All language subtitles for The.Peripheral.S01E06.HDR.2160p.WEB.H265-GLHF

I can access anything here,
but the truly exciting stuff

comes from our
Behavioral Mod Department.

You can't do that.

I mean, they're people.
They're real people.

You're so frighteningly good.

Burton, I'm done
being a sitting duck.

We don't even know
if that headset is safe.

The oddest thing
I've ever encountered.

And how safe is it here,

sitting around, just waiting

for someone to come and get us?

Get down!

Pretty good with a shotgun, too.

Want to see?

'Cause the people
who'll be coming for me, well...

they're not the sort
to leave loose ends untied.

There's a pretty easy fix
for this.

I ain't gonna shoot it, Burton.

And if one of you idiots
goes ahead and tries,

I'll knock your fucking
teeth out,

just so we're clear.

Someone's got to do something,

'cause I can't take
much more of that shit.

Intel says there's chatter
about the Tex-asses

using wounded dogs
to draw us into the open.

And now here we are.

With a fucked-up dog
parked right in front of us.

Seems pretty open-and-shut
to me, don't you think?

If there was somewhere
for a Tex-ass

to be hunkered down around here,

waiting on a Good Samaritan.

Man, sniper three klicks away'd
take you out.

Be dead before you even had
a chance to realize

how fucking stupid you were.

Three klicks might as well
be to the moon

with this sandy shit
they call air around here.

Come on, baby boy.

We ain't taken fire in 19 days.

Just do something. Please?

Don't even think about it.
Conner!

- Fuck.
- Twelve o'clock.

Son of a bitch.

Movement. Two o'clock.

That's a fucking crow, Leon.

Fuck's sake.

Hey.

Damn.

All this sniper fire sure is
making it rough, ain't it?

Just get it done, motherfucker.

Hey there, champ.

Let me just...

Oh, for fuck's sake.

I'm here, man. I'm right here.

It's okay. It's okay.

You're good.

I'm here. I'm here, man.

Okay?

It's all right, man.

You do recall
I don't like to be interrupted

on my daily constitutional,
Beatrice?

Yes, ma'am.

I assume this is
about the recent disturbance

at the Research Institute.

Indeed, ma'am.

In ten words or less, please.

There's been a murder
in Sackville Street

involving a Peripheral
and a Koid.

That's 14 words, Beatrice.

Indeed, ma'am.

Clarity seemed to require
the surfeit.

And yet so much remains unclear.

How would you utilize
a more generous allotment?

I'd inform you that the victim
is the Research Institute's

head of security,
one Daniel Cook.

I know Daniel.

"Knew," ma'am, would be
the correct tense, I believe.

Killed by a Koid?

Indeed.

Throat slashed.

It's lovely, isn't it?

Almost like a picture, ma'am.

Don't be cheeky, Beatrice.

It's not an endearing trait.

Well, I suppose
we best get busy.

I just don't see it, Tommy.

But I put it in the log myself.

Two days ago.

Requisitioned a couple SUVs.

With no plates and no color?

Cars were cloaked
with this chromatic tinting.

I'm supposed to know
what that is?

It means they're invisible.

You're telling me,
your invisible cars are missing?

How hard did you hit
that pretty head of yours?

Look, can I just get the keys
and check the lot myself?

You know I can't do that.

Chain of custody.

You want a peek?

Take that up
with Sheriff Jackman.

Sheriff.

Pretty damn certain
I sent you home, Tommy.

Oh, just tying up
some loose ends, sir.

Merciful heavens.

Must've had a pretty special
guardian angel

looking after you, my friend.

I, uh, read your report.

Doesn't seem like you remember
much from the incident.

That change at all?

Working through it
at the moment, sir.

It's all a bit foggy.

Mm-hmm.

Looky here, Tommy, I'm gonna...

I'm gonna need you
to take some time off.

Paid leave.

You need to rest up,
get your head right.

Come back to us swinging
for the fences, my friend.

That man is loose
on my watch, sir.

