CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000–2015): Season 14, Episode 3 - Torch Song - full transcript

Some creatures are
more fortunate than humans are.

Pheromones do
the crowd control,

keep the mob moving
in an orderly fashion,

even when panic sets in.

We humans have no such gift.

It's every man for himself.

Concert going on.

Fire sent 'em all
running for the door.

Just a kid.

Any more bodies?

Yeah, there's
three more inside.



At least
the last thing

he saw was a beautiful night.

Through the smoke,
mob stomping all over him.

Nice thought.

- Let me through!
- No, hey, don't...

don't let her...
Someone h... Some help

my boy!

He said he was
meeting friends and

hearing some music.
I said I'd be here

at midnight to pick him up.
Where are his friends?

Where are his friends?

Who did this?
Who did this to Kevin?!

Who did this to my son?

Who did this to my boy?



She's looking for answers.

But it's nobody's fault
they were trying to survive.

Human instinct.

Fire starts
and everything you need--

breath, space, life--

is on the other side of a door.

Doesn't matter what's
in front of you.

Even if it's your best friend.

Let's get at it, boss.
Come on.

♪ CSI 14x03 ♪
Torch Song
Original Air Date on October 9, 2013

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man

♪ Who... are you?

♪ Who, who, who, who?

♪ Who... are you?

♪ Who, who, who, who?

♪ I really wanna know

♪ Who... are you?

♪ Oh-oh-oh
♪ Who... ♪

♪ Come on, tell me who are you,
you, you ♪

♪ Are you!

All right, Russell
checked in with Brass

and witnesses at the hospital.

Finn, why don't you and I start
on this fire investigation.

Okay.

Yeah, we'll document
the victims.

Sure.

Kevin Ellis. He's 18.

He's a local.

No burns.

But a lot of soot.

And multiple blunt-force trauma
to the face,

the head...

and the hands.

Awful.

I never
liked concerts.

Just give me an iPod,
some headphones,

a little personal space
and I'm good.

Not me. The right
crowd, the right band.

Closest thing I've ever come
to a religious experience.

Dave.
Yeah?

You mind if I pull his wallet?

Yeah, go ahead.

Timo Padia. 19.

No burns on him either.

Looks like he took a hit
to the nose.

There's petechiae in his eyes.

He was asphyxiated.

By the crowd? It doesn't...

look like
he was trampled.

Blood down his shirt says

he was upright
when his nose was broken.

No shoeprints on him.

Crush asphyxiation

can happen
when you're on your feet.

Pressure from other bodies

prevents the lungs
from expanding,

making it impossible
to breathe.

However the physics worked,

this kid went through hell.

Hey. Jim.

Well... hell
of a thing, huh?

It's the kind of news

that stops a parent's heart.
We got a dozen

serious injuries,
half of them critical.

Along with, uh,
three unidentified.

Including that guy.

So, the club owner, he's sitting
over there in the black shirt.

His name is Stu Kirchoff.

He was bunkered in to his back
office when the fire broke out.

Can't even remember
the name of the band.

No one can.

That's a little odd.
Well,

the place is kind of
like amateur hour, you know?

Kids sneak in booze, get wasted

and listen to some random band
rage onstage.

Any witness videos, photos?

Anything to help us reconstruct?

No. Not yet. Nothing.

My kids use
their cell phone cameras

like they're all-seeing eyes.
Maybe they think

it's not too cool to share
their photos with cops.

You know, I have to
admit, when I, uh,

worked in Seattle,

I didn't get a chance to do
many fire investigations.

It's complicated.

Really? Even for you?

Someone who can paint
a whole knife fight

from a few drops of blood?

I think you'll be all right.

All right. Where do we start?

Our main goal is to find
the point of origin.

And a fire burns up
and out, right?

So if we locate
the lowest point of damage,

that should tell us
where the fire started.

But...

What?

You see all this...
soundproof foam

right here?
Yeah.

All this caught fire

and just rained down
all over the place.

Creating

many low points.

Mmm.

I bet it went up so fast
that's what caused the stampede.

Think this was the stage.

Didn't want to leave
his axe behind.

No wallet, no I.D.
on either of them.

Just a few guitar picks

on this one.

I'm guessing...

that makes her the bassist.

Reddish skin tone suggests

carbon monoxide poisoning.

Smoke inhalation.

Firefighters knocked in
the side door.

How come these two didn't exit
through it?

Maybe the smoke was too thick,
it was too dark

and they couldn't see.

