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This here's the only world that I got.

What is it?

Cutting-edge VR, Flynne.

Folks want me to beta test it.

Well, hello.

Welcome to the Sim, Easy Ice.

Are you ready?

Holy shit.

I can't help but think
that I was actually there.

Somewhere that's real.

Ms. Fisher, you're in grave danger.

The situation is far more complex

than you can possibly imagine.

It's crucial that you
log back into the sim.

I may need you to endure

terrible pain in the coming hours.

I assure you it's for a
very noble cause, all right?

Someone from that company's
trying to contact me.

He says someone put a hit out on us.

For $9 million on the dark net.

A breach of this magnitude
puts all of us here

at the Research Institute
in profound peril.

You've disappointed me, Daniel.

Yes, Doctor.

We traced the operator.

His location and temporality

complicate the situation, of course.

But we've taken the necessary steps

to eliminate the threat.

Those being?

We've put up a posting on
something called the dark web.

- It's a...
- Yes, I know what it is.

Has the offer been accepted?

- Almost immediately.
- By a reliable party?

Ex-military. Elite unit.

We'll be providing some
assistance on the technical side.

Well, it's not just
him that we need dead.

It's anyone even remotely
associated with him.

Well, the posting was quite
explicit in this regard, ma'am.

Scorched earth.

Drone inbound.

Get Mama in the basement.

Can you hack it?

I need a bunch of dumbass
drunks around the fire.

Not much motion.

Get it done, Reece, or we go without it.

Mama!

Done. Link me.

These sorry motherfuckers have no idea

who they just picked a fight with.

Linked.

Linked.

Linked.

Okay.

You've got your long guns?

Mama. Mama. Wake up.

Mama, wake up right now.

Mama, wake up!

Mama, get up.

Stay down!

Back up, back up!

Where is it?

Fuck. Come on, fucker. Come on.

Stop!

Drop your fucking gun now!

- Mama?
- It's all right.

- She slept through the whole thing.
- Problem.

- Only seeing ten bodies.
- One's in the house.

Counted. Still two missing.

Play it back.

LMG team.

They hacked us back.

Motherfucker!

One's on the move!

- Low on ammo here.
- Here, too.

Ain't about to be running up that
ridge, if that's what you're thinking.

Not asking you to.

Burton!

Who is that?

Will someone please tell me
what the fuck is going on?

Your little sister said

I should stop by for a beer.

She ain't say nothin' about you

throwing such a fun party, though.

Aelita.

Aelita.

I thought that was you.
What are the chances?

You're pretending, Wolf.

Why would you say that?

You have two choices.

You can tell me the truth,
why you've tracked me down,

or you can fuck off back up the street.

I know a person who's
looking for some information

about your current place of employment.

The Research Institute?

And this person you
know, he's a fool, is he?

As far as I can see,

there's three possible
categories at play.

Fool. Klept. Maybe the Met...

He's not a fool.

So a klept, then.

Now why would I want to get entangled

with such an unpalatable world?

There would be a sum of money involved

that will carry you far
beyond the level of need.

I don't want money.

Are you happy, Aelita?

Every morning...

- Don't you fucking dare do that.
- ... I'd ask you,

"Are you happy?"

And every time, you'd
give me the same answer.

Despite all that was going on,

the desolation all around us.

"Yes." "Yes."

"Yes."

Do you still wake up like that?

So this is altruism, is it?

Is there a finder's fee
for the Good Samaritan?

Both can exist, can't they?

Self-interest and altruism?

I'm quite serious.

You really don't seem happy to me.

The individual you know,

his overture, or whatever
you want to call it,

it's gonna make me happy, is it?

A little bit of intrigue,
to liven up your days.

Where's the harm in that?

Hello?

Good God, Wilf, you sound like hell.

The hour may have something
to do with that, Lev.

Which should give a sense
of the urgency at play.

- What's going on?
- I've sent a car.

It's waiting downstairs.

It's 5:00 in the fucking morning.

- I'm not going anywhere.
- I pay you a retainer,

quite a generous one
if I'm not mistaken.

Given what I understand
to be the going rate for...

um, what is it you call
yourself again, Wilf?

A "fixer"?

I do admire the brute
simplicity of the title.

