Original subtitles

Can I help you?

Cooper.

I'm sorry, do I know you?

Cooper, it's me.

It's Jordan.

Your partner.

Fuck buddy.

I thought we were best friends.

Fuck!

- Where is she? - I'm right here, I swear.

- Bullshit! Where is she? - Cooper, stop.

Something happened to me over there, okay?

A weapon, an infection or something that changed me right after we left the bar.

How did you get this?

What did you do to her?

In bed, what'd she call me?

Not you.

Your dick.

A Provigil that brings me back to life.

I do love those eyes but they are lying to you right now.

Japan, right?

You have to hear me, not just see me.

Are you ready to listen?

♪ Cherry ♪

♪ Tells me some things I don't want to know ♪

♪ And I can't see ♪

♪ A light at the end for us anymore ♪

♪ But I can't keep crying ♪

♪ All of the time ♪

♪ No, I can't keep crying ♪

♪ All of the time ♪

♪ It is the night ♪

♪ My body's weak... ♪

Boo.

♪ No time to sleep I've got to ride... ♪

Tightly wound for a guy who spent all night emptying his nuts.

Who the fuck are you?

Well, you know, we heard you're a party boy, so we're here to party, boy.

- I love this song. - Hmm.

Right, I said it before. I'll say it again.

Christopher Cross is the man.

Ain't nobody touching Christopher Cross sounding like that!

Silky smooth voice, it just soothes the soul.

Soothes.

And hides the sound of screams.

Hides.

♪ ...with a gun in my hand ♪

♪ Lived nine lives ♪

♪ Gunned down ten ♪

♪ Gonna ride like the wind ♪

♪ And I've got such a long way to go ♪ - ♪ Such a long way to go ♪

- ♪ To make it to the border of Mexico ♪ - ♪ Mexico ♪

- ♪ So, I'll ride like the wind ♪ - ♪ So, I'll ride like the wind ♪

- ♪ Ride like the wind ♪ - ♪ Ride like the wind ♪

♪ I was born the son... ♪

Where, Nate? Where'd you get it?

Get what?

You were not this pretty two months ago.

Come on now. I saw the before and after pictures.

You looked like a schlubby bubby with bitch tits and a micro dick.

You like playing with both teams. Is that...

Is that the problem here?

No, look, hey, it's no stress.

We... I mean, we celebrate the rainbow, ain't that right, Jay?

- Love is love, brother. - It sure is, you see?

Okay. I fucked a...

I fucked a hooker. That's it.

All right. Well, what made you pick her, Nate?

Where'd you find her?

- Does she come with any bonus features? - I bet she was pricey.

She's just some fucking slut off the dark web. I don't know.

Jay, help him understand, please.

Look, look, look, look, look. Harder, Jay.

You wanna be here all night?

You're sick, Nate.

You teem with viral load, okay?

You might think that you're healthy but you're not.

All we wanna do is help you out.

All right, I didn't fuck anyone else. I swear to God.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

Nate, look, we're way past that.

I was there at your little fuck show last night.

See, the second you walked in the door,

you signed the death warrant for everyone inside.

We already picked off two but we still have another two to go.

That's a lot of overtime for us.

I don't like that.

I had to cancel my mani-pedi. You understand?

My time is money.

Maybe you fucked her, maybe you didn't.

I don't have time to care.

A sex club where the gift is being spread is my worst-case scenario.

Don't kill me, please. I... I didn't know.

Nuts or nails, Nate?

Please.

Help!

Please.

Stop. No.

Yeah. Another problem?

This Condé Nast situation has become a scorching fucking hemorrhoid.

We have a live infected specimen at NIH.

And we can't have that, can we?

No, we cannot.

You need to make it a dead one.

The FBI is all over this.

But there's one agent specifically.

Anything else?

Maybe I should do it blindfolded while, uh, juggling knives on a unicycle.

With speed comes mess.

His name is Madsen.

Cooper Madsen.

He's currently in New York City.

Well...

You're off the hook now, baby boy.

No, no. Please, please, please.

No. Please. Please, please, don't.

Stop, stop. Please.

Fuck.

I still don't understand why you didn't call me.

Do you have any idea how worried I was?

I'm sorry. I just...

- I just panicked. - Jordan.

