American Gods (2017–…): Season 1, Episode 6 - A Murder of Gods - full transcript

Don't fight gravity, Shadow.

We're the coming thing.

They threatened to
reprogram reality.

Is that what this is?

You are pretending

you cannot believe in
impossible things.

Are you still my puppy?

No.

If all of this is real,

and TVs talk and hammers bleed,

and if there's a world
under a world...



We have no business with you.

You say merger,

I hear war.

I'm not your enemy.

- Amen.
- Amen.

Amen.

What the hell was that in there?

Marilyn Monroe just floats
into a fucking room

then massacred
a station full of cops

and just left us
in the middle of it.

And then I get stabbed by
Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.

- What are they?
- It's hard to quantify.

Motherfucker. You never just
answer a fucking question.

It's not a question, Shadow.



A question would be "What
do you believe you saw?"

I don't know what I believe.

They killed those cops.

A warning to me,
a sacrifice to them.

Sacrifice?

Like what, f-for...
For a god?

What's a god?

Can we even know they exist?

People believe things,

which means they're real.

That means we know they exist.

So what came first, gods or the
people who believed in them?

All right, so...

where was all this
before I met you?

On the periphery, just outside,

there's always a window,

but people are frightened
to look through it.

Safer in the prison cell.

We're not safe now.

No. We're not.

Who are you?

If I told you,
you wouldn't believe me.

I believe in something.

I saw my wife.

Tonight.

She, uh...

she was waiting for me
in my room.

She came back... alive.

Dead.

Oh?

Well, your wife
obviously has a temper.

Not used to not
getting her way, huh?

She apologize for
her actions in life?

Sort of.

Your dearly departed
has departed,

and I suggest we do the same.

- Maybe she's coming back.
- Okay?

Maybe we should wait.

Maybe she was never here.

Was she a ghost?

I mean, do you think
you saw a ghost?

No, because she was...

She was solid, okay?

I touched her.
Sh-She... She kissed me.

So your dead wife showed up.

You scared?

Yeah, a little.

You know, you're not
questioning any of this.

I'm questioning
everything right now.

I'm not so young nor so narrow

to assume that the dead are dead

and there's no spectrum
of spectral in between.

In my experience,
the dead that aren't

rarely come back
without purpose.

I don't know
what her purpose was.

To let you go. Now get in.

Now you've seen who's after us,

and you know
what they're capable of.

You can hang around here
if you want,

but I'm getting out of here.

Shadow!

Fuck!

Where the fuck is my car?

Excuse me.

Where's my fucking car?

Police were looking at a car.

They thought it belonged
to the dead woman.

Yes, it does belong
to the dead woman.

I am the dead woman.
Where's my fucking car?

- Police towed it.
- Where are the police?

Isn't this a crime scene?
Shouldn't they be all over this?

The police are dead.

First piece of luck
I've had in days.

Hi.

The police are dead?

All of them?
All of the police are dead?

Worse things
out tonight than you.

Do you have a car?

Yes. I do.

Well, chop-chop,
Ginger Minge, let's go.

Isn't she lovely?

Which one's yours?

Pick one.

Ah, for fuck's sake.
That one.

Ahem.

Get it started.
I'll take it from there.

Well, you're not taking it
anywhere, dead wife,

not without me,

not until that coin
is back in my pocket

- where it belongs.
- Good fucking luck with that.

No, this one, not that one.

That alarm I can't
do anything about.

This alarm I can.
This alarm's my friend.

Well, then steal me
a different fucking car.

I don't want to drive
this shitty old taxi.

I'm driving.
You're in the back.

This car's a toilet.

It's your toilet now, dead wife.

I've done the math.

This times that
equals you're a cunt,

divided by the only way
I'm going to get what I need

is if you give it to me,

equals the only way you're
going to give it to me

is if you don't need it.

Like my friend Jesus Christ,

the only thing you need,
dead wife...

is resurrection.

