iZombie (2015–…): Season 4, Episode 1 - Are You Ready for Some Zombies? - full transcript

BRAIN TEASER

The Seahawks, my man, that's who.
Legion of Boom.

Twelfth man.

Russell Wilson, back there scrambling,
pulling rabbits out of hats.

Hey, you wanna come over
and watch the combine?

You know, uh, let me see
what I'm doing that night.

You know, it kills me, man.

It just... It kills me that we're playing
our home games in Tacoma.

Stupid zombies. Stupid wall.

-Hey, Clint.

They should've taken
their filthy virus to New England.



Scratch some of those
chowder

Hicks!

Awfully chatty over here, boys.

You meeting your quotas?

Always.

That's what I like to hear. Carry on.

Stupid zombies. Stupid wall.

This is a quarantined zone.
Violators will be shot.

For your safety, vacate this zone at once.

This is a quarantined zone.
Violators will be shot.

For your safety, vacate this zone at once.

Gotta hand it
to the Red, White and Blue. One day,
they decide to wall off the city,

and 72 hours later,
we're living in Baghdad.

-No one goes over tonight, Dugan!
-Yes, sir!



Let's see what I got for you this time.

Two of your officers
enjoy playing high-stakes poker.

Croslin and Carney are their names.

And they are in deep to a bookie
they call "The Barber."

Sinclair! Look alive.

What else?

Uh, word is that watered-down brain tubes

are being sold for 40 bucks a pop
in the back alleys of Seattle.

You've got a leak in your food chain.
Someone's getting rich.

Commander. It's here.

Excellent. What else?

All right, here's a riddle for you.

I own a cemetery.
One of my backhoes goes down,

and I'm finding it very difficult
to rent digging equipment.

Why do you think that is?

Where might one want to dig to?

All right, you can stay open another week.

Look, it's not like
I don't enjoy our strolls.

You've really started opening up to me.

But having to bring you
these little nuggets of information

like I'm your stool pigeon
isn't exactly my style.

I could just close down your businesses.

All right, well,
this will have to remain our arrangement.

Hey, man, do you even use
the information that I...

What the cuss?

Is that a guillotine?

Of sorts. It's a guillotine for zombies.

But why? We're zombies.

Zero tolerance. That's our message.

Message received.

I work in a brain processing plant,

and it was the gnarliest thing
I've ever seen.

Clint always volunteered to--

That's Clint Hicks, the victim?

Yeah. Clint Hicks. He volunteered
to pick up some extra hours,

cleaning the equipment
after hours each night.

It's nasty work.
I don't know how he did it.

Oh...

Sorry, no offense.

Oh, none taken. I think.

I mean, you'd probably enjoy
licking the brain bowls clean,

but Fillmore-Graves
doesn't let zombies work the line.

Too much temptation.

Makes sense.

Anyways, Kelly, that's Clint's wife,

she called security last night
at 2:00 in the morning,

says he hasn't come home.

Security comes down here
and finds him in the grinder.

I believe I've arrived
at a cause of death.

"Ground up in a giant mixing bowl."

No. Wait a minute.
Let me recheck my work.

Yeah. "Ground to death in a mixing bowl."

Mr. Perales,

how long have you been working
across from Mr. Hicks?

Um, ever since the plant opened,

right after the world
got turned upside down.

So, what's that, uh, three months?

Nearly four. You know anyone
who might've wanted to kill him?

Well, he wasn't real keen on zombies.

Any particular reason?

Thing you gotta know is that

he's the biggest Seahawks fan
you've ever met.

I've met a lot of crazy Seahawk fans.
Didn't mean they hated zombies.

Yeah, but before everyone
got turned into zombies,

Clint had his dream job
at CenturyLink Field.

And then, boom. We're a zombie town.

After that, instead of a job he loved,
he's packaging human brains by day,

cleaning them
out of the grinders by night.

He was always complaining about zombies.
Sometimes a little too loud.

I mean, the Fillmore-Graves guys here
aren't the warmest dudes.

Oh, my God. I'm sorry.

I didn't mean like "warmest,"
I just meant like...

No. Of course. I'm fine.

I just meant they're not friendly.

This new world's gonna take
some getting used to.

Why bother? Someone's probably
going to nuke us any day now.

Sir.

Sir!