All I'm asking is that you do your job.

Fix a problem of mine,

and fix it now.

The bounty

on the girl and her family,
someone tried to claim it.

Or to be more precise,
a team of someones.

And rather violently.

We got lucky,

but our good fortune
isn't likely to last.

So my technicals have
built the girl a Peripheral.

I need you to get her inside it now.

She's our best chance of finding Aelita.

I can sense your glare
of disapproval, Ash.

What is it now?

Your friend, Mr. Netherton.

I worry your personal attachment

might be affecting your judgment.

That he's not the right man for the job.

Because... ?

He's the sort you pay to carry

a bag of money to someone, isn't he?

Slippery. Unmemorable.

The type authorities overlook
because he's not like you.

He's not a...

A wealthy bon vivant?

A descendant of an
illustrious Russian bloodline?

A patron to the arts?

A killer.

He's just a pet.

Obliging and sweet.

And the current situation may require us

to be a little bit more...

Brutal?

One day I'll share with
you how I first met Wilf.

He doesn't like to talk about it.

Quite modest, really.

But let's just say,

when it comes to his
capacity for violence,

he is one of the family.

Especially when properly motivated.

And no one could
possibly be more motivated

to find Aelita than Wilf Netherton.

I'm sorry, Flynne.

I know this is the last
thing you want to do,

but we need the intel.

If you'd like it altered in any way,

we can easily accommodate you.

I'm Wilf Netherton.

I'll be as direct as possible,

since neither of us has
time for anything else.

I'm trying to find a woman.

Aelita West.

If I'm not mistaken,

you might be the last
person to have seen her.

You see, I'm thinking you
should probably tell me

why people are trying to come
and kill me and my family first.

And then, maybe I'll go and play

your stupid missing-lady sim.

You aren't playing a sim, Ms. Fisher.

You're inside what we call a Peripheral.

Telepresent.

Piloting that body as
if it were your own.

And all this, it...

Let me show you.

This ain't London.

Why would you say that?

Where are all the people?

Well, that's where things
begin to get a bit tricky.

This is London.

But London 70 years from what
you think of as the present.

I'm sorry, you really just
expect me to swallow that?

That I've time traveled here?

To future London?

No.

Not at all.

If it were time travel, as you say,

you'd be here physically.

This is merely a
matter of data transfer.

Quantum tunneling is the
technical term for it.

It's...

I understand your confusion.

No, I'm not confused at all, actually.

I just don't believe you.

You'd like my bona fides?

Your mother.

She has a brain tumor.

A glioma.

Okay. You don't really
need to be from the future

- to know that one.
- It's going to kill her in four weeks.

On September the 22nd.

Late in the evening.

That's not true.

Doctor told her it won't do her in.

They said there's plenty of
stuff in line ahead of that.

Has her pain been intensifying?

That's usually the first sign.

We've developed a drug to treat gliomas.

Rather easily.

It's like spraying a weed, more or less.

I've sent the formula to your pharmacy.

They're printing it now.

We can't afford Pharma Jon.

We wired payment direct to the pharmacy.

Think on it, Ms. Fisher.
But with alacrity.

The situation is urgent.
I can't stress that enough.

You and your family...
You remain in grave danger.

Those men who came to kill you,

they won't be the last.

You need my help to stop them.

And I'll need yours in turn.

I'll see you soon.

Burying and burning have
both come up for discussion.

Along with the straight
and narrow approach

of contacting the sheriff's office.

I thought we should hear from you

before we committed ourselves.

Bury them.

I'm headed into town.

What for?

Tell you when I get back.

- You can't go alone.
- Fine.

Then send somebody.

You want to tell me something, Mama?

About what?

About your glioma?

Oh, sweetie.

Who told you?

I'm sorry, Flynne.

I'm so sorry.

They tell you something like that...

- Mama...
- It sounds silly.

But suddenly, you realize
how precious each day is.

And the idea of stealing
even one second from you,

of... of weighing you down with sadness,

when I could protect you?

How long?

Six weeks...

... if I'm lucky.

I told the nurse, if I was lucky,

I wouldn't be here in
the first place, would I?

This new drug, it's...

It's experimental.

We don't know what's in it.

What's the worst it could do, Flynne?

