All language subtitles for The.Regime.S01E04.WEB.x264-TORRENTGALAXY

And as for foreign news reports

alleging stalled construction
on cobalt refinery sites

being built by our
new Chinese partners,

better check your sources

say reps for the
Bartos Corporation,

who claim work on the refineries

is progressing smoothly,

and no one should doubt
China's commitment to our future.

It's now one o'clock,
let's join our Chancellor.

Elena Vernham Good afternoon.

I bless you all in this
time of great challenge

and great opportunity.

Despite discredited
foreign media reports,

the Faban reunification
was an unmitigated success.

There is no unrest.
There are no guerrillas.

There is only a
renewal of our love.

And yet still, the American
Beast and its client states

try to strangle us.

But petty sanctions
will always fail

because our love
cannot be sanctioned.

Turn it off!

Our enemies know
we are thriving.

Turn it off!

Our economy is strong.
Our workers are happy.

- Please!
- Our enemies know,

- so they have to lie and say...
- What is it with you?

Why won't you sleep?

- Please turn it off!
- We can't, Butcher.

Radio stays on all
day. It's regulation.

- Turn it off!
- Jesus, fuckin' shut up!

Anyone who dares
insult me or my country

shall feel my fury and
shall never be forgiven.

"It's one o'clock... let's
join our Chancellor."

It's now one o'clock.

Time to join Chancellor
Vernham's daily address.

A vicious lie is being spread

that our free trade
deal with China

has hurt our local
sugar industry.

That the shops have been flooded

with cheap Chinese sugar,

making it hard for our
homegrown producers to compete.

A vicious lie.

Don't believe the lies.

The sugar beet
industry is strong.

Our sugar producers
in Westgate are happy.

Westgate trash.

Any so-called demonstrations

in sugar beet
country are nothing

but cheap American
performance art.

Don't let lumbering
minds deceive you.

You must strive to have...

a graceful mind.

And who is really to blame

for the struggles of
our local businesses

and the reports of
unrest in Westgate?

I'll tell you who.

Keplinger, the vile leftist.

He's still out there
working with the global elite

to destroy
everything we've built.

To those who oppose us,
I have a simple message.

You dream about fucking me.

I don't dream about fucking you.

You dream about fucking me.

I don't dream about fucking you.

Shut up! Shut up!

I don't dream
about fucking you...

Sleep! Just sleep!

Been a week, you crazy fuck!

You dream about fucking me.

I don't dream about fucking you.

You dream about fucking me.

I don't dream about fucking you.

It's now one o'clock,
let's join our Chancellor.

Ugh.

Fuck.

Hot, hot. Fuck me. Hot!

Cold!

Cold. Fuck me! Cold.

The fuck are you
wearing?! Take that off!

And burn it. If fire still
exists at this temperature.

Any better last night?

Ugh! It's like lying awake
in a camel's asshole.

- Can't you feel it?
- No, of course, I did.

It's nearly as bad in
my corner of the world.

-Mmm.
-Mm, hot. Hot. You're too hot, too hot.

Poor Lenny. I'll have
another stern chat

- with services, yeah?
- Yeah.

You know, when I
have trouble sleeping,

I picture a doctor

opening up my skull
and taking my brain out,

and all the thoughts
that keep me up,

my pains, my desires,
they're all gone,

and I just pop right off.

Yeah, I don't think I'll imagine
my own lobotomy, thanks.

Yeah, of course. Just
a suggestion, really.

Oh, God, his air. It
smells like dung today.

Oh, good morning, my darling.

Good morning, sweetheart.

Ah, let's have a little
mint, yeah, shall we?

- Good boy.
- That's it. Yeah.

Oh, uhh...

Furnace. It's like a furnace.

- Oh, God, it's worse in here, Nicky!
- Yeah.

I hear the boy sleeps in
the Chancellor's bed now.

- A bit worrying.
- I think we may have more pressing concerns, Victor.

Like our entire economy
circling the drain.

Oh, I'm just as
concerned as you.

My son's application
to Princeton,

my iPhone account,

the pied-à-terre in Miami,

it's all spatchcocked to fuck.

