Previously on iZombie...
I want back in. Scratch me.
Make me a zombie.
Local hospitals have now reported 125 cases
of Aleutian flu.
We need to begin large scale vaccinations tomorrow.
Fillmore-Graves is infecting the Aleutian flu vaccine
with zombie blood.
Every person who received the Aleutian flu vaccination today
is now in the process of becoming a zombie.
The Aleutian flu was never about harvesting brains.
It was about getting as many people turned into zombies as possible.
There are no plans to harvest brains from the living.
Let's show the world the is no reason to fear the other.
You were a waste of my sperm.
That kind of stinks.
That, my friend, is a vaccine for zombies.
Are you sure?
_
The Seahawks, my man.
That's who. Legion of Boom.
Twelfth man.
Russell Wilson, back there scrambling,
pulling rabbits out of hats.
Hey, wanna come over and watch the combine?
You know, uh, let me see what I'm doing that night.
You know what, it kills me.
Man, it kills me we're playing our home games in Tacoma.
Stupid zombies. Stupid wall.
- Hey, Clint. - Why'd they have to choose Seattle?
They should've taken their filthy virus to New England
and scratched some of them chowder-slurpin' sons o'bitches, huh.
Hicks!
Awfully chatty over here, boys.
You meeting your quotas?
Always.
That's what I like to hear! Carry on!
Stupid zombies. Stupid wall.
This is a quarantine zone.
Violators will be shot.
For your safety, vacate this zone at once.
Gotta hand it to the Red, White and Blue.
One day, they decide to wall off the city.
Seventy-two hours later, we're living in Baghdad.
No one goes over tonight, Dugan!
So, let's see, what've I got for you this time?
Two of your officers enjoy playing high-stakes poker.
Croslin and Carney are their names.
They're in deep to a bookie they call The Barber.
Sinclair! Look alive
What else?
Word is watered-down brain tubes are being sold for
forty bucks a pop in the back alleys of Seattle.
You've got a leak in your food chain.
Someone's getting rich.
Commander. It's here.
Excellent.
What else?
All right, here's a riddle for you.
I own a cemetery. One of my backhoe's goes down,
and I'm finding it very difficult to rent digging equipment.
Why do you think that is?
Where might one want to dig to?
All right. You can stay open another week.
Look, it's not that I don't enjoy going on our strolls.
You've really started opening up to me.
But having to bring you these little nuggets of information
like I'm your stool pigeon isn't exactly my style.
I could just close down your businesses.
All right, well, this will have to remain our arrangement.
Hey, man, do you even use the information that I...
What the cuss?
Is that a guillotine?
Of sorts. It's a guillotine for zombies.
But why? We're zombies.
Zero tolerance. That's our message.
Message received.
_
Synced and corrected by hawken45 for www.addic7ed.com
_
I work in a brain processing plant,
and this was the gnarliest thing I've ever seen.
Clint always volunteered...
That's Clint Hicks, the victim?
Yeah. Clint Hicks. He volunteered to pick up some extra hours
cleaning the equipment after hours each night.
Nasty work. I don't know how he did it.
Sorry, no offense.
None taken. I think.
I mean, you'd probably enjoy licking the brain bowls clean,
but Fillmore-Graves doesn't let zombies work the line.
Too much temptation.
Makes sense.
Anyways, Kelly, that's Clint's wife,
she called security last night at 2:00 in the morning,
says he hasn't come home.
Security comes down here
and finds him in the grinder.
I believe I've arrived at a cause of death.
"Ground up in a giant mixing bowl."
No. Wait a minute. Let me recheck my work.
Yep. "Ground to death in a mixing bowl."
Mr. Perales,
how long have you been working across from Mr. Hicks?
Ever since the plant opened,
right after the world got turned upside down.
So what's that? Three months?
Nearly four. You know anyone who might've wanted to kill him?
Well, he wasn't real keen on zombies.
Any particular reason?
Thing you gotta know is that
he's the biggest Seahawks fan you've ever met.
I've met a lot of crazy Seahawk fans.
Didn't mean they hated zombies.
Yeah, but before everyone got turned into zombies,
Clint had his dream job at CenturyLink Field.
Then, boom! We're zombie town.
