All language subtitles for Pluto.S01E01.1080p.WEB.h264-QUiNTESSENCE

Sir, it's no good!

The flames have spread to the forest
in the Third District!

Send more choppers! We need air support!

At this rate, the whole mountain range
is gonna go up!

Damn it all! I don't get how
it's covering so much ground!

What... what's happened here?

The trees, they're flattened.

My God. Did something crash?

No, sir.
No reports of one, at least.

Where are you, Mont Blanc?
Why can't I get a signal?

- You can't be here!
- Mont Blanc! I'm coming!

- Professor!
- Let me go!

No, Professor!
Any closer, and you'll burn alive!

His signal's gone dead!

Do you know what that means?
Mont Blanc's signal has gone dead!

What's wrong, Gesicht? I heard a gasp.

Nothing. Really.

I'm fine, dear.

It seems like you've been so tired lately.

I hope you're not working too hard.
Some time off might do you good.

I'm all right. No need to fret.

As you can see,
smoke is still rising from the forest

a full two days later
as scattered fires continue to burn.

According to on-site investigators,
the legendary robot

assigned to the Swiss Forestry Service,
Mont Blanc himself,

was found dismembered
within the blaze's ring of destruction.

Mont Blanc was known the world over
as a mountain guide without equal.

He was a friend to children
and experienced climbers alike.

The robot was also a tireless advocate
for man's better stewardship of nature.

Condolences for the beloved Mont Blanc
are pouring in from all over the globe.

Yes, this is Gesicht.

Yes. Understood. I'll be right there.

Work call. I have to go.

Uh, but what about your breakfast?

- Helena.
- Uh...

Maybe I'll take some time off.

- We could go on a trip.
- Huh?

I should be getting more rest,
don't you think?

You're right, but I never thought
I'd hear you say it.

Bernard Lanke, 42 years old,
killed in his apartment.

Big advocate
for the International Robot Laws.

Was he a human?

Oh. Uh, yes.

Bad way to go. Just look at him.

Hmm?

Hey! You there!

You can stop rooting
through my crime scene anytime.

Actually, sir, we've been expecting him.
He's Europol's guy.

Hmm?

Gesicht.

Sorry for snapping at you like that.

I'm Inspector Wallace
with the city police. A pleasure.

I'm sure you've noticed,
but our killer wrecked the place.

We're trying to figure out
if anything was stolen during the attack,

but, uh, it's gonna take us some time.

No, I don't think robbery
was a factor at play here.

Huh? How do you figure?

No sign of a search.

Come on!
With this much damage, who can say?

I can tell.

This damage is from the attack itself.

All right. Then tell me
what you make of this.

Why'd they go to the trouble
of jamming stuff into his head

like a pair of damn horns?

Hmm?

Yes. Go ahead.

Hold on. They what?

They're saying someone attacked
one of our checkpoints!

We need medevac! ASAP!

Did the perp attack
anybody else, constable?

Robby, sir.
He was at the checkpoint with me.

He's my partner.

Like, a constable-bot, you know?

Model PRC1332.

Hard to believe that a police robot
could be destroyed so easily.

Inspector!

We got word of a male fleeing toward
the old city's redevelopment zone.

He matches our perp.

Twenties, wearing a red cap,
and tattoos on both arms.

Well, then?
Pair up and search the place!

Huh?

Hey! I said, "Pair up,"
you damn show-off!

Oh!

Damn it! Europol can kiss my ass!

I suggest you calm down.

I didn't do anything!

That steel pipe you're holding
has traces of material

from a destroyed constable-bot.

Ah. You're an addict
high on a drug called "noi."

Taken about 40 minutes ago.

Sound about right?

This is the part where you tell me
who you bought it from.

A guy on Karl-Heinz Street.
I only know him as Shultz, okay?

And when
did you last see Shultz?

Uh, early this morning before 5:00.

If the dealer's version of events
happens to line up with what you said,

then you have an alibi.