Oh, I'm well aware.

And all that's gonna get sorted.

I'm gonna see to it myself.

You know, something I always
admired about you, Thomas.

You got that fire in your belly.

You always have,

ever since you was a teenager
running wild.

Let me hit you
with a little bit of advice?

Learn how to control it.

Too much of a good thing
is gonna burn you out.

Like my granddaddy
used to tell me,

if you walking on eggs...
don't hop.

You hear me, son?

Good man.

I got some business of my own
to take care of.

I'm embarrassed
to admit how anxious I was

when you vanished through
that door to confront Cherise.

You're just a normal guy,
aren't you?

How do you mean?

I don't know,
I look at you and...

I look at all this...

It's just so different
from where I live.

Or when, I guess.

And you think
that it'd be better, but...

...you're just as fucked-up
as we are.

Rather more so, I'd say.

Maybe.

Hey, how come everybody here
just stays so distant from us?

Is that like a...

a health thing or something?

What I mean is,
they never really wander close.

Because it's not real.

It's an augmentation.

Do this.

It's technology developed
by the Research Institute.

Holy shit.

Why?

Mood enhancer,
I suppose you'd call it.

Makes the world
a bit less bleak.

Honestly, one forgets
it's even happening.

It's just there,
like the weather.

But everything else
is real, though, right?

Some of the buildings
are filled in.

The ones they haven't gotten
around to re-fabricating as yet.

Look... here.

Oh, my God.

If the R.I. is doing shit like
this right out in the open,

what are they doing in secret?

Cherise said that I copied data
from her that night.

That I stole it.

She's gonna keep trying to
kill me till she gets it back,

whatever the hell it is.

She made that
pretty fucking clear.

The fabricator we're going
to see might be able to help.

He built Aelita's Peripherals
for her.

So it's possible
he'll know where she is.

How are you so sure it's him?

Based on these.

I have one of these?

Mm-hmm.

That night,

when Aelita pressed my eye
up against that thing,

I felt something.

Is there any way that Aelita

could've downloaded data
into the stub?

Theoretically.

But she would need to download
it into something in your world.

What kind of thing?

Honestly,
only Aelita could tell us.

Hello.

What'll it be, then?

Uh, toad-in-the-hole, please.

We don't carry that.

There's a special on pork today.

- That'd be my pick.
- That's a shame.

I'm afraid we had our hearts
set on toad-in-the-hole.

We've been assured
it's your specialty.

You two look like
a lovely young couple.

You might want to be on your way

before anyone gets hurt.

Mm.

Now...

...what do you think
of me, mister?

I don't know you from Eve, love.

Well, you see,
the guy who built this,

he assured me that
it was better than

anything you could ever do.

Even in your prime.

In my prime?

Yeah, before your craftsmanship
started to slip.

And who the fuck might
this person be?

I'm not saying
that I believe him.

Just repeating what
he said to me.

Just to brighten up my day
a little bit?

Well, you see, he promised me
my money back...

if I could prove him wrong.

So I figured, hell,
why not give you a shot

to prove that you still got it?

I don't come cheap.

Money won't be an issue.

All right.

It's not terrible,

but I'll wager
I'll get your money back

without much exertion.

Hmm.

Yeah, we have a new add-on
I'm rather tickled by.

Titanium fingernails.
Retractable.

Scratch your way out
of a stone house if you want.

What about eyes?

Any fool can augment eyes.

What do you want?
Night vision? Thermal?

What if I want to replace one?

With a human eye.

Get up.

Oh, for fuck's sake,
Abby, give it a rest

before you get us both killed.

Tell us about this woman.

You can start talking, Reggie,

or I can start cutting.

Choice is yours.

What do you think
they'll do to me?

Who?

The Neoprims.

They don't muck around
with something like this.

Cut my tongue out, they would.

What do Neoprims have
to do with this?

Oh, Jesus, lad.

She had me build it
so someone could

carve out its eye,
put in a human one.

Who else but a Neoprim
would know how to do that?

