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Provided by explosiveskull https://twitter.com/kaboomskull

Since the age of five,

Ben Gibbon had been in 723 scrapes, scuffles and brawls.

An approximate 32.86 per year.

And he lost every single one.

With a record like that,

his therapist determined that he was actually trying to lose,

and in truth, for Ben, winning was never the point.

It was more like a nagging sensation

that he was floating around inside his own brain,

watching his life like it was a movie where nothing happened.

He could see it, but he couldn't feel it.

So he was left with a violent need to feel something.

- Hey! - Anything.

Detached from reality

and a captive audience of his own movie,

Ben searched out increasingly disruptive ways

of at least making it a crowd-pleaser.

It was an aimless search, rife with conflict and self-abasement.

Until, without ever really knowing what he was looking for,

he found love.

Holy shit.

All at once, Ben's world came alive

and he felt his life with an immediacy he never thought possible.

But then, just as suddenly as it had appeared,

it was gone.

And just like that,

Ben found himself right back where he started.

Stay down, bitch.

One moment.

Mm.

Oh, fuck, fellas.

Still beating.

Son of a...

Why are we going to this, again?

It's gonna be fun.

It will not be fun.

You sure it's not because you heard she's back?

I doubt she'll be there.

It's her house.

We're not even invited to this thing, are we?

Nope.

Mukul's concern was justified,

as Ben had a reputation for terrorizing high society events.

In fact, after a recent string of flagrant infractions,

a newly minted restraining order made the point loud and clear.

Ben Gibbon was very much not welcome.

- Uh, Mom's coming. - Benjamin.

- Oh, my God. What are you doing here? - Hey, Mom.

Free booze. Thank you, perfect timing.

- Thank you. - Come with me.

You do realize that you were banned from these events.

Ma, it's water under the bridge.

You punched the president of the Exeter Club,

- urinated on the carpet. - Yeah, yeah. We get it, we get it.

Why can't you keep him under control, Mukul?

Your son's an anarchist, Mrs. Gibbon.

- He's a Democrat. - What's that?

Uh, Mom, they're bruises, they don't come off.

Have you two been smoking dope?

- Yeah. - No.

- Son. - There's your father.

- Batman. - That's the man.

What? It's really good.

Mm-hmm. If William and Beatrice see him here,

it's gonna make an already uncomfortable situation...

My eyes must be deceiving me.

Not much for appearances, are we?

Just a little scuffle, you know how boys are.

That's not the point.

Your son is trespassing.

I'll keep a close eye on him and he's going to behave himself. Right, Benjamin?

Hmm?

Thank you.

Do I need to call the authorities?

Can you try to not look so miserable?

The city's most eligible bachelors are here tonight

and you're sitting in the corner.

Humor me. Make an effort.

I don't want everyone talking about how my daughter looked miserable all night.

Mary Rathcart first upset her parents' lofty expectations

when, at the age of 12,

she was expelled from the city's most prestigious private school.

By the time she was 16,

she had been kicked out of every private school in town.

But she finally went too far

when she fell for Benjamin Gibbon,

the notorious son of her father's bitter rival.

When the news broke, it was an instant scandal

and she was strictly forbidden from seeing the Gibbon boy ever again,

which, as far as Mary was concerned, simply wasn't an option.

So she made a secret plan to abscond with Ben to Mexico.

But their plan was soon thwarted

and Mary was abruptly shipped off to boarding school in Paris,

where her talents would be cultivated in a more regimented environment.

Mary wrote Ben many times,

first to say...

- I miss you. - Then to ask...

Did you forget me?

- Then simply... - Fuck you!

But for reasons Mary couldn't fathom,

Ben never wrote back.

And so she never wrote again.

She did her best to forget about Ben and forget the world she left behind.

She remained in Paris to study at the Sorbonne

and committed herself to a brand new life,

but her heart remained fraught,

plagued by a chronic loneliness she simply couldn't shake.

And yet her overbearing father

made sure she was always closely watched,

so she was never quite as alone as she felt.

In the end, time doused what fire was left in her

and like a domesticated bird seeking the comfort of the cage,

she returned home, weary and humbled,

right back where she started.

I said, "See him out."

Benjamin was already leaving, William.

What? Do you have something to say?

Just wanted to show face.

Why don't you throw a steak on that eye? You look like a goddamn criminal.

For generations, the Gibbon and Rathcart families

had stood in staunch opposition of one another.

One might even go as far as to call it a "blood feud,"

and like all blood feuds,

it began with a bit of blood.

The year was 1864.

Tarleton Rathcart and Theodore Gibbon,

both powerful figures in New York City's burgeoning news industry,

met as gentlemen duelers after an unflattering story

was run in Theodore's paper in regards to Tarleton's shoes.

