01x06 - Virtual Reality Bites

Liv: Previously on iZombie...

So how did you become a zombie?

You clawed my forearm.

You are who you eat.

You don't just have their visions, you also get some of their personality traits.

You're a zombie now.

For a mere 25K a month, I've got the brains you need to keep all your pistons firing.

My roommate took his skateboard out, said he was going to the park for a couple hours.

That was four days ago.

All right, I'm gonna walk this over to Missing Persons right now. Nice kicks.

Have you seen my friend?

Brother, I just saw him.

Blaine: We'll have you to him in no time.

Be my guest.

I met another zombie.



Who knows if we even like each other.

But what have we got to lose?

Hey, where did you get those shoes?



Easy. You're lucky you're not dead.

Although, if you were, this would come much more naturally to me.

You know what you're doing, right?

I mean, theoretically. Sure.

But did you consider a trip to the ER?

I'm a social worker.

My insurance covers, like, one Band-Aid a year.

Major? What the hell?

It's nothing.

Those are Y-incision stitches. They need to be closer together, unless you're going for that Frankenstein look.

The man's too good-looking. I'm giving him character.

Should I just take over?

Please, God, yes.

How did this happen?

He got into a fight.

I went looking for Jerome.

And found the Candyman.

Remember? That guy Jerome said was handing out Utopium, inviting kids back to his van?

He's a real person, then? The Candyman?

He was wearing Jerome's high tops.

How did you know they were Jerome's?

They were cool shoes, but they weren't one of a kind.

They were Jerome's.

So our friend here went full vigilante.

Batman versus the Candyman. Point Candyman.

And I assume that fight solved everything.

You and the Candyman shook hands, and he led you right to Jerome.

He knows something.


I know it.

You're a social worker, not a cop. You could've been killed.

I was an all-conference strong safety for the Washington Huskies, baby.

A head-hunter. I'm a dangerous man.

The Candyman is dangerous-er.

Please promise me that that's the last time you'll take matters into your own hands. There's a reason...

Liv tell you about the guy she met at the wake the other night?

Musician type? If I hadn't stumbled in and totally rocker-blocked this dude... Ow!

Quite an imagination you have there.

Have some faith in me, all right?

I've been girding myself for this day.

Come on. Who's your buddy?

I'm your buddy.

Eager to share the highs and lows of your life.


New customer! 300-pounder dropped dead on his stairs. Our services are required.

Just a second. I don't want it to pop.

That's fine. Chicks dig scars.


We've got a spinach quiche, freshly-baked baguette...

Spicy mustard and gulai otak.

Where's the gulai otak?

Are you sure it's not in there?

Yes, I'm sure!

Okay, um, I'll run back to Meat Cute and I'll be back in 20 minutes.

I don't think I can wait that long.


Whew! That is straight-up nasty.

I believe the professional term is "ugh."

Camphor? It'll help with the stench.


Ah, better. Thanks.

Our vic is Simon Cutler, 32 years old.

Damn, this is the ripest dude I've smelled.

His skin reminds me of a grape that was left out in the sun too long and split open.

You just ruined grapes for me.

Okay, our guy here was a total shut-in.

No one's seen him in years, a regular Willy Wonka.

He'd receive all necessities through the dog hatch on the front door.

Apparently there was a pile of unopened deliveries spilling out, so a neighbor called the police.

Uh, I'm gonna need more of that camphor.

So no one's been in or out?

No. Which should make figuring out what killed him easy.

How long do you think he's been here?

Well, based on the purple hue of the skin, I'd say he's between putrefaction and black putrefaction.

You see how swollen his tongue is?

I'll take your word for it.

A week, maybe two.

By the looks of his computer setup, he could've been directing air traffic down here.

Day trader, maybe?

Hmm. The carpet's sticky. Nice shag.

Apparently he's been down here since 1974.

Spilled his soda when he collapsed.

Fried chicken. Fried pies.