I'm living like a gypsy's dog.

And yet, I seem to
recall you cheering on

our Faban Corridor adventure.

"Sanctions? Do your
worst," I believe you crowed.

No, no, no, I still
support Madam's policies,

- ya know that, it's just...
- It's just? Just what?

You'd like to holiday
somewhere without Sharia Law?

Get rid of your
coats. She'll see you.

Oh. Number! The
number, dear. Remember?

Um, 34?

Thirty-four.

Ooh.

Right, let's do this.

- Wait. Caviar, caviar. Wait.
- Yes.

- Mm, mmm.
- Cheese.

Done.

- Oh.
- Maybe caption it:

"Love over easy," right?

"Petty sanctions
won't starve us."

Yes, that's good
too. Better, really.

- Mm.
- So, I'm pleased to announce

that 20 of 26 poetry centers
have been completed.

My wallet weeps bitter tears,

but still tremendous news.

Why on Earth is it 26?

Remember, same
number of original prints

of Blake's "Songs of Innocence."

Are you serious?

It's 4,000 fucking
degrees in here.

- Sorry, Madam, force of habit.
- Oh, I want some, please.

Time for your breakfast.

Uh! Apologize to Agnes.

Do you know, sorry, he's
been such a tyrant lately.

- Also, Agnes?
- Yes, Madam?

His breath smells of
feces. Have you noticed?

Can't say I have, Madam.

Oh. Well, let's work
on that together.

And Agnes?

Um...

how is it?

Um, I haven't yet
inquired today, Madam.

But it's sleeping? It sleeps?

A bit, yes, Madam, yeah.

I think it's, uh, trying.

Good.

So, it's still kicking.

That's... good.

And Agnes, get me some more
fucking air conditioning units!

Certainly, Madam.

Even if the protests happening
in Westgate were real,

which they are not,

what do our sugar beet
workers have to complain about?

China is our friend.

Sleep well, Butcher?

Just think of all the ways

China is investing
in our future.

Infrastructure. Roads.

Our exciting new
cobalt refineries.

All of these partnerships
will pay off soon.

Anyone who tells
you otherwise is either

a tool of American intelligence

or a delusional
Keplinger supporter

dreaming of my downfall.

Well... there won't
be a downfall.

Our love is too strong.

No one will ever
come between us.

I'm not telling her
about the horse.

We have to tell
her about the horse.

Then you tell her
about the horse.

This is your purview.

I am Minister of Comms,

not fucking Master
of Whips and Bridles.

Oh, shit. It's so cold.

I'd murder my
family for a scarf.

One scarf. I'd
slit their throats.

Well, now.

This is something new.

Good morning.

Listen, before we start,
can I just say something?

I don't need your
quiet, worried faces.

You all need to be
better at being normal.

When you're not normal,
it makes me feel like

you're telling me
that I'm not normal,

which is a bad
flavor for this room.

It's a loser's flavor
and I dislike it.

And it makes me
distrust all of you

and want you to be dead.

So, just be better
at being normal.

Good, let's start.

Madam, uh, the
foreign antagonists

continue to do what they can

short of armed
intervention to punish us

for the Faban Corridor.

Freezing assets, banning
travel, spurring defections...

Sanctimonious
sanctions, I'd call it.

Yes, but what's the
update beneath the update?

I was told the markets would even
out with the China deal in place.

Chinese free trade was
supposed to make us money,

not drain us dry.

Uh, Madam, uh,
free trade with China

hasn't yet been the
tonic we'd hoped.

As you know from the
protests in Westgate,

cheap imports have
hurt our industries, and...

I don't care about
the sugar beet bullshit.

Just tell me about the
cobalt refineries, hm?

China was supposed to
modernize our refineries

and jump-start our economy,

so where's our payday?

When will they start earning?

Oh, very soon, Madam, we hope.

However, the Chinese contractors

have hit some snags on the tech.

Well, quelle surprise.

Well, I can't wait
forever, you know.

Uh, meanwhile, ma'am,

with another three sugar
beet factories closing,

the protests in
Westgate are turning ugly.

