Watchmen (2019): Season 1, Episode 4 - If You Don't Like My Story, Write Your Own - full transcript

Are you ready to venture
into the great beyond?

Dammit.

Agent Blake...

the deputy director is gonna
send you down to Tulsa

to take lead
on an investigation.

Chief of police got hung.

Folks assume
the Seventh Kalvary did it.

Who are you?

I'm the one who strung
your chief of police up.

You're under arrest.

The goddamn Seventh Kalvary's
where the war's at,



and I won't be leavin'
until it's won.

Run!

Men who end up hanging
from trees

with secret compartments
in their closets

tend to think of themselves
as good guys,

and those who protect them
think they're good guys, too.

Ooh.

‐
‐

Who on Earth
could that be?

‐
‐

Hi.

Are you the Clarks?

Yes.

You're Lady Trieu.



I sure am.

May I come in?

Yeah, sure.

So, what have
you heard about me?

Oh, uh,
not much.

Come on.

You're the billionaire building
the big clock down the road.

You've been in Tulsa a year,
but nobody ever sees you

because you
don't come out.

Actually, I'm a trillionaire,

what I'm building down the road
is much more than a big clock,

and I do come out,

but only when
it's important.

Fortunately,

for the next three minutes,
you two

are the most important
people in the world.

I want your house right now.

‐
‐What?

This house... I want it.

Oh, and also
the 40 acres it sits on.

It's not for sale.

Right, I get it.

It's been in your family
for generations.

- ‐Legacy's a big deal.
- ‐

What was I...?

Legacy.

Legacy isn't in land.

It's in blood,

passed to us from our ancestors,

and by us to our children.

You two have no children, so when you
die, your legacy dies with you.

You'll be... extinct.

Well, hold on
just a minute here‐‐

You don't have a minute.
Please, don't interrupt.

We're getting
to the good stuff.

I got rich

making advanced pharma
and biomedical tech.

Among my holdings are
thousands of clinics,

one being
Sooner Fertility Partners,

right here in Tulsa.

Ten years ago, you two went
there and tried to get pregnant.

‐What?
‐But you did not get pregnant

because when they harvested
your eggs, Mrs. Clark,

you were told
they were nonviable.

Know what I say to that?

I say bullshit!

Katy, Jon...

I'm not here to offer
you money for your land.

I'm here to offer you legacy.

I'm here to offer you a child.

‐Get out of our house.
‐Honey‐‐

No. She comes here
in the middle of the night,

and tells us she can just
make us a baby after all‐‐ No.

No. Leave! Right now!

I'm so sorry.

I think you misunderstood me.

I'm not going to make
you a baby.

I already did.

In anticipation
of our negotiation,

I took the liberty
of creating your son.

‐And he is yours, biologically.
‐

‐
‐: Oh, sweet Jesus.

I've placed five million
dollars in an account.

That should cover your relocation
cost, and, you know,

baby food,
college education, etc.

You have 30 seconds to decide.

Would you like to hold him?

- ‐Jon...
- ‐Jon : Hey.

Hey...

He's got your eyes.

‐
‐Got your eyes.

Ten seconds or I'll
have no other choice

but to destroy the baby.

Guys, I'm joking.

‐I'll find a loving home for him.
‐

He'll just never know
where he came from.

Katy:
Jon! Jon!

Here.

‐
‐

What is that?

That...

is mine.

Angela : Hi.
You've reached the Milk & Hanoi Bakery,

where we let
Saigons be Saigons.

‐Go ahead and leave a message
and we'll call you back. ‐

‐
‐Automated Voice: Hello, Will.

You recently submitted
your DNA

at the Greenwood Center
for Cultural Heritage.

We have good news.

A new branch of your family
tree has been identified.

Your ancestors await.

‐Please visit us...
‐Oh, oh, oh!

- Ow. Shit.
- Shit!

Fuck!

for entrusting your legacy to the
Greenwood Center for Cultural Heritage,

where the answer
to life's mysteries

- ‐is life's histories.
- ‐

‐
‐Squad.

This is Night.
Did y'all get a...

silent alarm at the Greenwood
Cultural Center?

