All language subtitles for Demolition.Man.1993.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC-RARBG

Remember when they used to let
commercial airlines land in this town?

Yeah.

Well, I don't understand
where we're going...

or why the hell we're bothering anyhow.

- You're doing a good deed.
- Wanna give us a better reason?

Yeah. A maniac hijacked
a municipal bus with 30

passengers on it. That's
a very good reason.

And I got a real bad hunch where those
passengers are and who that maniac is.

You wanna share it with us?

Phoenix.

Simon Phoenix.

Send a maniac to catch one.

Phoenix!

Don't move, Phoenix.

You're under arrest.

Arrest? Shit.

And you're trespassing.

Where are the passengers?

Oh, yes, passengers.

Well, they're...

Fuck you.

The passengers are gone.

See, I told the city, I said
"Look, nobody comes down here."

Postmen figured it out...

policemen figured it out.

But the goddamn bus drivers
just wouldn't listen.

Last time, Phoenix.

Where are the hostages?

To hell with the hostages!
This is between you and me!

What you got, soldier boy?

Do something.

Go ahead.

You're up to your ass in gasoline.

I'll set your ass on fire.

Is it cold in here...

or is it just me?

Where are they, Phoenix?

Now, where did I put them?

I swear, I'd lose my head
if it wasn't attached.

I'll keep that in mind.

Damn it, John. I'm tired
of this "Demolition-Man" shit!

You were not supposed
to come down here!

You were not supposed to attempt
the arrest of Phoenix single-handed...

and you were not supposed
to blow anything up!

It's not me, this time, Healy. He dumped
the gas and rigged the place to blow!

Yeah right, you had nothing to do with it.

I know you've been trying
to nail this psycho for 2 years.

But try remembering a
little thing called...

official police procedure.

- Where are the hostages?
- They're not here.

What do you mean they are not here?

He must've stashed them someplace else!

How do you know they weren't in there?
Are you sure?

Because I did a thermo check and there was
only eight of them, all part of his gang.

Wrong again!

You got something to say, scumbag?

Get him out of here!

Motherfucker!

You and I gonna have a nice long chat.

Captain!

Over here! There's bodies everywhere!

There must be 20 or 30.

They're everywhere.

See that, Captain? I told him!

He said he didn't care!

How could you sacrifice
all those innocent people for me!

What kind of man are you?

We're gonna spend a lot of quality
time together. See you, sweetie!

Honey! Sugar!

If you got a lawyer, you better call him.

John Spartan, you've done great deeds
for the city of Los Angeles.

So, it is with some regret that, I,
William Smithers...

acting as Assistant Warden,
hereby carry out this sentence.

Skip it.

Sargeant Spartan, you've been
sentenced to 70 years...

sub-zero re-habilitation
in the California Cryo-Penitentiary...

for the involuntary manslaughter
of 30 innocent civilians.

Skip it.

You'll be placed in cryo-stasis
for the duration of your sentence...

during which your behavior will be
altered through synaptic suggestion.

You'll be eligible for parole
no earlier than the year 2046.

I'm sorry, Sargeant.

"All personnel..."

"...the next scheduled parole hearing
for prisoner Gilmour..."

"...will take place at 07:15."

"Warden William Smithers
report to Level A, conference room."

Mellow greetings, Warden William Smithers.

Be well, Lieutenant Lenina Huxley.

As it is a beautiful...

Monday morning and as my duty log
irrationally requires it...

I'm hereby querying you
on the prison population update.

Does the tedium continue?

Your earnest questioning is as
amusing as it is irrelevant.

The prisoners are ice cubes.
They never move.

I find this lack of stimulus
to be truly disappointing.

- Don't you think?
- I try not to.

However, you're young, think all you want.

Things don't happen anymore,
we've taken care of all that.

I'll fiber-op you back
after the parole hearings.

Have a peachy day, Lieutenant.

Be well.

Be well.

"Vector 137."

"Upcoming, Santa Monica Boulevard."

"Retina coding accepted."

"Warden William Smithers, be well."

Go on.

Self-drive on.

"Self-drive engaged."

Huxley, Lenina, coding on.

"No police presence is requested
in the city at this time."

"Report to the station."

Oh boy, how exciting.

That's it.

Food, glorious food.

There'll be another one in about 12 hours.

These assholes are nothing
if not predictable.

God, I love to hate this place!

There's not enough of us, Friendly.

That doesn't really matter
anymore, does it Crow?

People are hungry.

We've got nothing left to lose.

Greetings, Merwin.

Lovely Lenina.

Greetings and salutations. Welcome
to the emergency line of the SAPD.

If you prefer an automated response,
press 1 now.

Be well.

Mellow greetings, Lenina Huxley.

Let me guess, all is serene?

On the contrary, it's been a horrific a.m.

There was a defacement of public buildings.

Walls smudged with...

scandalous graffiti.

Really?

Brutal. Why wasn't there
an "all-cars notify"?

Because there was no need
to create widespread panic.

Lieutenant Huxley...

I monitored your disheartening
and distressing comments...

to the warden this morning.

Do you really long for chaos
and disharmony?

Your fascination with
the vulgar 20th century

seems to be affecting
your better judgment.

You realize you're setting a bad example
for other officers and sworn personnel.

Thank you for the attitude
re-adjustment, Chief Earle.

Info assimilated.

Sanctimonious asshole.

"Lenina Huxley, you are
fined one half credit..."

"...for a 'sotto voce' violation
of the verbal-morality statute."

Thank you.

That was tense.

- That was tense?
- Yes.

Tell me something, Garcia?
Don't you get bored code

tracing perps who break
curfew and tell dirty jokes?

Actually, no. I find my
job deeply fulfilling.

I just can not get over the reality
of this office, Lenina Huxley.

You're still addicted to the 20th century.

High from its harshness.
Buzzed by its brutality.

Holy smokes!

Is there anything in this office which
doesn't violate Contraband Ordinance 22?

Only you, Alfredo Garcia.

Don't you ever want something to happen?

Goodness, no.

I knew you were gonna say that.

What I wouldn't give for some action.

Mr. Simon Phoenix.

One of our first
and most illustrious members.

Allow me to...

welcome you to your parole hearing.

Let's get this over quickly.

Twenty-nine years ago,
the parole system, as you know it...

was rendered obsolete.

Federal Statute 537-29...

Stop it!

Do you have anything fresh to say
on your behalf?

I thought not.

Yeah.

I do.

Teddy bear.

How'd you know the password to the cuffs?

I wish I knew.

Simon says: Die.

Warden...

let's get this over quickly.

"Retina coding accepted,
Warden William Smithers."

"Be well."

Yeah, you too.

"187. 187."

"Northwest quadrant. 187."

Oh, my!

I don't believe it!

"Northwest quadrant. 187."

What's a 187?

I don't know.

"Cryo-prison."

"Level 6."

"Identify Code 187."

"M-D-K"

"MurderDeathKill."

MurderDeathKill!

