Good Omens (2019–…): Season 1, Episode 1 - In the Beginning - full transcript

Current theories on the
creation of the universe state

that if it were created
at all and didn't just start,

as it were, unofficially,

it came into being about
14 billion years ago.

The Earth is generally
supposed to be

about 4 1/2 billion
years old.

These dates are incorrect.

Some medieval scholars
put the date of the creation
at 3760 BC.

Others put creation
as far back as 5508 BC.

Also, incorrect.

Archbishop James Ussher



claimed that the Heaven
and the Earth

were created on Sunday,
the 21st of October, 4004 BC,

at 9:00 a.m.

This too was incorrect,

by almost a quarter
of an hour.

It was created at 9:13
in the morning.

Which was correct.

The whole business with
the fossilised
dinosaur skeletons

was a joke the palaeontologists
haven't seen yet.

This proves two things.

Firstly, that God does not
play dice with the universe.

I play an ineffable game
of my own devising.

For everyone else,
it's like playing poker

in a pitch-dark room,
for infinite stakes,



with a dealer who won't
tell you the rules,

and who smiles all the time.

Secondly,
the Earth is a Libra.

The entry for Libra
in The Tadfield Advertiser

on the night our history
begins reads as follows:

"You may be feeling rundown

and always
in the same daily round.

A friend is important to you.

You may be vulnerable
to a stomach upset today,

so avoid salads.

Help could come from
an unexpected quarter."

This was perfectly correct
on every count,

except for the bit
about the salads.

To understand the true
significance

of what that means,

we need to begin earlier.

A little more than 6,000 years
earlier, to be precise.

Just after the beginning.

It starts, as it will end,
with a garden.

In this case,
the Garden of Eden.

And with an apple.

Go on.

This apple will give you...

It was a nice day.

All the days had been nice.

There had been rather
more than seven of them so far,

and rain hadn't
been invented yet.

But the storm clouds
gathering east of Eden

suggested that the first
thunderstorm was on its way.

And it was going
to be a big one.

Well, that went down
like a lead balloon.

Sorry, what was that?

I said, "Well, that went down
like a lead balloon."

Yes, yes, it did, rather.

Bit of an overreaction,
if you ask me.

First offence
and everything.

I can't see what's so bad

about knowing the difference
between good and evil anyway.

Well, it must be bad...

-Crawley.
-...Crawley.

Otherwise...

you wouldn't have
tempted them into it.

Oh, they just said, "Get up
there and make some trouble."

Well, obviously.
You're a demon.

It's what you do.

Not very subtle
of the Almighty, though.

Fruit tree in the middle
of a garden

with a "Don't Touch" sign.

I mean, why not put it
on the top of a high mountain?

Or on the moon?

Makes you wonder
what God's really planning.

Best not to speculate.

It's all part
of the Great Plan.

It's not for us
to understand.

It's ineffable.

The Great Plan's ineffable?

Exactly.

It is beyond understanding

and incapable of being put
into words.

Didn't you have
a flaming sword?

-Uh...
-You did. It was
flaming like anything.

What happened to it?

Uh...

Lost it already, have you?

-Gave it away.
-You what?

I gave it away.

There are vicious animals.

It's going to be cold out there.
And she's expecting already.

And I said, "Here you go.
Flaming sword. Don't thank me.

And don't let the sun
go down on you here."

I do hope I didn't do
the wrong thing.

Oh, you're an angel.

I don't think you can
do the wrong thing.

Oh, oh, thank--

Oh, thank you.

It's been bothering me.

I've been worrying, too.

What if I did
the right thing

with the whole
"eat the apple" business?

A demon can get
into a lot of trouble

for doing the right thing.

It'd be funny if we both
got it wrong, eh?

If I did the good thing
and you did the bad one.

No.

It wouldn't
be funny at all.

Well...

Good Omens, being
a narrative of certain events

occurring in the last 11 years
of human history,

in strict accordance,
as shall be shown,

with The Nice
and Accurate Prophecies

of Agnes Nutter, Witch.

It wasn't a dark
and stormy night.

But, don't let the weather
fool you.

Just because it's a mild night

doesn't mean that the forces
of evil aren't abroad.

They are.

They are everywhere.

Two demons lurk
at the edge of the graveyard.

They are pacing themselves,

and can lurk for the rest
of the night, if necessary.

