The Peripheral (2022–…): Season 1, Episode 7 - The Doodad - full transcript

I look at you and all this...

It's just so different
from where I live.

Thomas, we'll need
you to take some time off.

That man is loose
on my watch, sir.

All that's gonna get sorted;
I'm gonna see to it myself.

Maybe you and I could come to
some sort of understanding.

And I offer something
in exchange.

No plan. No intel. No recon.

Inspector Ainsley Lowbeer,
Metropolitan Police.

Is anyone out here?

Something wrong, Ms. Fisher?



Reece, honey.

I think I might need you
to take me to the doctor.

- You want me to call Burton...
- No, no, no.

I don't want to worry them.

I'm sure it's fine.

Let's just go, you and me.

- Uh...
- It's okay, hon.

Promise. I'll talk to 'em
once... once we get back.

Uh, my truck's on the drive.

I'm afraid I'll need
your help, Reece.

I, uh...

I can't seem to...

I'm blind again.

Dear me.



It seems your life has taken
some decidedly unexpected turns

in the past week
or so, young lady.

Yes, ma'am.

And now what?

Do you have a plan?

Or do you just intend

to keep parrying
blows as they land,

hoping for the best?

Um...

Well, I know what I'd
like to do, Beatrice.

I'd like to stretch
my legs a bit.

- Get some fresh air.
- Yes, ma'am.

Now, please
don't take this wrong,

Mr. Zubov, but

you've chosen an
extremely oppressive

decorative scheme here.

Well, then, Inspector.

Would you prefer the garden?

I'd prefer to leave altogether.
And take these three

young visitors with
me, so we can finish

our little chat
alfresco, as they say.

- Shall we?
- Um,

not to be disrespectful,

but I'd feel a whole
lot more comfortable

if Wilf could join us.

How sweet.

You've already
made a friend here.

Now be a sport,
then, Mr. Netherton.

Do join us.

I'm sorry
to burst in on you

like this without an
appointment, Dee Dee.

It's always a pleasure
to see you, Ella,

appointment or not. Reece,
would you mind helping her up?

Yeah, sure. This way.

- There you go.
- Thank you.

So, what's troubling you?

Mind if I wait
outside, Mrs. Fisher?

Oh, of course not, hon.

- Right.
- Oh, Reece, would you tell

Liz to go ahead and
take her lunch break?

Yeah, sure.

So...

how are you feeling?

Aren't you supposed to be on
some sort of sick leave, Tommy?

Yeah. But I realized

I never followed up on
the evidence I collected

from that incident
on the bridge.

Just, uh, wanted to make sure

it was all cataloged properly.

And what evidence would that be?

Weaponry the old
man was carrying.

Which was what, exactly?

Well, he had a-a
Glock, if I recall.

And this, uh, other doodad.

Looked a little
like a flashlight.

Oh, a "doodad," huh?

That bear any resemblance
to a thingamabob?

Was anything taken
into evidence?

- After that SUV hit me?
- The one you claim

was invisible, you mean?

- What are you doing?
- Calling Dee Dee.

So she can take you...

You've been knocked
sideways, Tommy.

Hard.

You need to lie
down in a dark room

with ice on your head and
a cold beer in your hand.

You answer my question, Gladys,
and I will get right on that.

Promise.

Nothing was put into evidence
except your totaled cruiser.

No Glocks.

No "doodads."

No old man, for that matter.

Just you and your
wrecked car, Tommy.

Now go home.

Before I call Sheriff Jackman...

so he can tell you
the same damn thing,

in a less loving manner.

What is this?

A Met Police
training facility.

- We call it The Zoo.
- Why?

It's where the
animals come to play.

Completely secure
from any potential

R.I. surveillance
or interference.

Or Klept, for that matter.

You two and Beatrice are
going to have some fun.

You're going to climb to the...

How many floors do you think
they can manage, Beatrice?

Let's try eight.