"Last recorded offense,
September 25, 2010."

"Initiate search, confirming location."

"Cryo-prison, Level 6."

"Two code 187's:
Officer John D'Argent, guard."

"Officer Alfred Pamela, guard."

"Tracking."

"Live transmission diagnostic check,
Warden William Smithers."

"Injuries: Severe eye trauma,
ruptured spleen..."

"...punctured lung..."

"...broken rib, internal bleeding."

"Condition critical."

"Vital signs failing."

"Imminent death."

"Subject deceased"

"187, Warden William Smithers..."

"...born February 14th, 1967..."

"...died August 4th, 2032."

- What's the matter with all of you?
- The cryo-prison, sir.

Three non-sanctioned life terminations.

"Do you wish to assign a coroner?"

MurderDeathKills!

Three MDKs!

Access for me the cryo-pen's
morning hearing schedule...

and display for me the list of
people interviewed for parole.

"Accessing cryo-prison processing.
Restricted information."

"Cocteau Cryo-prison,
morning hearing schedule."

"August 4th, active file"

"7:00 a.m.: Hyde, Quentin"

"8:15: Peterson, Scott"

"7:30: Phoenix, Simon"
- It's Phoenix!

"7:45..."
- Who?

Simon Phoenix.

"Phoenix, Simon."

"Accessing..."
- I knew him.

He's evil in a way you've never read about.

He's a criminal the likes
of which you've never seen.

Hold that thought, Zachary Lamb.

Simon Phoenix's code, now.

"Access code for Phoenix, Simon."

"No code found" - L-7, you're not coming
down with another virus, are you?

"Of course not"
- You don't get it, Lenina Huxley.

Phoenix isn't coded.

He was chilled back in the 20th...

before they started
lo-jacking everybody.

Declared his own kingdom
in South Central LA.

In a bad time...

- he was the worst.
- Emergency, code 187.

"Emergency, Code 187."

"Locating stopped code."

"MurderDeathKill. MurderDeathKill."

"Location..."

"...Cryo-prison, parking area.
Cryo-prison, Level 6..."

No.

"Main cryo-prison parking zone."

"Enhancing image."

"Tracking Dr. Mostow"
- Oh, my.

"187, deceased."

"Do you wish to assign a coroner?"

Tell me, L-7, is the doctor's
conveyance still in the parking zone?

"The answer is no. Car missing."

"Doctor's conveyance is not
in parking zone. It is in motion."

Locate precise code-fix
on doctor's conveyance.

"Fixing location. Beverly Hills."

"Robertson."

"Doheny"
- Yes.

"Beverly Drive."

"Doctor's vehicle has been code-fixed..."

"...approaching the corner of Wilshire
and Santa Monica Boulevard."

Glorious.

Fine work.

All nearby units, ProtectServe...

Wilshire and Santa Monica.

- Unit 12 ProtectServe.
- Apprehend fugitive.

Proceed with extreme assertiveness.

"Doctor's vehicle has been code-fixed."

"Approaching the corner of Wilshire
and Santa Monica Boulevard"

I don't know. Lately I just don't feel like
there's anything special about me.

"You are an incredibly sensitive man..."

"...who inspires joy-joy feelings
in all those around you."

- Get out of here!
- Excuse me, citizen.

I'm sorry.

"Greetings, Citizen! How are you feeling
on this glorious day?"

"You look great today!"

I feel good too.

"Angeles Information Network.
Automated banking. City of San Angeles."

Damn, I'm possessed.

I wonder if I can play the accordion, too.

"File code accepted."

"Friendly, Edgar. Code level 60."

"Listed offenses: Civil
unrest activity..."

"Don't you hear a thought repeating
in that brain of yours?"

"The name Friendly, Edgar?"

"Edgar Friendly."

"Don't you have a job to do?"

"Don't you have someone to kill?"

"Someone to kill."

"Someone to kill."

" 'Gun', noun. Portable firearm."

"This device was widely utilized in the
urban wars of the late 20th century."

"Referred to as a 'pistol'."

Look, I don't need a history lesson. Come
on, pal. Where are the goddamn guns?

"You are fined one credit for a violation
of the verbal-morality statute."

What? Fuck you.

"Your repeated violation
of the verbal-morality

statute has caused me
to notify the SAPD."

"Please remain where you are
for your reprimand."

Yeah, right.

The fuckers are fast, too.

"You are fined one credit for violation
of the verbal-morality statute."

ProtectServe in place.

Four minutes, fifteen seconds lapse.

Maniac is imminent. Request advice.

"With a firm tone of voice..."

"...demand maniac lie down
with hands behind back"

Simon Phoenix!

Lie down with your hands
behind your back!

What's this?

Six of you. Such nice, tidy uniforms.

Oh, I'm so scared.

What, you guys don't have sarcasm anymore?

The maniac has responded
with a scornful remark.

"Approach and repeat ultimatum
in an even firmer tone of voice."

"Add the words: Or else!"

Simon Phoenix!

Lie down on the ground...

or else!

"Anti-Graffiti Activation Program..."

"...activated."

"Aborted."

"Human presence detected."

"Safety override code accepted."

Lucky number seven.

We're police officers!

We're not trained to handle this kind
of violence!

Hey, wait for me!

Stupid.

"Simon says: Everybody sing!"

"And the home..."

"...of the brave."

"Play ball!"

We've lost every camera for six blocks.

Go to Century City, 1200 millimeters.

He's going for the vehicle's battery coil.

It's pure capacitance gel.

The problem is not the defacement
of public buildings or...

the noise pollution caused
by the exploding devices.

Allow me to explain.

The real problem lies
in the man whose initials...

mark the detonating graffiti...

on the streets of our peaceful city.

The man behind the "E.F."...

Mr. Edgar Friendly.

For a sadly extended period of time...

we in San Angeles...

have been plagued by a pack
of subterranean hooligans.

You will come to know them as "scraps".

Men and women who have left the comfort
of our society...

only to spew hostility...

at the very bosom
they have relinquished.

There was a time when we used
to look upon these scraps...

as rather pathetic
and relatively harmless.

Now they have a leader.

Mr. Friendly seems relentless
in his ambition...

to infect our harmony with his venom.

He must, of course...

be stopped.

This radical terrorist behavior,
led by Mr. Friendly...

must not be allowed
to undermine our safety.

Safety Above All.

I expect your trust,
confidence and certitude.

If you'll excuse me.

Dr. Cocteau...

a cryo-con has effected self-release
from the penitentiary.

It's quite horrific. MurderDeathKills,
all categories of chaos.

Enhance your calm. Enhance your...

"Be well" them for me.

Get me Captain George Earle immediately.

It was just...

And he was so...

How can a man be so blatantly sadistic?

It was fun for him.

I want you to do everything in your
power to snare this agent of destruction.

"You have my utmost confidence."

It will be done, Dr. Cocteau.

"Be well."

"Utmost confidence."

"Everything in our power."

What else is there?

