Millennium (1996) s02e21 Episode Script

What the hell? Huh.
Hey, kid.
Coffee and an apple fritter.
I'm just brewing up a fresh pot, sir, and the apple fritters need to cool down.
Kid, if I wanted your life story, I would have bought the book.
Coffee and an apple fritter, now! Sir, they're not ready just yet.
I have some decaf brewed.
Why would I, or anybody in their right mind, voluntarily drink decaf, huh? All right, tell me when it's ready.
And make it snappy, kid.
Some of us actually work for a living.
Every morning the same thing.
Bitter old fart! Well, he wants bitter, I'll give him bitter.
I ask you, whatever happened to "The customer's always right"? - That went out with automats.
- Yeah, you're livin' in the past, daddio.
What's the matter with you? Something wrong? Sort of.
I have this Whoa! I didn't say anything about sharing.
Sir? Your order's ready.
Thank you.
Huh! Hey! This fritter isn't cooled down enough yet.
Dammit! Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but, I tell you, things didn't used to be this way.
Oh.
Aaaah! - Burn your tongue? - No.
That kid peed in my coffee.
He-he! Anyone care to make a little wager on the big fight tonight? Does boxing still have that standing eight-count rule? - Yeah.
- Might as well be watching a pillow fight.
I lost all interest in the sweet science when Kid McCoy retired from the ring.
- The real McCoy.
- Who? World middleweight champion and inventor of the infamous corkscrew punch.
Would tear the flesh right off his opponents.
He was also convicted of killing his married lover and shooting three other people.
I still love that line in his suicide note.
"I can't endure this world's madness any longer.
" A fighter and a philosopher, huh? But that's exactly what's missing from this bland day and age.
Personalities, characters, individuals with an inspirational flare.
For example, a while back I was out wandering on the old country highway.
I was just looking for I don't know, a new sort of titillation.
But all I found was the same old thing.
What you doin' here by your lonesome, old-timer? Waitin' for a ride.
Yeah? You been waitin' long? So many cars passed by, I lost count.
People are reluctant to pick up hitchhikers these days.
In ancient times the Greeks always had to help vagabonds because they never knew if the beggar might be one of their gods in disguise.
Nowadays, itjust seems safer to assume that every stranger is a devil.
Could be a serial killer, or worse.
So how do you know I'm not? You didn't strike me as the serial-killer type, pops! - You're an expert on serial killers? - No.
I'm not an expert or anything, but I do spend a lot of time reading true-crime books.
Ah! True-crime books! - Yeah! - Exactly! Well, you see where this story is headed.
As it turned out, the kid not only had an interest in serial killers, he once made contact with one.
This was made in prison by Johnnie Mack Potter, the most prolific murderer in America.
He was convicted of killing 36 people.
How'd you get a hold of that? Well, he used to be the janitor and mascot at my school, Roosevelt High Red Devils.
He was caught the year before I attended, so I never met him, but every day I'd walk down those hallways, I couldn't help but think to myself "Wow! A serial killer once cleaned these.
" - "Wow" is right! - So I wrote to him in prison.
He sent me this devil dohickey.
Oh, but here I am probably boring you with all this killer talk.
That's Johnnie Mack Potter in his old mascot uniform.
How'd you get that? I'm a murder-memorabilia collector myself.
You know, it's kinda neat to be able to talk to someone about this stuff and not feel like a sicko.
Perry, why do you think you possess this morbid fascination with serial killers? Well, I'll be honest with ya, I don't know.
It's nothing to do with the fact that you possess so many characteristics of the prototypical serial killer? - What? - White, male in his 20s.
The product of a broken home who spent his youth starting fires and/or torturing animals.
An early addiction to drugs and/or alcohol.
An inability to hold a steady job or relationship with women.
Dreaming about turning your masochistic mutilation sex fantasies into reality, to say nothing of the fact you drive a van and keep duct tape in your glove compartment.
How the hell did? What are you trying to tell me? Play the hand you've been dealt.
Good lord! Don't tell me that's all it took! You know, we were so envious when Man was given free will, but what has it brought them? The belief that life's determined by everything other than their own will.
And the right to vote.
Uh-huh.
Wait a minute.
I'm confused.
The man became a serial killer because? Yes.
Just because.
His first victim was a prostitute, as was to be expected.
I was concerned that his initial reaction was a tad over-sensitive.
Don't worry.
It's like your first beer.
You get used to it and eventually life doesn't seem as good without it.
I wanna become the most prolific serial killer in the history of this country.
He didn't want to be the most colourful killer or the most weird.
He just wanted to break Johnnie Mack Potter's record.
Quantity not quality.
Hah.
His "originality" was prostitutes.
He killed another one that very night.
- Then it was prostitute after prostitute.
