The Peripheral (2022) s01e04 Episode Script

1
Aelita says I'm likely
not to exist in ten years.
What does she mean by that?
The trauma leaves a mark.
When I can't sleep, I try to solve
the riddle of your sister and you.
We were only planning to adopt one.
- Well, perhaps in that case we could
- I'm not going without Wolf.
What's it feel like when you
link up with your haptics?
It can kind of feel a lot like
love if you don't know any better.
Some dumb fuck said you
might have a job for me?
I've got a carrot, and I've got a stick.
I'm curious about the stick.
Next one's in your fucking ear.
Aye, Wolfy, oi, into the pot.
Come on.
That's it.
So what you're telling me is
that's it from the borough?
- Omar's crew got there first.
- You nicked some, didn't you?!
- Angus, stop!
- You damn liar!
- You thief!
- Angus, let go!
Stop!
Thief.
Quit mucking about,
Angus. Get on with it.
- What're you doing?
- I'm being fair.
- He ain't pulling his weight.
- I'm pulling enough for him.
Then give him your lot.
I don't want it.
Fine. I'll give it to the mouse.
Then what will happen?
Then he'll ask for a splash of milk.
Next in line!
What's that?
They're giving away free food.
Give that back!
Dodgy, innit?
I never seen that place before.
You know what, Wolfy?
It's about time you earn your keep.
- Go have a look for us.
- He's not doing that.
- Kids are getting snatched.
- I'm sorry.
Do you need your
girlfriend protecting you?
Good lad.
The city wants to clear the streets,
and that includes us, too.
Don't be stupid, Wolf.
You see that? You see that?
That's the last time I'll see you, Wolf.
I'm not getting scooped.
Wolf!
Wolf!
Just one for everyone!
Aelita!
Wolf!
- Aelita!
- Wolf!
Aelita!
- Wolf!
- Aelita!
Wolf!
Aelita!
An implant and two peripheral CPUs?
This is all that's left of Aelita?
This is all quite distressing.
I'm half tempted to just
dump these in the river
and have done with it.
Ash and Ossian should be able to trace
where the Peripherals were piloted from.
And if they can unlock
Aelita's implant
Doubtful, given the encryption.
All I'm saying is there are
other avenues for us to pursue.
And rather a few for others to pursue,
starting with a corpse,
which will be discovered soon,
no doubt, if it hasn't already.
And your DNA,
we must presume, is
scattered rather liberally
all over the place.
I would send a team
to scrub the site, but if
they were discovered there,
well
At the very least,
you must gird yourself
for the harsh reality of Aelita's death.
Why?
Without the immunity
boost of her implant,
how long could she last?
What the fuck?
Flynne! We've got company.
What's the word, Tommy?
Oh, just thought I should come by.
Say hey.
Saw you and Corbell
Pickett shaking hands.
Down at Jimmy's.
It had me a bit concerned.
All the abandoned vehicles.
That bullet.
All them drones you got up.
So, thought I'd come by for a visit.
My own clothes, my own truck.
Just to make it clear,
I'm here as a friend.
Not as a deputy.
Appreciate that, Tommy.
Everything you're saying, but,
uh
you don't have to worry about us.
What about you, Flynne?
You okay?
Yeah.
Yeah, we both are.
Well, all right, then.
Said what I had to.
You two, uh, think on it maybe.
And, uh, Burton?
Try to remember
the part about me being your friend?
Look like you could use one.
I surely will.
I fucking hate it, Burton.
Lying to him like that. I mean, I
I can't keep doing it.
There's a dozen dead bodies out back.
It's easy for Tommy
to say he's our friend,
as long as he doesn't know about 'em.
But as soon as he does,
he's also gonna remember he's a cop.
There's no way around that.
Why can't we just tell him what
we're telling everyone else?
You can't really deny that
we need some help right now.
I guess I'm worried you're
not thinking clearly.
What?
You can't be rational about this.