5:00 a.m. is around the time
that Bernard Lanke was murdered.

Mu... murdered? What the...

If I had to guess,
you attacked the officer with that pipe

to avoid getting collared
on a drug charge.

After him,
you destroyed a local constable-bot.

Now, I can read you your rights
and arrest you without incident,

or we can do this...

Don't shoot me! Come on, man!

You're perfectly safe.

This gun's only equipped
to fire non-lethal sleeping gas.

My construction forbids
the killing of a human.

Like your victim,

I'm a robot too.

Yes? Who is it?

I'm Gesicht, ma'am. A detective.
I'm here on behalf of Europol.

Can I help you?

You are Robby's wife, correct?

Yes.

I'm afraid I have some bad news.

Can I offer you
a cup of tea?

You're a robot, same as me,

so I'm sure you'll just go through
the motions of drinking it.

By living as the humans do,

they say we robots can upgrade our senses
or refine them. Same difference, I guess.

I suppose all that is true enough.

But I still don't understand why
drinking tea is such a comfort to them.

Maybe it's too subtle
for an outdated model like me.

I have a job.
I work as a maid for this one family.

They have a child. A boy.
All of them humans, of course.

The parents had adopted a dog
back before the child was even born.

The boy and the dog grew up like siblings.

But then, one day, the dog died.

Would it help if I were to erase
a portion of your memory data?

My memories of him?
Please don't.

Whole thing's a damn mess.

The murder victim here
is one Bernard Lanke.

The key member
of a Robot Law advocacy group.

So I see.

I'm sure there are
plenty of people out there

with no love for a scholar
who pushed so hard for robot rights.

The body was found
in the following condition.

That supposed to be horns
coming out of his head or what?

I'm not sure.

However...

- Huh?
- Huh? Don't tell me that's...

This is how
they found Mont Blanc

right after he was destroyed.

More horns.

Wait a minute!

Are you saying that whoever tore
Mont Blanc to pieces also killed Lanke?

Inflicting that level of damage
upon a robot as sturdy as Mont Blanc

is beyond human capability.

Also, Lanke was the only human
in his apartment at the time of his death.

I scanned the murder scene myself
and found no other traces.

He was the only human in there?

So what the hell are you suggesting?

You know where I'm going with this.

I do.

The International Robot Laws, Article 13.

No robot can harm or murder a human.

But if... if there's a robot out there

who's found a way
to murder human beings at will,

then we're right back
where we were eight years ago.

I'll track down
our perpetrator, sir.

Whether our killer is human or robot,

there's a devil inside them,
and it must be stopped.

A strange pedestal, isn't it?

Back in the day,

there was talk of building a giant statue
of Mont Blanc and putting it on top.

However, Mont Blanc let us know
he didn't much like the idea.

He said it would be wrong
to ruin such a scenic view of the Alps

with a needless monument like that.

He didn't even want us to hang onto
his body once he was nonfunctional.

"Break it up, melt it down, recycle it."

"No point hanging onto an empty husk,"
he would say.

I keep thinking back
to when he was still in his prime.

Mont Blanc was a hero
in the truest sense of the word.

He served in the 39th Central Asian War

as a key member
of the peace-keeping forces.

Not only did he help restore peace
in the Kingdom of Persia

after the turmoil of war,

but he apprehended many terrorist cells
without any bloodshed.

Without Mont Blanc,

Asia could never have achieved
its current state of peace.

He was a poet and a friend of nature.

He enjoyed singing with the birds
and talking with the trees of the forest.

See those people
setting up his memorial?

Volunteers, every single one,
because they loved him.

They loved my son
from the bottom of their hearts.

Mont Blanc.
Guardian angel of the Alps.

Tens... No, hundreds of thousands
will come.

They'll flock to this memorial
in three days' time...

here to grieve the passing of their hero.

Look, Detective,
Mont Blanc's death was no accident.

