All language subtitles for Watchmen S01E03

Who are you?

I'm the one who strung
your chief of police up.

No, you're not.

There's a vast and insidious
conspiracy here in Tulsa.

You was with him last night?

- What?
- The chief.

Was he acting strange?

What, are you interrogating me now?

Why would I interrogate you?

Our chief has been murdered.

Murdered by one of you.

Round them up!

Look out!

Angela Abar is your granddaughter.

You're under arrest.

I am... Dr. Manhattan.

Should we

put him in the cellar
with the others, Sir?

The basement will be perfect.

We'll have a use for
him before too long.

Has it stopped, Master?

No, Ms. Crookshanks.

It's only just begun.

- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans -
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Thank you. One moment
while we connect you

to the Trieu sat orbital array.

Standby for connection to Mars antenna

in five... four... three... two...

Uplink complete. You
are now transmitting.

Pick up the receiver and
begin speaking at any time.

Doctor Manhattan is listening.

Hey. It's me again.

I've got a joke.

Stop me if you've heard this one.

There's this guy, he's a bricklayer.

He's really good at it.

He's a real master of his craft

because he's precise.

Every brick has its place.

Anyway, this guy has a daughter

and he's gonna teach
her to be a bricklayer,

because, after all, all
a man has is his legacy.

So Dad decides to build a
barbecue in the backyard.

He does the math, he figures
out exactly what he needs,

and he shows the daughter
how to do everything,

step-by-step.

And when he finishes, it's a beauty.

It's a perfect barbecue,

just the way he drew
it in the blueprints.

Only one problem...

There's a brick left over.

One... single... brick.

The guy freaks out.

He must've done something wrong.

He's going to have to
start all over again.

So he picks up his sledgehammer
to knock the thing to pieces

and suddenly his daughter says,
"Daddy, wait. I have an idea."

She picks up the orphan brick

and she throws it up into the air...

as high as she can.

And... and...

Good morning. How may I help you?

And... And then she...

Shit!

I messed it up. Um...

Okay, uh...

Forget that joke. Can
I tell you another one?

Money from the fucking drawers! Now!

Everyone on the goddamn floor!

Money, fucking now!

Back the fuck off!

Release the hostage. It's over.

How'd you know we were gonna be here?

I mean, did you get an anonymous tip?

What?

Oh shit! What if it was the FBI?

Because what you're doing
right now? Vigilantism?

It's illegal.

So it would be super smart

for federal law
enforcement to tip you off

that this bank was about to be robbed.

Of course, you couldn't
know you were being set up.

Otherwise you wouldn't walk
right into their trap, right?

Shit.

What?

Like I tell your kids, sir,
stay behind the barricades!

Ladies and gentlemen, please stand back.

This is a crime scene.

- Nice work.
- Give me your cuffs.

Hey, Blake.

How'd you know his body
armor would stop the bullets?

For your own safety

and the integrity of the crime scene...

- Bullshit! Bullshit!
- ...stand back!

Hey! Why are you
arresting him? He's a hero!

Please! Stand back!

He's not a hero!

He's a fucking joke.

Aah, you fucking pig!

_

Play Devo.

Stop Devo.

- Senator Keene.
- Agent Blake.

Sorry to bother you at home.

I left three messages at your office.

- I wasn't at my office.
- Clearly.

I heard you caught The Revenger.

- Congrats.
- Just "Revenger," no "The."

And I got him last month.
Today was Mr. Shadow.

Well, shit, Blake.

On behalf of the American taxpayer,

thank you for keeping our streets safe

from rich assholes playing dress-up.

You're quite welcome.

- May I come in?
- You may.

- Can I peek?
- Watch your fingers.

- What's his name?
- Who.

The owl.

"Who," that's his
name. Ask him yourself.

Can you get someone to take care
of him while you're out of town?

Am I going out of town, Joe?

Tomorrow, the deputy
director is gonna send you

down to Tulsa to take
lead on an investigation.

- And you know this...?
- 'Cause I asked him to.

Uh-huh. What am I investigating?

- Chief of police got hung.
- Hanged. You knew him?

A little. He was a good man.

His wife ran my senate campaign.