- Been there.
Done that.
One night I did manage to inject some irony into his blandness.
I talked him into attacking a self-proclaimed devil worshipper.
Satan! Save me! Satan, save me please! No! Satan! Save me! "Satan, save me!" Yeah.
I bet there was no divine intervention there, huh? Unfortunately, that very next night he was right back to prostitutes.
So clichéd was this guy that he often returned to the scene of the crime because, you know, that's what killers supposedly do.
Looks like they found number 36.
One more and I top Johnnie Mack Potter.
Then I become the serial killing champ.
Maybe you should get T- shirts printed up.
Wait a minute.
What did this man look like? I know how terrible this'll sound, but they all look the same to me.
Oh! But I swear to God this man reacted like he had glimpsed my true essence.
Impossible! It's not in their nature.
All right, so my story's a little out there.
Go with it.
In any case, having seen this weird guy, being so bored with my killer, I figured enough was enough.
After they got the fingerprints off it, it didn't take them long.
- Freeze! - Hold it right there! Mr Blerick! Of course, I was nowhere to be found! Later he told the police that I was the one responsible for the murders! They're always blaming others.
The criminal psychologist deduced that the elderly hitchhiker didn't actually exist.
It was merely one segment of the killer's split personality! So after some time had passed, and I felt it was the right time, I sent my killer companion a friendly little note of advice.
- Did he do it? - He gave it the old college try.
Too bad he had never gone to college.
But then it was all for nothing, wasn't it? You didn't achieve total closure.
Well, it's my attitude that sometimes you have to sacrifice self-satisfaction for a sense of poetic justice.
And that, my friend, is why Johnnie Mack Potter remains the reigning, and still undisputed, serial killing champion.
- Hello? Is this the Helm residence? - Uh, yes, it is.
- May I please speak to Mr Helm? - This is him.
What's the matter? Nothing, unless you're being overcharged by your long-distance phone company.
May I ask which current service you use? What? What time is it? It's time to start saving over Now, if you'll sign up with us Ha-ha-ha! Ha! I don't like working with serial killers.
If they get caught, they end up on death row, which is the only place where humans can still find God.
The trouble with serial killers is they're too evil.
- Hey, if you're afraid of 'em.
- That's not what I meant, and you know it.
- What did you mean? - Their evil is too conspicuous.
When people hear about psycho killers it can lead them to thinking about the nature of evil, which leads to thoughts about right or wrong.
That thinking can get ugly.
You don't want 'em considering crap like that.
You just want 'em to go through the routine of living their lives.
And what do you do to gut their souls? I don't do squat any more.
- They do it all for ya.
- I'm not sure I'm following.
Mankind has progressed to a point in its dim-witted history where life has been drained of all its enchantment.
All you've gotta do is sit back and enjoy.
I mean, I ask you, what evil genius invented the alarm clock? No other creature but man could concoct a device that interrupts, daily, their only natural state of happiness.
And no doubt the evil genius's evil twin contributed the snooze button.
Oh, boy! - I beg you! - Other human instruments of torture, the rack, the iron maiden, are no match for their modern version.
Stop! Used in a regiment of self-inflicted suffering, all in the name of vanity and rock-hard abs.
Their efforts to distance themselves from their animal natures only show what dumb beasts they truly are.
Required to cover their God-given bodies, they also tie a superfluous constricting piece of cloth around their necks for no reason whatsoever.
I fail to see how any of this leads them to eternal damnation.
They fail to see it too because they think they're livin' a so-called normal life.
You have no idea the torments they'll put themselves through for the sake of such a life.
They'll spend a third of every day at a place they can't stand doin'stuff they don't want to do, all in the name of earning a living.
I've seen punishments in hell less severe.
When not at work, their free time is spent in servitude performing menial chores, none of which could be called life-affirming.
As a wise devil once said, "All roads to hell lead through coin-operated Laundromats.
" You seem to be forgetting one little thing in this method of yours - sin.
I choose to forget it.
- Because humans have as well.
- Oh, brother! I don't mean they stop committing sins.
Just the opposite.
They sin so often, it's just become another part of their routine.
Whatever passion compelled them to commit such acts has long since passed away.
Yeah.
Go, baby.
Go.
Do it.
Shake that thing.
Yeah.
Yahoo.
Do it.
Take it off.
Take it all off.
Do it.
Do it.
Even their less-guilty pleasures are less than pleasures.
Um Am I missing something? Yeah.
Having him fall asleep is not the same as having him fall into the fiery pits of hell.
How can you ruin them if you don't interact with them? Oh, every once in a while I interact with them, but nothing too evil.
Minor irritations are all you need.
And I find, the best irritations utilise their own man-made laws.
- Hey, I just parked there.