I know you're aware of the curfew.
No one out on the streets after midnight.

Come on, man. Check this out.
I met this girl at the club...

Go home!
You suck!

-Zombie scum!
-You freaks!

-No.
-Come on, let's go.

Let me go, you undead freak.

I baked your buddies good, didn't I?
Didn't I?

Major. Come.

Sit.

Yes, sir.

I hear last night was eventful.

Gully and Chu were hit
by a Molotov cocktail,

but they'll be okay in a couple of weeks.

And I hear you caught
one of our human terrorist friends.

What do they call themselves?
"Human Shield"

"Dead Enders."

We're not sure he's a member.
I mean, the kid's only 15.

Well, that kind of segues right into
what I wanted to talk to you about.

We noticed you have
a background in youth counseling.

Yeah.

Well, there's a problem in this city
you must've noticed.

Young zombies.

They're homeless
because their parents kicked them out.

They're starting to roam around in packs.
Packs become gangs.

We need productive, contributing zombies,

fully integrated into
the fabric of the city.

You think you can give me that?

I can give it a shot.

Excellent.

Chase Graves, man.

What's he got that I don't got, Dad?

Oh, that's right. An army.

"Mo' money, mo' problems."

I want to expand, Pop,
but he's got me by the short and curlies.

He could shut me down any day.

And this whole business
of me having to seek him out every week

to feed him dirt from the street,

like I'm some sort of two-bit
street hustler, is humiliating.

It's a shame
you raised me to like nice things.

Love you. Mean it. Ciao.

Dino! Chop, chop. Let's go.

This is the one.

Check it out.

Russell Wilson, I would have your babies.

Try to dial it down a bit, Liv.

Let's not remind them
that zombie cops eat their loved ones.

Zombies are the worst.

Pale-ass, brain-eating bitches.

Looks like they just put this poster here
to cover up some gang taggings.

Yes

Yes.

We're with the Seattle PD. Homicide.

We'd like to come in
and ask you a few questions. Do you mind?

So, you clocked out at the plant
at 6:00 p.m. Is that right?

Thereabouts, yeah.
It'd be on my time card.

What time does your husband
usually get home from his cleaning duties?

Uh, about 9:00. Could you set that down?

A Seahawks salt shaker?
It's pretty damn awesome.

Liv.

Sorry, Mom. I guess I missed that one.

Detective Babineaux and, um...

Assistant Medical Examiner Moore.

...are just asking some questions.
This is my son, Zorn. Like Jim Zorn?
The Hawks' QB from '76 to '84?

That's the guy.

I take it you're not on
the Seahawks bandwagon.

Not since February 1st, 2015.

What happened?

Super Bowl XLIX.

Patriots, 28. Seahawks, 24.

That game ruined my dad.

After that day, he became
completely single-minded.

If it wasn't about the Seahawks,
he wasn't interested.

Zorn, where were you
when your father was murdered?

I was right here with Mom.

So, the two of you
were here together all night?

That's right.

We understand that
Clint might not have had

the most enlightened views about zombies.

Who needs enlightenment, am I right?

I guess what we're asking is
whether your husband

might've had any run-ins with zombies.

None that he told me about,

but he was in a bit of a war
with this one guy from work.

A war?

Well, it started as smack talk,
but it got out of hand.

The last thing I heard was
this guy keyed Clint's car.

Wrote something that
riled up my husband.

You remember what it said?

"Richard Sherman
is an average cornerback."

-Liv...

That's kind of a lengthy thought
to express in that, um, particular medium.

Yeah, well, they really hated each other.

Doc Greeley's his name.

He's from San Francisco.

San Francisco?

San Fran, baby. City by the bay.
How are we superior?

Uh, well, first thing
that springs to mind is

at least we don't have
10,000 zombies walled in with us.

I'm about to give you
49 reasons you're an idiot.

Oh, yeah

That's what I thought. Boom.

Monorail or no monorail? Suck it.

Clint's widow says that you keyed
something about Richard Sherman

-on the hood of Clint's car.

Sherman would light you up, son.

It's because he spray-painted
"Go Hawks" on the top of my car.

I'm a Niners fan, okay?

I... I have a sticker on my car, sure,

but, like most of America,
it's because I hate the Seahawks.

I hate how cocky they are.