We should discuss
improving the visuals.

Uh, Madam, um,

may we talk to you
about an incident

that occurred yesterday?

Oh, uh, i-i-it's a situation...

with a horse.

I'm eager for the next sentence.

One of our mounted police

monitoring a protest of sugar
beet workers in Westgate,

well, his horse spooked.

I-It was the crowd's
fault, really, Madam.

The horse bucked
and it kicked a woman.

In the, uh, uh, stomach region.

- Mm-hmm.
- The woman was with child.

- Uh, a sort of unscheduled abortion.
- Quite late term.

Right, and the woman? Wh...

Um, oh, regrettably,
she expired.

Sorry, why am I
hearing about this?

Well, ma'am, it's just that we're
seeing it's become a bit of a rallying cry

among the disaffected
of Westgate in particular.

Oh, the fucking Westgaters

and their fucking
emotional needs.

They're like fucking infants!

Yes, agreed, ma'am, agreed.

Nonetheless, I think it
might be wise to have

a bit of a public
dialogue of sorts

w-with Westgate people?

And perhaps with
the fetus of it all,

something with children?

Fine, a Q and A with Westgate
children here in the palace.

But only to inform. I won't play
nursemaid to their big, messy feelings.

God, it's fucking
hot! Who else is hot?

Hey! Hey, what is this?

- Let's go, Butcher.
- Where?

Left.

- Where are you taking me?
- Try anything and we put

- a bullet in your brain.
- She would never.

- She doesn't give a fuck about you.
- Move!

Left.

Hello, Herbert.

I'm Ed.

Keplinger...

- what are you doing here?
- I live here.

No, you, you don't.

Oh, I am quite
certain that I do.

No, no, no, you
are in the countrys...

You are in the countryside.

Am I? Gosh, well,
I-I hardly seem to be.

No, no, no, no. I've seen you.

You live in shame, up
north, in a big house.

We all know it.
Everybody's seen you.

Oh, that. Yes, that is a bit
of movie magic, I'm afraid.

They drag me very
politely from my cell

to a manor house now and again

to, uh, film a little
fiction for you all.

- You are a fucking liar.
- Yeah, I can see it's confusing

after what she's told you all.

No, you tried to ruin us
when you were Chancellor.

You and your rich leftist
friends cutting deals.

Piece of advice, Herbert,

from one prisoner to another,

everything you thought you knew

up there when you
were sucking free air,

it's a cloud.

You just let it pass.

Here, may I, um...

Tom, the keys.

Thank you.

You're from the beet
country, I hear, yeah?

My mum was a Westgater, hm?

There we are.

Don't mind Tom and Vin.

They're very, very lovely people

who have come a very
long way, especially Vin.

So, it's them who
gave me your book?

The book. The book. Christ,
you didn't read it, did you?

- No.
- I should hope not.

The fetid wind
of an aging leftist.

Uh, does anyone know
why we're still standing?

Come. Let's sit.

Please.

Gently, gently, Vin.

Oh.

What is this?

Well, it gets a bit
pokey in my cell,

so, uh, Tom and Vin like to
bring me here in the tunnels

for the odd midnight feast.

You know, a few smokes,
schnapps, bit of sausage.

It's our little secret,
so, you know, shh.

Our little secret.

She's really giving you
the treatment, isn't she?

I mean, it's-it's fine. I-I
have no scores to settle here.

I've reached a point
where I frankly just, uh...

- I suppose I pity her.
- No, no, shut your fucking mouth.

Watch your tongue, Butcher.

You will say his name or
you'll not share my table.

Do you understand?

Now get out.

But I haven't had my sausage.

And you will not.
Not tonight. Go.

Tom, my friend, one
moment, if you please.

I apologize.

Down here, you'll be
treated with respect.

Yeah? I don't care what you did.

You and I are the same
now. I'm no better than you.

In fact, in many ways,
I'm a hell of a lot worse.

Here.

It's not as bad as it looks.

Thank you.

Don't swallow.

Don't swallow. Don't swallow.

Alright, this way, please,
all you Westgate children.

Those of you with
questions for the Chancellor,

please sit in allocated seats.