Carbon monoxide poisoning

also disorients

and confuses long
before it kills.

Band on the run may have been
all turned around.

You realize that this
was bound to happen.

You covered the walls
with polyurethane foam.

Went up like gasoline.

No sprinklers,
no smoke alarms,

empty fire extinguishers

and only one exit.

That's not true.
There's a...

second one by
the stage.

Which couldn't be opened.

Evidence shows
that this victim

tried to kick that door open.

I sure as hell didn't lock it.

Oh, I used to,

to keep people
from sneaking in

during the shows, but, uh...

Who are these people?

Well, we were hoping that you
might be able to help with that.

They were in the band
that was playing.

All right, there-there was a guy
that, uh...

was the lead vocals,
played the guitar.

Another guy on the drums.

And the gal on bass.

That's all you know?
Look,

these groups, they come to me,

ask to play, I let 'em.

But the music...

...got lost on me years ago.

Nevertheless,
kids would line up,

pay ten bucks,
come in, let loose.

That's just the way
it's been for...

30 years now at that club.

Well, speaking
of club history,

my colleagues found
some recent online photos

of the Lockjaw Club's
interior,

to aid with reconstruction.

Noticed something missing.

Must've been
a pretty sweet guitar

to get that kind of treatment.

You know who gave me
that guitar?

Stevie Ray Vaughan.

Yeah, he did a spot
for me back in '85.

Blew the roof and the doors
right off of the joint.

So why wasn't it

there tonight?

Oh.

About a month or so ago,

I... I pawned it.

I had to keep the power on
somehow.

Yeah, if it wasn't
for that cash, uh...

club would've been closed
tonight.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

And without a stack
of old National Geographics,

like a proper doctor.

David's still prepping
the last victim,

but here's what we have so far.

Kevin Ellis. C.O.D.'s
intracerebral hemorrhage

due to multiple
blunt force trauma.

Steel-toed boots
may be the punk style,

but they definitely
clashed with his skull.

Tox showed he had a very high
blood alcohol level.

Could've made him lose balance
in the stampede.

Did you also get a panel
on our John Doe musician?

Yep.

This discoloration

certainly suggests
carbon monoxide.

Along with a toxic chaser.

Hydrogen cyanide.

Same stuff used
in execution chambers.

Produced, in this case,

by the burning polyurethane foam
on the walls.

Well, on this
three-act bill...

the last C.O.D.'s
the real surprise.

Timo Padia,
ligature strangulation.

Choked by a chain.

I, uh,
used your I.R. camera,

saw the pattern.

So... he was murdered.

Before the fire?

I didn't find any soot
in his lungs.

But I did find this.

Some sort of
granular material

lodged in his trachea.

Sorry.
Is something wrong, David?

Uh...

It's just that female decedent
that I'm prepping...

Jane Doe Bassist?

You guys really need
to see this.

Wow.

There are even more
under the sheet.

An Hispanic kid

is strangled to death
with a chain

while a racist rocks out
onstage?

What the hell kind
of show was this?

Our female victim's
name is Rene Nylen. 21.

Local. She was a bassist

in a hatecore band
called White Rising.

"Hatecore."

Music for white supremacists,
right?

Yeah. Underground scene
with a national presence.

Lots of anthems for

angry young bigots. Here...

is some video from
a recent White Rising show.

I couldn't
find the names

of the other band members,
but I'm guessing

that the masked front man
is our John Doe Musician.

And I'm guessing that's why
our club owner was so forgetful

about the band he'd booked.

Admit to letting these guys
take the stage,

some might say
you deserved the fire.

But what was Timo Padia doing
at a White Power "hatenanny"?

Maybe someone asked
that same question.

Then did something about it,
killed him.

Yeah, and someone adds fire
to the fury.

All right. Thanks.

Brass spoke to one
of the hospitalized witnesses.

Evidently, they saw Timo Padia
enter the club

with a blonde girl.
They were holding hands.

He was a little drunk
and flirty.

But once Timo heard the music,
he sobered up quick.

And where's this girl now?

She hasn't come forward.

All right.

So maybe...

one of these hatecore fans,

pumped up on the music,

goes after Padia,

kills him

and starts the fire
to cover it up.

I just got a
text from Hodges.

He said the trace they found
in Timo Padia's throat

is actually
crushed limestone.

Which I'm guessing
he swallowed somehow

while he was being choked.

I didn't find any material
like that at the body.

But, you know what,
it's worth a look around.

Maybe we can find exactly
where Padia was attacked.