Folks assume the Seventh Kavalry did it.

But that's not what you assume.

7K always takes credit
when they kill a cop,

but not a peep from them on this.

You think it was a vigilante?

- Sure could be.
- Why?

Call it professional jealousy.

Vigilantes already
see cops as the enemy.

Now they got mask envy on top.

Well, maybe you shouldn't have
put the cops in masks, Joe.

It works.

Crime's down 80% in Tulsa
since we passed DOPA.

- And other cities...
- You called it DOPA?

The Defense of Police Act.

And it's such a great
acronym that other cities

wanna jump on board and pilot it.

Atlanta, New Orleans,
even goddamn Denver.

Masks save lives.

My reputation, my name
is built on that idea.

Now, those cops have kept the
peace down there for three years,

and now someone's trying to start a war.

And if they do, it all goes to shit.

And you don't get to be president.

You know, Laurie...

the president can
pardon anybody he wants.

Anybody.

He could even get your
owl out of that cage.

Fucking Oklahoma.

Okay. Forget the brick. New joke.

Three heroes die, and they all
show up at the pearly gates.

God's there to decide what
their eternal fate shall be.

Heaven... or Hell.

Our first hero is
dressed up like a big owl.

And God says to him, "I gifted you

"the ability to make
fantastic inventions.

What did you do with
this amazing talent?"

And Owl Guy says, "I made
this really awesome flying ship

"and lots of cool outfits and weapons,

so that I could bring
peace to the city."

God asks, "So how many
people did you kill?"

Owl Guy seems offended.

"Zero," he says, I didn't
take a single life."

God frowns. "Sorry, Owl Guy.

"Your heart's in the right place,

but you're just too soft."

And God snaps his fingers.

And the hero goes to Hell.

Seventh Kavalry.

Apparently, it's a Custer's Last
Stand thing, but who gives a shit.

They're just the Klan
with different masks.

They first popped up after the Victims
of Racial Violence Act was passed.

African-Americans come to
Tulsa to claim their benefits,

they buy land, start businesses.

And we all know how
accommodating white folks are

when people of color dare to prosper.

But in Robbie Redford's America,

the cops protect everybody,
so they push back.

They ID everyone in Tulsa
who's supremacist-adjacent,

search their houses, take their guns...

even the grandfathered ones.

But obviously, they missed a few...

What the hell is this?

Oh, it's, uh... an excerpt
from Rorschach's journal.

The Kavalry wears his mask, sir.

I just thought, for, uh,
psychological context,

- you might want to...
- Is it the 1980s, Petey?

Uh, mm-mm, no sir.

Then who gives a shit about Rorschach?

Next slide.

Coordinated simultaneous
attacks at the homes of Tulsa PD.

Not just the cops, their families, too.

Only a few survivors,
including Judd Crawford.

Couple others get shot and stay,

the rest of the force quits.

And there's no way to recruit new cops,

because how do you guarantee the
Kavalry won't just do it again?

Enter Senator Giddyup.

"If y'all can fight fire with fire,

y'all can fight masks with masks!"

Bright yellow ones.

So, the cops hide their faces,

and the bad guys don't
know where they live.

And who doesn't want a
secret identity. Right, Blake?

Right, boss.

Peace returns to Tulsa, until last week.

Cut to: Chief Judd Crawford, in a tree,

H-A-N-G-I-N-G.

Lights.

Blake's running point.
Jet's on the tarmac.

You're all wheels up in two hours,

- so grab your...
- No. Just me.

What?

Tulsa PD's never gonna cooperate

if an army of suits falls from the sky.

I can point all by myself.

Laurie, you can't go in there alone.

Fine. I'll, uh, take...

...him.

We're beginning our descent into Tulsa.

Agents, please buckle up.

I brought one too.

- It's got holes in it.
- Oh, it's not for sleeping.

In the briefing,
Director Farragut said...

uh, I just thought if
the police wear them...

When in Rome, right?

Tulsa's not Rome.

And you're a federal agent,
not the Lone Fucking Ranger.

Right. Gotcha.

If you wanna take a look out the window,

we've got a bird's-eye view
of the Millennium Clock.

"Look on my works, ye
mighty, and despair."

What?