Theodore fell to Tarleton's bullet,

uttering the dying words...

Tell that cheating bastard Rathcart I'll see him in hell.

Over the years, both families' publications

grew steadily into opposing media conglomerates

known today as Gibbon Telecommunications

and the Rathcart Corporation,

and the dueling continued.

One could easily call it the most combative media rivalry in history,

but for Henry Gibbon and William Rathcart,

it was never about business... it was personal.

Excuse us. Come, son.

You're a grown man.

It's time you act like it.

Get out.

What was that all about?

William was a little harsh, wasn't he?

Mary's back.

Bro, the coats.

Hmm.

Okay.

Security!

- Oh, my God! - Hey, you got it?

Go, go, go, go, go!

He stole the coats again.

Walter, that's my coat! Stop him!

Gibbon!

Mary's exile to Paris was conducted swiftly and without warning.

He called and texted, but was never answered.

He emailed, but received no response.

Mary's whereabouts and her silence remained a haunting mystery

until Ben happened across a gossip story detailing her exploits in Paris.

Heartbroken, Ben used the one-way ticket he had hoped to use with Mary

and disappeared to Mexico unannounced,

with no intention of returning.

His only attempt to communicate his dire existential intentions

was a cryptic letter sent to his mother and father.

He returned seven months later in the company of Mukul.

Having sworn an oath of secrecy,

neither of them ever spoke a word of how they met,

but they had been inseparable ever since.

You know, I just can't stomach this.

After all these years, you'd think even that kid would find a way to grow up.

Henry's gonna have to write a check this time.

It's best to not get embroiled, darling.

He does this kind of thing often?

Whenever he decides to show his face.

Oh, I know that look, Mary.

- Shall I pull out the scrapbook? - No, please, don't.

You know, most parents keep a record of their kids' achievements,

not their failures. It's weird.

My mother always said, "There's no greater teacher than shame."

Don't be dramatic. It's funny.

I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy.

Third grade report card. Flabbergasting precociousness.

The boy is properly sick in the head.

Turned down the family fortune.

- He did? - Oh, I love this one.

You remember Felix Graham?

He had a few sessions with him some years back.

Pathological contrariness.

Said he had a screw loose.

- Oh, this is classic. - Point taken.

He said he had some kind of death wish taking all those beatings.

Imagine a kid getting a diagnosis like that.

- A death wish? - Enough!

Ben Gibbon is in the past,

just like all of these other regrettable decisions.

And you being home doesn't change anything. Am I understood?

Mary knew that a prerequisite

for being back home under her parents' roof

was maintaining a quietly obedient exterior.

Fuck!

Mary.

Something to say?

No.

The young male gibbon

will now challenge the dominant male for control of the family.

If the adolescent continues his challenge,

the dominant male will respond with a violent attack...

forcing the young gibbon to strike off on its own in search of a mate.

Hmm.

- Hey, strangers! - Cheers.

- Oh, my God! - Lily.

- Finally. - You're back, wow!

- Oh my God, shots! - She's here.

- Cheers. - Oh.

- We'll keep 'em going. - What's going on?

I have to dance.

What are we forgetting?

Oh, God. Everything.

Oh!

- Terrence. - Peekaboo.

What are you doing here?

I missed you.

- How did you know I was here? - Come with me.

I got us a private room, so we can talk away from these animals.

Terrence.

You followed me here, didn't you?

It would appear that way.

Well, that's not your job anymore, SO you need to stop doing it.

Mary.

I recall the good times we shared together.

The romantic nights.

Look at this little lost soul, doll.

I think he's cute.

Oh.

My wife thinks you're cute.

Like a rabbit.

Why don't you go over there and play with the new pet rabbit, huh?

Go on, have fun.

Hey, Rabbit, you know what I've always thought would be a cool way to die?

Shark attack.

A big fish

with big, bloody razor-sharp teeth eating you.

There he is.

Oh, here he comes.

Yeah, see, the point is, mate, we're all running round, right?

Like we're too special to get eaten by a bloody shark.

But we're not, right?

We're just monkeys. Monkeys in suits.

We are just little bloody mascots

for the great, big organ grinder in the sky.

So, Rabbit, how do you wanna die?

I wanna die in a gunfight.

Die in a gunfight? You hear that, doll?

Here we was, just thinking you were a scared little baby rabbit.

Jesus, mate.

Look what you've gone and done.

It's true what they say, I guess.

Every bird likes a bad boy.

How old are you, you rascally little wabbit?

I'm 27.

Bullshit, mate. I don't believe you.

- I wanna see some identification, please. - Guys.

Where are you bloody going, mate? Sit, sit, sit, sit.