You fucking kidding
me, right now? Rational?
- Why? 'Cause I'm a woman?
- That's not what I'm saying, Flynne.
Not everyone is as cold-blooded as you
and your fucking jarhead
friends, all right?
Not everyone wants to be.
You're too tangled up in this.
Tangled up in what?
Have you been going
through my fucking trash?
It was right there, Flynne.
You need to leave.
Get the fuck out of
my room, Burton, now.
Go!
Hey!
I know a lot of terrible shit
happened to you off in the war.
I get that, and I fucking hate it.
But you went because you chose to.
And you got to see a whole lot of stuff
before the bad stuff happened,
okay, but I had to stay here.
Okay, it was me who picked
up the pieces after Dad died.
And when Mama got sick and
then when your ass got home.
That was me, Burton!
It was all fucking me!
And I didn't have nothing, Burton.
- I know it, Flynne.
- I had nothing.
I had nothing, just sims
and a stupid fucking crush.
And I know it's dumb,
okay? I'm not an idiot.
- Flynne.
- But it mattered to me.
- Flynne. Flynne!
- It mattered to me because it fucking helped.
And you have no fucking
right at all, no right
to come in my room and
say that shit to me!
Flynne. Flynne?
Oh, fuck.
Hey. Hey. Flynne?
Leon!
Wasn't he a bit lighter?
Thinner around the shoulders, I mean?
We used his most recent scan, Doctor,
from seven weeks ago.
Perhaps once we input
gait and posture analysis,
his gestalt impression
will be different.
- I assumed you'd already done that.
- No, ma'am.
- But if you
- Yes. Please.
By all means.
Mm, better.
Speak.
Model X409-27A.
At your service, ma'am.
Have you input anything?
We were told you wanted
a clean system, Doctor.
Voice scan and sense of self, please.
I'll take care of the rest.
Speak.
It's nice to see you again,
- Dr. Nuland.
- The pitch is rather high.
Speak.
Does this fit your recollection?
I'll handle it from here.
Poor Daniel.
No pun intended,
but things did take a rather sharp turn
for us there, didn't they?
I'm afraid so, ma'am.
This is our most recent
model, if that's any solace.
There's only a few in service yet.
I suppose one could see
it as a sort of honor.
I'm delighted to hear it, ma'am.
Oh, no, you sound far
too agreeable, though.
Um, adjust, please.
Decreasing amicability.
By what percent?
Try 20.
If that's what you really want.
Lovely.
Now
what do we have from
your unfortunate encounter
with mortality the other night?
Wilf Netherton.
Adoptive brother to Aelita West.
Also known associate of Lev Zubov.
There's our Klept connection at last.
Which would seem to rather unhappily
complicate the situation.
I defer to your judgment, of course.
Here and always.
Although in this particular
case, I would tend to disagree.
You want to kill him, don't you?
Oh, very much so, Doctor.
Tell me, where I can find Lev Zubov now?
Scanning localization data.
Subject geolocated in Virginia Water.
This is stupid, Burton.
- I feel fine.
- You didn't look fine 20 minutes ago.
- You still don't.
- I thought that we were supposed to stay quiet,
not tell people stuff they
don't really need to know.
You had a fucking seizure, Flynne.
Tyra Ansted had a seizure in
tenth grade, remember that?
In the middle of chemistry.
Never happened to her again.
Tyra Ansted wasn't using a headset
so she could travel
to the fucking future.
It's not time travel.
It's data transfer.
And all she's gonna tell me is
to not wear a fucking headset.
Then we'll deal with it.
- How?
- You're not putting on
the headset again if it's
harming you, Flynne, period.
Goddamn it.
Mm.
- You okay?
- Fucking seriously?
You just got to give me a little
bit of fucking space, Burton.
- Hey, hey.
- What?
- It's Dee Dee in there.
- And?
And she's Tommy's fiancée.
Are you cool with that?
