Saviors of the frickin' world.
And that's what would have happened.
If you had hired Cloudbeam marketing.
- Hi. - But you didn't.
- So it didn't. - Which is why you're broke.
- No judgment. - Really? Because I judge it.
- Said our largest expense. - Hey, alcohol is a group expense!
Seems like we should have cut alcohol
- before our health plan. - Eh, vodka disinfects cuts.
Well, I miss my dark science budget.
- The hell is dark science? - It's basically science but darker.
I'm sad the wall art's gone. It riled my loins.
- What doesn't rile your loins? - Enough!
We're not here to waste time or prison toilet scotch.
We're here because these ranting buffoons
think they can solve our problems.
One of her better introductions.
Real talk? The espionage climate has changed.
Your old spy model just doesn't work.
Hello, dinosaur? Meet asteroid.
- But that's where we come in. - Hello, dinosaur? Meet marketing.
Are they turning us into a dinosaur?
Honestly, I don't know, but I'm lovin' it.
Simple version: We can synthesize your messaging to encourage...
Multitier client sourcing.
Wow, did that just happen?
- That was the simple version? - Wait.
Does this mean we're shooting people again?
- Maybe. If we had bullets. - We sold the bullets?
- Yeah, we're boned. - No, we're not.
Yes, the government denied our heroism
and withheld payment.
And yes, contracts have been drying up,
but I know better things are right around the...
Around the...
Damn it!
Around the what? Ass?
credits
- Your entire process is outdated dirt. - But dirt with potential.
- A nutrient-rich loam. - Is there life on Mars?
- Definitely. - Oh-ho, man.
You keep doing this fun marketing banter
and I'm gonna need to sit on a sandbag.
You need to get out of the dark ages of the espionage industry.
I mean, do you even use Global Spy Wire?
Exactly how many beats of silence
- are you shooting for? - You're not on GSW?
It's only the online marketplace for spy jobs.
- Like the classifieds? - Extra! Extra!
Spy master uses outdated media!
Aw, jeez, don't raise the prices, Mr. Pulitzer.
"Newsies"!
My god, this is what it's come to.
Hocking my paintings for rent money
and taking business advice from theater school flunkies.
- I was economics. - Folklore and mythology.
Why would we use want ads?
- Our phone is ringing off the hook. - Well, actually,
it has been pretty quiet lately.
Okay, real talk? The phone is broken.
- Since when?! - A few months ago?
I don't know. I'd call someone to fix it, but, you know.
- This is why you need Cloudbeam. - To buy us a new phone?
To help you, the little guy,
compete with the big spy conglomerates like IIA.
IIA, pfft. Soulless vultures.
- Nice uniforms, though. - I heard they bought Odin,
fired everyone, then made them reapply
- for their own jobs at half pay. - That's bullshit.
You can't just fire someone for no reason.
It would have happened to me by now.
What's next? Do you fire someone for breaking a phone
when she was smashing a ladybug over and over?
Uh, okay, look. Maybe these guys have a point.
- About us being dirt? - About us needing help to compete.
My reputation as the world's greatest spy only goes so far.
Especially since that's a pre-coma reputation.
- Said pre-nut-tap Cyril. - What?
- Aaaaah! - Uh, sorry I'm late.
Robert and I got into another huge fight about...
- About whether or not we'd care? - Ugh, actually, sort of.
- It all started when... - Wanted ads?
- Is that all you've got? - Hardly.
You also need a strong brand, and that starts with a good name.
Think of something people already love.
- Then spice it up with a spy angle. - Ooh! Anal bullets!
And that feels like a good place to stop.
Thank you for your interest, but we simply don't need Cloudbeam.
Fair enough, but I have a feeling we'll be hearing from you soon.
Yeah, hearing you scream our names from the rooftops.
"Kaya, Alton, save us! Save us!"
Anybody else got an eerie feeling they might be right?
Nonsense, there's nothing they said
that we can't do ourselves.
Pam, Cheryl, you two are our new marketing team.
- Brand us. - I'll get my tools.
- I think she means with a name, cowboy. - We'll give her options.
As for new jobs, we'll start with small missions on GSW,
- get a good rating, and slowly... - Sign up for the most lucrative job
- on Global Spy Wire, boom. - "Rival bounty situation.
"Cash on delivery of the package. Multiple bidders."
- Wha... No money up front? - But big money in back.
We'll be drinking non-swill from non-plastic in no time.
Idiot! Do you realize how competitive
- this contract will be? - Now that I'm involved? Very.
We can't afford this mission. We can barely afford the flight.
And your testicles can't afford another cane tap.
- Ah! - Ugh, let's do it.