Come on, hand it over. Come on. You're not under arrest yet.

Checks out. Have a look at that, doll.

It's a lot of fun, but I have to get going.

- Oh, no. - Rabbit!

We're just getting started here, mate.

After everything that we've been through together,

I wouldn't have thought that you'd be ashamed of me.

I have nothing to be ashamed of.

Good.

Because I think the feelings...

our feelings, are still there.

There were never any feelings.

Mm.

Terrence.

I...

That was then.

This is fucking now.

- What are you doing? - Mary, I love you.

- Terrence, please. I don't love you. - Mary...

Okay, just... Terrence.

- What is that? - Our logical conclusion.

Are you insane?

Terrence, just go.

Terrence, just go.

Mary, come on.

Terrence, please, just go away.

Hey, Barb, you wanna dance with Rabbit?

She's a really good dancer.

No. Like I said, I have to get going.

I said dance.

What's up, doc?

Whoo!

She is my shining angel.

And if my shining angel wants to dance,

then she's gonna bloody well dance, mate.

Isn't that right, hon?

Sure is, sugar pie.

Look at this, mate.

Two halves make a whole.

- I love you, baby. - I love you.

You wouldn't wanna hurt my angel's feelings now, would you, Wabbit?

No, but like I said, I have to get going.

Here I am, thinking that you're a big grown rabbit.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe you're just a pussy.

Oh, come on now, grizzly, be nice.

Oh, well, I didn't wear these dancing shoes for nothing, hon.

So what's it gonna be mate, hmm?

You a rabbit?

Or a pussy?

All right, enough.

Oh.

You're either gonna let me out, or I'm gonna make you let me.

Look at this, doll, huh?

Looks like me and Rabbit are gonna dance.

What, we gonna do the waltz?

We're gonna have a little bloody melee.

Give it everything you got, mate.

Hi.

Hi.

So this is your place?

I own it, yeah.

You bought this apartment?

Yeah, I did.

And the entire building around it.

How?

Word on the street is you're poor on purpose.

It's kind of a long story.

Okay.

Care to elaborate?

Mukul and I took an oath of secrecy.

Why didn't you write?

Why did you leave?

You should wash this blood off.

Pamela Corbett-Ragsdale,

a former research and development executive for Rathcart Computers

will be sitting down with our own Alan Gregory tomorrow night

in an exclusive live interview.

Corbett-Ragsdale will be discussing

the alleged internal memos circulated within Rathcart Corporation

requiring employees of Rathcart Computers

to sign a non-disclosure agreement

concerning a secretive program

called "Info Net."

Up next, murder mystery. That story, coming up next.

When a desperate William Rathcart came to Terrence Uberahl

asking him to handle his potentially devastating whistleblower problem,

Terrence was elated, certain that a job well done

was his ticket to securing Mary's hand in marriage.

So he made arrangements with the best contract killer in the business.

What's the status on Corbett-Ragsdale?

She checked into the Plaza this morning, sir.

- And? - And you have nothing to worry about.

I'm loyal to you, William, and to the corporation.

I feel very much like part of the family.

Well, your father and I were like brothers. You're like a son.

My sentiments exactly.

What if I could be... more than like a son?

Mary and I became very close

while I was keeping an eye on her for you in Paris.

I recall you blew your cover, put yourself at her mercy.

I took my job of protecting her very seriously

and I'd like to continue protecting her.

Yeah? In what capacity?

As her husband.

I proposed last night, sir.

If you approve, of course.

I'll make you a deal.

You take care of my problem, I'll grant you my daughter's hand.

Just one thing.

Not with Ragsdale, sir, with Mary.

I put a few of my men on her just to be safe

and they informed me that she spent the night last night

with... Benjamin Gibbon.

- I thought you said you proposed to her. - I did.

She just hasn't said "yes" yet, hence the problem.

How would you like me to proceed?

How about you stop being a pussy and just put the fear of God in him?

Yes, sir.

Mary said goodbye. Seems nice.

Don't look at me like that.

Time to go.

You don't want to be late for your mom's brunch, hmm?

Ahem.

Mary Rathcart?

Ben Gibbon.

Do I need to explain to you why this is unacceptable?

Who told you that?

We've always had such high hopes for you.

But you continually disappoint us.

- I'm sorry, I don't mean to continue... - To what, Mary?

Help the boy's father drag my fucking name through the mud?

I'm not sure he needs my help.

My God, you need a leash.

- William. - Ah!

The Rathcarts have been running their empire

like a criminal organization for generations,

but this Rathcart scandal is a unique opportunity.

It's my chance to end it.

But how can do I that

when my son is photographed cavorting with the man's daughter?

That drags us into it.