My money says Big Boy here had a heart attack.

Well, a heart attack is a reasonable hypothesis, but seeing as he's in his early 30s and hasn't been to the hospital recently, an autopsy is de rigueur.

It means required.

You know, my French tutor, Mademoiselle Perrier, is gonna be so disappointed I blanked on that one.



(CLIVE READING) It's someone's birthday.

Well, it was a memorable one.


Oh. Seems the neighbors are curious about the man behind the dog hatch.

Excuse me, Officer, what happened to him? Do you know?

Yeah, did he suffer?

Hey, how long was he in there?


Come on, man, show some respect.

What the hell is wrong with these people?



Was I unclear?

Our s*x life is more me calling you when I'm so inclined, and you resisting the urge to call me.

My delivery hasn't arrived yet.

It should have been there hours ago.

Well, it's not.

How about I bring you a special delivery myself?

No. I just didn't want to be charged.

You know what? I just remembered, that my doorbell is broken, so he probably came by after all.

Anyway, I have a meeting, so I better boogie.

I'll come by later and pick something up.

Sorry to trouble you.

No worries.

Another piece of confetti in his eyeball.

It is sad, don't you think? Hermit threw himself a little party.

"Happy birthday to me!" Handful of confetti in the air.

Internal organs are liquefied.

Please say heart attack. I don't wanna eat, nay, drink rotten brains.

Arteries weren't blocked. No scar tissue around the heart.

Heart attack seems unlikely.

You know, almost anything, if you deep fry it...

Detective Babineaux, what can we do for you?

I'm hoping you can tell me what happened to Mr. Cutler here.

Dead 10 days. No cause of death yet.

I've sent his blood samples to that lab for bio-chem testing.

That'll give us more to work with.

I'm afraid all the decomposition slows us down a bit.

Well, maybe I can speed things up.

It turns out our friend here was one of the most hated people on the Internet.

I just spent an hour looking through death threats levied against the man.

We're almost certainly looking at murder.

Son of a bitch!

You've grown attached to this one, huh?

Man's inhumanity to man. Do you ever really get used to it?

I'm pretty used to it.

Apparently, Cutler here was an Internet troll and hacker known hither and yon as the Sim Reaper.

There's already a website up celebrating this guy's demise.

Oh, let's pull it up, shall we?

An Internet troll. Is that like a cyberbully?

Well, if he's an accomplished hacker, then he's like a cyberbully with super powers.

All right, Sim Reaper. Here we go.

Are all of those links about him?

Yup. Plus some of Sim Reaper's work.

Sexist public commentary, fascist political screeds, taking credit for shutting down websites, hacking into people's cloud-based accounts, sharing their personal content.

What kind of person does that?

Click right there and hear for yourself.

It's the one known recording of Simon Cutler, a customer service call gone very wrong.

Woman: Customer service, this is Shanie.

Simon: (DISTORTED) Shanie, perfect!

I've been on hold for 45 minutes.

Shanie: I'm sorry about that, sir. Can I have your account number, please?

Simon: I've given it. Several times.

Shanie: Your name, then. I'm happy to look it up.

Simon: I am the Sim Reaper, Shanie. I am the keeper of the web.

CEOs of Fortune 500 companies tremble before me.

I am invisible, intangible, untouchable.

I am the bringer of cyber-darkness.

Fail me, and I will delete you like so much digital noise.


Why are all the good ones unavailable?

I have Forensics looking at his laptop for leads.

But if you get any psychic stirrings, let me know.

Don't worry, Detective. I'm sure Liv will suck it up and help any way she can.


I can't believe you actually drank that.

Simon Cutler's rotten brains go down in history as the worst. By far.

Frankly, I'm impressed that they went down at all.

I have my first zombie date tonight. How do you think puking on him is gonna play?

Maybe if you ate something? Something else.

Like saltines maybe. It's worth a shot.