Come this way, please.

And we've thoroughly
vetted these kids?

No prepubescent
Trotskys in the mix?

- The children have all been screened, I assure you.
- Good.

I would hate to break out
the extra-small garrotes.

Yes, hopefully, it
won't come to that.

Uh, ma'am, please do remember

that these are real
Westgate people

and you did ask for live TV.

Why does everyone
keep saying that?

Do you think I'm gonna
take a shit on the podium?

But I do think it may be wise

to have a moment
of silence, up top.

I'm not mentioning the horse.

Oh, you don't have to
say the word "horse."

I think most people will understand
it is ultimately about the horse.

Stop saying fucking "horse"!

So, without further
ado, boys and girls,

Chancellor Elena Vernham.

Goodness, it's warm
in here. I do apologize.

Well, good morning, everyone.

Good morning, Madam Chancellor.

Oh, that's sweet.

Now... I'd like
to begin with a...

some questions. Who's first?

Yes?

I... My mum... My... Sorry.

- No, that's alright, dear.
- Just-Just take a breath.

My mother says we
may have to ration food

because of disruptions
in the supply chain.

- Is that something we...
- No, no, no, no, no.

Let's not go scaring
ourselves with these words,

"rationing," "supply chain."

No, we are a good,
strong economy.

Strong farming. Just be frugal.

I've been tightening my belt.

You know, less
butter, less wine.

It's good for me
to go with less.

So, just follow my
example and cut down.

You'll still have all
your favorite little treats.

Yeah? Good. Who's next? Yeah?

I live with my
parents in Westgate.

Yes, I thought I
smelled something.

Oh, pity. That usually plays.

No, I-I love the factory
smell. Smells like jobs.

And I've always had a special
bond with you Westgaters.

- Continue please, dear.
- My parents are worried

the sugar beet processing
plant will close down.

Will we be okay?
Given the China of it all?

"The China of it all"?

Well, kids say
that... don't they?

Thank you for your question.

Um, sugar beet country,
um, will be fine. Yeah.

A free trade with
China will be a success.

Um, Faban freedom
will be worth the cost.

But let me just say
this, have some pride.

I won Faban for you. I've
empowered you, come on.

Don't just fall to pieces
at the first little road bump.

Be real, people. You
know, stop complaining.

Let me do my work
and... be grateful, okay?

'Kay. Sorry.

Yeah, no, don't say sorry,
dear. I'm not scolding you.

Okay. Who's next?

But first, are we all
having fun so far?

- Yeah.
- Yeah? Alright, good.

Let's-Let's do another.
Come on, let's go.

Um, so, when I grow
up, I want to be a doctor,

- just like you...
- I'm sorry, but a fucking horse.

That's all this is about.
A horse. It's absurd.

-Horses spook. That's just what they do.
-Oh.

Oh, no, maybe it was me who
told horsey to kick that woman.

Clip, clop, clip, clop, kick.

Yes, of course! Let's all
blame me. It was all my fault.

Listen, I'm sorry, if you're
a giant pregnant tuna,

don't attend a
government protest.

Oh, you see, this is exactly
what the Americans want.

They want fear and unrest
because their defense budget

depends on it.

And you lot are just

handing it to them.

And Keplinger too, Marxist rat,

scheming to get rich
off your backs again!

Hiding in his mansion,
and trying to subvert us.

Plotting and scheming,
putting mold in our walls,

trying to poison us all!

Oh, I'm sorry, um, sorry, dear,

you were saying
you want to be, um,

you want to be a doctor?

Can't someone just
give her a tissue?

Right, I think
we've seen enough.

For the youth of today.

Um, but you will need
Mummy and Daddy

to buy you quite a lot of kit.

Mm, yeah. Must
be the cold, dry air.

- What?! Cold?!
- The hot, the hot.

- Of course, the h-hot air.
- Are you on crack?!

Get the fuck off
me. Right, now...

now, listen, I'm not angry,
but it was very dry in there.

That's what the
moisture meter is for, yes?

- That's your job, yes?
- Yes.

Oh! And I've told you
about the breath, remember?

