All language subtitles for iZombie.S03E05.BDRip.X264-REWARD

Previously on iZombie...

I found an interesting post
from a zombie-hater.

Harley Johns.

His online signature links
to a local gun range.

Zombies are real.

The Scratching Post.

Let's get up and running.

We don't have any customers yet.

Make some then.

I've developed a serum
that could potentially undo

the memory loss that accompanies
the second zombie cure.

The serum is
completely ineffective.

It won't be long
before you have an episode

too severe
for that inhaler to help.

This is the real deal!
With real bullets!

So, let's make sure they
do not leave you real dead!

It appears we've lost
the element of surprise.

Thanks for the intel,
Captain Obvious.

You gonna live?

Affirmative.

All right. Time's a wastin'.
There's hostages in there

who aren't gonna
rescue themselves.

Chug 'em if
you've got 'em, boys.

We've gotta take that rooftop.

Cover me.

If we make it out of here,

I'm transferring to accounting.

See you on the rooftop.

Yeah.

Rooftop secure.

Go, go, go.

You okay, man?

Yeah, just a flesh wound.

Thirty-five flesh wounds.

When Major gets back
from his mission,

I'll have to break
the news to him

that the memory restoration
serum didn't work for Blaine.

When Major takes the cure,

he's going to forget everything.

What's Major doing
going on a mission?

He shouldn't be leaving town.

He could die any day.

Well, he's got one
of our cure syringes.

If he gets too bad,
he can inject himself.

New case.

I need to get your thoughts.

Don't know how this works yet?

As a general rule, I require
a dead body and a brain.

She's right.

We tend to meet you at what's
called a "crime scene," and then...

The murder occurred
two weeks ago.

It was Percy's case, but he's out
for a month with a back injury.

Now it's mine.

Vic's name was Roxanne Greer.

Caucasian female in her 30s.

Strangulation.

Right.

Sorry, Clive.
Roxanne Greer was cremated.

No brain.

Actually...

I'm not putting that
in my mouth.

The memory restoration serum
had no effect on Blaine.

Blaine's human, I'm not.

But that's not my problem.

It's the color, right?
Blue isn't appetizing.

She was a dominatrix, Ravi.

A dominatrix who went by
the name Sweet Lady Pain.

Oh, that?

You're already a bit
on the bossy side,

I doubt anyone
would even notice.

Remember where we found her?

In her dungeon, surrounded by freaky
sex toys and strangled by her own whip.

Does that sound fun to you?

Thinking...

Here's the problem.
Detective Percy

was certain Roxanne was
murdered by a client, but...

You don't know
who her clients were.

We needs visions, Liv.

I'll get the frying pan.

Crawl over here, piggie,
and bring me my gloves.

No.

Someone's asking to be punished.

Is it you?

Here.

I thought so.

This is where you end up when your
parents don't tell you they love you.

Don't be so close-minded.

A control freak like you could enjoy
being told what to do for a change.

Whips,

chains...

Unlikely.

Why the school desk?

Do you have
any fantasy life at all?

Silverware?

- People ate in here?
- Big whoop.

Half my meals
are consumed in a morgue.

You know that window up there,
Percy says in his notes

that he thinks
the killer broke in that way.

Why didn't she hear him?

Don't know.

A remote.

I wonder what it controls.

You see anything vibrating?

Spy-Tech.

You see a camera anywhere?

Not a camera.

That's a camera lens.

The memory card is missing.

What if the killer learned
his session was being taped,

strangled Roxanne, and took
the memory card with him?

Why does he break the window?

Please try this on for me.

You make me sick,

you horrid, thumb-sucking
bed-wetter.

Oh, God, I've missed you.

I've missed this.

Say it.

I'm nothing.

I'm a lying, thumb-sucking
bed-wetter.

I'm not worthy of my success.

Let's see if
you're as ugly as I remember.

That had to be a record.

I was worried you'd gone warg.

I just saw D.A. Baracus.

As in the zombie running
for mayor of Seattle.

He was strapped to that bed,
begging Roxanne to whip him.

Sweet sassy molassy!

A guy running for office

discovers his S&M sessions
are being recorded.

Next thing you know,
the whip is in the other hand.

You sure it was him?

Positive.

This vision was different.

Longer. Cleaner.

Something about Ravi's blue
juice made it extra potent.