It ain't cocky if you can back it up.

It's true. They're awful.

Where were you the night of the murder?

At home.

-Yeah.

-Yes.

Show him, Clive.

What am I looking at here?

That's the parking lot where you work.

And this is security footage
taken of the parking lot

the night of Clint's murder.

You didn't know
there was a camera there, did you?

Note the time code
at the bottom of the screen.

It's right in the two-hour window

our medical examiners
have given us for time of death.

Hmm.

Pretty obvious
that's your white 2015 Sonata.

You failed to mention that
you drove back to work

on the night of the murder.

That seems like a big omission.

Look, I'm being set up here.

Typical Niners fan.

It's never your fault.
"It's the ref's. It's the injuries."

I got home that night
and found 20 brain tubes in my bag.

I don't know how they got there.

But you don't want to know

the punishment for stealing brains.

I went back to work to put them back.

Why'd you lie to us?

He's a Niners fan, Clive.
They do dumb things.

They re-signed Blaine Gabbert,
for God sakes.

Oh, I'm sorry, you want to talk "dumb"?

"Dumb," like running off Jim Harbaugh?

At least we would've known
you run Marshawn Lynch

against a gassed
New England defensive line,

when you have three downs
to win the mother-freaking Super Bowl.

Liv. Remain calm.

You're going full-on zombie.

It's called "beast mode."

We meet at the same time every day.

Where are Clive and Liv?

Oh, good. Everything okay?

We like this guy we brought in
for the brain-factory killing.

A 49ers fan.

We're gonna hold him for a full 48
until we can get a search warrant

to see if we can seal this up tight.

Sounds good.

Halpern and Schumacker,
how's it going on the John Doe

they found on the east wall?

All I know so far is our John Doe
watched a lot of porn.

So, you and me, we're getting
the smarty Physics professor at U-Dub.
Everything points to the wife.

Not sure if I even need to eat the brain.

Well, might be nice riding around
with my intellectual equal.

Mmm. Well, who would laugh
at all your fart jokes?

The victim is Ben Rooney. Age 58.

Professor of Physics
from the University of Washington.

The injury has resulted

from a single blow
to the occipital region of the head.

Brain weight...

Thirteen hundred and fifty grams.

Uh, brain appears healthy,
damage from the blunt force trauma aside.

It's, uh...

Pink.

Firm.

Smell of...

Lilacs.

Taste of...

Melon.

Honeydew, I would think.

Subject's hair has begun to turn white.

This is the third time
subject has turned into a zombie

since taking the proto-vaccine.

If trends continue,

zombie state should last
no more than 72 hours.

Huh...

On the bright side, the vaccine works.

Subject has been scratched by
his zombie assistant several times now,

and he remains human.

With the small caveat that
every few weeks, subject craves brains.

I see it's your time of the month.

It's obvious?

You're wearing that stocking cap indoors.

Plus, zombies have this stench to them.

I've never noticed.

It's true. They smell. They're disgusting.

On that note, I'm going to call it a day.

Oh, this professor whose brain I ate
patented all these inventions.

Maybe inspiration will strike,
and I'll make a fortune.

...more cash in my pocket
than I can spend.

Hey, if they didn't want it
sold on the black market,

they wouldn't have made it so scarce.

Hey. You, hiding. Show yourself.

You're not gonna eat that?

I'm saving the rest.

Give me a bite, dude. I'm starving
and you weigh, like, 40 pounds.

I'm saving it.

Give it to me.

Or when we get out of here,

I'm going to rip off one of your arms
and beat you with it.

He said he's saving it.

And who are you?

Captain Seattle?

You two.

Sit.

I wanna thank all of you

for agreeing to come here
to Fillmore-Graves' headquarters.

Yeah. We're all "volunteers."

You're here for a reason.

You've been living on the streets.

Most of you were thrown out of your homes
for being zombies.

Thanks for that, by the way,
the "turning us into zombies" part.

Look, what's done is done.

It's time to make the best of it.

All right, our goal here
is to get you off the streets.

Prevent the formation
of zombie street-gangs.

The key to our survival is integration.

Tell that to the Dead Enders.

Is it true that Fillmore-Graves soldiers
get all the brain tubes they want?

We get double rations.

Did everyone see that
brain vending machine in the hallway?