Old-time surgery and a scalpel?

Wait, wait.

You can't go out like that.

You didn't tell me that Aelita
was a Neoprim.

I didn't know.

Did you tell her what you did?

When they took over your school?

Hey.

Sorry, Wilf.

Fuck.

Piece of shit.

Aah!

Okay, just go...

Oh, hey, man.

I didn't see you there.

You, um...
you coming or going?

Someone called you.

I-I'm just here to get a, uh,

you know.

A what, Macon?

Coffee, I guess.

Yeah, they,
yeah, they called me.

Mm.

What I'm wondering is...

why they don't just
come out themselves!

Scared to, I think.

You ain't scared?

I don't know.

What? Yeah, a little bit.

Hmm.

There's a crescent wrench
somewhere under that tow truck.

You, uh, you want me to get it?

For you?

- All right, you got it?
- Okay, just here?

Yeah, right there.

- Just clamp it on.
- Here we go.

That's it.

Anything else?

Tell me about that tech
Flynne's been using.

Hey, uh, honestly, Conner,
don't...

don't take this
the wrong way, but

I'm thinking I should ask
Flynne and Burton

what I can be... be sharing.

I used it. The headset.

Burton knows.

It's real, right?

Flynne's piloting a real body

in a real place?

That's my understanding.

What's the limit, you figure?

How do you mean?

Is there a time limit
to how long

you can go there?

I mean, you gotta...
you gotta pee, right?

Drink, eat and all that.

So, uh...

I was in a bed

at Walter Reed,

more or less comatose
for eight months.

Catheter for the peeing,
IV for the drinking,

tube for... the eating.

You...

Are you saying what
I think you're saying?

If someone would make me a body,

could you and Edward
set me up to live in that place?

Permanent-like?

Look, I'm not a doctor, Conner,

but I just don't think
your-your real body...

your body here...

would take too kindly
to that, man.

Look, I'm-I'm sorry, I just...

I don't know how long you'd last
is what I'm saying.

You're about as smart
as we make 'em around here,

ain't you, Macon?

Yeah.

- I-I don't know about that.
- Yeah, you are.

Trust me.

So if you can't imagine
what it's like

to wake up,
find yourself in a body

like this...

probably just 'cause
you ain't tried.

So why don't you think
on that for a bit?

Then we'll have
this conversation again.

Always a bit creepy, innit?
When the AI takes hold?

The Sistine Chapel moment.

Which is meant
to mean something, I'm sure.

God reaching toward Adam,

transmitting the spark of life.

I got it.

Just follow the stupid
little ball, right?

It's not a game, Tommy.

- Can you track it?
- Yeah.

We, uh... we good?

There's a jitter
in your eye movement.

Along with the dizziness,
the ringing.

Oh, I'm fine.

You're concussed.
Probable whiplash.

Gonna need a CT scan.

I took bigger hits going
over the middle in high school.

- I got to, uh, get back to it.
- That sounds smart.

Like someone thinking straight.

I gave the Fishers my word.

Told 'em that I'd handle this.

Given what just happened,

I think you need to let that go.

That was my arrest.
In my custody.

I can't just let that go.

You didn't.
You almost got killed.

Maybe that should be
the bigger concern here.

I'm very concerned.

And that's why I need
to get back out there,

find the son of a bitch
who did this and bring him in.

We both know
who did this, Tommy.

You're acting like the frog
who gave the scorpion a ride

across the river.

Can't figure out
why it stung him

as they both drown.

What do you want me to do?

Take the medical leave
from the department.

Lay low.

My two-year obligation here
is almost up.

I can find work anywhere.

Buy some time to pick up,
move on.

This is my home, Dee.

I grew up in this town.

I worked here my whole life.

And so you know who controls it.

And he just told you
that he's a scorpion.

I can't have you
getting stung again.

I ain't running from this.

Recipe says we still got
ten more minutes.

Well, I guess we're all lucky
that I don't need

a recipe to cook, then.

Because if I did,

this might taste like...