Good. That's what we need.

Let's pay Baracus a visit on the campaign
trail tomorrow and get him to talk.

How'd we do?

Otis is dead.

But a dozen Qumarian separatists

won't be kidnapping
any more American citizens.

Souvenir?

Couple days,
you'll be good as new.

Nice work out there
today, Lilywhite.

Chalk one up for the good guys.

Yeah.

Back at ya.

The outfit's a bit much,
that's all I'm saying.

I didn't ask.

- There's Baracus.
- It's the best fries in town.

A regular man of the people
when he's not

spread-eagled on a bondage bed
wearing a gimp suit.

Thanks for planting
that image in my mind.

The Baracus session
was a Hallmark movie

in comparison to the visions
I had last night.

This blue juice-soaked brain,
it kept me up all night.

Vision after vision without
anything triggering them.

You may be the only man in
Seattle not seeing Sweet Lady Pain.

So you're seeing her clients?

Lots of them.

That's great news.

Yeah, but I don't recognize
any of them.

They're all just rando dudes.

- Rando dudes into kinky-ass...
- When we get back to the station,

get together with Jimmy.

Well, we need to get
those rando dudes

sketched before you forget them.

Or, if we're lucky,
the case ends here.

Ah, Detective. Ms. Moore.

To what do I owe this pleasure?

Oh, sorry.

Down on all fours.

- Lick it up.
- Excuse me?

Why don't we talk in private.

Yeah. Let's.

What about my boot?

Sorry to interrupt
your campaigning,

but we're looking into
the murder of Roxanne Greer.

- Who?
- You knew her as Sweet Lady Pain.

I don't think
I'm familiar with...

I ate her brain and had a vision
of you wearing a gimp mask.

You told Lady Pain
you were a bed-wetting,

thumb-sucking liar
and unworthy of your success.

Think that'll fit
on a bumper sticker?

That's just two
consenting adults...

Don't apologize.

It's pathetic.

So what happened?

Did you discover the hidden
camera, lose your cool?

There was a hidden camera?

Wait! Are you asking me
if I murdered Sweet Lady...

- Miss Greer?
- She was murdered on the evening of the 25th.

Do you remember
your whereabouts that evening?

Ah...

I was at a campaign fundraiser.

So there must have been dozens of
donors present that can confirm it.

Why don't you
just give me a few?

You want me to do
nine different sketches?

Did you see the starting lineup
of a baseball team murder someone?

I'm assisting Detective Babineaux
with a murder investigation.

An anonymous witness
sent me Snapchats

with photos they took
of possible suspects.

As soon as I open the images,
they disappear.

You could've saved us
both a lot of time

if you'd just
screen-grabbed the images.

When I want your advice,
I'll beat it out of you.

Now be a good little sketch
bitch and pick up that pad.

Excuse me?

Oh, I think you heard me, Jimmy.

I think you hear me
loud and clear.

Pick up the pad.

Okay.

- Suspect number one.
- Yeah.

Suspect number six.

Dimple chin, high cheekbones,

barbells in each of his nipples.

This is kind of a
"from the neck up" situation.

Draw the nipples, Jimmy.

Elevating my blood sugar levels
might help me work faster.

I brought my lunch.

- Two bites.
- It's soup.

Then two swallows.

Okay.

Harder!

Look at this.

It's as filthy as you are.

Please,

do not punish me,
Sweet Lady Pain.

Punish me. Punish me hard.

Ah!

I'll rub it until it's shiny!

I'll rub it until it's shiny!

- What?
- I didn't say anything.

That's right, you didn't.

So you know,

you just stared blankly at me
for, like, 20 seconds.

Shut up.

And no noodles.

Just broth.

I've never even heard of this
Sweet Lady Pain person.

She was the local dominatrix
murdered in her dungeon.

You reported the story
on the news.

My job is to read the news,
not absorb it.

Frankly, I resent being
questioned every time a hooker

or stripper or dominatrix
gets killed in this town.

Why don't you ever bug me when
somebody murders a plumber?

You hang out with
a lot of plumbers?

That was rhetorical.

Look, hookers, strippers,
yeah, but a dominatrix?

I'm a married man, Detective.

I already give way too much of
my money to a woman who abuses me.

We have
Sweet Lady Pain's client list.

Your name's on it.

Oh!