- Uh-huh.
- Not angry, but the air was too dry,

and your breath
smells like shit.

Palace doctors say the incident

was swiftly resolved,

but despite the
brief medical mishap,

those in attendance
were said to be delighted

by the Chancellor's performance,

which even included
a fiery denunciation

of foreign critics
and purveyor...

Chancellor.

No, no, no. Stay seated.

Sit, sit. Sit, please.

Oh, sorry it's been so long.

I've just been
absolutely jammed.

Yes. Well, I remember
how things can be, you know.

- Lapsang?
- Thank you, no.

Never much cared for warm piss.

- You're well, though, huh?
- Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah.

-Enormously well.
-Well, that's terrific. Good for you.

And you? Still curating
your, your look, I see.

Your stubble and your
rumpled dissident cool.

I said to Nicky, I said,

"Wonder how he's
getting on down there."

And, uh, then I remembered

as long as there's a
mirror, you're in business.

Well, if you really
want to know,

I've been feeling
a bit old lately...

bit lonely.

But I sleep really well.

Dreaming of your
Mandela moment, hm?

- Elena.
- Chancellor.

Yeah.

Can I ask why
you're here exactly?

Oh, you don't know?

I'm here to fuck your
brains out, Eddie.

Oh.

Right.

It was a joke.

I'm here to smash
your fucking face in.

Yeah. Well, if
you think it'll help.

Relax. Another joke.

Mm.

Yeah.

Listening to the radio,

your punchy new
stance on the West.

I've been amused by
the rather basic irony.

Oh... tickled, are you?

Well, after all, our
American friends

never much cared for
my anti-imperial swank.

They much preferred
you, their safe pair of tits.

We all remember you bending
over for them at the drop of a check.

Well, that's all over
now. I've driven them out.

- Have you now?
- For the honest working people.

- Your old hobby horse.
- Yes, yes, yes. Right.

The honest working
people, like your gorilla man.

Brutes like him really
turn you on, don't they?

No, he was never important.

But you do have a
wonderful way with half-wits.

They just eat you up.

- And they spit you out.
- The butchers,

well, they really
devour your bullshit.

You effete, old
peacock with your

gay book and your Lapsang,

- babbling your left-wing dissertations.
- No.

Yeah, no, I suppose I should've
been fucked in the head like you.

Broken people really love
broken people, don't they?

I can't help it that I'm
interesting and you're not.

They're born in pain, so
you turn their pain to anger

and make their
anger your cudgel.

It's brilliant.

But now, they're turning the
cudgel on you, aren't they, Elena?

And you know it. And
you're very scared.

And that is why you're
here, you silly fucking bitch.

Right.

Well...

enjoy your rest, Eddie.

Where is my family?

Mm...

Lisbon? Perhaps?

Pity about the horse.

Face and torso. But
save some for later.

Alright, my lovelies.

While the Chancellor's
performance is being met

with widespread acclaim,

we're hearing reports
that during the Q and A,

she may have been the victim

of a pulsed radio
frequency attack by the CIA.

Doctors say these
attacks can cause brain fog,

irritability, and
even nosebleeds.

Though the Chancellor
has already recuperated,

she will continue to be
monitored by medical experts

who say it is doubtful she'll
suffer any longer-term effects.

If you would like to send your
well wishes to the Chancellor...

Ah-ha!

Welcome back.
Come. Sit, sit, sit.

Yes, I know, it's ghoulish.

It's alright, ya
lovely bastards.

You had no choice.
Come, let's feast.

Tonight, I see we have cheese.

- She was here.
- Yeah, yeah.

Did she ask about me?

No, no.

Actually, that's not true. You
were, you were mentioned.

- I was?
- Yeah.

- What did she say?
- She asked me if I had seen her butcher.

I'm sorry, my friend.

It's true.

- I am a butcher.
- No. No, you're not. No.

- Yes, I am.
- No, you're not.

- I am.
- You hurt people.

But... what did she
make you do after that?

- Yeah? Hurt more people.
- Oh, shut up.

You hurt people because
you wanted her to love you.

She did love me.