Fire didn't touch
this storeroom.

Morgan.

Blood drops. Gravitational.

Got more blood here.

Double-line pattern.

That's odd.

Look, there were scratches
on Timo Padia's boots.

Timo Padia was killed in here.

Dragged out.

And then dumped
on the dance floor.

And then the killer
set fire to the place.

One crime leads to another.

Hey, could you give me
a hand with this?

What is it?

I want to check
out this door.

Yep. The door was not locked.

Then why couldn't the band
get out of it?

Exactly.

Fresh paint scrapings
embedded on the outside.

Something was
blocking that door.

Yep.

Heard Nick Stokes and a friend
were making a mess of my scene.

Ryan. Miller.

Fire Investigator.

Finn. Hey.

So, uh...

what are we looking at?

Uh, we're still looking
for the point of origin.

Yeah?

Yeah. Ryan, why don't you, uh,
come over here? Check this out.

Uh, I think this is
what received the most damage.

Hey, Stokes, I'll tell you what, man.
What's that?

I don't mind you invading
my scene when you bring

a partner who looks like that.

What do you mean?

You know.

Ah, here you go.

Look at this, man. Hey, uh,

Finn, want to come
take a look at this?

Sure.

See, these springs
are annealed.

Annealed?

Yeah, a certain threshold
of heat,

springs lose their tension
and they, uh,

collapse like this.

But you only hit that threshold

if you add an extra combustible.

Like what?
Gasoline, Sterno, butane.

Whatever the arsonist's
particular appetite calls for.

So you're assuming
that it's arson?

Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

Someone doused this bench,
lit it up.

Well, then you should
get me a shot of that.

No, bro.

Let me get my real camera
from the truck.

Digital's got no soul.

He's kind of obnoxious.

He's also very old-school.

He's been taught
by old-school guys.

When it comes to
a fire investigation,

some of those pages have been
ripped out of the book.

A lot of things have been
disproved-- case in point,

annealed springs simply

indicate that the springs...

got hot.

- He likes to jump to conclusions.
- Oh, chief,

you got your hydrocarbon detector?
Yeah.

I tell you what.
I'll trade with you.

There you go.
Give this thing a try.

Thanks, man. All right,
this is gonna tell us

which type of accelerant
the arsonist used.

Hit. Five-foot radius.
All right.

Hello, sweetheart.

Piece of cardboard
with a candle attached.

Let me see that.

Incendiary device.

We found a few things
in your son's pockets.

Wallet and keys.

Kevin's grandpa gave him this
when he...

for his eighth birthday.

I hope you find peace,
Mrs. Ellis.

This officer's gonna
show you to your car.

Does she have any idea

what kind of band
her son was going to see?

What kind of racist, violent
crowd he was hanging out with?

I don't think so, no.

Maybe that's good.

So, this band White Rising--
they made a kind of Top 40.

They made the FBI

Hate Group Watch-List.

The local office
tossed me their file.

I.D. on our masked singer--
Kurt Harper.

Definitely played
the club before.

They only left one body
behind last time.

Three months ago,
White Rising played

a gig at The Lockjaw Club.

Now, outside the club,
in an adjacent parking lot,

a group of Asian-American kids
were skateboarding.

So, the show let out

and some of the
skinhead thugs let loose

and beat one of the
skateboarders into a coma.

Le
Wong Jr., 17 years old.

Assailants got away?

Yeah, they blended
right back

into the all-white crowd.

So, the Feds took
a picture of Kurt Harper

and showed it
to the vic's friends,

hoping to get an I.D.,

but none of them could
identify him as an attacker.

No, he's just the guy
who got the attackers

amped up and
ready for blood.

Well, to the question
of whether the stiff

that's lying horizontal
in our morgue

is Kurt Harper,
permanently silenced,

the feds did
a dental comparison.

And it's a match.

Okay, well,
that settles that.

Front man and the bass
player are both dead.

The drummer vanished.

Does it say anywhere in here

whether or not the band had
any particular enemies?

Nick found an
incendiary device,

so we're looking at arson.

No specific grudges, no.

Okay.

When you fling enough crap
into the universe,

occasionally the breeze
is going to blow your way.

Trace you scraped from the
outside of the club doors--

stock Pontiac red paint.

Used since the early '90s.

So, there was a red Pontiac
blocking the door?

Well, there wasn't one
on the scene when we arrived.

Okay, how are you doing
with the incendiary device?

GCMS revealed traces
of gasoline on the cardboard.