Sweet Lady Pain's on Pike?

I may have visited her
establishment once or twice

for an investigative piece.

Do you remember where you were
the night of her murder?

Same place I am every time
you've accused me of murder.

On the air.

Were you aware
she recorded her sessions?

Am I wrong
to find that unethical?

The people of Seattle rely on me

as a symbol
of wisdom and integrity.

This stuff didn't matter when
I was doing the weather,

but now I am their anchor, man.

You have to find those tapes.

For the good of our fair city.

You two.
Stay the hell out of my case.

Yeah, thought so.

- What makes you think we're...
- Stop it.

You're embarrassing yourself.

The guy with the "Don't
Tread on Me" bumper sticker

seen driving by
the Tuttle-Reid home

the night before the murder...

Harley Johns.

Just imagine my surprise

when I show up at his gun
range to question him,

and Harley goes on a tirade
against the SPD.

He claims we're harassing him.

'Cause apparently a black cop and his
pale partner already interrogated him.

And now he's lawyering up.

- That's not how it went down.
- I don't care

if you had a personal
connection to the victims.

Stay away from my case.

Both of you.

Show of hands if you're
super turned on right now.

You catch what he said?

It was more his tone of voice.

Harley Johns was
casing Wally's house

the day before the murders.

He feels like our guy.

Yeah, but we've got no proof,

and it sounds
like Harley's done talking.

He won't talk to us,

but maybe he'll talk to your
Fillmore-Graves friends.

Why would he talk to them?

I think we can
come up with a reason.

Tell them what you told me.

There's a man. Harley Johns.

His brother worked down in
the basement of Max Rager

and told him about
the zombies down there.

He was killed in the massacre.

Now Harley is preaching
violence against zombies

on an Internet message board,
and it turns out

he was seen driving by
the Tuttle-Reid house

the day before the murders.

- We should get rid of him.
- That's it?

No trial? No jury?
Just an execution.

Do we wait until he puts a bullet
in another little zombie boy's head?

Let's not all forget
that I work with the police.

No one's getting rid of anyone.

What we need is information.

Now, he won't talk
to the police,

but I bet he'll talk to you.

- Why's that?
- Because you're gonna pay him to.

I am?

What's happening?

A vision, I think.

A long one.

We may need to reboot her.

Suspect number 10,

square jaw, salt and
pepper stubble, full lips.

Another anonymous Snapchat.

And you didn't screen grab
this time because...

Ask me another question, Jimmy,
and I will put you over my knee.

Really?

- How's it going?
- Maybe knock next time.

I thought I made myself clear
when I said, "Shut your mouth."

Glory be to the father and...

In Latin.

What?

Okay...

Uh...

Wait, wait, wait.

Ow!

Oh, Latin!

Oh, why hast Thou forsaken me?

Oh! There's a pervert
spying on us!

Not again.

You just did the staring thing.

Shut up.

She's single, right?

- Hey...
- Is for horses.

Grabbing is for
friends and lovers,

or people who enjoy being sued.

Where were you the night
of Roxanne Greer's murder?

I'm a defense lawyer. I've
got a lot of dead people names

swimming around in my noggin.

Can you be more specific?

Sweet Lady Pain.

And when exactly was she killed?

Maybe we should move this
to somewhere more private.

I'm not sure what you plan on measuring
in here, but I'd recommend a yard stick.

Shut your mouth.

Hmm. That's kind of my line.

Your dog groomer
confirmed your alibi.

If you don't mind, we'd still like
to ask you a couple of questions.

Guess what? I mind.

Get your ass back in that chair.

In lieu of laughing
in your face,

I'm going to chuckle
to myself on the way out.

Be a good boy,

and I won't make you answer
Clive's questions in Latin.

How long were you a client
of Sweet Lady Pain's?

Any association between
myself and the deceased

is purely speculative
on your part.

Would you say you visited her
dungeon on a regular basis?

I wouldn't say anything
that in any way would

confirm or deny
visiting anywhere.

I will say that the definition
of "regular basis"

varies from person to person.

Your "regular basis"
could be my "sporadic."

Are there any other questions
you'd like me to expertly evade?

Yes. Can you order a Catholic
schoolboy's uniform in a 44-tall

or do you have to have that
specially made?

You have very
specific ideas regarding

my alleged connection
to the victim.