Hey, where did these donuts come from?

Oh, I brought them in as a peace offering for the early crew.

I'd offer you one, but you've never been a donut fan.

Liv: (THINKING) Must have donuts.

Great. I ate Homer Simpson's brain.





Are you all right?

He was choking on a donut. He couldn't breathe.

I think it was a food allergy.

What, you think something in the donut caused anaphylaxis?

He barely made it up those stairs we found him on and gave himself a shot of epinephrine.

That may be why he was found on those stairs.

He was trying to get to an EpiPen and he didn't make it.

Except I didn't find any trigger foods in his stomach.

No peanuts. No shellfish.

Then what the hell killed him?

Coral: Why don't you tell us why you're back here, Joey?

I got booted from my house.


We know that. But why?

You've got the file.

If you don't share, that's a privilege drop, and I don't wanna have to...

Major, what happened to your face?

Rollerblading. It's back, people.

Joey, what are you doing back here?

Trashed my mom's place.

Now why would you do that?

Mike was being a tool.

Joey, we've established that Mike is always a tool.

But trashing your mom's place? That's you surrendering control.

Come on, man.

Coral: And that's one of the things Joey will be working on.


Finding healthy ways to express his anger.

No phones during group. Privilege drop!

You went looking for Eddie and Jerome, didn't you?

That's you surrendering to your messiah complex, dude.

Reality check time.

They're dead.

So you're telling me the most hated man on the Internet was killed by a donut?

No. Anaphylactic shock killed him. But there was no food in his system.

In my vision, it was a donut that almost killed him.

No idea what triggered the anaphylactic shock this time.

I'm confused.

Yeah, so are we.





Yeah. Sorry, I... think maybe my breakfast didn't agree with me.

"Happy birthday!" And you're dead.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear you're having a vision.

Hold on. Simon Cutler's birthday is...

I just typed it into my police report.

His birthday isn't for another four months.

Who sends a card that far ahead of time?

And with nothing written on the inside?

No stamp.

Hand delivered.

Maybe the card was a message from the killer.

Oh, my God, the confetti.

The what?

The confetti. It was scattered on the rug.

We even dug some out of Simon's eye.

It's a confetti flinger. You open the card and confetti shoots out.

My sorority used these during rush to let pledges know they were accepted.

"Congrats, you're a Mu Theta." Fwick!

Can I see that?

What does that smell like to you?


The confetti flinger was a peanut powder delivery system.

Congratulations, Detective. You've discovered the murder weapon.

Liv: Assist a detective in solving a murder case.

Help stave off a zombie apocalypse. Fake being a psychic.

I've got a lot of balls in the air.

Yet here I am, getting ready for a date.

The last time I sweated an outfit choice was the night Major proposed.

Of course, I did it the five nights leading up to the proposal, because I was sure it was coming.

I was sure about everything with Major.

There was no debating whether or not he was the one.

I didn't worry I'd get bored of being with the same person year after year.

He was it for me. I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with Major.

And I guess I did. But apparently my death is a new chapter.

Bizarre as that may be.



What the hell?


Recording: This is Lowell, leave a message.

Hey, Lowell. So sorry to do this on a message, but I have to cancel.

I'm literally seconds away from puking. I, I... It hit me out of nowhere.

And I'm calling you from the bathroom floor right now. I hope you understand...

Oh, my God. I'm such an idiot. I totally forgot you're a zombie. I can just tell you.

I had a bad batch of agoraphobe brain and can't get out of my apartment.

Okay. Bye.

Dr. Chakrabarti.

Wanted to share intel on that near decapitation.

They said he was found by some hikers out on Cold Creek Trail.

But the body was covered in bear saliva, so I'm guessing the bear got to him before the hikers did.

Could a bear have done this?

Well, the bear was responsible for the scratching and gnawing part, all postmortem.

But the wounds on the neck are consistent with those of a carpenter's claw hammer.