With still enough
sullen menace left

for a final burst
of lurking around dawn.

Bugger this for a lark.

He should have been
waiting for us.

Do you trust him?

-Nope.
-Good.

It'd be a funny old world
if demons went around

trusting each other.

What's he calling himself
up here these days?

Crowley.

Here he comes now,
the flash bastard.

If you ask me,
he's been up here too long.

Gone native.
Enjoying himself too much.

Wearing sunglasses,
even when he doesn't need them.

- All hail Satan.
- All hail Satan.

Uh, hi, guys.
Sorry I'm late,

but you know how it
is on the A40 at Denham.

I tried to cut up
towards Chorleywood--

Now that we art all here, let us
recount the deeds of the day.

Of course.

Deeds, yeah.

I have tempted a priest.

As he walked down the street,

he saw all the pretty girls
in the sun.

I put doubt into his mind.

He would have been
a saint.

Now, within a decade,
we shall have him.

Yeah, nice one.

I have corrupted a politician.

Let him think that a tiny bribe
wouldn't hurt.

Within a year,
we shall have him.

Right, you'll like this.

I brought down every London area
mobile phone network tonight.

-Yeah?
-Yeah. It wasn't easy--

And what exactly has that done
to secure souls for our master?

Oh, come on,
think about it.

Fifteen million
pissed-off people

who take it out
on each other.

It's not exactly...
craftsmanship.

Well, head office
don't seem to mind.

They love me down there, guys.

Times are changing. So...

...what's up?

This is.

No.

Yes.

Already?

Yes.

And it's up to me to...?

Yes.

You know, listen, it...

...really isn't my scene.

Your scene.

Your starring role.

Take it.

Like you said,

times are changing.

They come to an end,
for a start.

Why me?

Well, they love you
down there.

And what an opportunity.

Ligur here would give
his right arm to be you tonight.

Or someone's right arm, anyway.

Sign here.

Now what?

You will receive
your instructions.

And why so glum?

The moment we have been
working for all these centuries

is at hand.

Centuries?

Our moment of
eternal triumph awaits.

Triumph.

And you will be a tool
of that glorious destiny.

Glorious tool. Yeah.

OK.

I'll, um, be off then.

Get it over with.

No, I want to get it over with,
obviously, but,

I'll be popping along.

Great. Fine. Yeah.

Ciao!

What's that mean?

"Ciao", it's Italian.

It means "food".

Crowley was all in favour
of Armageddon in general terms.

But it was one thing to work
to bring it about,

and quite another
for it to actually happen.

- Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit! Shit!
- When Queen

released "Bohemian Rhapsody"...

Shit, shit, shit! Why me?

...in 1975, it was because--

You earned it,
Crowley, didn't you?

What you did to the M25
was a stroke of demonic
genius, darling.

The M25? Yeah, well...

Yeah, I'm glad it went down
so well.

Here are your instructions.

This is the big one, Crowley.

Mmm.

-Mind if I join you?
-Gabriel?

What an unexpected
pleasure.

It's been...

Quite a while, yes.

Why do you
consume that?

You're an angel.

It's sushi.

It's nice.

You dip it in soy sauce.

It's what humans do.

And if I am going to be
living here among them,

ahem, well, keeping up
appearances.

-Tea?
-I do not sully the temple

of my celestial body
with gross matter.

Obviously not.

-Nice suit.
-Yes, I like the clothes.

Pity they won't be around
much longer.

They won't?

We have reliable information

that things... are afoot.

-They are?
-Yes.

My informant suggests
that the demon...Crowley

may be involved.

You need to keep him
under observation

without, of course, letting him
know that's what you're doing.

I do know, yes.
I've been on Earth doing this

-since the beginning.
-So has Crowley.

It's a miracle
he hasn't spotted you yet.

Yes, I know.

Miracles are what we do.

Meet Deirdre and Arthur Young.

They live in the Oxfordshire
village of Tadfield.

Are we there yet,
Arthur?

I'm four minutes apart.

It's definitely
this way.

It's just the roads
look all different in the dark.

The nuns
said to come in

when they were four to five
minutes apart.

It's just an...

Oh, do we have
any egg and cress sandwiches?

Oh.

Oh!

Meet Harriet Dowling

and her husband, American
diplomat Thaddeus Dowling.

Breathe, honey. Just breathe.

I am breathing,
goddamn it, Tad!

