♪ I walk along the city streets ♪
♪ You used to walk along with me ♪
♪ And every step I take ♪
♪ Recalls how much in love we used to be ♪
♪ Oh, how can I forget you ♪
♪ When there is always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ Always something
there to remind me ♪
♪ I was born to love you ♪
♪ And I will never be free ♪
♪ You'll always be a part of me ♪
♪ Whoa ♪
♪ When shadows fall, I pass a small cafe ♪
♪ Where we would dance at night ♪
♪ And I can't help recalling how it felt ♪
♪ To kiss and hold you tight ♪
♪ Well, how can I forget you? ♪
♪ When there is always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ Always something
there to remind me ♪
♪ I was born... ♪
Mm-hmm.
- Hi.
- Hey.
Tours begin at 11. You're the
first in line. Could be a busy day.
Road seemed pretty empty.
Nice accent. You from Australia?
No, I'm from Britain.
So you got one of those crazy
British names? Esmeralda or, uh... ?
I'm Nish.
- Nish?
- Nish.
Well, I can't judge.
My name's ridiculous.
Rolo Haynes. Owner. Proprietor.
Well, just us two this morning.
You sure you wanna do this?
- This place ain't for the faint-hearted.
- I'm sure I can handle it.
Not everyone can.
So, I have to peek in your
little sack there if that's OK.
- Ah. That's OK.
- Can't trust anyone these days.
If you could step through there.
Anything metal, put it in here.
Cool.
- Mm-hmm.
- Mm. Dinky.
Oh, yeah. I call it fun size.
Fun size. I like that.
Guessing you had a gut full of
this security sh*t at the airport.
Our immigration guys are
pretty tight these days.
All clear?
OK.
Show on the road.
So, you on vacation?
- Sort of. My dad lives out here.
- Uh-huh.
It's his birthday, so my mom
just wants to surprise him.
And you're the surprise?
Hmm, part of it, I guess.
- Where'd you fly in?
- Salt Lake.
You came here from Salt Lake?
Yeah, I thought it'd be
nice to drive the back route,
but I underestimated the...
Heck of a trip for a girl on her own.
- I don't mean to get
old-fashioned on you. - Seriously?
That is quite old-fashioned.
It's hot as hell in here.
AC must've sh*t the bed.
Sorry for the heat.
g*dd*mn digital systems.
Never trust a guy in tech.
Jesus, I should know that.
So what is all this stuff?
Authentic criminological artifacts.
If it did something bad,
chances are it's in here.
Take a look around, take your
time, see what pops out at you.
Anything piques your interest,
I can tell you all about it.
There's a sad, sick story
behind most everything here.
Just like our main
attraction just through there.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
A lot of folks just
rush behind the curtain,
hardly even eyeball this stuff,
and then it's a bunch
of one-star ratings
on Trip-fucker and before you know it...
Yo, look, I am not in
a rush, so don't worry.
Well, then, take your time.
I shall.
- This stuff looks techie.
- Well, neuro tech was my background.
Sweet.
So, what's this, then? Looks
like a hairdressing thing.
Actually, that was one of
my very first souvenirs.
Sheds a little light on how
our main exhibit came to be.
- What is it?
- You heard of Peter Dawson?
- Mnh-mnh.
- Dr. Peter Dawson?
Well, usually I say this is
Dawson's Symphatic Diagnoser,
and folks shriek, "No way," and
I'm like, "Oh, it very much is."
"How the heck did you get
that?" is the next question.
- OK.
- My domain was med tech.
I worked out of St. Juniper's. It's
kind of like a university hospital.
Sweet setup. Part of
the Land Act, actually.
It was in downtown New
York, big old building.
Research up top,
emergency room and the great
unwashed down at street level.
It was the perfect mix of
business and health care.
- Seriously?
- Out of the way, assh*le!
Idea was folks with no coverage
signed up for free health care
in exchange for consenting to
occasional experimental treatments.
I... I... I worked for the guys up top.
What, like a scientist?
I was more sort of... recruitment.
- Yeah, yeah, I'm here.
- Clear.
Shocking.
- No.
- No?
- No.
- OK, I'm going again. Clear. Clear!
Shocking.
No.
If I'd known she was on tricyclics,
I would have nudged the dose.
You couldn't have known.
This a bad time?
Rolo Haynes from the tenth floor.
Seems you've been having some problems.
I think I got something that can help.
The big thing they're
into is neuro technics.
Pioneering brain enhancements.
Neural interfaces.