They say it was a freak tornado
that destroyed him.

And one was reported
in the area that night

mere moments before the fire
that burned the forest,

but that's not what killed him.

I beg of you.
Catch whoever did this to my boy.

Find them, and I'll beat them bloody
with my own hands!

As the pride
of Switzerland and the world at large,

Mont Blanc will live on forever...

...cherished in the memories
of all who knew him.

Are you awake, Gesicht?
Rise and shine.

That'll do it for your
scheduled maintenance today.

You have my thanks, Professor Hoffman.
So, everything normal?

Yes. There's nothing out of the ordinary.

Except...

Go on.

Well, most people assume
robots aren't capable of getting tired,

but given how human you are
in your design,

fatigue is a real possibility.

And why not?

The human body is just a mechanism,
the same as you are.

No mechanism, flesh or otherwise,
can avoid the perils of overwork.

Overwork?

You've got a difficult caseload
at the moment. No doubt about that.

I tried to watch Mont Blanc's memorial,

but I ended up turning it off
after a while to keep myself from crying.

There's a theory that some sort of

internal electromagnetic wave anomaly
made him self-destruct.

But as an expert on the subject,

I don't believe a marvel of engineering
like Mont Blanc

could ever be taken out
by such a minor error as that.

Destroying a robot whom everyone adored.
Do you think you can find the perpetrator?

I'm sure that mystery
is going to prove a challenge.

At the same time, though,
that other case you're on,

it looks complicated too.

The murder of Bernard Lanke.

I watched him advocate
for robot rights on TV many a time.

No surprise he fell afoul of someone.

Sure, the man had a right
to defend his opinions,

but his remarks could cut like a knife.

He always had
an air of condescension about him.

Not a good way to make any friends.

If you think about it,
they're the opposite of each other.

A robot and a human being.

One of them had no enemies,
and the other had nothing but.

Yeah, juggling two tough cases like that
at the same time?

That would tire out anybody.

Do you mind
if I ask you something, Professor?

Not at all.

Can a human enter a room
and then commit a crime there

without leaving
any sort of biological trace?

In other words, organic traces so minute,

they can't be detected
by your sensor loadout.

- Is that what you're asking me?
- Yes.

Uh-huh. Quite the hypothetical.

That is gonna take some thought.

Call it my homework for next time.

Oh, what am I saying?

These checkups
should be your break from work.

No more shoptalk, all right?

Incidentally, I brought up the idea
with my wife

of us maybe going on a little trip.

Well, that sounds nice.

But she has her work to think of as well,

so who can say
when we'll get around to it.

Traveling is healthy.

The data is unanimous.

Seeing more of the world
is a great experience

for an artificial intelligence.

You should go somewhere
completely different, like Japan!

Japan?

Uh-huh!

A member of their scientific community
invited me over there once,

and I jumped at the chance to visit.

Tokyo is so interesting.
So much to see and do!

Sounds like fun.
I'll run the idea past my wife.

Hope you don't mind my asking,

but are you still having
that dream you told me about?

I am.

Oh! Not that I'm trying
to pry it out of you.

That would be rude of me.

But I am intrigued at the thought
of artificial minds having dreams.

At this point, it's pretty well-accepted
within the scientific community

that artificial intelligence
includes a subconscious element.

Still, it's rare to encounter a robot that
has any waking memory of the dream state.

When you feel up to it,
could you maybe tell me what you've seen?

Hmm.

As the 20th-century psychiatrist
Sigmund Freud was known

to occasionally say,

"Our dreams are more than just
idle flights of the imagination."

"Dreams are expressions of our reality."

- Excuse me, sir.
- Hmm?

Is that a constable-bot?

Uh-huh. Says it right there.

Cops are done doing forensics,
so it's time to junk it.

You're Robby.

Hmm?

Would you mind
if I take a quick look at him?

Yeah, sure. Go ahead.

If there's any parts you want,
take 'em with you.

