_
Will you come with me? To London?
- Both of you? - Really?
Well, I have a battle ahead.
I'll need loyal friends.
My God.
- James. - Hello, Frances.
Public rally?
What can she say or do at a public rally
that warrants the risk of arrest?
Lord James Harwood.
Send in the heavy brigade.
Arrest everyone.
Stop!
Harwood's a national sensation. A hero.
Well, what are we going to do, then?
If the queen should prove to be reluctant,
then we will need to find an alternative.
We will need to find a replacement.
Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Windermere.
Ah.
Welcome, sir, ma'am.
You knew who killed Esme, and you covered it up.
Protect my son,
and I promise you my vote.
Count to three.
Shoot him now.
His father has political clout.
You know the rest.
I just need to raise my finger.
Well, go ahead. Raise your finger.
Don't you... dare.
My-my family will...
Sorry, love.
I'm afraid this is gonna create a lot of trouble.
For all of us.
- No? - No.
I'm gonna ask you one more time.
And this is your last chance to answer truthfully.
No more chances.
Who was your accomplice
in the unlawful killing of John Curzon?
Just give us a name.
No.
Alfred, I can't help you if you won't help yourself.
No offense, Mr. Aziz,
but your help hasn't been very helpful so far, has it?
You're not dead.
I should say that's jolly helpful.
You were there. You saw it.
She saved my life fair and square.
A man can't grass on someone who saved his life, now, can he?
Fair play.
Your sense of honor is admirable.
Your lust for vengeance, on the other hand,
might well bring down the government.
_
The PM wants you buried alive.
You're to have no trial, no jury.
You're to be thrown in the dungeons and forgotten.
You need a friend.
I need a name.
I did say I'd make trouble.
Can't say I didn't warn you.
Let him say goodbye to his parents.
Then take him downstairs to be sentenced.
What, they're here?
Since we took you in.
I'm sorry, Mum.
She knows you are, son.
My poor baby.
Not now, Mother.
I'll be all right.
Oh, dear.
Everything's going wrong.
What's to become of us?
Mother, we agreed not to burden the boy with our worries.
Let him know we'll-we'll be strong for him, eh?
Yeah. Yeah.
I'm sorry, love.
Oh, don't say sorry, Mum.
_
Seven years. Take him down.
Morning.
Who's in charge here?
- Synced & corrected by MementMori - -- www.addic7ed.com --
We interrupt this broadcast
for an announcement from Her Majesty's Prime Minister.
I spoke this morning with Her Gracious Majesty the Queen.
I informed her, with deep regret,
that my administration no longer has the support
of a majority in Parliament.
That being so,
she has granted me interim powers
to act as her prime minister
until such time as a general election can be held.
In order to ensure a truly democratic process,
the election will be open to all parties,
including those that have previously been illegal.
All gag orders are hereby rescinded.
You may well ask,
why allow these scoundrels to emerge from their dark lairs?
Because it is vitally important we show the extremists
in no uncertain terms
that their violent radicalism is not wanted here.
Whether they be left or right fanatics,
their path can lead only
to bloodshed and anarchy.
On Election Day,
do not give in to the dark joys of chaos.
Vote for your tried and trusted traditional parties.
Vote for stability and peace.
That is all.
I bid you good day.
God save the queen,
and may he have mercy on us all.
- Wow. - So there we have it,
an announcement from Her Majesty's Prime Minister...
Finally.
Oh, you think that's good news?
The people are going to have their say.
How is that not good news?
How?
He's hoping the Ravens and the No-Names
will use their new freedom to destroy each other.
It might work.
Or he may have just announced the start of a civil war.
Or maybe, you cynical bastard,
the people will use their freedom
to choose wisely and peacefully.
Oh, come on.
For such a sharp backgammon player,
you really are very naive.
Suppose, just suppose,
that Undine Thwaite and the No-Name League
actually get their message across and they win.
What if the people are actually good, decent men and women
and they soundly reject
the Raven Society?
What then with your cynicism?
You know, sometimes I forget you're a wacko idealist.
A: Lord Harwood will not accept defeat on any terms.
He'll turn to violence.
And B: Do you really, truly believe
that Undine Thwaite and the No-Name League
should be running this country?
Why not?
The CIA believes they should. Else why are you helping them?
The CIA likes options.
We're helping the prime minister, too.
We'd back the Ravens if they'd have us.
The CIA would let a chimpanzee run this country
if it served American interests.