- It's me. - That's what made it so complicated.

What? 'Cause you got all this from fucking?

Well, I...

I mean, I think I got it that way.

Do you think you were targeted?

I don't know.

I woke up, and he was gone.

Without a trace.

Was he wearing protection?

I'm your partner.

- Not your child. - I'm not trying to shame you.

I'm trying to understand.

Well, it feels like shaming.

Okay.

So, let's say you didn't get it 'cause you came into contact

with foreign bodily fluids,

and he dosed your drink or sprayed some kind of aerosol, fine.

But that doesn't really vibe with how we've seen this thing work.

God, I'm so fucking stupid.

I-I just... I saw that guy and he was hot, you know?

So, I wanted him. I just...

We all make mistakes.

I was being selfish.

It gets worse.

After I felt like I was literally burning alive,

I left the hotel and...

that first wave of panic passed.

For a moment, I liked the new me.

- No, no, no. - A lot.

I mean, you finally feel seen, admired.

Even a little invincible.

I mean, here I was with some life-altering crisis,

a fucking infection, and being out in the world, no one knew.

Because of how I looked.

In fact, they treated me like I'd won some kind of lottery.

But then,

they stopped seeing me.

And they started seeing this...

object.

Okay.

Something they could buy, or win, or just take.

Another, please.

And then I started to hate it.

I hated myself for ever enjoying it in the first place.

I mean, how weak could I be?

How fucked up am I?

It's not just you.

Everyone wants beauty.

It's the oldest, purest form of currency there is.

I don't want any of this.

I mean, was I so bad before?

You were always beautiful.

Yeah. Well...

reading social media, about to turn 40, didn't really feel that way.

To me.

You were always beautiful to me.

Look, I know I got a stupid boob job and stuff...

but it was only after I turned

and I realized I couldn't go back that I realized I...

I liked the old me.

The old you was perfect.

And this one is too.

This one's just...

different.

How do you feel?

Actually,

fucking incredible.

- Really? - Mm-hmm.

It's the best I've ever felt.

Fuck.

My knees are jealous.

We're gonna make sure it stays that way.

You think I'll end up like the others?

Those models who literally exploded?

I think it's best we don't waste a lot of time.

- How long? - I don't know.

Doing the math on the others, I figure a year and a half.

Maybe two.

Have you talked to anyone else since you've been back?

Family, friends?

- Uh, no. You're the first place I went. - Good. Don't contact anyone.

I-I think I need to go to the authorities or someone on our team.

No. No. No, they'll quarantine you, treat you like a fucking lab rat.

Until we can get a handle on this thing, you're not talking to anyone.

And you're staying with me.

Okay. So, no ID, no passport,

new face and everything else.

How'd you get back here?

Uh, I just blew a couple of TSA folks and they walked me right on.

Oh. Looks like she had a jokes upgrade too.

I've been an agent for 15 years, Coop.

You seriously don't think I know a couple shady guys

with planes that like having a fed owe them a favor?

Can't wait for that to bite us in the ass later.

Coop.

Hey, hey.

We should maybe hold off.

Till we know it's safe.

Right?

Right.

Yeah, I wasn't thinking, sorry.

Where'd you get that?

My face and my body changed, not my instincts.

I'm left, you're right.

Why is this happening?

Okay. So, everything is confirmed for the weekend at the colony, right?

Yes, sir. All guests should be arriving within the next 24 hours.

Perfect. And there's no cold feet or any other bullshit?

All systems are go, sir, but due to the intensity of the procedure,

three days of cutout time from your schedule have been recommended.

That's fine.

Look, this shit is gonna work, right?

Like, it better, okay?

'Cause you've been on an exclusive payroll since COVID so...

A full presentation of what to expect will be made

upon arrival, but yes...

- Good. - ...we expect a very successful experience.

Good. Good, good.

Are there any additions to your medical file?

No allergies or new medications, correct?

Look, my assistant, Tina, will send all that over to you.

We've had trouble getting a hold of her this evening.

Oh, yeah.

Well...

Yes.

Yes. Yes.

Sir? Sir, are you there?

Yes, uh, I will deal with Tina.

And you double-checked with him

that they are aware about my bee allergy, right?

You're not allergic. You're just afraid.