Fingerprints confirm our vic's Michael Dornan, 18.

A foster kid who's been in and out of juvie since he was 11.

That's curious.

Why is that?

Well, the contents of his stomach. Look.

It reads like the main course at a shah wedding.

Wagyu beef. Italian white truffles.

If somebody poured in a bottle of Bordeaux, it would be my dream meal.

Is there a point?

You're not much of a foodie, are you?

Wagyu beef is about $100 for a filet.

Italian white truffles are about $200 an ounce.

This street kid had about $500 worth of food in his stomach.

How does a down-and-out kid have access to that kind of food?

Has Liv had a look at him?

Sadly, she's home, sick.

Yeah, I could use her help on the Cutler case too.

Our forensics guys couldn't find anything on Simon's laptop.

I was hoping Liv could look at it, maybe get some whoo-whoo.

I was planning on dropping in on her later.

I'd be happy to drop the laptop off if you'd like.

What am I supposed to do with it?

Well, Clive thought if you handled Simon's laptop, you might pick something up.

Yeah, I know how Clive thinks my fake psychic powers work, but what's your endgame here?

Are you expecting me to eat the hard drive?

It's password protected, what am I supposed to...


Okay. That was kind of creepy.

Or kind of amazing.

I've got Simon's muscle memory.

Please don't let me be opening gross p0rn.



What are the chances an agoraphobe in his 20s was not a chronic chicken choker?

What the hell is Warlock Forest?

Have you been living under a crag?

Which is a large jagged rock in Warlock Forest.

It's an MMORPG. A multiplayer online role playing game.

Oh, is that one of those games where grown men pretend to be warrior gnomes and quest after magical knickknacks?

No. It's one of those games where hard-working professionals can relax whilst performing virtual heroic acts that require creativity, tactical skill and teamwork, while saving the Moss Princess.

It's a billion-dollar industry.

Some people even get paid loads of money to level up characters that can dominate in these games.

People make money playing video games?

Oh, yeah, it's big business.

This is dorky...

Wait, what did I just do?

Oh, you're a trollock.

I'm a Polish troll?

You're a troll with warlock abilities. The second most powerful of all the half lings.

Those are the people you're playing with. They saw you log on.

At 3:00 p.m. on a weekday, people are sitting around waiting for a Polish troll.

Character: (DISTORTED) Master! You have returned!

Hey, who's this jackass?

All hail Sim Reaper!

He's talking to you.

Your mortal enemy Full Auto has claimed he killed you for exterminating all of his soul brethren.

Sim Reaper exterminating Full Auto's soul brethren could've cost a serious player many thousands of dollars.

Full Auto shall send forth waves of minions bent on your destruction.

You must take back Tree Palace.

You have to respond.

Everyone uses voice modulation, so they won't know you're a girl.

I'm not taking back Tree Palace.

You must!

Liv, if anything brought me to violence it'd be someone exterminating my soul brethren.

You have to play to find this Full Auto guy. He could be our killer.

I don't even know what I'm doing.

Yet I know that if I use my freezing rod on these fire witches, I can take out all seven at once. But I hate this kind of crap.

I'll go home and log in. I can help you from inside the game.

How will I know who you are?

I'm a were-terrier with healing abilities called Arf Vader.

This is going to be epic.

Jerome on computer: Aw, man! That's brutal. Try to do that one more time.


Is it too loud?

No, I just, uh... I heard Jerome and thought maybe...

Your optimism is tragic. (CHUCKLES)

It's just old skate stuff Jerome posted on YouTube. It's how we share tricks.

Is there a lot of footage like this from the skate park?

Yeah. There's like hundreds of videos, and maybe four don't completely suck.

Why are you scoping the crowd? It's all skate skanks and hobos.

Okay, keep going.

Okay, we're going in fast and tight.

If you're casting vapor spells, you need to be casting as we enter.

Full Auto's all about the obscuring veil, so remember to stay centered.