Jesus Christ. I mean,
it seems like you got
Look, remember when you
were 12 and you and Conner
hid that fucking weed in
the attic and I found it?
- What happened?
- I flushed it down the toilet.
- And said?
- "Let's never talk about this again."
Uh-huh. This is the first time
I brought it up since then.
Ain't it? How about you
try doing that for me?
Please?
Well, I'll be honest with you, Flynne,
we have ourselves a
bit of a mystery here.
The way Burton is describing
what happened makes it sound
like a classic tonic-clonic seizure.
What they used to call "grand mal."
But if that were the
case, I ought to be seeing
the aftereffect on your EEG.
And I'm not.
This all looks perfectly healthy.
Also a tonic-clonic is generally
followed by a postictal phase
deep sleep, confusion,
amnesia but it sounds like
you just popped up, more
or less, and came on in.
Anything else going on in your life?
New or out of the ordinary?
She's been playing a new sim.
- VR, you mean?
- Uh
it's a little more elaborate than that.
Sort of a full-body experience.
- New sort of headset.
- What's it called?
The new tech.
I can check and see if
there have been any studies.
I don't believe it has a name yet.
Well, where's it from?
Colombian company.
It's kind of a long story, actually.
Okay.
Well, stop using it.
That seems like a no-brainer.
To use a technical term.
I'll run your blood work,
get you in for a CT scan
at the Hefty Mart.
- Sure.
- And in the meantime, rest,
fluids, all that good stuff.
Call me if there's anything unusual.
And by "anything," I mean anything.
All right?
Sure thing, Dee Dee.
Thank you.
Oh, and, Burton,
will you do me a favor and
send me the contact info
for your Colombian company?
I wanna call them about that headset.
Trick or treat!
- I think she might've meant all headsets, Flynne.
- Jesus.
Yeah, she might've meant all headsets,
but she sure as hell didn't say that.
What are you gonna do about that anyway?
Her asking us what the name
of the company is and all.
Dodge and delay.
My most impressive skill
set, some might argue.
I knew we shouldn't have told her.
She's got a lot coming at
her, running that clinic.
Which'll do wonders to erode
a person's attention span.
What are you playing?
Nothing actually.
Just watching a
home movie.
Which one?
One of the old ones.
Mm.
Hey, listen, uh
I'm sorry.
For what?
You're getting a fucking brain scan.
We can start there.
And then we can keep going, I imagine,
till I run out of things
I need to apologize for.
Yeah, but, Burton, Mama's seeing again.
Want to apologize for that, too?
Talking about you here, Flynne.
I've been to London, Burton.
Hell, I visited the future.
None of the bad stuff
happening right now
none of it can hold a candle
to what it's like to go there.
You have no idea how magical it is.
So it's fine, okay? Don't worry.
You don't need to say sorry.
I'm not saying you shouldn't do it.
But if you're gonna do it,
you better have a good
argument for the doing it.
And by "good," I mean not just,
"I want to see what it's like."
But I do want to see what it's like.
I get that, and I wouldn't
mind seeing myself,
but we can't afford having
you end up on your back,
kicking your heels against the
floor and frothing at the mouth.
Given the unknown contingencies
we've been encountering
- in the here and now.
- If this shit is harming Flynne,
then someone's got to go there
and knock those assholes
back on their fucking heels.
I mean, they got these
cool things called phones.
I mean in person, Leon.
I think that's the wrong way to put it,
- but I I get what you're saying.
- Physically.
In a body.
Slamming up against theirs, if need be.
She's scheduled any
minute. Now's the time.
- Surprise the fucking shit out of 'em.
- I hate to keep saying this
'cause it seems like you
don't want to hear it,
but if you end up WIA, we're all
She's got a body when she goes in there?
A real one?
I'm so sorry.
For?
Disturbing you.
Inexcusable, isn't it?
Interrupting me whilst I sip my tea?
You have a strikingly feline manner
slinking about the house, Wilf.
Always slipping out
of rooms when I appear.