After that, instead of a job he loved,
he's packaging human brains by day
and cleaning them out of the grinders by night.
He was always complaining about zombies.
Sometimes a little too loud.
I mean, the Fillmore-Graves guys here aren't the warmest dudes.
Oh, God. I'm sorry.
I didn't mean it like "warmest", I just meant like...
No. Of course. I'm fine.
This new world is gonna take some getting used to.
Why bother. Someone's probably going to nuke us any day now.
Sir.
Sir!
I know you're aware of the curfew.
No one out on the streets after midnight.
Come on, man. Check this out. I met this girl at the club...
- Come on, baby! - You suck!
Die, zombies!
No.
Let me go, you undead freak.
I baked your buddies good, didn't I? Didn't I?
_
Major. Come.
Sit.
Yes, sir.
I hear last night was eventful.
Gully and Chu were hit by a Molotov cocktail,
but they'll be okay in a couple of weeks.
And I hear you caught one of our human terrorist friends.
What do they call themselves? "Human Shield?" "Up With People?"
"Dead Enders."
We're not sure he's a member. I mean, the kid is only 15.
Well, that kind of segues right into what I wanted to talk to you about.
We noticed you have a background in youth counseling.
Yeah.
There's a problem in the city. You must've noticed.
Young zombies.
They're homeless because their parents kicked them out.
They're starting to roam around in packs. Packs become gangs.
We need productive, contributing zombies
fully integrated into the fabric of the city.
You think you can give me that?
I can give it a shot.
Excellent.
Chase Graves, man.
What's he got that I don't got, Dad?
Oh, that's right. An army.
What's that old proverb?
"Mo' money, mo' problems."
I want to expand, Pop, but he's got me by the short and curlies.
He could shut me down any day.
And this whole business of me having to seek him out
every week to feed him dirt from the street
like I'm some two-bit street hustler is humiliating.
It's a shame you raised me to like nice things.
Love you. Mean it. Ciao.
Dino! Chop, chop. Let's go.
This is the one.
Check it out!
Russell Wilson. I would have your babies.
Try to dial it down a bit, Liv.
Let's not remind them that zombie cops eat their loved ones.
Zombies are the worst.
Pale-assed brain-eating bitches.
Looks like they just put this poster here to cover up some gang taggings.
Yes?
Mrs. Hicks?
Yes.
We're with Seattle PD. Homicide.
We'd like to come in and ask you a few questions. Do you mind?
So you clocked out at the plant at 6:00 p.m. Is that right?
Thereabouts, yeah. It'd be on my timecard.
What time did your husband usually get home from his cleaning duties?
About 9:00. Could you set that down?
A Seahawks salt shaker? It's pretty damn awesome.
Liv.
Sorry, Mom. I guess I missed that one.
Detective Babineaux and...
Assistant Medical Examiner Moore.
Are just asking some questions.
This is my son, Zorn.
Like Jim Zorn? The Hawks QB from 76 to 84?
That's the guy.
I take it you're not on the Seahawks bandwagon.
Not since February 1, 2015.
What happened?
Super Bowl XLIX.
Patriots 28, Seahawks 24.
That game ruined my dad.
After that day, he completely became single-minded.
If it wasn't about the Seahawks, he wasn't interested.
Zorn, where were you when your father was murdered?
I was right here with Mom.
So the two of you were here together all night?
That's right.
We understand that Clint might not have had
the most enlightened views about zombies.
Who needs enlightenment? Am I right?
I guess what we're asking is whether your husband
might've had any run-ins with zombies.
None that he told me about,
but he was in a bit of a war with this one guy from work.
A war?
Well, it started as smack talk, but it got out of hand.
The last thing I heard was this guy keyed Clint's car.
Wrote something that riled up my husband.
You remember what it said?
"Richard Sherman is an average cornerback."
What?
Liv...
That's kind of a lengthy thought to express in that, uh,
particular medium.
Yeah, well... They really hated each other.
Doc Greeley's his name.
He's from San Francisco.
San Francisco?
San Fran, baby. City by the bay.
How're we superior?
Well... The first thing that springs to mind is
at least we don't have 10,000 zombies walled in with us.
I'm about to give you 49 reasons you're an idiot.
Oh, yeah? Golden Gate or Space Needle?