They'll be blasting orbs, but if we hit them heavy with diviners and reserve our gem spells, we can take these bitches.

And this should go without saying, but don't use your multi-crystals until we're inside.

Arf Vader...

Do you have boon to revive us?

I only have enough boon to resurrect four people.

Timber, you're on recon for Arf. Okay, we're going.

Stay in formation!

Why am I not seeing shields? Timber, if we lose Arf, I will crush you.

I will drive you into the sea and hear the lamentations of your women!

Vapor casters, why am I not clouded in iridescence right now?


Mom! Hi.

Peyton told me you were sick. I thought I'd come by and take care of you.

Mmm. That's so sweet.

Wait, who the hell just cast an opal rendering?

Olivia? I brought you...



I'm sorry. We're storming the Tree Palace right now and I've got fire witches up my ass and a battalion of idiots who don't understand what "reserve your gem spells" means.

Well, this is the most engaged I've heard you sound in a long time.

I wish it were with actual people.

Honey, I know this has been a challenging year.

And I want you to know that I love you.

And all I want for you is to be happy.

But I worry that you're letting your life pass you by.

Sorry, Mom. What did you say?

Just, sit up straight, sweetheart.

Thank you. For the soup.

This is important police business.


We're in! We're in!

Take this boon and you can't be killed for five minutes.

It's your only boon.

You need to find Full Auto.

Ravi: Oh, my God. He's coming for you!

Character: (DISTORTED) Sim Reaper? I killed you. You were dead.

Vengeance was mine.


Yeah. I don't think so.

My name's Olivia Moore and I'm with the Seattle Police Department.

I need to ask you a few questions regarding the murder of Simon Cutler, also known as Sim Reaper.



Full Auto?

Am I gonna need a lawyer?

You're Full Auto?


How old are you?


Wait, did you say you were from the Seattle Police Department?

Is that where Sim Reaper was from?

You didn't know?

Well, there were a lot of theories.

There was a whole Warlock Forest thread devoted to who the Reaper was and where he lived. No one knew for sure.

So he's really dead?


And you think I had something to do with it?

Well, you threatened him.

In a game.

And even if I knew who he was, how would I get to Seattle?

I live in New York.

That's the Empire State Building, lady.


Fourteen, lives in New York, had no idea who Simon was or where he lived.

That is depressing news.

A 14-year-old kid had over 20 soul brethren. My highest was three.


Hang on a sec.

You sounded overwhelmed in your message, so...

You're giving me anti-anxiety meds.

I ate a brain with PTSD a few weeks ago.

It took four to put a dent in it, but it got me through.

If you're sharing prescription drugs with me, I should at least offer you a drink.

I'll call you back later.

Of course. Don't do anything I wouldn't...



Did you run out of napkins or were you just fondled by an Oompa Loompa?

There's some on your butt too. Not that I was looking.

I clearly was expecting visitors.

Sorry if it's distracting.

It's probably the least distracting thing about you.

Whoa. Slow your roll, Silver-Tongued Devil. Baby steps.

This is a new thing for me. Dating.

Oh, this isn't a date. It's a drop-by.

Maybe that's what you call it in Buckingham Regalshire.

Learn your British accents. I'm from London.

And I'm pretty sure "drop by" is an American term.

Whatever this is, I haven't done it in a long time.

And I didn't think I'd be doing it again.

With anyone other than the guy I was supposed to marry.

You were engaged?

Up until I became a zombie.

And I'm not over it at all.

I need to get there eventually, but...

Do you?

Need to get over it?


Well, what's the alternative?

Stay in love with a guy I can never be with?

You know people do that all the time, right?

I'm sorry. I'm being that girl who talks about her ex.

Yeah, but you're also the girl who had this freakish thing happen to her, and you're discussing it with probably the one guy who would understand.

So, what brings a nice British lad like you to Seattle?

