know they're not.

Well...

Tonight, they are.

Hello?

Excuse me.

I didn't order this.

From a new friend,
end of the bar.

Must have got cold feet.

I'll just have a beer, please.

Hello?

Hi. Who is this?

It's the maître d'. Would
you like a reservation?

I have 9:00 p. m. available, but
we require men wear a blazer.

You're funny.

You want to have
some fun with me?

Is this a joke?

No. It's an
invitation to a party.

Just you and me.

How do you know what
kind of fun I like?

I know the bar you're at.

Why don't you come meet me here?

No. Come to me.

I have everything we need to
have the time of our lives.

Okay. Where?

17 Great Jones. Apartment 11.

It's the one in the basement.

The door will be open.

All right.

I'm Stewart, by the way.

Stu.

See you soon, Stu.

- This is great, babe.

Wild, right?

It's not a party, it's art.

We just walked into art, man.

What's with the cats?

Madams y motherfuckers,
courtesans and cocksuckers,

tops... and bottoms,

sinners and serpents,

welcome to the end of time.

First, a pubic
service announcement.

Be kind to all my feline

family and friends
you see wandering.

Every single one of them has
spent eight of their lives,

and their last
one belongs to me.

I've rescued them all from
the concentration camps

we call the ASPCA

and the piers and abandoned
buildings of New Sodom.

They all have mange and
fleas, but then again,

ooh, so do most of you.

Now for the cultural
portion of our evening.

Before I read my poem, I want
my artists up here with me.

Morris, what are
you doing down there

with the hangers-on
of the court?

Join Hans and Daniel and me.

Fuck the badges!

Fuck the norms.

Death is our dinner companion.

Who else wants to eat with us?

Listen to the oracles.

Listen to the outlaws.

They tell us...

something is coming.

Something evil on the horizon.

Something is coming for you.

Sorry.

You all right?

How many guys do you
collect in a week?

What the fuck kind of a
question is that? I don't know.

Why even have a boyfriend?

That's-that's just
sex. That's just, um...

just a combination of
biology and ego, you know?

It has nothing to do
with... with love.

And you love your boyfriend?

- Sometimes.
- Don't you think we can do better?

Find another way to
connect that doesn't...

just leave you with

nothing but the
clap in your throat?

Maybe.

What do you have in mind?

Tonight?

We could just...

get a drink and food and...

talk.

All right. Let's go to work.

Pick your pleasure.

- Somewhere over the rainbow.
- What if I just wanted

to blow my nose on something?

So you go to the bathroom
and grab some toilet paper.

Hmm?

We should split up.

- Alana, hey.
- Gino.

Well, now I know why
I've been so depressed.

Haven't seen you in weeks. It's
horrible what happened to you.

I'll be okay. This is Patrick.

- Hello.
- Nice to meet you.

So, what are you working on now?

Who's hiding in that
dark closet you like

- to throw light into?
- I'm actually

writing about the
murders right now.

Can't get them out of my
head. They're terrible.

Makes me sick to my stomach.

Oh, but if you're
here about that,

- I suggest you turn around and go somewhere else.
- Why?

'Cause I can't have this place
associated with any of that.

My bosses don't pay taxes

and they settle their
problems in Jersey,

if you know what I mean.

Well, I'm just here
to look around,

- take the temperature.
- Well, the temperature

is rising, fast.

I'll leave The Ditch
out of it, I promise.

- I don't know.
- I promise.

Okay.

But I'm gonna hold
you to that promise.

You won't like Jersey,

especially not from the
inside of an oil drum.

Nice to meet you.

Likewise.

Can I get two?

Hey, handsome.

What would you
rather be tonight...

Guard or a prisoner?

Neither.

Mm. Undecided.

I'm putting you
down as an inmate,

and I'm taking you
down to solitary.

Yeah, I'm just here to
get out of the rain.

It's not raining, asshole.

What you looking at me
like that for, huh? What?

Barney Fife there? Not our guy.

This is not my kind of place.

It must really suck.

- Suck?
- Living life in denial.

You ever get confused

where the bullshit stops
and reality begins?

What the hell are you
talking about, Gino?

You've been here before.

You've been to a lot
of these places before.

The fuck's this?

- Some guy sent it over.
- Who?

I don't see him anymore.

What is this?

Strange-ass drink
for this place.

- Barb came to see me.
- Hmm?