The body's scrap at this point.

500 Zeus a body.
What do you say?

What's the matter?

Uh, it's nothing. Nothing at all.

Zoned out for a second.

This is
your husband's memory chip.

Not to overstep,
but I thought you might want it.

Oh my goodness.
This means so much to me. Thank you.

Well then, I can see myself out.

Wait!

Could I trouble you to insert it, please?

There could be painful memories on there.

The overlapping sets of memories
could cause a malfunction.

If that happens,
I'm ejecting it right away.

My Robby.
He's here with me.

Huh?

Ma'am, that's enough! I'm taking it out!

His final memories are clearly
too traumatic for you! I'm ejecting it!

- That's strange.
- Huh?

What could it be?

- What do you see, ma'am?
- I'll display it.

Footage of Robby's partner stopping a car
at their checkpoint before the attack.

He takes out the human cop.

Please forgive me.

Seeing that firsthand
must have been traumatic.

I can't apologize enough.

- It's not that.
- Hmm?

My husband, he reacted
to the sight of the steel pipe at once.

I could see his stun gun at the ready.

I saw that.

It's very unusual that a human perpetrator

can mount a successful attack
on a constable-bot.

There's a lot we still don't understand
about how...

- I know why.
- Hmm?

Watch the moment again.

With this chip in me,
I can track the memory frame by frame.

It starts when he hits Robby's partner.

Up until this moment,

my husband never takes his eyes off
the man with the pipe.

But as the man rushes him,

he was distracted by something.

There, behind him!

That was the apartment
Lanke was murdered in!

That shot, right there!

- What is that thing?
- I can zoom in some.

Definitely not a bird.

Forensics went over all the footage,

so why was there no mention made
of this shot?

Unless you had
the memory chip inserted,

you'd never notice something so brief.

My husband caught sight of this silhouette
and was able to analyze it

during the fraction of a second
it was in view.

It can't be a human.

Not the way it's jumping
from one building to another.

Yes. But, Detective...

Huh?

...that's not a robot.

A murder in a room
with no trace of a human assailant.

The death of a robot,
loved the world over.

And horns.

Identity confirmed.

Please step forward.

Says you're a robot.
That true or what, Detective?

Yes.

Well, you could've fooled me
with that face.

The electromagnetic waves he emits
are pretty strong.

They could scramble your AI
if you get too close to him.

Wear this to keep you safe.

I'm okay, thanks.

I'm immune. They have no effect on me.

Really?

A very special alloy
was used in my construction.

I'm plain on the outside though.

All right. Your call, sir,
but stay on your guard.

In the time he's been here,

he's taken out four robots
who tried to engage with him.

Like the barricade?

It would be funny
if it weren't so desperate.

They fear me.

The humans threw together
that pile of junk

so they can pretend
they're not quaking in their boots.

So you're Brau1589.

Robot Model HRS0288,
Inspector Gesicht.

In terms of detective AI,
you're the best there is.

If you can discern my model,
your ID function still works.

Ah, you're sleuthing already.

If anything,
it's more powerful than before.

Locked away
and smashed half to hell as I am,

I can't help but be curious
about what's happening in the world above.

I came here today because
there's something I needed to ask you.

Let me guess.

What went through the mind
of a certain robot

when it murdered a human
eight years ago, right?

Robot rights scholar
Bernard Lanke was killed at home.

I scanned the murder scene,

but there were no traces
of another human there.

So was the killer a human, or was it...

Or was it a robot?

And if it was a robot,
why'd it do such a thing?

Just between us,
the humans examined every last bit of it.

My murderous artificial intelligence
that is.

They were so sure
that a defect was to blame.

But, no.

They couldn't find
a single thing wrong with me.

My AI passed the tests with flying colors.
No flaw in sight.

Can you imagine how terrified
the humans were when they found that out?

That's why they keep me locked away
down here, skewered and broken.

