04x01 - Are You Ready For Some Zombies?

[bunniefuu]

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 sh*t.

For your safety, vacate this zone at once.

This is a quarantined zone.

Violators will be sh*t.

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 k*ll 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 t*rror1st 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 sh*t.

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 b*tches.

Looks like they just put this poster here to cover up some g*ng 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 m*rder*d?

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 w*r with this one guy from work.

A w*r?

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 m*rder?

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 m*rder.

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 m*rder.

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 k*lling.

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 p*rn.

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 b*at 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, m*rder.

-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 m*rder*d at the brain plant.

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

That's why you k*lled 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 b*mb 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 d*ck 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 k*lled 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!