Well, I had to escape the chilly, wet, depressing London weather.

So, Seattle, naturally.

There may have also been a girl.

Oh, there's always a girl.

So, your ex, what's he like?


Hey, Ravi, you gotta look at this.

You see that guy?

I see a blurry face.

He's the one who beat me up.

I've watched a hundred of these videos, and he keeps popping up.

But I can't find a good shot of him.

You've popped a stitch.


I'm gonna run over to Liv's.

Uh, maybe you shouldn't.

Uh, it's late.

Yeah, she's always up late.

Ooh, let me. Uh, there's a sewing kit in the bathroom that I nicked from a posh hotel when my cousin got married.

I'd rather not use a hotel sewing kit on my face, but...

I can fix one stitch. Major, you really shouldn't.


She's not alone.


It's fine.

Thanks for letting me know.

You woke up in a body bag? I'm not kidding, I genuinely used to have a recurring nightmare about that.

I can see why. You're up.

My mate's bachelor party. I drank too much, passed out, woke up in the drunk tank of the county jail with a scratch on my leg.

No idea how it happened.

What the hell?

How many of us are there out there?

Well, there can't be that many if you're the first I've seen.

And I'd like to think that there would be a special bulletin if there were roaming packs of zombies.

How do you eat?

A funeral home over on Baker.

For the right price, a mortician will look the other way.

I assume since you work in a morgue...

You assume correctly.

Oh, yeah...

I long for the days when I just had to explain to some drunk groupie how I got the inspiration for my songs.

I'm not really the groupie type, but next time you play, I'd love to come see you.

I don't play in public anymore.

A week after the bachelor party I had a show, went on stage.

And got that pre-gig adrenaline rush, and started to...

You know, um, so...

For everyone's safety, I stopped playing shows.

I can still play in the studio.

I am so sorry.

That is so incredibly unfair and awful.

Um, it's... You know, it's funny, I, I...

I didn't think that I was the type of guy who wanted people to feel bad for me, but...

You just said the exact thing I've been dying for someone to say to me.

I am sorry.

It's fine. I'm just not...

I, I know you're not. Um, uh, you, you...

Made that very clear. I, um...

Uh, let's, let's just...

Whoa! Uh...

I did not predict that you'd be a fan of the slutty women of Middle Earth.

I'm not blowing you off. It's just this is a lead in the case I'm working on.

Of course, um... I should go.

It's not about...

No, no, no. Uh...

Our murder victim might have been killed by a donut.

I, I get it.

Thank you. I'll call you. Really!

I'm sorry, but we're closed.

Detective Babineaux, Seattle PD.

Have you ever seen this man?

I can't say he looks familiar.

Perhaps a coworker could look?

No, it's just me. But leave the photo. I'll show the staff tomorrow.

Out of curiosity, what's he done?

He died.

Oh, no. That's awful. So young.

He had a very specific type of meat and truffle combination in his stomach that's only sold at a few shops here in Seattle, including this one.

I figured maybe someone here might have seen him.


Didn't you say you were alone here?

That's just the ice machine dropping a load.

Scares the hell out of me sometimes when I'm here by myself.

Do you wanna take a look around, Detective? Come on back.

Fair warning, though. It is a butcher shop.

The guts. The carnage. It can be like Gettysburg back there.

Some people find it disturbing. Not me.

They say you don't wanna know how the sausage is made.

I'm the guy who just had to know.

Come on. I'd love to give you the nickel tour.

You're a homicide detective. I'm sure you've seen worse.

And you have to sample the blood pudding.

It is the best in town.



I've got something on the Simon Cutler case.

You've gotta see this.

All right, I'll be there in 10. I'm just leaving that charcuterie on Pine.

My info is on the back of the photo.

If any of your employees remember anything, have 'em call me.


Do we know Sim Reaper's dead?

We cracked open a 1000-dollar bottle of wine that my father bequeathed to me.