Zachary Lamb...

how was the fiendish Simon Phoenix
apprehended back in the 20th?

Twelve-state manhunt.

Satellite surveillance.

A video bite on Unsolved Mysteries.

None of them worked.

In the end, it took just one man.

One cop.

John Spartan.

John Spartan?

That's right.

They called him the "Demolition Man".

"Spartan file 98345, LAPD."

"Spartan file 98761C, LAPD."

Are you sure this is real life?

Barely.

Spartan's a legend.

I've been doing a historical study.
Over 1,000 arrests over three years.

All authentic criminals.

There was a lot more business back then.

"How can you justify
destroying a $7 million mini mall..."

"...to rescue a girl
whose ransom is only $25,000?"

"Fuck you, lady."

"Good answer."

This is your recommendation?

The Demolition Man's an animal.

He's clearly the man for a job such
as this. You could reinstate him.

He's a muscle-bound grotesque...

who hasn't worn a shield in 40 years.

Simon Phoenix is an old-fashioned criminal.

We need an old-fashioned cop.

"Cryo-fac 312-618 is now ready
for routine maintenance and inspection."

"John Spartan, 5864."

"Pulmonary activity approaching normal."

"Body temperature, 63% and rising."

"Biolink engaged."

"Laser defibrillation sequence started."

"Plasma transfer in 15 seconds."

"Plasma transfer, 10 seconds..."

"...8 seconds..."

"...6 seconds..."

"Plasma transfer complete."

"MTL complete."

Hunting down an escaped cryo-con...

by releasing another one?

I am unconvinced.

This is within the powers
of the police charter, sir.

He can be released on limited parole
and reinstated to active duty.

It's not enough to collect the '90s,
you have to bring them back to life.

Dr. Cocteau said everything
within our power.

I can't think of a better idea.

That doesn't mean it's a good one.

This man comes from a dissimilar method
of law enforcement.

I'm not sure he's any different
than Simon Phoenix himself.

Detective?

Detective, I am Lieutenant Lenina Huxley.

The year is 2032.

The reason you have been released is...

How long have I been under?

Thirty-six years.

I had a wife.

What happened to my wife?

Her light was extinguished
in the Big One of 2010.

She died.

In an earthquake.

The earthquake.

I had a daughter.

I made a promise. What happened to her?

John Spartan.

I am Chief of Police George Earle.

We didn't thaw you out
for a family reunion.

Consider it fortunate the lieutenant
even bothered to do a probe on your wife.

This is about you
and the cryo-con Simon Phoenix.

What?

Today Simon Phoenix
escaped from this

cryo-facility. We've had
11 MurderDeathKills...

so far.

You see, we've become a society
of peace-loving...

and understanding and we are,
quite frankly, not equipped...

to deal with this situation.

There's been no deaths of unnatural causes
in San Angeles for 16 years.

Where?

The Santa Barbara, Los Angeles,
San Diego Metroplex merged in 2011.

You are in the center of
what used to be Los Angeles.

That's great.

- You, get me a Marlboro.
- Yes, of course. Right away.

What's a Marlboro?

It's a cigarette. Any cigarette.

Smoking is not good for you.
And it's been

deemed that anything not
good for you is bad.

Hence, illegal. Alcohol, caffeine,
contact sports, meat...

Are you shitting me?

"John Spartan, you are fined one credit for
violation of the verbal-morality statute."

What the hell is that?

"John Spartan, you are fined one
credit..." - Bad language...

chocolate, gasoline, uneducational toys
and anything spicy.

Abortion is also illegal, but then again so
is pregnancy if you don't have a license.

Caveman...

let's finish with the Rip Van Winkle
and get moving.

Our Mr. Phoenix has risen from the ashes.

I tracked that dirtbag for two years...

and when I finally bring him down you
turn me into an ice cube for my trouble.

Thanks, but no thanks.

The conditions of your parole
are full reinstatement into the SAPD...

and immediate assignment
to the apprehension of Simon Phoenix.

Or...

you can go back into cryo-stasis.

Not many people get a second chance,
John Spartan.

Here you go.

Any new inforama on Simon Phoenix?

There is nothing, Lenina Huxley.

Where's your John Spartan?

He went to the bathroom.
I guess he got all thawed out.

Sir, I formally convey my presence.

How are you doing?

We're not used
to physical-contact greetings.

Look, I don't know...

if you guys know it but you're...

you're out of toilet paper.

Did you say "toilet paper"?

They used handfuls of wadded paper...

back in the 20th.

I'm happy that you're
happy, but the place where

you're supposed to have
the toilet paper...

you've got this little shelf
with three seashells on it.

He doesn't know how to
use the three seashells.

I can see how that'd be confusing.

I don't believe it. Is that you, Spartan?

No. Zach?

Zach Lamb?

What happened to you?

I got older.

My God, I remember when you were...

a snotnosed rookie pilot.

They finally grounded me.

Shit, you were a damn good flyer.

"You're fined two credits for violation
of the verbal-morality statute"

I'll be right back.

They seem to be friends, yet...

he speaks to him
in the most profane manner.

If you'd read my study,
you'd know this is how

insecure heterosexual
males used to bond.

I knew that.

Thanks a lot you shit-brained,
fuck-faced, ball-breaking, duck-fucking...

- pain in the ass.
"You're fined five credits..."

"...for repeated violations
of the verbal-morality statute."

So much for the seashells.

See you in a few minutes.

"Voice check, Lenina Huxley."

Unfortunately Simon Phoenix
was not coded.

While you were sleeping everyone
in the city was installed a code.

It was a brilliant idea by Dr. Cocteau.
An organically bio-engineered microchip...

is sewn into the skin.

Sensors all over the city
can zero in on anyone at any time.

I can't even conceive
a visual of what you

police officers did
before it was developed.

We worked for a living. This fascist crap
makes me want to puke.

What do you think you're
scratching, caveman?

You really think we'd let you go
without control?

Your code was implanted
the second you thawed.

Why didn't you just shove
a leash up my ass?

You dirty meat-eater!

No matter how Viking your era was...

I cannot digest how
you ever wore a badge!

You're going back, John Spartan,
oh yes, you're going back!

Could you two please
dump some hormones?

We need every cortex we can
get in this situation.

We don't need the Neanderthal.

Our computer has already examined
every feasable scenario...

resulting from the appearance
of Simon Phoenix.

It's determined he'll attempt to set up
a new drug lab and form a crime syndicate.

"That is correct, Chief George Earle."

Look, I hate to interrupt
you two lovebirds...

but that's really fucking stupid.

You think he wants to start a business?

Phoenix is going for a gun.

Plain and simple.

Trust me.

He's going for a gun.

Who cares what this primate thinks?

Resonate some understanding.

The only place a person
can even view a gun in this city...

is at a museum.

"Welcome to the San Angeles
Museum of History."

"Beneath you will see an excavation..."

"...of an actual 20th-century
street scene..."

"...in downtown Los Angeles,
preserved since the earthquake of 2010."