No, that's not true.
I can assure you it is.
What, so the CIA would support violent repression?
Curfews? Mandatory conscription?
No, say what you like,
but they wouldn't choose a fascist dictatorship
when there are other options.
There are moral imperatives.
There really aren't.
Well, then that just proves
that you government people have dried-up little souls.
- Like raisins. - Ouch.
It doesn't prove that the No-Name League
couldn't run the country.
I've met Undine Thwaite several times.
She's very intelligent and...
capable and honest.
Let's just agree to disagree, shall we?
How much did I lose at backgammon?
£250.
- Where are you going? - Vacation's over.
I have to get back to work before the shit hits the fan.
Really? That much? 250?
Have to pay you back when I next see you.
Mm. You don't double enough.
Listen, speaking of back to work,
count me in.
I want to work.
For government people with dried-up souls?
Well, I believe in what the No-Names stand for.
I believe in peace and social justice.
I don't care why you're helping them.
You are, so I'm happy to help you.
Okay, I'll give you a call.
No. That sounded ominously like "fuck off."
Martha, I'm telling you this as a friend.
I don't for a moment doubt your competence.
But you don't know this world and these people like I do.
And, quite frankly,
you're better off not knowing.
Things are going to get pretty nasty.
I'm not sure you should be involved.
- That's exactly why you need... - I can't stop you
from working for the No-Name League.
I'm just saying, think about it.
Okay?
Patronizing bastard.
A vote for the No-Name League
is a vote for hope.
A vote for equality. A vote for love.
Vote Undine Thwaite.
Freedom to speak truth to power.
- Get back here now! - Stay where you are!
_
I think you should tell him.
Oh, don't start again. We agreed.
Just doesn't feel right, him not knowing.
Well, it's my secret to tell, love.
And I'm not telling, all right?
That's the end of it. Come on.
Oh.
Welcome home, my love.
Girls, this is my darling wife Clarissa.
Hello.
Come along.
Yeah.
I like what you've done with the place.
Très chic.
And you.
You look fabulous.
Positively blooming.
Like a new woman.
Um,
- Jimmy, I... - Hmm?
May we speak alone?
Oh, don't worry about the girls.
Any friend of mine is a friend of theirs.
Now...
Tell me what's on your mind.
You seem troubled. Unhappy, even.
No, no, not at all. I'm very happy. Very happy.
It's just, uh... you know,
this is all so sudden.
We'd given you up for dead.
I... I feel like I'm dreaming.
Hope that it's a happy dream.
Oh, of course a happy dream.
- Fresh meat. - Lovely. Lovely.
- Ginger pubes. - Lovely. Lovely.
- Get your eyes up. - Lovely. Lovely.
- Lovely. - Alfred Pennyworth?
Mr. Pennyworth, sir. Visitor.
Sandra. What are you doing here?
It's good to see you,
but you shouldn't have come.
I'm not chasing you or anything.
Bazza and Daveboy sent me with a message.
They didn't want to show their faces and rouse suspicions.
Suspicions?
Of what?
They said to tell you
to stay low and tight and remember Rangoon.
Ah, fuck.
Okay, listen, Sandy. Now, this is important.
You go back to them and tell 'em I said fucking no.
No.
Tell 'em I said forget all about Rangoon.
That is an order.
All right?
All right.
"Rangoon" means "escape," doesn't it?
Tell 'em I said they're children to be discussing such bollocks.
Don't you want to escape?
Not at Rangoon odds.
It was a bloodbath.
Tell 'em don't worry. I'll think of something.
Will you?
Course.
I've been in worse shtook.
It was politics that got me in here,
and they're changing every day, so...
How are they, anyway? The lads?
They're worried about you.
We're all worried about you.
Even me.
I haven't treated you right, Sandra.
And I'm very sorry about that.
I've been wanting to tell you the cold, hard truth
for a while, but I put it off 'cause...
well, 'cause it's cold and hard.
What is?
Bit obvious now, isn't it?
Stay away from the likes of me.
Stay away from men that you have to meet in Newgate.
I should. I know.
You deserve much, much better.
I know what I deserve.
Better than you do, I expect.
Girl like you can have anyone you want.
Lords, if you like.
I don't want a lord.
Sandra,
you're gonna forget about me,
and I'm gonna forget about you.
Oy.
Escort her to the outer door.
Any screws mess about, you use my name.
Yes, sir, Mr. Pennyworth.