I'll confess I always
found it rather unappealing.
Your constant slipping away.
Seemed like a form of shiftiness,
as if you couldn't be trusted.
But then quite by chance,
Lev and I went slumming it
one night at SHUM.
And we saw you there dancing.
And then I realized what
I'd taken for sneaking about
was actually just a form of dancing.
A way of skirting free
from any entanglement.
Because that's what you fear, isn't it?
Someone getting hold of you?
Literally or metaphorically?
Dance with me.
I'm sorry?
Indulge me.
Just for a moment.
And I'll stop tormenting you.
I promise.
You can't read my mind ♪
It's 4:00 a.m., I sashay with myself ♪
Couples all surround me ♪
So in love, eyes all aglow ♪
Oh, say you found me ♪
All my steps are memorized ♪
Swaying to a rhythm so nice ♪
Patterns of my feet tattoo the floor ♪
They're frozen there like ice ♪
I dance with the ghost of you ♪
So sorry. Did I startle you?
You obviously put a tad
too much faith in
your perimeter monitor.
May I?
I wouldn't ordinarily
drop by unannounced,
but I wanted to grab a rare moment
of privacy with you, Lev.
May I call you Lev?
May I call you Cherise?
I prefer not.
You stole something from me.
I don't know what you mean.
Aelita West.
How much were you paying her?
If someone, theoretically,
stole something.
One would think that you
would go to the police.
Unless, you didn't want the
Met to find out about this
theoretically stolen thing.
Hmm?
What is it you're missing, by the way?
You see now, I'd accuse
you of playing dumb,
but you seem to be forgetting
quite a bit of vital
information recently,
including the realpolitik
that governs us all.
So
let's you and I have a
quick review, shall we?
We live in a house with three walls.
The Klept oligarchy,
through the application
of extreme violence,
managed to bring order from
the chaos of the Jackpot.
And now, in exchange
for rather an open hand
and blind eye when it comes
to the free pursuit of profit,
it helps to maintain that order.
The Met Police keeps the Klept
from straying beyond certain
implicit boundaries.
The Research Institute
benefits from the peace
and prosperity that results,
and in turn provides a
technical assistance for society
to function and thrive.
It's a wondrous edifice
we've managed to construct.
But it's also rather
fragile, I'm afraid.
And what's the roof meant to be?
- It's a metaphor.
- Oh.
For the thing that will come
crashing down on all of us
should one of the walls
overstep its bounds.
In other words
the end of the world, Lev.
- Oh, dear.
- Mm.
Your description of the
Klept left a bit out.
You mentioned the "application
of extreme violence."
There was no shortage of
that in the Jackpot certainly.
But the Klept simply
succeeded where others failed
through a sort of
atavistic tribal unity.
Strike one of us, strike us all.
And suffer accordingly.
I'm sure that you could express this all
far more eloquently than I can,
using my toast as a prop.
What were you watching when I walked up?
My wife, as I'm sure you're aware,
is a member of the Zolotov family.
Apex predators in the
Klept world, you might say.
So if Dominika wishes to
play with a family pet,
who am I to question her?
Is that how you view Mr. Netherton?
I'm rather fond of my pets.
Far more reliable than my friends.
Yuri Samsonov was a friend once.
Wasn't he?
Poor Yuri.
Such a tragic fate.
But also rather a relevant example
in terms of our three-walled house.
You see, Yuri Samsonov overstepped.
The Met Police resolved the problem
with the technical
assistance of the RI, but
it was the Klept who handed Yuri over.
Someone he trusted.
A kiss to the cheek.
Do you know how the RI
accomplished the task?
An assembler swarm.
Tweaked to seek out Samsonov DNA.
An entire lineage eaten away to nothing.
Your thoughts, Lev, I can sense them.
Can you now?
I hope so.
I hope you're thinking,
"My, what a powerful weapon.
And it's just been sitting
in the RI all these years,
waiting for the next sample of DNA."