Feeling ambitious, are we?

All right, then.

Eighth floor.

Unlike Miss Fisher,

you're new to these bodies.

This exercise should
get you up to speed.

What?

This is where
our Met Koids are tested.

Think of it as something like
what your sister believed

she was playing when
she first came here.

A sim, I think you call it?

Follow Beatrice. She'll
explain everything.

- Well, can I go, too?
- Not this time, dear.

I have a different test for you.

Shall we sit?

It's fairly
straightforward, gentlemen.

We advance from floor to floor,

killing or disabling
everything we encounter.

Until we reach the roof.

What happens there?

- A surprise.
- What kind?

A surprise
is generally defined

as "an unexpected event."

Do you need me to
define "unexpected"?

Don't take this the
wrong way, ma'am.

But are you, like... human?

Why do you ask?

Well, you don't
seem too concerned

about potential
bodily harm here.

That's very kind of you to
inquire, Lance Corporal.

Let's just say I'm special.

By which I mean you should
worry about yourselves

in the coming adventure.

Let me worry about me.

We get weapons?

Only what you can
claim on the way.

Shall we?

You got
night vision, dude.

How?

Tongue to palate.
Just like our haptics.

Well, that wasn't so bad.

Are you good with numbers?

Top of the class, baby.

How many assailants
did we encounter here?

Six?

There will be 12
on the next floor.

Eighteen on the one
after that. And so on.

Forty-eight up top?

Only if you make it that far.

What are these?

Your basic Koid Series 24-A.

Modified, of course,
for the task at hand.

- What's a Koid?
- A robot. Bipedal.

Eyes are human.

Only for verisimilitude's sake.

Speed, intensity, and
violence of action.

Your unit's motto,
if I'm not mistaken.

And?

A little more speed might
be nice here, gentlemen.

Most of our trainees are already
clearing the third floor by now.

Yeah, Gladys.

A fucking doodad.

Sheriff?

Tommy, where are you?

I, uh...

Whatever you're doing,
I need you to drop it.

Need you to come over
here to Corbell Pickett's.

- Thought I was on leave, sir.
- You were.

I just canceled it. Stop talking
and get your ass in gear.

We got a situation on
our hands over here.

I need you to help me fix it.

Copy that.

Oh, Lord. I'm
hurt. I'm hurt bad.

Hello?

Help me.

I'm hurt real bad.

Are you okay?

Call Tommy.

Dee Dee? What's happening?

- I'm unavailable to take your call.
- Dammit, Tommy.

- Pick up.
- Leave a message.

I'll return it at my
earliest convenience.

That's it. That's
it. Yeah. That's it.

That's it.

That's it. There you go.

There you go.

Fuck's sake.

Motherfucker.

Reece?

Anyone else here?

What's happening?
What's going on?

Tell me, Dee Dee,
what is going on?

Hey. I need
you to calm her down.

Or you're both gonna get shot.

It's all right.

I'm right here.

- Where's Reece? Why isn't he answering...
- Shh.

He just...

stepped outside.

Sit. Both of you.

On your hands.

It's him, isn't it?

Who?

The man from the bridge.

I don't mean
to be rude, ma'am.

But you need to shut your mouth.

And keep it shut.

Did you notice?

She sampled our fucking DNA.

How else could she be sure
we're who we claim to be?

We could bloody sample hers.

And be renditioned.

I've never met a senior
police officer before.

A rather extraordinary
individual.

They're all like
that, unfortunately.

There are...

Himself?

Yes, sir?

I need you to access the
Peripheral's point of view.

I want to know what
they're discussing.

I'm afraid I can't
do that, Mr. Zubov.

Or won't, rather.

Excuse me?

The inspector would
know if we were to attempt it.

Just as she very likely knows

that we're having this rather
misguided conversation.

He just ask what I think he did?

If
we were smart, we'd be packing.

We'd be gone.