-Why aren't you here?
-Honey, I'm with you.

I'm with you. I'm just also
here with the President.

Hey, Harriet, sorry we
had to borrow your husband.

Birth is the single
most joyous

co-experience that two human
beings can share,

and I'm not going to miss
a second of it.

Tad, if we could get
back to the matter at hand.

I'll get back to you, honey.

You're meant to be with me,
you useless son of a bi--

At some point
this evening,

Mrs Dowling will arrive.

She will undoubtedly have
Secret Service agents with her.

You are all to ensure that
they see nothing untoward.

Sister Theresa and I will
deliver the Dowlings' child

in room four.

Once he has been born,

we will remove the baby boy
from the mother...

and give her back
our master's child.

Everything is ready.

Tonight, it begins.

Sister Mary Loquacious?

Yes, excuse me,
Mother Superior,

I was wondering where the other
baby was going to come from?

Not the American baby.
I mean, that's obvious.

It's just the birds
and the bees.

But, you know, the, um...

Master Crowley
is on his way

with our dark lord-to-be,
Sister Mary.

We do not need
to know more than that.

We are Satanic nuns

of the Chattering Order
of St Beryl.

And tonight is what our order
was created for.

Sister Grace,

you are on duty reception.

Sisters Maria Verbose
and Katherine Prolix,

you will assist
Sister Theresa.

The rest of you
know your duties.

Oh, it's an ambulance!

Places.

Excuse me,
Mother Superior.

I didn't get a job.
Probably an oversight.

Yes, of course.

You could make sure
there are biscuits.

The kind with pink icing.

I think we had a tin
in the convent larder.

Clear.

-Breathe, dear, breathe.
-I am breathing. Oh, God!

Excuse me.
Deirdre Young.

Contractions are now four--
four minutes apart!

Oh!

Welcome to St Beryl's,
Mrs Young.

We weren't expecting you
till next week.

Now, Arthur will be with me
while I'm in labour.

I'm afraid not.

We believe that
fathers just, uh,

complicate the process
for everybody.

We'll let him know
when to come up.

Well, I'm not going
to argue with nuns.

Nurses know what they're doing,
Deirdre.

I'll see you when it's--

She'll be in room three.

Right.

Good-- Good luck.

It may help
to understand human affairs

to know that most of
the great triumphs and
tragedies of history

are caused not by people being
fundamentally good

or fundamentally bad,

but by people being
fundamentally people.

You've left your lights on.

Oh.

Well, that's clever.

-It is infrared?
-Has it started yet?

-Um... they made me go out.
-Any idea how long we've got?

I think we were
getting on with it, doctor.

Got it. What room is she in?

-We're in room three.
-Room three, got it.

There's a trick they do
with three playing cards

which is very hard to follow.

And something like it,
for greater stakes

than a handful of loose change,
is about to take place.

Deirdre Young is
in delivery room three.

She has just given birth
to a golden-haired male baby

we will call "Baby A".

Harriet Dowling is giving birth
in delivery room four.

She is having
a golden-haired male baby

we will call "Baby B".

Psst.

Sister Mary Loquacious
is about to be handed

a golden-haired male baby
we will call "The Adversary,

Destroyer of Kings,
Angel of the Bottomless Pit,

Prince of This World
and Lord of Darkness."

-Is that him?
-Yup.

Only I'd expected
funny eyes,

or teensy-weensy
little hoofikins.

Or a wittle tail.

It's definitely him.

Fancy me holding
the Antichrist.

Counting his little
toesie-woesies.

Do you look like your daddy?

I bet he does.

Do you look like
your daddy-waddykins?

He doesn't.
Take him up to room three.

Room three. Do you think he'll
remember me when he grows up?

Pray that he doesn't.

Three babies.

Watch carefully.

Round and round they go.

Sister Mary,
what are you doing here?

Shouldn't you be taking
biscuits to the refectory?

Master Crowley said
to take the baby to room three.

Well, get on with it, then.

Has it happened yet?

I'm the father.
The husband. Both.

Oh, yes. Congratulations.

Your lady wife's asleep,
poor pet.

Twins? What?

Nobody said anything
about twins.

Oh, no, no.
This one's yours.

That one's... someone else's.

Just looking after him.

No, no, this one is definitely
yours, your ambassadorship,

from the top of his head to
the tips of his hoofy-woofies...

