All language subtitles for Death.Race.4.Beyond.Anarchy.2018.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX].ENG

Sayonara, motherfucker!

We're going live.
Can you check on it?

Ten cars down, two to go.

These drivers are crazy.

I still
don't understand
why they're so willing to die.

Because everyone
wants to be king of the hill.

Is the race streaming
on the Dark Web?

Yes, Warden.

It's online in real time
on Freenet, I2P, and Tor.

And there's no way
to trace the ISP,

and shut 'em down with
a web-based attack?

If I was the NSA,
and had a couple
of months, maybe.

These guys are
a legitimate cyber militia.

The encryption is first-rate,
it's bouncing
every 10 seconds.

Then kill their power.

We don't supply their power,
they're on their own
jerry-rigged grid.

Bitch up and take out
this motherfucker!

Yeah, baby!

Fuck you, Frank!

Right now,
get us another 22.

Any word from the OTB site?

Onsite and online
wagering are up.

They're writing
a lot of betting slips.

The house is banking cash
on the secondary racers

and the parlays,
and we're raking in some vig.

If Frankenstein wins,
there's a payout.

Death Race is illegal,
and bigger than ever.

Thanks to our
resident crazy-man Frank.

Aw, fuck Frankenstein,

you're the one
who resurrected
Death Race from the dead.

I just figured out how to
decode the satellite signals

and stream it
on the Dark Web.

Frankenstein's
been born again,
thanks to us.

Well, if he wins tonight,
it'll be his seventh straight.

Our contact on the outside
says our margins are dropping

'cause nobody's taking
the other side of the bet.

We're losing a lot of
money on Frankenstein.

We need to spice things up.
The parlays are
paying off, but...

We need a challenger.

SWAT is en route,
T-minus five minutes.

Let's shut Frankenstein
and Death Race down
once and for all.

We've got some action
from the outside.

You wanted spice.
Say hello to SWAT.

Let's trade some paint.

Suck my dick, Frankie!

Suck my dick, too, Frankie!

Push them into
the fucking wall!

Do it, baby!

Motherfucker!

Woo!

- Get off the wall!
- Got it!

Take this motherfucker out!

I picked the wrong driver!

Full house.
Eights over aces.

Oh, nice.
Nines over Jacks.

I'd like a shot at
getting my money back.

Why don't I come to
your place later tonight?

Maybe we can shuffle
another deck of cards.

Hey, jefe, I've got a player,
wants to play
some heavy action.

On SWAT versus Frankenstein.

SWAT?
SWAT.

Where does he want
to play his money?

SWAT for 100,000.
Even odds.

It's my book,
I'll set the odds.

Three-to-one,

and if he gives
you any push-back,

tell him the Mexican Jew said,
go to hell and take his mom.

I hope they got that
last shipment of guns.

Now, make me
some money, Frank.

Carley!

Frankenstein! Frankenstein!

Frankenstein! Frankenstein!

Move.

On the left.
All clear!

Clear, sector one.

Bridge team, move out.

Go, go, go!

Hold up!

Move, move, move,
back it up. Go, go! All clear.

Tell me we got
cameras in there.

Yeah,
we've got cameras everywhere.

Go left.

Go left, clear.

Go right.

Go right, clear.

Two Tango down!

Sector two, report.

Copy that, one minute.

Spec Ops. Move.

Got eyes on nothing?
I got eyes.

Yeah, motherfuckers,
let's go!

Go get some!

Send me the best
you've got, Warden,

I'll send them
back to you skinned,

gutted and quartered.

You may be in
charge out there,
but this is my city.

This is The Sprawl!

Come around
that first corner.

Hello?

This isn't going to play well
in the Washington Post
tomorrow.

I know, Mr. Valentine.

Well, then you know
I've got Congress up my ass

about The Sprawl
and its morality.

Frankenstein is
out of control,

his legion is growing.

The government
is going to take
back my prison,

unless we shut
down Frankenstein,
and shut him down, now.

When I took over
Weyland International,

I was tasked with
a very specific directive.

Clean up The Sprawl,
and put an end
to Frankenstein.

More importantly,
Death Race.

Our contract's up
in five years

and we've got a lot
invested in that
human garbage dump.

So, when I get pulled into
a congressional
oversight committee,

what should I say
to the 435 members
of the House, huh?

Well, tell them
that we're doing
our best, but...