Would it be accurate to say
that there's an existing record

of Ms. Pain's sessions?

Mmm, we can neither
confirm or deny that.

Some of Roxanne's clients
mentioned she had a problem

with an unwanted voyeur.

Know anything about that?

Assuming I was a client,
then yes.

She may have also mentioned
that the peeping Tom

had been a client who scared
the hell out of her.

Could you identify him?

If I had seen someone, then it is possible
that I could recognize said person.

Do any of these men
look familiar?

If I had seen a voyeur peeping
in Ms. Pain's window,

and I am not saying
that I was ever there,

I would be certain
it was this guy.

Need a little help.

There's a stool in the back.

Dick.

You say something?

No, you're hearing things,
big fella.

Tell your grandma I'mma swing
by to roll her a few spliffs.

Rheumatoid arthritis ain't gonna stop
no sweet lady from getting her swerve on.

Yeah.

Come on, let's go.

How much will a U-boat
set me back?

Twenty will get you
a ticket to ride, my friend.

- Can I hook you up?
- Nah.

Just professional curiosity.

- Your stuff any good?
- Negatory.

Quality Utopium is a relic
of a bygone era.

Mr. Boss took out the crew
slinging Lucky U.

Not all of them.

What?

You?

Straight up.

My man!

I got to try it once.

It's a night I'll never forget.

Tangerine trees,
marmalade skies,

the whole shebang.

You want another taste?

Yeah.

You wanna be a zombie?

- What?
- A zombie. It's rad, I swear.

If this is being a zombie,
then bring it on!

This is torture
and I'm not even enjoying it.

Tell me again how we know the
peeping Tom had a criminal record?

We don't.

We're taking
an uneducated guess.

It's what you do
when you hit a dead end.

We've got company.

You needing me to get you
a teleprompter, Johnny?

I was told not to speak
until my lawyer is present.

Oh, Lord.

I told you to meet me
in the waiting area.

Do you see a coffee table
strewn with magazines?

- No, I was...
- Shut your mouth.

My client has information
in the Roxanne Greer case,

but we have a conundrum.

Relaying what he knows may or may
not indicate that he violated the law.

Well, he either broke the law
or he didn't. Which is it?

It's both. And it's neither.

Now, we were willing to offer
you a resolution to your case

if you were willing
to ignore a tiny white lie

that barely obstructed justice.

Done.

A couple days after Roxanne was
murdered, I received an email.

The sender threatened to release a
video of my session with Sweet Lady Pain

unless I paid them 10 grand.

Oui! Oui!

Oui! Climate change!

"Climate change"
is my safe word.

My client regrets not coming
forward with this information sooner,

and for that, he is very sorry.

He doesn't look sorry to me.

Maybe if he crawled
across the floor

a couple times on his knees.

You're not crawling
across the floor.

Yet.

Look, my client made
an innocent mistake.

I thought I could make the whole
thing go away by paying the money.

Only an idiot would trust a
blackmailer to destroy the footage.

Say it out loud. "I'm an idiot."

Detective, can you tell
your partner to stop

verbally abusing my client?

Tell your client
to stop asking for it.

I have an important bomb to drop

if you're done
with your shenanigans.

Good. Yesterday,
Mr. Frost received

another request for money in
exchange for not releasing the video.

You picking up what
I'm putting down, Detective?

Where do we arrange the drop?

- Vivian?
- I'm sorry, General, I'll have to call you back.

My guest is here.

There he is. Mr. Johns!

I was told there was some sort of
a settlement for my brother's death.

Come join me over here
if you will.

You can sit there.
These are my top people.

A.K. Fortesan runs
our military operations.

Carey Gold runs everything else.

We understand you
lost your brother

in the tragedy at
Max Rager headquarters.

And as you know,
we purchased the company.

I realize that $10,000 check
isn't gonna end your pain,

but we hope that it will cover
the funeral expenses,

and help your family
through this tough time.

So what's the catch?

There's no catch.

Then I guess I'll be
on my way then.

Mr. Johns, before you go,

would you mind answering
just a couple questions?

There's the catch.

We've read some of the
theories you've posted online.

Zombies? Really?

You can laugh,

but I know it for a fact.

My brother worked
in a secret lab there.

He saw them up close.

And he told me all about them.

That's what we're interested in.

We want to compare notes.

You know what this is?