"For specific information
on objects featured in the exhibit..."

"Firearms are displayed in the Armory..."

"...located on Level A."

"You are now entering the
Hall of Violence..."

"...a visual representation
of the primitive behavior prevalent..."

"...during the late 20th century."

Home, sweet home.

John Spartan, even if
Simon Phoenix was able

to locate the cache of
firearms, it would...

it would be impossible
for him to remove them.

She's right. They're located
in a maximum-security armory exhibit.

It's just a hunch, so trust me on this.

It's a cop thing.

And what am I, a frog?

- Excuse me.
- Yes?

- I'll drive.
- I see.

"Resetting all bio-links for new driver."

"Weight, height, peripheral vision set."

"If you would like..."

"...to commence transportation,
John Spartan, initialize sequence now."

You drive.

"Welcome, Lieutenant Lenina Huxley."

You seem very much alone,
John Spartan, but...

things aren't all that different.

Perhaps you'd like to hear
an oldies station? Oldies?

"Oh, what a relief it is."

This is the most popular station in town.

Wall-to-wall mini-tunes.
You called them "commercials".

"Here's that classic you've
all been waiting for."

"The number one request of the day:
'Armour Hot Dogs'."

Yes.

"Kids eat Armour Hot Dogs..."

Oh, wow. This is my fave!

"Skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks..."

"Tall kids, sissy kids, even kids with...

"...chicken pox love hot dogs."

"Armour Hot Dogs."

"The dogs kids love to bite."

Somebody put me back in the fridge.

"You are now entering the Armory exhibit."

"You will find displays
in the cabinets and walls...

So sorry. Didn't see you there.

Sweet baby.

Oh, shit.

This is what I'm talking about.

How do I get in here?

Hey, hey, do you got to
wait that 15-day waitin'

period? Or can I just,
like, take one now?

Motherfucker.

Oh, fuck it.

Mellow greetings.

What seems to be your boggle?

My "boggle"?

How much do you weigh?

Well, I happen to weigh...

"Please vacate the museum, patrons."

"Be calm."

"Please vacate..."

"...the museum, patrons. Be calm."

Wait a minute, this is the future.

Where are all the phaser guns?

Mellow greetings, sir.

What's your boggle?

"Warning, please exit rapidly."

"The magnetic accelerator gun,
the last produced hand-held weapon..."

"...of this millennium,
displaced the flow of neutrons..."

"...through a nonlinear cycloid
electromagnetic accumulator."

So, what? It needs batteries?

What size? Where the fuck do
you find batteries in the future?

Is there a battery store
around, motherfucker?

Excuse me, museum patron. Can I...

Where's Radio Shack?

Sweet music to my ears.

"...activated, the magnetic accelerator gun
will achieve fusion in 2.6 minutes."

Yeah, well, I was thinking about leaving
quickly. Patience is not one of my virtues.

Did you see that?

What?

Never mind. I give up trying
to figure this place out.

Excuse me, Rambo. I need to borrow this.

Access and correlate procedure.

Establish communication
with maniac intruder.

Wrong.

- Hey, Luke Skywalker. Use the Force.
- Oh, dear.

- What the hell is this?
- It's a glow-rod. It's what we got.

Does it work?

Guess so.

They have him trapped in Section 8.

I doubt it, Huxley. Make
sure that building's clear.

Done. I want a visual, now!

Every corridor of the
museum, I want full

sensors routed to me. I
want it 90 seconds ago.

You guys wait here. Give me 10 minutes.

"Museum patron,
you are now confined to the Armory."

"Museum patron,
you are now confined to the Armory."

"The Armory exhibit is now sealed."

"All museum patrons still occupying
the facility should remain calm."

"Help is imminent."

This museum is no longer sealed, is it?

What can I say? I'm a blast from the past.

You should've stayed there.

That voice sounds familiar. Who is that?

Bad aim, Blondie.

Spartan? John Spartan?

Oh shit. They let anybody into this
century! What the hell are you doing here?

Simon says: Bleed!

Great. Just great.

You're making it too easy for me, Phoenix.

Come on, you space-age piece of shit!

So, let me get this right.

They defrosted you just so you could lasso
my piddly ass? Damn, you been had!

I been dreaming about
killing you for 40 years.

Well, keep dreaming!

"AcMag now re-activated."

About time.

Past is over, John!

Time for something new and improved!

Oh, hell.

Holy Shit! I love this gun! Goddamn!

How you liking the future, John?

Come on!

Oh, I know that must have hurt!

Huh, Soldier Boy?

You're on TV!

Shit!

You're dead, Spartan!

Forgot to say: "Simon says".

Oh, shit.

Damn.

It's a brave new world.
Sorry, you gotta go!

Shit!

Our noble facility has been desecrated
by hooligans.

Someone will pay dearly for this.

Sir, the stress breeder is inside
being demobilized as we speak.

Shit. Being frozen must've thrown
my aim off.

Don't worry. I'll get
you with the next shot.

I don't think so.

No kiss-kiss, no bang-bang.

And you were doing so well.

Now, don't you have a job to do?

Isn't there a thought repeating
in that barbaric brain of yours?

The name Friendly.

Mr. Edgar Friendly.

Don't you have someone to kill?

- Yeah, I do.
- Excellent.

Then go and do your job.

Shit.

Saved by the bell.

Shit!

Damn!

You don't know how lucky you are
that maniac didn't whack you.

Well, I must say that "whacking",
whatever it is, sounds most disagreeable.

Well, you scared him away.

I don't know how to thank you.
You saved my life.

No problem.

Not bad for a 74-year-old.

Simon Phoenix knows
he has some competition.

He's finally matched his meat.

You really licked his ass.

That's "met his match"...

and "kicked his ass".

"Met his match and kicked his ass."

Captain Earle...

Who is this man?

Detective John Spartan,
temporarily reinstated

to the San Angeles
Police Department...

to pursue the escaped cryo-con
Simon Phoenix.

You told us to do everything
in our power to capture the madman.

Yes, I did. I did.

Yes, I do recall the exploits
of Mr. John Spartan.

Yes, of course. The Demolition Man.

That's quite all right.

Unexpected. Creative.

But quite all right.

John Spartan, welcome.

In honor of your arrival and your...

protection of the
sanctity of human life...

namely my own...

I'd like to invite you to join me
for dinner tonight.

Both of you.

Please, I insist.

I would like you to accompany me...

to Pizza Hut.

Looking forward to it. Thanks.

"Pizza Hut"?

So let me get this right:

Spacely Sprockets here, who's now
the man in charge, the Mayor-Gov...

who wants to take me to Pizza Hut...

though Lord knows I
wouldn't mind a pizza...

is also one of the guys who
built the goddamn cryo-prison?

"John Spartan, you are fined..."

Dr. Cocteau is the most important man
in San Angeles.

He practically created our whole way
of life...

savage.

He can have it.

Now, Phoenix could be anywhere...

but not being coded can hurt him
and limit his options.

That is correct. Money is outmoded.