-which he hasn't got.
-Oh.

All, uh, ahem,
present and correct, is he?

Oh, yes. He's normal.
Very, very normal.

A boy!

Mr President.

I have the honour, sir,
to report myself the father

of a regular
Y-chromosomed son.

Now, we just have to take him
away for a minute to weigh him

and the usual.

This father-of-a-male-boy-son

is all yours,
Mr President.

Harriet. Yes!

Where's the baby?

Satan, give me strength.

Do you know where
our master's child is?

Sister Mary Loquacious has him
in room three.

Now, we call these biscuits.

But you'll be looking at them
and going, "Oh, cookies."

I call them biscuits.

As methods
of human communication go,

the human wink
is quite versatile.

For example,
Sister Theresa's meant...

Where the hell
have you been?

We're ready
to make the switch,

and here's you in the wrong room
with the Adversary,

Destroyer of Kings,
Angel of the Bottomless Pit,

Prince of This World,
Lord of Darkness, drinking tea.

And as far
as she was concerned,

Sister Mary's answering wink
meant...

This child is the Adversary,

Destroyer of Kings,
Angel of the Bottomless Pit,

Prince of This World
and Lord of Darkness.

But I can't talk now, because
there's this outsider here.

Sister Mary,
on the other hand,

had thought that
Sister Theresa's wink

was more on the lines of...

Well done, that,
Sister Mary.

Switched over the babies
all by herself.

Now, indicate to me
the superfluous child,

and I shall remove it
and let you get on with your tea

with His Royal Excellency,
the American ambassador.

Extra baby removal.

But I'm wittering on.

Where were you before
you took up this appointment?

Swindon.

Ohh!

Here's your little man back,
all cleaned up and weighed.

Look, honey. Our son.

He's beautiful, hon.

What a little tyke, huh?

Oh...

Seeing him makes me
understand

what's important in life.

It's not work.

I'm going to teach him
to play baseball.

And on Sundays,
we'll go fishing.

Tad!

Sorry, honey,
we'll call you back.

You must name the child.

Well, we were going
to name him Thaddeus,

after his dad
and his dad's dad.

Damien's an excellent name.

Damien Dowling?

Too alliterative.

Warlock, then.

It's an old English name.

A good name.

Hello, Warlock.

Damien?

No. I'd always fancied
something more,

well, traditional.

We've always gone in for good,
simple names

in our family.

Cain.

Very modern sound,
Cain, really.

Well, there's always...

I mean, there's always Adam.

Adam?

Hmm.

Adam.

Oh!

Ooh.

Come on, little one.

Do you know,
Deirdre, um...

I think he looks
like an Adam.

Oh.

Hello, Adam.

It would be nice
to think that the nuns

had the surplus baby
discreetly adopted.

That he grew to be
a happy, normal child,

and then grew further
to become a normal,

fairly contented adult.

And, perhaps, that is
what happened.

He probably wins prizes
for his tropical fish.

Call Aziraphale.

Calling Aziraphale.

Sorry,
all lines to London

are currently busy.

I'm afraid we're quite
definitely closed.

Aziraphale, it's me.

- We need to talk.
- Yes.

Yes, I rather think we do.

I assume this is about--

Armageddon. Yes.

Everyone knows
the best place

for a clandestine meeting
in London

is, and always has been,
St James's Park.

They say the ducks are so used
to being fed by secret agents

that they've developed
Pavlovian reactions to them.

The Russian cultural attaché's
black bread

is particularly sought after
by the more discerning duck.

Crowley and Aziraphale
have been meeting here

for quite some time.

You're sure it was
the Antichrist?

I should know.
I delivered the baby.

Well, not "delivered" delivered,
you know?

Handed it over.

An American diplomat.

Really?

As if Armageddon
were a cinematographic show

you wished to sell in
as many countries as possible.

The Earth and all
the kingdoms thereof.

We will win, of course.

You really believe that?

Obviously.

Heaven will finally
triumph over Hell.

It's all going to be
rather lovely.

Out of interest,

how many first-class composers
do your lot have in Heaven?

Because Mozart's
one of ours.

Beethoven.

Schubert.

Uh, all of the Bachs.

They have already written
their music.

And you'll never
hear it again.

No more Albert Hall.
No more Glyndebourne.

Just celestial harmonies.

-Well...
-And that's just the start

of what you'll lose
if you win.