No, really. Is there?

There is.

So, I'm out there every day
trading sex for brain tubes

to feed my little brother and sister,

and you get to eat them
like they're candy bars?

-You really...
-No.

I work at coffee stands.

But I do know plenty of girls
who are putting out for tubes.

And some dudes.

My brother and sister really are starving.

And the brain tubes they distribute
barely have any brains in them anymore.

Check out this guy.

Who's that?

A Fillmore-Graves soldier.
Jimmy sketched him for me.

I saw this guy in a vision.
He was hatching a plan

to make a fortune on the black market.

Then he caught our victim listening in.

Did he look mad?

He didn't look happy.

I figured we could go ask Major
if he can ID the guy.

Unless you have plans?

My night's wide open.

You sure Major's gonna be willing to
rat on one of his Fillmore

If he's stealing brains
from hungry zombies, yeah.

If you say so. You know him better.

What are you saying he's guilty of?

-Uh, murder.
-Possibly.

Plus, I saw him talking to
another Fillmore-Graves soldier

about selling brain tubes
on the black market.

So, we know he's doing that.

Major.

His name is Russ Roche.

And the black-market thing makes sense.

I hear he's been going
to The Scratching Post every night,

throwing money around
like there's no tomorrow.

Liv. Clive.

To what do we owe the pleasure?

-Ravi, you're, um...
-Naked.

As a newborn.

I can't... Mmm-mmm.

Uh, I... I can't...

I should've given you guys a warning.

Apparently, this physicist
whose brain he's on? Yeah.

Must've been a big-time nudist as well.

"Naturist." I'm in harmony with nature,
and I'm never going back.

Anyone else like tea?

I don't know. Maybe.

What's there to think about?

Buddy, look at these lovely ladies,

eager to show you
and your buddy a good time.

"Eager," huh

It's her thing.

She's a tough girl. Sassy.
Some guys like it.

I don't. Get rid of her.
I'll take the other two.

You, go mingle.

Hey, bring us some booze, huh?
The good stuff!

Can do.

No. No. No. You've got the wrong place.

The pancake house where the cops
eat for free, it's just down the street.

That guy at the booth,
how much money is he gonna drop tonight?

Let me see.

Whole blue brain from some big-deal
Shakespearean actor,

five bottles of the good stuff,
four companions... None of your business.

Oh, what, are you on third
Tanner!

Another bottle of
the Devil's Puckered Knot, Small Batch.

Come on.

Excuse me.

-Clive Babineaux. Seattle PD. Homicide.

Not interested. You...

You can stay, honey.
I just need you to go tan and...

Vision.

A blue brain vision. It's a long one.

Is this jackanapes still about?

Get thee gone, sir,
afore I box thine ears.

All right, Shakespeare.

Handmaiden to Venus,
vouchsafe me your cheveril ornament.

Huh?

Your glove, harlot. Make haste.

Jeez.

You trespass, sir,
and know not what you do.

So I shall teach thee, knave,
and teach thee true.

I wouldn't.

Time out!

Time out.

Detective Babineaux,
you're not in Seattle anymore.

This is New Seattle,

and in New Seattle,
cops, they don't come into my bar...

-Our bar.
-Right.

...to hassle the fine, fine
Fillmore-Graves soldiers

who protect this city's undead population.

I had a vision from the guy
who was murdered at the brain plant.

He saw you talking about
selling brains on the black market.

That's why you killed him, isn't it?

The worker overheard a joke. But a jape.

Innkeep, tell me plain,
must I endure the ravings of a starveling?

A neat's tongue

Away, ivory cur.

Thou art a boil.
Tarry not, lest ye be lanced.

You... You heard the man.

All bull pizzles hit the road.

Dino, show them the exit.

Then come clean up this mess, huh?

Do I look like a waitress?

You are whatever I tell you you are.

Sure thing, boss.

Get it all out.

I would've gotten you out sooner,

but Blaine didn't start having me
drive him here until recently.

I had to pick the right time.

Wrap your arms around me.

Two-bit hustler!

That's Blaine.

And a voice called down upon Angus

and, lo,

two-bit hustlers were had
by their short and curlies.

More money, more problems!

I'm glad you brought up money, boss,

'cause I figure my getting you out of here
is worth some kind of reward.