We were supposed to hand it down to our children.

But we like to live in the moment. And this felt like one.

So you were happy about it?



Liv on computer: Can you reposition me? I can't really see their faces.

Oh, sorry about that.

My partner here found a Yelp review of your establishment, The Best All Around Donuts...

Former establishment.

Written by the Sim Reaper.

Okay, right there is good.

Which was the online alias of Simon Cutler.


"I told these morons when I ordered their crullers, 'No peanuts, morons.' but the morons said they were nut-free, so I ate them and they almost killed me. Now I'm taking my business elsewhere and using every breath I take to obliterate their pitiful little crap-shack."

Not the sort of feedback you'd display on your cash register, was it?

Our crullers had no nuts.

Yeah, after we saw the review, we learned that our canola oil comes from a factory where they make peanut oil in the same machinery.

Before we could switch brands, we were swamped with this tidal wave of negative reviews.

"I found a rat tail in my maple bar."

Outrageous stuff like that.

We put our life savings into that place.

(SNAPS FINGERS) Like that, it was gone.

I mean, he must've generated 50 scathing reviews on his own.

That killed your business.

If you wanted to kill him, it also gave you an idea on how to do it.

Anaphylactic shock.

That's what killed him? The reports didn't say.

To the rest of the world he was this mysterious shut-in.

But you knew where he lived. You brought him crullers.

We didn't even know the guy's real name.

We delivered crullers to a hundred different addresses.

We weren't delivering to Sim Reaper.

We likely would've remembered that address.

"Simon Cutler" meant nothing to us.

Liv on computer: They have motive, Clive. Motive and means.

But you know what? I don't think they did it.

Maybe you got a different vibe sitting there in the room with them, but from where I sit, if they were lying, they were doing it well.

Admitting they celebrated the man's death.

Were you saying something?

(SIGHS) My gut says they're innocent.

Which would mean we're back to no one knew the guy's address.

He never left his house.

That gamer kid I tracked down implied that the Yelp review was the only clue anyone had about where he lived.

Best All Around Donuts delivered in a three-mile radius.

What did he say?

He wasn't going to stop eating donuts completely.

"I'm taking my business elsewhere."

Do you realize what that means?

There must be other donut shops that delivered to that same area! Right?

Are you there, Clive?

Yeah, he probably realized what that means.


I thought it was broken.

Oh, it was.

It works intermittently.

Must be a loose wire or something.

Or something.

What you working on?

Oh, one of my clients wants a trend analysis report on nesting.

Is it over, or is it transitioning into cocooning?


Here's what happened today on my job.

A cop came in looking for my dead delivery boy.


That's terrible.

Oh, Jackie.

Nesting is so over.




The crime scene photos from Simon's basement show several empty boxes from Donuts Etc.

I spoke to the manager and he wouldn't provide me with a list of employees.

He said he'd need a warrant. I'm not sure a judge is gonna buy our logic on this.

The Donuts Etc. on King?

Yeah. Why?

Let me call you right back.

Liv: Another mom and pop donut shop. Rudimentary security.

Nothing a little SQL injection won't reduce to rubble.

Boom! Authenticated.

Welcome to the database. Your employee lists, please.


All the hacking in the world doesn't make up for slipshod record keeping.

No clue which ones are the delivery guys. No termination dates.

Hundreds of names. Okay, one by one it is.

Who just had a birthday?

'Cause one of you wanted Simon Cutler to know even as he was choking to death, that you were the killer.





Ring Around the Rosie?

Well, well, well. Look who's back from the dead.


She walks.

Am I walking?

I feel like my feet are little hovercrafts, gliding six inches above the ground.

I should probably sit. Whoo!

Hey, way to stick the landing.

Sorry, heavily medicated.

Took a few pills for what ails me.

I hope you also took the bus.

What's up?

I had a vision.

It was the moment that the birthday card shot confetti and peanut dust into the face of Simon Cutler.