That's what Lady Trieu said

at the groundbreaking for the clock.

A... hmm... shout out to Adrian
Veidt after she bought his company.

They finally declared him dead,

but I've got a buddy
on the Argentina desk

who says Veidt got plastic surgery,

and he's now living
incognito down there.

You knew him, right?
Back in the old days?

When he was Ozymandias?

- You want my autograph?
- What?

Well, you've clearly have
a hard-on for the past,

so, what do you want me to sign?

I wrote my graduate thesis
on the police strike of '77,

when you and your ex were in D.C.

and by "ex" I mean Dr. Manhattan,

the most powerful being in existence.

Sorry for not pretending
that I don't know who you are

because we're supposed to leave
"famous" people alone, but...

you brought me here, Agent Blake.

And before I was recruited by the FBI

to run the slide projector,

I had a PhD in history.

So...

Please don't treat me
like I'm some kind of...

fan.

Yeah. I knew Adrian Veidt.

I too am not a fan.

Oh, where was I?

Oh. Right, right.

The pearly gates await our next
hero in line for almighty judgment.

Our Hero Number Two is
confident he can game this out,

because that's his
God-given talent... smarts.

Some might even say he was
the smartest man in the world.

"So, what'd you do with that
big brain I gave you?" asks God.

"Well, as a matter of fact,

I saved humanity," says Smarty-pants.

"Well, how'd you do that?" asks God.

"Well, I dropped a giant
alien squid on New York.

And everybody was so afraid of it,

they stopped being
afraid of each other."

"Okay," says God. "Um..."

"How many people did you kill?"

Smarty-pants smiles.

"Three million, give or take.

But you can't make an omelette
without breaking a couple eggs."

"Christ," God says,

"You're a fucking monster."

"Am not!" says Smarty-pants.

God snaps his fingers.

The hero goes to Hell.

Maybe it's the wrong warehouse?

Yeah?

Is that what your PhD
in history tells you?

Here. Don't eat those.

Wait here.

Oh, uh, right. Shouldn't I...?

Hey, there!

What are you guys up to?

Who the fuck are you?

Special Agent Laurie Blake.

Who the fuck are you?

Pirate Jenny.

Red Scare.

Wow. Cool.

Sir, I'm with the FBI.

Are your civil rights being violated?

Uh... Yes, ma'am.

These people came into my place of
business and they just grabbed me.

They didn't read me my rights or...

Okay. Sorry, I was just
kidding. I don't care.

Uh, I'm looking for someone
named "Looking Glass."

Is he in there?

Shut your mouth, bitch! Shut up!

Open your mouth.

Looking Glass is in the
pod. Is he expecting you?

Boy, I sure hope not.

For the safety of our officers,

we're gonna have to put
the blindfold back on you

before we can send you back.

He's clear. Take him off the board.

Hey.

I-I know there's a line,
but could I go next?

- Please don't touch...
- What does this thing do?

It's complicated.

Try me.

It determines and exposes
negative cultural biases

to which the suspect
might otherwise not admit.

- So it's a racist detector.
- That's an oversimplification.

So I'm guessing all these blindfolded

gentlemen and ladies out here
are suspected Seventh Kavalry?

Any of them confess to
murdering your chief?

Not as of yet, no.

Sorry, I got a seed
stuck there or something.

You know, you wear a mirror on
your face, people are gonna use it.

Or you could just take
that silly mask off, Wade.

Or do you prefer Detective Tillman?

Wade's fine.

May I have the control back, please?

How may I help you, Agent Blake?

Tell me about your chief's autopsy.

Ligature marks, petechial hemorrhaging,

combined asphyxia and venous congestion.

Absolutely zero doubt he was hanged.

Was there a tox screen?

I'm guessin' you've read the
report, so you know there ain't.

Why "ain't" there?

No need. Cause of death is clear.

You're right. It totally is.

So this raid the other
night at the cattle ranch?

- I wasn't there.
- Yes, I know.

But the report says you got the location

from a suspect here
in the racist detector.

It's not a ra...

If you've read the report,
you've watched the tapes.

And if you've watched the
tapes, you know he didn't talk.

Oh, you're smart, Wade.