If they're that afraid,
they should just pull out this spear.

That would kill me dead.

But, alas, my human captors
are too spineless even for that.

Inspector Gesicht, if you want to peek

into the head of a robot
who's committed murder,

all you have to do is
exchange memory chips with me.

Who knows?
You might learn all sorts of things.

Those are some printed images
of Mont Blanc's destruction

and the Lanke murder scene.

The horns in both of them.
What could they mean?

The ancient gods of Europe
come to mind.

The god of death. He had horns like these.

There was Herne the Hunter,
who took the souls of warriors.

He was called the "Horned King."

In Greek mythology,

the horned king of the underworld
was Hades, of course.

The Roman god of the dead

was Pluto.

A god of the dead.

Whoever did this,
they will strike again.

Mont Blanc, one of
the most advanced robots on earth,

was ripped apart
like he was a children's toy.

Come on, Detective.
Do I need to spell it out for you?

A handful of robots were created

with the best technologies
the world had to offer.

Robots who can also be
weapons of mass destruction.

You already know who else is
in the crosshairs, do you not?

There are six of them left,
present company included.

I am trying to work.

Don't just stand there in silence
like a damn mannequin.

Sorry to have entered
without your permission.

The security seems to have been disabled.

Mm-hmm.

Given your visual impairment,
that is not safe.

No burglar's going to tromp out
to the middle of nowhere to steal from me.

- But Sir Duncan, you...
- Enough. Are you the new butler?

Yes, sir.

I'm sure the agency sent me over
another good-for-nothing.

You got a name?

Yes, sir.
You can refer to me as North No.2.

Direction and a number. Riveting.

The staffing agency told me
you have a military background.

Do you care to elaborate on that?

Yes, sir.
I previously served as a butler

for the Commander-in-Chief
of the British Army

for the entirety
of the 39th Central Asian War.

Hmm. Butler for a soldier, eh?

I don't imagine
you're much to look at, are you?

I wear a cape
while in the presence of others.

But of course.
Your whole damn body's a weapon.

- Make me tea, weapon.
- At once, sir.

As for the type...

Don't worry, sir.

I made sure to download
all of your relevant data en route.

What the hell's my "relevant data"?

Prior to this assignment,

I had the chance
to watch one of the films you worked on.

It was the movie
The Queen on the Satellite Orbit,

and I was very moved

by how the soundtrack served
to uplift the imagery.

Is that part of your "relevant data"?

No, sir. I was sincerely moved by it.

That film has been out
for more than a decade now.

Your tea.

Used to call me the "blind genius"

back when I was stacking up film awards
like cordwood.

Every score I composed was a hit.

I'm sure you have the more recent reviews

rattling around
in that metal skull of yours.

"The wellspring of Paul Duncan's talent
has run dry."

End quote.

The hell it has.

I could still compose circles
around anyone if I had a mind to.

How dare they just write me off?

They would be on their feet,
applauding at my simplest leitmotif,

then I'd squeeze their heart with my notes
and leave them in tears.

It's not that I can't compose.
It's that I refuse to.

Such trivial things hold no appeal for me.

But, sir,
you were at the piano just now.

It was a beautiful piece,
if I may be so bold.

That one's not meant
for the celluloid brothel.

It's a song I write only for myself.
The world can't lay claim to any of it.

- This cup of tea is much like your name.
- Sir?

Utterly lacking flavor.

"A beautiful piece," eh?
Don't make me laugh.

A hunk of military hardware like you has
no right to judge the value of my art.

My apologies, sir.

How many did you kill?

Sir?

How many people did you kill
in the Central Asian War?

I'm sure you can give me an exact number.

The International Robot Laws forbid me
from harming any humans. I am incapable.

So then, killed lots of robots,
in other words.

What does that number come out to?

Don't pretend as though you've lost count.

Get out of here.

Your demeanor's ruining
what little appetite I have.

I will take my leave.