We leave, this was
all for nothing.

We'd lose access to the stub
and what's inside the girl.

I'm not sure it's
worth dying for, luv.

And I'm not sure I can live
with having run away from it.

How about you?

Are you steady, Ossian?

Yes. I'm fucking steady.

Well, Miss Fisher, the Aunties
have managed to track down

some rather interesting
information.

The Aunties?

The Met's
data-sorting algorithms.

Busy little bees, buzzing about.

I imagine you'll be
happy to learn that

your friend, Mr. Penske,
didn't lose his limbs

in my own timeline.

But that would mean
that-that... Texas...

That the R.I.
must've opened the stub

at least a decade earlier
than you've all been assuming.

As such, significant divergences

have already been occurring
in our two time lines,

the most disturbing of
which is the Jackpot.

It appears to be happening at an
accelerated rate in your world.

My assumption is
the R.I. is driving

this process intentionally.

To what end?

That's a question only
Cherise Nuland can answer.

The Texas War?

The secession, did
it happen for you?

Indeed.

Both Mr. Penske and your
brother went off to fight in it.

But the haptic technology
implanted in their bodies

was decades away from being
developed in my own time line,

so they fought as
common soldiers.

A-And Conner didn't get hurt?

He survived
the war unscathed.

But your brother did not.

What, he got wounded?

Killed.

I thought you said
details like this

were impossible to retrieve.

And he was
correct, for the most part.

But the Aunties are
privy to archives

unavailable to the
general public.

Well, what about me?

The data becomes a bit spotty
once the Jackpot takes off.

But it appears you married.

Had two children.

Married who?

Sheriff Thomas Constantine.

I married Tommy?

Indeed. Makes one wonder about
etiquette here, doesn't it?

Whether congratulations
are in order?

Now, of course, the
Aunties have told me about

a Flynne Fisher who
no longer exists.

But about you, my dear...

I know next to nothing.

It's rather refreshing.

I don't suppose you've
had many job interviews?

Just Forever Fab.

But it wasn't really
a job interview.

Just a drug test.

- But did you pass?
- Of course.

Excellent.

What I mean to say is...

let's approach this encounter
as something along those lines.

A getting-to-know-each-other
moment.

I'm going to ask
a few questions.

Try and answer them as quickly
as you can, without thinking.

Can you do that?

A lot of people have

a tough time with
it... knife work.

You might laugh,
but they have these

how-to videos online, you know.

Slashing versus thrusting,
arteries versus organs,

that sort of thing.

In my experience, though,

it's all about speed.

The most amount of holes in
the least amount of time.

Simple as.

When you think about it,
well, that's pretty much

the opposite of how you've
been trained, isn't it?

Which, I imagine, could make
it quite difficult to overcome.

Not to mention
the other hurdles,

the "thou shalt not" of it all.

Now, I'd say you'd get
one good swipe, tops,

before I'd open you up like a...

What do you call those...

What's the difference between
a sieve and a colander?

Are they the same, or what?

This is fucking amazing.

I told you, bruh. I'm
moving here. Full-time.

What's the surprise?

The training module
isn't considered complete

until only one of
us remains standing.

Surprise.

Greatest fear?

My mama dying.

Greatest strength?

That I don't
know when to give up.

- Weakness?
- Same thing.

If you could turn back time,

and have none of this
ever happen, would you?

No.

If I had the power
to sever the connection

between our two worlds,
would you have me do it?

- No.
- Why not?

You thought too
long on that one.

Froze up.

It happens.

Can I ask you some questions?

Like the ones you just asked me?

Let's say three, as
though I were a genie.

What's your biggest fear?

The past.

What, like where I'm from?

Precisely.

Two down.

One remaining.

Do you actually have that power?

To cut our connection?

I'm sorry, dear, I seem
to have overpromised.

It seems your brother and his
friend are almost finished.

So, I'll say goodbye
and Godspeed.