It clouds the issue, just when I need things to be...

Sorry, Dad. I'm listening.

...crystal clear.

Thank God Terrence is so willing to take you off our hands.

- He is? - Of course he is.

He's a rabid dog Dad won't call off.

But I thought the two of you were... friends in Paris.

As much as you can be friends with a fucking stalker.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right, Dad?

I love the choice of music, Mrs. Gibbon.

Thank you, Mukul.

Do you guys know what Beethoven's last words were?

"Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est."

"Friends, applaud.

The comedy is finished."

Goddamn it! I've had enough!

All you had to do was play ball

and all of this would have been yours.

I appreciate the offer, Dad, but I'd rather play with my own balls.

And what will you do when whatever it is you're living on runs out, hmm?

Please, enlighten us.

You know, I've been really putting a lot of thought into it.

Glad you ask.

Fishing.

I think I'll be a fisherman.

And Mukul here will be my first mate, right?

He takes after you. You know that?

This family needs to present a unified front and we need a distraction.

So I should marry a man I don't love?

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Your entire life, you have lived off the spoils of your bloodline.

Yes, now comes the reckoning!

So for once you will do as I say!

I worked my entire life to build my reputation

and I am entirely unwilling to let you and your Rasputin ruin it.

No, no, no, no, no. Mukul is my very good friend and our guest.

Leave him out of this.

Don't you think we're taking this a bit far, boys?

You fight, you steal, you drink, you're a disgrace.

Do you hear me?

Henry.

Do you hear me?

I hear you.

Your name may be Gibbon...

- And? - And it's bullshit.

...but you're not fit for this family.

And I'm not putting up with it.

- Hey! - You wanna act like a goddamn animal?

There is your cage!

Okay.

Benjamin.

You're excused.

Sorry, Mom.

I am. I'm sorry.

Go.

Just go, Ben.

I apologize if I played any part

in ruining your lovely Mother's Day celebration, Mrs. Gibbon.

Hmm.

Mm-hmm.

Later that night, alone in their respective rooms,

Mary and Ben found themselves doing what many of us tend to do

when we're feeling forlorn.

They were contemplating the events of the past...

the precious highs, the devastating lows,

and the choices they had made or failed to make in between,

all of which, when added up, had led them right here...

to this very moment.

They felt haunted by a suspicion

that history was somehow repeating itself.

And so each in their own way,

they resolved to throw caution to the wind

and do something quite different this time around.

Shh, shh! Hey, hey, hey.

- Shh, shh! - What are you doing here?

Why are you always leaving, huh?

What?

I don't know. I... I can't be here anymore.

Mary, we're at the age where it's pretty much time to conform or die.

We grew up thinking we're gonna be something special

and do something heroic with our lives, you know,

and they let us live in that fantasy for 20-something years.

And then what?

We're just supposed to surrender and grow up, live with the heartbreak

that our lives were never meant to be as great as we thought they'd be.

Honestly, I'd rather die.

What if there's another way?

What if greatness for me...

is loving you?

Loving you perfectly, and fuck the rest.

I can live with that, you know.

I'm pretty sure that kind of love never dies.

Mary.

Fuck it.

Fuck it.

You wanna get out of here?

Mary!

We need to talk.

I have an idea, in the interest of this not being weird.

Let's just start over. You know, pretend we're complete strangers

and it's the first time we've ever met.

- Like a blind date? - Yeah, exactly.

Okay, then.

So hi, I'm Mary.

Oh, you're really excited to meet me.

Hi. Hi. Hi, I'm Mary.

Yeah, okay, great. Mary, hi, I'm Ben.

- Hi. - Pleasure to meet you.

Pleasure's all mine.

Now what?

- Do you know who Ken Kesey is? - Of course.

You know, he had this thing where he always talked about making this movie,

like he was living his life making this movie.

I always liked that. I always thought of my life that way.

So am I in your movie now?

You've always been in my movie.

You better watch out.

I studied acting, so I'm gonna be the star of your movie.

- Hmm. - But I'm really, really bad at crying.

There was, like, a whole class on how to cry on command

and I could never do it. Never.

All right. Well, we're gonna need some backstory.

- Um, may I ask you a personal question? - Sure.

Who was the guy you were with last night?

I wasn't with a guy. He works for my dad.

When I was in Paris,

my dad sent him to keep an eye on me and I wasn't supposed to know.

And then one morning, I was having breakfast in a café

and he just sat down across from me and said...

Good morning, Mary.

I've weighed out my options before sitting down with you.

They were three in number.

One, maintain the status quo and keep my distance.

Two, pretend to be a stranger and take it from there.

Three, just come right out and hope for the best.

And that being said, I simply can no longer keep my distance.