Did you just name drop
Jesus Christ

like you know a guy
who knows a guy?

I do know a guy who knows a guy,

and the guy sitting next
to that guy is your guy.

And who's this guy
your guy knows?

Someone who can
perform a resurrection

without the use
of a charmed coin.

And you're just going
to convince this guy

to bring me back to life?

I can be very convincing.

Fuck.

Is this you being
convincing now?

Because you suck at it,

unless you're trying to
convince me you're an asshole.

I'm trying
to convince you to live.

Real living, not whatever
rot living this is.

'Cause whatever this is
doesn't last long,

especially through a hot summer.

Whatever this is goes to soup,

and soup don't win
her husband back,

if that's what soup is after.

Why don't you put that on your
fucking scales and weigh it?

What the fuck are you?

I mean, what the fuck
are any of you?

But first, tell me
what the fuck are you.

Seriously, what
the fuck are you?

I'm a leprechaun.

Oh, well, that makes sense.

- Does it now?
- No!

Please stop stealing my cab.

Did you say
you are a leprechaun?

Yes.

Have you ever met a jinn?

Looking for a jinn, are you now?

I have been traveling in the
direction of Mecca for days

looking for a jinn.

Fire for eyes, shit for brains?

Yes.

And no, presumably.

My luck's for shit.

I'd rather not
be behind the wheel.

Good. I'll drive.

Yeah. You'll drive.

You'll drive into a fucking tree

first chance you get.

Take us to Kentucky.

I'll tell you
where to find your jinn.

I'll tell you where to find
a whole murder of gods,

demi and otherwise,
every goddamn one of them.

I'll tell you.

Once we're in Kentucky.

You're confused.

No, I can see that.
I can understand that.

Usually when the grieving reach
the bargaining stage,

they find that avenue fruitless

and go straight on
to depression.

But you, you've had
your fucking bargain,

and are loathe
to go back to grieving.

Consider this.

The dead, when they come back,
are tenacious little bastards

and hang on until they're done,

and then they're gone.

Hey! Hey!

I know a charm that could lift
grief from a grieving heart.

Do you know a charm
that can stop bleeding?

No, I do. And I know a charm that
can cure your sickness and pain.

I know a charm that can turn
away the weapons of enemies.

I know a charm
that can heal with a touch.

Well, now would be
a good fuckin' time.

Oh...

What? Is it infected?

Well, in a way, yeah.

No doubt you met gentlemen
in the slammer

who slick their shiv with shit
before they shank their rival.

Well, that's what we got here.

A shitty little shiv.

Ah! It's moving!
What the fuck is that?

I need more light.

Gonna take a little
persuasion, huh?

Excuse the... the cold hands.

Shh...

Aah...

You ever raise worms by putting
an electric current to the earth?

That's what this is like.

Aah! I feel it digging
around in there...

Shh...

That's it.

There's always been
a god-shaped hole in man's head.

Trees were the first to fill it.

Don't look.

Mr. Wood was the trees.

Mr. Wood was the forest.

Well, he was a very old god
who saw something very new.

He saw a god-fearing society

turning towards complete
industrialization.

So... So what did he do?

He sacrificed his trees.
He sacrificed his forest.

And he became something else.

- Is it gone?
- Huh? What?

At this stage, it's... it's
"time will tell, we'll see."

But if it'll rest your
weary head, yeah, it's gone.

It's all so fucked up.

Religion inspires in those
who fear nothing,

fear of the gods,

and using that fear requires
a certain element of fucked up.

New York scared me.

I was scared of the black people,
the way they stared at me.

I was scared of the Jews,
the ones dressed all in black

with the hats and the beards
and the side curls.

I was scared of
the sheer quantity of people,

all shapes and sizes of people

spilling from high, high filthy
buildings onto the sidewalk.

I was scared of the honking
hullabaloo of traffic,

and I was even scared
of the air.

