Original subtitles

Thank you. One moment while we connect you

to the Trieu Sat Orbital Array.

Stand by 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.

Dr. 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 gonna 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 then, she...

Shit.

I messed it up.

Okay, uh...

Forget that joke. Can I... 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?

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?

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 integrity of the crime scene.

- Please stand back. - Bullshit. Bullshit.

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

Please stand back.

He's not a hero.

He's a fucking joke.

Ah, 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 Mister 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?

Seven-K always takes credit when they kill a cop,

and 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, 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... 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."

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 the 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 psychological context, you might want to...

Is it the 1980s, Petey?

Uh, mmm-mmm.

- 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 mask with mask.

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 is 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 shout-out to Adrian Veidt after she bought his company.

They finally declared him dead.

But got a buddy on the Argentina desk

who says Veidt got plastic surgery

and is 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 clearly have a hard-on for the past.

So, what do you want me to sign?

Uh, 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.

Uh, where was I?

Mmm, 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 did 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 did 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.

"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 of 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. - 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! Shut up!

Open your mouth.

Looking Glass is in the pod. He expecting you?

Well, 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 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 a 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.

Uh, 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 guessing 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. 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...

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. That'd be Angela Abar?

Yes, it would.

Is she around?

She took a personal day

to work on a 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 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.

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 federal... - Give the man your gun, Petey.

Show some damn respect.

Stay there or I will arrest your ass...

Angela Abar.

Laurie Blake, FBI.

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 that you and I can grab some coffee

and talk sometime soon.

I'm not a cop anymore.

I retired three years ago.

I know and I totally understand.

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

Here, let me give you my card.

My pager is 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.

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 heading 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 dogie Git along, git along

Git along little dogie, git along

Git along little dogie Git along, git along

Git along little dogie, git along

Git along little dogie Git along, git along

Git along little dogie, 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 that declared open war on The Seventh Kavalry.

Surrender yourself or everyone dies!

Hey! What did I just 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 Israelite

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

Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen

Poor me Israelite

Shirt them a-tear up, trousers is gone

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

Poor me Israelite

After a storm there must be a calm

They catch me in the farm You sound your alarm

Poor me Israelite

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

So that every mouth can be fed

Poor me Israelites

I said my wife and my kids, they...

This...

is gonna 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, my.

Are you ready to venture into the great beyond?

Oh, yes, I am, sir.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Shit. Shit.

Fuck and motherfucking shit.

Fuck and damn it and motherfucking shit.

God.

What went wrong, Master?

I think we're gonna need a thicker skin.

For he's a jolly good fellow

- For he's a... - 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 Master..." - 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."

- Mmm. - "As such...

if this behavior continues, you will face grave consequences."

He's underscored "consequences."

Mmm-hmm.

"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.

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 best wishes and...

encouragement.

Adrian Veidt.

What do you think, Ms. Crookshanks?

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 you 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.

You were targeted by the Kavalry.

I reckon it's 'cause 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 goddamn Seventh Kavalry is.

Right now, here is where the war is at.

And I won't be leaving till 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 does it go?

Just outside the fence.

Gotta be 300 meters long.

Must have used some kind of drill to get it done that fast.

Oh, 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. Kind of weird,

considering it's an active murder investigation, by the way, but, uh...

we were literally gonna dig him up tomorrow.

Discreetly, 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, uh

secret compartment in his closet, so, you know...

I always check.

Once in a while, 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 'cause 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.

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.

"Well, 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 living on another fucking planet 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 Dr. Manhattan.

Good night, Jon.

What the...