Kill me a little quicker?

Come on.

Okay.

♪ You can't fight the temptation ♪

♪ When you get the vibration ♪

♪ It won't do you no good,
it won't do you no good ♪

♪ And you better start running ♪

♪ When you hear the man coming ♪

♪ It won't do you no good,
it won't do you no good ♪

♪ No, we don't mind if you don't mind ♪

♪ Hell, I never mind ♪

Fucking A.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Coffee is on the desk.

Thanks.

I could really use some
intel right about now,

if you got it.

You're not gonna believe me.

Try me.

It ain't a sim.

When I put on the headset,
I'm operating an actual body.

It's some kind of robot, I guess,

but a whole lot more
realistic than that.

It looks like me.

Feels like me.

Except it's, uh, in London.

This guy says.

I can believe that.

Well, that ain't the hard part yet.

He says I witnessed
something while I was there.

Something that these folks are
wanting to kill me to keep quiet.

I still don't see what's
so hard to believe.

It's in the future, Burton.

Where he is.

2100.

I assume he gave you a
reason to believe that?

You check on Mama on your way up?

Is she okay?

Claims she's fine.

But Leon says her
vitals are out of whack.

Like she's fighting something.

Why?

This guy, he-he gave
me something for her.

A drug.

For her tumor. He says it will cure her.

Well, fuck that, 'cause we're
not taking his word on anything.

- I gave it to her.
- You what?

- He showed me her obituary, okay?
- Flynne, you can't

- just give her...
- She's gonna die in four weeks

if we don't do nothing about it.

And you just believed that?

It was real, Burton. It felt real.

Felt real?

- Flynne, are you out of your fucking mind?
- I'll go back.

- I'll get more intel, if that's what you want.
- No fucking way.

- I'm going in there.
- No.

He doesn't want you.

Okay? He wants me.

I don't give a fuck who he wants.

That's part of the problem.

You're letting him think he's in charge.

Goddamn it, Burton.
Why do you have to go

and fuck things up all the time, huh?

Fuck. Look, I'm sorry.

Okay?

We need you here.

You know that.

What happens when more
people come hunting us down?

But I'm going, Burton.

This ain't a discussion.

Okay?

Welcome back.

Where are we?

The rear garden of a
house in Notting Hill.

It belongs to Lev Zubov.

That's him, in the waistcoat.

Are those... ?

Thylacine analogs.

- Though I believe you might call them something else.
- Tasmanian tigers.

I saw them on a show once,

but they said that they were extinct.

Well, one of Lev's hobbies
is recreating such things.

- From their DNA.
- Do they bite?

These two are designed
for domestic companionship.

There's a rival genetic
line, bred to be feral.

So, why are we here?

We're in Notting Hill to meet
with Lev and his two technicals.

More specifically, we're in his garden

to give you a moment to
acclimate before we begin.

Begin what?

Debriefing you.

Lev is the man who
hired me to find Aelita.

The woman who went missing.

And what's a technical?

Someone with expertise in,
ah... technical matters?

Gift for words, hasn't he?

Ossian is the gentleman

looming rather threateningly
against the tree.

He has a knack for that sort
of thing, as you'll soon see.

And Ash is the exceedingly

gloomy-looking young woman at the table.

They work to maintain the connection

between our two worlds.

Which is apparently rather more tenuous

than one might prefer.

Can we bring them in before he
says something we can't unsay?

Lunch is served, Wilf.

You can shut it down.

What happens to this
thing when I'm not in it?

It has an eight-hour sleep cycle.

The rest of the time,

when you're off in your
stub, it runs on AI.

My "stub"?

When a party from our present
made contact with the past,

that past immediately branched off

and formed its own continuum.

Or parallel timeline, if you will.

Or stub.

In other words,

our two timelines were identical
until that moment of contact.

At that point, they separated.

You're not helping at all.

Any moment you'd like to jump in.

It can all be rather
confusing, even for us.

Perhaps we should stick to the
most urgent matters at hand,

and trust that the secondary
details will fall into place.

Urgent, like the people coming
to kill me and my family?

For instance.

Or, from our perspective,

urgent being what
happened to Aelita West.

Why is she so important to y'all?

Aelita worked for an entity
called the Research Institute.