I'm not scared
of anything anymore.

I'm scared
you're never gonna shut

that flappin' hole of yours.

I'm sitting back here having
a fuckin' anxiety attack

because I am genuinely terrified

that you are never gonna
shut the fuck up,

Ibrahim bin Irem.

Who the fuck
is Ibrahim bin Irem anyway?

'Cause that ain't you.

Ibrahim probably threw himself
from this speeding vehicle

to shut your fuckin' yap.

Did you kill Ibrahim?

I won't tell.

You should see
the shit I've done.

Did you?

No.

I never met Ibrahim bin Irem.

I imagine he was given
a new life just as I was.

My name is Salim...

or it was Salim.

I do not know
what my name is now.

So you got this new life,
what happens to the old one?

Fuck those assholes?

Never see 'em again?

Yes. Fuck those assholes.

Yeah, that's the spirit.

Fuck those assholes.

I just realized that I'm never
gonna never see my mother again.

Never gonna hear her say
my name again.

Never gonna eat
her cooking again.

Thank fuckin' Christ for that.

That is not me taking
the Lord's name in vain.

I will actually
be thanking Christ

when his Resurrection Guy
who-do's that voodoo.

You shut the fuck up about that.

It's not for public consumption.

You are not a leprechaun?

Oh, she's a lepre-cunt.

Oh, fuck!

If I hear that word pass
your lips one more time,

I'm gonna peel them
off your gums.

Oh! Fuckin' hell!

You mind if I smoke in here?

I would rather you not.

You're really gonna be precious?

Because it smells like someone
took a shit in the back seat.

Someone did take a shit
in the back seat.

If you must smoke,
roll down your window.

Are you dead?

You smell dead.

Although, um,
that might be the cigarette.

This is my afterlife,
Salim/Not Salim.

Did you pray for another life?

Oh, yeah.
All the time when I was little.

At Sunday School,
we were forced to pray.

I told my priest
that I didn't know how.

And he told me
to pray for my family,

so I used to pray
that they'd disappear...

or that there'd be an accident.

There was an accident,
all right.

And now finally my prayers
have been answered.

I do not pray
to ask God for things.

I pray to thank God
for bringing me where I am.

To this time,
to this place, where...

I finally know what I must do
in this life.

I pray I find the jinn.

He is my afterlife.

I knew him.

We knew each other.

Now I want to know more.

Did you have a genie
in your bottle?

Did you rub one out of him,
darling?

Welcome to Vulcan, Virginia.

Where is everyone?

Everyone in this particular town
is a dedicated citizen.

Dedicated to one sticky belief.

America.

Their America.

There aren't just two Americas.

Everyone looks at Lady Liberty
and sees a different face.

Even if it crumbles
under question.

People will defend
the warm, safe feeling

their America gives them.

They will defend it...

with bullets.

No, these streets mean
one of two things...

Radiation or...

something like this here.

A funeral?

Less a funeral than a
celebration of sacrifice.

And if I know my friend,

someone got tossed
into the volcano.

This was a human sacrifice?

Faulty railings at the forge.

Couple of times a year,
an employee takes the plunge.

Insurance company says
it's cheaper to settle

than to close down
and refurbish.

As good as throwing them in
intentionally.

That's him.
Head of the crowd.

The one they all flock to.

Vulcan.

It may cost me a bottle of Soma,

but he'll join us.

Please go in peace!

Take a little cover
if I was you.

Grimnir!

Goodness, gracious,
great balls of fire!

How are you, you proper geezer?

What rock did you
crawl out from under?

Oh, playing a little
hide and seek.

Hiding from
the proverbial "them"

and seeking you.

What do you need from me,
Big Daddy?

I need you...
to believe in me.

I always have.

Oh, this is my man, Shadow Moon.

Then it's true.

What have you heard?

I've heard your name
on the wind.

You trying to start a war,
Glad-O-War?

