Original subtitles

You Colonel Gathers?

What? No, you don't!

What do you want from me? Who sent you, you bastard?

Special Agent In Training, Brock Samson, reporting for duty.

Don't you salute me! Leave that Little John John crap back in Biloxi.

- Yes, sir. - And don't "Sir" me, damn you!

You're not in the Marines any more. This is intelligence. Start using it!

Okay, Colonel...

Call me Hunter. Now let me get a good look at you.

God, they're making them big nowadays!

Don't they know there's a gas crunch on? Look at the size of you.

Samson, Brock. Born Omaha, Nebraska to a single mother.

Half Swedish, quarter Polish, quarter Winnebago.

You lost your virginity at 14, have one brother and you enjoy motocross.

The Brock Samson you knew and were is dead.

Happy birthday, Frankenstein! You're O.S.I.'s baby now.

- Will you do whatever your country asks? - Yes.

Can you keep your head when confronted with mind-blowing weirdness?

Yes.

- Are you ready for anything? - Yes!

- Are you still ready for anything? - Ye...

Wrong! Lesson number one, trust no one. When God created the third cave man,

a conspiracy was hatched against one of them. Get up, damn you!

Strap her on, kid, your training starts now. When we're done,

you'll belong in the elite agency that's been defending this country

since the second American Revolution. The invisible one.

Welcome to the Office of Secret Intelligence, Samson.

Shouldn't be gone too long.

Compound's got a pretty good security system,

but if anyone manages to break through, we also have a panic room.

I doubt you'll need that, though. Okay, you're good. Dean?

- Any questions? - Yes, one.

- What the hell are you doing? - The monthly head lice check.

Figured I'd get it out of the way, so you don't have to worry about it.

Okay, you're good. Wait.

Okay, you boys get into your PJ's and you come say good night.

Jeez, they're gonna be here any minute.

Brock Samson.

The most feared man in espionage, a nanny?

Pathetic.

Brock, your talents are wasted on these... civilians.

Quit the O.S.I., go freelance with me.

We would make such a team.

Save it, Mo, this is my job.

Well, was until I got this mission.

So for the next couple of days it's yours. I'm trusting you to protect these people.

From what? Bed bugs and tummy aches?

You'd be surprised how many enemies Dr. Venture has.

We get into some pretty hot situations here.

Brock, which of these looks better the velour or the Italian knit?

- Hello. - Doc, this is Molotov Cocktease.

I hired her to watch out for you guys while I'm on assignment.

Charmed. And I got some iodine on this.

Do you have time to get that out before you go play cowboys and Indians?

Say the word and he's dead. We could be in Monaco by midnight.

- Pardon? - Doc, come here with me a second.

- Did you check her references? - Yeah.

Great! She's one of your hussies, isn't she?

You're putting my life in the hands of a hussy.

She's a mercenary not a... hussy.

Did you have... relations with her?

No, I didn't.

Well, then Rusty calls dibs.

Gosh, she must jazzercise night and day.

Hi, I'm Hank.

No, it's not costing you anything.

What is she, an intern? She's getting credit for this in Murder School?

I worked out a trade.

You know how Russians are goofy for American jeans?

Well, I snagged a planeload of them last time we were down in Bolivia.

Manaconda!

All right, she's nimble, I'll grant you that.

- But can she close the deal? - Wait.

Wo-manaconda.

That's me. Later, Doc. Later, boys. You take care of them, Mo.

Well, what say we get you settled in?

Shall I make up the fold-out couch in my dad's old study for you or...

would you be more comfortable in the master suite?

Get something straight...

I am here only as a favor to that man whose feet you aren't even fit to kiss.

I am not protecting your lives, I am saving his.

Because by the time he gets back you will no longer need a babysitter.

I'm going to turn you into men.

The agency thanks you for taking this hiatus from operation Rusty's Blanket.

This is the standard Office of Secret Intelligence field kit.

There're some new additions since you were last briefed,

so take a moment to familiarize yourself with...

Gay, gay, useless, never use them...

Smokes. These I can use! Do they do anything stupid?

Well, the filters each house a tiny, state of the art...

At least take the pen. You never know when you might need a pen.

Or is it? Go ahead, ask me what it does.

This is my field kit.

- This the client? - Yes, sir.

Rogue agent. One of our own.

- Hunter! - Did you know him?

He was the second-closest thing to a father I ever had.