Confirms arson.
Yeah, and since I'm full-service,

I didn't stop with the gas.

I noticed this barcode.

Ran it.

Cardboard's from a box
of auto parts

delivered to a local mechanic--

Lee Wong Automotive.

That can't be a
coincidence.

What do you mean?
Brass worked a case

a few months ago, where this
kid was beaten half to death,

put in a coma.

His name was Lee Wong, Jr.

Sounds like more than arson.

Yeah, it sounds like revenge.

Thank you for coming down, Nora.
I appreciate it.

This article
about the assault

on your brother--
you were pretty vocal.

Lee couldn't speak for himself.

Still can't.

Might never.

Yeah, I heard that.

I'm... very sorry.

Fact that his assailants
were never identified--

boy that... that must have
been frustrating.

What kind of car
do you drive, Nora?

Jeep.

My dad's. He passed away.

But you-you do run the
family auto shop, right?

So, you'd probably
get your hands

on any kind of car
you wanted, like a...

red Pontiac, maybe?

I drive a Jeep.

What does this have to do
with my brother's beating?

Well, the band that inspired
your brother's beating returned

to that same club last night,
but then, you know that,

don't you, because
you were there?

Took a candle,

scrap of cardboard
from your shop,

you doused it in some gasoline,
and you set the club on fire.

And you killed
three people, Nora.

I thought I was here to learn
who ruined my brother's life.

Instead,
you're accusing me of...

You're wrong.

Two days after the attack
of my brother,

I brought some friends
to the place where it happened.

I made sky lanterns.

Cardboard, candle,
paper balloon.

We lit them and watched them
float up,

thinking of Lee.

One or two landed
on the roof of that club.

Maybe there was gas
on the cardboard

from the floor of the shop.

But that was months ago.

They didn't start
a fire then,

or last night.

Looks like the grieving
sister's story makes sense.

Yeah, that sky lantern

landed on the roof,

stays up there
a couple months,

then comes down in here

when that part
of the roof collapsed.

And we still have
no point of origin,

which means
we are nowhere.

Okay, there's a, uh...

a new technique
that I learned recently

when it comes to fire
that I'd like to try out here.

Are you up for it?

Sure.
It's called arc mapping.

Now, during a fire, the
insulation around the wiring

in the walls melts away.

Once that happens,

the bare wires then
short-circuit or arc,

leaving behind
these distinct little beads

at each point of an arc.

Now, no power can flow
through that arc,

so if you map out
the arc locations,

and compare it against
the building's circuitry,

you should be able to figure out
which wire burnt fir.

And hopefully,
where the fire started.

Exactly.

Where do we start?

Well, we start

by checking the wiring
in the walls for arcs.

Did I miss something?

Did you forget where the point
of origin was, Stokes?

You know, I could have, uh...

could've written it on
a Post-it note for you.

Actually, that theory
has been disproven,

so, we're still investigating.

- Looks more like you're remodeling.
- No.

No, actually, we are
still investigating.

We were thinking about

just arc-mapping
the whole building.

No. No, bro, not arc-mapping.

I'm not trying to make
you look bad, chief.

You guys are going
about this all wrong.

- Leave...
- You know what?

We're gonna continue working.

So, you're just gonna do
this on your own, huh?

That's what we're gonna do.

Okay. Let's see
how that works out for you.

Ha fun.

Thanks, chief.

Here's where the fire started,
making this arc number one.

Good.

Hey, guys.

- How's it going?
- Good.

We just found
the point of origin.

Did he call you?

Wanted to get us in
trouble with the sheriff?

Oh... Miller's a good guy.

Smart investigator. I mean,

yeah, he had a few concerns.

Well, we had a few concerns
about him.

Nick obviously

knows his science.

That guy was all about his ego.

I tried to be fair
with him, Conrad.

Four people dead,
a dozen more burnt all over.

I don't give a damn
about fair, Nick.

Just show me you're right.

We deduced that the fire had
to have started

in this corner.
I think

all we need to do now
is dig through this rubble

and see what we can find.

All right, all right, okay.

What are we waiting for?
Let's do it.

You tracked it down?

The Red Pontiac of Doom.

Had to have been at the
club during the fire,

but gone when the
fire department arrived.

It's a tight time-frame.
Not much traffic.

I checked the cams.

There you go-- the only
red Pontiac around,

headed away from the venue.

Paint looks charred
from the heat.

Can't make out
the driver's face, though.

DMV any help
with the plate?

Driver is a Northtown resident

named Jeremy Douglass.