We're at war already,
and we're losing.

You and me, all of us.
They're taking over America.

They're taking honey
from our mouths.

I'm not starving
for any taste of honey.

The rest of us are.

Then let's get you
something to eat.

Hmm.

This ain't Kentucky.

Where's Kentucky?

Whew. This ain't good
lighting for you, love.

And a bang
of benjy coming off of you.

- What can I get you?
- Southern Comfort and Coke.

- Vodka straight.
- You have a preference?

As close to rubbing alcohol
as you got.

Coffee, please.
Black.

I'll bring it to your table.

Find a dark corner downwind.

Are you trying to shame me?

That shit will blow up
in your face.

Shame is the reason dead
people only go out at night.

I have no use for shame.

Shame, I Dream of Genie,

is what kept you from gettin'
tossed off a roof

long enough to make it
to America.

And what do you know
about dead people?

Uh, I had a whole tutorial
with the Grim fuckin' Reaper,

so I think I know
a thing or two.

It's easier to pass for
the living in the dark,

if I felt a need to pass.

Only thing you're
passin' for is dead.

- Good.
- Not good.

You don't want to draw any
unnecessary attention to yourself.

I think perhaps
you don't want to draw any

unnecessary attention to myself.

Because I have no shame.

You're dead in Indiana,
dead wife.

What are you doin' here?

Homesick?

Fuck those assholes, wasn't it?

Now here you are
shovin' your face in 'em.

Your heart's not beating for
this life anymore, dead wife.

This life is done.

Only felt my heart beat
one time since I died.

When I kissed Shadow.

That doesn't obligate him
to feel shit.

You're so worried
about being alive,

but to him, you're already dead.

Wait.

You kissed him?

Yeah, I just said I kissed him.

- Put your tongue in his mouth?
- Just the tip.

Was it cold?
And dry?

Probably.

Did it taste like
cigarettes and vomit?

I had been smoking.

Perhaps I misjudged the kiss.

Probably should have
had some gum or a mint.

Yeah, or a fuckin'
Tic-Tac.

If your man had any doubts about
whether his wife was dead or not,

that ended 'em.

Death do us part.
Take the fuckin' hint.

- What fuckin' hint?
- He's gone.

Your man came, he saw ya,
tasted death on your tongue,

and he left.

He ain't your man anymore.

He's Wednesday's man.

I saw him give it over.

Right over there, right
at that table over there.

That's where he took his last
glass of evil, vile fuckin' mead,

and made his bargain
with the devil himself.

Your piece of shit husband
got a new life.

Why don't you?

This one got a new life.

He ain't lookin' back.

I did.

And I'm not.

Shadow made my heart beat again.

Why do men like anal sex?

'Cause women don't.

Not like Ibrahim bin Irem
here does.

He's got a button
for that business,

so he likes gettin'
his backdoor kicked in.

But your kind of love,
dead wife,

is the grandest
butt fuckin' of 'em all.

You can love somebody even when
you know they don't like it.

Even when you know
they don't want it.

That's some profound knowledge
for you right there.

Wrapped up in a quaint
sexual metaphor.

I don't know.

I really like anal sex.

It's an old hanging tree.

You like it?

No.

- Evening.
- Evening.

Betty's getting a spit polish.

Stay as long as you like.
You'll be safe here.

No, we really should get goin'.

Nonsense. Nonsense!
You're gonna love it here.

Everyone does.

People do tend to behave if they
know they're being watched.

They like being watched.

Somebody's watching.

Somebody's always watching.

What did you do to become

the god of this little universe
that you have created?

Sacrifice.

Come, please, sit, sit.
Have a drink.

Oh... aah.

My Soma not good enough?

Wine cellar is
overflowing these days.

Not for you.

Is he...

All this from
faulty railings, huh?

Uh, you're no stranger
to sacrifice.

Oh, they don't care enough
to sacrifice anymore.