All transactions are through codes.

All right, so actually he can't buy food
or a place to stay for the night.

It'd be a waste of time to mug somebody.

Unless he rips off someone's hand,
let's hope he doesn't figure that one out.

But with all officers already
patrolling in a citywide crisis net...

it should be just a matter of
tick-tocks before we actually...

More importantly. We already
have a backup plan.

We can just wait for
another code to go red.

And when Phoenix performs
another MurderDeathKill...

we'll know exactly where to pounce.

Great plan.

Thank you.

I've been an enthusiast of your escapades
for quite some time now.

I have, in fact, perused
some visuals from the

Schwarzenegger Library. That
time you took that car...

Hold it.

"The Schwarzenegger Library"?

Yes, the Schwarzenegger
Presidential Library.

Wasn't he an actor, when you...

Stop! He was President?

Yes. Even though he wasn't born
in this country, his popularity

at the time caused the 61st
Amendment, which states...

I don't want to know.

President?

What's the hell is this?
No door? No welcome mat?

What is this?

How do they expect you to
kill somebody down here?

Shit, I love that smell.
Reminds me of biscuits and gravy.

All right. A job is a job.

Edgar Friendly, whoever the fuck you are,
prepare for Simon Phoenix.

So, what's with Cocteau guy anyway?

He says I saved his life,
which I'm not even sure I did.

And my reward is dinner and dancing
at Pizza Hut?

I mean, hey, I like a big, fat
piece of pizza, but come on...

Your tone is quasi-facetious, but...

you do not realise,
that Pizza Hut was the

only restaurant to survive
the Franchise Wars.

So?

So, now all restaurants are Pizza Hut.

No way.

Welcome to Pizza Hut.

Enjoy your meal, sir.

"Valley of the Jolly Green Giant."

"Good things from the garden."

"Garden in the valley."

"Valley of the Jolly Green Giant."

Here comes the Neanderthal.

Mr. Spartan over there please,
and Lieutenant...

Thank you.

How are you doing?

Enjoy-joy your meal, sir.

Good thing I'm hungry.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I'm going to ask you to

raise your glasses to
the hero of the hour...

my savior...

Detective John Spartan.

"John Spartan."

Appreciate it.

Greetings and salutations.

I'm Associate Bob.

We met before, ever so briefly.
I was groveling in fear at the time.

You got the salt over there, Bob?

Salt is not good for you,
hence, it is illegal.

So, John Spartan, tell me...

what do you think of San Angeles, 2032?

Well considering the way
things were going when I went

in, I thought the future
would be a rotting cesspool.

You weren't here
when the real disturbances began.

Civilization tried to destroy itself.

The city degenerated
into a total fear zone.

The citizenry cocooning
in their homes, afraid

to go out. People just
wanted the madness over.

When I saw the chance
to make things right...

I seized it.

If I had not, the radiance
of San Angeles would not be here.

Just your rotting cesspool of hate
and suffering. Which would you prefer?

Maybe you can book me a flight out of here
when the sermon's over?

John Spartan...

for your crimes you would
surely have died...

in jail before now.

Even you must appreciate
the persuasively tranquil humanity...

of the cryo-prison system?

I don't want to spoil your dinner, pal, but
my cryo-sentence was no sweet lullaby.

I had feelings and I had thoughts.

How about a 36-year nightmare
about people caught in a burning building?

You were awake? I don't think so.

I do think so.

And my wife beating her fists against a
block of ice that used to be her husband.

Then you were nice enough to
wake me up and let me know,

everything that meant
something in my life is gone.

It would have been more humane to stake me
down and leave me to the fucking crows.

What would you say
if I called you a brutish fossil...

symbolic of the decayed era
gratefully forgotten?

I don't know. "Thanks"?

I thought during rehabilitation...

the prisoners were not conscious.
A person would go insane.

The side-effects of the cryo-process...

are unavoidable.

You were found guilty of criminal charges.

You owed and still do
owe a debt to society.

So, there's nothing I can do.

Yeah, there is. Call for backup.
I'll be across the street.

John Spartan, where... Where are you going?

Bad guys about to do bad things.
It's just one of those hunches again.

Go for the truck!

The food's in the truck!

Grab the big box! Come on, move! Move!

You're gonna regret this the rest
of your life. Both seconds of it.

Good night!

Get him!

What a fucking hero. Come on.

Please, don't.

What the hell?

Such reckless abandonment.

Looks like there is a new shepherd in town.

That's "sheriff." Who were those guys?

They're known as "scraps".

Outcasts and deserters who choose
to live beneath us...

in sewers and abandoned tunnels.

They're a constant irritation
to our harmony.

They're nothing but thugs and hooligans.

A society of thieves. The last remaining
criminal element in the city.

But plans are in progress
to purge this peril from our day.

You're even better live than on laser disk.

And the joy-joy way you paused to make a
glib witticism before doing battle...

with that strangely-weaponed Scrap...

Huxley, look! This isn't
the Wild West, okay?

The Wild West wasn't even the Wild West.

Hurting people is not a good thing.

Sometimes it is, but not...

when it's a bunch of people
looking for something to eat.

San Angeles time is now 22:15.

Huxley coding off.

Auto-drive.

Auto-drive engaged.

Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you back there.

No need to make a de-hurtful retraction.

I just assimilated too much contraband.

I fleshed you out as some

blow-up-the-bad-guy-with-a
happy-grin-he-man type.

But now I realise
that you're the

moody-troubled-past-gunslinger-wh-
o-will-only-draw-when-he-must type.

Huxley, stop.

What?

I'm not any of that. I just
do my job and things get...

Demolished.

You know, I keep been
looking around, and I think

about my daughter growing
up in a place like this.

And I'm afraid she's gonna think
I'm some kind of primitive.

I mean, as much as I want to see her,
I almost don't want to.

Because I don't think I'm gonna
fit into the picture very well.

Not very well at all.

It'd be a minor misuse of
police powers, but I...

- I could do a search for you.
- No.

Sorry.

Oh, subject change. I got what you wanted.

Oh, great.

What do you need that for?

It's just one of those cop hunches again.

Lights.

Nah, I've changed that.

Illuminate.

Deluminate.

Isn't that nicer?

Go ahead, you try it.

Illuminate.

Raymond, Raymond, we got to talk.

How did you get in?

Wish I knew. I got pass codes.

Routes to secret underground kingdoms.

Complete access
to the industrial data-grid interface.

I don't even know what that shit means.

But I've been meaning to ask you
about it, because I like it!

I like it a lot!

Your skills were given you for a reason.

Not for your personal amusement.

Your job is to kill Mr. Edgar Friendly and
stop a revolution before it precipitates.

That is why you were rehabilitated.

All right. I'm gonna do
your little dastardly deed for you.

But it's gonna be a little bit
more difficult than you thought.

And I'm going to need some help.

I'll need about five
or six more "special" men.

And I just so happen to have a list.