All that fun stuff.
The holy grail they've been aiming
for is a way to transfer knowledge.
So one of the teams here
is working on an experiment,
trying to find a way to beam
information from one brain to another.
This is Kenny.
This is Hector.
Stay with me on this.
So, the experiment.
They built a little maze and
they drop Kenny here into it
and he runs round over
and over for months on end
till he knows it like a childhood home.
And then... they put this on him.
It's a transmitter,
absorbing signals from Kenny's brain
which were sent to Hector over here.
Hector had our prototype
synaptic receiver fitted.
Now, remember, Hector had
never even set paw in the maze.
Plan was he'd now receive Kenny's
knowledge of the maze layout
and, boom, he'd be able
to solve it, first time.
- And did he?
- No.
Scrabbled around like
a rat, f*cking imbecile.
So, um, why are you telling me this?
Because just as it becomes clear
that the maze thing's a bust,
one of our researchers
spills his coffee on Kenny.
Hot coffee spills all over Kenny, so
obviously he's squealing like hell,
but so is Hector.
Turns out, we haven't discovered
how to share knowledge...
- But physical sensations.
- Bingo.
That's nuts. Holy sh*t.
And even nutsier sh*t,
Hector felt the burn,
but took no damage at all.
All of the experience,
none of the physical cost.
But how did he die?
They cut him open after
to see if he was OK.
Oh.
Anyhow, thanks to Hector's
sacrifice, we prototyped this.
A receiver for human experiences.
A neural implant. Only one of its kind.
This is why you brought me up here.
What's the biggest pain
in the ass with patients?
Finding out what's wrong
with them in the first place.
Half of the assholes that roll in here
can't even describe their symptoms.
They're... They're out cold
or concussed or drunk or dumb
or... two years old, or
they can't speak English.
Imagine if you could feel
exactly what a patient feels,
minus the physical consequences.
Like reading their minds.
So what do you say?
Gotta hand it to Dawson,
he lept at the chance.
Like, he was happy to do it.
- And it was only a short procedure.
Irreversible, but,
hey, he was a pioneer.
Plus, his mortality
rates were in the toilet,
so this was his best sh*t at redemption.
Does it hurt if I touch it?
I don't think so.
There's something kinda kinky about it.
It's like the ultimate piercing.
If you're trying to make me
feel better, it's working.
Time for the trial run.
So this is where our hairnet
doohickey comes into play.
Theory was, if you slipped
it on a willing subject,
it'd absorb their physical sensations
and relay them to Dawson's implant.
We just had to find out if it worked.
Ow.
This one.
Houston, we got a miracle.
Right off the bat,
Dawson gets to work
with the ailing public,
starts building up a kind of
mental library of physical symptoms.
Plan was, he'd get to
know how things felt
so that he could diagnose them quicker.
So, starts small in the ER, minor
fractures, that sort of thing.
Soon graduates to bigger stuff.
Major injuries. Diseases.
Late-stage terminal stuff.
Dawson grit his teeth
and went through it all.
Say a kid comes in obviously in pain.
Doctors suspect appendicitis,
they'd hook him up to
Dawson just to be sure.
Dawson had felt appendicitis
many times by now,
so he knows if it's something more.
Caught things they
weren't even looking for.
Blastomas and so on.
Good luck, man.
That man saved lives, no doubt about it.
- Good luck, huh?
- Bye.
- Stay in touch. Bye-bye.
- Bye.
That was nice.
And, incidentally,
if you'll allow me to be crude,
Dawson's symphatic diagnoser
came in handy in the bedroom.
His implant received
pleasurable sensations, too.
So if his girlfriend slipped on
that transmitting blue hairnet
and he tuned in his
little implant nubbin...
he didn't just feel
what he was feeling...
- I'm gonna come!
- ... but also felt what she was feeling.
Son of a bitch was experiencing
male and female orgasms
at the same time.
Oh, my... Oh, my...
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
Oh, sh*t.
I can't get enough of your...
But?
- I'm sorry?
- Dawson's having a great time.
- There's gotta be a "but."
- Oh.
He's having a great time, but...
But...
Coming through. Coming through.
- Come on.
- Almost there.
One day, they rush in Senator Whitley.
He'd collapsed at some fundraiser.
No one could tell what in
hell was wrong with him.
- Lift.
- I got this.
Dawson's hooked up.
- Be careful.
- OK.
- Jeez.
- And has the roughest ride.
- Pete?
- Like he's got no clue what this is.
- Pete?