Like what?

Trying to think
of the right word.

Shoe leather is what
they usually say.

Which is why I'm avoiding it.

Not wanting to traffic
in clichés.

Taste.

- Okay.
- Okay what?

Okay, you were right.

I think you're forgetting
the last part of that.

- Which is?
- "As usual."

Huh, our guest has revived.

Well, sir,
your timing is perfect.

Dig in while it's hot.

Oh, uh, we took some liberties
while you were asleep.

The state in which
you were delivered to us

was, uh...

What's that word you used?

Unsavory.

Ah. Well, fresh clothes,
so forth.

Now, the collar is an accessory

you'll have to adapt to.

What does it do?

Well, there are
two schools of thought

on that sort of thing.

There are folks that fall
into the camp of,

"Blessed are they that have not
seen, and yet still believe."

John 20:29.

And then there are
folks that follow the path of,

"No one respects the flame
quite like the fool

who's badly burned."

Pete Townsend, I believe?

Which school do you belong to?

The rock and roll school,
apparently.

Would have guessed as much.

Oh, yeah, I know.

Get on up there, big boy.

I know, I know, I know.

Yeah. Okay. Here, here.

Here. Here. There.

Here. There.

Oh, uh, it's adjustable.

One through ten.
That was a four.

Three, actually.

Ooh. An unpleasant experience
either way.

Was it you hired me?

Try the roast.
Please.

What do you think?
Be honest.

It's good.

You know the best way
to tenderize meat?

Hmm?

Well, most folks use a mallet.

It's, uh, quick, easy.

But messy, too.

And the results aren't
guaranteed.

That's why I prefer a brine.

A slow, controlled process

that alters the very nature
of what you consume

so it suits your taste.

And when you find
that perfect brine,

it's almost always guaranteed.

Now...

recently,
I have come to discover

someone is in my kitchen

fucking up my brine.

And I want to know who it is.

Burton said you had
another flashback.

A bad one.

You taking anything?

No, it don't help.
Still feel 'em.

Let me drain some off.

Oh, that's not your problem
no more, Leon.

How about I sing, then?

Everybody seems to think

my voice has
a nice, healing lilt.

I'm just trying to help, Conner.

One way or the other,
your choice how.

Oh, for fuck's sakes, fine!
Just...

Just do it.

Get him up all the way.

Don't take my leg!
Jesus!

Please...

This is getting complicated.

Innit?

Not sure I like that look, luv.

The physician who's treating
the polt for her seizure,

she's been running searches on
"localized bacterial infections

of the occipital lobe."

You don't really think Aelita...

I do, actually.

Is that even possible?

Through her eye?

Yes, theoretically.

Mr. Murphy.

Forgive me.
We haven't been introduced.

Someone my age is all feeds,
Mr. Murphy.

For my sins, I have continual
access to most things,

resulting in a terrible habit
of behaving as if

I already know everyone I meet.

Not in the least, ma'am.
No offense taken.

Which, in a sense,
I suppose I do.

Yes, ma'am, I would say so.

Would you introduce me
to Mr. Zubov

and Mr. Netherton, please?

It's Inspector Ainsley Lowbeer

of the Metropolitan Police.

The Metropolitan Police, sir.

- Policeman?
- An Inspector.

Call my father's solicitors.

- Immediately!
- The phones have been disabled.

Uh, perhaps it might be prudent

- for me to slip out the back.
- She knows you're here.

She mentioned you by name.

How should I proceed, sir?

Well, let her in,
for fuck's sake.

It'll look incriminating
if you make her wait.

Whatever you do,
don't lie to her.

You'll most likely
find it impossible anyway.

They have that ability,
the higher-level officers.

Best just to assume that
she already knows the answers

to whatever she might be asking.

Fuck.

Something happened.
Thought you should know.

Now, that old man
that I took into custody

from the bridge?

Yeah.

I don't quite know how
to say this, Burton,

but, um... whole thing
just went sideways...

And you fucking lost him?

Hey, now, hold on a second.