Goodbye, Sandra.
Alfie says you're fucking children.
Forget Rangoon. He'll think of something.
That's an order. Got it?
Aye.
I... Seriously, I think we should just lose all this cake nonsense.
This cake nonsense is perfect. Remember...
Yes, yes. I know.
Just, I'm talking to one person, face-to-face.
All right, we're on in five, four, three...
Good morning, everyone.
I'm Undine Thwaite.
I'm so glad I can finally speak to you face-to-face.
I thank the prime minister for allowing us all to speak freely.
Now, I'm new to this speechmaking business, so, um,
please forgive me if I simply do my best to speak plainly to you,
without any fine phrases.
My dear husband Julian was the talker in our family.
My own political work,
as for so many women, was behind the scenes.
Organizing, fund-raising,
peacemaking.
I'd still be happy in the background today,
had my husband not been so cruelly taken from me.
But I don't want to dwell on the sorrows of the past.
Let's talk about tomorrow.
Let's talk about hope.
Why not?
Everyone deserves hope.
- And hope is what... - My God, what utter tripe.
Turn off the machine.
- Hope and love, equality... - Well, well.
I don't think we have much to fear
from the No-Name contingent.
Equality, indeed.
Why not toast and jam?
I liked her.
I thought she seemed nice.
No side to her.
Well, she's standing for prime minister.
So, thankfully, nice has nothing to do with it.
- Oh, I'm sure you know best. - Poor thing.
Imagine, your husband murdered right in front of you.
And carrying on the way she has.
- So brave. - Mm.
Welcome, Your Grace.
Look here, Harwood. It won't do, do you see?
We have been treated abominably.
Cooped up like chickens,
chivvied hither and yon.
- Won't do. - Secrecy, your safety...
Bally rot. Your woman here tells me
I am not allowed... not allowed...
to call my tailor.
We agreed, sir, no one must know you're in the country.
You must remain incognito for the time being.
There are limits, man. Limits.
It won't do.
I'll have him sent for immediately.
You must be exhausted.
Perhaps you'd like to see your quarters.
- Clarissa. - Uh, Your Grace.
They're impossible, Jimmy.
Vicious, stupid and cunning in equal measure.
Tools, Frances. Implements.
And now that we've got them in our grasp,
the queen will have to do our bidding
or risk replacement.
Gin?
Yes. Yes, yes, please.
I saw that No-Name woman on the machine.
- Undine Thwaite. - Oh, yes.
No, I saw her, too. Utter tosh.
Yes, I agree.
Bet and Peg liked her immensely, though.
- Did they? - Yes, they found her simpatico.
No side. Interesting, no?
I know I shouldn't delve,
but I don't quite see what those Sykes sisters are exactly for
in the grand scheme of things.
You're absolutely right, Frances.
You shouldn't delve. My point is that
we're selling blood and iron,
and Thwaite is selling sponge cake!
She may be a more formidable opponent
than I first anticipated.
You've got a way
of getting hold of her quietly, I expect?
Yes. Yes, yes. Yes, I do.
Give her a call. Tell her we have mutual interests
I'd like to discuss with her.
Thank you.
Perhaps we can make a pact.
Regarding the, uh, items
referred to the plenary subcommittee
on excise,
an adjudication will take place
as and when the addendum review panel
issues its figures. Uh...
Uh, and I would ask...
uh, I have asked that the cabinet ministers
are in full...
A pact will kill us!
Kill us!
As you say, sir.
I'd scrap the election and call in the army,
but, frankly, I doubt their loyalty.
I think they'd back Harwood.
I hear the same thing.
I'm getting old.
I didn't see this coming.
Mr. Pennyworth, sir, you got a visitor.
What do you want?
I'm gratified to see you looking so healthy in such squalor.
Match fit.
How would you like to get out of here?
Oh, don't sulk now.
What do you say?
I'm waiting for a question worth answering.
Are you willing to kill to get out of here?
Depends who and how many.
May I sit down?
The air in here is hell on my allergies.
Turmeric.
Works wonders.
The Ravens and the No-Name League
are secretly negotiating an electoral pact.
They'll divvy up seats
to avoid directly competing with each other.
It's a lethal choke hold on the traditional parties.
The prime minister has decided on heroic measures.
Lord Harwood has to go.
We'll make it seem the No-Name League are responsible.
Harwood.
And the No-Name patsies.
It's a just target.
