Spawn

YOU'RE JUST NOW REMEMBERING

WHO TORCHED YOUR SORRY ASS, HMM ?

TIME FOR YOU TO LEARN SOMETHING FROM ALL THIS, SPAWN.

NO ONE CAN BE TRUSTED.

I NEED THOSE GUNS OFF THE STREET, CHAPEL.

THAT ORDNANCE IS TRACEABLE TO ME.

TONIGHT.

WANDA ?

I FORGOT SOMETHING.

I LOVE YOU.

I LOVE YOU, TERRY.

OH, MY GOD !

WELL, WHAT HAVE WE HERE ?

I REMEMBER YOU.

SIMMONS ?

KILL ME, FINISH IT !

THERE'S NO COMING BACK.

NO...

I'M GONNA LET YOU LIVE

LONGER THAN YOU WANT TO.

NO !

WHEN AL SIMMONS DIED, HE MADE A DEAL WITH HELL.

HE'D HARVEST AS MANY SOULS AS THEY WANTED

IF HE COULD COME BACK TO EARTH FOR THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE.

SO THEY RETURNED HIM

WITH THE DECAYED FLESH OF THE DEAD,

AND A FACE THAT WAS ROTTING.

OH, AND ONE OTHER LITTLE TRICK.

AL WAITED FIVE LONG YEARS,

SO THE LOVE HE CAME BACK FOR, SHE WAS GONE,

MOVED ON WITH HER LIFE.

NOW REMARRIED TO HIS BEST FRIEND.

SEE...

IT'S ALL JUST SOME SADISTIC CRUEL JOKE.

BUT, AL, HE'S NOT LAUGHING.

BORN OUT OF DARKNESS.

A HELL SPAWN IS ISOLATED,

CONFUSED, TORMENTED.

HE FINDS NO SOLACE IN HIS OWN THOUGHTS.

THEY ARE DISTORTED, TWISTED, GROTESQUE.

WHATEVER FRAGMENTS OF MEMORIES THAT REMAIN

ARE NOT HIS OWN.

THEY ARE INTRUDERS.

MEMORIES ARE HIS ENEMY.

OH, I ALWAYS WANTED YOU, WANDA.

OH TERRY,

YOU'RE MORE OF A MAN THAN AL EVER WAS.

I'M GLAD WE GOT RID OF THAT SONOFABITCH.

OH, GOD !

TERRY.

NO !

STAY OUT OF MY DREAMS !

YOUR DREAMS ?

MALEBOLGIA OWNS YOU.

YOU ARE HIS BITCH.

YOU DON'T HAVE SHIT.

NOTHING BUT A CHEAP SUIT

AND A BAD COMPLEXION.

DON'T YOU GET IT, SPAWNY ?

YOUR FRIENDS ALL FUCKED YOU.

THIS IS GETTING EMBARRASSING,

THIS WANDA FETISH YOU HAVE.

I DON'T WANT TO HEAR HER NAME FROM YOUR FILTHY MOUTH !

WANDA, WANDA, WANDA !

YES !

NICE SHOT, SPAWN.

OH, BUT I THINK YOU'RE DEALING

WITH SOME MISPLACED ANGER HERE.

DON'T GET PISSED AT ME.

I'M THE ONE WHO'S HELPING YOU OUT.

I'M NOT THE ONE WHO STOLE YOUR WIFE.

BUT, HEY, THINK ABOUT IT.

JUST HOW WELL

DID YOU KNOW TERRY ANYWAY ?

TERRY...

WHY DON'T WE HAVE FITZGERALD SHAKE HANDS WITH MR. RIMERE ?

THEY'RE SUCH OLD FRIENDS.

WHAT ARE WE REALLY LOOKING AT HERE ?

A TRAITOR, MR. BURGEON.

AND HE'S ABOUT TO BE DEALT WITH.

WHAT SOME MEN WILL DO FOR MONEY IS A TRAVESTY,

SELLING MISSILES TO A KNOWN TERRORIST.

THE VOICE ?

THE VOICE IS EASIER THAN THE VISUAL, MR. WYNN.

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE ?

PARANOID, DELUSIONAL.

IT READS LIKE A GREEK TRAGEDY.

SHAME HOW QUICKLY A MAN CAN CRASH AND BURN.

SPLENDID OBSERVATION, BURGEON.