Her duties there gave
her access to your stub.

We've been paying her to provide
us with a trapdoor into it.

Now that she's missing, we
risk losing that connection.

Mm-hmm.

Well, what were you all
up to in my world, then?

- I'm sorry?
- Seems like you're going

to an awful lot of trouble
here to find things out.

Kind of just begs the question: Why?

You could call it
intellectual curiosity.

Like a game?

Like you're playing a sim?

I suppose that analogy could be made.

So, we aren't real to y'all?

Are we? Me, my family, my friends.

Are we real to you?

I'm working on it.

Got a visitor.

Tommy Constantine.

On foot.

- Half a klick up the road.
- Bring the drones in.

Pull back. I'm coming up.

Roger that.

- Carlos, I need you to cover for me.
- On my way.

- What do I do?
- Just sit and watch.

If she wakes, don't tell
her where I've got to.

I ain't gonna lie to her, Burton.

I'm not asking you to.

Just tell her I'm walking the perimeter.

And then try your
best to keep her there.

That drug you gave my mother,

all it's gone and done
is make her sicker.

It will accomplish what
I promised, I assure you.

Give it time.

Which is the one thing
she don't have, ain't it?

According to y'all?

How'd you all get that
information, anyway?

What else do you all
have? You got her obituary.

But... what happens to me?

Well, as we explained before,

when someone from our world
made contact with yours,

- your timeline...
- Yeah, I get it. That's the whole stub thing.

But what happened to the
Flynne Fisher in your timeline?

I mean, does she get
married, or have any kids?

Or is she still alive?

What about my brother?

There's information to a certain point.

But after that point, the
records become rather spotty.

What point? Why?

A lot can happen in
70 years, Ms. Fisher.

- A lot did happen.
- Yeah, but what? Specifically.

I fear we're getting a
little off track here.

What are you all hiding from me?

These are all excellent questions,

and in time, they'll all be answered.

- I give you my word.
- Yeah, you keep on saying that,

but it's just starting to sound
like it don't mean that much.

Ms. Fisher...

When will my mother get better?

Iesniegt navised maehad.

Urtew cept zoryin.

They can encrypt their voices

when they address each other.

You'll grow accustomed to it.

Although, I'm afraid the irritation

never quite dissipates.

I was simply informing Ash

that the medication in question
has a 57% efficacy rate.

Which means?

The ability to produce a
desired or intended result.

Borrowed from Latin "efficacia."

I know what the fucking word means.

What does it mean for my mother?

We can't guarantee
that the drug will work.

Well, I'm guessing
"spraying a weed" means

something pretty different
in the future, huh?

Y'all got extinct animals
you've brought back to life,

time travel, moving tattoos...

Seems like it shouldn't be
too hard to help a good woman

who's had a shitty run of luck lately.

Make that happen...

... and I'll start talking
about your missing lady.

Give you my word on it, too.

You ever come across anything like this?

You know what?

That's a 6.8 SPC.

We used those in the war on occasion.

Builder muscle, you think?

Good a guess as any.

All the way out here, though?

That seem a bit odd, don't it?

Whole damn thing seems
pretty odd to me, Tommy.

Hey, you and Flynne ain't mad
at Dee Dee and me, are you?

Why would we be mad?

All them vehicles.

Looks like y'all getting ready
to roast a pig or something.

Just, uh, wondering why
we didn't get an invite.

That's Reece's truck there, right?

And Leon?

Carlos, too?

Yeah, just one of our
stupid drone tournaments.

I didn't figure you'd be fool enough

to mess around with those.

No.

Suppose not.

Flynne.

Burton.

Fuck.

I know how personally
invested you are here, Wilf.

So I worry that you might
feel an understandable instinct

to push the pace a
little with Ms. Fisher.

I think we should let her find her feet

before we pressure her too much.

You said time was a resource
we can't afford to waste.

And I wouldn't consider it wasted

if it were time spent making her more...

tractable.

My understanding was

that you simply wanted
to speak with Aelita.

It's the only reason I agreed
to arrange an introduction.

Indeed.

And those conversations
led to the possibility

of access to this young woman's world.

Why did you want access?

Wilf.