Okay, so who did he
give the location to?

Sister Night obtained the intel
in a secondary interrogation.

Is that Tulsa for "beat
the shit out of him"?

I did not personally observe

any violence against the suspect.

So, this Sister Night...

would that be Angela Abar?

Yes, it would.

Is she around?

She took a personal day

to work on her eulogy
for the chief's funeral.

Jesus. When's that?

In a couple hours.

Well...

Guess I better change
into something darker.

Okay.

We're down to the nitty-gritty now.

One hero left.

God cracks his knuckles,

ready to administer the final reckoning.

Now, Hero Number Three is
pretty much a god himself.

So for the sake of telling them apart,

he's blue...

and he likes to stroll around
with his dick hanging out.

He can teleport. He
can see into the future.

He can blow shit up. He's
got actual superpowers.

So Regular God asks Blue God,

"What have you done with these
gifts?" And Blue God says,

"I fell in love with a woman,
I walked across the sun,

and then I fell in
love with another woman.

I won the Vietnam War.

But mostly, I just stopped
giving a shit about humanity."

God sighs.

"Do I even need to ask how
many people you've killed?"

Blue God shrugs.

"A live body and a dead body
have the same number of particles,

so it doesn't matter.

And it doesn't matter how
I answer your question,

because I know you're
sending me to Hell."

"How do you know that?" asks God.

And Blue God sounds very, very sad

when he softly says,

"Because I'm already there."

And so, a mere piston

in the inevitable
machinery of time and space,

God does what he did
and what he will do:

he snaps his fingers.

And the hero goes to Hell.

Y'all are gonna have to
surrender any firearms.

- We're, uh, federal off...
- Give the man your gun, Petey.

Show some damn respect.

Angela Abar...

Laurie Blake, FBI.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Cal. Hi.

- Do I know you?
- No, no, no.

You don't. I'm sorry. We've never met,

but I heard that you were
close with the Crawfords,

and I'm here to help.

And I'm hoping you and I can grab
some coffee and talk sometime soon.

I'm not a cop anymore. I
retired three years ago.

Oh, I know. And I totally understand.

You have a family,
and it's so dangerous.

Here, let me give you my card.

My pager's on there.

So, please feel free to give me a buzz.

"Anti-Vigilante Task Force."

You know how you can tell the difference

between a masked cop and a vigilante?

No.

Me neither.

Again, my deepest condolences.

Bye.

Ready! Aim! Pull!

Ready! Aim! Pull!

Ready! Aim! Pull!

Well...

Thank you all for being here.

And, uh...

Thank you for honoring my husband.

He loved this work.

But he loved all of you even more.

Angela...

I can't think of a better
person to speak about Judd

before we lay him to rest.

Most of you know the chief and me...

and I...

we both were shot on the same night.

So many others died.

We were lucky.

We knew we might not
always be lucky, and...

we should be prepared.

So we made a pact.

I told him what I would want
him to say at my funeral,

and he told me what to say at his.

♪ I'm headin' for the last roundup ♪

♪ Gonna saddle old Paint
for the last time and ride ♪

♪ So long, old pal ♪

♪ It's time your tears were dried ♪

♪ I'm heading for the last roundup ♪

♪ Git along, little doggie,
git along, git along ♪

♪ Git along, little
doggie, git along ♪

♪ Git along, little doggie,
git along, git along ♪

♪ Git along, little
doggie, git along ♪

♪ Git along, little doggie,
git along, git along ♪

♪ Git along, little doggie ♪

♪ Git along ♪

♪ I'm heading for the last... ♪

Nobody fucking move!

This device is connected to my heart,

so if it stops beating,
you're all fucking dead!

Senator Joseph Keene, Jr....

you are a race traitor

and declared open war
on the Seventh Kavalry.

Surrender yourself or everyone dies!

Hey! What did I fucking say?

Hey. Just take it easy.

I'll do whatever you want.

Okay? Take it easy.

Here I am.

Do not attempt to follow...

Run!

Go! Go! Go! Go!