No more fascinating little
restaurants where they know you.

No gravlax
in dill sauce.

No more old bookshops.

We've only got 11 years,
and then it's all over.

We have to work together.

No.

It's the end of the world
we're talking about.

It's not some little temptation
I've asked you to cover for me

while you're up in Edinburgh
for the festival.

-You can't say no.
-No.

We can do something.
I have an idea.

No! I am not interested.

Well, let's have lunch, hmm?

I still owe you one from...

Paris.

1793.

Yes. The Reign of Terror.

Was that one of ours
or one of yours?

Can't recall.

We had crepes.

Mm.

That was scrumptious.

So, what are you
in the mood for now?

Alcohol.

Quite extraordinary
amounts of alcohol.

I have several very nice bottles

of Châteauneuf-du-Pape
in the back.

I picked up a dozen cases
in 1921,

and there's still some left
for special occasions.

Not very big on wine in Heaven,
are they, though?

Not going to get
any more nice little
Châteauneuf-du-Papes

in Heaven,
or single malt scotch,

or little... little froufrou
cocktails with umbrellas.

Crowley, I've told you,
I'm not helping you.

I'm not interested.
This is purely social.

I am an angel.
You are a demon.

We're hereditary enemies.

Get thee behind me,
foul fiend.

After you.

That night,
Arthur and Deirdre Young

proudly took the baby
they believed was theirs

home to the quiet English
village of Tadfield.

The Antichrist had been
on Earth for 24 hours.

While in London's Soho,
an angel and a demon

had been drinking solidly
for the last six of them.

So, what...
what exactly is your point?

My point is--

My point is, dolphins.

That's my point.

Big brains, the size of...

damn big brains.

Not to mention the whales.
Brain city, whales.

Kraken.

Ooh, great, big bugger.

Supposed to rise up
to the surface.

Right... right up
at the end,

when the sea boils.

Well, that's my point.

Whole sea bubbling.

The dolphins, the whales.

Everything turning
into bouillab--

Bouill-bouillab--

Bouillab--

Fish stew.
Anyway, it's not their fault.

And that's the same
with gorillas.

They say, like, "Whoop".
They say a lot of--

Sky's gone red.
There's...

stars crashing down.

And what are they putting
in bananas these days?

They're All creatures,
great and small.

And you know
what's worse?

When it's all over,

you've got to deal
with eternity!

Eternity?

Yeah,
it won't be so bad at first.

Although no Stephen Sondheim

first nights in eternity,
I'm afraid.

Although, I have heard rumours
that your boss

really loves
The Sound of Music.

You fancy spending eternity
watching that?

You could literally
climb every mountain

over and over and over and over
and over and over and over.

I don't like it
any more than you do,

but I told you, I can't diso--
not do what I'm told.

I'm an angel. I...

Oh, God, I--

I can't cope with this
while I'm drunk.

I'm going to sober up.

Yeah, me too.

Harriet Dowling took
baby Warlock to his new home,

an official London residence.

Our mission
is done, Lord Hastur.

The baby is in place,

and his parents
are none the wiser.

Well, no need for the convent
any longer, then, is there?

- I'm afraid I--
- Dissolve.

-What?
-Your order is dissolved.

-We're what?
-Now hang on a moment.

We did everything
that was asked of us.

What about our reward?

So irritating.

You never shut up, do you?

We are a chattering order.

We say what is on
our minds.

And right now,
what's on my mind

is that you can't
treat us like--

Would you like to tell them

that the order
is dissolved?

Or would you rather that
they all perish in the fire?

What fire?

Even if I wanted to help,
I couldn't.

I can't interfere
with the Divine Plan.

Well, what about
diabolical plans?

You can't be certain
that thwarting me

isn't part
of the Divine Plan, too.

I mean, you're supposed
to thwart the wiles

of the Evil One
at every turn, aren't you?

Well...

See a wile, ya' thwart.
Am I right?

I... Broadly.

Actually, I encourage humans
to do the actual--

But the Antichrist
has been born.

But it's the upbringing
that's important,
the influences.

The evil influences,

that's all
going to be me.

It'd be too bad if someone
made sure that I failed.

If you put it that way...

Heaven couldn't actually object
if I was thwarting you.

No. Be a real feather
in your wing.

We'd be godfathers,
sort of,

overseeing
his upbringing.