But what?
We can't control a bunch
of sociopathic gearheads,

and Frankenstein's
even more legendary,

now that Death Race
is illegal?

I can handle Frankenstein,
sir.

Really?

'Cause from where I sit,
Frankenstein's making you
look like a chump.

He's gathering steam
and mounting what adds up
to a small army.

You can't shut him down
from the outside.

He's just a mask.
Anybody can wear the mask.

His disciples, inside and out,
need to see him suffer
a humiliating defeat.

He needs to die
during Death Race,
and die bloody.

He loses Death Race,
he loses his power.

That's how you
take back our prison.

Make it happen, or I will.

What I'm about
to feed you is going
to taste bitter!

You have found yourselves
in a no-win situation!

There are two options!
Die, or survive!

You will not be given clothes,
what you're wearing
is what you'll wear!

You will not be
given a place to sleep,

you will not be
given jack shit,

except maybe
a bullet in the brain!

If you are lucky.
Rest assured,

there are no virgins
within these walls,

because life has
fucked you all!

The Sprawl is 88,000 acres

of bad shit about to happen.

The Containment
Zone warehouses
420,000 of the worst...

Of the worst offenders.

Best advice, learn how to run.
Learn how to fight!

Stop eye-fucking me, asshole.

Uncle Sam has
decided to provide you
with one roll of silver coins.

This will be your currency
inside the walls!

That's the hot wash!

Now, get yourselves ready,
we're approaching
DZ Alpha Bravo!

Convicts, go, go!

Make the world a better place!
Get the fuck out of here!

How do I get in Death Race?

Find Baltimore Bob.
If you got what it takes,
he'll get you in.

Move! Get off my bird, now!

Let's go!

Come on, what are you
staring at? Come on!

Who wants to play?

Come here, motherfucker!

On your knees!

Get the fuck
on the ground.

What is this shit?

Shut your fucking mouth!

Quit eyeballing me!

Well, ain't this
a rainbow of fucking ugly?

You folks lost?
We're good.

You look lost.

Nah, we're good, thanks.

You're good?

That's good.

Now,
give me your fucking silver.

Why would we do that?

It's a landing tax.

Why don't you just
shoot us and take it?

Maybe I don't want
to waste my bullets
on a gutter bitch like you.

Huh? Mmm.

Mmm.

You're a real sweet talker,
ain't you?

Thanks, I try.

I don't think you
have any bullets.

In fact, I think
you're shooting blanks.

Okay?

You folks want to
play the hard way?
Up against the fucking truck!

Is this what you wanted?

I got this bad feeling
I owe you, pretty boy.

We're square.

You're the one that
gave the cops a beating?

I don't want any trouble.

Oh, you don't?

'Cause if you
tuned up the cops,
you're gonna have some.

I'm just looking
for Baltimore Bob.

Then jump in, cowboy.

I'll give you a ride.

Yeah, bitch.

Fuck you, asshole!

Fuck off, 'Tilly.

If I had a dick,
here's where I'd tell
your ass to suck it.

So,
your story is that
one unarmed man

took out you and your gang,
and boosted my landing tax?

I'm sorry, Frank,
I'll do better next time.

There's no next times
in The Sprawl,
you know this.

You got sent here
for killing cops,
and you can't handle one con?

Like I said, I'm sorry, Frank,
I'll do better next time.

He just got lucky.

Every piece of silver
you collect goes right back
to The Sprawl.

When my landing tax
goes uncollected,
the city suffers.

Do you like to suffer?

I don't like to suffer, Frank.

That's him.
That's the motherfucker!

Hey, Bex.

This guy's looking
for Baltimore Bob.

Of course, he is.

Connor Gibson, meet Jane.

It's good to meet you, Jane.

He's all yours, chica.

I'ma go dance on the pole.

Do it over, girl!

So, where'd you come in from?

Long Beach.

What are you in for?

Does it matter?

It does to me.

I'm here 'cause I'm here,
just like everyone else.

One of my tax collectors
told me

you attacked him,
then robbed him.

That's not exactly
how it went down.

Enlighten me, convict.

Kill him, Frank!

Your boy and his pals
tried to jump me.

Yet, you're the one
who walked away.

I didn't say they
were any good at it.

Let me whack him, Frank.

Ain't nothing but
a couple drops of jizz

sprouted from
a shit-filled crack
in the sidewalk.

Have we met before?

I don't think so.
I just got here.

And if we had,
I wouldn't know.

You're hiding behind a mask.