You see, I wouldn't want
you to defrost any of

those mad dog killer types,
you know what I mean?

And none of those motherfuckers
from New York. They're too uptight.

So you're going to be the only
mad dog killer type around?

Exactamundo.

Fine.

Take care of it.

Just get it over with.

You're beginning to be more
trouble than you're worth.

Oh, Raymond, don't say that.

And what do I get out of all this?

What do you want?

Malibu.

Santa Monica.
Hell, what about all the coastal cities?

Well, I'll bear it in mind.

- Good, I'll send you a memo.
- Just do your job!

What is John Spartan doing here?

Did you invite him to this
little party of ours?

Look, you finish your business...

and I'll stuff him back in the freezer.

Think of him as a guarantee.

"A guarantee"?

Well, you don't have much of a guarantee.

I took care of Spartan once,
I'll take care of him again.

Now we need those men defrosted.

So, this where you live, Huxley?

Very not bad.

Thank you.

So, where will I be staying?

Oh, I've procured you a domicile
down the corridor from my own.

Everything is voice coded,
so if you need something, just ask.

Lights.

What do you think?

Clicked off a lot of credits to create
the perfect 20th-century apartment.

It's very...

Isn't it?

John Spartan...

There's, of course, a
well-known and documented...

connection between sex and violence.

Not so much a causal effect...

but a general state
of neurological arousal.

And...

after having observed
your behavior this evening and...

my resultant condition...

I was wondering
if you'd like to have sex?

With you?

Um-hum!

Here?

Now?

Um-hum!

Oh, yeah.

Great!

I'll be right back.

Love Boat?

There you go.

Now, just relax.
We'll begin in a few seconds.

Begin what?

Having sex, of course.

What's wrong? You broke contact.

"Contact"? I didn't even touch you yet.

But I thought you wanted to make love.

Is that what you call this?

Vir-sex has been proved to
produce higher orders of alpha

waves during digitised
transference of sexual energies.

All right Huxley, what do you say
we do it the old-fashioned way?

Ugh, disgusting!

You mean...

fluid transfer?

No, I mean boning, the wild
mambo, the hunka chunka.

That is no longer done.

The exchange of bodily fluids,
do you know what that leads to?

Yes, I do. Kids, smoking,
desire to raid the fridge.

The rampant exchange of
bodily fluids was one of

the major reasons for the
downfall of society.

After AIDS, there was NRS,
after NRS there was UBT.

One of the first things that Dr. Cocteau
was able to do was to outlaw...

and behaviorally engineer
all fluid transfer

out of socially
acceptable behavior.

Not even, not even a mouth
transfer's condoned.

Kissing's not allowed?

Ah.

Damn, I was a good kisser.

Ughh!

All right, what about kids?

- Procreation?
- Yeah.

We go to a lab.

Fluids are purified, screened...

and transferred by authorized
medical personnel only.

It is the only legal way.

What're you doing?

Breaking the law.

You are a savage creature, John Spartan.

And I wish you to leave my domicile, now!

Look, in...

"Code accepted. Be well, John Spartan."

Lights.

"Oh, he doesn't know how
to use the three seashells."

Happy Halloween.

"Behavioral engineering"?

"Hi, Martin, you know, I was thinking...
Oh, my God, I'm sorry, wrong number."

"Our noble facility has been desecrated
by hooligans."

"Someone will pay dearly for this."

"Sir, the stress breeder
is inside being demobilized."

"Shit! Being frozen must've thrown
my aim off. Don't worry."

"The next shot..."

"I don't think so."

"No kiss-kiss, no bang-bang."

Detective.

Listen, I'm sorry about last night.

Here, I made this for you.

For me?

Yeah.

Thank you.

Oh, I'll drive.

I gotta learn to do this once in my life.

Okay.

Thank you for the lovely gift.

Look, I don't know what you
guys put in my cryo-slush, but

when I thawed out, the first
thing I wanted to do was knit.

I mean, how come I know
what a zipperfoot, a

shuttle and a hook and
bobbin, a petitpoint is?

I could weave a throw rug now
with my eyes closed.

It's part of your rehab program.

For each inmate the computer
draws up a skill or trade...

which best suits to
their genetic disposition.

It implants the knowledge...

and the desire to carry out
whatever the training was assigned.

I'm a seamstress?

Oh, that's just great.

I come out of cryo-prison
and I'm Betsy-fucking-Ross.

And Phoenix comes out, he can access
computers, operate all vehicles...

knows the location
of every damn thing in town...

and is three times
stronger than he went in?

Can you get me Phoenix's
rehab program now?

Sure.

- I'm a seamstress.
- Access code for Simon Phoenix.

"Access Simon Phoenix."

"Accessing..."

"Access denied!"

- What?
"Security override".

This can't be right.

"Access granted, Officer Huxley."

"Accessing Simon Phoenix,
Deepfile Rehab 65-R."

"Urban Combatkill."

"Torture Methodology.
Computer Override Authority."

"Survival Tactics"
- There must be a mistake.

"Terrorism Tactics. Weapons Training.
Martial Arts. MurderDeathKill."

"Explosives Technician. Violent Behavior."

This isn't a proper
rehabilitation program.

No kidding.

This would create a monster.

Who develops these programs?

Well, Cocteau Industries, of course.

But why would the benevolent...

Dr. Cocteau send such
a brute savage into our midst?

Well, that's a good question.
Why don't we go ask him?

No, John Spartan. You do
not accuse the savior

of our city of being
connected with a...

multi-MurderDeathKiller
like Simon Phoenix. It's...

rude.

I'll be subtle.

I'm good at subtle.

"Mellow greetings."

"We are happy to welcome you..."

"...to the Cocteau Behavioral
Engineering Complex."

"Be well."

Enhance your calm, John Spartan.

"Mellow apologies for my lack
of physical disposition, detective..."

"...but I do have an
entire city-gov to run."

Well, run this.

You programmed Phoenix's rehab
to turn him into a terrorist.

And I don't think his escape
was an accident, either.

- Very subtle.
- Thank you.

Outside the museum,
why didn't he blow your brains out?

What did you say to him?

"I honestly don't remember.
Does it matter?"

Yeah, it matters. I saw the security disk.

He had a full 10 seconds to figure out
where to put the hole in your fucking head.

"John Spartan, this
display of barbaric

behavior was unacceptable
even in your time."

But it worked.

When a man like Phoenix has
a gun to your head, 10

seconds is 9 and a half
seconds longer than you get.

"Not everyone is as eager as you..."

"...to resort to violence
to solve all the difficulties in life."

"Even now, I begin to wonder
if the chaos in the museum

was the result of Mr. Phoenix's
presence or your own?"

Wonder about this...

shithead.

If you think you got this maniac
under control, trust me...

you don't.

Is there something specific you plan
to do with that archaic device?

John Spartan.

No, I didn't think so.

Detective, the only thing I haven't got
under control is you.

But that can be solved.

You, my Cro-Magnon friend, are dead.
Your family's dead...

your past is dead.