After the morning I've had with Robert, I'd go anywhere.
- Preferably somewhere with... - A giant heap of rat shit.
- Seriously, Cyril? - Oh, wait, there's also a pile of rat shit
under here, which means we're looking at
a men's room/women's room situation.
This was the nicest place we could afford.
I'm trying to save our funds.
Not an issue because I spent all the funds on trânt.
- Who the hell is trânt? - You mean what is trânt.
It's Moldovan folk wrestling, and it's fantastic.
You lost all our money gambling on regional martial arts?
No, my guys won, but then I had to buy drinks.
It'll be fine. Here are the briefing papers.
- Double-sided? How poor are we? - You just spent all of our money.
Yeah, on memories that will last a lifetime.
Two days ago, mercenaries kidnapped this man,
known as the Professor.
And that thing is a prototype for an ionic fusion device.
Ionic fusion device? What is that?
- An expensive macguffin in a life full of them. - According to our sources,
he's being moved out of the country in a few hours on this highway.
We worked all of our contacts to get this tip,
so our only advantage is this one piece of information
that none of the big agencies have.
- Greetings, and welcome to Moldova. - Finally, the conciérge.
We'd like a free bottle of scotch and directions
to a hall of trânt that takes bets on credit.
- And a room with less rat feces? - Forgive me for intruding.
My name is Fabian Kingsworth. I am head of IIA.
Well, well, well. The competition.
I guess your tiny agency is competition for IIA
the way coffee is competition for cocaine.
Yeah, I mean, sure. I mean, what do you want?
- We're sort of mid-mission here. - I just wanted to stop by
to get a chance to meet the Sterling Archer.
I was delighted to learn you were not dead
but, rather, alive as a mere shadow of your former self.
Well, looks like you're chasing shadows,
- since we got here first. - First?
We set up our command center weeks ago.
And of course, our satellites are always overhead.
Which works slightly better than a guy on a roof with binoculars.
- Oh, yeah? Well, we have... - A guy on a roof?
No. Something way better than that.
Cold-ass pouring rain. Cheap-ass binoculars.
That.
I'm rooting for you, Archer.
Like when you see a beetle on its back,
legs kicking and flailing, not knowing that he's already dead
as the shadow of a giant elegant bird falls over him.
- I am that bird. - At which point,
the beetle hops up and eats the bird! Ah!
Why build on his metaphor?
And what beetle eats birds?
- Jesus, your forearms are like bowling pins. - Yes, well, uh...
I should get going. I'm sorry.
It's emotional meeting someone I used to look up to.
There is no way we're losing to that asshole.
Starting now, we stay one...
no, make it two steps ahead of him.
- Cyril, note that. - I'm not mission secretary.
- Then what are you? - Hey, two step,
- Fabian planted a bug on your shoulder. - Damn it!
Oh! Why won't this break when you...
Just gonna save us some time.
Okay, new plan: We follow Kingsworth
and sabotage him and his team in a super humiliating way.
Archer, we are not risking this mission and our
lives so you can beat a better version of yourself.
He is not better. He said he looked up to me.
- Actually, he said he used to. - I know what he said!
Y'all! I just saw a caravan of...
IIA vehicles. We know.
Well, nice to know my pneumonia
and near electrocution was worth it.
Shut up. Here's the plan. Ray, find their command center.
Way ahead of you. They got a jillion cars
over at the Moldovan bloom hotel.
Okay, Lana and I will follow IIA.
You two stay back here and pretend
that I'm still with you so the bug hears it.
And just how are we gonna do that?
Just pretend we're talking and do an impression of me.
What, like... "My name's Archer.
"I'm an egomaniac who endangers every mission
"with my self-serving narcissism.
Also, I'm inebriated almost 24 hours a day."
Ha! That was pretty good, actually.
Lose the "almost" and then take it again.
Alright! We can do this.
We're just as good as Cloudbeam.
So espionage names, espionage names...
Oh, I got it. S.P. Nosh.
Sure, if you're planning on opening
- a spy-themed delicatessen. - Hmm.
What would Kaya and Alton do?
"Hey, everything here is old as dirt!"
- "Dirt with potential!" - "Edible dirt!"
"Loud words and fake laughter!"
So break for lunch?
Ugh, I can't believe I'm asking you this.
Oh, god. Look, Lana, I'm flattered.
So just make it quick.
- What? I am not asking to blow you. - Then open with that.
- God, this is already hard enough. - Phrasing.
- Ugh, forget it. - No, sorry, go ahead.
You can't believe you're asking this, but...
But when you live with someone who annoys you,
how do you address it without causing conflict?
Hmm, have you tried making them eat a bowl of spiderwebs?