This is my city.
No one speaks to me like that.

Kill that motherfucker!

Listen,
you accused me of stealing,
and I didn't steal anything.

I defended myself.
It's not my fault

your boys weren't up to
the fight they picked.

Watch your back, convict.

You're definitely not
from Long Beach.

You make it a habit to
punch above your weight,
convict?

Word is you're looking for me.

Baltimore Bob?

Your balls must be
made out of titanium.

I've never seen anyone
talk to Frank like that.

You drive?

Yeah, I drive.

So, what are you
in here for, Bob?

Let's just say,
I help people transition.

The press called me Dr. Kill.
I was an oncologist.

Yeah, I read about you.
You euthanized
over 400 dying people.

I had 432, and not
all of them were dying.

Some were living
inconsequential lives,

and as such,
they were already dead.

Come on, come on!

Get the truck!

This food is
property of Frankenstein!

What the hell are they doing?

Feeding time.

Disciples of Frank.

They hijack the food shipment
and control the supply.

If you keep
the populace hungry,
they're easier to control.

Where do all the weapons
and cars come from?

Handmade, homemade,
we lick the bottom of the pot,

and refurbish whatever sticks
to our tongues.

And we got
a benefactor on the outside.

Step away from the vehicle,
you motherfucker!

Die, motherfucker!

Fuck you! Nazi fuck!

You're the one
everybody's talking about?

News travels fast, huh?

Small town, really,
226,000 to be exact.

We have about
19,000 deaths a year
and 22,000 come over the wall.

Sorry, I'm doing it again.

Connor Gibson, meet Lists.

So, what am I watching here?

It's where
non-racers compete
for a spot in Death Race.

And how do you get a spot?

You have to win
the Death Match.

Let this Death Match begin!

Our first contestant is all
the way from New York City,
New York.

She's a killer and a thief,
and one sexy
little piece of ass.

Give it up for Gipsy Rose!

Next up,
born in the tall cotton

and chicken-droppings
of Oxford, Mississippi,

we have a psychotic...
Who's the girl?

Frank's main squeeze.

Your standard,
garden-variety pleasure model.

Carley J'adore,
it's her stage name.

She was charged
with 17 counts of
human trafficking,

eight counts prostitution,
and another five counts
of false imprisonment.

She's an ex-cheerleader.

Ex-porn star.

Exactly.

Hmm. Never did
a day's work vertical.

On your marks,
get set, and die!

Kill, kill, kill!

Kill, kill, kill!

I can't hear you! Yeah!

Shut your fucking mouth!

Yeah! Yeah!

Don't pick a fight
with Godzilla

'cause you think you know
how to throw a punch.

Sleep on it.

You still want
Death Race tomorrow,

we'll talk.

Hey, Long Beach.

Got a bottle.
Could use some company.

It's nice in here.
Thanks.

Go ahead and ask.
Everybody always asks.

It's kind of like the,
"What's your star sign?"
line in here.

I'm guilty.

I wasn't gonna ask.

Yeah, but you would have
found out, anyway.

There's no secrets
here in The Sprawl.

I married a really great guy,

who turned out to be
not such a great guy.

He beat me up
a couple of times,

I forgave him.

The market crashed,
he lost his job,

smacked me around a bit more.

I forgave him again.

And then one day,

I didn't forgive him.

And I shot him nine times.

You know my one regret,
though?

Is that I didn't
shoot the bastard 10.

So, you still wanna
knock boots with me?

Never said I did.

Okay, well,

wasn't really up for
the taking, anyway.

I just needed somebody
to finish this bottle with,

and you're some mysterious guy
from Long Beach, right?

Get some sleep.

Couch is yours
if you want it.

Welcome to the Greenhouse.

This is Baltimore Bob's
one-of-a-kind creation.

Inspired by the Chinese solar
greenhouse designs
with CO2 enrichment.

Pesticide free,
and totally 100% organic.

This is where we
make the ethanol,

and Bob is
constantly tinkering

with the recipe to
deliver a high-octane brew.

It's got 20 times
more kick

than the watered-down petrol
from outside the wall.

He's like
the OPEC of The Sprawl.

And he's not in
Frank's pocket?

They have an arrangement.

He provides fuel,

and Frank reciprocates
with protection
and a few other perks.

We eat a little bit
better than the rest.

You slept on it?

I did.

Let's say
you have the skills.

Death Race is for
sociopathic killers.