My advice...

surrender the fight.
Just-just put down the bag.

Let her go like I have, yeah?

- Fuck off.
- Okay, okay.

You still haven't
read my book, I hope.

Of course not.

Not even a page?

- No.
- Good man.

Date night has
always been sacred.

It's the one night
when we can focus

on what really matters.

Family.

- Say "cheese."
- Cheese.

Cheese.

Good. Got it. Right.

Get out. Everyone, fuck off.

Nicky, if I was pregnant,
I wouldn't go to a protest.

I mean, anything could happen.

Do you know, I could get
just knocked to the ground

or even kicked
by a fucking horse.

You know, you have to protect
the baby at all costs, don't you?

Hm? Nicky?

I'm losing them.

My people.

Because you keep
them at a distance.

- What? No, I don't.
- Yes, you do.

Well, what do you know?

Stop being so
bloody childish, Lenny.

For fuck's sake!

The protests are real.

China's put half of
Westgate out of business

and you know it.

You have to go
and see your people.

Be where they live.

Oh, no, no. No, that's
not... No, I'm not doing that.

- Oh, no. Absolutely no.
- I'll be with you the entire time.

No, no, no. I'm not
doing that. I can't.

- And we'll bring all your medication...
- No, I ac... No...

- your comforts. It will be like...
-No, can't.

- You never left the palace.
- No. No, I said I can't.

You have to do this, Lenny!

And you can.

Trust me, you can.

Wh-What will happen?

We'll drive out to Shitsville,

and you will smile
your beautiful smile,

and say your lovely words,

and make those
poor bastards happy.

And then, we'll come home.

Yes?

Hot.

- Hot, hot, hot.
- Right.

- No, I'll do it.
- EPO, Diazepam, Epinephrine.

Nothing can hurt you, okay?

- But Nicky, we should've got more of these fan thingies.
- Yes.

And that's B-12. Thank
you, Rachel. We're gone.

Chancellor Vernham
will meet in person today

with representatives
from the sugar beet

producers union in Westgate

to address the
concerns of protesters.

What do we want?

Jobs for Westgate!

When do we want it?

Now!

Sources say the Chancellor hopes

to bring an end to the
violence and unrest

witnessed at recent
demonstrations

and foster a fruitful
and healing dialogue

with our nation's
sugar beet workers.

Amongst the topics
set to be discussed

are strategies to limit Chinese
competition in the sugar trade.

The Chancellor is looking
forward to, once again,

being out amongst
the Westgate people

who she has long maintained

are the heart and soul of
our nation's working class.

Oy, I'm sorry.

I thought it might be
easier to meet at my place.

As you can see, I've,
um, gone horizontal.

Oh, poor Tom and Vin.

Not your fault, my friends.

Never, ever your fault.

Didn't happen to catch
the news, did you?

Yeah. She's losing.

Yeah, she's meeting with the
sugar beet union in Westgate.

Desperate enough
to leave her bubble.

And that, Herbert,
suggests to me...

Thank you, my friend.

Here, take a, take a chair.

That suggests to me...

an endgame.

I think it's over. I
think she's finished.

Now, we're still
captives to her whims.

We may die with her regime,

but if we do survive,
we need a plan.

- We?
- Oh, yes.

We. Together.

Me, with my experience
in the chancellery,

you with your, uh...

with your common touch, huh?

And your vision. Mm.

Yeah.

What would we do?

- Everything. All of it.
- We give it back?

- We do.
- Farms, factories?

- Yeah.
- Land reform?

I said we'll do it all, Herbert.

And we'll keep
the Americans out.

Yes, of course.

Hm?

What?

We will. We will.

I mean, obviously, yeah,
we'll have to lift sanctions

somehow first, and
stabilize the markets

to avoid total catastrophe,

but after that, yes.

Yeah, we keep America out.

- You speak too many words.
- I can do.

But go ahead, peer into my soul.

I have no reason
to lie to you, Herbert.

And what about her?

What about her?

What will happen to her?

Well, I don't really
know why you care,

given how she's treated you.