♪ Get up in the morning,
slaving for bread, sir ♪

♪ So that every mouth can be fed ♪

♪ Poor me Israelites, ah ♪

♪ Get up in the morning,
slaving for bread, sir ♪

♪ So that every mouth can be fed ♪

♪ Poor me Israelites ♪

♪ My wife and my kids, they
packed up and leave me ♪

♪ Darling, she said, I
was yours to be seen ♪

♪ Poor me Israelites ♪

♪ Shirt them a-tear
up, trousers is gone ♪

♪ I don't want to end up
like Bonnie and Clyde ♪

♪ Poor me Israelites ♪

♪ After a storm
there must be a calm ♪

♪ They catch me in the
farm, you sound your alarm ♪

♪ Poor me Israelites ♪

♪ Eee ♪

♪ I said I get up in the
morning slaving for bread, sir ♪

♪ So that every mouth can be fed ♪

♪ Poor me Israelites... ♪

This... is going to be the one.

I feel it in my bones.

I never doubted you, Master.

That, Mr. Philips,

is because you are incapable of doubt.

Nevertheless, I
appreciate the sentiment.

Oh.

Right.

Are you ready to venture
into the great beyond?

Oh. Yes, I am, sir.

Damn it.

Damn it. Damn it!

Shit! Fuck! Shit!

Shit and shit and fuck!

Motherfucking shit!

Fucking damn it! And motherfucking shit!

What went wrong, Master?

I think we're going
to need a thicker skin.

♪ For he's a jolly good
fellow, for he's a jolly... ♪

I'm so sorry to disturb you, Master.

But there's a letter.

From the game warden.

Read it to me.

Let's see what our adversary
has to say for himself.

"Dear Mas..."

Oh, dispense with the flowery
pleasantries and get to it.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but
when you first arrived here,

we agreed upon the
terms of your captivity.

Your recent behavior suggests

an intention to violate those terms."

- Hmm.
- "As such,

if this behavior continues,

you will face grave consequences."

He's underscored "consequences."

- Mm.
- "Know this...

The next shot I fire, sir,
will not be at your feet.

Please consider this your
first and only warning.

Thank you again for
the delicious tomatoes.

Your humble servant, The Game Warden."

To the typewriter, Crookshanks!

Let's see what this devious
cur is made of, shall we?

- Oh, yes, we shall, Master!
- Mm.

Most Honorable Game Warden.

I beg your pardon, sir,

but you seem to suspect
me of criminal activities

as if I were a dastardly forest brigand.

Or worse, some sort of
republic serial villain.

I am neither, sir,

And I assure you that my activities

are purely recreational in nature.

Furthermore, I would never imagine

to transgress the terms
upon which we agreed.

I am available, at your
leisure and by your grace,

to discuss this matter further
should you wish to repeat

your ridiculous accusations in person.

That said, I'm pleased
you enjoyed the tomatoes.

All the best wishes and encouragement,

Adrian Veidt.

What do you think, Ms. Crookshanks?

Oh, this will have him
quaking in his boots, Master!

I'll have it sent right away.

Have Mr. Philips restring my bow

and saddle up Bucephalus.

I hunt again at midnight!

I am not the hero here.

I'm only standing here
talking to y'all right now

because of the swift and fearless
actions of law enforcement.

They are the heroes. They kept me safe.

And I'll be damned if I won't keep
fighting to do the same for them.

Senator Keene...

Why do you think you were
targeted by the Kavalry?

I reckon it's because nothing
scares a terrorist more

than someone they can't terrify.

Can you comment on the Russians
building an intrinsic field generator?

Guys...

when they swore me in,
I promised to defend us

from all enemies foreign and domestic.

But I represent the people of
the great state of Oklahoma,

and the Russians ain't my problem.

The goddamned Seventh Kavalry is.

Right now, here is where the war's at.

And I won't be leaving until it's won.

Good night and God Bless.

Well, he's got my vote.

Are you even old enough to vote?

So, can I get that autograph now or...?

That was almost funny, Petey.

- You drink any of that yet?
- No. Why?

How about that coffee now?

Where's it go?

Just outside the fence.

Gotta be 300 meters long.

Must've used some kind've
drill to get it done that fast.

Don't rule out extremist gophers.

How are your children?

Safe.

I thought he was bluffing.