It was just as we pe-spected. Subsected? Suspected?

But there was another thing. The card had a music chip in it.

When Cutler opened it, Ring Around the Rosie started playing.

A message from the killer. He wanted Cutler to know who he was.

Cutler stepped on the card. The chip must have fallen into the deep shag.

You know, if we can get the list of Donuts Etc. employees, we can see if there are any names on there that make sense.

Uh, yeah. I got my hands on just such a list.

Don't ask, and I won't lie.

I don't suppose there was a Rosie on the list?

Or a Freddy Ring?

That song was about the Black Plague.

The black plague was caused by rats, and there was a Ratzinger on the list with a birthday last month, but that's not our guy.

You know who our guy is? You wanna just share?

I'm building the drama.

I'm at the edge of my seat.

Yeah, I've seen this guy.

From the crime scene.

"Did he suffer?" That's what he asked.

And his name? Sean Posey.

As in, "Pocketful of posies, we all fall down."

I got that shot off his Facebook page.

Tell me his birthday matches the date of the murder.

No such luck. But his sister's does.

Okay, enough with the escalating drama. Who's his sister?

Shanie on recording: Your name, then. I'm happy to look it up.

Simon: (DISTORTED) I am the Sim Reaper, Shanie. I am the keeper of the web.

CEOs of Fortune 500 companies tremble before me.

I am invisible, intangible, untouchable.

I am the bringer of cyber-darkness.

Fail me, and I will delete you like so much digital noise.

What a ridiculous man.

But not one to make idle threats.

Your sister posted the call on her Facebook page.

One of her friends put it on YouTube.

Two million hits later, he hacked into all of your sister's personal accounts.

Facebook, OkCupid, Instagram, e-mail.

He messed with all of her tax records and insurance, medical, DMV.

Posted photoshopped pornographic images of her on Twitter.

He destroyed her life.

Got her fired. Broke up her relationship. Gave her a criminal record.

Put her on s*x offender and no-fly lists.

Humiliated her.

After a year of that harassment, she couldn't take it anymore, so she went to the Aurora Bridge and jumped to her death.

Your only clue to Sim Reaper's real identity was the Best All Around Donuts review.

That gave you a three-mile delivery radius.

So you got a job at a donut shop that served the same area.

I got jobs at three donut shops in the area before I found him.

You have a finance degree from the University of Chicago.

Weren't you a little overqualified to deliver donuts?

You realize you'll probably spend the rest of your life in jail.

It was worth it.

Liv: Sean Posey let a tragedy ruin his life.

His sister died, and he couldn't get past it.

Now two lives are ruined.

What was it Mom said? Right before "Sit up straight"?

Something about not letting life pass me by.




I thought maybe we could pick up the date from where we left off.

I think we left off at me awkwardly fleeing your apartment.

A little before that, then. The part where you made a move and I ducked it.

Yes, please. Let me relive that.

It wasn't my finest moment, either.

You spent six years thinking your life was going in a different direction.

I think you're allowed a duck or two.

I get it. You're still not over him.

No. But I'm a little closer.

Liv, it's fine. I'm in no rush to...

Argh! That's rubbish.

You're rubbish. And I am the man that takes out the rubbish.

Hey! I found a good, clean shot of the Candyman!

Check your text!

No worries. I can check my phone, trim my beard, and still trounce this pathetic pillock.

Do you think she sucked the marrow from life?

I think she did. She looks like a marrow-sucker.

Forget her. Look at this.

Major found the Candyman and someone else.

Blaine isn't robbing graves to feed himself.

It would appear not.

All those kids missing from the skate park... Major's kids...

Eva: I'm glad you found this space. You're so close to my house.

Although my waistline wishes you were in Tacoma.

Ooh! Hello. Rabbit pistachio terrine.

You're hiring? Because my son needs a job.

He's 16. Is that too young?

Let's have him fill out an application, see what happens.