And honesty is usually the best policy,

so I've decided to go with option three.

That's fascinating.

Mostly, though, I'm wondering who you are, what you want from me,

and why I shouldn't take this knife and put it in your fucking eye?

My name is Terrence Uberahl.

And I work for your father,

Mr. William Rathcart.

He has stationed me here as an invisible agent, so to speak.

I've been charged more precisely with keeping an eye on you

and stepping in if you were to invite undue trouble.

Why doesn't that surprise me?

You know, wouldn't it be so much more...

profitable if I were to come clean and reveal myself to you?

I mean, after all, lurking in the background

pales in comparison to being included.

Included?

Well, what I mean is,

you know, I could complete my mission

and report all the details of your comings and goings to your father or...

you and I could become in cahoots.

And all he'd have to hear is a bare and unexciting minimum.

And you know, all I'd ask in return is for you to grace me with your company,

only when you have time, of course.

So you're a double agent, are you?

Mademoiselle, I am merely an agent.

Of what, I have no idea.

I haven't been able to shake him since.

It was kind of like giving scraps to a stray.

He proposed to me last night with a ring.

Like, he actually went out and he bought a ring,

which means he thought that I actually might say yes,

which means he's not just a little off-kilter like I thought.

He's actually... He's insane. And my dad wants me to say yes.

But I always knew that he was fucking nuts.

So, here I am.

Hey, you're bleeding.

- Oh. - Here.

- Oh. No, no, no, it's fine. - Let me see.

Turn it off. Turn it off!

Just... Man, turn it off!

Just go. Go, go.

We're gonna piss a lot of people off.

To hell with them.

Meanwhile, Terrence Uberahl's hitman, Wayne McCarty,

who had instructed Terrence to leave his payment

in a bathroom stall at Club Wildlife the night before,

was making a detour with his wife Barbie

en route to killing Pamela Corbett-Ragsdale.

Hey. You got this, baby.

I'll be right here, cheering you on.

I'm so ashamed.

I feel like a bloody criminal.

You're no criminal.

You're just a guy with a big heart

and an even bigger personality.

Remember, serenity is not the absence of conflict...

But the ability to cope with it.

- Yeah. - Yeah.

We slipped.

This is part of making it right. You know it.

Yeah, I know it.

Mm-hmm, so you just go on in there

and give that boy back his wallet and tell him you're sorry.

You're a strong man, Wayne McCarty.

Yeah. That's why I love you.

Now, go be strong.

I don't deserve you, baby.

I don't deserve you.

Okay.

Oh!

Mate, hey, you know, you shouldn't leave your door open like that.

Geez, any weirdo could just walk in on you.

Oh, hey, guys.

I'm looking for, uh, Rabbit.

Who the fuck are you, man?

I'm the guy looking for Rabbit. Who the fuck are you?

We're looking for Ben Gibbon.

Ben is Rabbit. See? We're looking for the same person, okay?

So relax, I'm friends with him. You guys friends with him?

Didn't think so. Look, let's start again.

My name's...

Oh...

Good hit, buddy.

Good hit. Stop, stop, stop, stop.

Oh.

S...

Stop. Time out. Time out. Stop.

We're all looking for Ben. You hear that?

Oh, look, he's pulling up right now, guys. Look at...

Fucking start the car!

Oh, shit.

Hey!

Bye, guys!

- Hey! - Come on!

Benji, you here?

Oh.

- Hey. Mukul. - Hey.

Uh, you... you've met Mary.

- Hi. Hi, again. - Hello, there.

Um, I'm gonna go dry off.

- Yeah. - Yeah.

She's sweet.

- You good? - Yeah.

- So all bong gone? - Yeah.

What?

So nothing weird or unusual to report?

- No. - No one weird?

- No. - Okay.

- Why? - Just...

- You good? - Yeah.

Just keep your guard up. Hmm?

You worry too much, brother. I love you.

- Love you. - Today is a great day!

Just...

Oh...

Nice coat. Where'd you get it?

A gift from me to you. Take it.

You're too kind, really.

All these people are dead.

Turn around.

Turn around.

Okay.

Stop looking at me like that. You're making me shy.

Oh, cool.

Hmm.

I still think about going away to one of these places.

Just starting a totally new life where no one knows me.

Totally anonymous.

Well, that sounds nice, doesn't it?

No, it's stupid, childish.

- Childish, maybe. Not stupid. - Yeah.

Well, I tried it. It didn't exactly pan out, so...

Mm. No, you didn't.

You bailed on it.

You... You kept yours?

- You didn't? - I used mine.

You left, so I went on my own.

I didn't leave. I was sent.

Oh.

It's a pretty crazy idea for a couple of kids.

Yeah.