All right?
It wasn't like that.

How was it, then, Tommy?

'Cause you had one fucking job

and you lost him.

I got T-boned, Burton.

And I'm trying to tell you
it wasn't an accident.

It was more like a...
an ambush.

An ambush?

Here's the thing
about an ambush, Tommy,

having been on both ends of 'em
many a time.

You see, an ambush
generally requires

specific intel about both the
target and the intended route.

Now, that's what
I'm telling you, Burton.

It's like I was targeted.

Like they already knew
something.

Who? What are you
talking about, Tommy?

Whoever it was, they knew
who I had in custody.

They knew I was on the way.

- To the Sheriff's Department?
- That's right.

Sheriff Jackman.

Which leads me to believe

that Corbell Pickett
now has our guy.

That just about makes sense.

Well, I sure as hell
don't get it.

Look, Burton,
the way all this started,

with the-the cloaked cars,
the shells.

And whatever the hell
went down here that day.

The lottery. Now this?

Come on, man, what the hell
is going on here, Burton?

You know what, Tommy,
why don't you just

do yourself a favor and
get the fuck out of the way?

I've known your family
my whole damn life,

and that's all you got for me?

It ain't just Pickett.
There's other forces in play.

They want us dead, and you just
keep getting in the fucking way.

Other forces? The fuck am I supposed
to do with that, Burton?

I'm just saying
that's why you're all beat up,

broken down, lucky to be alive.

Next ambush...

you might not be so lucky.

I'm just
a little concerned, Sheriff,

that your deputy's becoming
a liability we can't afford.

Well, Corbell,

let's just say you want
to sit right there

and have a look at
that little footage

of Tommy Constantine and
that prisoner that he lost.

You gonna need
two damn passwords

just to dip in there
and have a look.

Silly is what it is.

You want to guess
what passwords I chose?

Well, that's sort of
the whole point in passwords,

isn't it, Sheriff?

So folks can't guess 'em?

"Fuck you" and "eat shit."

All caps.

Like you're shouting.

Are you gonna be all right
in here by yourself?

Oh, yes, sir, I believe I will.

Good deal.
Make yourself at home.

Now...

"Fuck you."

"Eat... shit."

How old are you, son?

I'm guessing 28 or so?

I know you aren't
inclined to do much chatting.

And I guess I understand,
given your circumstances.

I certainly don't take offense,

but here's the thing.

Corbell bet me
I couldn't get you talking.

So he's offering
to buy me a particular

baby-blue Mustang convertible
I've had my eye on

over in Asheville.

Now, this might seem like
a technicality,

but Corbell didn't specify
you talking about what.

Just talking, plain and simple.

So I'm thinking
maybe you and I could

put our heads together
and come to

some sort of understanding.

You agree to do a little talking

when Corbell gets back,

and I offer something
in exchange.

Don't get dirty-minded on me.

Please. I'm not that kind.

But there must be
something you're wanting

that I could get you.

Is that saltwater?

That was Corbell's inclination.

Must be a male thing.

Saltwater seem a little
more macho or something?

But know what?
You can't bat an eyelash

without one of those
little fuckers getting sick,

and 24 hours later,
the whole lot'll follow suit,

and I mean all of them.

Bobbing around in there,
belly up.

You have to empty the tank,
sterilize it,

start all over again.

We went through that
three times.

Then I put my foot down.
Firmly.

So that right there
would be 200 gallons

of fresh water
you're looking at.

And I don't feel
any shame to say so.

May I?

You'll see some blue rams
in there, cherry barbs,

electric blue haps.
Those are my favorites.

Real subtle, I think.

And, of course,
the fantail guppies.

Kind of a freshwater...
Hey!

The fuck are you thinking,
old man?

You're a guest in our home.

And look what you did
to my pedi.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no!

Do you play chess, Mr. Zubov?

Well... it's not nearly
as much fun

now that we all have
our AI crutches to lean on.

But it was once
a rather fascinating diversion.