Our next visit, you'll be
more active, I assure you.

Shorty...

you are fucking amazing.

Ooh.

Fucking Christ...

You always feel like
this when you come out?

Boy, I'm gonna marry her.

Who?

That robot lady.

I can't even read this.

What?

Reece took Mama to Urgent Med.

He said to come
right now. Come on.

Oh, fuck. Gimme a sec.

Man the fuck up,
Burton. We gotta go.

Hello?

Sheriff?

What, exactly, do
you think you understand?

That you're upset.

I mean, how could you not...

I don't think "upset"

quite captures the
feeling, Davis.

I guess not.

What I mean is,

I want to kill someone.

I want to do it with
my bare fucking...

What the
fuck is he doing here?

Holster your weapon, son.

A little late to the party
for it to do any kind of good.

What happened?

Well, that prisoner
that you lost?

He turned up here and
killed Mary Pickett.

Stole one of their vehicles.

Mr. Pickett, he, uh...

he's pretty bent out of shape
about it, as you can imagine.

Right now, I need you to head
up to the Fisher residence.

I want you to take
Burton into custody.

Might as well grab the kid
sister, too, while you're at it.

What do the Fishers got
to do with any of this?

Well, I'm still crossing my T's

and dotting my I's on
that, Tommy. But, uh...

how's this sound
as a first draft?

Burton and his war buddies,
they've been dipping

their collective toe
into the drug trade.

Seems that they crossed
somebody they shouldn't have.

And that somebody
hired a hit man

to come take them
out of this world.

Now, you had this
hit man character

in your custody, Tommy.

But you lost him.

And he made his way over here
to the Pickett residence,

intent on stealing a car and
making good on his escape.

Killed poor Mary Pickett rather
violently in the process.

How's that sound, buccaneer?

Like you just
fucking made it up.

Well, that's what you do when
you're telling a story, Tommy.

You make shit up.

Sort of like what
you've been doing

for the last ten or so years.

Pretending you don't know the
way things run around here.

Telling yourself whatever little
fairytale you needed to hear

so you can feel
like some sort of

blameless Knight of the
fucking Round Table,

when all the while,
you working for me.

Which means you working
for Corbell Pickett.

Trust me, son.

Gonna be a whole lot easier
being honest with yourself.

Takes a frightful
amount of energy,

working to stay stone blind
every fucking waking hour.

Now, goddammit,
you go get Burton.

Corbell's got some questions
he wants to ask him.

No.

Boy, that old man said your life
had reached a fork in the road.

I think he was dead
right about that.

Christ almighty, Tommy.

You need me to lay
this out for you?

Sure. Sure, you can do
the "right" thing here.

Take Corbell and I down to
the station in handcuffs

like two dirt dogs.

And then the three of us,

we're going to present
our stories to the world.

Corbell and I, we're
gonna tell a story

about how you tried to blame
others for your failures,

which is what the young
and the feckless often do.

You want a stick?

You panicked, Tommy.

You made some
un-fucking-believable story up

about how I, Clanton's
four-term elected sheriff,

crashed a invisible
SUV into your cruiser,

made off with your prisoner,

took him over here,
turned him loose

at Corbell Pickett's house.

This being the same
Corbell Pickett

who employs some 50 to 60%

of the people here
in Clanton, mind you.

And then... and then,
well, fuck me, Tommy.

Even now I'm getting confused.

You see where I'm going
with this, I assume.

Corbell and I, we get set free

with the sincerest of apologies.

You? At best, you simply lose
your job at the department.

Although there may be some
charges pending on you, too...

false arrest and
that sort of thing.

Or...

there's the other road.

The go-along-to-get-along road.

Where you can keep
doing the fine work

you've always done as a lawman.

Maybe even pick up some other
responsibilities, too...

with the appropriate
remunerations, of course.

Or you could just try being
adult for a fucking change.