But, uh, she'll
have a fair trial, hm,

so the people can see who
she is, what she's done...

how it was me who felt their
pain all along and not her.

And then, she'll get
what's coming to her,

and she'll finally be gone.

Yeah?

Oh. What's that smell?

Oh, God. The car
smells like a hog's urethra.

- Must be in Westgate.
- Do you want a bit of scented oil?

Oh, yes, please. Oh. Thank you.

Thank you, my love.

I'm so sorry. I mean,
the AC in this car

is not working as
well as in the palace.

It's cranked to the
fucking hilt, Nicky.

Is it really? Hm.

It's alright.

You have diagnosed
perimenopause before, Doctor.

Yes, I suppose I have.

Aren't I a catch?

It's now one o'clock,
let's join our Chancellor.

Oh, I want to hear my address.

- Can you, can you turn the radio louder, please?
- Louder!

My friends...

my loves.

Oh, how I long to
be with you again.

To answer the mystery,

what has become of our love?

We've let it wander.

Graceless minds,
pushing each other away.

Hot-headed. When really,
we wish to be fused together

like a baby and its
mother, skin on skin.

And so, I implore you,

don't shut me out.

Let me back in.

They look happy to see you.

- He looks happy.
- No, he's just happy because everyone knows

that I came to him.

Deep breath.

- Try not to inhale too much.
- Right.

Madam Chancellor. Silas Ganz,

President of the
Sugar Beet Union.

- I'm so honored you came all this way.
- Please,

always happy to be
amongst Westgaters.

- Hello, Westgate!
- Hello.

Pleasure to be here!

Hello.

The first stage is
actually the washing

of the sugar beets,

and then we cut
them into cossettes,

and I'll show you that in
the next stage of the journey.

The smell is from
the water content

extracted from the sugar beets.

It's like a sort of
dog turd smell.

Honestly, we're all
so used to it now,

things that don't smell of
dog turds smell awful to us.

300,000 hectares
of sugar beet crop

from which we sell a little over
four million tons of refined sugar.

- At least that's our usual quota.
- Mm.

But if China keeps
flooding the market,

the whole factory will
be closed by Christmas.

If there's Chinese
sugar in shops now

that's nearly half
as cheap as ours,

of course people'll
buy that instead.

- Right, of course.
- We're not stupid, ya know?

- No.
- But if the plant shuts down,

I don't know how
to do anythin' else.

- This is it.
- Unless they're hiring in Guangzhou.

Please. If I, if I may?

Yes?

Before I continue, I'd
just like to say something.

I have the deepest sympathy
for the poor woman and child

who perished in the protests,

and... why, I'd like to take

a moment of silence
to acknowledge them.

I will now embark on a
series of listening tours

throughout the country to ensure
that no further bloodshed transpires.

In addition, we will work
to curb Chinese imports

of sugar to our shops.

Reforms will be put in place

to protect the rights of
our sugar beet workers.

Westgate will rise again.

Yeah. Yeah.

Uh, Chancellor Vernham,

a little something from us.

Uh, it's just a
funny gift, really.

- Uh, a sugar beet for the palace garden.
- Yeah.

Uh, but we can't thank you
enough for today's conversation.

Very reasonable.

- We knew you'd see reason in the end.
- Mm-hmm. Of course.

Oh.

Get that fucking stinking,

sprouting fucking turd plant

out of my fucking face, Nicky!

Get me Mr. Laskin.

Yeah?

Let us do the talking.

Pretend it's a family call.

- You won't be surveilled where you are anyway.
- Okay.

Chancellor Vernham's
regime is going to be toppled.

Maybe not tomorrow,
but it will happen.

If you remain in the palace,

you and your son
will be trapped.

You have to get out.

You can really help us?

Yes.

We have contacts
that can assist you.

I'm listenin'.

All we need from you

is information on
the inner circle.

Their day-to-day patterns,

what they eat, who
they speak with,

where they go at night,
uh, habits, movements.

But we can
discuss all that later.

The most important thing is
getting you and your son out.

Sir, I don't know who you are.

- Sorry?
- I don't know who you are.

I'm loyal to my Chancellor.

You're a demon.
Never call me again.