Think on that, Lev.
Have a lovely day.
What's he up to, Wilf?
No more dancing away.
Now you can be my ally here or my enemy.
Your choice.
But I assure you it's
not an easy path to walk,
being my enemy.
Flynne?
Who the fuck are you?
Ossian, get up here. Now!
What's happening?
Fucking polts.
Hacked the connection.
- Flynne?
- Friend of the brother's.
The triple amputee.
Heading for the gates.
- You okay, buddy?
- Hey, hey, Conner!
- Conner?
- We're with you, man.
- We're right here.
- What do you need?
Tell us what to do.
Send me back.
Send me back.
Trick or treat!
This is a private space, Mr. Netherton.
I don't remember inviting you here.
I had no idea.
Ash arranged it.
I'm very sorry.
I wanted to address some
issues that have arisen.
May I?
Sure.
What is this?
It's a home movie.
My mother filmed it.
There's a company that takes them
and turns them into sims like this.
That you?
Me, Burton,
and that's my dad.
- Your father's wearing your jacket?
- No.
I'm wearing his.
Burton looks like him.
Oh, yeah, and he is more
than a little bit
conceited on that fact.
It's a cultural trait, I gather,
from your part of the world,
to mock the ones you love?
- What makes you think that I love him?
- You don't?
Of course I do.
It's my brother.
I'd do anything for him.
Do you have any siblings?
A sister.
Then I imagine you probably understand.
So what are these
issues that have arisen?
Your friend made a visit.
Conner.
- What?
- It's true.
In your Peripheral.
He informed us of your seizure.
Fuck.
Which he seems to believe
the headset caused.
And I bet you're here
to tell me it didn't.
Well, I have no idea if it did.
You know, that might be
the only time that I'm
100% sure that you
didn't just lie to me.
- Well
- Wilfred.
I looked that up, by the way.
It means, "He who wants peace."
You know that?
I looked some other stuff up, too.
Didn't find very much,
except a Lev Zubov.
That exists in my time.
But I imagine it's a common
name where your boss comes from.
What did you find?
Mafia thing.
Him, his wife, his children,
daughters, sons, they
were all murdered, shot.
The house was set on fire.
Pretty gruesome stuff.
But no connection to your Lev?
- None at all.
- Mm.
Get your scan.
In the meantime, we'll
investigate the headset.
We'll only ask you to
return if it's safe.
I give you my word.
You and your word, huh?
I mean it.
The truth twice in one conversation.
Be careful now, Wilf,
it might become a habit.
There's one thing I haven't shared.
Aelita.
She's my sister.
Da?
I'm here to see Lev Zubov.
Please put this on, sir.
Was that absolutely necessary?
Some of the club's more elderly members
don't take kindly to being
glimpsed by interlopers.
I take it you have good
cause for this intrusion?
I, um I met with our polt.
She shared some unexpected information.
Y your family in the stub.
All of them.
They were killed.
A few weeks ago.
Brutally.
No.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I I It's just that I can
forget how kind you actually are.
Maybe you do, too.
Makes me worry for you a bit.
That softness under the shell.
Someone targeted them, Lev.
Someone from here, I presume.
What do you think I was
paying Aelita to do for me?
I have no idea.
You made it quite clear that
you don't consider
it any of my business.
We wanted to learn how
to open a stub of our own.
- Why would the Klept want a stub?
- Why would we want anything?
There's money to be made.
In a stub? How?
The only limit is one's imagination.
And morals, I suppose.
For example?
My brother Alexei purchased
a pharmaceutical concern.
Even with AI, at some point,
one has to test a new
drug on a human population.
It's a process that medical ethics
could make rather tedious.
And costly.
So you tested it out in a stub?
Yes, that's just a for instance.
As I said, the possibilities are
essentially infinite.
But one thing troubled me, though.
The idea of different versions
of myself in another world.
The existential nihilism of it.
I just couldn't abide it.
- You killed your family?