I think I do.

I saw the carnage at the
Super Max party firsthand.

People losing their minds,
attacking their friends...

- The zombie outbreak.
- We're thinking a freak virus

that caused the infected
to crave brains.

You're just using different
words to say the same thing.

Some of our men made it down
to the basement lab that night.

We believe our men may have
been exposed to the virus.

Are you familiar with
the Tuttle-Reid murders?

I've heard stories on the radio.

Caleb Tuttle worked for us.

The police said they found tubes
like these in his refrigerator.

Tubes full of a brain paste.

We suspect he was infected
that same night,

and he swiped the tubes from
the Max Rager basement.

What happened to the rest of
your men who went down there?

We've quarantined them. So far,
none of them are craving brains,

but we're worried about them,

which is why we brought you in.

We wanted any information your
brother may have passed along to you

that could help us.

I know one foolproof test
to tell if they're zombies.

Yes?

Dave told me that zombies have a
pulse of about 10 beats per minute.

If you wanna know if
your guys are brain eaters,

just check their heart rate.

Nice pro tip.

What do you plan to do if any
of your guys fail the test?

We'd have to weigh
our options at that time.

There's only one real option.

Bullet in the head
and burn the bodies.

These men are our friends.

They have families.

You're part of the problem,
then.

I mean, don't you get it?

It's coming.

The zombie virus is gonna get
out, and it's gonna spread.

And then it'll be us
versus them.

We tried to warn people, but
they called us lunatics, fringe.

But whatever, fine.

They're gonna be zombie food,
and I won't shed a tear.

Not us, though.

See, we're taking this
seriously.

We are well-armed, and
we're taking the war to them.

And who, exactly, is "we"?

Me and my fellow travelers.

We're the ones who understand that if
you're not willing to do what it takes,

you're gonna end up a zombie
or a zombie snack.

Either way,

you won't be spared.

We appreciate your time,
Mr. Johns.

You don't believe me, do you?

I'm a bit more inclined to
believe something medical. A virus.

"Zombies" is a bit of a leap.

What do you call that?

Are you sure
your brother didn't just

send you a picture
from a zombie movie?

Bury your head in the sand
if you want to.

It's a shame. Military contractor
like you could be awful handy.

Once the virus starts to spread?

By then, it'll be too late.

We've learned a lot.

We're about to learn more.

So, what'd they have to say?

Those corporate hacks
know about zombies,

but they're just trying
to cover their own asses.

You bring up
the Chaos Killer victims?

Do they know they might
be brain eaters, too?

No. They don't have the stomach

to go through
with what's gotta happen.

All right, man,
I'm heading back to work.

I'll see you there. Bye.

Later.

They believe all the Chaos
Killer victims are zombies.

- And they're right.
- So what do we do?

Protect
the Chaos Killer victims.

Sorry I'm late.

Put this in.
Clive's been driving me crazy.

You were making
m e nervous, Liv.

And yet, here I am.

What did you learn about Harley
Johns over at Fillmore-Graves?

A lot. None of it good.

I'll download you
after the drop. Where are you?

Don't worry about me.

You and Ravi move into position.

Hold my hand.

Fingers interlocked.

Clive, Ravi's not doing
any of this right.

You're not making
any of this easy.

And we're strolling.

- Stroll faster.
- You can't stroll faster.

It's no longer strolling,
it's striding.

- Pe ople.
- Smile.

Zucchini.

Fiddlesticks. Mollycoddle.

- What are you doing?
- I'm hoping one of these is my safe word.

Less talking, more smiling.

No teeth.

Pretend I'm saying
something really funny.

We're about to hit
the drop time.

- Keep your eyes peeled.
- My goal is not to get knifed to death,

so all eyes on Johnny.

Stop moving your lips, you'll...

Stop! Police!

You have the right
to remain silent.

Anything you say can and will be
used against you in a court of law.

Clive.

Tighter.

The perp is James Weckler.

Divorced father of one.

Did some time for burglary.

Also did a stint
in a psych ward.

We can nail him for extortion,

but as far as Roxanne's murder?

Our case is thin.

Let me work him over,
see what I can do.

You wanna be bad cop?

That requires genuine
intimidation, Liv.

I'm sorry. You're many things,
but intimidating?

I don't think so.

Watch me.

Anything I can get for you?