Those fuckers always say the
device is rigged to their hearts,

and none of them actually
take the time to do it.

You saved us. Thanks.

Crawford jumped on the grenade.

I just gave him a little push.

Yeah, well...

I sure as shit can't exhume him now.

That's not funny.

Sorry. I wasn't joking.

You guys just scheduled
this funeral so fast.

Kinda weird considering

it's an active murder
investigation by the way,

but, uh...

we were literally gonna
dig him up tomorrow.

Discretely, of course.

Why?

Your chief was murdered
by the Seventh Kavalry.

I get it, there's a history.

But...

you still have to consider
other possibilities, right?

For instance, I was at
the crime scene earlier,

and you know what I saw? Tire tracks,

right at the base of the tree.

What kind of vehicle?

I'm sorry. Did I say
vehicle? No, no, no.

No, um, it was a wheelchair.

And I get how you guys missed it.

You know, he was your
chief, he was your friend.

It's hard to do your job well

when you're that close to someone.

That's why I'm here.

Hey, did you know that he had

a secret compartment in his closet?

- What?
- Yeah, I was over there talking to his wife,

and while I was there I found
this secret fucking compartment.

Isn't that insane?

Why were you looking in his closet?

Oh. Well, when my dad was murdered,

they found a secret
compartment in his closet.

So, you know...

I always check.

Once in a while, it pans out.

What was in it?

You tell me. What was in it?

How the fuck should I know?

Well...

his wife told me that
you were the only person

in that bedroom since he died.

And frankly, Angela...

you just don't strike
me as the fainting type.

Okay, I'll tell you.

It was a bust, just a big, naked bust.

That's it. However...

I think there was
something on that bust.

I don't know. Maybe
your pal Judd asked you

to get rid of it if
something ever happened,

or, you know, maybe the two
of you were having an affair,

which makes no sense because
your husband's fucking hot.

But whatever it is, this much I know...

Men who end up hanging from trees

with secret compartments
in their closets

tend to think of
themselves as good guys.

And those who protect them
think they're good guys too.

But here's the thing
about me, "Sister Night"...

I eat good guys for breakfast.

Ooh!

And so, it's been a long
day at the pearly gates.

All the heroes have gone to Hell.

His work done, God's
packing up to go home.

And then he notices someone waiting.

But it's not a hero. It's just a woman.

"Where did you come from?" asks God.

"Oh, I was standing behind
those other guys the whole time.

You just didn't see me."

"Did I give you a talent?" God asks.

"Nope."

"None to speak of," says the woman.

God gives her a good long look.

"I'm so sorry. I'm embarrassed.

Seriously, this almost
never happens, but...

I don't know who you are."

And the woman looks at
God and she quietly says:

"I'm the little girl who
threw the brick in the air."

Then a sound from
above, something falling.

The brick.

God looks up, but it's too
late. He never saw it coming.

It hits him so hard, his
brains shoot out his nose.

Game over. He's dead.

And where does God go when he dies?

He goes to Hell.

Roll on snare drum.

Curtains.

Good joke.

Sorry. Your time is almost up.

You have 55 seconds to
complete your transmission.

I don't know why I keep coming
to these stupid phone booths

and telling you jokes.

It's not like you ever
had a sense of humor.

You're never gonna hear
this anyway probably.

but sometimes it's, you
know, it's nice to...

sometimes it's nice to pretend.

The assholes down here
still think you give a shit.

even though you've been on
another fucking planet for...

for 30 years.

But we're not really worth giving
a shit about anyway, are we?

Recording complete.

Thank you for being a platinum
user of the Blue Booth Network.

Your message will reach Mars
in approximately 40 seconds.

Good night, and thank you for
contacting Doctor Manhattan.

Good night, Jon.

What the...?

- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans -
-- www.Addic7ed.com --

- Hi.
- You're Lady Trieu.

I sure am.

I'm here to offer you legacy.

Legacy as in blood.

What is that?

The first wonder of the new world.

What can I do you for?

He hid it in his closet.

Looks like we have
ourselves a reckoning.

- Are we loaded, Mr. Phillips?
- Yes, sir.

On my mark, Ms. Crookshanks.

Three, two, one...

Away!

Phenomenal!