Haven't seen my car in, like...

24 hours.

That's not me driving.

Look, you already

told us that you were at
that skinhead show last night.

This is your car,

driving away from it.
What are you saying?

That one of your friendly
Aryan brothers swiped it?

Saying, whatever my-my car

might have been...

involved in...

I didn't have anything
to do with it.

So, uh,

what... what, uh...
what-what...

what might it have been
involved in?

It was parked in
an alley, blocking

the exit door from the club,

trapping the club-goers inside
during the fire.

Four of them died.

Something

about that coming back to you?

He asked me to borrow it.

My car.

Texted me, in the middle
of the concert.

"Leave your car in the alley,
keys in it.

Right now. Walk away."

Who's Caleb Voigt?

A guy.

Asks for your car,
and you just give it to him?

Well, he's-he's not the kind
of guy you say no to.

Dude's like half pit-bull,

and-and... and breaks rocks
for a living.

Breaks rocks?

What, like... limestone?

Sure, I guess.

Why?
Because he left

some of it on the kid
he choked to death at the club.

A murder for which you
provided the getaway car.

Whoa, whoa. No, no, no, it-it
wasn't like that. I didn't know.

Maybe you didn't know,

but this Caleb guy
took out one person.

You took out three people
with your stupid parking job.

Found something.

Cigarette

and matches,
rubber-banded together.

Whoa.

Hey, Conrad,

how much you want
to bet, the arsonist

didn't expect that
to survive the fire?

How much you want to bet they
didn't expect a couple of CSIs

to rip the walls
down to find it?

Nice work, guys.

Mr. Douglass,

I'm Sheriff Ecklie.

We're gonna
give you a chance

to do yourself a
ten-to-15 year favor.

It's a microphone.

Looks no different
than a cell phone, so, you do

your job right,
Caleb Voigt

doesn't know any different,
and you come out

in one piece.

Car's out back.

Key's in it.

Cool.

What's Voigt working on?

Looks like he's cleaning
some equipment with acid.

We need to get Caleb Voigt

to connect himself
to our evidence.

That could be the
limestone debris.

How-how, uh... how-how...
how's work been?

What the hell do you care?

Just-just like, uh,

what-what kind of jobs
you been doing?

What-what-what kind of materials
you working with?

Don't hit me up for work,
all right?

You couldn't handle it.

Or...

we connect him
to the murder weapon.

A chain, approximately
a half-inch wide.

Caleb wears a chain like that
on his wallet.

Good.
Keep an eye out for it.

Whether he's wearing it,
or maybe he tossed it somewhere.

Uh, listen.

I'm a... I'm a little short.

Could-could you loan me
a few bucks? If-If your...

If your... if your
wallet's around?

That was subtle.

That ain't happening.

But I leant you my car.

I-I had to walk
all the way here.

Or

we link him to the cigarette
and matches

that were used
to start the fire.

Do you know
if Caleb smokes that brand?

Tillworth?

Not sure.

It's-It's...

It's just a few bucks.

I-I wanted to buy
a pack of cigs.

'Less I can...
I can bum one from you?

Why don't you come inside
with me?

Mitch, can you

maintain a visual?

Negative.
We're blocked.

Adjusting position.

Man to man, Jeremy,
you on something?

What do you mean?

The way you're acting.

The way you parked
your car last night,

blocking the door.
Nearly burned me to death.

Makes me think
your mind's not straight.

Shrooms? Pills?

I don't know... acid?

Acid?

Go, Mitch, go!

On the floor! Now!

Stop!

Get him up!

Let's go.
Go!

I think you might've stumbled
on an odd premonition,

hating Timo for
his skin, because

his skin, or at least
little chunks of it,

caught in your chain here.

I'm gonna put you
away for murder.

And add the
Hate Crime component,

and your peculiar

method of clean-up--
that's death row easy.

Mutual...

combat.

That wetback's first mistake
was walking in the place.

Second mistake
was opening his mouth.

You got a problem with me?

Bunch of redneck bitches!

Didn't mean
for it to end that way.

Told Jeremy
to bring the car around

so I could drag the kid out,

drive him to the hospital.

He was dead,
and you knew it,

so you dragged him
into the club floor,

you dumped him on the floor,
and then you torched

the whole scene.
I didn't set that fire.

Oh, so, what was it?

A thousand-degree
coincidence?

Huh?

Pack enough rage in a room,

sometimes you get lucky.

I didn't start your fire,

but I know who did.