And the voice of the herald
cried, "Shame."

It's a shame.

Think about it.

You work on those cement shoes.

I've gotta call my girlfriend.

Sorry, baby. This is taking longer
than I thought.

We haven't discussed a dollar amount yet,
but he'll see the light.

I'm thinking six figures

Filthy, filthy lucre.

Mr. Mayor! Such an honor, as always.

Mr. DeBeers. I'd eat every meal here
if I could afford it.

You can't go wrong
with anything on the menu.

What would you recommend?

Um, the Ode to Zuni roast brain
with fennel panzanella.

Oh.

And here are the brains
that you can choose from.

Everything is cemetery-to-table.

And if I may be so bold,

our freshest brain comes from
an architect of some renown.

Sold!

I'll have the same.

Ms. Charles, what can we get for you?

I'll have the T-bone, rare.
And another bourbon rocks.

Fine choice.

The flounder for me.

I would've guessed the flounder.

So, what were we talking about?

-The exodus.
-Right.

How many humans got out?
Before the wall went up.

A couple hundred thousand.
It's lucky for us they did wall the city.

If all you innocent humans left,

they'd drop an atom bomb
right on Pioneer Square.

You're welcome.

But now Chase Graves
decrees a death penalty

for scratching someone? Come on.

Well, there aren't enough brains
to feed the zombies who are here already.

We shouldn't make more.

"Clip your nails, no epic fails."

I don't think
he'll actually use the guillotine.

It's there to scare zombies,
and to give humans a sense

that zombies are serious
about policing themselves.

I hope you're right.

God, you are gorgeous.

Well, that sure kills the mood.

I don't think it was here this morning.

It's scary. It's like a cross burning.

Shh! This slot receiver from USC
is about to show off his vertical.

And if he hits 35, I say we use
our second-round pick on him.

Mind if I grab a beer?

No, there's an IPA down in
the crisper, behind the...

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

Oh, hey.
Liv invited me over for the combine.

You're naked.

Right. I, uh, I forget sometimes.

Uh, Ravi, would you mind
putting on some clothes?

Oh, uh, Dr. Ravi Chakrabarti.
I don't believe we've had the pleasure.

Right. Sorry. Uh, Ravi, this is Derek.

Derek, this is Ravi.

Ravi is a nudist.

-Derek Edelsburg.
-Right, the lawyer.

I've heard nothing but great things.

Queso!

No!

Liv, no, he is not sitting on our couch.
We can throw down a towel, or we can...

You put this stud
at weak-side defensive end,

and he will eat quarterbacks. I mean...

Liv, sweetie.

I need to show you something
out in the hall.

But...

Oh, look. Look. They're going to
commercial. Just give me two minutes.

Come on.

How do you know Peyton?

Look. "Z."

For "zebra."

The referees read what I wrote
on their NFL fan board,

and this is their revenge.

Liv, it's for "zombie."
As in "a zombie lives here."

People are marking the houses
of suspected zombies this way.

I need to find Clive.

Wait, what do I do about Ravi?

I say get back together with him.

So, if I'm not mistaken...

A "Z." A zombie lives here.

But it wasn't the dad.

I ate his brain
and he was decidedly anti-zombie.

Although, who can blame him?

Well, the mom didn't seem
very keen on zombies, either.

Could be an act.

Officers.

Mrs. Hicks.

By the powers granted
in Fillmore-Graves' decree number 176,

we'll be taking your blood pressure.

Your arm, please.

Liv, cuff her.

Mom?

Come here, son.

Human.

Give me your arm.

He's a zombie!
The stupid son of a bitch did it!

He couldn't keep it in his pants
with his little zombie girlfriend!

-I raised you better! Get out! Get out!

Clint!

Oh...

Touch me again, and I'll eat your brain.
I swear I will.

Zorn here is a zombie.

A law-abiding, in-the-closet zombie.
What's wrong with that?

You should know that
my partner here has, uh,

sampled your father's brain.

She's able to experience
moments from the deceased's life.

I just saw an incident where
he pushed Zorn down this flight of steps.

Zorn threatened to eat his brain.

I'm afraid we need
to take you down to the station.

Turn around, please.

Zorn Hicks, you have the right
to remain silent.

-He didn't do it.
-Mom, don't!