Bummer! 'Cause we need him dead.

48 hours ago he went A.W.O.L.

with 40 mill of the agency's money and a head full of national secrets.

He was spotted in Geneva but he vanished before we could bring him in.

Not before he kidnapped the enemy's top plastic surgeon though.

- So how do I find him? - Captain Swallow will brief you from here.

It's been a real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Samson. Good luck to you.

Can't swim, my ass! You're from the country, damn you!

You just haven't been properly motivated.

Yes. Yes. Yes, do it. Do it, boy!

Goddammit, you are ready for the field!

Stand down, stand down.

Stop and think! Stop and think!

If I was the enemy you'd be dead already!

Macronesia, this is where we lost the signal

from the hostage's subcutaneous homing chip.

Our guess is Colonel Gathers is still somewhere in that vicinity.

We need to find him and take him out quickly.

Before he has time to change his identity and disappear forever.

- How was the lobster? - Excellent.

But Macronesia's three days away by sub.

- What is this, a '59? - '58.

- How are we gonna get there in time? - Not we, you.

And not via submarine.

Via this.

Dragon, eagle, mantis,

monkey, tiger, snake, leopard. These are called "the maimers."

Strike at your enemy with one of these, and they will be your enemy no more.

This is called binding.

With my opponent in this hold I can have my way with him.

Now... spar!

It works! I never used to beat Hank!

Who da master?! Who da master?!

Focus, Hank, your opponent has you on your back.

Are you going to let him win?

- Sho' nuff! - Nyet, Hank! Nyet/

Your improvisation was excellent, but we're not up to weapons training yet.

Holy crap, you made me kill Dean!

Sudden drop in blood pressure, he's only passed out.

Well, what are you waiting for? Pin him!

- Yeah? - Samson, we have a problem.

I'm kind of in the middle of something here, Mo.

What's the deal? You should be able to handle them.

Please, of course I did.

But you neglected to tell me this compound

is built on top of an Indian burial ground!

Crap! Is it the anniversary again already?

All right, look, you wanna call Dr. Orpheus, he's a necromancer,

he's right over in the east wing. He'll clear that right up, no problem.

Look, I gotta go.

You gotta keep this channel clear unless it's a real emergency.

Normally I just come over and take care of this on the 25th,

but I forgot this was a leap year, and, well, the Apaches didn't have those.

So easy to lose track of matters temporal in my vocation.

My apologies for the error, Miss...

Cocktease.

- Of course. How do you do? - Thanks for coming, Dr. O.

- Too bad you can't stay longer. - I don't really have to be anywhere.

I said, good day, sir.

Well, after that rigmarole I could use a night cap.

Care to join me? I've been squirreling away

a bottle of cooking sherry for a special occasion, but,

well, heck, this is cause enough for celebra...

Some, other time then.

No, no, it sounds delightful! I'll get the glasses.

However will we pass the time?

What are you doing with Danica Patrick?

- I'm over her. You want this? - Nah, not my type.

Wanna keep the Fun-Tak, at least?

Not Mary Lou Retton too? What's going on with you?

Dean, Dean, I sometimes forget you're younger than me.

By a lousy four minutes!

Well, then maybe in four minutes you'll understand.

It took a real woman to finally show me that these girls,

fine athletes and easy on the eye both, were but the mere crushes of a boy.

And you, my friend, are looking at... a man.

You've finally got 'em?

A gentleman never asks and a lady never tells.

Morning, Molotov! I made you...

Hank, you shouldn't sneak up on me like that.

Venture residence, Hank speaking.

Hank, hey pal, I forgot to tell you...

- Is that Brock? Let me talk to him. - What are you wearing?

Samson, where are you?

Come on, Mo, you know I can't tell you that.

So you do remember how to be a spy. When are you coming back?

- Why, you miss me? - I miss the man you used to be.

Perhaps you'll find him on this mission.

There you are. Listen, today's the day I do my marketing...

Is that Brock?

Checking up on us? Well, don't you worry your pretty blond head about me.

While you're on your little vacation, me and my hotshot new bodyguard

will be skipping down to the Bohacks, thank you.

- Why's my brother dressed like that? - I didn't ask.

I thought you two just liked to dress like idiots.

Hey!

And don't tell Orpheus but I "borrowed" his Sunday paper,

which means, that's right,

a double coupon. Hank!

When do we get to do something?

Stakeouts are 80% of the job. Don't pull at that!