What are you doing?
You leave my piano alone, you hear me?

My apologies, sir.

When composing music,

this instrument
is the only one you employ.

Yes. What of it?

But you have so much
cutting-edge equipment at your disposal.

They're cutting-edge fakeries,
just like you.

A fake violin right there
next to a fake trumpet.

The whole damn orchestra, fake.

Oh, dress 'em up all you want.
They're nothing more than machines.

No, thank you.

That's why I never had
artificial eyes put in.

If I need a machine
to tell me what the world looks like,

then I'd rather not see at all.

Far better to live in the dark.

The only sights worth laying eyes on
already exist within my memory.

"The sights worth laying eyes on."

Visions of my childhood home
back when I still had my sight.

During your youth, sir,
back in Bohemia.

That another tidbit from your data?

It's all worthless when it's just a list
within your processors.

It was such a beautiful milieu.

The fields run riot with green.

The wind's caress.

And always the glow
of the gently setting sun.

I will turn them into music.
I must.

I told you not to touch my piano,
you great clod!

Yes, you have my apologies.

Even if you played a song to perfection,

the notes and chords
would all be as artificial as you are.

Sir Duncan.

I do not mean to intrude
upon your privacy, sir,

but I happened to notice that
you were moaning in your sleep last night.

Hmm?

However,
it sounded like you were humming

amidst the moans as well.

I could be mistaken,

but I think that melody,
born of your unconscious mind,

is the missing portion of the song
you currently struggle to finish.

It's the section where
you always stop midway.

This is how it went, sir. More or less.

Get out of here!

I have no need for you,
you piece of machinery!

Get out of my house this instant!

But, sir...

I am giving you an order! Leave at once!

Sir Duncan.

I would like to learn to play the piano
if you will teach me.

What did you say?

As you have told me numerous times,

no matter how well I play,
it might always ring false.

But I'd like to know
I got as close as I could.

A weapon like you will never
play the piano, and that's final.

Stop it!

How dare you sully those keys,
you tool of war?

You belong on a battlefield,
and you know it!

You are right.

That is why I'd like to learn
to play the piano.

I do not want
to belong on the battlefield.

Mother!

Mother!

No, please!

Where are you?

Wait for me!

Whoa!

Mother, don't leave me behind!
I'm right here!

Mother!

Mother!

Are you there, North No.2?
I think that you are.

I've told you before,
don't come into my bedroom.

I apologize, Sir Duncan.

I merely wanted to inform you
that breakfast is ready.

I could've sworn I fired you.

Are you still there?

How many times must I say it?

Don't you touch that piano! Not ever!

Let me play for you. Please, Sir Duncan.

I think I've gotten
a little better than before.

"Gotten a little better," eh?

The only improvement you can hope for is
if you turn yourself into a metronome!

I will attempt to recreate the melody

you keep humming in your sleep,
Sir Duncan.

The sounds you torture
out of that piano are not music!

Damn this piece of junk!

"Just input the data,

and you can create infinite melodies
with the push of a button!"

That's not music at all!
It's just sounds with no heart to it!

You will break the machines
if you continue.

Oh! Trying to protect
your own kind, is that it?

I'll ask again.

How many of your own kind
did you destroy on the battlefield?

Take off the cape,
you cast-iron hypocrite!

Show the world
your hideous weapon of a body!

How many did you kill? Give me the number!

How many notches carved into your side?

Ha! You're a docile one, aren't you?

A weapon of mass destruction

programmed to behave
in front of his master, is that it?

All right, then.

I'm going to give you some data about me

that I guarantee isn't rolling around
in that head of yours.

It's the reason I moan in my sleep
in the dead of night.

The nightmare I've had for years now.

Not a dream,
but the life that brought me to this.

Truth from long ago.

The world knows me
as Paul Duncan,

but my real name is Paulo Holy.

I was born into poverty in Bohemia.

I can't remember my father.

He died when I was young.