- Ah! Tell it to the judge! Hey! What's with this ticket? The meter hasn't even run out.
Oh! - The same guy that saw Blerick? - No.
He wasn't reacting to my inner essence.
All humans look horrified when confronting an authority figure.
- Hey, did this guy look depressed? - Why? I read an article about people using St John's wort to cure depression.
In the Middle Ages, humans used it and claimed to see devils.
Ah! Old wives' tales! Still Does this guy look like he might be using this St John's wort? He looks like he needed a vat of the stuff.
It doesn't matter what they take.
It's not in their nature to see us.
Yeah, you don't even know how to damn them.
I just told you.
You simply let them go through the routine of living their lives as they see fit.
Until they realise their lives are unfit to live.
It never ceases to amuse me how these idiots only learn to appreciate the freedom of life just when they're taking it, and just before they hit pay dirt.
Argh! Well, if you ask me, subtlety is for closet homosexuals.
What's that crack supposed to mean? I just find your laissez-faire style as lame as the souls you're destroying.
Why be a devil if you can't have a little fun? I'm familiar with your methods, and I find them crass and unpoetic.
Yeah, like an atom bomb.
That's another plus with my technique - mass damnation.
I just did ajob that damaged millions of souls with one big shebang.
How? Simply by using the instruments Satan himself created for that very purpose.
Crap.
On page seven, your use of the word "crap" is unacceptable to broadcast standards.
No, it is acceptable to use "crap" only when not referring to defecation.
No, the use of "defecation" is not acceptable either.
We suggest that you do not describe it and simply cut the scene entirely.
That word is completely unacceptable.
Oh, you were reacting, not suggesting.
I see.
Well, my next objection begins on page eight Now, every network has a censor, a guardian of moral rectitude, whose job is to ensure the viewing public is not corrupted by scenes of sex, violence or any other miscellaneous vulgarity.
No, it doesn't matter that aliens have no genitalia.
They still have groins and they shouldn't be kicked there.
It is unacceptable.
Jeez, that sounds like a crappy job.
Imagine the weight they must bear, the burden of maintaining a nation's morality on your shoulders? It's just TV! Ah, but you're forgetting how humans regard everything in their lives now as a matter of life and death.
Under that constant pressure, making 'em crack is a snap.
Unacceptable! If you show a pile of dung, it must be dry dung, not moist.
Why? Because I bear the burden of maintaining a nation's morality on my very shoulders.
It's not acceptable.
- Rinky-dink kids' stuff.
- I'm telling you, it's very effective.
- It's so stale and outdated.
- No.
It's very modern.
In the old days, if you materialised before them they all knew what they were seeing - the external evidence of a demon trying to tempt their soul.
But nowadays they all assume it's internal - a psychological breakdown manifesting itself in the form of a visual hallucination.
- And you called me lame! - The effects are immediate.
One materialisation, and they're convinced they're bonkers.
- But then what? - Then they go bonkers.
I always enjoy seeing how their madness manifests itself.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
This is unacceptable.
This is acceptable.
This is unacceptable.
This is total perversion.
This is way beyond acceptable His insanity threw him directly into the belly of the beast.
Oh, this is borderline.
Um No.
We're on the border here.
Oh, we're over the border here.
We're into another unacceptable zone.
No, this No, I Un Oh, no.
No.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
This is not acceptable.
I am Broadcast Standards and Practices, and this is not acceptable.
We're going to cut.
No excessive use of violence.
I am Broadcast Standards and Practices.
No excessive use of violence! I am Broadcast Standards and Practices.
No excessive use of violence! You'll not get away with this.
The final scene is gratuitously violent! Aliens are a superior race and would not utilise automatic weapons.
I will not approve this! I am Broadcast Standards and Practices! What? What do you want from me? - Enough words.
Time for action.
- What? You bear the burden of maintaining a nation's morality on your shoulders.
- You mean? - Yes.
Kill them all.
Enough words.
Time for action.
Yes.
Now, shut up and dance! You see, their grasp on sanity, and thus their souls, is precarious at best.
I should say so.
Camera move.
OK, aliens ready now? I am Broadcast Standards and Practices.
This is unacceptable.
I am Broadcast Standards and Practices.
No excessive use of blood! No excessive use of violence! - Run! - This is all unacceptable.
I am Broadcast Standards and Practices.
Everything is unacceptable! Everything is unacceptable! Is that thing still rolling? Hey, that's where I saw that guy.
- What guy? - The depressed guy that saw you and Abum.
He was at the aftermath of the alien massacre.
But I don't know how he saw me.
I wasn't trying to appear as an hallucination.
Now you're losing your grasp on sanity.
Hold on.
Not so fast.
You boasted that the soul that you damned, ended up damning millions of others.