Dead things cannot affect the living. So...

enjoy your moment...

of prehistoric bravado because
after you leave here it will be over.

Like everything else in your life.

Officer, return this man
to cryo-stasis immediately.

Be well.

Be fucked.

"You are fined one credit..."

Greetings, Citizen.
How are you on this glorious day?

I'll wait here.

Let's go.

- Oh, I don't know.
- Look, I do know. Now, turn that thing on.

I hope you know what you're doing.

But you're asking me to
disobey a direct order.

I'm to escort you to the cryo-prison.

Look, you do what you gotta do,
I know what I gotta do. I gotta

nail that maniac and put him on
ice or that's where I'm gonna be.

- Enhance your calm, John Spartan.
- Look, I've had it with enhancing my calm.

I'm gonna find that psycho Phoenix
and enhance his calm. And

when I'm done, I'm gonna turn all
my attention to that Cocteau.

Now, you don't have to come with me.
I can do this alone, okay?

Even if Simon Phoenix was
programmed to escape,

extinguish life and steal
contraband weapons...

why are you proceeding
into the depths of wasteland?

The reason your city-wide
manhunt didn't work

was because Phoenix was
in the one place...

(a) you can't monitor...

(b) are afraid to go and
c) don't give a shit about.

Now, I want to go down
there, I want to find

Phoenix and I'm gonna put
him in a hurt locker.

So, you want to come with me?
Or you want to arrest me, huh?

Okay.

I'm with you.

Let's go blow this guy.

Away.

Blow this guy away.

Whatever.

She's got a way with words.

Ugh!

Ugh!

What's wrong, Huxley?

It's not very clean.

A real garden spot.

All right, which way Garcia?

Over there.

All right, guys, be ready for anything.

"My dog's better than your dog."

"My dog's better than yours."

"My dog's better 'cause
he gets Kennel-Ration. My dog's..."

I'm sorry, when I'm nervous, I...

Sorry.

Over here.

- Ooh!
- Eew!

Oh, what's that emanation?

Oh, yeah.

Oh, yeah!

Come on, guys.

No, hey, just relax. All I want is a
burger and a beer, if you got one.

How am I gonna pay?

- Huxley, it's better to give.
- Ow!

Ah!

You wanna a slug?

Oh, no, thank you.

I think I'm gonna be sick.

Oh, God.

This is fantastic. You guys gotta try one.

Just don't ask where the meat comes from.

Huxley, what's that supposed to mean?

Do you see any cows around here, detective?

Rat?

This is a rat burger?

Not bad.

As a matter of fact, it's the
best burger I've had in years.

See you later.

They don't seem very hostile,
John Spartan.

No, they don't.

Now that's a thing of beauty.

Huxley, do you know what this is?

A 1970 Oldsmobile 442.

With a 455-cubic-inch engine.

Radial tires and bucket seats.

I'm impressed.

I studied.

So did I. Hand over the glow-rod.

Your friends, too. Come on, move!

Ow!

Ow!

You got ball-balls cop, coming down
here after the show you put on.

We're looking for a MurderDeathKiller.

Can you help us or just bully us
with your primitive weapons?

Well, maybe they're not so primitive.

So, you think you're taking me in, huh?

Guess what?

Not happening.

You tell Cocteau he can kiss my ass.
Yeah, that's right.

You tell Cocteau, it's gonna take
an army of assholes to get rid of me...

'cause I don't give a shit.
I got nothing to lose.

I don't wanna rain on your
parade, pal, but I don't know

who the hell you are, let alone
want to take you anywhere.

So stay here, be well
and Cocteau's an asshole!

Let's take them and dump them up top.
They're only down here to spy on us.

Wait a minute.

You're the guy outside Pizza Hut.

Yeah.

What do you want?

I guess, you weren't part
of the Cocteau plan.

Greed, deception, abuse of power.
That's no plan.

- That's why everybody's down here?
- You got that right.

See...

according to Cocteau's plan...

I'm an enemy because I like to think.

I like to read.

I'm into freedom of speech
and freedom of choice.

I'm the kind of guy who likes
to sit in a greasy spoon...

and wonder, "Gee, should I have
the T-Bone steak or the jumbo

rack of barbecued ribs with a
side order of gravy fries?"

I want high cholesterol.

I want to eat bacon, and butter
and buckets of cheese, okay?

I want to smoke a Cuban cigar the size of
Cincinnati in the non-smoking section.

I want to run through the streets
naked with green Jell-o all over my body...

reading Playboy magazine. Why? Because I
suddenly might feel the need to, okay pal?

I've seen the future. You know what it is?

It's a 47-year-old virgin sitting
around his beige pijamas...

drinking a banana-broccoli shake
and singing "I'm an Oscar Meyer Wiener".

Live up top, you live Cocteau's way.

What he wants, when he wants,
how he wants.

Your other choice: Come down here.

Maybe starve to death.

All right, why don't you take charge
and lead these people out of here?

I'm no leader.

I do what I have to do.

Sometimes people come with me.

All I want to do is bury
Cocteau up to his neck in

shit and let him think
happy-happy thoughts forever.

Then I got bad news.

I think he wants to kill you.

All right gentlemen, let's review.

The year is 2032.

That's 2-0-3-2. As in the 21st century.

And I'm sorry to say that
the world has become a pussy-whipped...

Brady Bunch version of itself,
run by a bunch of robed sissies.

All we have to do to run the whole thing...

is to kill a man named Friendly,
who put it all together.

Ah, but there's an extra added bonus.

We get to kill...

the man who put most
of us behind the freezer.

You mean...

we get to kill John Spartan?

Exactly.

I want you to loot, pillage,
plunder, I want you to steal.

I want you to do all the
wonderful things that

we used to do before
any of this happened.

This world will be ours!

Let's bring back the good old days!

Are you with me?

Are you with me? Let's do it!

It is a curious conclusion
which you have deduced, John Spartan.

But I can find no fault in your logic.

Simon Phoenix is the
perfect weapon to send out

into the savage outer
regions in which we stand.

I'm impressed, John Spartan.

You mean they thawed this
guy out just to kill me?

- I'm flattered.
- Don't be flattered. Be frightened.

This guy's a certifiable nightmare.

- And that's why you're down here?
- Yeah.

I must have done something right
in the previous life.

Can't imagine what that could have been.

Two for the price of one.

Let's take them boys.

Stay down!

I'll be goddamned.
Like a New York cockroach.

Everything's gone wrong.

Phoenix!

There's an elevator shaft
on top of this place.

Does that mean we're going up?

Momentito, Senorita Huxley. Come on.

How nice! Must've been expecting me.

Okay, now what?

Buckle up.

There he is! He's in my car!

Goddamn it.

What's happening to cops today?

Don't you know you are
endangering the lives of civilians?

Auto-inflate!

"Auto-inflate."

Damn!

Oh, that's just lovely.

Huxley, drive!

Okay, okay. I've read all
about this, now... okay.

What do I do? I just, I
just push this pedal?