- No, no, no.
Not personally, no, of course not.
No, I transferred funds and
hired the appropriate personnel.
And I'll tell you something, Wilf.
I felt better.
Instantly.
In fact, once we gain the ability
to open these things ourselves,
it'll always be the
first task I'll address.
I would offer to take
care of your lineage,
but I realize your origins are a bit
murkier.
Was there anything else
you wanted to share?
No.
Better put that silly thing back on
and be on your way.
What about, uh, Ms. Oswald?
Ms. Perry? Ms. Travantine?
Algebra Ms. Perry or
Chemistry Ms. Perry?
Shit. I forgot about
Chemistry Ms. Perry.
Never took her. Can't even picture her.
Aw, shit, Burton.
The "fuck" is easy, ain't it?
Ms. Travantine, huh?
- Copy that.
- Goddamn.
And then, I guess I'd marry Ms. Oswald.
She's like 90, man.
Yeah, I know, but
Ms. Perry's the one
who got me to join up.
Said I'd regret it if I didn't.
Chance to do
some good, see the
world, all that bullshit.
Gave me a whole fucking speech.
I thought that was your speech.
Yeah, I took it from her.
Gave it to you and those other fools.
Okay. She's definitely the "kill."
A person with manners might knock.
That same theoretical person
might be a little scared off
by that weird-ass game
you two were playing.
Probably wouldn't be
eavesdropping, though,
- would she?
- I'm not so sure they would not be rude enough
- to eavesdrop.
- Would you two both shut the fuck up?
Please?
Thank you.
Is there a reason you're here,
or you just want to piss me off?
I'm looking for advice, actually.
You know this Aelita woman?
The one that hired
us in the first place.
Well, we finally found
out where she was living.
And she had this
this diorama thing of our house.
This trailer.
And of y'all.
Like these little
toy soldiers.
Leon, Reece, Carlos. All of y'all.
Your whole unit.
So I guess I'm just wondering:
What the hell do I do with all that?
They said it was a sim.
When they sent the headset.
And?
Never saw one you couldn't master.
That's the thing, Burton.
This ain't just another sim.
But you thought it was.
What if you kept thinking it?
Like Conner with his chessboard.
He makes these moves that
set everything in motion.
What do you call 'em?
Gambit.
Gambits, yep.
What's your gambit, Flynne?
What's the first thing you
do when you get in a sim?
Break script.
Do the exact opposite
of what's expected.
And what happens?
I die a bunch.
Look pretty stupid.
And then?
I figure out the rule set.
And then?
I take control.
Fuck yeah.
Easy Ice.
Let's do that.
You and me go in there.
Start dying.
Not without me,
motherfuckers, not this time.
More boots we got on the ground,
the less likely we are to
get our asses kicked in there.
That's just basic tactics, ain't it?
You are so full of shit,
Burton. You just want to see it.
And what if I do?
Besides, it doesn't matter
'cause you're not going back in there
till we get your seizure sorted out.
It's all sorted.
It ain't sorted till we see the scan.
I feel fine.
I want to go back, Burton.
Okay? I need to.
So you go on ahead and
call Macon and Edward.
It's not like we got time to waste.
How long do you think it's gonna be
till someone else comes
around wanting to kill us?
- How's your hand?
- Everything's back to normal.
Okay? I told you.
I'll get you bodies.
Both of you.
What's wrong?
Where's your father?
Flynne? The children.
Inside. Now.
Am I being used as a
toy when I'm not here?
They needed a fourth.
It seemed harmless
enough, but I apologize.
What are you doing here?
- How long does it take to make one of these?
- Why?
'Cause I need one. For Conner.
Another one for Burton, too.
Where are you going?
You see, sim jockeys
tend to have a specialty.
Achievers, Explorers, Killers.
I'm an Explorer, Ash, so I think
now's a pretty good time to start.
- Cut her connection.
- Working on it, luv.
But the polts are countering.
Rather adeptly, I'm afraid.
