All language subtitles for American.Gods_.S02E04.WEB_.x264-PHOENiX

Keep an eye out for her dearly beloved.

Little bird told me Shadow's on his way.

I just need to get to Cairo.

It's Cay-row.

It's Cay-row? Cay-row?

I was old in the desert before they
sacrificed the first horse to you.

I will be heard.

I wonder, if you don't choose a side,

will you be trampled by both?

Mrs. Moon and I have
a date with my old friend Argus.

The man with all the eyes Argus Penoptes.

I need you to kill him.

He's been playing both sides

and I need to get him off the field.

He dies, your coin recharges.

Live to see the future with Shadow

that you've put so much
unearned faith in.

I told Argus
to upgrade this hub eons ago!

Get your man in line!

Um, guys?

Never mind.

Synced & corrected by -robtor-
www.addic7ed.com

Listen.

I know Bach.

Listen.

He'd only just returned from a trip
to find that his wife had died.

Bach had already lost three children.

He would lose seven more.

This is grief.

And yet...

The rising notes of joy...

...shattering his own rules.

Can you hear it?

This is how men like me pray.

Play it again.

This is...

It's beautiful, like Bach.

You composed this?

Well, I-I created the engine that did.

I translated all of Bach's
cantatas into a database

then wrote a program
that segmented the notes

into digital objects

the way that Bach statistically
intended to. Um...

But everything it created was
mechanical, artificial.

The real insight was in programming

violations to the predictable variations.

I gave it permission
to shatter the rules.

The computer composed this?

Yeah.

It's writing more now.

I'm glad you came.

No, no, no, no.

My wife, she'll kill you.

Not me.

Let it happen.

Now rest.

Let it go.

Good morning.

Did you sleep well?

Huh?

Did you sleep well?

Well, there was...

Well...

Yeah. Yeah, it was good.

Good.

So, this is a coroner's office?

Coroners are a political
appointment around here.

His job is to kick the corpse.

If it doesn't kick him back,
he signs the death certificate.

I'm what they call a prosector.

I work for the county medical examiner.

I do autopsies and save

tissue samples for analysis.

In addition, we are a funeral parlor,

serving Cairo, Illinois, since 1863

when it was a flourishing town
at the crossing of two rivers.

We could go back much longer
than that, of course,

but it wasn't until the War Between
the States that we found our niche.

That was when we became
the funeral parlor

for the colored folks hereabouts.

Before that, no one
thought of us as colored...

Foreign maybe, exotic and dark,
but not colored.

And it's strange, when they talk
about African Americans.

My colleagues and I never
thought of ourselves as African.

We were the people of the Nile.

And then you settle in a town
called Cairo?

Seems appropriate.

Mm. Chicken. Egg.

Was there, uh...

Was there anyone else around?

She's not here. Your wife.

You know where she is?

No.

Mr. Ibis, please.

They're different when they come back.

Like any formative life experience,

death changes you.

I'm sure your wife is lovely,

but she's not the same person she was.

Good. You're up!

So, should we seize the day by the ass

before she finds a new dance partner?

And then, where would we be, huh?

Like floral patterns on a wall.

Oh. What a beautiful day
for a drive, Shadow.

Did you get a good night's sleep, huh?

Time to heal your wounds?
Someone to lick your wounds? Mm?

I need to find Laura.

She's around here somewhere.

I don't know why, it's
weird, but I feel it.

Only humans could've come up with
monogamy, an unnatural concept.

Enjoy your life, my boy.

Fuck it, embrace it, exercise
neither temperance nor restraint,

and leave the past where it belongs:

in the past. Now, forward to St. Louis.

What's in St. Louis?

Big city, big money.

Betty here doesn't run on
butterflies and wishes.

Money is the most influential
god in America.

Untouchable asshole,
but his stock never falls.

How you know Gramma?

You friends with Ida?

Who's Ida?

My mother.

You look city, so I thought
maybe you came here with her.

No.

No. Figures.

She's not coming down here.

So, what, you just here touristing?

I came for a man named Shadow.

Oh.

I'm sorry for your loss.

This casket is empty.

They've got her in the back.

The service is in a day or two.

Then who do you pray to?

Reverend Hutchins says that all
things are a matter of ideas.

And God is just one idea.

The good reverend enjoys the theatre.

He's quoting Beneatha.

Who?

Beneatha grew tired of God

getting credit for all the
things the human race achieves

through stubborn effort.

Beneatha is the daughter and
nonbeliever from A Raisin in the Sun.