What do you want, Pam?
No, there's already a company called "Spies with thighs."
They're PIs. They're good guys.
- How may I help you? - Yes, my name is Chet Manley,
and my wife, Betty, right here
just found a severed thumb in our bidet.
- Can we please see a manager? - Oh, my! Yes, just one moment.
There, a block of suites for IIA. 20th floor.
What? I want to talk to the manager about that thumb.
Might get a free drink ticket out of it.
Our target will cross route 90 at 1400 hours.
Per usual, if you're late, the minutes will be
taken out of your paid family leave time.
And a reminder: Bullet rationing is still in effect.
That's $5 per bullet that misses the target.
I'm looking at you, Andy.
Bullet penalties? Ha! Suckers.
Well, at least they can afford bullets.
Once en route, there's no exit for 80 kilometers.
All right? We head out in ten.
Ten? We gotta go if we're gonna...
Do the insanely stupid thing of sabotaging IIA
instead of just beating them to the punch?
You know what else seemed insanely stupid?
- Betting on folk wrestling. - Sure was.
But I had a great time, Lana. Congrats on the wedding.
Hope it works out better for you than it did for Lana here.
Whoa, Boerl & Kroff?
Now I see why you couldn't afford a suite.
Well, Archer, you're in charge. What's our next move?
The plan is, we stay here
and wait for instructions, dipshit.
Uh, hey, guys.
Uh, should we order some room service?
Ugh, god forbid you skip a meal and your breasts shrink to a B-cup.
God, sometimes I think my entire life is just sneaking around.
Do you ever wonder if you, ugh, I don't know,
- made the wrong choice? - Like how I should've
brought Ray with me instead of you? Constantly.
- I mean in a relationship. - I wouldn't call this a relationship.
Not with you! With Robert!
Oh, yeah, that seems terrible.
But is it? I mean, I do love him.
- But other times, I'm just like, ugh. - Yeah, like during old man sex?
How's it work if you both just lie there?
- Shh! Guards. - No, employees.
Hey, dickheads, I'm gonna steal that Humvee.
You better shoot me.
Oof, 20 bullets and none in my body?
What is that, 100 bucks?
Ha-ha! 200 bucks.
You're basically working for... Aah! Okay, 195.
Okay, we'll disable their vehicles,
- then go pick up the others. - With our new helicopter.
- Archer, you can't fly a helicopter. - Being in a coma
didn't make me less of a helicopter pilot, Lana.
You never knew how to fly a helicopter!
Well, then we're both right.
- I'm not getting in that! - Great.
Grab us a Humvee and I'll race you to the hotel.
Whoo-hoo!
Oh! Oh, shit. Oh, god.
Ah-ha-ha! Whoo-hoo!
Sorry. Not a political statement.
Just an accident.
Well, maybe you'd have a better job
if you didn't have such a debilitating confidence issue!
And what about you, Ray, you dipshit?
You live in a studio apartment filled with mid-century
- craftsman doghouses and no dog. - A: They're Queen Anne's.
B: Dogs would ruin them. And C: I'll kill you!
- What the hell is this? - A helicopter? Get in!
Yeah, I'm good on the ground.
That's an option? I'm also good on the ground.
Helicopter!
IIA has armored Humvees?
- Ooh. Ooooh. - Yep. Butt warmers.
We should look into IIA.
That's it, Sheila. Nice and easy.
- You named the helicopter Sheila? - No, the stick is Sheila.
The helicopter is Dr. Whirlington Spinblade.
Okay, I have a visual on the target. Semitruck, dead ahead.
You see that, Lana? Step one: Take out IIA.
Step two: Get the scientists.
Step three: Profit. And a haircut.
It's been, like, two weeks.
Congrats. You accidentally didn't fail.
And got a free helicopter.
Um, how sure are you that you finished step one?
- Pretty sure. - Ah!
So. Let's say, you're some rich, fancy-pants company
who needs professional spy shit done.
Do you want the cold, hard tile feel
of a big conglomerate like IIA?
Ha-ha! I'd rather kill myself and take you with me.
Or do you want a boutique agency that offers a warm,
- personal touch? - Like a stranger's hand
on your side butt in an airport shuttle.
When you need spies, you need...
Slugs-n-jugs! Pew, pew, pew.
I told you we should've gone with the back and spyin' center.
That's why I think our company
would make a great investment for...
Oh, you can't do this to me, Maurice.
You just can't. I...
Hello?
Damn it!
Think, Malory. Think.
No, not that. Think harder.
Fine.
Can you not? I'm still learning here.
Dukes!
Butt warmers and bulletproof windows?
I mean...
Jesus, they sprung for tracers? That's good prep.