- Do you have a death wish? - What?

Why would you ask that?

I don't know. I'm just curious.

Curious about what?

Do you wanna die?

- Didn't realize I had a choice. - I'm being serious.

When you think about dying,

is it something that excites you?

I don't know.

Who's this?

- That's my mom. - My God.

- She was a badass. - Yeah.

Married my dad young.

May I?

Be my guest.

Thanks.

Why would a guy like you wanna die?

- I never said I did. - You didn't say you didn't.

What does it feel like to get punched in the face?

Um, I don't know. It hurts.

Yeah?

You like that or something?

Punch me in the face.

- What? No. - I wanna know what it feels like.

- I'm not gonna punch you in the face. - I give you full permission.

Just punch me, like, right in the kisser. Do it.

- What? - Come on! A girl never gets a chance.

- No, no. - Do it!

- Uh, I'm... I'm not... - Just do it!

Do it or I'll punch you in the face.

- Oh, really? - Yeah, do it.

On the count of three, all right?

One, two...

I will do it.

- Three. - All right.

That was a good one.

- What are you doing? - I told you to punch me in the face.

- I'm not gonna punch you. - I told you to!

- I'm not... I'm not gonna... - I told you to punch me.

Uh, Mary, please. Hey, Mary, stop.

Why was it so easy for you to move on?

Mary, it wasn't easy. It fucking sucked.

- So why didn't you miss me? - I did miss you!

Why didn't you write me back?

- Back? - I wrote you!

Mary, I never got any letters!

- What? - I never got any letters.

I promise. I swear.

Oh, my God.

I'm so... Oh, my God.

It's okay. Hey, hey, hey.

My dad, Terrence, they stole all that time from us.

Hey.

We're here right now and that's all that matters.

- Hmm? - I'm sorry.

- I'm sorry. - No, no.

Hey.

- Hello. - Hello.

Yeah, hello.

Who is this?

I think you have this phone call thing backwards. You called me.

I'm looking for Mary.

Is everything copacetic over there?

Right as rain, friend.

I'm not your friend.

No? Then why'd you call me?

I'm gonna call you Pinocchio.

And why's that?

He was nosy.

If it's true that Rathcart Computers were wired

to monitor the activity of high-profile customers through their built-in cameras,

that could very well be the straw

that finally breaks the back of the Rathcart Corporation.

We go live now to a GBN breaking news exclusive.

Multiple shots fired near the financial district.

Reports of a deadly car crash.

We've got more on this story

and continuing coverage of the Rathcart scandal as it develops.

Oh, sh...

Wake up, angel. Wake up.

Shh, shh.

Mm.

Hi.

So what do we do now?

Let's get out of here.

Sure. Where?

No, I mean out of this city.

Let's just get out of here, away from everything and everyone.

- Let's go. - Where would we go?

You know, I still like Mexico.

All the fugitives go to Mexico.

Mm-hmm.

- We really could. We could, couldn't we? - Yeah.

We can buy a little spot on the beach.

Just lay around in the sun till we're old and gray.

- And I'll become a fisherman. - And I'll open a snack stand.

And I'll sell fish tacos to tourists.

He'll try to stop us, you know.

- Let him try. - Yeah.

Well, you don't know my father.

And you don't know Terrence Uberahl. He will come looking for me.

- Oh, yeah? - Yeah.

- Then I'll protect you. - And I'll protect you.

For how long?

For as long as you want me to.

How about forever?

Mary Rathcart.

Yes?

I'm sick of waiting for my life to start.

I'm sick of trying so hard to feel something.

And you coming back made me realize I...

I just wanna be...

Happy.

Yeah.

When?

There's no time like the present.

Have a seat.

You're a lot more colorful than I expected.

Look, I, um, I came here today as a professional courtesy.

This is me being professional, and there's your courtesy.

And I just wanna get straight to the point here, mate.

Look, you contracted me to do a job,

you paid in full upfront, just like I instructed you to do.

Circumstances have changed

such that they no longer permit me to carry out the said job.

So therefore, here I am to willingly return my compensation.

Whoa, what?

I'm not gonna kill Pamela Corbett-Ragsdale.

Your cash is in the bag.

You can chalk it up to a recent personal tragedy.

Now, I've got a new, more pressing job.

- Hey, if it's about the money... - It's not about the money, mate.

There is an angel up there...

waiting at the gates of Heaven,

and the password for her entrance is "revenge."

Hey, listen, if Corbett-Ragsdale makes it to that interview today,

there are some very powerful people that will be awfully upset.

I get that, mate.

But I'm pretty fucking upset myself at the moment.

And that is why I came here in person, which I never do,

to give you enough time to make other arrangements.

Oh, enough time! Enough time!