- How do you figure? - Just take my word for it.
Not every network has such strict broadcast standards and practices.
These extra-terrestrial visitors need to phone home and 911.
"When Humans Attack", right after these messages.
He knows what we are.
The man that you've all seen, who seems to see us so clearly? I've seen him, too.
He knows what we are.
It's an impossibility! He can't know.
- He told me himself.
- What? When did this happen? The other day I I'd rather not talk about it.
You can't not tell us.
What happened? You don't understand.
It's personal.
- How the hell can it be personal? - The details.
- They're so tawdry and sordid.
- Now I must insist you tell us.
I was at a strip joint.
It was a quiet night and I was biding my time, on the lookout for my next damnable soul.
It was obviously his first time in such a place, and I always get a kick out of seeing someone's first taste of forbidden fruit.
But this yokel doesn't sound anything like the man we saw.
- Can everyone see our true essence? - No, this kid didn't see my true essence.
Hell, he didn't even see me.
He saw himself, his potential future.
It scared the bejesus out of him.
Sure.
Yuck it up.
It's really funny when it ain't happening to you.
But this is just another reminder that - I'm losing my touch.
- Ah, no, you're not.
No.
It's true.
It's been so long since I tempted a soul.
Now here I am scaring wide-eyed innocents back to the other side.
In any case, I was feeling very vulnerable at that particular moment.
Don't be so glum, handsome.
You could use a personal-fantasy dance.
- How much are they? - 20 bucks a dance.
- How much for an eternity's worth? - 20 with a sideways eight next to it.
- What's your name? - Chantilly.
- What's yours? - Engelbert.
What's your real name? Sally.
What's yours? Toby.
How long have you had the tattoo? I got it when I started stripping.
Should have seen me back then.
- I was a right little hell-raiser.
- I bet you were.
I was gonna sow my wild oats, settle down, get pregnant and watch my little devil grow big.
- I guess that's not gonna happen now.
- Stranger things have happened.
Of course, girls nowadays, tattoos all over their bodies, fake boob jobs, pierced tongues, who knows what all! - I guess I'm just old-fashioned.
- Times change easier than people.
Ain't it the truth? I should have quit dancing years ago, but I have no other skills.
Now you're singing my song.
Why? What do you do for a living? I guess, this.
I used to be so good at it.
But now I stink.
I don't know what happened or where it went, but it did and it's gone.
- All good things must come to an end.
- Yeah.
Life's funny that way.
"Funny" is a funny word for it.
- Keep your hands to your sides.
- I know.
I'm sorry.
Those places are really strict about that rule, aren't they? We were like two lost souls who, by finding each other, had also found the answer to all of life's mysteries and the secret to having lots and lots of really great sex.
After that night we were inseparable.
To be apart was painful.
But what did you two do together? You don't understand.
We didn't have to do anything.
Most nights we just laid in bed and watched TV.
I think he's going through some kind of midlife crisis.
It's common for people his age.
Boy, this show really stinks.
You said it.
It was heaven.
Even the times we had to venture out into the world were wondrous.
Her presence made the mundane seem magnificent.
Toby, I don't know where this story is headed, but it's starting to give me the creeps.
- One night she saw my true essence.
- Another one? - The world's gone mad! - She'd gone in the night to the bathroom.
She saw me for all I'm worth, in all my naked devilry.
You see, she forgave me my faults.
One night shortly after that we happened to wander into here.
- You brought her here? - It's a public place! I know, but there are some places where women don't belong.
We sat at this very table and I said to her "Sally, there's something I've been wanting to ask you for a while now.
" What is it, Toby? Sally, will you m Will you m Will you mind if we didn't see each other any more? I'm I'm really tired of you.
In fact, you make me sick, you fat old cow.
I could have delivered my lines better.
I know I'm a bit rusty, but they were effective.
She ran out heartbroken.
In the old days I wouldn't have checked, but I was unsure of myself.
So after enough time had passed, I went to her apartment.
The police had just gotten there.
I'm the boyfriend.
I'm a little ashamed to admit I was worried that I might feel sympathy for this being.
But seeing her like that only reminded me what ridiculous creatures they are, to destroy themselves over something so fleeting as emotional attachments and biological needs.
I was overcome with relief.
Plus, it had been such a long time since I'd notched a soul.
- You've still got it.
- Just like riding a bike.
But that's when I saw him.
I don't know who he was or what he was doing there, but he knew what I was.
I could just tell.
You must be so lonely.
There! He merely mistook you as a grieving boyfriend, nothing more.
He thought your relieved sobbing was hysterical sobbing.
I told you.
This man has no idea what we truly are.
"You must be so lonely.
" Hey, kid! Great cup of coffee.
Keep up the good work.
I made this.