You gotta have
gravel in your guts.

You have to live for
the smell of motor oil
and high-octane fuel.

You gotta love
the sound of
rubber on asphalt,

and the taste of
blood in your mouth.

And when you go
to sleep at night,
I mean that deep REM sleep,

the sound of bullets
whizzing past your head
should give you comfort.

So, Mr. Strong and Silent,

you made of that stuff?

If I'm not,
then I die, right?

So, you want a shot?

I'll get you a shot.

Tonight. Death Pit.

Be ready to fight!

Welcome to the Death Pit,
you degenerate convicts.

Tonight's final Death Match
promises to be
the bloodiest one yet.

The carnage is about to begin,

so, take your seats
and get ready for
the wildest ride yet.

Hello?

Hi, old friend.

Lists, my buddy,
what you got for me?

There's a new guy.

This is his first Death Match,
but Baltimore Bob
says he can fight.

Could be a challenger.

What's his story?

Connor Gibson,
in for felony whatever.

Two counts,
six counts, who's counting,

he's in here
with the rest of us.

I wish I had a few more
bullet points for you,
but he's a question mark.

Why don't you
send me the link,
and I'll check him out.

Wait. Before you go,

we're running
short on spare parts,
bulk ammo, CAT 5 cable.

Could you hook me up?

They'll be in on
the next shipment.

Adios, amigo.

Okay, let's see what
this kid's made of.

Warden, check it out.

What do you have?

They're
transmitting a telecast
from the Death Pit.

It's the final Death Match.

Welcome to
the final Death Match.

This one's simple easy.

It's called
"Capture the Keys."
Here's the rules.

We're not here to see
some MMA submission bullshit.

We're here to
see bone-blasting,

spine-shattering fun.

It's about kill.

It's about blood and bone.

Oh, man, somebody
gonna get a citation!

We're not here to see some
fucking pussy tap out.

The one person who
gets that set of keys

and sticks it in
the ignition of that car,

wins the last spot
in Death Race.

Yeah!

Adiós, suckers. Peace out.

Somebody call the police!

There's our challenger.
You can't teach that.

Trash that motherfucker.

That pretty boy can punch!

Yeah, but can he drive?

Who cares,
I want to know if he
fucks like he fights.

RIP that motherfucker!

Yeah!

Ladies and gentlemen,
let's hear it for the Butcher.

This mountain of a man
has a bellyful of killing
under his belt.

Having chalked up 67 body bags
on the kill board.

Submission is not his thing.

Good luck out there, Connor,
you got the keys,

do you have the balls?

Side bet,
this pretty boy
doesn't last a minute.

I'll take that action, Mita.

Oh.

Down goes Frazier!

Shit.
Unbelievable.

Hot dog! Made me
feel young again, shit.

I got something for you,
Frankenstein.
Got something for you, baby.

Bring the winner by
for a talk.

With pleasure.

That's a bad motherfucker.

Wanna pay now,
or shall I run up a tab?

I'll pay now.
Mmm.

Frank thought you
might want a fresh shirt.

I thought
you might want me.

I'm not into porn stars.

You can't pass this up.

I can.

He might have
something to say about that.

If you think you
can make a go of it

against Frankenstein,
you're wrong.

I can barely handle him,
and I'm three times
the man you are.

Pussy.

Was Carley hospitable?

Something like that.

You've impressed me, twice.
That's not easily done.

What are your
first impressions
of The Sprawl?

Anarchy.

Any more than
the outside world?

I think so.

Do you think you can handle
being king of this mountain?

I'm just here to race.

Mmm-hmm.

Yes,
but if you win, then what?

Are you ready to lead?
To make hard decisions?

The Sprawl is self-sustaining,
but it wasn't always this way.

When I arrived,
it was a wasteland.

The Weyland corporation
promoted The Sprawl

as an alternative
to regular prison.

That was a lie.

The Sprawl was created
as an alternative
to the death penalty.

They throw us cheese,
and expect us
to act like rats.

They didn't
expect us to evolve,

but we are, and we will.

I keep this place
from anarchy.

What does this have to
do with a street race?

It's not just a street race,
it is who we are.

Who are you, Connor Gibson?

Nobody special.

All that could change
if you win Death Race,
if you defeat me.

Why would you be
willing to risk
losing all this power?

Death Race gives anyone
the opportunity
to become king.

Without that to inspire,
we're nothing.