- Just one more minute, please.
Let the man work.
It's a pain he's never known.
- Pete, he's flatlining.
- Just one more moment.
And then it happened.
Pete?
Dawson blacked out,
for, like, five minutes.
Turns out the senator had been poisoned,
a rare poison at that,
some kind of Russian sh*t.
He'd been into that whole thing.
But Dawson had experienced death
and come out the other side.
At the moment of death,.
a whole galaxy of synapses
fritzes out of existence
Tsunami of endorphins.
And then there's this rolling dark
wave of nothing rushes in behind.
When he came round, they
ran every kind of test
and he was all systems
go, nothing wrong.
"Shaken but unharmed,"
they put on his report.
Next day, he was back up and at 'em.
But there was something wrong, right?
To go through all that without dying?
f*cked up his implant like that.
Oh, my God.
- I'm just gonna get some water.
- OK.
Oh, g*dd*mn it.
Fair to say his relationship
with pain had shifted a little.
Ah, that hurt like hell.
Now, he was into it.
He really threw himself
into his work after that.
He tried to hide it at first,
but thanks to that little nubbin,
the more pain he felt,
the more pleasure he got.
OK, no. Stop, stop.
Stop. OK, safe word. Stop!
- You said that we could try it.
- And we did.
Look, we tried the hair
pulling and that choke thing.
I'm not into it, OK? It's just not me.
Maybe I should go.
No. No, please.
I'm sorry.
Stay. Please?
Ow. Pete!
I'm going.
See, it's like eating chilies.
You acclimatize fast.
First time you had a jalapeno,
bet you spat it out, too hot.
But persevere and it becomes addictive.
Soon, a jalapeno's not enough.
You work your way up, red-hot
chilies, bird's-eye chilies,
till you get to them
Scotch bonnet devils.
Dawson's craving was just the same.
Before you know it, he's
hanging around the ER
just waiting for a juicy
accident victim to latch onto.
All he can think about is that
next hit gnawing away up there.
"Give it back to me. Give it
back. I gotta have it back."
Sarah, will you just,
um, file these for me?
- Sure thing.
- Pete.
- This isn't your shift.
- Take him round to bay four.
- OK.
- I just...
Pete.
Careful.
And three, two, one.
Lift.
Let me get this.
Soon as he jacks in, he feels it.
It's a cardiac arrest. She
collapsed in the street.
I just wanna be sure.
It's a heart att*ck all
right, but he says nothing.
Plays for time.
Figures he can ride that pain train
all the way through to nirvana.
Eventually they have to physically
pull Dawson away from her.
Give Aunt Ethel her CPR.
She flatlines in front of
him, and he's like an alcoholic
watching someone pour a glass
of good Scotch down the sink,
sick at the waste of good sh*t.
Look, we always knew going into
this there might be side effects.
I mean, we can look
into how we deactivate,
but it's gonna take some time.
I can't just pull all the people
off the other projects, Pete.
I mean, we have milestones
to hit. You know the drill.
But we'll get there.
In the meantime, we can't
have you near patients,
so just go home, put your feet up
and binge a miniseries, whatever.
No one could have known
what'd happen next.
Authorities are expected to confirm
the body is that of missing WNL
weather reporter Denise Stockley.
Certainly a major police
presence there, as we can see.
Let's take a look at the timeline...
Dawson was home alone 24/7,
climbing the walls. Withdrawal, I guess.
She was last seen the evening
of Friday, September 15th...
He didn't have patients
to leech pain off anymore.
So he started inflicting
it... on himself.
... for her safe return,
or for any information from witnesses...
Spent a week just
whittling away at himself.
Cut here, a gouge there.
I mean, the guy was a doctor.
He knew how far he could
go without it getting fatal.
But it was never enough.
None of it was enough.
When he worked on himself, there
was a crucial ingredient missing.
Fear.
The amygdala.
Little almond-shaped
nubbin in your brain.
When you're afraid, it lights
up like a midnight airstrike,
sharpens the senses.
The fear the patient feels
when they're staring up
at that ceiling light,
the fear accompanying
each sudden jab of agony,
he'd come to appreciate that, too.
It went with the pain.
Complemented it, like
red wine and steak.
You can inflict pain on
yourself, but not terror.
For that, you need a volunteer.
Dawson was practically
coming when they found him.
He'd enjoyed one big old speedball
of fear and pain and death.
Tell me they put him in jail.
In the hospital.
He wound up in a vegetative state.
Good.
Still there to this day.