I was born with a chronic illness.

And even with thick glasses,
my eyesight was always poor.

Singing songs was my only joy in life.

My mother, she was a beauty.

Even at her most threadbare,

men would turn
and watch her walk down the street.

One approached her.
He was a member of the nouveau-riche.

And she, my mother,

fell prey to a greed
that poisoned her heart.

Sick as I was,

she must have thought me such a burden.

Looking back, that has to be the reason

why she did what she did.

The reason why
she threw her own child away!

Out of nowhere, I was shipped off
to a boarding school in England.

The other boys were cruel,

and a weakling such as myself
was in no place to fight back.

But through the worst of it,

I clung to my music studies
like a drowning man.

The long nights came at a price.

I soon developed a fever I couldn't shake.

Even my beloved music
slipped from my grasp.

I was sent from hospital ward
to hospital ward,

but every day saw me grow weaker.

The doctors gave up on me.

And through it all,
not a peep from my mother.

I was dying. They knew it, and I did too.

I would perish far from home,

forgotten and forlorn.

And that's when
a Japanese doctor walked into my room.

He didn't have a license,
but lost causes were his specialty.

I'm going to save your life,
young man.

But there's a chance
that you go blind in the bargain.

The surgery was a success.

And yet,
just as the rogue doctor had predicted,

my eyes grew weaker with each passing day.

I knew time was running out,

and there was
so much theory left to learn.

I forsook everything but the music.

Music was all I had left in the world.

Play it again! Quickly, now!

Not yet! Not yet! Not yet!

And then,

the darkness was complete.

A few years later,
I was told my mother had died.

Her wealthy suitor never did bother
to make an honest woman out of her.

They told me she was alone
when the end came.

Abandoned, as I had been.

I worked hard!

When his fortunes fell,
I bought her lover's castle. All of this!

Paulo Holy had become
the genius Paul Duncan.

I became maestro of the music world
and took this as my reward!

Look, Mother!

This is what you wanted, right?
All this comfort and wealth.

You threw your child away
for the chance to have it!

Well, here it is!

I prevailed!

And now, Mother, I'm going to pay homage
to all the riches you squandered.

The beautiful hues
of the homeland you deserted!

I will take those sights
that live in my memory

and paint them into song.

I will show you priceless things
that never should have been cast aside,

and you will know your mistake!

Sir Duncan,
your anger towards your mother is...

Silence!

I'll give you high marks,
but you leave here tomorrow.

That is why
I'd like to learn to play the piano.

I do not want
to belong on the battlefield.

I guess
he did get a little bit better.

Hmm?

Charging his power supply
before he leaves in the morning, eh?

Just like a machine.

Is the robot having a nightmare?

So they can dream.
I didn't know that about you.

"It's not that I can't compose anymore.
It's that I refuse." Yeah.

Hey!

North No.2.

North No.2! Hey!

Mmm, sounds like he really left this time.

Maybe I can't compose anymore.

How long are you going
to make me wait for him, eh?

When is the replacement butler
going to be here?

Uh, this is Marshall
calling from MCM Pictures.

So you're just a movie guy.

You sound a bit disappointed, Sir Duncan.
Something wrong?

No, I just had to fire my butler robot
the other day, that's all.

Well, get on with it, then.

Yes, sir. I'm calling because we'd love
to have your work in an upcoming film.

Oh. Sounds like a job offer.

Tell me what you have in mind,
and I'll decide if it's worth my energy.

That's very kind of you, sir.

Basically, we would love to license
one of your old scores

for use in this project.

What? Don't you want
to use a new soundtrack?

Oh! Uh, I was of the understanding
that you had retired from composing.

Use the damn thing any way you like.

Oh! Sir Duncan, I meant no...

You have one new message.

Uh, Russell here, from the Planning Office
at the British Philharmonic Orchestra.

We'd been in talks about perhaps mounting
one of your works for our upcoming season.