If you win,
what would be your
first act as king?

Haven't really
thought about it.

I won because
I knew exactly
what I wanted to do

when I was king of this hill.

If you don't
know what you want,
you'll die on the track,

and The Sprawl
will cheer your death.

So, the question is,

what do you want?

Come on, baby, get in.

That was insane tonight.

The answer's no, Bexie.

You don't want to ride shotgun
in Death Race.

Yes, I do.

It's a death sentence.

Frank's killed
people I care about.

I wanna be part of
putting him down.

I'll think about it.

I thought we
could have a drink.

So, who's Merry?

She your favorite groupie,
or you're just
really into Christmas?

It's my sister, Meredith.

She died when I
was in the service.

Never got to say goodbye.

I can't change it, so, I...

I've seen a lot of bad stuff.
Done a lot of bad things.

Merry was good.

Better than me,
that's for sure.

I was...

I was born in Little Rock.

Son of a preacher man.

Hardly.

My old man was a grease monkey
in a pair of coveralls.

His idea of a good time
was drinking Dixie Beer
on the porch,

and counting the fireflies.

Spent most of my young life
in Sweetwater, Texas,
on a salvage yard.

Merry passed away
in Long Beach.

That's how I ended up there.

So, the good news is,
it's a V-8 standard
transmission and it runs,

but the bad news is,
well, it needs tires, brakes,

a total engine overhaul,
fuel cell, armor, weapons...

Man, don't bore me
with a list.

Bottom line,
it needs everything.

What the hell's this thing?

Your tombstone.

Bulletproof titanium plate,
protects your fuel cell.

You got a navigator yet?

Hell yeah, he does!

I'm the motherfucker
riding shotgun.

The hell you looking at?

I got antifreeze
in my veins.

Let's build this shit.

The speedometer's
been calibrated
at 200 miles per hour.

Think that's all she's got?

Let's find out.

This Death Race is
one lap, one day.

The race begins and
ends at the Air Field.

A lot of speed here,
few obstacles.

The second leg is
on Interstate 94.

Most of the lesser
cars will be taken out
on this long stretch here.

Watch out for
the highway gangs,
this is their turf.

And then,
you hit The Projects.

All kind of bad boys in there.

If you come out
of there alive,

you end up in
the Meat-Packing District.

Home free.

Driving is more important
than killing.

Shoot only when you must.
Think slow, drive fast.

Rule number one,
keep your ass alive.

That was incredible.

Don't fucking
touch me.

Hi.

So, you like cars?

Yeah. I like
American Muscle.

I had a 'Vette.

Rebuilt it myself.

A 1970 LT-1.

Mmm.

Stingray.

Used to love to open her up
on the highway to Vegas.

Pedal to the floor,
370 horses running hard.

Holley and
Rochester Quadrajet carb

getting the mixture
just right.

Momentum shift,
stay off the brakes,
get her on her toes.

Man, could she fly.

I bet you talk like
this to all your girls.

I got nothing
outside these walls.

Merry was my last connection
to anything real.

So, when she died,

I made a bad decision,

wound up here,
not caring about
anything or anyone.

But now...

But now?

We're coming for you!

We're coming for you, boy!

Sergeant Gibson.

No one's called me
that in a long time.

Connor Gibson is not the man
we are coming to know.

He is a warrior,

a very decorated and
specialized warrior.

Known in the shadow world
of government killers
for his wet work with the CIA.

Targeted killing
is his forte,
and I am his mark.

He's here at the behest
of Weyland International.

Sent here by the fascists
from the outside

because they think
I've gained too much power.

They fitted him with a strap,

and he hangs
around their waist
like a hatchet.

There's a helicopter ride
to freedom

waiting for him
at the finish line.

Tell me, Sergeant,
am I wrong?

Kill! Kill! Kill!

Kill! Kill! Kill!

Kill! Kill! Kill!

Kill him!

Sergeant Gibson...

Traitor!

...will be allowed to race.

Fuck that, Frank!
What if he wins?

Then he wins! And that
is what's meant to be.

Did you think I
wouldn't find out?

So, tell me,
who's hiding
behind the mask now,

me or you?

See you on the starting line.

Stupid traitor.

Hope he dies.
Semper Fi anyway, man.

Is it true?

Goodbye, Long Beach.

Jane, please.

Get your goddamn hands
off of me.

I'm still one
of your pit crew.

I don't care
if they have sent you
to kill him, or not.