In a coma, deep as the ocean.
But the thing of it is, they say
he still has that look on his face.
Blissed out.
Still riding that high.
- You're f*cking with me, right?
- OK, I added the boner. I couldn't resist.
- Fun story, huh?
- Yep, fun story.
Ooh!
Oh, man.
Do you want some water?
- Really, I'm fine.
- No, man, it's no bother.
Thank you kindly.
So, how come you
didn't stay in med tech?
Well, I did for a while.
Just 'cause Dawson went la-la,
neuro research didn't stop.
TCKR adapted it and fine-tuned it.
It's how they wound up with the
digital consciousness transference,
what they call cookies today.
Uh, like when they upload
old people to the cloud?
Yeah, but this was way before that.
We didn't have that whole immersive
VR environment shizzle back then.
What we dealt with was
more organic, almost lo-fi.
How so?
Gotta say you ask more
questions than the average bear.
Well, to be honest, my car's still
charging, so I've got a bit of time.
Well, then, what I
wanted to show you, um...
Part of what I was working on...
It's, um... cute?
Actually, one of the saddest
things in the whole place.
Doesn't look it.
You ever had one of those relationships
where you just can't get
someone out of your head?
- Yeah.
- Some years back, boy meets girl.
Boy's called Jack, girl's called...
- Jill.
- Carrie.
Ugh.
Cupcake?
- Thank you.
- You're welcome.
- Hee-ha!
- ♪ Spread your love like a fever ♪
♪ And don't you ever come down ♪
- Are you the sheriff now?
- Yeah.
- And I'm the prisoner?
- You're in trouble, sir.
- ♪ Spread my love like a fever ♪
- Come and arrest me.
♪ I ain't ever coming down ♪
Eventually, he d*ck-pukes a
little baby paste up her wazoo,
which takes hold.
- Before you know it, out pops a boy.
Parker.
Boom. They're a family unit.
A walking commercial for a
sunnier future. Happy as hell.
I wanna... I wanna take a photo.
OK. I'm gonna get the
lake in the background.
- All right, buddy.
- OK, you ready?
Parker.
Wave to Mommy. Say
hello. Say hi to Mommy.
Carrie gets hit by a truck.
Winds up at St. Juniper's.
Come back to me.
Come back.
Years go by.
Jack visits her every
week, talks to her,
plays her recordings of
their son, sh**t the sh*t.
She never wakes up.
But they tested the comm box on her.
A kind of basic device that let
coma folks sort of respond back.
I got you some room fresheners.
You want pine forest?
OK.
What about citrus fresh?
Gotcha.
And I recorded Parker
singing with some other kids.
Uh, you wanna hear it?
♪ Twinkle, twinkle, little star ♪
♪ How I wonder what you are ♪
Hey.
- Hey.
- The woman in 302, Carrie Lamasse.
You're the partner, right?
- Uh-huh.
- Jack?
Rolo Haynes. I represent
neuro R&D for TCKR.
OK.
We're working on a project
that might be of interest
to someone in your position.
What's... What's my position?
We're exploring something that
could give the likes of Carrie
a whole new lease of life.
I'm talking miraculous.
What do you mean?
So the guys at TCKR have been working
on digitally extracting a
consciousness out of one brain
and kind of rehousing
it in a host brain.
- What does that even mean?
- OK.
So, even on a good day, we only
use 40% of our brain capacity.
There is this whole
other 60% of our noggin
hanging around like an empty Airbnb.
And so... ?
And so with our new
compression technique,
we figure we can fit
another whole consciousness
into that unused space.
I'm talking about taking Carrie's
consciousness from that broken shell
and putting it in there.
What? Um... Like a voice inside my head?
Like the whole of her inside your head.
Like a hitchhiker. Like a passenger.
Vicarious sensations.
She sees what you see.
She feels what you feel.
She can live again.
- "Feels" as in... ?
- You got a little boy. Parker.
- How do you know all this?
- You hug Parker and Carrie feels it too.
She can hug your son via you.
How much does this all cost?
Won't cost a thing.
We will have to euthanize
her physical body
during the transfer process,
but we would earmark her
organs for transplants.
Giving back to the community.
So what do you say?
I'd have to think about it.
Carrie's done her thinking.
How about you?
Commencing upload procedure.
Now moving to download.
OK, she's installed.
She's home.
You can open
your eyes now, Jack.
Carrie?
If you can hear me,
tell Jack what you see.
An... An apple. I... I see an apple.
I can hear her.