Dispatch : Negative.
We're not getting anything here. What's up?

‐
‐I'm on site.

Someone broke the glass
on the side door.

I'm gonna check the premises.
If you get an alarm trip, it's just me.

Dispatch: Copy that.
Want us to send a car?

No, I got this.
Night out.

Fireman:
May 31st, 1921,

it started like
any other day

for the Greenwood Avenue
Volunteer Fire Department.

‐
‐Hello.

I'm United States
Treasury Secretary

Henry Louis Gates Jr.

What's your name?

Angela Abar.

Hello, Angela.
What can I help you with today?

‐ ‐I need to
see my family tree.

Fantastic.
Just give me a moment

to encode your acorn.

Gates:
Good news!

There's currently no wait
in the Greenhouse.

Please proceed there
to plant your acorn.

Reporter: As my relatives were
being gunned down in the street,

as they were dragged...

Automated Voice:
Welcome, Angela Abar,

to your family tree.

A new branch on your father's
side is now available.

If you would like to grow this
branch, please tap your father,

Marcus Abar.

‐ ‐These are your
paternal grandparents.

June Abar is in our archive.

Will is not yet identified.

Please key his icon
for more information.

With 99.947 certainty,

Will is your grandfather.

Will's genetic profile
directly matches

two individuals
in our ancestral database.

Based on
an archival photograph,

the Center can render them now.

Angela, would you like to meet
your great grandparents?

Yeah. Okay.

Obie Williams was born
in Louisiana in 1891.

He enlisted in the US Army
and fought against the Germans

in France in World War I.

He returned to Tulsa
a hero, and reunited

with his childhood
sweetheart, Ruth Robeson.

Obie and Ruth had one son,
but his name was lost

in the fires that consumed
Greenwood's records.

He does, however,

appear in one archival photo
with his parents.

Tragically,
the entire family was killed

in the massacre of 1921.

May they rest in peace.

You're not dead.

You disappeared.

A hundred years from now,
you're gonna roll back into Tulsa

and blow my life up.

And then disappear again.

You said you wanted me
to know where I came from.

Now I know.

So, wherever you are...

leave me the fuck alone.

This is your car?

- ‐Night: Yeah.
- ‐

‐
‐Dispatch, this is Night.

Stolen vehicle recovered
on Greenwood Avenue,

100 block. I need a tow.

Dispatch:
Copy that. We'll send a rig.

They take anything?

Doesn't look like it.

It fell out of the sky.

‐What?
‐Your car.

It fell out of the sky.

You're kidding?

I don't kid about things
falling out of the sky.

Angela.

Well, it looks like you got
things under control here, so...

I'll just leave you to it.

Cool costume.

Thanks.

‐
‐

Topher:
Hi.

Hi.

Rosie and Emma
in your bed?

Angela:
Mm‐hmm.

Can I crash here?

Okay.

Where were you?

I had to stay
at the cemetery a while.

The police needed to ask me
a lot of questions.

Are your sisters okay?

I think so.

I didn't see that man
get shot in the head.

But you did.

When the bomb
started beeping,

and then you
saved everybody...

were you scared?

Yeah, I was scared.

Still am, a little.

It fell out of the sky?

That's what she said.

‐Cal: The FBI agent?
‐Angela: Yes, the FBI agent.

What was she doing there
in the middle of the night?

I didn't ask her.

What were you doing there
in the middle of the night?

Breaking into
the cultural center.

Why?

Because I'm not acting
rationally right now, Calvin.

‐Rosie: Yes, he is!
‐Topher: He isn't.

Rosie, Emma:
He is, too!

‐He is not.
‐Rosie: Yes, he is!

Whoa, whoa. What's,
What's going on?

Topher said that Uncle Judd

didn't go to Heaven
when he blowed up!

Sweetheart, um...

Heaven is...

pretend.

So, where is he then?

Well...

Before Uncle Judd was born,
he was nowhere.

Didn't exist.

Then he was a baby,

then he was a child,
then he was an adult.

Then he died.

Now he's nowhere, again.

Nowhere?

What?
It's the truth.

Okay, who wants waffles?