Coffee? Maybe a soda?

You got any hand sanitizer?

I'm sure I can track some down
once we're finished talking.

You've been advised
of your rights, Mr. Weckler.

You can choose
to have a lawyer...

James Weckler.

Crazy James Weckler.

You know who flees from
the police, Crazy James?

Guilty people flee.

That's who.

We could've just shut
the camera off, Liv.

Does she work here?

You murdered her, didn't you?

You found out
she was recording sessions,

and you figured you could
steal the memory card

and blackmail the other men
on it, so you broke in.

You didn't plan to kill her,

but she caught you in the act,

and you decided that you
weren't going back to prison,

even if it meant
Roxanne Greer had to die.

I did kill her.

And let's just say
it's for the reason you said.

It's as good as any other.

Isn't this the part where you give me
your pad and let me write it all down?

You ready to head to the bar?

We're gonna pour out one
for Otis.

Almost.

It was something else.

Seeing an ice chest
full of heads.

Yeah, well, zombies need to eat,

and there are never enough
brains to go around.

Besides, those guys weren't
using them anymore.

No, I thought a lot about it.

I get it.

We should really get
a medic to look at you.

I'm fine.

Need to puke
my guts out for a minute.

Then I'll head over to the bar
and raise a glass for Otis,

that cocky son of a bitch
no one liked.

Phrase it just like that.

See you there?

Yeah.

Major.

Take me to the police morgue.

We were in a battle. Major was
stabbed a bunch of times.

That's not what's killing him.

His lungs are filling up with
fluid. He needs the cure. Now.

Cure for what?

- Don't inject him.
- We have no choice. He's gonna die.

If we turn him human,
these wounds will kill him.

- What? Turn him human?
- Then what's the plan?

Pray the pleural effusion
doesn't kill him first?

With the rats, the pneumonia was the
precursor to their brains melting.

Get me an empty syringe with
the biggest needle we can find.

I'll treat the effusion
with a thorancentesis.

Help me get him on his side.

This should buy us enough time
for his wounds to heal.

You got this.

Cheers!

What else do you need, boss?

I'm good, slick.

The grand opening was a success.

What do these fools keep saying?

It's Bengali for "cheers."

We're serving tiger brains?

No... The brains are from
a hospital in Bangladesh.

Oh!

If only my old corner boy
buddies could see me now.

A round of drinks on me!

Don E., your humble proprietor.

Cheers!

Go to bed.

I'll stay with Major.

I'll, uh...

I'll make another pot of coffee.

No.

Get some rest, we need you
on your game tomorrow.

I'll be right down the hall
if you need me.

- Hey...
- Shh.

Go back to sleep.

What happened?

The pneumonia was
gonna take you out,

but we couldn't give you
the cure until

your combat wounds
had healed a bit.

What happened with Blaine?

Did the memory serum work?

It didn't.

I'm so sorry, Major.

Then this is it.

Once I heal up,

I take the cure,

and everyone I've ever known
is wiped from my memory.

Maybe the cure won't have
the same effect on you.

- Maybe you'll...
- Liv.

Stop.

I need you to do
something for me.

Name it.

Once I'm new me,

keep reminding me of
what we meant to each other?

And give me a new name.

One that's less silly.

Gern Blanston.

Why not.

Tell me about
the first time we kissed.

That's one memory
I don't want to lose.

It was more of a heavy
make-out session actually.

You'd come over to "study."

Remember what you were wearing?

I don't.

Pajamas.

Laundry day pajamas.

I thought,

"There's no way
this girl is into me."

I was comfortable around you.

It's a gift you have, Gern.

You put people at ease.

You looked beautiful.

There's one silver lining
to forgetting everything.

What?

You'll knock me off my feet
all over again.

Liv...

Come in.

I can come back.

It's okay.

How's our patient?

Keeping it together.

You are healing
enough to survive,

even as a
relatively fragile human.

It's time.

The memory loss
won't be instant.

It'll feel like a slow fade.

With Blaine,
it took a couple of days.

Got it.

You know, I had
this whole speech planned.

It was funny
and heartfelt, profound.

But it feels like a waste if
you're just gonna forget it anyway.

Let's just agree
it was brilliant.

Yeah.

Is there anything
you want to add, Liv?

It's already been said.

I'm gonna miss you guys.

We're not going anywhere.