- Apple. Apple. She's saying apple.
- Mm-hmm.
Hey, baby.
Hey, Jack.
Take it.
Grip it.
Carrie, you feel that?
Uh-huh. She says she feels it.
Sensations looking good. Take a bite.
Oh, God.
So long since I tasted anything.
You can taste that?
She tastes it. Holy sh*t.
Looks like you're all set.
- Shall we bring him in?
- Come on in, honey.
Is that Parker?
He got so big.
Oh, God, Jack, hold
him. Hold our little boy.
Give me a really big hug, please.
I feel him. I really feel him.
Mommy says she loves you.
Truly heartwarming.
Yeah. But this is where you say "but."
Well, not to wax philosophical, but...
how long can happiness
realistically last anyhow?
Aah, turn the page already.
Man, you read slow.
I like to take in the pictures.
That's what the graphic
part of a graphic novel is.
It's true.
Hey, uh, I gotta take a piss.
Uh... Ugh.
I'll never get used to this.
Feels good, huh?
- Whoa. You're not washing our hands?
- Uh...
Our hands?
Seriously, though, it's kind of gross.
38-year-old Clayton
Leigh was today found guilty
of the horrific m*rder of WNL
weather reporter Denise Stockley,
whose mutilated remains were
discovered one year ago today.
We should turn this off. It's
disturbing to a four-year-old.
He's fine. He's
not even listening.
Parker! Jesus.
- Don't snap at him.
- Oh, but snapping at me is fine?
- Baby, you're...
- How does that work?
He's a child.
This is serious, man. Wha...
No, no, I'm not being...
I'm not being unreasonable.
No, just wait. No.
Just... Just hear me out.
Having a back-seat driver
glued into the back seat
ain't no fun for anyone in the car.
No privacy for him. No agency for her.
- It'd drive you mental.
- Exactly.
You know, fine, forget it.
All right, go ahead. Keep talking.
I'm going for the anchovies.
You gonna be quiet?
Hmm?
You wanna shut up now? You're good? Hmm?
You...
f*ck you.
Ah!
f*ck.
Yeah. I don't... I don't care.
Oh, you... you're still talking.
Hmm? You... Hmm? Oh.
Anyhow, soon he or they come to me.
Like I'm their relationship therapist.
Oh, would you pipe
down and let me speak?
Let me finish a g*dd*mn sentence.
Hey, guys, I see the problem.
She's the problem.
Familiarity breeding
contempt is the problem.
You need to ration your contact.
Ration how? She's
running through my head
like a g*dd*mn tune I can't shake.
Well, we could upgrade
your privileges, Jack.
Give you a little more control.
Shut up! Sorry. Go on.
Well, maybe if you had the ability
to place Carrie on pause now and then...
it'd make things easier
for the both of you.
Do it.
Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. Do it.
So he upped his privileges.
- Should be able to put her on pause.
- This one?
- That's it.
- OK.
Didn't take him long to use 'em.
So now we're just openly
checking out women's racks?
And don't say you weren't
because I can feel the
f*cking boner forming, OK?
And he checks her ass too
as she leaves. Holy f*ck.
So I checked her out. What?
I'm horny as f*ck, haven't
jerked off in, like, a month.
Well, I'm not stopping you.
You're looking over my
shoulder but from the inside.
It's like trying to jerk off in
front of a cop who's also your mom.
- f*ck you!
- OK, you know what?
That's it. That's it. That's it.
Time out. I'm putting you on pause.
No. Jack, don't you dare.
Jack. Jack, I'm warning you.
Not cool.
Don't do that again.
Are... Are we at home?
Why the Halloween pumpkin?
Halloween's months from now.
Actually, it's today.
How long was I on pause?
Uh, just a few weeks.
I don't know. Eight?
OK, I know. I'm... I'm sorry.
I know. I'm sorry. I felt really bad.
So, um, I got you this.
Figured it's kind of
our anniversary, so...
f*ck you. You're a f*cking assh*le.
You want me to eat this cupcake
or not? Orange cream icing.
- Where's Parker?
- Your favorite.
I wanna see Parker. You had
him away from me for months.
I wanna see my boy.
OK.
OK.
Where is he?
Hey.
What you got going on there?
- Is that a fire truck?
- Yeah.
Tell him I love him.
Hey, buddy, Mommy loves you.
What?
- Tell him I need a hug.
- You wanna know something else?
Mommy needs a hug. Hmm?
Oh, God!
Parker complicated things.