You've always struck me

as someone with a gift for
discerning the difference

between good knowledge
and bad knowledge.

Good being that which brings
you power or advantage.

Bad being the type which
might put you in mortal peril.

It's a point of pride. I
don't lie to my friends.

So, please, take some
care of what you ask.

I'd hate to stop thinking
of you as a friend.

Make sure to say hi to
Flynne and your mama for me.

Yeah, I'll do that, Tommy.

What did he say?

Two abandoned SUVs up the road a ways.

With some new kind of cloaking tech.

Which answers that question.

You okay?

I don't fucking know, Burton.

I mean, how the fuck is all
this happening right now?

There's a pile of
dead bodies back there.

You can't think like that.

Your buddies from the
future gonna help us any?

Or we on our own?

They said they're watching.

I guess they'll try to give us a warning

before the next wave hits.

How much of a warning?

Much as they can manage.

They said they're sending money, though.

A lot.

$250,000.

Soon as that hits my account,

I'm gonna lose my social security.

Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I told them.

They said they're gonna
figure out a workaround.

Which is?

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

I just won the goddamn lottery!

Oh!

I've always been lucky. You
both know that, don't you?

Luck ain't got nothing
to do with it, Leon.

What? You two meet some
folks in the futur...

- Indoor voice, Leon.
- The future?

They help me win the lottery?

How else you gonna
explain that but luck?

Leon.

From Mr. Pickett. With
his congratulations.

Corbell Pickett? For real?

Mm-hmm. Yep.

Jesus fuckin' Christ.

Just raise your glass.

Nod your thanks.

Manners, Flynne.

I... I just got to...
Got to use the bathroom.

Fucking asshole's still looking at us.

Well, our idiot cousin
did just win the lottery.

So makes us kind of
interesting for a minute or two.

So, you believe me now?

'Bout this whole future thing?

Step closer, I'll admit.

Not a small one, either.

What's that?

Shopping list for our little army.

Duty roster.

Where's Conner at?

You know Conner.

I do.

I also know that maybe
asking him to help us

- might count as a good deed.
- Might.

Might also get us all killed.

Come on, Burton.

He came in pretty damn
handy the other night.

We spun the dial, and thankfully,

Conner came up sober.

Which I guess means cousin
Leon is not the only one

with a bit of luck on his side.

What's up? You got
something you want to say?

Already said it.

I can't go fixing something
that's unfixable, Flynne.

Not in the middle of all this.

All right, then,

- I'm gonna head home.
- Wait, wait, wait. Hold up.

I talked to Reece about that sim.

How you got us all out of the barn.

And?

And you let the sheep out 'cause
you felt bad for them, right?

And then, once they were
gone, the tractor was revealed.

So it was like the sim gave you...

... an empathy bonus?

But tactically, that would've
been sacrificing a valuable asset.

Those Nazis were about to storm us,

and the sheep were
the only cover we had.

Okay.

How would you have found it then?

That's my point.

You feel bad for Conner.

I get it. We all do.

But nobody's handing out any
empathy bonuses here, Flynne.

In the real world, there ain't
gonna be no fucking tractor.

Sure.

But if there were one...

... you wouldn't have found it.

Now would you?

I'll see you at home.

Damn it, Flynne.

... of Entomology at Cornell University.

Each individual bee

has a significant role
to play serving the larger

needs of the colony.

Workers, the drones, the
queen, they all contribute

to the healthy functioning of the hive.

And none of them, not
even the queen herself,

can survive without the
support of the others.

However, despite their cooperative

and highly regimented society,

environmental pressures have
placed the population of bees

into freefall, which has led

to a cascade of
agricultural deficiencies

and economic turmoil in our own society.

For instance, a study
conducted in California

with almond farmers found that

the absence of bees decreased
their annual income by $75,000...

You ever worry you might
shoot someone with that thing?

Wake up startled-like?

That why you don't come
and visit so much no more?

Afraid I might beat you to the draw?

You drunk, Conner?

I'm something.

That's for sure.

You didn't answer my question, though.

Why don't you come a-visiting?

I'm a-visiting now, ain't I?

Got so I figured I was gonna
find you dead one of these days.

Didn't know if I could live with that.

So why are you here now?

You disappeared on us,
after our night of mayhem.