‐Me!
‐Me!

Man:
Yeah?

It's Angela.

Howdy.

Sorry about
the mess.

Been a couple weeks since
the last squid‐fall.

When the sirens stopped,
I knew it wasn't the big one, so...

I grabbed my camera,
hustled on up there

before any could dissolve.

Poor bastards rain down
on us from another dimension,

probably just as
confused as we are.

Thirty seconds of life,
and they spend all of it dying.

You're fucking weird.

And you are
adequately self‐aware

to recognize the hypocrisy
of that remark.

So...

what can I do you for?

‐
‐What are these?

Don't know.

I was hoping
you could ask your ex.

We have a lab
down at the precinct.

Your ex has a lab
that's not at the precinct.

And she is indeed my ex.

You told me it was amicable.

Where'd they come from?

Does it matter?

Only if it relates

to the murder of our
beloved chief of police.

You know he was a racist?

He was a white man in Oklahoma.

He hid it in his closet.

You reckon he was Kavalry?

You reckon he was?

Looks like we have
ourselves a reckoning.

This is old school.

Crawford's granddaddy
was a lawman.

Maybe it's just a keepsake.

Can you hold
onto it for me?

So, the FBI lady
won't find it?

So the FBI lady
won't find it.

I suppose you don't want me
to tell her about these, either?

Be careful of that one.

She is extremely weird.

The fuck?

Hey! Police!

Night:
Hey!

Night:
Stop!

Stop!

The fuck?!

Can't fool a fly with shit.

‐Hello there.
‐Night: Hey.

Gentlemen.

You saved my life.

Angela, right?

Oh.

Am I not supposed
to know who you are?

I'm sorry.

‐Night: For what?
‐The funeral yesterday.

I should've known
I have a target on my back.

If I wasn't there,
it wouldn't have happened.

You're right.

Try not to get
kidnapped next time.

I'll do that.

You have a nice day,
Detective.

You, too, Senator.

Night: Do you know any vigilantes
that wear a belt like this?

Tall, skinny,
head‐to‐toe spandex?

‐What'd he do?
‐He ran.

Ew! What the fuck
is this?

Some kind of oil.
Guy squirted it

all over himself,
and slid into a sewer grate.

He have any, uh, lettuce
or watch batteries on him?

Was he wearing
a Rorschach and saying,

"Tick‐tock,
tick‐tock, tick‐tock?"

‐Night: No.
‐Scare: Oh.

Okay.

Then, new boss probably isn't
going to give shit about...

lube man.

New boss?

‐
‐Come in.

You moved into
Crawford's office?

Uh‐huh. Is that problematic?

Only if you want everybody
out there to hate you.

Have a lead on
your stolen car.

‐Oh?
‐Yeah. Uh, we dusted it.

Lots of prints.
Yours, your kids,

but there was another
set of prints.

Mystery prints.

I mean, it could be anybody
who'd been in your car.

You know, friend
or whatever.

But you don't strike me as
the kind of person who...

has friends?

Anyway, they didn't
match any known perps,

so I sent 'em to Quantico, ran
'em through our database and...

they got a hit.

Someone named...

William...

Reeves.

‐Ring a bell?
‐No.

Apparently, he was
a cop in New York City

in the '40s and '50s.

Retired young.

Fell off the grid.

‐A cop?
‐By my math,

he has to be... over
a hundred years old by now.

And do you know how 100‐year‐
olds tend to get around, Angela?

Wheelchairs.

‐
‐Don't you knock?

Oh...

‐I just...
‐What is it, Petey?

No shit? Ooh.

Perfect timing.

Another lead on your car.

Mind if I ask you

why the FBI even gives
a shit about my car?

Well, it got stolen right
after Crawford was murdered

and returned the night
of his funeral.

Now, that could
be a coincidence,

but, however, I think...

we're talking about
a thermodynamic miracle.

A what?

A thermodynamic
miracle.

It's the sciencey
version of, uh,

"It's all connected, man."

My ex used to talk
about them, when he wasn't

distracted by
fucking quarks.

He sounds like
a lot of fun.

Yeah, well,
he's no Cal.