- Not to me.
- They could.

If they don't, you could
sacrifice yourself.

You've done it before.

And the world opened to me.

It has since closed.

You ever see a man hanged,
Shadow?

Throat crushed,
gasping for life.

Yeah.

Well, then you'll know

that it's a terrible way
to find your faith.

Faith doesn't have to
leave the faithful...

dangling. Heh.

I franchised my faith.

Franchised?

You are what you worship.

God of the volcano.

Those who worship hold the volcano
in the palm of their hand.

It's filled with prayers...

in my name.

The power of fire is firepower.

Not God.

But god-like.

And they believe.

It fills their spirits every
time they pull the trigger.

They feel my heat on their hip,

and it keeps them warm at night.

God bless the believers.

Come with me to Wisconsin.

Stand with me,

and let the world open
to us once again.

I was on the bus
before you painted it yellow.

When do we leave?

When you can forge me a blade
in the heat of your volcano.

I need it on my hip
when we stand together.

I'll make you a blade
worthy of a god. Hm?

You trust him?

I know who he is.

And who he's always been.

I can depend on that.

You tell him I was lynched?

Didn't occur to me.

'Cause he knew that
I was hanged from a tree.

As do the ones who
hung you from a tree.

Okay, well, that's kind of
a personal fuck you to you.

Oh, the personal fuck yous to me

didn't stop there.

I've been thinking of
a personal fuck you retort,

and my friend here
is gonna help me make it.

You gonna tell me what it is?

No, when you're ready.

No, you're not here
at the moment.

You're distracted.
I wonder why.

Laura.

- Losing her twice?
- Mm-hm.

When you think of her,

does it open a window
in your mind, Shadow?

Close your eyes.

Can you see her?

Where is she?

- She's in Indiana.
- Yeah.

Outside her mom's big house.

She's out in the cold, but...

she doesn't feel it anymore.

Or maybe that's
all she feels now.

She's at the window, but...

her breath isn't fogging up
the glass at all.

She's watching her family.

They can't see her.

But you can see her,
Shadow, can't you?

Question is...

can you let her fade away?

Drive.

Fuck those assholes?

Fuck those assholes.

Your hands have lost
none of their skill.

I should have given you a gun.

You could carry that
on your hip.

Machine made arms?

You used to do
everything by hand.

Craft.
Not manufacturing.

Now this, this is craft.

You could cut a line of throats

with the best blade ever made

from now until your
grandchildren died,

and not spill half the blood
a gun could in a day.

They make blood sacrifices
to you.

Blood spilled by bullets.

You could use a blood sacrifice.

Why are you doing
what you're doing?

You got yours,
I just want to make sure

everybody else gets theirs.

Uh, it seems like
the right thing to do.

For you.

Did you tell 'em we were here?

Yes.

Are they coming?

Oh, yes.

You sold us out.

Won't be joining us
in Wisconsin, then, huh?

I've been advised it's best
if I appear neutral.

Neutral, in the face
of injustice

is on the side of the oppressor.

They...

They're not the oppressors.

They're the tide.

They're gravity.

You saw what I was.

I was a story people forgot
to remember to tell.

And they gave me a gun.

They put power back in my hand,

and I gotta tell ya,
it feels good.

Every bullet fired
in a crowded movie theater

is a prayer in my name.

And that prayer makes 'em
want to pray even harder.

And that's how you
franchised your faith.

I never needed my religion
to be moral.

Moralizing religions
or materialistic ones.

They all need their martyrs.

That's your role in all this.

A martyr.

No. That's yours,
my friend.

You pledged allegiance to me
and forged a blade.

And they killed you for it.

Oh, shit.

Holy shit.

What did you do?

Oh, fuck, what did you do?

What are you doing?

I'm layin' down a curse.

I'm cursing the whole
fucking thing.

Allahu Akbar.
God is great.

Life is great, Salim/Not Salim.

Life is great.