He's a liar, Bob!

A liar who's
working for the man.

Get over it.

He's good for business.

We've got a race
to get ready for.

Get your head right, convict.

Your life depends on it.

You gotta love race day.

Are you ready, motherfuckers!

I can't hear you,
you bunch of fucking pussies!

Here they are!

Welcome to Death Race,
the ultimate in auto carnage.

One day, 11 drivers,

four stages, and over
250 live camera feeds...

Just like clockwork,
Mr. Valentine.

This is it, last chance,
Frankenstein dies,
or your career dies.

Frankenstein will
be in a body bag
by day's end.

I hope so, for your sake.

Let's talk about the bad boys
and girls that run this race.

Did you call the cops?
'Cause I didn't fucking...
I didn't call...

Featuring
three-time racer, Johnny Law,

and his monster
police cruiser.

He's here to
protect and serve.

Mornin', motherfuckers.

Two-time racer,
The Fireman and
his Dodge Ram Hemi.

His ass is coming
through your door.

Come show mama some love.

Queen bitch of The Sprawl,
Matilda The Hun,

sporting her school bus yellow
Econoline van.

And first-timer, Gipsy Rose,
and her badass Mini Cooper S.

With a face only
a mother could love,

here's Pierced-Face
and his VW Bug.

Nazi Bastard and his
blood-thirsty truck from hell.

Dirt and his
Formula-1 War Cycle,

counting on speed
to keep him alive.

Veteran racer, Dead Man,
and his killer hearse.

He didn't come here
to rest in peace.

Behind the wheel of
her Toyota Celica,

virgin racer, Cleopatra.

And last,
but definitely least,

our resident rat fuck,
Sergeant Gibson,
and his big block Camaro.

He's got a bull's eye
on his back.

You ready
for our play-date?

You got the whole
world coming after you,
my man, you know that, right?

Take a walk,
Bexie, I got this.

I should,
but who am I to judge?

I ain't here to
throw shade on you.

I'm sure you got reasons.

So, if it's all the same,
I'll ride with you.

Now,
give it up for your champion,

returning to the track
off his seventh straight win.

The man who just won't die...

Frankenstein!

Frank,
I got your number, baby!

Frank, baby!

Sometimes, I get the feeling
Frank is playing chess,

and the rest of us
are playing checkers.

Let her go, Frank,
she's got nothing to
do with any of this.

No, but she's
a good insurance policy.

Let's see how
cold-blooded you are.

Put her in the car.

Welcome to Death Race,

streaming live on the Dark Web
to over 54 million viewers

on 250 live camera feeds.

This is the ultimate
in vehicular carnage,
uncut and totally rad.

Fake tits.

We should fuck her
after the race.

Let's light this fire!

Now, go back and strap
your sweet little ass
in that chair, girl.

Come on!

Dude,
let's get this party started.

Whoa!

One down, 10 to go.

This is gonna be
the biggest payday ever.

Hey, Bexie, do me a favor
and get those motherfuckers
off my ass.

Let's blow some shit up.

Find me someone
that will give me
some action on Connor Gibson.

And tell them I'm all in.

Nine drivers remain,
as we enter the Deadlands.

Frankenstein, Connor Gibson,
and Gipsy Rose lead the pack.

Buckle up, bitches,
the asphalt is running red,

and we're just
getting warmed up.

Yeah!

You are going down,
you sodomite motherfucker!

Take him out!

Fuck you, Fireman!

Yeah!

Now, that's a waste
of some good pussy!

I couldn't have
said it better myself.

Frankenstein and
Benedict Arnold himself,

Connor Gibson,
battle for the lead,

with Gipsy Rose and Johnny Law
hanging around
the front of the pack.

Let's put Frank in a body bag
once and for all.

Arming missiles.

Let's see
if your boyfriend's
ready to bury you.

Don't do it.

Let her go, Connor,
that skinny bitch
ain't never coming back.

I said don't do it.

Just what I thought.

Fucking Los Muertos.

Fuck!

Suck on this, dickface!

Hold onto your titties,
bitches!

Six Death Racers left.

Let's go!

Who the hell brings
a VW bus to a Death Race?

You gotta hand it
to these degenerates.

They put on a hell of a show.

Our tombstone can't
hold out much longer.

Somebody call 911!

Lose this psycho.

Missed, motherfucker!

Fish on!

We're hooked.

Hang on, Bexie, I got an idea.

