All language subtitles for Deadly.Class.S01E01.Reagan.Youth.720p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTG

World War I was started
by a teenager with a pistol...

A Serbian peasant
who chose to assassinate

Archduke Franz Ferdinand.

Set in motion
the chain reaction

culminating in two world wars
and today's Cold War.

Character is revealed
through choice.

Consider for a moment.

Sorry, I was just...

Jesus!

Who would be the recipient
of your rage:

A thief,

a child molester,

a world leader?

This one decision
betrays all secrets

and unveils true motive.

Ask yourself.
On that dark ledge,

poised to strike
with clean opportunity...

Who would you kill?

Happiness is just
the absence of pain.

These days, that's the best
I can hope for.

Dad would tell me
to lighten up.

"Life's not a dress rehearsal.
Trust in God's plan."

I wonder what he'd think
about God's plan

if he'd lived to see
what happened to me

in that boys' home.

If he'd seen what
I had to do to get out.

If he'd heard the screams
in that fire.

Shit, maybe this is
God's plan for me.

Hungry, homeless, and wanted
by every cop in the city

for a dozen murders.

A positive mental attitude

is essential
to survival out here.

These fucking people
make it hard.

Lunatics,
gangbangers, pushers.

You can only
stay on your toes for so long

before you wake up with
a screwdriver in your gut.

All I ever wanted
was the mundane shit

everyone takes for granted.

Somewhere I belong.
A safe place to sleep.

To know where my next meal
is coming from.

I see it in their eyes.

Easier to think I've done
something to deserve this.

And in my case,
maybe they're right.

What you got
for me today, Marcus?

Hmm.

Ain't you cute.

No, no.

You retarded, boy?

Next time you forget
who's running shit around here,

I'll break your goddamn neck.
Do you hear me?

Get!

Reagan cut funds
to the local nuthouses,

and released hundreds
of schizos on the street.

But I'm sure that money
went to a better place.

A cruise missile, a tax cut

for some fat prick
in a penthouse.

Hey, why not?

If you're rich,
it's because you deserve it.

If you end up smoking
some hippie's street roach,

well, that shit's on you.

Joint hits like a semi.

Oh, shit.

Day of the Dead.

Is that tonight?

Oh, this was a bad idea.

So let us
remember the children

and the future
we want for them.

Well, hello, Marcus.

Looks like that joint was
laced with angel dust, son.

Bad score.

I tried to tell you, just say no.

Head full of static.

Never could handle
being high in a public place.

The paranoia sets in.

Someone is definitely
watching me.

Yo, you've been made.

Get on.

- Police!
Don't move!

Put your weapons
on the ground!

Don't look like
no psychopath to me.

Can't judge a book
by its cover.

But you can judge one
by its smell.

- He's cute.
- Yeah.

Total "Hobo Fancy"
cover boy material.

What you say,
mad dog?

You the psycho that did
the boys' home massacre?

Pretty tough barking
at a dude tied to a chair.

Untie this punk-ass bitch.

All right, but my money's on
Hepatitis Harry.

Forgive my students.

They forget that viciousness

serves only to
make them look weak.

Billy, if you'd be so kind.

Are you satisfied
with your life?

Me?

Yeah.

I eat trash
and I sleep in piss.

Everything according to plan.

Speak to Master Lin
with respect.

Master Lin can eat my shit.

Who the hell are you people?

What's important is that
we know who you are, Marcus.

And that we know
what you've done.

You're a killer.

Few value this particular
proficiency, but I do.

What if I told you there's
a home for people like you?

A school where you'd be
surrounded by your peers.

- Only what?
I dress up like a Viking

so you can take
tasteful pictures?

I'm offering you a chance to
harness that fire inside you.

To master the deadly arts.

The deadly arts, yeah.

That, uh...
that sounds great.

You know, this all seems
really sane and normal,

and y'all look like
a fun bunch, but, uh...

whatever this is...

Later, days.