- She's leaving.
- Best follow, don't you think?
Where in the bloody hell is Zubov?
Wherever he is, he won't be happy
to hear our polt's gone a'wandering.
If the Met Police encounter her again,
this could be the end of us.
And I mean all of us, luv.
Alert him.
This is really quite stupid, Flynne.
If you want a tour of
the city, I can happily
Show me exactly what you
want me to see? No, thank you.
That's not really exploring, now, is it?
Maybe you can explain the
point of this exploring.
I want to see all the shit
you haven't been showing me.
I assure you, there is
absolutely nothing
Damn it, look me in
the eye when you say it.
I want to see the expression
you make when you lie to my face.
Apologies for the
interruption, Mr. Zubov,
but we have a situation that
is turning somewhat urgent.
The polt has made an unscheduled visit.
Mr. Netherton's
assistance may be in order.
I'll send him straight there.
Not here, I'm afraid.
More-more toward
Paddington at the moment.
Though this appears to be rather fluid.
Oh, for fuck's sake,
Ossian, cut her connection.
Aye, sir. Brilliant idea.
And-and-and we're working on
it, but in the, in the meantime,
if you could just
dispatch Mr. Netherton
Oh, you fucking prat!
Not you, sir.
- You don't need to do that.
- Yes I do, Edward.
You're overcomplicating this as usual.
You just got to keep him at bay.
I'm aware how a hacker battle
works, okay? I never lost.
Move. Move.
No, man, you don't know what to do.
Get out my way.
If you simply tell me
Aelita told me I'm likely
to die in ten years, Ash.
What do you think she meant by that?
And where are all the people?
Done?
Did you not hear my roar of victory
echoing across the rooftops?
"Victory at all costs.
Victory in spite of the "
Return to the Zubov residence.
What about ?
No, no, no, no, no, no.
Hey, Burton? Yeah. Tell
her to shut her eyes.
Shut them now!
- That sneaky little prick.
- Come on, move, move out of the way.
- What? Wait, I got to
- Come on, I told you you'd fuck this up.
Back again, are we?
What happened to the people, Ash?
You're certain this is the place?
According to Ossian.
Head through the gate and bear right.
We call it the Jackpot.
It wasn't one thing.
Or all at once.
It was everything together.
Building over time.
Even now, they're still arguing
about when it technically began.
It's started, though?
Already in my time?
Yes.
Nice place for a stroll.
She has a right to know, Mr. Netherton.
A moral right.
Send me the damn code.
What is this?
Our past, your future.
A museum of sorts.
Each of these shapes represents
a different phase of the Jackpot.
Why "the Jackpot"?
Gallows humor, I suppose.
And it's less portentous
than "Apocalypse."
This is the moment commonly pinpointed
as the edge of the cliff.
After which there is no turning back.
The Jackpot was unstoppable.
A hack of the North
American electrical grid.
Complete blackout.
Monthslong, continent-wide.
An increasingly common
phenomenon, as it turned out.
Across the globe.
That's just seven years off in my world.
Pandemic.
A filovirus.
We called it the Blood Plague.
It attacked the viscera.
The liver, spleen, intestines
filling with blood
till the abdomen burst.
Environmental catastrophe.
Droughts. Famine.
Antibiotic failure.
Agricultural collapse followed.
Full population collapse.
Bit more than seven billion people.
Over four decades or so.
And then came the end.
A domestic terrorist
attack in the United States.
They blew up a nuclear missile silo.
Spring Creek, North Carolina.
Jesus Christ.
That's where I live.
Geez, just make it stop.
You okay?
You get us bodies?
Um
I'm working on it.
There are moments when fate
can go one way or another.
Thousand ways it could
have gone wrong back there.
Can't dwell on the past, Flynne.
What mysteries do you oversee,
down there in your secret burrow
with the big steel door?
It's getting real hard
to keep this under wraps.
I'm starting to trust you.
Is that a mistake?