And seeing as though
he incinerated

three good, proud white people,

why don't I tell you
what he looked like?

Are you believing any of this?

No.

Okay, Chuckles, go for it.

About to bang heads
with the kid,

I saw him crouched in a corner.

Came out a minute later,
and I saw what he was up to.

Would you recognize him again?

Him?

None of those.

He had on a black T-shirt.

Some kind of logo.

Death's-head maybe.

Shirt like this?

Yeah.

Who was wearing that?

John Doe number three.

He's on life support
at Desert Palm Hospital.

Okay.

Suspect's name is

Ian Baxton, and he's blazed
a pretty long sheet.

Multiple priors for arson.

Still on probation
for a torched warehouse.

Pull up his case history.

Okay.

He's got a signature M.O.

Tillworth cigarette,

rubber-banded
with matches.

Just like what you found at
the club-- that makes it easy.

It should've been a lot easier.

Now, fellas, you wield
this thing right,

you get in anywhere.

Or out, should Donnelly's mom
trap you in her bedroom.

Square up and let 'er rip.

Miller. I think
we need to talk for a second.

Kind of in the middle
of something here, chief.

Oh, really? Hey, boys,
what's he teaching you,

how to jeopardize
a quadruple homicide case?

Take a break, fellas.

What the hell
you talking about?

Well,
we just found out

that you worked
Ian Baxton's arsons.

Yeah.
So you knew his signature.

And when we found
that signature at the club,

you didn't say anything.

'Cause I followed up
on that lead, solo.

I checked with his P.O.

Baxton was working
the night shift.

Or maybe that's what he told his P.O.
before he ditched out of work.

He's not our guy.

Yeah? Do you know
where he is right now?

Home. Look, I'll get confirmation
if you want, all right?

But I've studied this guy.
Occupied buildings

are not his style, okay?

He's in
the burn ward.

Well, he got
caught up in a fire

that he started, but...

come on,
if you'd have mentioned

that you knew
the signature,

we'd have solved it yesterday.

Nothing to say?

It's my bad.

Your bad?

Hey, guys, there's something
else you should know.

Baxton only burns for hire.

7,500 bucks...

in a paper bag,
under the arsonist's mattress.

That's the exact
amount that you got

when you pawned
your prized guitar.

You showed us
the receipt.

You pawn your guitar,
and you...

pay the arsonist,

you collect the insurance.

I think I may have
mentioned this before,

but I pawned the guitar
to save my club.

You're wasting
your time.

Your fingerprints are
all over the bag, Stu.

We got you. It's over.

So can we talk?

I'd really like to
know why you did this.

You want out of the club,
you need the cash,

why didn't you just
sell the dump?

Dump? Come on.

You sound like those
real estate crooks.

Uh... "Hey, Stu...

you know, it's a tear-down;
you can't even give it away."

I spent 30 years
of my life

busting my hump for that place.

And you know what?

For a long time,
I did pretty good.

So why'd you want out so bad
that you torched the place?

I mean, see, that...
I don't understand that.

Can't tell me
you don't see it.

You've been around-- a guy
in your line of work? What?

What is it I don't see?

The world's getting nastier.

It's getting hard to stomach,
don't you think?

Day after day.

You see the way
these kids act, huh?

They're animals.

They get up on the stage,
and the stuff that they spout!

They spit right in my face
if I get in their way.

They're kids, Stu.

Young, stupid kids!

You set a fire
in a club full of kids

because it's less suspicious
than torching it empty?

They're animals?
Give me a break.

What's that make you?

I didn't think the fire
would spread that fast.

I thought they'd have
time to get out of there.

Well, your timing was off.

By three.

It's called the death spiral.

It's created by the pheromones
the ants put out

to warn the colony of danger.

Each ant just follows
the one in front of it.

Blindly circling
in an endless loop.

Mindless conformity.

Has its advantages.

Like what?

Well, you don't see
any of them

wrapping chains around
each other's throats,

or burning each other up
for money.

That's true.

But, then, I bet...

you won't see any of them
stepping out of line

to write a symphony or...

pursue enlightenment, either.

Yeah, it's a bit
of a trade-off, I guess.

How long do they
go on like that?

Well, till they
drop dead from exhaustion.

Or until some kind soul...

disrupts the spiral.

Man, I ain't stickin'
my hand in there.

You do it.
You be a benevolent god.

All right.

Okay, little guys...

be free.

Look at that. Wow.

Well...

Hey, lookie there.

I think that's Beethoven.

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man