There was a sense
of mastery one could feel

at a certain point,
when every move you made seemed

to dictate
your opponent's response.

And then, such a thrill

when that illusion was
interrupted by the shock

of an unexpected countermove.

Can you surprise me,
Mr. Zubov?

I'm very sorry, Inspector.

But I wonder
if it might make sense

for my family's solicitors
to join us?

Exactly as I feared.

The expected move.

It's your decision, of course.

But should you choose
to summon your solicitors,

here's how our encounter
will unfold.

Your friend, Mr. Netherton,

has been geolocated
at the site of a crime.

A murder, to be precise,
of one Daniel Cook,

Head of Security
of the Research Institute.

Killed, it would appear,
by a Koid.

Now, I could put Mr. Netherton
on trial as an accomplice,

which would mean
that right here,

in your drawing room,
seven or so minutes from now,

we'd likely witness poor
Mr. Netherton's execution.

But of course,
when you're fishing,

and you catch a minnow,

the wise angler simply
impales it on a hook

and uses it
to catch a bigger fish.

I don't mean
to belittle you, Mr. Netherton,

but in my world,

you don't qualify
as much of a trophy.

Which could most decidedly
work to your advantage here.

Because, as your trial began,
I'd make it quite clear

that you might save
your own life

by diverting my attention
to a larger fish.

Should you happen
to know one, that is.

You two are old friends,
of course.

And that must exert
its pull upon the soul.

But it's always intriguing to me

how the power of sentiment
begins to slip away

when a sharp blade is
at one's throat.

The salmon, thank you.

And just a splash of milk
in the tea, please.

You've done rather well
for yourself, Mr. Murphy,

considering the frequency

of your youthful encounters
with the law.

It's heartening to behold.

In my experience, Mr. Zubov,
at this point in the game,

it can grow a tad fraught
on your side of the board.

Your family's affairs are rather
elaborately woven together,

I assume,
and I can't help but wonder

what sort
of unraveling might occur

if I managed to get hold
of a tiny thread, and...

I'm making a hash of
my metaphors again, aren't I?

Chess, fishing, tangled threads.

You're supposed to help me
with that, Beatrice.

You seemed to be
enjoying yourself, ma'am.

It felt rude to interrupt.

Regardless.

That's how I see our
little drama playing out here,

should you summon
your solicitors.

How does that sound to you?

I quite agree. Tiresome.

Unbearably so.

And we'd likely lose
Mr. Netherton to boot.

How much more appealing

to set all of this aside
for the moment,

and simply answer
a few questions,

honestly, directly, thoroughly?

And who knows?

Could very well propel us into
a far more intriguing adventure.

What do you think? Hmm?

Shall we attempt it?

All right, then.

The Met has detected
three Peripherals on site,

running on AI.

Would you summon them, please?
I'd so enjoy a quick peek.

And...

their operators, too?

I'm afraid that might prove

to be rather complicated,
Inspector.

Well, I think
you'll soon discover

I'm rather good
at rather complicated.

And when would you like...

Now, Mr. Zubov.

Or soonest.

Although as close
to now as possible

would be my decided preference.

Bless us, O Heavenly Father,

and these thy gifts,
which we are about

to receive from Thy bounty,

through Jesus Christ
our Lord. Amen.

It ain't my birthday,
if that's what you're thinking.

Nope. That flashback
you woke up to,

it's been weighing on me a bit.

Seemed pretty fucking intense.

So I thought I'd stop by,
see how you're holding up.

And?

You tell me.

Fit as a fiddle, son.

Even got some French toast,
hot off the stove.

Might be inclined
to spare you a slice,

if you promise
to show some table manners.

Well, you know that'd be
a steep climb for me, Conner.

And I already ate,
but thank you. You go at it.

You know, if you were
to fetch it for me,

I suppose I could
just sit out here and

eat in this beautiful
fucking weather.

Fucking A.

Conner Penske just
asked me for help!

And there ain't a single fucking
witness around to prove it.