We do it right,
he won't be evil.

Or good.
He'll just be normal.

It might work.

Godfathers.

Well, I'll be damned.

It's not that bad
when you get used to it.

I understand you need a nanny.

They do say as you might
be looking for a gardener.

Oh! Young master Warlock!

You're growing fast.

You must be all of, um...

Five. I'm five.

What's that?

Oh, that's Brother Pigeon.

And Brother Snail.

Oh, and Sister Slug.

Now, you remember,
young Warlock,

as you grow,

to have love and reverence

for all living things.

Nanny says living things

are only fit to be ground
under my heels, Brother Francis.

Well, don't you listen to her.

You listen to me.

Will you sing me
a lullaby, nanny?

Of course, dear.

The gardener says that I must be
kind and nice to everybody.

Even Sister Slug.

And not ever
destroy the Earth.

Don't listen to him.

Listen to me.

There are many doors
that will take you to
Heaven or to Hell.

But when Crowley and Aziraphale
report in an official capacity

to their respective
head offices,

they take the main entrance.

Tell us about the boy, Warlock.

He's a remarkable child,
Lord Beelzebub.

-But is he evil?
-Fantastically evil.

Killed anyone yet?

Uh... not yet,

but there's more to evil
than just killing people, eh?

I suppose.

But it's fun.

Have you encountered
any problems from the...

...opposition?

They don't suspect a thing.

I am proud to say

that on a very real level,

the Antichrist child

is now being influenced
towards the light.

Very commendable,
Aziraphale.

-Excellent work, as usual.
-Yes.

But, Aziraphale,
we will be most understanding

when you fail.

After all, wars are to be won.

Not avoided.

But I won't fail.

I mean, that would be bad.

Aziraphale, what you're doing
is praiseworthy,

but obviously doomed
to failure.

Still, as the Almighty
likes to say,

"Climb every mountain."

"Ford every stream."

The boy's too normal.

Excellent.
It's working.

The heavenly influences
are balancing out the hellish.

A no-score draw.

I hope you're right.

Only six years left to go.

-Crowley.
-Yeah?

I mean, if he comes
into his full power,

how do we stop him then?

I'm sure it won't
come to that.

- He's big.
- -He's the biggest we've got.

Only the best for our young
master-to-be.

Do you think he's hungry?

Only one way to find out.

You. Get in there.

-Me?
-Yes, yes, you.

Watch out for his teeth.

Ooh.

It's not like you didn't tell
him to look out for the teeth.

I think he was hungry.

Warlock, are you
listening to me, honey?

Look what they used to think
dinosaurs looked like.

-Whatever.
-They're old and educational.

-It's dumb.
-It's not dumb, sweetie.

-It's a dinosaur.
-Dumbasaur, more like.

Can we talk about
my birthday party?

Why can't we have my party
in an escape room?

Honey, for the last time,

we've already hired a...

But, Mom...

Well, we've
done everything we can.

All we can do now
is wait for his birthday.

The Hell Hound
will be the key.

Shows up at 3:00
on Wednesday.

Right.

You've never actually
mentioned a Hell Hound before.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, they're sending him
a Hell Hound

to pad by his side
and guard him from all harm.

-Oh.
-Biggest one they've got.

Won't people remark
on the sudden appearance

of a huge black dog?

His parents,
for a start?

No one will notice anything.
It's reality, angel.

And young Warlock can do
what he likes with that,

whether he knows it or not.

It's the start of it all.
The boy's meant to name it.

Um... Stalks by Night,
Throat-Ripper,
something like that.

But if you and I
have done our job properly,

then he'll send it away
unnamed.

What if he does name it?

Then you and I have lost,
he'll have all his powers,

and Armageddon
will be days away.

There must be some way
of stopping it.

If there was no boy...

then the process would stop.

Yes, but there is a boy.
He's over there,

writing a rude word
on a description of a dinosaur.

Well, there is a boy now.

That could change.

Something could happen to him.

I'm saying
you could kill him.

I've never actually...
killed anything.

I don't think I could.

Not even to save
everything?

One life...

against the universe.

Then, this Hell Hound,

it'll show up
at his birthday party?

-Yeah.
-Well, then we should be there.

Maybe I can stop the dog.
In fact, I could entertain.

No, no, no.
Please, no. No.

I just need to get back
into practice.

Oh, no, no.
Don't do your magic act.