That son of a bitch
stole my wallet.

- Where's the kid now?
You gotta tell me.

Has anyone here seen our boy?

Every single thing
I own, gone.

Nowhere left to go.

No future.

No way out.

I tried, Papa.

But there's nothing left
to fight for.

All I have left
are memories of sunshine.

Some perfect day, huh, bud?

Marcus?

Hey, things are better now.

You got to try
and snap out of it.

You only get
the one turn at this.

You either find a way
to be happy

and enjoy it, or you don't.

Life isn't a dress rehearsal.

After years of turmoil, Mom
and Dad were finally happy.

I tried to be as well,

but I didn't trust it.

Reagan cut funds to the
mental health facilities,

released hundreds of
mentally ill onto the streets,

including Barbara Salinger,

a suicidal schizophrenic.

Barbara Salinger,
who made every fear

I ever had come true.

I don't believe in God,
but I'm a hypocrite.

Most nights, I pray.

A track running
in the background.

I pray for a way out.

Away from another institution.

Away from another monster.
Away from another cage.

I pray for help.

- What are you waiting for?
- Jesus Christ!

What the hell?
- Sorry.

Is this kind of
a private moment?

I'd let you jump, but Lin says
I got to bring you back.

Yeah, well, Lin's
going to be disappointed.

Master Lin can protect you
from the cops,

and once he's done with you,
you'll be able

to protect yourself
from anyone.

Not to be a dick,
but what do you have to lose?

Nothing.

Wait!

Just hear me out, okay?

I know all that
terrible shit in your head.

What do you know?

I know you don't
have anyone.

I didn't, either.

You don't have to be alone.

Master Lin has a basic
code of conduct.

There is one thing
you cannot do.

Give up our location,
and we will kill you.

Like, full-on
"Conan the Barbarian" style.

Like, you will be eviscerated.
Lin's family has been

eviscerating people
for centuries.

They really love it.
- Lin don't flex.

Got a worldwide rep
to maintain.

The rest of the rules
are simple.

No disobedience, no drugs,

and no sex.

We find ways
around the last one.

Well, hopefully not in here.

What is this?

Welcome to King's Dominion.

Zhou dynasty.

That sword filled the Yangtze
with blood.

Our species may delude itself
under a more noble veneer,

but we share one primary goal
with other animals.

Survival.

However, when in service
to the greater good,

there can be
nobility in killing.

It is a stark truth:

Some people deserve to die.

My great-grandfather came here

in search of
the American dream.

What he discovered
was a nightmare

of indentured servitude
and abuse.

So he taught himself to kill;

found a purpose in revenge.

He founded this school,

dedicated his life
to the self-liberation

of oppressed people.

People like you.

Primarily, I train
creative problem-solvers.

Over time, our curriculum
and focus has broadened,

but we must not forget
my ancestor's primary goal:

To give peasants
the required skill

to dethrone
their corrupt masters.

And if you do as I say...

I'll give your rage
a voice loud enough

to be heard around the world.

Fuck it.

Dude, what's your problem?

Punk-ass bitches
is my problem.

The locals all strike
the same disaffected front.

Hey, Saya, what's up?

These are posers from
every corner of the globe.

Yakuza don't consort
with wetbacks, dipshit.

It doesn't matter
where they're from.

Kids are all
the same:

Assholes.

Only difference is,
in this place?

The dagger in your back
is real.

You Mexican?

Uh...

Dad was Nicaraguan.

Mom was from Kansas.

Yeah, whatever you are,

some rep you got.

Half of the class
is scared shitless.

The other half want to see
if your rep's for real.

So what's your affiliation?

Oh, I don't vote.

I'm Maria.
You can run with Soto Vato.

- Yeah, rain check.
That's, um...

that's not really my thing.

Being in a gang
is mandatory for survival.

You'll be safer
with your own people.

Plus, it'll make it easier
for me to get to know you.

You like this pendejo?

As if.