You don't have a choice,
Tommy. You see that, right?

Because my story
might not be true...

it sure as hell sounds true.

It's gonna beat your
story every goddamn time.

So why don't we stop dicking
around with one another,

and you go fetch
me Burton Fisher.

Along with that little sister.

As you can
see, they discovered

and utilized their augmentations

with admirable dispatch,

networking to share
visual and aural input.

Which would imply an overlap

with their own rudimentary
haptic implants.

What did you make of them?

Their characters, I mean?

Brave.
Assertive. Resolute.

The brother is likely the more
predictable and dependable.

But I'd be marginally
more inclined

to turn to his
friend in a crisis.

Why?

Ma'am?

Well, if the brother is more
predictable and dependable,

why would you turn
to the friend?

I'm afraid I lack specific
data on that, Inspector.

The decision was made in
my deep neural network,

below any level
of consciousness.

Interesting.

And the young woman?

Still
an open question.

Which I hope to answer shortly.

What is it?

Cherise Nuland is downstairs,
requesting an audience.

You were expecting her?

I lifted the veil,
ever so slightly,

on our visit to the
Zubov residence,

allowing us to be
surveilled as we arrived.

But I certainly
didn't anticipate

Dr. Nuland to react
with such alacrity.

Have her sent up, please.

This should be
quite informative.

You fucking loser.

How the fuck you
gonna live with this?

Huh? I mean...

How the fuck you
gonna live with this?

Now what?

We wait.

For?

I need to kill two people.

And it would appear that one
of them is on the way here.

You're talking about my
children, aren't you?

Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid I am.

Mama's not answering.

Reece, neither.

Reece. "Your mother
is asking you

to come as quickly
as possible."

"Your mother"?

Yeah, that's fucking weird.

Can you link up with him?

- Oh, shit.
- What?

I can't get a
read on his vitals.

I'm almost tempted to call
the police, Inspector.

The Uncanny Valley
Statute is rather clear

that Peripherals
should never operate

as autonomous beings.

Beatrice exists under a
special waiver to the UVS.

Hmm. Of course.

Doesn't look like
the R.I.'s handiwork.

- Nice to meet you, Beatrice.
- Pleasure is mine, ma'am.

Know what's startling?

We've found that a lingering
effect of the Jackpot

is that now the vast
majority of Koids

have been modified to resemble
a missing personal connection.

Siblings.

Colleagues.

Not, as a rule, parents.

Which is intriguing, is it?

It's as if there's
something natural

about losing a mother or father

that makes it easier
for us to accept.

But a child?

A daughter...

for instance?

I'm so sorry, Beatrice.

I'm going to have to ask
you to power down now.

And please scrub

the past five minutes
from your memory.

Powering down now.
Commencing scrub.

Pleased with yourself?

I'm curious. Why
keep it a secret?

It would complicate
our relationship.

- Yes, I rather suppose it would.
- Why are you here, Doctor?

Something of great value
has been stolen from me.

And I seek redress from the law.

I know you're uneasy with this.

Uneasy?

Fucking terrified is what I am.

It's not
just the Klepts we're crossing here.

There's the Met Police now
too and either one of them

- would end us...
- Want me to do it?

You realize what
this could mean?

We're the only ones who know.

Aelita knows.

Aelita's dead...

Or gone to ground so thoroughly
she might as well be.

This is ours. For the taking.

How do we access the bacteria?
How do we sequence it?

All we'll need to do is hire
someone in the stub to...

Himself, luv.

Tell me that won't be
part of the pleasure.

Stealing it right out from
under his arrogant fucking...

Arrogance is
a form of stupidity.

Wouldn't you agree?

It could seem a bit
arrogant, for instance,

to assume that one's
encryption is unbreakable.

Given that, historically,

the supposed impregnability
of any particular code

has always proven
disappointingly short-lived.

Run to Daddy's study.

- Fetch him a knife.
- Which one?