They both felt responsibility for
him, so they tried to compromise,
you know, reach an
agreement, like adults.
Jack put Carrie on pause
except for the weekends,
when they'd take Parker out
with Carrie in attendance,
kind of like a divorcée
with visiting rights.
You go hide.
That's it!
You tricked me.
Aah!
- OK.
- Come down here.
I'm coming.
It worked OK.
For a while.
Hey.
Looks like we're neighbors.
- I've just moved in.
- Uh...
- Emily.
- Jack. Nice to meet you.
Oh, please.
Hey.
Oh!
- Who's this?
- It's Parker.
Cool name.
Guess I'll see you around.
Yeah.
Guess I'll see you around.
She was nice, OK?
Oh, cut the sh*t. I know
when your hormones are flowing, OK?
Our balls are brewing up
a blow load as we speak.
I can't. I'm with our son.
I didn't hit on anyone.
You know what? f*ck it.
Visiting time is over.
No. Jack, don't you dare. Jack.
Jack, you son of a bi...
Parker, wait up.
Anyhow, as time passed by, Jack
got it on with the neighbor.
And Carrie didn't take it so good.
She works all week. We just
wanted to spend a weekend together.
Jesus, can't you just be happy for us?
No, Jack, weirdly enough, I can't.
Christ, you are so bitter.
No. Why?
- Is she giving you sh*t?
- Mnh-mnh.
Carrie, stop giving him sh*t.
Tell her to back off.
- I...
- Tell her.
Jesus Christ.
So the weekend thing isn't working.
And we tried limiting her to an hour...
But you can tell that she's in
there, like that judging and bitching.
The time frame is
frustrating for Carrie.
Carrie is frustrating for us.
You got Carrie on pause now?
OK, well...
there's always deletion.
- As in... ?
- As in permanent erasure.
- Uh-huh.
- No.
- That'd... That'd be k*lling her.
- Not legally.
But ethically.
Please. She is just some
leftover code in your head.
It'll be like... like deleting an email.
No.
No. No deletion. I'm not doing it.
She wants to be near Parker. I
can't take that away from her.
There's gotta be something you can do.
My friends...
you're in luck.
It's something we're beta testing.
It's actually aimed at
terminally ill parents.
Kind of like a souvenir for their kids.
Here.
A monkey?
More like a keepsake.
We can put her in here.
In there?
Uh-huh. It's...
It has a consciousness receptor,
kind of like the one we put
in your head, but a prototype.
And there's a camera here
so she can see Parker.
Plus the whole body's
got haptic feedback,
so if little Parkie gives
it a cuddle, she'll feel it.
And she can communicate back,
but in a kid-friendly, controlled way.
Yeah, I don't know. I'm
gonna have to think about it.
I say yes.
Well, she's done her
thinking. How about you?
The transfer went pretty fast.
Carrie wouldn't have even
been aware it was happening.
Till she woke up.
Come on, buddy, you gotta
tear it. Tear into that thing.
- Jack?
- You almost got it.
There you go.
All right, pull it out.
Oh. There you go.
What is it, Parker?
Monkey.
What?
That's pretty cool, huh?
Jack. Jack, what the f*ck?
But you know something?
This... This, uh... This
is a very special monkey.
- Mom wanted you to have it.
- What?
Every time you hug it, Mom will
know, and she'll feel that hug too.
No. No, no, Jack, Jack, put
me back in your f*cking head.
Jack!
And this monkey can speak to you.
It can let you know how it feels.
How did she speak?
Well, the comm setup
was a little rudimentary.
I mean, this is a prototype.
Jack!
No.
Monkey loves you.
What was that?
Monkey needs a hug.
Give monkey a hug.
Monkey loves you.
Monkey needs a hug. Monkey
loves you. Monkey loves you.
Monkey loves you. Monkey...
Monkey... Monkey needs a hug.
- Yeah, I think...
- Monkey loves you.
Monkey... Monkey needs a hug.
Monkey just needs a minute to get
used to how things are gonna be.
Now, listen, you f*cking bitch.
We can still have you wiped.
That what you want?
Do "monkey needs a hug" for no.
Monkey needs a hug.
Are you gonna be a good toy?
Are you gonna be a good toy?
Monkey loves you.
You better.
Anyhow, in the end,
Parker got tired of his new toy.
But that's kids.
They're ingrates.
Monkey needs a hug.
Whoa.
Wait, so this is a crime museum.
- Where's the crime in this?
- Well, the monkey is the crime.