I'm just looking
for new recruits, baby.

- Man, get off her.
- Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.

Tranquilo.

- The blade.
Bad memories.

You like Maria, huh?

Meet my other lady.

- Not here.
He'll block.

Come on, let's go.

Tonight,

me and you
are going on a date.

Wear something nice.

We're going to bury you in it.

Aw.

Go.

Jesus!

Who would be the recipient
of your rage:

a thief,
a child molester,

a world leader?

This one decision
betrays all secrets

and unveils true motive.

Ask yourself.
On that dark ledge,

poised to strike
with clean opportunity.

Who would you kill?

Your homework tonight,
half your semester grade,

will tell me
who you really are.

Use your training.

Search the city
for a worthy target.

Someone you think
deserves to die, and kill them.

Discard the body,
hide all evidence.

Bring me proof.

No way
this is a coincidence.

Was it designed
to fuck with me?

No problem
for a killer like you.

Someone who deserves to die.

Rory.

It was an open secret
around camp.

If anyone went missing,
we knew who did it.

And eventually,
he stopped hiding the bodies.

There was talk about
going to the police,

but Rory knew one thing:

Cops don't care about
dead homeless.

When the Republic of Texas
openly declared genocide,

which Indian tribe survived
for another 40 years?

Well, they all
got done in the end.

Sorry, Ms. DeLuca.

The fierce Comanche survived

due only
to strength and cunning.

Remember, hand-wringing
liberal ideals

won't keep you safe.

The world respects those
who can protect themselves.

Every opponent has a weakness.

Pick a partner.
Find theirs.

- No, no, I'm good.
- Come on.

Dude, I know you got me
in this leg shear,

but your boner's digging into
my chest cavity.

I get it, soft and warm.
I use lotion.

Hey, sorry about Chico.

I'll fix that.

Look, I know you're crazy
or whatever,

but you shouldn't
mess with him.

You shouldn't date
such an asshole.

It's complicated.

Girls always go
for dickheads?

Guys always go
for girls they can't have.

This is...

No, no, no, don't do it.

No, no, no, no, no.

- Is someone going to help him?
- Bogus move.

Should have elbow-knee
escaped into a triangle.

And size doesn't matter.

It's okay, I'll show you.
Hand here and here.

Why'd you come back?

I needed a place
to hide from the pigs.

I think you need
a better reason.

Think of any?

Heart racing like I got
a knife to my throat.

This is insane.
Did I just join a cult?

Thanks.

Fuck, I think I just
joined a cult.

Master Lin tells me that my
reputation has already spread.

It'll cause me grief
with the local savages.

Still, unsanctioned killing
of another student

is against his rules,
so I got that going for me.

In this case, the victim dies

in a spectacularly
nasty fashion,

as blood seeps
from every orifice.

Prepare your poison, students.

We will be killing
these animals in two minutes.

Dude.

Hey, hello?

Dude, be rad.
Get Viktor's attention for me.

Why?

The good of
the common people.

Come on.

Hey, sorry, could you
grab that for me?

Pick up your own book,
soft boy.

Name one
common industrial poison

ideal for making a statement.

Viktor.
- Sodium cyanide.

Victim is dead in seconds.

You want to make a statement,
strychnine leaves your victim

contorted and convulsing
for hours.

- Good, Petra.
And why do we want it known

that this wasn't an accident?

Poison delivers
a clear message.

No one is safe from you...

Anywhere.
- Outstanding.

Hey.

Maybe you and me,
we study tonight?

- Are you serious?
- Pale face, black hair.

Here, they say "goth."

In Soviet Union,
they would call you beautiful.

Sit down, Viktor.

- I must use lavatory.
- I said sit down!

Do it!

Sit!

Learn from his shame, class.

Viktor invited this attack
with his arrogance.

You, always remember this.

- And you.
Get a mop.

I think Chico's
got a crush on you.

Or he wants to kill you.
Probably kill.

Tomorrow, this can be you.
Famous!