A woman's heart should never be
so hidden in God

that she cannot hear her own truth.

According to Maya Angelou,

a woman's heart

should be hidden in God

so that a man has to seek Him

just to find her.

My faith is of a different kind.

Must be, the way your ass is
crisscrossing back and forth,

across the battlefield.

Hither, tither, and yon

in the middle of a war.

Like you ain't got a care in the world.

You need not fear me.

World would've had an easier
time convincing me to join him

if he had not killed Zorya.

Make sure Wednesday understands.

So, you crisscrossing and
stepping in the name of love?

Would you prefer I hide
in a foxhole and wait

until things are more to your liking?

I'd need to carefully consider

all the pros and the cons

before I could honestly answer
that question.

So, uh, you two know each other?

Yes.

Biblically.

You're nervous.

The fuck I am.

I need you.

You need me.

Were you there when Media died?

Oh, don't be so aggressively dense.

She didn't die.

She changed into you.

I still feel her inside me.

I wonder if the next version of
me will feel me inside of her?

And then the next version
will feel all of us?

Don't you wonder about this stuff?

Do you...

You know the difference between
people and animals?

Hmm?

People are aware they're
going to die someday.

And pray to the Old Gods to stop it.

But an animal is ignorant.

I don't get your point.

My point is Media is not
a person or an animal.

She, unlike you, understood
she's a fucking God.

I trust you know why I summoned you.

Argus. It's a setback, for sure.

No!

No, no.

No more excuses.

War is won...

...with what?

- Information.
- Information.

Do you know what this is?

Blindness.

This is blindness.

Can you please...

...restore my sight?

Oh! I've... ah! I've got
a plan, brand new network.

Oh... I've got a plan!

I've got a brand new network
that'll be faster than Argus.

I've got a guy in Silicon
Valley who fucking owes me.

It'll be a fucking upgrade. Trust me!

Hmm...

I wouldn't recommend
trying to pay with that.

Yeah, you got me thinking.

Ah.

In 1933, Roosevelt took the United
States off the Gold Standard, right?

Yeah, so?

So, you can't just go into a bank and
redeem money for gold or silver.

You said money is the most
powerful god in America.

But money isn't actually worth anything.

I have a piece of paper, hm?

But I want this salt shaker.

You have the salt shaker, but you're
willing to take my piece of paper

for your salt shaker.

Now, why would you do that?

Because...

this isn't actually
a piece of paper; it's a story.

And the story that you've heard
over and over and over again.

And it's been drummed into you
that this is worth something.

This is of value.

No matter what country,
culture, or religion.

The whole world loves... money.

The greatest story ever told.

So, Money.

We get him on our side,
Mr. World won't mean shit.

- Oh.
- Grimnir. What do you want?

Well, a cup of coffee would be nice.

Don't you work in Wisconsin?

I am at every Motel America.

Entrepreneurship is not some picnic.

Mama-ji and her followers own more
than half the motels in America.

And we don't achieve this
by sitting on our asses

or grifting about like this one.

You think America was eager
to hand over her money bags

to the hungry, the tired, and the poor?

We battle for every goddamn scrap.

You love it.

Victory is sweet on the tongue,

and profit is sweet on the pocket.

But you miss the real battles,
don't you Kali, eh?

The screams and the cries.

I recall the day you slew Raktabija.

The only sound that day was
the whisper of the wind

whistling through the blood-soaked grass.

- We had a good time, huh?
- Mm.

He will be the death of you.

You know that, right?

What'd she say?

Welcome. Please scan finger.

Eat a giant bag of dicks.

Uh-huh...

_

I...

...hate you so much.

Hello, friend.

Hello, friend.

I always thought I might see you again.

Are you here to show me something new?

It's time to get back in the game.

One-point-one-zero-two pounds.

Splenomegaly.

Majesty.

Greetings, Thoth.

You are as lovely as ever.

Liar.

This country has not
been kind to my face.

You are as perfect and
vibrant as the Euphrates.

Your sister.

It has been too long.

Y'all done yet?

'Cuz I'm gettin' bored
watchin' this bullshit.

Why do we fight, Anansi?

We have known each other since infancy.

We should be on the same side.

I thought we were.

Are we not?

Now, Anansi.

She is one of us.

A survivor.

You old as dirt, bird-beak.

Why the fuck you didn't ride
the carousel?

I choose peace.

Egyptians told tales of
the sacred Book of Thoth,

which contains the secrets of the Gods

and brings misery, pain, and suffering

to anyone who reads it.

And grants a bird's-eye view to he...