‐Excuse me?
‐Cal, your husband.

I saw him today.
We had a nice chat.

You went to my house?

Yeah. It's very nice.

You guys met
in Vietnam, huh?

You have family there?

No. My parents died
when I was little.

Oh, an orphan.

That makes sense.

How so?

Well,

people who wear masks
are driven by trauma.

They're obsessed
with justice

because of some
injustice they suffered,

usually when
they were kids.

Ergo, the mask.
It hides the pain.

I wear the mask
to protect myself.

Right. From the pain.

So...

did nuns murder
your parents?

Or were you raised by nuns

after your parents
were murdered?

Uh, no judgment.

I used to dress up
and fight bad guys, too.

Oh, really?

And what was your trauma?

Petey, go ahead.
Tell her.

Uh, what?

Petey's kind of an expert
on me and all the yahoos

I used to run around with.

Go ahead, tell Sister Night
about my trauma.

‐Really?
‐Absolutely!

There are no
secrets in this car.

Okay.

Agent Blake's
parents were

the Comedian
and Silk Spectre.

They were both
in the Minutemen.

Minutemen,
like the TV show?

That show is garbage.

It's the... Mm‐mm.

It's full of
historical inaccuracies.

In the real world,

the Comedian sexually
assaulted Silk Spectre,

back in the '40s.

Agent Blake didn't
find out till

much, much later.

He‐‐ her dad tried
to rape her mom.

Well...

I'm so glad we got this time
to know each other better.

We're here.

You might wanna...

protect yourself.

How many of these
things you people have?

Just these six.

What's the range
on them?

100 kilometers,
give or take.

So, it's possible
to, say,

fly one out
of here and...

vwoot... pick up a car
in downtown Greenwood?

Why would we do that?

You mind giving me a list
of everybody who was here

last night who knows
how to fly these things?

Sorry. I'm not
authorized‐‐

Girl:
I'll take it from here, Selma.

Hello. My name is Bian.

I'd be happy to provide you with
the information you requested.

Traditionally,
my mother relegates

interactions with
the authorities to underlings,

but in this case,
she'd like to invite you

to have tea in her vivarium.

May I show
you the way?

Ooh‐la‐la. Please do.

So sorry. Ladies only.

I'll, uh,
wait in the car.

Bian: The Colossus of Rhodes
was swallowed by the sea.

The Lighthouse at Alexandria,
toppled by earthquakes.

Not one of them
built to last.

Blake: So, you're building
the Eighth Wonder of the World?

Bian:
No.

The First Wonder
of the New World.

A thousand miles
from the nearest ocean,

fortified and impervious
to seismic activity,

and anything short of
a direct nuclear blast.

‐Night: What does it do?
‐

It tells time.

Agent Blake.

Detective Night.

Please, come in.

‐I'm Lady Trieu.
‐Nice to meet you.

I'm sorry about the humidity.

We have to get it just
right for the plants.

On her deathbed,
my mother made me promise

I would never leave Vietnam,
so I found a loophole.

Now, Vietnam never leaves me.

Small world.

Detective Night here is
from Vietnam as well.

Really?

What a coincidence.

At least
a thermodynamic miracle.

So, I understand
you think

a piece of our equipment
was used to steal a vehicle?

Well, actually,
we found the car.

Whoever took it dropped it right
back where they stole it from.

Oh.

That's odd.

It is odd.

May I ask who
the car belonged to?

‐Blake: Well actually,
that's irrelevant‐‐ ‐lt's mine.

So, this is personal?

Your daughter said that
she would give us a list

of everybody who knows how
to fly one of those things.

Of course. Bian.

If there is anything
else we can do to help,

don't hesitate
to ask.

And please accept
my condolences

on the passing
of your chief.

We never met personally,

but I hear he was a great man.

Thanks.

There's an expression
about grief I remember

from when
I was little.

I remember one from
when I was little, too.

I haven't heard that one.

It's quite beautiful.

Blake:
Holy shit!

Is that Adrian Veidt?

Indeed it is.

A truly great man.

So much of my success
grew from the seed

of his inspiration.

And you bought his company
right after he disappeared.