That's what I thought. Boom.
Monorail or no monorail. Suck it.
Clint's widow says that you keyed something about
Richard Sherman on the hood of Clint's car.
Sherman would light you up, son.
It's because he spray painted "Go Hawks"
on the top of my car.
I'm a Niners fan.
I have a sticker on my car, sure,
but like most of America, it's because
I hate the Seahawks.
I hate how cocky they are.
It ain't cocky if you can back it up.
It's true. They're awful.
Where were you the night of the murder?
At home.
Alone?
Yep.
All night?
Yes.
Show him, Clive.
What am I looking at here?
That's the parking lot where you work.
And this is the security footage taken of the parking lot
the night of Clint's murder.
You didn't know there was a camera there, did you?
Note the time code at the bottom of the screen.
It's right in the two-hour window
our medical examiners have given us for time of death.
Hmm.
Pretty obvious that's your white 2015 Sonata.
You failed to mention that you drove back to work
on the night of the murder.
That seems like a big omission.
Look, I'm being set up here.
Typical Niners fan.
It's never your fault. It's the refs. It's the injuries.
I got home that night,
and I found 20 brain tubes in my bag.
I how they got there,
but you don't want to know
the punishment for stealing brains.
I went back to work to put them back.
Why'd you lie to us?
He's a Niners fan, Clive.
They do dumb things. They re-signed Blaine Gabbert for God sakes.
Oh, I'm sorry. You want to talk dumb?
Dumb like running off Jim Harbaugh?
At least we would've known you run Marshawn Lynch
against a gassed New England defensive line when you have three downs
to win the mother-freaking Super Bowl.
Liv... Remain calm.
You're going full-on zombie.
It's called beast mode.
We meet the same time every day.
Where are Clive and Liv?
Ah. Good. Everything okay?
We like this guy we brought in for the brain factory killing.
A 49ers fan.
We're gonna hold him for a full 48 until we can get a search warrant,
and see if we can seal this up tight.
Sounds good.
Halpern and Schumacker, how's it going on
the John Doe they found on the East Wall?
All I know so far is our John Doe watched a lot of porn.
So, you and me, we're getting the smarty-pants?
Physics professor at U-Dub. Everything points to the wife.
Not sure if I even need to eat the brain.
Might be nice riding around with my intellectual equal.
Mmm. Well, who would laugh at all your fart jokes?
The victim is Ben Rooney. Age 58.
Professor of Physics from the University of Washington.
The injury has resulted
from a single blow to the occipital region of the head.
Brain weight,
1350 grams.
The brain appears healthy, damage from the blunt force trauma aside.
It's, uh...
Pink.
Firm.
A smell of...
Lilacs.
Taste of...
Melon.
Honeydew, I would think.
_
Subject's hair has begun to turn white.
This is the third time subject has turned into a zombie
since taking the proto-vaccine.
If trends continue,
zombie state should last no more than 72 hours.
On the bright side,
the vaccine works.
Subject has been scratched by his zombie assistant several times now,
and he remains human.
With the small caveat that every few weeks,
subject craves brains.
I see it's your time of the month.
It's obvious?
You're wearing that stocking cap indoors.
Plus zombies have this stench to them.
I've never noticed.
It's true. They smell. They're disgusting.
On that note, I'm going to call it a day.
This professor whose brain I ate patented all these inventions.
Maybe inspiration will strike, and I'll make a fortune.
More cash in my pocket than I can spend.
If they didn't want it sold on the black market,
they would not have made it so scarce.
Hey. You hiding. Show yourself.
You're not gonna eat that?
I'm saving the rest.
Give me a bit dude. I'm starving and you weight like 40 pounds.
I'm saving it.
Give it to me.
Or when we get out of here,
I'm going to rip on of your arms and beat you with it.
He said he's saving it.
And who are you?
Captain Seattle?
You two.
Sit.
I wanna thank all of you
for agreeing to come here to Fillmore-Graves headquarters.
Yeah. We're all volunteers.
You are here for a reason.
You've been living on the streets.
Most of you are turned out off your homes for being zombies.
Thanks for that. By the way, the "turning us into zombie" part.
Look, what's done is done.
It's time to make the best of it.
Our goal here is to get you off the streets.