Harwood means to set up a fascist dictatorship.
He'll need a war. Enemies.
Scotland first, probably.
Then who knows?
You're working for the good guys, Alfred.
I do this, then I'm out. No charges on me.
- Free and clear. - Free and clear.
Unless, of course, for any reason you fail
to complete your side of the deal.
Fair enough.
Doesn't add up, though, does it?
There's a high risk of making Harwood a martyr.
The Ravens could gain big from his death at the polls.
Your chiefs wouldn't want him dead
unless there was some other threat in play.
The Pretender and his wife are in England.
Harwood has them under lock and key,
ready to slap crowns on the blighters.
He also has a large faction
of the army high command on his side.
They like wars, too.
Why not just kill the duke?
- Not that I'm offering. - No.
One can't murder dukes.
Not unless there's no viable alternative.
Now you know everything. Um...
I'll have word with the warden, shall I?
Oh, Alfie.
- Here you are. - Thank you.
- You're welcome.
Now, going in by the southeast gate...
looks easier.
Hmm.
We'd have to take out...
the guardhouse first, though.
Well, that's what I'm saying... so we start here,
make our way around and through that gate.
Hello, lads.
Hatching a plan, are we?
I thought you'd been told about all that.
What the fuck? Alfie.
- Hey. What the fuck? - Hey.
- Alfred. - Bazza.
Alfie.
Come here.
Oh...
Told you I'd think of something.
- ? My, my, my ? - Hey! Hey-hey!
? Delilah ?
? Why, why, why ?
? Delilah? ?
? So before ?
? They come to break down the door ?
? Forgive me, Delilah ?
? I just couldn't take any more. ?
So, how did you get out?
Told you... my friend Aziz pulled strings.
Oh. Seriously, now, what do you have to do in return?
Three guesses.
Kill someone.
Fuck, Alfie.
Yeah, I know... very depressing.
Actors call it typecasting.
Who's the blot?
That, you don't need to know.
Even if you're in on it, names can wait.
No, we're in on it.
Maybe. Don't know the specs yet.
No debate. We're in.
Harwood.
Ah. No problem.
Just the most famous, if not the most popular, man in England.
Piece of cake.
When?
Aziz is gonna call when it's on.
What then?
You're in Babylon, Alfie.
They won't let you go.
They'll want you to keep killing people.
And you don't like killing people.
Yeah, I'll worry about that after.
You say you're in on the job, then you get the collywobbles.
Make your mind up.
Harwood needs topping, anyway,
and I'm out of Newgate.
That's good enough for me.
What are you boys whispering about?
Dirty joke, Mrs. P.
You'll have already heard it.
I dare say I have, Mr. MacDougal.
As long as you're not talking mischief.
I've got my baby back.
I'm not letting him out of my sight ever again.
Oh...
Right.
- Suppose you want breakfast, dear. - Oh, yes, please.
- All right, then. - Please, yeah.
Have a nice cup of tea.
Nobody... nobody sees this list.
Understood.
First list is the seats we believe we can take
if the Ravens agree not to stand.
Second list is the seats we're willing to give to them.
Both lists are ranked.
Deal breakers first, easy concessions last.
We've entrusted you with a great deal of responsibility.
I won't let you down.
If you don't mind my asking, though, why me?
Why not go yourselves?
I can't be seen to conspire with fascists.
And I can't be seen.
If it goes wrong, you're a foreign freelancer.
- We knew nothing. - Hmm.
He'll try and intimidate you.
Don't let him.
But don't be aggressive in return.
Emphasize our commitment to peace, to dialogue.
It's okay. They know me.
Martha?
Oh, it's so great to see you again, Mrs. Thwaite.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
Undine, please. We're old comrades.
- How are you? - Very well.
I'm so excited for the future.
Your courage has been an inspiration.
- Thank you. - No, thank you, Martha,
for all that you've done for our cause.
Now, did you two come here together,
or is this happy coincidence?
Happy coincidence. Hi, Thomas.
Hi, Martha.
Can I take some pictures of you?
Yes, of course.
Good.
That's great.
Could you just look slightly this way for... Yeah.
That's beautiful.
I have an idea.
Thomas, you must take Martha with you to the negotiations.
I don't think that's a...
That's not a good idea, is it?
Why not?
You've worked together before with great success.
I'm in. What are the negotiations?
Well, it's a technical, analytical type of job.
His Lordship likes women.
All men like women.