See, a couple of years back,
the UN made it illegal
to transfer human consciousnesses
into limited formats like this.
Gotta be able to express
at least five emotions for
it to be humane, apparently.
Human rights for cookies. Right, Carrie?
Monkey needs a hug.
She's still in there?
It'd be illegal to
delete her too, so, yeah.
Go figure.
Anyhow, ACLU raised one heck of a stink,
and so thanks to this son of a
monkey, I was out on my ass from TCKR.
Not even a severance package.
It's why I started this place.
Had to branch out somehow, and it
appealed to the carny in me, I guess.
Monkey needs a hug.
g*dd*mn AC's still not
working. Ooh, it's hot.
But I've kept you waiting too long.
You ready for the prime
exhibit? Step right this way.
Listen, I gotta warn you, he's
not the man he once...
... was.
- Sorry.
- Do you want some more water?
I'm fine.
He's this way.
Ooh.
Come on, mister! You got a visitor.
May I present Clayton Leigh,
weather girl k*ller.
I know, he's kind of mopey these days.
Cuts kind of a pathetic figure.
But don't feel too sorry for him.
He is a convicted m*rder*r.
Lest we forget Denise Stockley.
Tragic and cute.
Ain't that right, Clayton?
Coo-ee!
He's actually looking at you.
Look out. Maybe you're his type.
He looks so real.
Well, it is him, or a
fully conscious upload of him.
You're probably wondering
how he got in here.
After TCKR kicked me out,
my plan was to branch out
into celebrity consciousnesses,
sign up famous people
and reincarnate them
as holograms after they die.
Kind of like a living Madame Tussauds.
But celebrities, that's just a quagmire.
Too many rights issues,
assh*le representatives.
But convicted K*llers?
It's a different story.
Mr. Leigh, allow me to introduce myself.
- My name is Rolo Haynes.
- They say you're in technology.
- Uh, yes, that is true.
- So you can look into this DNA thing?
Prove it wasn't me?
Um, yes, that's certainly a
possibility, but that's not why I'm here.
- I have a proposal.
- Goodbye.
No, wait. I have a proposal. I can help.
I can help your family.
How'd you talk him into it?
He didn't need much convincing.
So really it's just signing over
the rights to your digital self
in case the worst happens,
and I promise your
relatives will receive
the lion's share of any profits.
So if, you know, God forbid,
you do get sent to the chair,
you know your family will
be provided for, for life.
- How'd his family feel about it?
- They didn't give a sh*t.
Abandoned him the
moment he got locked up.
I know, right?
- Jesus Christ, Clay, it's your soul.
- Ain't no such thing.
It's just a computer
simulation or somethin'.
Then why does he need your permission?
If my pardon comes
through, it won't matter.
And if it doesn't?
Then if they send me to the
chair, this is gonna pay.
It's gonna keep you and
the kids above water,
maintain a roof over y'all.
Baby, don't.
This could be a good thing.
But he never did get that pardon.
sh*t, no, 'cause he was guilty.
But wasn't there some doubt?
You know, that documentary?
Fake news. Hatchet job.
- What about the DNA tampering?
- Seriously?
There's no doubt about it.
The day he got the chair
was a great day for justice.
Clayton couldn't complain.
I mean, he was gonna be a pioneer.
I was gonna slurp up his
entire consciousness.
He'd be the first guy on death
row to survive his own execution.
The transfer went beautifully.
Before I knew it,
Clayton was born again.
Hi, buddy.
Congratulations to you.
You're in the afterlife, so to speak.
Looking good.
Am I a ghost?
If that helps, yeah.
I just gotta test a few things here, OK?
So this may seem a little
weird. Just hang on in there.
What the f*ck?
See, I knew just seeing the guy
walking around c*ptive, that was good,
but that wasn't much of a draw.
But pulling the lever yourself?
Now, that's an attraction.
- Hey!
- OK.
- Hey!
- Three, two, one.
Dawson's pain tech had
paved the way for it.
A perfect re-creation
of exactly how the agony
of electrocution feels.
Every volt simulated for real.
Key was, never let him exceed
15 seconds at max voltage.
That would wipe his digital
synapses out for good, k*ll him.
Ten seconds seemed to be
the optimum shock length,
so that became the intractable limit.
OK. Have a little rest.
Get used to your room.
Official opening's tomorrow.
In fact, in the early days,
the problem was fitting everyone in.
Please don't do it. Please, please,
please, please, please. Please.
Please don't do it. Please.