That, too.

Why'd you have them
make him so... old?

Because he is old.

In my culture,

our elders
are revered.

Well, yeah, but this is
America, sweetheart, and...

he looks like shit.

What have we got here?

Aw, jeez...

‐
‐

Happy birthday.

Welcome to the manor.

I am your master.

You are still
a few hours away...

from gaining
the ability to speak,

but by now,
you should be able

to understand.

Do you know what you are?

No...

Of course you don't.

You are flaws in this
thoughtless design.

For while I may be your master,

I am most definitely not
your maker.

I would never have...

burdened such
pathetic creatures...

with the gift of life.

For to be alive,

you have to have purpose,

and you have none.

Except... to serve.

Well, I apologize for the mess.

Hmm.

I had a rough night.

I don't need it yet.

Not yet.

Veidt: Excellent!

So, are we loaded, Mr. Philips?

Ready, Master!

Veidt:
On my mark, Ms. Crookshanks!

Three, two,

one,

away!

Phenomenal!

Let's reload,
Mr. Philips, shall we?

Four years.

Four years since
I was sent here.

In the beginning,
I thought it was a paradise.

But it's not.

It's a prison.

So...

with your help,

with your lives,

with your...

broken, mangled old bodies,

one way or another,

I will escape this
godforsaken place.

To your merits,
Ms. Crookshanks!

‐Are we loaded, Mr. Philips?
‐Yes, sir.

On my mark, Ms. Crookshanks!

Three,

two, one,

away!

What are you reading?

Things Fall Apart.

Okonkwo hangs
himself in the end.

Thanks for the warning.

I'm trying
to pick a fight.

I noticed.

When were you gonna
tell me that the woman

from the FBI came by
and talked to you?

The woman from the FBI
came by, talked to me.

She wanted to know
who called the house

the night Judd got killed.

Guess she must've checked
the phone records.

So, what'd you say?

I told her you and I
were having sex

in the closet
when the phone rang.

You answered, but...

I didn't know who
you were talking to.

Then you handed me
a gun and left.

I didn't see you
all night long,

and the next morning,
you came back and told me

your grandfather murdered
our friend, which was...

confusing because...

you never told me
you had a grandfather.

You didn't say any of that.

No, Angela.

I lied.

And you hate lying.

I do.

She knew that we met in Vietnam.

Did you...

tell her about your accident?

It didn't come up.

Good.

I think she wants to help you.

Why?

It's just a feeling I have.
Maybe she knows how to find him.

The old man.

I can find him all by myself.

Okay.

Meet you in the closet.

Mom?

What's wrong?

I had a nightmare.

Tell me.

I was in a village.

Men came...

and burned it.

And then
they made us walk.

I was walking
for so long.

Mom...

my feet still hurt.

Good.

Will you walk me back to bed?

No, my love.

Okay.

Good night, Mr. Reeves.

Good night,
young lady.

Where were we?

You're worried.

I'm not worried.

I'm concerned.

What's the difference?

The pills, they're
passive‐aggressive exposition.

If you want her to know
who you are, just tell her.

She's not gonna listen.

She has to experience
things by herself.

‐lt's still too cute by half.
‐Oh yeah?

Is that why you're doing
the same thing to your daughter?

It's entirely different.

Mm‐hmm.

And this...

is the source
of my concern.

When family's involved,
judgment gets cloudy,

feet get cold,

deals get broken.

You're not in.

My feet are
just fine.

How much longer?

Three days.

Angela's family...

That is true.

I betrayed her.

And in three days,

she'll know what I have done,

and she'll hate me for it.

And you're
concerned about...

whether I am in.

Well, I am in.

All the way.

Tick‐tock.

‐Tick‐tock. ‐

Tick‐tock. Tick‐tock.

Hey, mirror guy.

I know you know
it's Looking Glass.

We can't see who they are,
but we can see where they are.

You find this church,
maybe we find the Kalvary.

Hands.

We know there are
other dimensions than this one.

But this is the dimension
where we live.

And we will not live
in fear.

Ready, Mr. Phillips?

We are all in a tunnel,

and every tunnel ends.

It ends with light.