Prevent the formation of zombie street-gangs.
The key to our survival is integration.
Tell that to the dead-enders.
Is it true that Fillmore-Graves soldiers get
all the brain tubes they want?
We get double rations.
Did everyone see that brain wending machine in the hallway?
The what?
Not really.
Is there?
There is.
So, I'm out there every day trading sex
for the brains tubes to feed my little brother and sister.
And you get to eat them like they are candy bars?
You're really...
No. I work at coffee stands.
But I do know plenty of girls who are putting up for tubes.
And some dudes.
My brother and sister really are starving.
And the brain tubes they distribute
barely have any brains in them anymore.
Check out this guy.
Who's that?
A Fillmore Graves soldier. Jimmy sketched him for me.
I saw this guy in a vision. He was hatching a plan
to make a fortune on the black market.
Then he caught our victim listening in.
Did he look mad?
He didn't look happy.
I figured we could go ask Major if he can ID the guy
unless you have plans.
My night's wide open.
You sure Major's gonna be willing to rat on one of his Fillmore-Graves buddies?
If he's stealing brains from hungry zombies. Yeah.
If you say so. You know him better.
What're you saying he's guilty of?
Uh, murder.
Possibly.
Plus, I saw him talking to another Fillmore-Graves soldier
about selling brains tubes on the black market. So we know he's doing that.
Major.
His name is Russ Roche.
And the black market thing makes sense.
I hear he's going to The Scratching Post every night and throwing money around.
Liv! Clive!
To what do we owe the pleasure?
Ravi, you're... Um...
Naked.
As a newborn.
I can't... Mmm-mmm. I can't...
I should've given you guys a warning.
Apparently this physicist whose brain he's on?
Must've been a big time nudist as well.
Naturist. I'm in harmony with nature,
and I'm never going back.
Would anyone else like tea?
_
I don't know. Maybe...
What's to think about, buddy?
Look at these lovely ladies
eager to show you and your buddies a good time.
Eager, huh?
Then why's she not smiling?
It's her thing.
Tough girl. Sassy. Some guys like it.
I don't. Get rid of her. I'll take the other two.
You. Go mingle.
Hey, bring us some booze, huh? The good stuff!
Can do.
No. No. No. You got the wrong place.
The pancake house where the cops eat free, it's just down the street.
That guy at the booth how much money is he gonna drop tonight?
Let me see.
Whole blue brain from some big deal Shakespearean actor.
Five bottles of the good stuff.
Four companions.
None of your business.
Hey, Don E., what's that on your shirt?
Oh, what are you on? Third-grader brain?
Tanner.
Another bottle of the Devil's Puckered Knot, Small Batch.
Come on.
Excuse me...
Who're you?
Clive Babineaux. Seattle PD. Homicide.
Not interested. You.
You can stay, honey. I just need you to go tan and...
Vision.
A blue brain vision. It's a long one.
Is this jackanapes still about?
Get thee gone, sir, afore I box thine ears.
All right, Shakespeare.
Handmaiden to Venus, vouchsafe me your cheveril ornament.
Huh?
Your glove, harlot. Make haste!
Jeez.
You trespass, sir, and know not what you do.
So I shall teach thee, knave,
and teach thee true.
I wouldn't.
Time out!
Detective Babineaux. You're not in Seattle anymore!
This is New Seattle and in New Seattle, cops they don't come into my bar...
Our bar.
Right. To hassle the fine,
fine Fillmore-Graves soldiers who protect our city's undead population.
I had a vision from the guy who was murdered at the brain plant.
He saw you talking about selling brains on the black market.
That's why you killed him, isn't it?
The worker overheard a joke.
But a jape!
Innkeep, tell me plain, must I endure the ravings of a starveling?
A neat's tongue? A bull's pizzle?
Away, ivory cur.
Thou art a boil. Tarry not, lest ye be lanced.
You heard the man.
All bull pizzles hit the road.
Dino. Show them the exit.
Then come back in here and clean up this mess.
Do I look like a waitress?
You are whatever I tell you you are!
Sure thing, boss.
Get it all out.
I would've gotten you out sooner, but
Blaine didn't start having me drive him out here until recently.
I had to pick the right time.
Wrap your arms around me.
Two-bit hustler!