He'd be surprised, wouldn't he?
Oh, boy.
Most men. A very high percentage.
My point: a second negotiator isn't necessary.
A woman at the table
signals calm, peaceful intentions. It's a good idea.
And who better than someone we both know and trust?
On the air in five.
Right, must dash. Lovely to see you, Martha.
That was all deliberate, wasn't it?
You came here to do that.
What are you talking about?
I'm taking pictures.
Oh, you came in very smooth. Very natural.
A five-star entry.
She asked me, Thomas. I didn't say shit.
- She asked me. - That's because you're so smooth.
What's the job?
Uh, trust me, Martha, as your friend.
You're not meant for this kind of work.
- You're just not. - Well, Undine thinks differently.
What's the job?
You'll know when you need to know.
I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, early.
Hmm.
There you go.
Handsome.
That'll be the duke.
Be a treasure.
Send someone up with toast and gin.
Let Their Graces out.
Will do.
Oh, and, Peg?
That meeting with the No-Names tomorrow,
I'd like you and Bet to come along.
Moral support.
If you have no other plans.
No. Of course. Lovely.
Regular programming will resume
after this broadcast by the Country Labour Party.
Oh, fiddle.
Another?
Inbred yokels.
All right, I'm off to bed.
Night.
Night, Dad.
- Night. - Night, son.
You must be tired, too, Mum.
Don't stay up on my account.
Oh. I'm full of beans, me.
Just got to do this sleeve.
It's you needs your sleep.
Shall I make some cocoa?
Good idea. Cocoa.
Yeah?
The game's on.
Tomorrow morning.
Got it.
- I knew it. - What?
More trouble.
No, that was nothing, Mum. It was a business thing.
As if you could lie to me.
No trouble, Mum. I swear.
Please, Alfred, whatever it is,
don't do it.
Well, I do have a job on, as it goes.
It's safe, though. Government work.
- Nothing shady, I swear. - Your dad's got cancer.
He's dying.
What?
Your dad's got cancer.
He's dying.
Oh, Mum.
I'm sorry, son.
Doctors can do wonders these days.
It's terminal, they call it.
Lungs.
Two years if he's lucky.
Christ.
He doesn't want anyone to know.
You mustn't tell him I've told you.
- But... - No, you mustn't.
He doesn't want any fuss.
All right.
Please be safe, Alfie, for my sake.
- I will, Mum. I promise. - You promise?
Want me to drive?
Nope.
You gonna be like this the whole time?
Like what?
Resentful.
Yep.
The American president has announced his intention
to put a man on the Moon.
Goodness.
Why, though? Did he do something very terrible?
Who?
The man they're sending to the Moon.
No, Mother.
No, I expect there'll be some
brave volunteer who will be, you know, selected.
It's-it's not a punishment.
Sounds like one.
Who'd want to go to the Moon?
That's Bazza.
Bye, Mum.
Bye, Dad.
Be careful, Alfie.
Have you got a hanky?
Yes, Mum.
Blue squad. F.O.B. up, over.
Roger. Stand by, blue squad.
Blackbird incoming, three to four minutes.
Two Pigeons spotted en route,
a man and a woman in a white car.
E.T.A. five to six.
Confirming protocol, no action until I say fire on target.
Take out Blackbird first, then the Pigeons.
Confirmed. Over.
- Time for a brew-up? - No. Five minutes.
Blackbird first, then the two Pigeons.
Boy, girl, in a white car.
No headshots on the Pigeons.
They need them identifiable as No-Name League agents,
make for a good cover story.
- Blackbird first, no headshots on the Pigeons. - Mm-hmm.
This is the business, eh?
Fresh air, high adventure.
You boys should embrace these moments.
See, us?
We're in the engine room of fucking history, eh?
Oily rags, Daveboy.
Any movement?
Negative.
Incoming. Blackbird.
What's this, then?
This is the place.
This?
We are at the crossroads of ancient ley lines.
A place of power.
English rulers have been coming here to do business
for thousands of years.
Well, there's... there's no facilities.
It'll look very well in the history books.
What, we're to pee in the hedgerows, are we?
It's a spooky place.
I'm waiting in the car.
Eight armed guards, two women.
The redheaded woman is returning to the cars.
This looks like them now.
White car, inbound.
Wind, east to west.
Ten miles.
All targets inside our cordon.
You are free to fire.
Fuck.
Fuck what?
Who are they?