I read that these visions
aren't admissible. They don't have--

The brain tubes in Doc Greeley's bag,
you put them there, didn't you?

You knew that he'd come back up
to the brain plant to put them back.

You set him up.
You wanted to pin this on the 49ers fan.

Clive, I still think that he may
have played a part in this.

Mom, I'm a minor--

Confess and we may forget
that you made your son

an accomplice by having him
provide a false alibi.

I did it.

Clint made me choose.

My husband or my son.
He never should have made me choose.

Kelly Hicks,

you have the right to remain silent.

-Zombie scum!

You said it, man! Go Hawks!

Go Hawks!

The first time I raged out,
it freaked me out so bad.

It was like my first, um...

Nocturnal emission.
I was like, "What just happened?"

My first time,
my dad was waling away on me, as usual.

And then, suddenly, I'm like...

Scared the hell out of him.

I chased the son of a bitch
around the block.

So, at my school, there's this
stuck-up bitch named Gretchen Nelson,

who kind of knew I was a zombie
but I hadn't come out yet.

-And so--
-Captain Seattle.

How many brain tubes is that for you?

Two.

Dude. Lie.

And where did you get two?

You were only supposed to get one
for showing up.

Uh...

Looks like everyone got extra tubes.

Oh, well, the lady handing them out
said she had extra.

And she made us promise not to tell, so,
don't be a dick and get her in trouble.

So, this is what you well-fed

Fillmore-Graves soldiers
feel like all the time.

Happy. Ready to kick ass.

Uh... We were talking about
our first times raging out.

Jordan, keep going.

Lillywhite...

You know why the machines
are out of tubes?

Uh-uh.

Sucks, man.

Jordan.

Yeah.

So, Gretchen is saying stuff like,
"Looking a little pale, Jordan.

Do you wanna borrow
some of my makeup, Jordan?

Uh, is that a streak in your hair?
It's so punk rock."

And, I'll be honest,

I was kind of dreaming of
cracking her head open.

But I wasn't sure
there'd be a brain inside.

My family is starving.
No lie.

Lillywhite.

Don't touch that. We'll talk.

How's it coming along?

Uh... It's a bit of a mixed bag.

Any standouts?

Standouts in what way?

In that "I'd want this zombie
in a foxhole with me" way.

Ah.

So, that's what this is about.

In case you missed it, Major,
we're hanging on by a very thin thread.

We don't have enough trained
soldiers to control this city.

These kids aren't trained.

Then they'll have to learn on the job.

So, who's in the foxhole with you? Captain Seattle. Jordan.

Over here.

Are you sure?

Not really, sir.

Jordan Gladwell, Fisher Webb,
this is Chase Graves.

Big kahuna.

Sir.

I'd just asked Lillywhite here
who he thought had the right stuff

to be a soldier at Fillmore-Graves.

For whatever reason,
he sees something in the two of you.

So, until you wash out,
get killed or usurp me,

you'll be working for us.

You'll be charged with keeping the peace
in this experimental city.

Can I count on you?

Yes, sir.

Yes, sir.

You'll be in Major's squad.

Teach you everything you need to know
to survive out there.

Don't screw up.

Damned though you may be,
there is still a path to salvation.

There is nothing that keeps the undead

out of the pits of hell,
save for the mere pleasure of God.

Never forget

that God may cast a wicked zombie
into the pits of hell at any moment.

Don't you mean "pits of well"?

Because hell is a well.

And, well, what,

will one wicked, wanton, wonton,

stuffed with balls of brains,
brined and braised harm the Almighty?

Welcome, son.

Welcome to the loving embrace of God.
Please, have a seat.

Be ye man or be ye zombie?

I am a vessel for the Lord.

A human vessel or a zombie vessel?

Human, of course.

Zombies can't be ordained.

Well, ain't that some squill?
So sayeth me, 'cause I speak to God.

Of course. Prayer is important--

And God speaks to me!

I look in the light
and I hear his words.

He says, "Angus, I need an army.

Give me an army,

and verily, we'll have them
by the short and curlies."

Sir, what can we do for you?

I'm hungry!

Aren't you hungry?
Are you hungry

Come closer, son.
We'll pray for a miracle.

Dear Lord...

No! No, no, no!

Behold! A miracle!

God loves you!

He means it!

Chow.

Chow!