That's Blaine.
And a voice called down upon Angus
and, lo,
two-bit hustlers were had by their short and curlies.
Mo' money...
Mo' problems!
I'm glad you brought up money, boss.
I figure my getting you out of here is worth some kind of reward...
And the voice of the herald cried, "Shame."
It's a shame...
Think about it.
You work on those cement shoes.
I've gotta call my girlfriend.
Sorry, baby. This is taking longer than I thought.
We haven't discussed a dollar amount yet,
but he'll see the light.
I'm thinking six figures...
Filthy, filthy lucre.
_
Mr. Mayor! Such an honor. As always.
Mr. DeBeers. I'd eat every meal here if I could afford it.
You can't go wrong with anything on the menu.
What would you recommend?
The Ode to Zuni roast brain with fennel panzanella.
Ooh.
And here are the brains that you can choose from.
Everything is cemetery to table. And if I may be so bold,
our freshest brain comes from an architect of some renown.
Sold!
I'll have the same.
Ms. Charles? What can we get for you?
I'll have the T-bone. Rare. And another bourbon rocks.
Fine choice.
The flounder for me.
I would've guessed the flounder.
So, what were we talking about?
The exodus.
Right!
How many humans got out? Before the wall went up?
A couple hundred thousand. It's lucky for us they did wall the city.
If all you innocent humans left,
they'd drop an atom bomb right on Pioneer Square.
You're welcome.
But now Chase Graves decrees a death penalty for scratching someone? Come on.
Well, there aren't enough brains to feed the zombies who are here already.
We shouldn't make more.
"Clip your nails, no epic fails."
I don't think he'll actually use the guillotine.
It's there to scare the zombies
and to give humans the sense that
zombies are serious about policing themselves.
I hope you're right.
God, you're gorgeous.
Well, that sate kills the mood.
I don't think it was there this morning.
It's scary. It's like a cross burning...
Shh. This slot receiver from USC is about to show off his vertical.
If he hits 35, I say we use our second round pick on him.
Mind if I grab a beer?
No, there's an IPA downing the crisper, behind the...
Shh!
Oh, my God.
Oh, hey. Liv invited me over for the combine.
You're naked.
Right. I forget sometimes.
Ravi, would you mind putting on some clothes?
Doctor Ravi Chakrabarti. I don't believe we've had the pleasure.
Right. Sorry. Ravi, this is Derek.
Derek, this is Ravi.
Ravi's a nudist.
Derek Edelsburg.
Right. The lawyer!
I've heard nothing but great things.
Queso!
No!
Liv, no, he is not sitting on our couch. We can throw down a towel, or we can...
You put this stud at weak-side defensive end, he will eat quarterbacks.
Liv, sweetie.
I need to show you something out in the hall.
Oh, look. They're going to commercial. Just give me two minutes.
Come on.
How do you know Peyton?
Look.
"Z."
For zebra.
The referees read what I wrote on the NFL fan board,
and this is their revenge.
Liv. It's for "zombie." As in "a zombie lives here""
People are marking the houses of suspected zombies this way.
I need to find Clive.
What do I do about Ravi?
I say get back together with him.
So if I'm not mistaken...
A "Z." A zombie lives here.
But it wasn't the dad.
I ate his brain and he was decidedly anti-zombie,
although who can blame him.
The mom didn't seem very keen on zombies, either.
Could be an act.
Officers.
Mrs. Hicks.
By the powers granted in Fillmore-Graves decree number 176,
we'll be taking your blood pressure.
Your arm, please.
Liv, cuff her.
Mom?
Come here, son.
Human.
Give me your arm.
He's a zombie! The stupid son of a bitch did it!
He couldn't keep it in his pants with his little zombie girlfriend!
I raised you better! Get out! Get out!
Clint!
Touch me again, and I'll eat your brain. I swear I will.
Zorn, here, is a zombie.
A law-abiding, in-the-closet zombie. What's wrong with that?
You should know that my partner here has, um,
sampled your father's brain.
She's able to experience moments from the deceased's life.
I just saw an incident where he pushed Zorn down this flight of steps
and Zorn threatened to eat his brain.
I'm afraid we need to take you down to the station.
Turn around, please.
Zorn Hicks, you have the right to remain silent.