The fun seemed to die down pretty quick.

I've learned I'm not so
good with the quiet periods.

We got an ongoing situation.

I could use a decent staff sergeant.

The other night, when I was
headed toward your place?

Those boys, they heard me coming,

hustled into the brush.

I only saw one of them,
but he had me scoped.

All he had to do was twitch a finger.

Know what he did?

Just let me roll by.

I figured they was
headed to the Baker place,

that Jasper crossed Corbell
Pickett somehow, and...

I kept thinking on it...

... as I was going up the road.

There's only one reason I could guess

why that boy would let me by.

It's pity.

More I thought on
that, the madder I got.

I mean, I decided I
was gonna kill that boy,

no matter where he was headed.

By the time I got back,

those fellas had your
balls in a nice tight grip.

Only seemed neighborly
to ease the pressure.

Felt pretty good for
about 12 hours or so.

Almost like I'd made
things right for myself.

How much money you reckon the VA spends,

trying to put all us Humpty
Dumpties back together again?

Less than it would take.

Turns out they could just let us all

start shooting each other.

Solve the whole damn
problem, don't you think?

Half of us'd be dead,

the rest would be happy.

Tell me that firefight
didn't make you happy, Burton.

There it is.

There it most definitely
fucking is, am I right?

Am I right?

What you got going on out there?

Flynne took a trip to future London.

Saw something she wasn't supposed to.

Now people from there are
hiring folks to kill us.

I'm pretty fucked up,
but not that fucked up.

I didn't say you had to believe me.

You just need to help. Sober up.

Come camp at our place.

Leon's there for an
offload, if you want it.

It's not his job no more.

I don't guess he ever
saw it as a job, Conner.

Probably wouldn't be too happy

to hear you describe
it that way, either.

I just told you I killed
some boys for pitying me.

- And?
- You doing the same thing?

I was trying for empathy, actually.

What's the fucking difference?

Fucked if I know, man.

Look, the offer is there if you want it.

But the sober part is nonnegotiable.

You gonna remember me standing here,

telling you all this, come morning?

I'd say...

... it's fifty-fifty.

¿No esposa esta noche, Señor?

Flying free this evening, Manuel.

Perhaps you'd like una compañera?

Why, you old devil.

What do you take me for?

Un hombre de gran pasión, ¿no?

Well, put it like that? I...

Guess I wouldn't spurn some company.

Mm.

Ah.

And what is your name, honey?

Carmen.

Ah.

Like the Chiquita lady?

¿Qué es eso?

Used to be a fruit called the banana.

Killed off in some sort of fungus.

Terrible shame.

You, uh...

have any talents I should be aware of?

Would you excuse us, señorita?

Hey.

You're quite a difficult
man to contact, Mr. Pickett.

Our records indicate
that you are an individual

with some power and influence
in Clanton, circa 2030.

And it also seems that

you're a man who doesn't
indulge in too many scruples.

Is that correct?

What the fuck is going on here?

We have a situation that would appear
to require some local knowledge.

We'd like to pay you ten million dollars

to eliminate two members
of your community.

Who are you? Homeland Security?

You fuckers hacked this thing?

We're prepared to transfer
25% into your account now,

as a good faith payment.

The rest will be paid upon completion.

The individuals' names in question

are Flynne and Burton Fisher.

You think I'm a fool?

This is entrapment, asshole.

Open and shut.

End game!

Jesus Christ.

Fucking idiots.

How was Havana?

Always better when you're there.

Oh, I doubt that.

Bet you get up to all sorts
of trouble on your own.

Some
cha-cha-chá?

I'm afraid we might need to take
a break from the old Tropicana.

How come?

Corbell?

Burton, get up here right now.

Mama?

What are you doing?

You okay?

I was hungry.

I thought I was in a dream.

Mama.

I can see, Flynne.

Mama.

I can see you. I can see you.

What connection do you have
to a man named Corbell Pickett?

Now, you won't get anywhere in life

if you don't have the courage
to be cruel now and then.

That's the kind of person that he is.

That ain't who we are.

There ought to be a
simpler way to kill a girl.

Aelita left a clue as to
her potential whereabouts.

She was always fond of riddles.

Wilf...

that's my house.

I've arrived.

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