No, that's what everybody says but that's...

Hang on, Raul. Stop.

- Wait, stop. - Really?

Like-Like-Like I'm just some chick who works the corner?

What, Franny, she watches the front camera like a hawk.

She does it just to give me shit.

Un-fucking-believable.

Fuck.

Good evening, Mr. Forst.

I can't tell if you're lazy or you just don't care.

Your assistant wears a very cheap perfume.

Some kind of talcum powder-based nightmare aroma from the local Sephora.

I can smell it on you, dear.

And from the scent wafting off you, that's what?

Your third drink?

I guzzle martinis to try to forget you exist.

Sadly, it numbs the pain, but it doesn't block you out of existence.

Look, I'm flying to New York in the morning.

Oh, no. Absolutely not. Not tomorrow.

You have obligations.

No. No, no, I've spent too much money and wasted too much time.

We have a family therapy session

because our son has been in the hospital for the past three weeks.

The hospital?

A ten-grand-a-week opioid resort.

He tried to kill himself.

Fuck. The cretin can't even tie a decent knot.

Why can't he be like his brother and drive a sports franchise

into the ground, you know, just to feel better?

Look, I hate your fucking guts, and you hate mine.

And we can't get divorced because we have too much fucking money

and to lose any of it would be such...

sweet sorrow.

But I'm bringing you something you're gonna like, mama.

Is it self-driving software

that can't tell the difference between a mailbox and a person?

Or an algorithm that drives teen girls to eating disorders? Hmm?

No.

Generational biotech so powerful it will make medicine obsolete.

Come on, Franny.

When have you seen me this excited about something? You should try it.

Imagine if I can see just a glimmer of your glory years again.

Maybe I wouldn't have to hire any more slutty assistants.

The idea of the slightest physical contact

with you makes me swallow my own vomit.

Okay, well, what about me?

I have to watch you waddling around in your breezy kaftans.

Barely disguising a body that's built like...

a sack of holiday hams.

Mr. Horrifying Monster of a Human Being.

I spent all my life chasing beauty,

perfection, diet, trainer, needles,

scalpel, elixirs, cleansers.

I thought it would make me feel good, healthy and happy and content.

It would help me find a kind of mate that would help me

build a life I wanted, the life that I deserved.

And then one day you wake up,

and you realize that you are the dog that caught the car.

And your dream life...

...is actually my golden prison.

Maybe it's time to burn it all down.

You're fucking psychotic.

Yeah, burn it, go ahead.

Yeah, go ahead, burn it, burn it, burn the whole fucking thing down,

burn the whole fucking house down!

I might do just that.

Once I learned that beauty is the answer to nothing,

I became the happiest I've ever been.

Yo!

Oh. Ooh.

Do your fucking job.

I don't want to have to tell you again.

Well, you can't open the fucking door for me? Get my fucking bags.

Keep it warm, Josiah.

Be careful.

You know, everybody in this place is still waiting for you to kick it.

Uh. There's still time for me

to kill you vultures first.

I guess after tomorrow, we're gonna have to find a new carcass to circle.

Yeah, I'll have new problems.

- Like what? - Look at me.

If this shit works half as good as they say,

how the hell are we supposed to explain how different we suddenly look?

Since when do you explain anything to anyone?

Well, this is different. I've got shareholders, the board.

Then fuck all that.

So what's your big plan?

Me?

I guess I'll go with the tried and true celebrity plastic surgery routine

and that diet and exercise baloney.

I don't think I'm gonna do that.

I think I'm just gonna throw it all in the rearview

and buy a mountain or an island.

Oh.

Never speak to anybody for the rest of my life.

Except for the newest piece of ass that I fly in,

but you do you, baby kins, you do you.

Come. Come join us.

Please, make yourselves comfortable.

Oh, thank you.

Thank you.

Now, bear witness.

Four million years ago,

a landmark moment in human evolution occurred.

We developed bipedalism, the ability to walk on two legs.

From there, our brains enlarged, cognitive abilities expanded,

we could use tools and started agricultural and industrial revolutions.

Over the last century and a half, we advanced technology and medicine

far enough that life expectancy has improved by nearly 50 years.

Some of you in this room have already beaten the average.

But age has taken its toll.