She brought me a box of
yours that she found.

There was enough
leather in there

to open a fucking shoe store.

Why would she do that? Why
would she come to you with that?

She thinks you're so good at
lying that it's impossible

to know when you're
telling the truth.

How was it?

No, no, no, don't turn
around, not yet. No.

Drink is not half bad.

I never had one before.
What do you call it?

A mai tai. It was
invented by Trader Vic,

and it was so
popular in the '40s

there was a shortage of rum.

I can believe it.

I usually have a bad reaction
to rum, but not to this.

Why are you pretending?

What are you hiding?

- Somebody call an ambulance.
- Move. Move, move!

- Did anybody see what happened?
- No. One minute,

- he was sitting at the bar, and the next...
- All right, all right,

all right. Just tell
your boss to seal off

all the exits. Nobody
comes in or out. Go. Now.

Move. Go! Move!

Okay, sweetie.

There's a big bowl of warm milk

and crème de cacao for
you at my place, okay?

I think she's more of a
hard whiskey kind of gal.

Why'd you have to
bring her home with you anyway?

Oh, I have a thing
for lost souls.

Well, there's about a thousand
lost souls right there,

counting the fleas.

It's probably all over
me, too, right now.

I'll pick up a couple of
flea collars on the way

and a muzzle for you.

Sue me for telling
it like it is.

Well, sue me for wanting someone

who'll be there every time I get home.

What is your problem?

Probably just smelled
a dog or something.

You would know.

The patient,
comma, Mr. Whitely, comma,

claims he noticed the lesion
on his foot a week ago.

Period. Paragraph.

I removed a small
scraping for analysis,

but I believe it's another case
of Kaposi's sarcoma. Period.

Before this year, Kaposi's were
mostly found in Italian men

in their 70s, comma, but
suddenly, I'm seeing them...

Hello?

Is this
Dr. Hannah Wells?

Yes. Who
am I speaking with?

I know what's happening
to your patients, Dr. Wells.

And I know what's happening
to the deer on Fire Island.

Tell me who this is.

Meet me at the equestrian
statue in Central Park.

Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy.

I thought I saw someone.

He... he was right over there.

Are you the
person that called me?

Yes. I'm Fran.

Tell me what the
hell this is about.

This is about a group
of people in this city,

vulnerable people.

They're under attack.

Under attack? By whom?

The U. S. government.

Get me the
fuck out of here.

Keep screaming like that,

you're gonna fuck up that
perfect little throat.

Hey, hey, hey.

If I told you once, I've
told you a dozen times.

It only hurts if you fight it.

Where the hell were you?

How could you just
leave me like this?

Answer to question number one:

none of your fucking business.

Answer to question number two:

how else did you
want me to leave you?

- You're a sick fuck.
- I didn't do anything

to you you didn't
absolutely love,

and we both know that.

- Well, I'm done.
- Oh.

You're done when
I say you're done.

No, no.

Stewie, baby, you're
just getting started.

Let me out of here.

Help!

Somebody help me!

Somebody!

Please. I didn't want this.

I'm not enjoying it.

You did answer a pay
phone on the street

in front of a leather
club, did you not?

So you knew exactly what you
were getting into, right?

And you loved every
single second of it,

didn't you, you little freak?

You're fucking hot
when you're scared.

Let's have some fun.

- I can't sleep.
- Neither can I.

Yeah, why not... all the noise?

Noise?

Nobody who grew up in
the city hears noise.

No.

It's the silence.

It's everywhere.

Oh, Jesus, Patrick.

Another killing.

Few feet away from us.

Cops show up, do nothing.

A miniature paper
umbrella on the floor

doesn't really give
us much to go on.

Plus, there was no
drugs in his drink,

unlike what happened
to you, so...

Thank you for
saying it out loud.

We still haven't
really talked about it.

Just more silence.

As if it never happened.

That terrifies me.

'Cause you know what
all this quiet means?

Secrets.

You're the quietest one of all.

Yeah.

Okay, I'll be right there.

They found something.

All right, that
makes sense. Thank you.

Hey, Chief, what's going on?

Hey. So, uh, you
might have been right.

Looks like your faggot
killer left us something new.

Where's the body?

Actually, we didn't
get a main course.

We got an assortment.

Holy shit.

Looks like each one is
from a different victim.

Captioned by Media Access
Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org