Who writes it.

I am old as dirt, and I have
seen things as you have.

Why do you bring this...

...rage to my doorstep?

You ever notice how traveling
makes your mind roll thunder,

like a train moving down the track?

Except you don't know where the
fuck that mind train is headed.

And then, all of a sudden, plop...

an idea shits in your head.

And you think that shit smells good.

Peace is a beautiful but shitty idea.

Only a Goddess can adorn
the sarcophagus of a God.

So, help me understand what
these New Gods giveth

and what they taketh away.

Your thirst does not inspire our
confidence, only our curiosity.

I am not a God

in the sense that I can
tolerate exploitation,

oppression, and repression.

My worshippers know freedom ain't free.

They know the most potent weapon
of control for the oppressor

is the mind of the oppressed.

They know slavery is not a condition.

Slavery is a cult.

Human trafficking is a cult.

Slavery got a rebrand like
muthafuckin' the Alt Right.

And... snatched.

Another one gone.

Every 30 seconds,

another chocolate-brown,
caramel, yellow, high-yellow,

red bone, refugee girl

with melanin in her skin gets snatched.

Every... thirty... seconds.

And to make matters worse,

these dazzling new plantation
owners built a pipeline

to take our children
from school to prison

quicker than a cut can bleed.

And the lucky ones go
from school to the NFL,

where they don't even
let them niggahs take a knee.

They've been programmed from birth

with shitty food options,

contaminated drinking water,
gun violence, police brutality,

and trauma after trauma after trauma.

PTSD? No therapy.

Missing? No Amber Alert.

Alone?

Vulnerable.

Snatched.

Another one gone.

I hear you, Brother.

And I hear them.

I hear each voice,

and I write each name.

We have lived long enough to know
these troubles are timeless.

Suffering is not sacred.

And moral law is final.

Sooner or later they all lay before me.

War need not be the answer.

My Queen.

The world assumes white people
are naturally good.

So when something bad happens,

it's a good person doing a bad thing.

They assume black people...

are naturally bad,

so when something good happens,

it's only a matter of time
before that animal's true nature

rears its ugly head.

How much longer can we afford to wait?

You keep track of days,

numbering the years for scribes
that record human history.

Do you see progress?

I count 1, 2, 3
African Gods in this room,

and two of them want
to exercise restraint,

and let the donkey-work continue
while you live your best life!

War is upon us!

An old white lady is dead.

Wednesday avenges Zorya Vechernyaya,

but if it was a dead black lady,

like this sweet old soul,

Czernobog's hammer...

...would not swing.

Your words move me, Anansi.

You see me.

You and Ibis see the Goddess,

the Queen.

These men today look right through me.

This country has done things to us.

We have done things to us.

So, what do you propose?

I propose we have a drink.

A King needs a Queen.

The death of Argus left an opening.

Argus was a relic,

a desiccating, necrotising,

geriatric, organic sack of redundancies.

CCTV?

Fuck that noise!

I fart out a coltan-encased microchip

in cherry pink
and they line up for miles.

Miles!

To carry trackers,
give up their locations,

bank numbers,

fucking facial IDs!

An endless catalogue of every fuck,

every bite, every disgusting nose hair.

Every dirty little secret.

Every whisper they thought
no one could hear.

But I digress.

What I'm here to discuss...

is this.

Argus had a lotta fucking eyes.

But...

I have given of my flesh to my disciples

and they have returned

the favor one-thousand fold.

And now?

Eyes are...

You get?

You ken?

You comprende?

About time.

Now what're you doing?

What we came to do.

Candy?

Oh, yes. I want a gold bar
and some nuggets.

Credit or debit?

- Oh, credit.
- Name?

Odin. The Alfather. Never
failed to pay for my candy.

Your name?

Oh, he's just my assistant.

Shadow Moon.

There is no account
under the name Shadow Moon.

That's not the name
on his birth certificate.

There is no account
under the name Shadow Moon.

No debit, no credit.

Oh, so, no debit, no credit.
Not even a fucking car loan?

What are you, some off-the-grid freak?

I never had any need for it.
Laura did it all.

Do you know how much Money hates that?

Access denied.

No, this man is not relevant.
He's not looking for an audience.

He's just the hired help.

Access denied.

I am the resurrection and the life.

Those who believe in me will
live, even though they die.

I am the resurrection and the life.

Those who believe in me
will live, even though they die.

What does He give you?

Jesus?

It's either I pray or I run five miles.

And I can't run no more, jacked
up my leg in Division One, so...