You've wasted all the time we had!

Fuck!

In the brief duration of your employment,

you have been privy to some very incriminating information

and that presents me with an issue.

Don't go wasting your time making idle threats there, lollipop.

I've been in the bloody blood business

since you were handing out handjobs at Hanson concerts.

So I know better than you.

Loose lips sink ships.

You won't have no problem from me.

You've got my word.

Now, if you'll please excuse me,

I'm gonna catch a love story at the local cinema.

And then I'm gonna track down a pair of lady Killers.

What's the name of that painting you got there on the wall?

- Fuck you. - Mm. Good name.

Gibbon, that son of a bitch, must have gotten to him.

Follow the didgeridoo. Take care of him.

You find Mary and that Gibbon kid.

I wanna talk to them personally.

I think we may have just lost the medicine for our little bug.

- What's plan B? - Plan B?

Yeah.

There is no plan B.

I thought I told you to hire the best. Who the fuck is this guy?

No, he came highly recommended.

- I wasn't anticipating, sir... - Terrence, listen to me.

- Yes. - Listen to me.

I am sick of excuses, all right?

- I am sick of them. - Yes, sir.

- Figure this out now. - I'll handle it myself.

While... While I have you,

I seem to have lost track of Mary during all this.

I'm beginning to worry and I was hoping that maybe you had a chance to...

- Terrence, stop. - Maybe you had a chance to...

Terrence, how about you stop worrying about my daughter

and focus on silencing Corbett-Ragsdale?

You know where she is. Now, get it done.

- I'm coming in. - Of course.

I bet your speech was swell.

Did you tell them that funny story you told me yesterday?

No.

I didn't think of it. All I could think of was my...

Fatal errors have a way of compounding,

and Terrence Uberahl's previous mistakes

were about to inspire yet another.

...told them that I used your money, all of it,

to buy furniture for this apartment.

That's silly. Your money, my money.

What difference does it make? It wasn't very much anyway.

Maybe I could have told them the baby has to sleep in the dining room.

It's only temporary till we get another apartment.

You ever seen this movie? Huh?

It was my Barbie's favorite movie!

Speak up. Stand right up to Doolittle.

Don't ask for your rights. Demand them.

Remember the day in Boston when I got you this ring...

Well, I don't want a better one later.

...one with the diamonds.

That can wait.

Yeah, well, I suppose the mink coat can wait too.

Why can't you be a good soldier, huh?

Huh?!

Miss Corbett-Ragsdale? I'm your security detail, here to escort you.

Hello? Miss Corbett-Ragsdale?

Miss Co...

Hello? Ben?

Is it love?

- Yes. - Yes.

- True love? - Is there any other kind?

How do you know?

I've always known.

Yeah, me, too.

When you're young, you know everything.

Try not to forget.

Have you thought about the fallout? It's not gonna be pretty.

Don't you think that family rivalries are a little passé?

It is going to take some heavy lifting

to get our families together on a wedding.

- No big wedding. - No families, no.

Just thinking about doing a good old-fashioned shotgun variety, right?

Yeah. Yeah.

What, today?

- Yeah. - Mm-hmm.

Benjamin, would you deny your mother a proper wedding for her only child?

At the very least, a girl needs a dress on her wedding day.

- My son needs a tuxedo. - Mom...

- She's wearing a fucking dress. - Okay, Mrs. Gibbon.

I'll wear a dress.

I guess you should get used to calling me "Mom."

What about your mother?

No. No, she wouldn't come anyway.

Mom, you're the only one that can know about this.

But you need a wedding party.

Don't you have anyone else you can call?

Um...

- Okay. - I know. It's so exciting.

Well, I'm hoping that we have time to do that

- before everything gets comp... - Well, wait, wait, wait.

Well, what...

Well?

Thank you for the dress, Mrs. Gibbon.

It's my pleasure.

Excuse me for a moment.

Please leave a message after the tone.

Hi, Beatrice. It's Nancy Gibbon calling.

Your daughter and my son are getting married today,

at the church on St. Peter's Street, 5:00,

and I know that it would mean a lot to her if her mother was there.

It's time to leave this bad blood behind us.

What do you want?

What do you know about the wedding?

What wedding?

Mary and the Gibbon kid, they're getting married today.

What did you say?

They're getting married. Today.

Oh, fuck me!

- It's me. - What do you want?

You're all I ever wanted.

From the moment I laid eyes on you, it's always been about you.

I mean, I waited. I bided time.

I knew that you needed convincing. I knew that.

But listen,

I think I might have gotten myself into a little bit of hot water here.

I think my big city days are done.

I'm skipping town, babe, and you're coming with me.

- Terrence... - I need you to understand something.