He didn't do it!
Mom, don't! I read that these visions aren't admissible. They don't have...
The brain tubes in Doc Greeley's bag. You put them there, didn't you?
You knew he would come back up to the brain plant to put them back.
You set him up. You wanted to pin this on the 49ers fan.
Clive, I still think he may have played a part in this.
Mom, I'm a minor...
Confess and we may forget that you made your son
an accomplice by having him provide a false alibi.
I did it.
Clint made me choose.
My husband or my son... He never should have made me choose...
Kelly Hicks,
you have the right to remain silent.
Zombie scum!
You said it, man! Go Hawks!
Go Hawks!
_
The first time I raged out, it freaked me out so bad.
It was like my first, um...
Nocturnal omission. I was like, "What just happened?"
My first time,
my dad was wailing away on me as usual.
And then, suddenly,
I'm like, "Argh!"
Scared the hell out of him.
I chased the son of a bitch round the block.
So at my school, there is this
stuck up bitch named Gretchen Nelson,
who kind of knew I was a zombie but I hadn't come out yet.
- And so... - Captain Seattle.
How many brain tubes is that for you?
Two.
Dude. Lie.
Where did you get two?
You're only supposed to get one for showin' up.
Looks like everyone got extra tubes.
The lady handing him out said she had extra.
And she made us promise not to tell, so...
Don't be a dick and get her in trouble.
So, this is what you well-fed
Fillmore-Graves soldiers feel like all the time.
Happy. Ready to kick-ass.
We were talking about our first times raging out.
Jordan, keep going.
Lillywhite...
You know why the machines are out of tubes?
Uh-uh.
Sucks, man.
Jordan.
Yeah.
So, Gretchen
is telling stuff like, "Looking a little pale, Jordan."
Do you wanna borrow some of my make-up, Jordan?
Oh, is that a streak in your hair?
"It's so punk rock."
And, I'll be honest.
I was kind of dreaming of cracking her head open.
But I wasn't sure there'd be a brain inside.
My family is starving. No lie.
Lillywhite.
Don't touch that. We'll talk.
How is it comin' along?
It's a bit of a mixed bag.
Any stand outs?
Stand outs in what way?
In that, "I'd want this zombie in a foxhole with me" way.
Ah, so, that's what it is about.
In case you missed it, Major, we're hanging on by a very thin thread.
We don't have enough trained soldiers to control this city.
These kids aren't trained.
Then they'll have to learn on the job.
So, who's in the foxhole with you?
Captain Seattle. Jordan.
Over here.
Are you sure?
Not really.
Sir.
Jordan Gladwell. Fisher Webb.
This is Chase Graves.
Big kahuna.
Sir.
I just asked Lillywhite here who he thought had the right stuff
to be a soldier at Fillmore-Graves.
For whatever reason, he sees something in the two of you.
So, until you washout, get killed or usurp me,
you'll be working for us.
You'll be charged with keeping the peace in this experimental city.
Can I count on you?
Yes, sir.
You'll be in Major's squad.
Teach you everything you need to know to survive out there.
Don't screw up.
_
Damned though you may be, there is still a path to salvation.
There is nothing
that keeps the undead out of the pits of hell save for the mere pleasure of God.
Never forget
that God may cast a wicked zombie into the pits of hell at any moment.
Don't you mean "pits of well?"
Because hell is a well,
and well,
well,
we're one
wicked,
wanton wonton stuffed with balls of brains
brined and braised harm the Almighty?
Welcome, son. Welcome to the loving embrace of God. Please, have a seat.
Be ye man or be ye zombie?
I'm a vessel for the Lord.
A human vessel or a zombie vessel?
Human, of course. Zombies can't be ordained.
Well ain't that some squill, so sayeth me.
'Cause I speak to God.
Of course. Prayer is important...
And God speaks to me. I look up in the light and I hear his words.
He says, "Angus, I need an army."
Give me an army,
"and verily we'll have them by the short and curlies."
Sir, what can we do for you?
I'm hungry!
Aren't you hungry? Are you hungry?
Are you hungry?
Come closer, son. We'll pray for a miracle.
Dear Lord...
Ahhh!
No! No, no, no!
Behold! A miracle!
God loves you!
He means it!
Chow!