You gonna be an asshole
and let my breakfast get cold?

Chop-chop, buddy!

Will there be anything else,
Your Majesty?

Yeah.

What's in the box?

Present from our friends
in the future.

Macon and Edward printed it up.

Check it out.

That's not as badass
as what Flynne fabs.

Flynne's printed you legs?

Got a whole collection
of 'em inside.

She works at 'em, too.
They're like... artwork.

- Got a good heart, that Flynne.
- How come you never wear 'em?

Sometimes I feel like
all this stuff is more

for y'all folks than me.

Makes people feel better
when they see me coming

without actually
being of much use.

Yeah, I hear that,
but these are supposed

to be hella more functional than
anything we can do on our own.

Still fake, ain't they?

I hate to break it to you,
Conner, but I don't think

you're gonna grow real ones
anytime soon.

I got real ones.

Waiting for me
off in the future.

Yeah, I've been hearing
something about that.

Going for the old IV
and catheter, huh?

Got to be a little less subtle
with your disapproval, Burton,

if you want me to react.

Shit, man. When's the last time
you seen me this happy?

Mm.

You know, I've been
wondering something.

Those first days in the hospital
after you got blown up,

you remember me coming
to visit you?

Little bit.

That thing you asked me to do?

That fucked me up
pretty good, Conner.

That I asked?

That I couldn't do it.

Well, what you did instead
messed me up

so I guess we're even.

What'd I do instead?

Wrote that shit on the wall
across from my bed.

Oh. Yeah.

I figured if anything was
gonna get you up again,

it'd be a little
Burton-Was-Here action.

I kept picturing you
lying there,

desperate
to go scrawl "MF" on it.

They shipped me off
before I could.

This thing
you're thinking of trying

with the catheter and the IV?

One way of looking at it is,

it's a lot like putting
a pillow over your face,

or eating a bullet.

Just a slowed-down version.

Shit, Burton.

One way of looking
at life, period,

is it's a slowed-down version
of eating a bullet.

You're a trip, Conner.

I'm just saying, I got to think
on it before I help you

with this little relocation plan
of yours, all right?

- Fair enough.
- And in the meantime, how about

you give these fancy fellas
a try?

Ah, fuck it.

Maybe tomorrow.

Hey, you want
to know something funny?

We've still got these,

carved and scrawled,
all over the house,

from when we were little.

And if you ask my mama
what "MF" means,

she'll tell you
it means "my friend."

- Don't it?
- Yeah.

I guess it does,

Motherfucker.

I hope you didn't eat too much.

Why?

London's calling.

They're wanting us back.

Any idea what

- we're heading into?
- Nope.

All they said was to send
you three together. "Soonest,"

whatever the fuck that means.

No plan, no intel,

no recon.

And you know
what that calls for, don't you?

"Speed, intensity, and..."?

- "Violence of action."
- Boom!

Oorah, motherfucker.

So this quantum
tunnel, as you term it,

allows you to communicate
with the past.

Or rather a past, since
in our actual past, you didn't.

That actually hurts
my head, Mr. Zubov.

I gather it doesn't hurt yours?

It's actually quite simple.

The act of connection produces
a fork in causality,

the new branch causally unique.

A stub, as we call them.

But why do you?
Call them that?

It sounds short, nasty, brutish.

Wouldn't one expect
the fork's new branch

- to continue to grow?
- We do assume exactly that.

- I'm not sure where the term might've...
- Imperialism.

Calling it a stub
makes it a bit easier

for us to third-world it.

And you facilitate
Mr. Zubov in this colonialism?

You and Mr. Murphy?

They're crowning.

And you, I presume, are
the formidable Flynne Fisher?

Inspector Ainsley Lowbeer
of the Metropolitan Police.

Quite pleased
to make your acquaintance.

Ma'am.

What is this?

It's where
the animals come to play.

Something

of great value
has been stolen from me.

We can talk this thing through,

come to an understanding here.

We got to go.

I just need you
to trust me to do it right.

- Execute.
- Lights out.