I SUGGEST YOU KEEP IT IN MIND,

SHOULD YOU EVER BE TEMPTED TO SHOP YOUR SKILLS.

I'M AWARE OF YOUR REPUTATION, SIR.

OF COURSE, YOU ARE.

YOUR FEE HAS ALREADY BEEN WIRED.

YES ?

Fitzgerald's on the loose.

I WANT MY MISSILES MOVED OUT OF THAT WAREHOUSE TONIGHT.

But, but--

RIGHT NOW.

MERRICK WILL HAVE COORDINATES FOR DELIVERY.

OH, AND, UM,

SEND ME LEON NOW.

FITZGERALD IS A TRAITOR.

AND HOW DOES OUR AGENCY HANDLE TRAITORS ?

THEY'RE LIQUIDATED.

I WANT YOU TO USE LEON AND THAT HILLBILLY KID.

I DON'T TRUST THAT HILLBILLY.

HE WORKED FOR THE RUSSIAN MOB.

I TRUST HIM.

HI.

YOU'VE BEEN GONE FOR HOURS, BABY, WHAT'S WRONG ?

I'VE BEEN WALKING AROUND, THINKING.

I JUST-- I WANTED TO SEE YOU AND CYAN

AND TELL YOU THAT I MIGHT BE GONE A FEW DAYS.

WHAT'S GOING ON ?

I FEEL LIKE MY WHOLE LIFE IS COLLAPSING AROUND ME.

TERRY, TALK TO ME.

I'M TIRED.

I'M JUST SO TIRED, I CAN'T THINK STRAIGHT.

I GOTTA GO.

NOW ?!

TERRY, IT'S THREE O'CLOCK.

YOU HAVE A WIFE AND A CHILD.

LET SOMEONE ELSE TAKE CARE OF IT.

I'M ALL ALONE ON THIS.

YOU'RE DOING FIELDWORK, LIKE AL DID.

DON'T LAY THAT ON ME, WANDA.

YOU GOTTA TRUST ME.

I HAVE TO DO THIS.

TRUST ?!

DON'T ASK A WIDOW FOR BLIND TRUST.

I TRUST WITH MY EYES WIDE OPEN.

SO YOU BETTER TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON RIGHT NOW !

I CAN'T !

I'M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU.

Al used to say the same thing.

You're not protecting me, you're scaring me.

I won't raise a fatherless child, Terry.

Thanks for all the support.

I have to go.

HE'S ENROUTE.

WHERE'S HE GOING ?

ON THE WAY TO THE WAREHOUSE.

YOU WON'T BE KILLING HIM.

HE'S MINE.

HEY, BUDDY, YOU OKAY ?

HOLY SHIT.

UNIT TWELVE, UNIT TWELVE.

I NEED BACKUP, RIVERSIDE AND 110th.

TEN OF OURS TO BRING IN ONE GUY ?

WHAT IS HE, DUSTED ?

NO DRUGS IN HIS SYSTEM.

THE DOCTOR SEEMS TO FEEL

THERE'S SOME SORT OF BRAIN DAMAGE.

SHIT, WHERE'D THEY PICK THIS GUY UP ?

THE ALLEYS WHERE WE'RE INVESTIGATING THOSE MURDERS.

COINCIDENCE ?

I DON'T BELIEVE IN COINCIDENCES.

NEITHER DO I, SIR.

NOT DOWN THERE.

SHIT !

WELL, THERE'S THE PROBLEM RIGHT THERE.

HE USES TOO MUCH MAKEUP.

THAT CAN DRIVE A GUY NUTS.

RITUALISTIC MARKINGS, VERY PRIMAL, YES.

AFRICAN WARRIORS USE SIMILAR MARKINGS.

THE SKULL SIGNIFIES DEATH.

LOOKS MILITARY.

SPECIAL FORCES TRAINING.

NO TAGS.

MERCENARY, MAYBE.

HIS FINGERPRINTS HAVE BEEN BURNED OFF.

IT'LL BE HARD TO MAKE A POSITIVE I.D.

LOOKS LIKE WE GOT OURSELVES A REAL PRO.

AL ?

CHRIST !

NO !

I KILLED HIM !

DO YOU HEAR ME ? I KILLED HIM !

DO YOU HEAR ME ? I KILLED HIM !