- Fuck that bully.
He pushed a girl.

- What his deal, anyway?
- Mm, Chico's cartel,

numero unoon campus.

Like the star football kids
at a normal school.

- Dicks.
- Top of the legacies.

Kids from government
or criminal organizations.

As in, not like us.
- Us?

My old man's an abusive,
low-rank cop

dialed into the mob.

You're a bloodthirsty orphan.

We're losers, dude.

- What about them?
- Preps.

Rich kids.
Mostly CIA, FBI.

- Fascists.
- Exactly.

Dixie mob.
Confederate cousin-diddlers.

White nationalists.
- Nazis?

You can't seem to keep
those rascally varmints down.

Oh, white power!
Ah-ha-ha.

Dude in the Iron Maiden tee,
that's Leonard.

Leads the Hessians.
Lower on the totem pole,

but he's got weed.
- And what?

You got to join
his D&D campaign to get any?

I'm an elfish thief
named Jizzledim.

Final World Order out of Watts.
Party bummers.

Leader is Willie.
- What about her?

Oh, young man's got his eye
on the unobtainable Saya.

Mmm.

Part valedictorian,
part prom queen.

100% bitch.

And leads the Kuroki Syndicate,
Yakuza kids.

Gnarly.

No, dude.
No, no, no.

You're a Rat.

- Harsh.
- As in not from a legacy.

You got the welcoming rat bones
and seasonal cheese basket.

Yeah, we're at the bottom
of the food chain.

No affiliation.

Come on, I want
to show you something.

This is the Graveyard.

Hideaway of the kooks,
subculture elitists,

and the disenfranchised
substance of losers.

Those who in general
don't mix well with others.

It's a simple solution, okay?

You have
a John Hughes screening

in a theatre-shaped
furnace, right?

And then, light her up.

You know?

You torch one crowd
after the other

until the world is safe
from baby boomer innocents.

I'd like to sign up
for your newsletter.

Petra, Lex, meet Marcus,
the new Rat.

The orphanage killer
that's got to fight Chico?

Looks like a proper asshole.

Lex is head
of the Civility Club.

Civility is just
lying to people

about your
true feelings, wanker.

Not an affliction
you suffer from.

Oh, extra credit
for making Suzie Sue smile.

- Smile?
Hard to tell through

all that makeup.

How long
does it take you to paint

that ghoulish,
sad clown face, Petra, love?

Oh, holy mope, Batman!

Rain check on the
"Black Celebration."

Last kid has this much buzz

was the son of that
hippie serial killer, no?

Turtle, Tweedle,
whatever his name was.

- He got what he deserved.
- Yeah, it turns out

patchouli and Birkenstocks

don't protect from
a mace to the noggin.

Does that scare you, asshole?

- Patchouli?
Absolutely.

Don't listen to Lex,
all right?

You'll be fine.
Just going to hang up here

with us, and these most awesome
years of your life will fly by.

You can even use this place
to do some good.

Change the world with a bullet,
as Lin loves to say.

I plan on changing
a proper big bit of it.

Heads of state, blam.
Bankers, blam.

Oil executives...
- Bono, don't forget Bono.

What about it, new friend?

What barbaric ambition
inspires you?

I'm going to kill the guy
who ruined my life.

I'm going to assassinate
Ronald Reagan.

He said he's going to kill
the bloody Gipper!

Better do it before your
hot date with Chico, huh?

That guy's all talk.

The last bloke who looked
at Maria was Chico's cousin.

Chico jammed a barbecue fork
into his back.

Left him a bloody paraplegic.

Yeah, but the rules,
they prevent you from...

Chico doesn't give a shit
about rules, man.

He's a butcher.
- No joke.

And ready or not,
after school today,

one of you is going to die.

Valproate?

Maria, chill.

Maria!

I got to talk to you.

- Get lost.
- Please.

Chico?

You started shit with Chico...
- He was choking Maria.

Maria.