Time, as they say, is undefeated, the last great stumbling block of mankind.

In response, you tasked me with a mission.

The Manhattan Project of Longevity and Aesthetics.

Ladies and gentlemen, say goodbye to your old broken-down bodies.

I introduce to you The Beauty.

Ooh.

Just before winning my second Nobel Prize,

I discovered the power of highly specialized gene therapies,

but I couldn't help but wonder what... what if we created

a broad spectrum group of specialized reprogrammable proteins and RNA.

Exciting, sure, but the real breakthrough,

the one that will get me Nobel number three,

was packaging those powerful proteins

with the most ruthlessly efficient viral gain of functionality ever designed.

This will allow us to completely rebuild your DNA from scratch, cell by cell.

A lot of blah-blah here.

Yeah, sounds like you're trying to sell me drain cleaner.

Let's just get to the brass tacks.

A rebuild of that scale unleashes the most perfect version of your physical self.

Take a look.

Seventy-one-year-old male, stage four prostate cancer,

heart trouble, declining brain activity, obese, you get the picture...

Once The Beauty has gone to work...

Ooh.

- Uh-huh. - I like him.

His cancer is vaporized, never to return.

Increased cardiac capacity, lean muscle with 6% body fat,

bone density increased, faster brain synapses.

Maybe your dad chain-smoked during family road trips. Who cares?

Mom chased pills and vodka while pregnant with you?

- Irrelevant. - Serious question.

Am I gonna have, like, a huge cock?

Not that I need it.

Aesthetically perfect in every way.

It took four operations, and a few gallons of saline,

but I already have the tits of a 25-year-old.

What happens to them?

Any non-biological items will dissolve during the rebuilds.

You think they are great now...

just wait until tomorrow.

And there's not a stitch or a scar involved in all this?

One intravenous injection.

Oh, come on.

No, no, no, no, I don't like it.

This is bullshit.

This is way fucking nuttier than I realized.

Talk side effects.

Wait... [stammers] Are we the guinea pigs?

Some acute initial discomfort, sure.

But that will subside as your body adjusts.

All of our work is available for your perusal.

However, I wouldn't recommend running to the FDA with this.

Well, that's reassuring.

Well, if it works, who gives a shit?

How many people know about this?

No one outside of this room.

All the data and the final formulation resides here.

And only here.

Lab techs are compartmentalized.

They don't know what the main objective is.

Like a fine watchmaker, I task them with building parts,

then I construct the final product.

So what you're suggesting is that immortality is possible

if we just take this special miracle juice.

Those concepts are for storybooks and movies.

Our science is an antidote.

To what?

To the limitations of being human.

Great.

Let's get poked!

This?

Oh.

- What? - What in the fuck are you wearing?

It's my Burning Man outfit.

- I'm a burner. - Oh.

I mean, it's cool, right?

Okay.

Welcome...

to the first day,

the best day of the rest of your lives.

If you'll notice, uh, you've got care packages

that will help you through this process.

Let's save that for post injection.

There are gallons of spring water here.

And if you need more, just ask.

Why would we need to drink more than a gallon of water each?

Privacy, Mr. Forst.

Remember what we are doing here is built on deep trust.

Yeah, I just had some unfinished business.

That stays here. It's personal stuff.

Take your cleansing wipes.

They're found in the white containers to your left.

Pick an arm, any arm, and swab the injection site.

- Nice. Get it good. - Goddamn it.

Now...

your dose.

Okay.

Nice.

Thank you.

Hello.

Oh, fuck.

My last Botox stung more than that.

I don't... I-I don't feel shit.

I'm a boy.

I'm...

perfect.

Ray.

Ray.

What are you doing?

You're afraid.

You're afraid your monster is gonna kill its creator.

No. [stammers] No, please.

Just because there's been a disaster,

doesn't mean we cancel our insurance policies.

Walk.

Walk!

- Walk. Let's take a walk, Ray. - Okay, okay.

- Oh, Jesus. - Let's take a walk.

Please! Please!

No!

Whoa! Whoa!

- Sir, is that really you? - Yes, dumbass.

I told you it'd be a shocking transformation.

Is everything packed and ready?

- Yes, sir. - Good.

I'm sorry, fellas.

It's just trust issues are a bitch.

Okay. Let's go.