- Please. Please!
I'm actually begging you.

- You have no idea how
demeaning that is. Please.

-In your finger.
-No, it was in your ear.

-It was in your pocket.
-It was close to your ear.

Never anywhere
near my ear.

You're no fun.

-Fun?
-Yes.

It's humiliating.

You can do proper magic.

You can make things
disappear.

But it's not as fun.

Make you disappear.

Where has he got to?

Is he in here... somewhere?

There he is! Ha! This--

We'll come back to that one.

You see, it's me old top hat.

But, wait.

What's this?

Could it be

our old furry friend,

Harry the Rabbit?

It was in the table.

You said there was gonna be
a celebrity magician.

I had Penn and Teller at my
party, and I had a silent disco,

-and I got a--
-You're rubbish.

Excuse me, excuse me.

He's right, you know.
You are actually rubbish.

Five, four,

three, two, one.

The time is upon us.

As soon as the boy
names the Hound,

Armageddon will begin.

Go. Find your master.

He's not back yet?

He's down in Hogback Wood,
playing with his friends.

I've told him to be home
by teatime.

Right, well, give me a shout
when he gets back,

then we can
light the candles.

That was the best
11th birthday ever.

It was all a bit of a disaster,
I'm afraid.

Nonsense. You gave them all
a party to remember.

Last one any of them
will ever have, mind.

It's late.

Comes of putting it
up your sleeve.

No.

The Hell Hound.

It's late.

...Isle of
Skye, and your time starts--

Hello, Crowley.
- Uh, hi. Who's this?

Dagon, Lord of the Files,

Master of Torments.

Yeah, just checking in
about the Hell Hound.

He should be with you by now.

Why? Has something
gone wrong, Crowley?

Wrong? No, no. Nothing's wrong.
What could be wrong?

Oh, no, I see him now, yes.

What a lovely,
big helly Hell Hound.

Yes, OK,
great talking to you.

No dog.

No dog.

Wrong boy.

Wrong boy.

The right boy was playing
in the woods with his friends.

After all,
it was his birthday.

Hogback Wood
was their Eden,

where they could play
unbothered by adults.

The children called themselves
the "Them".

Pepper and Brian,
Wensleydale,

and the birthday boy, their
leader, who found their den

and invented the best games
of all... Adam.

It's my birthday.
Of course, I'm gonna get a dog.

You never get what you want.

I wanted a bike,
and I asked for it.

And I told them I wanted
a razor blade saddle,

and 12 gears and everything.

And do you know
what they got me?

A girl's bike.
With a basket.

But you are actually
a girl, Pepper.

That's just sexist.

I want a dog.

Oh, right. And your mum and dad

are just going to get you a big
old Rotten-weiler, then, Adam?

I don't want a big dog.

I want the kind of dog you can
have fun with. A little dog.

I want a dog that's brilliantly
intelligent,

and can go down rabbit holes,
and I can teach tricks.

And I'll call him...

And this is the moment.
The naming.

This will give it its purpose,
its function, its identity.

This is the moment that sets
Armageddon into motion.

The Hell Hound growls a low,
rumbling snarl

of spring-coiled menace.

The sort of growl that starts
in the back of one throat

and ends up deep
in someone else's.

I think I'll call him "Dog".

Saves a lot of trouble,
a name like that.

And, what, this dog's
just gonna turn up?

Maybe.

Here, boy. Come on.

Armageddon is days away,

and we've lost the Antichrist.

Why did the powers of Hell have
to drag me into this anyway?

Well, don't quote me on this,
but I'm pretty sure

it's because of all those memos
you kept sending them,

saying how amazingly well
you were doing.

Is it my fault
they never check-up?

I'm to blame
they never check-up?

Everyone stretches the truth
a bit in memos to head office.

-You know that.
-Yes, but you told them

you invented
the Spanish Inquisition

and started
the Second World War.

So the humans beat me to it.
That's not my fault.

Something's changed.

Oh, it's a new cologne.
My barber suggested it.

Not you.
I know what you smell like.

The Hell Hound
has found its master.

Are you sure?

I felt it.
Would I lie to you?

Well, obviously. You're a demon.
That's what you do.

No, I'm not lying.
The boy, wherever he is,

has the dog.

He's named it.
It's done.

He's coming into his power.

We're doomed.

Well, then...

welcome to the end times.