It's that Thomas Wayne and a tall drink.
Martha Kane.
Oh, fuck.
Fuck what?
They're targets, and they're available.
Thomas!
I repeat,
all targets are now inside our cordon.
Do you have them in sight? Blue squad, respond.
It's good to meet at last,
in so much happier circumstances.
- Likewise. - Ms. Kane, I don't think
- I've had the pleasure. - No.
Please.
They're there for you, Alfie.
I can see that.
You barely know the people.
But I do know 'em.
Alfie.
We have to say something to Aziz.
I'll have a word.
Aziz, you tucked me up again.
The Pigeons are Thomas Wayne
and Martha Kane. Over.
Blue squad, we had no information
on the agents involved.
Carry on exactly as ordered.
The Pigeons have to go. Over.
I'll have to think about that. Over.
Blue squad? Alfred? Respond!
Fuck. Plan B. Go.
I hate to say it, Alfie. Daveboy's right.
They're not civilians. We're on business.
On the queen's business.
And those are queen's bullets.
They're still fucking bullets.
Oh. Movement.
Police.
Half a mile and closing.
Aziz has given up on us.
Gonna try and massacre them all on his own.
I'm sorry, boys, but there's a principle at stake here.
You're not gonna like this, but I got to do it.
Keep your head down!
This way, sir.
- Get him out! - Start the car!
Keep your head down.
Stand down, Officers.
Stand down.
_
Well, that was a crazy day.
I told you not to come.
Are you kidding me?
I wouldn't have missed that for the world.
- You nearly died. - Yeah, that's just it.
I nearly died, but I didn't.
Is there any better feeling?
Well, I can think of several.
Missed me by inches.
Inches.
In any case, we managed to get away
before the police closed in, guns blazing.
Was a damn close shave.
Crikey.
It's a good thing.
We now know two new facts.
We have a mole,
and the government means to kill me.
The election's a sham.
They'll never let us win, except by force.
And now we know.
What are we going to do?
The authorities could descend on you at any moment,
and what if they find your wretched guests?
Oh, damn it, Jimmy. I said it was a mistake
to let them come here in the first place.
You were absolutely right, of course, as usual.
We should never have brought them here.
Yet here they are.
And our mole's no doubt blown the gaff on them, too.
God, of course.
Now, don't be downhearted, Franny.
Yes, it's a pickle.
Drastic measures are called for.
And speed.
? Bring me sunshine ?
? In your smile ?
? Bring me laughter ?
? All the while ?
? In this world where we live ?
? There should be more happiness ?
? So much joy you can give ?
? To each brand-new bright tomorrow ?
? Make me happy... ?
Oh. Hello, early bird.
I didn't hear you come in last night.
Ooh, that milk's turning.
Mum.
That government job I told you about...
it went wrong.
Oh, no.
Did somebody die?
No, Mum.
That's the problem.
Alfie.
I'm sorry, Mum.
I can't go back to Newgate. I can't.
No. You mustn't.
You're doing the right thing, son.
I should go now.
I shouldn't be here at all.
Don't you want to see your father?
No. I can't.
Look, just tell him that I'm...
You can't what?
Tell me what?
What's all this wailing, Mother?
The police wanted him to do a murder, and he wouldn't,
so now they want him back in Newgate,
and he can't do that, so he's going on the run.
He's a fugitive.
Oh, nonsense. What?
Maybe the West Indies.
- Or America. - Probably not, Mum.
More likely just Wales.
Just until the heat dies down.
Look, I really have to go.
- Yeah. - Bye, Mum. Love you.
Wales?
I really have to go, Dad.
I love you.
The prime minister tried to kill me.
- Can you blame him? - Not at all.
I'd probably try the same in his shoes.
But he failed.
And now the crisis is here, and I must act.
Either he goes or I do.
He goes only if we say so.
Who's a better friend to the army, hmm?
Who'll double your budgets?
Who'll bring you into the government?
Who'll give you weapons to fight with?
Enemies to fight against?
All salient points.
You know we support your agenda,
but we answer to the Crown.
If the queen is with you, then we are.
If not...
The queen is with me.
Your Majesty.
Deer can make that noise sometimes.
Oh, shit.
Cry for help.
Go on. Cry for help.
Help.
Yes, go help.
Nice to meet you, Your Majesty.
Drop the gun.
Drop the fucking gun!
- Synced & corrected by MementMori - -- www.addic7ed.com --