Any will do.

I'm in a bit of a quandary here.

Part of me, naturally enough,

wants to destroy both of you.

My inner child, I suppose
you could call it.

Raging. Petulant. Vengeful.

But the part of me
with a cooler head

realizes how much I need you.

Your skill set, certainly.

And now, it would appear,
your secrets, too.

Also, I like you.

Well, you, Ash.

Ossian I could take or leave,

depending on my
mood. But you...

You have a Klept's heart,
whether you realize it or not.

Proud.

Scheming.

Aggressive.

And yes: arrogant.

So it's all a bit
up in the air...

I fear.

What I should do...

- My favorite.
- Ah!

And it's a beauty, my boy.

May I watch, Daddy?

I think not.

Run along to the kitchen.
Nanny's made pudding.

We're... very sorry, sir.

Shut up, Ossian.

Tell me what you're up to.

Or I'll kill him.
You have ten seconds.

Aelita thought she was working
with the polt's brother.

She planned to download
the stolen R.I. files

into his haptic implants.

Storing them in the
stub, in other words,

where they'd be untraceable.

Rather brilliant, I
think you'll agree.

Except for the fact it was the
sister piloting the Peripheral.

And the girl doesn't
have implants.

So her headset translated
the data into bacterial DNA.

Began to colonize her brain.

What were you hoping
to do with that data?

Sell it to the highest bidder.

I don't believe you.

Give it to the Neoprims.

Why in the fucking hell
would you want to do that?

So they can burn
this world down.

And build a new
one in its place.

You're a fool.

A romantic fool.

If you try to
double-cross me again...

I will have no choice
but to carve you up

and feed you to my
little beauties.

But I do admire the
rest of your plan.

Let's proceed, shall we?

Every single vector
of the Jackpot

was weaponized by
the same disruptor.

Human nature.

Now, it might've manifested
itself as selfishness

or venality or simple stupidity,

but at the bottom, it all
amounted to the same trait:

our persistent,
self-destructive resistance

to acting for a collective good.

May I?

Please.

The R.I. was subject to
a critical data breach

a few nights ago, at the
hand of an R.I. employee

and a Peripheral piloted
from within a stub.

The presence of
a Zubov associate

at a subsequent crime scene
connected to the breach

points definitively
to Klept involvement.

We have reason to believe
they were targeting

our neural adjustment mechanism,

which, as you know, is a highly
sensitive area of research.

So you're telling me

that the data that's
been stolen from you,

it would document the
existence of this mechanism?

- It would.
- And that's what you fear?

Backlash and repudiation,

should knowledge of
this become public?

Of course.

But even more so,

a potential hack
of the mechanism...

to employ it in a
less benign manner.

A possibility already
inherent in this technology?

Well...

I think you'll agree, Inspector,

that a hammer is a
very useful tool.

It can also be a deadly weapon,

in the wrong hands.

I believe you met with
Lev Zubov recently?

I imagine he had quite
an interesting tale

of his recent adventures
in the R.I.'s stub.

"The R.I.'s"? You
claim ownership?

Well, I created it, didn't I?

For use as a laboratory to
develop this technology.

I don't imagine I need to tell
you how dangerous it might be

for the Klepts to
gain control of it.

What are you asking of me?

Destroy the Zubovs,

Flynne Fisher,

and everyone
associated with them.

Both here, and in the stub.

You make
it sound so simple.

As if I could
merely wave a wand.

There's precedent,
you'll concede.

The Samsonovs.

Their entire clan...

erased from the
face of the Earth.

It was quite an
awe-inspiring spectacle.

An entirely different situation.

Mm... Was it?

Sedition? I should think so.

"Inciting violence against
a lawful authority,

with the intent
to overthrow it"?

♪ If I had a hammer ♪♪

You'll need to absorb and
process this all, obviously.

- I
- only share this with you

because I'm confident

you have the sophistication
and perspicacity

to grasp all that's
at stake here.