If you would just give me a chance,

I can make you so happy.

Okay.

Okay.

I've been wanting to tell you something,

but I don't wanna ruin the mood.

Someone called last night.

A guy. Looking for Mary.

He was...

troubling.

Are you sure this is a good idea?

Do you remember the first time we met? Remember what you called it?

Fate.

By way of random chaos.

I'm just letting what's meant to be, be.

Hey.

You're not supposed to see me in my dress. It's bad luck.

I'll take my chances. You look so beautiful.

It's the moment of truth. Are you sure you wanna do this?

- I'm sure. Are you? - I'm positive.

What's the worst thing that could happen?

- William. - Terrence.

Thank God. Where are you?

- You knew about this, didn't you? - Slow down.

- Huh? The wedding! - I don't know what you're talking about.

- Mary and the Gibbon kid? - I swear.

St. Peter's Street. Why did you let this happen?

- I had no idea. - I'm going down there.

I'm gonna find that son of a bitch!

I don't think you wanna do that, Terrence.

- Too late! - Listen to me. We can figure this out.

Terre... Hello.

Terrence? Terrence?

- Where is that rat-fuck headed? - A chapel downtown.

My daughter's getting married.

Aw.

Well, let's go.

You're taking me with you?

It's your baby girl's wedding.

Here we are, guys.

I prepared a little something.

Welcome to this beautiful union between these two people...

in this beautiful space, together.

Thank you.

Stunning, both of you.

In the Judeo-Christian Creation myth,

Adam and Eve are banished from the Garden

for disobeying God's sacred laws.

But I invite you to consider,

while they knew nothing but beauty in the Garden,

they did not know love

until they were forced to face

the ugliness of the outside world together.

They clung to each other in the face of a vicious world,

and, in so doing, gave birth to love itself.

Terrence.

Hello, Mary.

You don't wanna do this.

Nobody move.

You broke my heart.

- Terrence... - I protected you.

Just put the gun down. It's not too late.

It was always too late!

Huh?

- Terrence! - No!

- You. - No! No!

Hey! Hey!

- Ben! Ben! - No, no.

It was always about you.

I had to listen to her sob stories about you over and over and over again.

I was fucking sick of you before I even met you.

- Yeah. - No.

Back up! Back up!

- Terrence, please! - Stay back!

Please! Please.

- Shh... - Stop! Stop.

No.

Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!

Ben!

Ben!

Don't you know the penalty for hunting in the King's forest is death?

You call this a man, huh?

Look at me. I'm a man.

Give me that.

Give me the gun.

Wayne?

Rabbit?

You got your wallet. Right? Eh?

What?

All right, could everybody please sit down? Come on.

Come on, now. Chop chop.

Not on the floor, ladies. You'll ruin your bloody dresses.

Sit in the pews.

Come on.

Including you, sunshine.

I'll take it from here.

Yeah, yeah, sit, sit. Good boy.

- Is this your wedding? - Yeah.

Congratulations, mate.

Hey. What are you doing here?

Well, as fate would have it,

I reckon we got ourselves a common enemy.

Let him up.

Get up.

I'm not gonna let you ruin this love story.

All right.

Ladies, you might wanna look away.

This is for my angel.

Oh, shit.

Hey, hey, hey, hey! Freeze!

Keep your eyes on the prize, Rabbit.

Put the gun down!

Put the gun down, Terrence.

Mary.

C'est la vie.

- No! - No!

No!

For Ben, the moment lasted a lifetime.

But his life didn't flash before his eyes.

Instead, his mind traveled to the memory of a childhood toy,

a red View-Master he received for his fifth birthday.

As a boy, Ben spent hours flipping through pictures of miraculous things

and momentous periods of human history.

Though too young to understand it at the time,

Ben was struck by the seemingly impossible fact

that these were images of real things

and that they were all mere specks of a cataclysmically immense reality

he could never fully grasp or even accept.

He remembered feeling weightless.

He had contemplated this moment many times.

He had dreamt up countless scenarios.

He had imagined many good deaths.

But he couldn't remember any of them now.

Instead, he thought of Mary.

Hey.

Ben. Ben!

Hey, hey.

Hey.

Hey.

Stay with me. Ben.

I didn't get to say, "I do."

I do, too.

Ben had always imagined that, in some shape or form,

it would end right here.

He would have gone down in history as an incorrigible rascal

just not meant for this world.

Death makes for good punctuation,

and his was supposed to be a perfect example...

a romantic hero who lived fast, died young, and left a beautiful corpse.

But it doesn't end that way.

Like it or not, and for reasons none of us will ever understand,

sometimes fate decides to step in

and stick us with a happy ending.

Provided by explosiveskull https://twitter.com/kaboomskull