Unfortunately, we're not in a position
to follow up on that.

You have my apologies.

I hope we get to collaborate
in the future.

I think that melody

is the missing portion of the song
you currently struggle to finish.

Sir Duncan.

I thought you'd want to know
that I am back.

Now what?

Didn't I tell you to get out of here?

I did leave, as you requested.

I went to your hometown in Bohemia.

What could have possessed you
to make that trip?

My purpose there was to archive old music.

In the process of collecting
many folk songs from the region,

I was able to find it.

The melody you continue to hum
when you are asleep.

I know how it goes.

Please allow me to sing it for you.

No, damn it!
Singing should be for real people only!

Why would you try to drag
my nightmare out into the light of day?

We don't remember everything
like you machines, and that is a blessing!

Your dream is not a nightmare, sir.
You deserve to know that.

To lose the dreams I have at night
would be a mercy, but yours is different.

Just as you said,
I am nothing more than a weapon.

During my time
in the 39th Central Asian War,

I neutralized many of the foe's units.

No,

I decimated them.

Tens of thousands of my own kind.

And those memories,

the memories of
the countless deaths by my hand,

my artificial intelligence
plays them back again and again.

While in Bohemia, I met an ancient man.

He had a wealth of knowledge
about folk songs,

including the song in your dream.

He said that this one young woman
in particular

used to sing it so beautifully,
he remembers even now.

That young woman was your mother.

I have so much data in my mind about you.

It includes facts about your mother
you never got to know.

It felt that way,

but as your chronic illness
grew more pronounced,

she did not abandon you.

The rich man you hated
for stealing her affections,

she sought him out in order to fund
the treatment that saved your life.

It's true.

The rogue doctor who operated on you
charged an astronomical fee,

and that was the only way
she could afford it.

She did not throw you away
when she sent you abroad.

In the weeks and months,
as your vision slowly dimmed,

your mother was never far, Sir Duncan.

Learning how much you hated her,
she couldn't bring herself to reach out.

The divide she would have had
to repair seemed too great.

Uh, she was there?

- That can't be.
- It's the truth.

When you recall your childhood in Bohemia,

isn't there a core memory
that you've forgotten about?

The ancient villager remembered.

You and your mother would sing
that old folk song together

hand-in-hand until the very last note

as the setting sun
turned the fields into gold.

Mother.

How can I forget?

I apologize, sir,

for how I sang it.

You deserve to remember
all the pieces of your dream

as I deserve to remember mine.

North No.2?

I want you to stay.

Don't you ever go back to the battlefield.

Would you like me to teach you the piano?

Yes, sir.

North No.2!

Hey, North No.2!

Yes, Sir Duncan. I am here.

I've finally finished it!
Give it a listen!

Yes, sir.
I would love to hear it in its entirety.

- However...
- Hmm? What's the matter?

I am picking up something approaching
at a high velocity.

Uh, like what?

Maybe one of your robot friends
finally decided to pay you a visit.

There was an incident
up in the Alps a few days ago.

Did you hear reports about it?

Something up in the Alps?

Oh, yes. I did catch a news segment

on how that Mont Blanc robot
was destroyed by a tornado.

What of it?

Just now, sir, a tornado was reported
100 kilometers from our position.

Hmm?

An unknown assailant
is on a path of direct approach.

Hey!

I'll return very soon.

Wait, North No.2!

North No.2!

Where did you go?

Come back!

That sound I heard just now...
What could it be?

I can't tell what's going on up there!

An explosion.

Huh?

I hear it.

I hear him singing.

I feel it spreading to fill the sky.

I hear your voice, my boy.

You're singing our song
and with such feeling.

Time to come back home, North No.2.

I think that's enough singing for one day.

Hurry on home now.

You're going to be late
for piano practice.

- It's super awesome!
- Really?

Ah. Found a snail, did you?

I did.

It's very nice to meet you.

I believe your name is Atom, right?

Uh-huh.