Well, good luck
with that, psycho.

- It's all bullshit.
This stupid reputation.

When I was nine,
my dad and my mom,

they died right in front of me.

Court sent me to a boys' home.

The place was just a sweatshop.

They...

they tortured us, they...

They... they did a lot
of bad shit.

I hurt some guards
when I bailed,

but I... I didn't kill
those kids.

- The newspapers, cops?
- They got it all wrong,

and that's not the point.
I'm not what you think I am.

I'm not like you.

Well, if it's all bullshit,
then why did you come here?

- You told me to.
You kissed me.

Dude, that was an assignment.

Lin would have failed me
if I didn't bring you back.

You told me I didn't
have to be alone.

I didn't tell you to go
start shit with the cartel.

- I didn't know.
- Didn't know what?

That the tatted-up vato
was a legitimate killer,

and not a theatre kid?

Do you have any idea
where you are?

That's why
I'm asking for help.

He's going to kill you.

So what should I do?

Only thing you can.

Run.

Ay!

- Jesus, Maria.
- It's nothing.

He said he'll do
a lot worse to you.

So just forget it, okay?

- Son of a bitch.
- Just leave it alone, Marcus.

It's bullshit, ese?

Trickle down.
That shit don't trickle.

It's stuck up there...
- Hey!

Oh, but you fucking...

- Good on you.
Taking the initiative.

- What's up?
- Come on, Chico, fuck him up.

Say Chico's the man,
and you're his bitch.

Say it!
- You're just a dickless

rich kid in a prep school,

playing the role
Daddy assigned.

You got something to lose.
I don't.

I fought a guy who
carves people up for fun.

You're just a poser.
- You really think

they'll kick me out
for gutting a Rat?

- Go on then.
Show 'em, come on.

Do it!
- Enough.

Good.

You're learning.

Just a friendly spar
with my new amigo.

Get some rest, Marcus.
We'll finish this later.

Vamanos.

Why you back in that
bunk-ass jacket?

Yo, I got to ace
this Black Arts assignment,

and you're my new lab partner.

- Why would I help you?
- Homeboy, Lin ain't here,

and I ain't no bitch
like Chico.

Get in the damn car.

- I get it.
First day jitters.

I remember my first day.

Mesmerized by that fat ass
on Ms. DeLuca.

DeLuca's my new white whale.

It was that redneck ho, Brandy,

till I broke through
the Mason-Dixon line.

- Brandy's your girlfriend?
- Girlfriend?

What?
Hell no.

She a Nazi, Marcus.
That ain't girlfriend material.

Hell is wrong with you?

I mean, we knocked boots
a few times.

But DeLuca?

Now, I'd wife that up.

Okay, you don't
want to chit-chat.

Want to act a punk,
that's cool.

But so we clear,
you going to help me cap

this bad hombre
you was telling Chico about.

Unless it's some bullshit.
- Oh, he's real.

Rory's an animal.
- Ooh, scary.

What's this fool look like?

Good thing you ain't trying
to be no artist.

That's some wack-ass
indie-type shit right there.

The best comics are indie.

"Flaming Carrot,"
"American Flagg."

- Uh, "X-Men"?
The Dark Phoenix?

That bitch
be jacking everybody up.

Male fantasy,
mainstream melodrama bullshit.

Hey, hey, hey, hey,
hey, hey, hey, hey.

The Dark Phoenix Saga
owns all of that.

Chris Claremont
and John Byrne, motherfucker.

Say it!
- Right, right.

It's better.
- Damn straight.

Here's the deal.
You help me do this,

I drop you off
anywhere you want to go,

and you won't ever
have to see my black ass

or King's Dominion again.

Scout's honor.

- Make a left.
- Here we go.

This what you
running back to?

Come on, be quiet.

What?

Go ahead and call me a punk.
I know you dying to.

I'm not the one
who brought you out here.

Fronting all this OG shit,
I hate it.

The shit ain't me, man.
None of this shit's me.