But, of course, it was really the
souvenirs that were driving trade.
It was beautiful.
- Every time you finished juicing him,
out pops a conscious
sentient snapshot of Clayton,
not a recording, a true copy of his mind
perpetually experiencing
that beautiful pain.
Stuck forever in that one
perfect moment of agony.
Always on.
Always suffering.
- And what you'd call...
fun size.
Take a
seat if it makes it easier.
Sit down.
What? My accent?
Not f*cking British.
Sorry to disappoint.
Who are you?
You left some parts of the story
out, Mr. Haynes. Why is that?
You forgot to mention the protests.
His wife started a campaign,
got some momentum behind it.
Guess you'd call it
virtue-signaling bullshit,
but I know it hurt your attendance.
And even the protesters
got bored after a while.
As soon as it was clear the state
wouldn't do a damn
thing about clearing him,
they just moved onto the next
viral miscarriage of justice
they can hang a hashtag off of.
But they did their job, right?
This place was on the sh*t list.
Who was your core clientele after that?
You lost the day trippers,
the tourists, fun family
crowd. Who was left?
You again, you pasty-faced m*therf*cker?
Loners. Sadists.
The supremacist sicko demographic.
No, no, no, no, no,
no, no. Out, out, out.
And that crowd's not big enough.
They don't keep the lights on.
So if someone shows up,
some classic race-hate rich
guy with a hard-on for power...
and he slips you some extra for
a longer time at the crank...
... you take it.
Thank you.
Wasn't the same
after that, was he?
Not dead but hardly alive either.
Even the perverts didn't wanna
pull a... a lever on a vegetable.
Where's the joy in that?
But someone came to see him, right?
She saw him.
She stood on this spot.
Saw what you had done to him.
Clay?
He was like a docile animal.
God knows if he even recognized her.
God knows if he even recognizes me.
Dad.
Happy birthday.
What my mom saw that day was
more than she could take.
She had hoped during the whole fight
to clear his name, but that broke her.
You know what she did
when she came home?
Bottle of pills and a bottle of vodka.
I found her. You f*cking piece of sh*t.
Whoa.
Is it hot?
It's humid, right? I'm sorry.
Stupid digital AC.
Easy to hack.
Never accept drinks from strangers.
My daddy taught me that.
Going by the color of your lips,
you're gonna be gone in 30 seconds.
Hey, don't worry.
We're gonna see you on the other side.
Hey.
Computer says you're awake.
Congratulations. You're a pioneer.
What the f*ck did you do?
It turns out that it is possible
to transfer a fresh consciousness
inside a virtual one.
My daddy's giving you a ride.
Get me out of here, you f*cking cun...
I'm guessing you're screaming
and calling me names right now,
but I wouldn't know.
- You...
- I mean, my dad can't talk, thanks to you.
Otherwise I'm guessing he'd
pass on your goodwill messages.
You fu... You f*cking
bitch! You f*cking bitch!
In other news, you'll shortly
be undertaking another first.
The first double-decker mercy k*lling.
No, no, no. No, no, no, no.
I took off the ten-second limit so
Daddy'll get a full hit of juice.
Should be enough to set him free.
You... however...
burrowed away inside there,
Mr. Haynes, you'll feel it all.
- Hey!
- All the pain.
- f*ck y...
- Every perfect little sh*t of it.
- f*ck you!
- I'm getting myself a souvenir, too.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Hey, please, please. I...
Always on.
- Always suffering.
- f*ck! No, no, no.
Bye, Daddy.
- Monkey loves you.
- Shh.
How'd I do, Mom?
All good?
Just great, honey.
I'm proud of you.
Aw, thanks.
♪ Always something there to remind me ♪
♪ I was born to love you ♪
♪ And I will never be free ♪
♪ You'll always be a part of me ♪
♪ Whoa ♪
♪ Whoa, whoa ♪
♪ If you should find you miss ♪
♪ The sweet and tender love ♪
♪ We used to share ♪
♪ Just come back to the places ♪
♪ Where we used to go and I'll be there ♪
♪ Oh, how can I forget you ♪
♪ When there is always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ When there is always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ I was born to love you ♪
♪ And I will never be free ♪
- ♪ When there is... ♪
- ♪ When there is... ♪
♪ When there is always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ Oh, always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ Oh, always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ I was born to love you ♪
♪ And I will never be free ♪
- ♪ When there is... ♪
- ♪ When there is... ♪
♪ When there is always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪
♪ Oh, always something there ♪
♪ To remind me ♪