Come to my lair next time. Hmm?

Tea, if you'd like.

It's for money?
What you're doing?

There's money involved.

But that's not why I'm here.

Why, then?

I have a
daughter of my own.

I'd like to keep her
alive, if I could.

Someone's threatening
to harm her

if you don't kill my children?

In a nutshell.

My mother always said,

"Only a fool sees the
world as either-or."

Which is an admirably
simple thought

for simple folks living
in a simple place.

But unfortunately,

none of that's at play
here at the moment.

You imagine there
are only two options.

Either your daughter has to
die, or my children will,

and that's the end of it.

You're saying there's
another option?

I am.

But I can just listen to you,

to the sound of your voice,

and tell you're not
the man to consider it.

Try me.

You could die.

What the fuck are you doing?

Fuck.

Why are we stopped?

Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.

We need to get a read
on the situation.

If we don't move now, Mama's
gonna be next. You know that.

There's a killer in
there, just set a trap.

- We rush in, we all die.
- Burton...

This is the one fucking
thing I'm good at, Flynne.

So right now, I just need you
to trust me to do it right.

Fuck.

Take these, go that
way around the car.

Let me get this straight.

So, my not wanting to die
here, that makes me a fool?

Not just a fool.

Cowardly, too.

And selfish.

Selfish to the point of evil.

I'm starting to
get the impression

that you don't like me
very much, Mrs. Fisher.

You
see the three heat sigs?

And the colder one on the floor?

That's Reece.

So we got Dee Dee,
your mama, and our target.

Which is a little too
eeny-meeny-miny-moe

- for my taste.
- He's probably

the one on the right,
but I'm not sure.

We got to get him to move.

See if you can link
up with Reece again.

- Trigger his ANS.
- Fuck that, Burton.

He'd be connecting to a corpse.

Get the body to twitch,
and maybe the old man

will think Reece is still alive.

He'll try to finish him off,

and then we can tag him.

Bruh, are you hearing
me? Leon would feel it.

Yeah. And Reece would do
the same thing for us,

if he was in our position.

Why the fuck are you two still
talking? Let's get this done.

Flynne, tell us
when the target's clear.

It's
him. He's moving.

Execute.

Mama?

Oh.

Lights out.

I need that old
man alive, Davis.

There's some things
I want to do to him.

Oh, I
understand, Corbell.

We're gonna do everything
we can. You know that.

She was a real wonderful woman,
Corbell. I can't imagine.

Think I might've come up
with a pretty good one, Sheriff.

Wanted to run it by you.

Let's say the old man came here.

Killed Mary.

And Mr. Pickett there,
he called the police.

You were first on
the scene, Sheriff.

Because even after four terms,

you still take
your job seriously.

And we all appreciate that.

Tommy, what in the fuck

- do you think you're doing...
- The old man was still here.

Armed with this .45.

And when you drew
your own weapon?

Well, he went and shot you.

Multiple times, I'm afraid.

All right, easy. You need
to calm down, Thomas.

I'm already too calm, Sheriff.

That's what's scaring me.

It's like you said.

Ain't got much of a
choice, now, do I?

Tommy, don't!

Well, fuck me.

I did not see that coming.

Not by a mile.

Now...

that calm you were
talking about?

I think you need
to lower your gun

until it comes back.

So we can talk
this thing through.

Come to an understanding here.

You don't really think
that old man would've

let you live, now, do you?

What I don't think...

is that you have
the necessary balls

to pull this off on
your own, young man.

Or the bullets.

The fuck's that supposed to be?

Oh, it's a doodad, you
arrogant piece of shit.

You die,

- it's for real.
- I die and I save my family.

I want you to kill him.

Wolf!

I'll tell you everything.
Give you my word.

- Deputy. EMTs got a pulse.
- For who?

All we need are the secrets

inside the girl's head.

No!