What are you doing,
motherfucker?

Here, fishy, fishy.

Come out and play.

Shh...

Fuck me, this traitor
and his bitch, Bexie,
just burned down The Fireman.

Only five Death Racers left
as they head
into The Projects.

Frankenstein is
still in the lead,

with Gipsy Rose
a close second,

and Connor Gibson's
eating everyone's dust,
dead last.

Fucking Death Race!

Hey, you!

Did you do this?

No, we did!

Just the man I
was gunnin' for.

How ya doin', Wonder Bread?

Stupid motherfucker!

Fick dich, Schwarzer!

Oh, no, he didn't!

Did he just say
what I think he said?

Yeah, but in German.

Whoo!

You and your bitch
brought your skinhead shit

to the wrong part of town.

Get ready to play!

We gotta reroute him
over the bridge.

He's too far out
to win this race.

I'm not telling him.

Get him online.

Talk to me, Bob.

We need to reroute
you over the bridge.

The bridge is out.

Why the fuck are you
rerouting me there?

You're too far behind,
you have to jump the gap.

What are we talking about,
like 50 feet?

More like, 250 feet.

That's your only chance
if you wanna win.

I have to win.

No one's gonna shed
a tear for Nazi Bastard
and his nasty little Fräulein.

I mean, boo-hoo,
it's not a real loss
to the planet Earth.

Four drivers remain.

Frankenstein and Gipsy Rose
have opened up a big lead

on Johnny Law
and Connor Gibson.

So, how do we do this, Bob?

You've gotta hit
the gap at 220 miles an hour.
There's a ramp there.

It's not the first time
this has been tried.

Nah, we're only calibrated
to 200 miles an hour.

Don't worry,
she'll get you up to 220.

Anyone ever made
this jump before?

On paper, the math works.

What about the landing?

Well,
I ain't gonna lie to you,
it's gonna be a hard one.

If you get your angle right,
you might live.

Yeah, fuck you very much.

That rat fuck is back.

Punk-ass bitch!

That worked well.

Yeah!

Okay,
let's get this done already.

Take your next left,
the bridge is five miles out.

That's your only chance.

You like this play, Bob?

It's your only play.

I'll see you on
the other side.

You should get out, Bexie.
We're all out of road.

Not fucking happening.

The minute I got in
this car with you,
I was all in.

So, let's do this.
It's just gravity.

We're maxing out at 209.

I'm dropping the tombstone.

Come on, come on.

Yeah!

Yeah, all right!

Told you the math worked.

I could suck
you off right now.

I can't believe
what I just saw.

Connor Gibson
jumped the bridge,

putting him right
back in the thick of it.

Motherfucker got game.

Come on,
kid, don't let me down!
You gotta win this race.

Here comes your boyfriend.

Hey, Bex,
patch me through to Frank.

Hey, Frankie.

Hey, Connor, glad you showed
for your date with destiny.

I knew it'd come down to us.

I wouldn't have
it any other way.

We can start
shooting at each other,
or we can drive.

What do you prefer?

Let's drive.

We're running out of time,
take him out already!

What's going on?

His fuel cell's empty.

What the fuck! Drive, Connor!

We're out of gas.

Fuel line's ruptured.

Don't do it.
Just turn around
and win your race.

This is
Death Race. He has to die.

He knows it.

He chose it.

All right!

That's our cue,
send in the chopper.

It's already en route.

Get the fuck out of here!

I got you, I got you, Jane.

Jam the broadcast
to the Dark Web.

But this is good stuff...

Just do it!
Cut it for five minutes.

Shit.

This is what the Warden wants.

He wants Frank's death
on display.

We give it to him,
we lose.

Fuck him.

Job's done, let's go.

Hold on.

They sent two of us?

Insurance. Pretty wild, huh?

And thanks for the assist.

Everybody was
so focused on you,
I flew under the radar.

Let's get the fuck
out of this shit hole.

Frankenstein's dead,
job well done.

Oh, and, by the way,

we're all square, now.

Twenty seconds, and I'm gone.

Connor, listen up.

Put on the mask,
become Frankenstein.

The Sprawl will never
follow Connor Gibson.

They follow Frankenstein.

Without him, chaos.

Let's finish this race,
Long Beach.

Now,
put Death Race back online.

Goldberg's gonna be pissed.
He put heavy action on Connor.

Easy come, easy go.

Fuck you, Valentine.

Yeah!

Yeah!