I almost feel bad about my inevitable triumph.
Triumph? I've been shot twice.
Archer, you want to help me down here,
or you just gonna watch me get rammed from behind?
That one was intentional, right?
- Archer! - I'm coming.
Also intentional.
- What? - Hey, Lana.
What about Spies & Dolls?
Well, what does the doll part mean?
Maybe we leave behind a creepy doll on every mission.
You know what? We'll call you back.
- What are you doing? - What does it look like, Cyril?
I'm using the helicopter blades to slice open the top of the truck.
Helicopter!
Uh-oh. Apparently helicopters don't like it when you do that.
- Keep it together, Dr. Spinblade. - Ah, damn it, I'm stuck.
I'm not leaving without you, Cyril.
Ha, I need something soft to land on.
Ah, god damn it, Cyril.
What good is your pillowy beef-suit of a torso
if you don't position yourself under me?
Hey, I see that scientist guy down there with the thingy
and three... check that, one alive kidnapper.
Damn it, I'm out.
Oh, wait, no, I'm not. Man, IIA's got good taste in guns.
- You got that right. - What? Who the hell is that?
The guy who wants to offer you a way out
- of your terrible job. - How'd you get in my earpiece?
Do you guys seriously not have satellite?
Satellite?
The microwave in our break room has a rotary dial.
Silly rabbit. Warlock six, engage!
Jesus! Ray, shoot out the tires.
God damn it, Pam!
Hey, shit for brains, I'm busy. Leave me the hell alone!
I just... I love you too.
Ah! Krieger, you idiot.
Why didn't you build a cane with the jaws of life?
Ha! Look at that.
Cyril, climb into the cab of the truck, overtake the driver,
- and get behind the wheel. - Are you kidding me?
How the hell do you want me to do that?
Squeeze your fat ass into the cab of that truck
like there's a free box of twinkies in there.
- Not so fast, punk. - Oh, shit. Oh, god.
Hang on, I thought I turned these off.
Ah!
- Sorry. - Please don't hurt me.
Hurt you? I'm here to rescue you.
Uh, ignore that ripped-apart guy.
I'm in! We did it! We won!
Um... Lana, looks like we're coming up
on a checkpoint with a blockade.
Know anything about that?
That is the border of Moldova and Transnistria.
Did you not read the briefing?
Who reads the back of a two-sided briefing?
What the hell is Transnistri, Lana?
It's a tiny breakaway country from Moldova
that is literally one side of the river. Lovely people.
Here's a fun twist. My brakes don't work.
That was me. I scrambled the electronic braking system.
I'll just grab the prototype and skedaddle.
Ope! I say.
Poor Archer. So diminished.
He wouldn't make it through the first round
- of screening at IIA. - Don't try to convince me to join IIA
- by playing mind games, Fabian. - You? Join the IIA?
At what feels like a quarter of your former strength?
- How's this for a quarter strength? - Yes, with the cane.
- But without it... - Whoa, oh!
Oh!
Looks like I'll be taking this after all.
- Good effort, Archer. - Fabian!
God damn it, he's getting away with the prototype.
Shit. We've got bigger problems, Lana.
He broke my cane.
And I was still learning about its new features.
Um, guys?
- Still no brakes up here. - If I may interject...
God, you just had to prove that you were
better than Fabian, which you most obviously are not.
- It's not obvious to me. - Guys?
If I may, that prototype is useless without
the uranium glass gamma lens I have in my pocket.
Plus, all the necessary information is in my brain.
Ha, hear that, Lana?
See? There is one piece of good news in all...
Jesus Christ, Cyril, look out!
He needed me, and I let him down.
- He's strong. He'll make it. - Oh-ho, boy.
- Not this coma shit again. - Yeah, comas aren't
as entertaining to watch as I hoped.
Hey, you guys ever do this to me?
- Oh, god. - Better believe it.
Oh, absolutely.
Oh, sorry, Ms. Archer sold my good life-support device.
This one's made out of a washing machine and a leaf blower.
Good morning, this is...
- The... Agency. - Good enough.
- That wasn't bad. - Don't hate it.
This is the client. I need the scientist.
- I'll give you a million. - Well, he is in a tiny, little coma.
- Make that 200,000. - Or we defer payment
until he wakes up, and at that time,
we'll require the entire reward, plus his medical expenses,
10% for our troubles, and a five-star review on GSW.
- Deal? - Uh... Deal.
- Uh, aren't we still super poor? - As it happens,
the agency's purse strings have loosened up a bit.
I was able to find us a new financier.
But no more unnecessary expenses.
Wait. Uh, is that a new crystal tumbler?
You're damn right.
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