A convincing cover is the other 20%.

So, no women, no children...

No women, no children. Them's the rules.

- Separates us from the baddies. - What if she's an enemy agent?

- An assassin? - No.

A double-agent assassin who just killed the president?

No, sir. Non-lethal takedown only.

President's not the president anyway, you know that.

How about, you know... A lady Dracula?

You mean, Le Vampyr? Nosferatu?

- Guess. - Undead.

Not technically a woman in that regard, so you got no beef there. Also, fictitious.

- Do not eat that, it's C-4! - Woman!

50 laps. No lunch until you're through.

- Yes, ma'am. - I thought I was excused.

Your foot does not excuse you from training.

Everything through chapter four by noon.

That's one!

Dr. Venture, I didn't realize.

No, no, it's... fine.

I was thinking of painting an accent wall there anyway.

You know, jazz up the rumpus room a bit.

You're bleeding. Let me help you.

Twelve!

- Hey, Dean. - Triana! Thank God!

- Nice bod. - Thanks.

I've been working out. A lot.

We came over to use the pool, is that cool?

No, it's not cool. Nothing is cool.

You seem a little weird. Are you guys okay?

She's killing us!

Listen, we kinda got off on the wrong foot, you and I.

And I don't mean the one you just kicked my teeth in with, I mean earlier.

So fine, if you're not interested in the 135 pounds

of grade A American come-and-get-it, I can respect that.

But... we can at least be friends.

Right?

So... tell me, friend, you might know this...

the whole Russian mail order bride deal on the internet, is that on the up-and-up?

I wouldn't know.

Because those Chinese ones are a real racket.

The damn thing was already dead when the crate finally showed up.

And Hank, I don't know what his deal is.

It's like he's actually enjoying this.

The Scooby-Doo kid? Where'd he go?

He's swimming laps.

Would you mind? I only allow Brock to smoke outside or in the hangar.

Allow him?!

You do not allow Brock Samson to do anything.

He allows you to live.

And every day that he does so, you should bow down and thank...

Nyet/

- Milk breath. - Incredible.

Hank, we've got big troubles. The Apaches are back!

- What? - Look.

Teepee in your trunks.

My pants are haunted! My pants are haunted!

It's time. You better skedaddle, this might get hairy.

No women, no children.

So, you have turned.

Hello? Miss Cocktease?

Anyone?

I can't believe you kept it.

I like it with the boots on.

You Cocktease!

Does it hurt, my little Samson?

Let mama kiss it better.

Incredible.

Incredible!

Wait!

She took the cigarettes!

- Do you want me, Hank? - Yessum.

Your father will never let us be together.

He's a big old doody-head who wants me all to himself.

- He's a jerk. - Yes, Hank, he is.

But what are you going to do about it?

Kill Pop. Kill Pop. Kill Pop. You should kill Pop.

It's the only way.

It's the only way. Kill Pop.

We should kill Pop. It's the only... way.

- Father? - Yes, Hank?

I want to kill you.

That's nice.

Play pirates somewhere else, boy, your father's busy.

Hank, nyet!

Please! Don't!

Molotov... I want to...

Come on, baby!

Back. I don't have orders to kill you but I will if you get in my way.

Please. The colonel gave me a message for you.

"Brock, I knew they'd send you. After 40 years..."

After 40 years, I'm finally tired of the game.

The years of secrets and lies, of living with constant danger of being exposed.

I know you'll understand, Brock.

"I know you'll understand."

I have my orders. He'd understand that.

Please, let him have his peace.

I intend to.

What the... What the hell did you do to him?

Only what she asked me to do.

This man was like a father to me.

Well, think of this woman like a mother to you.

Your father. Your mother.

Your father... Your mother...

He's your mother.

No women, no children!

I'll see you around old friend.

That took a lot out of me. You're going to be okay?

Okay. Had to be sure.

All set.

You can't tell me you don't miss the action, the danger.

The moral ambiguity, the weirdness.

Yet you choose to live here.

Last chance, Samson. What's your answer?

Sorry, Mol, but...

go, Team Venture.

Bye.

- Where's Hank? - Up in his room.

- Our little man is grounded. - What'd he do?

Get this, I'm working in the lab, and Hank sleepwalks in,

hauls off and smacks me in the head with a papier m�ch� sword,

pees his pants and passes out.

So, I didn't miss much?

What's there to miss?

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