I'm a pacifist, man.
- You're a what?

What's this, now?

Run, maggots!

Split up!

Shit!

Where do you think
you're going?

- No, no, no, no!
No!

Hey, you boys coming up
in the city for me?

- No, man.
I don't want no trouble.

- You not leaving.
I like leaving.

Come on, man.

Old Rory going to
still your heart.

We got to get out of here.

Come on, man.
Let's go.

Marcus?
Marcus!

He dies over and over.

Shit!

His face disappears
on an endless loop.

What did you do?

I killed someone
who deserved it.

I ain't cut out
for this shit.

My moms, she the OG for real.

She just...
and she knows it.

She sent me to King's
to make me a man.

Ready?

And she's right.

I'm just a punk.

- You're not a punk.
Your mom's just an asshole.

Yeah, Mom don't think
that way.

And maybe you got
the right idea leaving.

Nobody telling you what to do.
Nobody to respect and shit.

No, it's awful.

No one cares if I live or die.

Nowhere to sleep,
nothing normal.

Shit, nothing normal
at King's.

Maybe this is
as close to normal

as kids like us get.

I thought you said
you wanted...

Hey, the hard part's
already done.

We passed.

Dude, this ain't the worst
of Lin's assignments.

You'll need someone
to do those for you, too.

And the truth of it is...

I got nowhere else to go.

I need a minute.

No kind god watching over us.
Life is insignificant.

A short, dull buzz.
A brief flicker.

None of it means anything.

Just shit that happens.

You embarrassed Chico.

He'll never let this go.

What the hell happened
to your black eye?

Makeup.

You wanted to play hero.
I just gave you an excuse.

Jesus Christ.

That's why you
pretended to like me?

So I'd fight your boyfriend?

- So you'd kill him.
I need him gone.

- Well, sorry I let you down.
- The Soto Vatos,

they're going to
keep coming at you.

- Yeah, because of you.
- I'm sorry.

- Sorry?
You're sorry?

I... I almost got killed.
- I tricked you.

But I wasn't pretending.

No one's ever
fought for me before.

Chico gets in fights about me,
but not for me.

I... I have enough problems.

Petra cooked up
some moonshine.

Everyone's getting wasted
in the graveyard.

You should come.

Maybe.

Um, I mean, yeah, sure.

"Maybe, I mean, yeah, sure."

You're a real crack-up,
para veño.

What do you
want here, Marcus?

A reason to wake up.

- Tragedy will always find you.
That won't change here.

But how you respond to it will.

Yeah, well,
shitty things just happen.

What's the response to that?

My daughter, Naya, was two

when she and my wife
were killed.

The people I loved most,

taken by the faulty brakes
of a freight liner.

And my response?

I found
the drug-addled truck driver,

the greedy owner who couldn't
check the brake lines,

and the judge who called my
family's murder an act of God.

They were my first kills.

But your family
was still gone.

As are the men responsible.

- And it helped?
- Not at first.

Even with my training,
the weight of it haunted me.

Years of sleepless guilt.

Then, over time, I accepted it
was my right to exact justice.

Why should they enjoy
another single day?

It's like you said.

Some people deserve to die.

Once you shed your fear

of choosing who does
and who doesn't, you'll see.

Strength feels better
than weakness.

Come in.

Am I done
with the assignment?

Not yet.

When was the last time I
felt like I belonged anywhere?

Really belonged.

Maybe this is who I am.
What else is there?

Some desk job?
Suburbia?

An overweight,
pill-popping wife

raising the next generation
of automatons?

Why participate in that?

Is that what I really want?
Bet it isn't.

An ethical compass would
be fine if everyone had one.

But it's a cold, cruel world,

and you can't survive
without a family.

Even if they are
liars and murderers.

And I'd be no different
than a cop,

or a soldier, or a politician.

Killing is just
a part of the profession.

Maybe I finally
found a reason to live.

In a place
surrounded by death.