Whoa!

Okay, okay. I got it, I got it.

Punch it, Huxley!

Excuse me?

Push the pedal as hard as you can!
Just catch up to him.

Shit!

No free rides!

Emergency, doors open.

"Doors opening."

Say hello to my old friend.

Doors close!

"Malfunction."

Computer, auto-drive.

"Auto-drive engaged."

Going to give you a haircut!

Remember those 40 bus passengers...

that you blew apart trying to catch me?

They were already dead.

Cold as Haagen-Dazs!

Man, I went to jail with a 36-year smile.

You're dead, Spartan.

Speak for yourself.

Self-drive!

"Unable to execute."

- Self-drive, now!
"Malfunction".

"Unable to execute."

Emergency!

Brake!

"Self-drive engaged."

Brake! Brake!

Brake now, you
Mickey Mouse piece of shit!

John Spartan?

John Spartan, are you in there?

John Spartan?

Who do you think it is, Huxley?

I thought your life force
had been prematurely terminated!

Yeah, I thought I was history too.

What the hell happened? All the sudden,
this car turned into a cannoli.

It's secur-a-foam. It saved your life.

Look at you, you're in shambles.

Don't worry, I can fix it later.
All I need is a needle and thread.

I really didn't say that, did I?

Damn!

John Spartan, you... You
caveman, you're under arrest!

You're to be returned to the cryo-prison.
Immediately!

I heard all about that.
We'll talk later, Chief.

Right now, I need something, anything.
A shotgun, a flare gun.

- Spartan.
- What?

Shit!

Defensive red alert!

Stun batons on.

Relax.

Well, look at you, you get
a bump on the noggin...

and you think you're Pancho Villa?

Who?

Never mind.

Time to take a stand, pal.

Well, good. While you're doing it,
loan me a gun. Loan me two guns.

You'd use these weapons of mass destruction
against men and women who uphold the law?

We use these weapons
to shop for groceries, dick.

Spartan, wait!

You can't leave.

You're under arrest. This very concept
negates the possibility of your leaving.

Skip it, Chief.

Lieutenant Huxley!

Chief...

you can take this job
and you can shovel it. Hmm?

"Take this job...

"...and shovel it."
- Yeah?

Close enough.

I hadn't counted on this but I must say,
you worked out beautifully.

People are terrified of you.

What's new? People have always been
terrified of me.

Yes, but this time they're
really intimidated.

Now...

I'll have carte blanche
to create the perfect society.

My society.

San Angeles will be a beacon of order...

with the purity of an ant colony.

And the beauty of a flawless pearl.

Look, you can't take away
people's right to be assholes.

That's who you remind me of...

an evil Mr. Rogers.

Will you please kill him?

He's pissing me off.

Put another log on the fire!

I'll love running this place!

Well, now...

what shall I do with you. Huh, Bobby?

I am an excellent associate, sir.

I'd be delighted to continue my services
during your administration.

Huh, Danzig, maybe we'll use him...

Excuse me, the police are here.

Oh, man!

Where the fuck do you think... Ow!

I'm impressed.

That man has died by my hands.

It was either him or us, Huxley.

Yeah, there is that.

Anyway, where the hell did
you learn to kick like that?

Jackie Chan movies.

Looks like the Cocteau plan
just went up in smoke.

Rest in peace, Raymond Cocteau.

Oh, John Spartan, civilization as
we know it will come to an end.

What will we do?

I don't know, but trust me,
this is better for you.

What's that?

Oh, this is bad.

This is very bad.

He's accessed the cryo-prison and is about
to defrost the entire multi-lifer wing.

Most of them don't like you.

Most of these guys don't even like their
own mothers. They're bad boys, Huxley.

How many are there?

Eighty.

All without rehab.

They'll be re-animated within the hour.

Oh, we gotta stop this.

I'm not at all pleased about having caused
the fatality of that deranged cryo-convict.

I now understand that under certain
circumstances that violence is necessary.

Good.

I hope you understand this.

I hope my butt didn't look like that.

Okay, who do we have left that's good, huh?

Let's see...

Foulks, Patrick.

Jeffrey Dahmer? I love that guy.

Look, we gotta get him.
How long before the rest are done?

They're in the final stages
of reanimation, sir.

Great. Absolutely great.

Gentlemen!

Thank you very much, but your services
will no longer be required.

Send a maniac to catch a maniac.

"Attention."

"Attention."

"Cryo-prisoner defrosting
re-animation sequence..."

"...now entering final stage."

"Countdown to reanimation
of prisoner batches..."

"...290, 310, 480..."

"...and 570."

"Ten minutes."

- That's it. The very last one.
- Excellent.

"Accessed."

What the hell is that?

Didn't expect that one, did you?

Where the fuck you going?

I wish you the best of luck, sir.

Stupid.

Spartan, how's it hanging, huh?

I'm sure you're familiar
with the long arm of the law.

Oh, come on Spartan, won't you struggle
a little bit? Make me work for it, huh?

What do you say? How about...

a little target practice.
What do you say?

Oops, didn't hurt your head?

Shit! Goddamn!

Fuck!

That's it, Spartan!

You're not getting out of this one!

I could drop you in that vat
of defrost, over there...

and fry your ass like a chicken...

or with my little pinky,
drop your monkey ass down...

I'll be goddamned.

Shit! Goddamn!

What am I doing wrong?

"Cryo-prisoner re-animation..."

"...sequence now entering final stage."

"Is it cold in here, or is it just me?"

Good memory.

Come here!

Shit!

I hate cops!

Look into my eyes, John.
I'll see you in hell.

Not.

This is the best day of my life.

Heads up!

You've apprehended the
villain responsible for

murdering our beloved Dr.
Raymond Cocteau?

Well, I wouldn't exactly say "apprehend".

Let's just say he's history.

And the cryo-prison...

that's history, too.

What'll we do?

How will we live?

I'll tell you what we're gonna do.
We'll go out drinking,

all of us, get shit-faced and
paint the town, literally.

Put up graffiti, slogans, it'll be a blast.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

I'm gonna tell you what you're gonna do.

Why don't you get a little dirty...

you, a lot clean.

And somewhere in the middle...

I don't know, you'll figure it out.

Fucking-A!

Well put.

Mister Friendly. Mister Friendly?

Greetings and salutations, Edgar Friendly.

I'm Associate Bob. And may I say...

it'll be a great pleasure
to assist you creating a more humane...

Bob, Bob.

- Let's talk about the hair, okay?
- Hair?

Pick a color, right? And lose the kimono.
You look like a couch.

Couch?

What are you, a surgeon with these gloves?

Thank you for rendering me unconscious.

Huxley, I did it for your own good.

- We're supposed to be a team.
- We are.

Oh, my.

Are all fluid transfer
activities like this?

- Better.
- Better?

Oh, my.

I think I'll like the future.

Now that you've demolished everything.

But there's just one
thing I want to know.

Hmm?

How's that damn
three seashell thing work?