I guess he gives me comfort.

A God should provide more than comfort.

He does.

Community.

Feeling like there's a point.

I mean, I'm still mad about my leg,

but if I hadn't messed it up,

I would probably be in college,

and instead I was here with
Gramma while she was sick, so...

maybe it was meant to be.

And maybe I don't gotta be mad
about it, you know?

Gramma prayed for patience:

"Lord, like Job,

let me be patient."

Job was wealthy.

Did her Lord give her wealth?

This is Cairo!

I don't think money's got our address.

Last week, I was reading this blog,

says how in America the
black woman makes 60 cents

for every dollar a white man makes,

and Gramma's all: "Well,
here in Cairo, honey,

a black woman's lucky if she's
got 2 cents to rub together,

and even if she's got a pocket
full of nickels,

that don't mean that that money's

gonna make her suck a bedsheet up her ass

and fall asleep on a cloud."

And then she laughed real hard.

She was pretty sick,
but she laughed all the time.

She never let anger or jealousy
guide her.

Had her church, had her community.

She took care of me and Jamarr
when didn't nobody else want us.

She was content.

He was not content.

He was a rebel, a troublemaker.

They say he died for your sins,
but that is not the truth.

He died because he angered
the men in power.

He refused to be cowed...

controlled.

And now look at the power he wields,

the worship he commands.

He was onto something.

I'm Ruby.

Ruby Goodchild.

It's good to meet you, Ruby.

Shadow, will you just buy
some fucking candy? Huh?

Do you see me trying?

I mean, look at this. Huh?

They're not gonna sell me
any fucking candy!

Well, Mama-ji just might kill you.
She already wants to kill me.

You know what? Fuck this.

Why me? Huh?

Oh, not that again.

Yeah, this again. Will you just tell me?

Whimsy.

Why don't you just give me
a fucking answer?

Come on.

- You really want to know?
- Yeah.

You really want to know why I picked you?

Just tell me.

Well, I picked you because I needed
someone with nothing to live for.

With nothing to go home for. With
no one to miss him or love him

or give a shit if he lives or dies.

That's why I picked you,
because you literally mean

nothing to any living person.

Or any dead one either as far as I know.

You have no value, no worth
in this world or the next.

Happy?

Damn.

Good.

See, I've been here
trying to make it all add up.

Oh.

Everything since we met.

Oh, really? How's that going for you?

That little hamster in
the wheel in your brain

make it out yet?

Well, the...

the only thing that makes any sense,

the only explanation that fits
all the facts, is that...

I do have value to you.

See, I don't know why.

You don't want me to know why but...

You need me.

Don't you?

I am handing you the future
on a motherfucking platter.

I'm gonna need you
to cut that edge pronto,

and put some fucking garnish on it.

Show me.

I never did see a God

more effectively argue
his own obsolescence.

What the fuck are you doing here?

Well, go on then.

He's waiting.

Show him.

No?

Then allow me.

Hello, friend.

Hello, friend.

I was literally...

your only friend.

You lonely fuck.

I brought you into the presence of God.

It looks like he's forgotten about you.

Mistake.

Fuck!

Wanna buy some candy? Candy?

There isn't a need to purchase candy.

I retired a God today.

Access granted.

You killed Argus.

And you killed Zorya.

I am sorry about Zorya.

But when you strike with lightning,
you should expect consequences.

Mess with my people, expect
disproportionate consequences.

You got your man back.

It's the principle.

Hello?

Hello?

I'd like to pay.

I'd like to pay.

Have you seen what's
happened to the world?

It isn't 5s, 10s, or 20s
anymore. It isn't cash or gold.

It's zeros and ones,
digitized and encrypted,

sent down fiber-optic cables
at the speed of light

to accounts at banks
with no physical location.

Money loves profit.

And war is always profitable.

It also moves people more
than anything else.

It inflames their passions, something
you would know nothing about.

And the more passionate they get,
the more they spend, spend, spend.

You know that, Money.

You sit at the crossing of two rivers,

waiting for a steamship
that will never come.

Your kind aren't dying; they're dead.

Okay, enough.

I'm honored to have the big dogs in
the God game begging at my table.

But money doesn't make
emotional investments

or invest in emotional entities.

Too much risk in such ventures.

Not enough opportunity.

You could always hedge your bets.

There's no deal here for you
today, gentlemen.

Money stays in the bank.

This is agreeable.

What a sad waste of capital.

I'm gonna win this one. People
like me more than they like you.

I prefer to be feared.

I'm not your enemy.