Listen to me...

What has become of our love?

We've let it wander.

Graceless minds.

Hot-headed.

Don't shut me out, my loves.

Mr. Laskin... I have
uncovered evidence

of a deeply
troubling conspiracy.

I'd like you to send
armed security forces

to the Sugar Beet Union
offices in Westgate immediately.

Oh, let me back in.

Madam, are you
saying you would like us

to uncover evidence of
a troubling conspiracy?

No, you're saying that, not me.

So, then you're not saying

to plant guns and
money in the union office?

No, you just said that.
Your words, not mine.

I want to feel you feeling me.

Madam, if you do this,

the protests will only spread.

Mr. Laskin, why don't
you go and protect

our country in that
very special way

that only you know
how to do... hm?

Please, please.

I want it to finally happen.

Because... I dream
about fucking you.

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

Hey!

Ah!

Herbert.

I cannot sleep.

Uh-huh.

- Well, let-let me, uh...
- No, no, no, no.

I don't want to sleep.

No?

Since I met you...

whenever I sleep,

one minute, five
minute, one hour...

there's nothing.

You understand? It's empty.

No dream. No nothing.

Huh.

Okay.

So, what are you saying?

It's like I'm dead
in the ground.

Oh, Herbert, I-I do understand.

- Do you?
- Yeah.

This is what she does.

She starves the brain
of oxygen, information...

any kind of social reality.

It's, uh, it's-it's
what she does.

What the fuck are
you talking about?

- Huh?
- Okay, okay, okay, okay.

You're impatient. You're
impatient for change.

- I get it, we all are.
- Nah... look at me.

I don't love you.

- You don't have to love me.
- Yes, I do.

I have to love you. And I would.

Look at me.

But I don't.

It's always exactly the
same with you people, isn't it?

- I see you now.
- You refuse to choose what's best for you, don't you?

- I see you.
- I can't help you, Herbert,

because you won't be helped.

You and your fucking book.

Well, maybe if you read
it, you'd learn something.

But of course, you people don't
wanna learn anything, do you?

You don't wanna help yourselves.

You just want to live
in your fucking feelings.

You just want the dream.

No, I want her.

Yeah, yeah.

Butcher.

Well, you certainly
got her attention.

Come on... Let's go.

Acting on reliable intelligence

from local and central
law enforcement,

state security officers
uncovered this week

a conspiracy of terrifying
proportions within

the National Sugar
Beet Growers Union.

Large stockpiles of weapons,

as well as sizable reserves
of United States currency,

were discovered in the office
of Union President Silas Ganz

during a targeted
raid late last night.

In response, the
Chancellor announced:

"The entire Westgate Protest
Movement has been operating in secret

"with American
intelligence for months

in an effort to subvert and
overthrow my Chancellorship."

Vernham out! Vernham out!

As radicals in Westgate vow
to avenge the arrest of Ganz,

military sources are warning
of a protracted struggle

against armed insurgents
bent on destruction.

It's going to get more
and more violent now.

Let's hope so.

Attacking peaceful protesters
makes me a monster.

Fighting off armed insurgents
makes me a protector.

- Agnes?
- Yes, Madam?

We'll need to
devise new protocols.

Whatever you wish, Madam.

No Western electronics
inside the palace.

All Chinese.

Palace residents stay
contained to the palace grounds,

yourself and Oskar included.

We're battening
down the hatches.

What if there's an emergency
with Oskar, Madam?

This is an emergency.
Aren't you fucking listening?

Civil war may be imminent.

Oskar stays with
me at all times.

My family is now at
risk of assassination.

Yes, Madam.

It'll be alright, Agnes.

- Yes, Madam.
- Don't you believe me?

- I want to fuck you.
- Ah.

Yeah.

Mm...

Hey!

What the...

No, don't stop. Keep going.

- Come on.
- Lenny.

Don't look, don't look.

Le... Lenny?

What will you do in
the battle that awaits us

to sustain our way of life?

To prove your love?

For in the words
of our Chancellor,

it is only love
that can save us.

- Without love, we are lost forever.
- Yes, yes!

Yes!