Westworld

I don't like it.

His businesses are legitimate. Why would he need us?

He's been buying most of the old city

and the outlying areas using holding companies.

The land is mainly worthless,

but I don't understand what he's doing.

Encantado.

Likewise. Have you seen it before?

When I was a kid. Road trip with my parents.

- Hasn't changed a bit. - Hmm.

Let me show you around.

Mm-hmm.

We've upgraded the turbines.

They're rated to last 100 years without maintenance.

All to power... this.

We're looking for resilience.

Our timeline is more ambitious than most.

We offer a unique proposition.

Data has always been fungible. Temporary.

If you invest yours with us, it will be written in stone.

- Forever. - Forever...

...in my experience is a little bit longer

than most people expect.

How much of our platform are you looking to reserve?

- All of it. - Come again?

What I want is already in there.

It was stolen from me.

From one of my facilities, eight years ago.

And I know you were paid handsomely to store it.

I would suggest you take it up with the person who stole it.

I can't. She's dead. Which means I can't decrypt it.

And no one else can.

I don't want it moved or disturbed.

So I'll take the whole shebang.

This is a unique asset, and as such, it's not for sale.

This is America. Everything here is for sale.

That's a pretty good return on your investment.

We know what you've been doing.

You think anyone sells land without our approval?

We've been happy to sell. It's worthless scrubland.

But you can't have this place.

You ever hear the one about the missionary

who tried to negotiate with the tiger?

He told the tiger he could eat most of him,

but he had to stop when he got to his head.

You and your friends in the cartel

or whatever the fuck you're calling yourselves these days

sell me this lump of concrete, today.

Or?

Or you give it to me for nothing. Tomorrow.

We, uh...

we weren't very welcome when we came here.

We had to accept

whatever the old timers offered, at first.

We buried most of them at the bottom of this lake.

Our organization has a long, proud history

of defending itself and its business aggressively.

Door number two, then.

Mañana.

Mañana.

He said that yesterday he would have paid.

But today we would give it to him for nothing.

Thank you.

Is my work done?

Yes. You can rest now.

You're up. I have a dilemma.

Which would you choose? White or black?

Christina?

- They both look great. - Pick a side, Chrissie.

What are you wearing tonight?

Uh, this?

Right.

It looks great,

unlike these damn bags under my eyes.

I look like a zombie.

- Bad night's sleep? - Nightmares.

Maybe I should've taken a tab.

But, uh, I just kept tossing and turning.

Is it that weirdo again?

I blocked him, but he keeps getting through.

It's just some creep

or a bot trying to sell you a privacy subscription.

I guess.

Lately, I feel like someone's watching me.

No offense, but how?

I mean, except for work, you don't leave the apartment,

which is why you're coming out tonight.

I mean, he's supposed to be a really nice guy.

And his profile's platinum rated.

Set-ups are just so awkward.

And so is dying alone.

You cannot hide from the world forever, Christina.

Okay.

That was insane.

This is way better than I expected.

This place is fucking wild.

Can't believe this is your first time.

Come on.

I know a spot that's really gonna blow your mind.

Can you see it?

It's looming over us. The tower! Can you see it? Huh?

Can you see it? Can you see it?

Record pitch.

There's a young girl.

Not that young.

More like late teens.

She lives at home with her father in the country.

Scratch that. The city.

He's a little infirm,

so she spends most of her time with him.

But she dreams of a bigger life

with excitement, adventure, romance.

Christina.

Pause record.

We need to talk about your work performance.

I mean, don't you want to advance in your career?

- Of course I do. - Well, then you got to stop

pitching these saccharine stories.

You know, people want sex, danger, violence,

transgressions, melodrama. They want tragedy.

- Yada, yada, yada. - I know.

I-- I was thinking maybe I could write

in some different genres to broaden it out.

Maybe a little romance, some humor.

Maybe just save that for your diary.

I know you've got it in you

to write the kind of copy we need.

Now, take that story you wrote a couple months back.

Poor schmuck loses everything, drowns his sorrows,

stalks some girl. How'd it end again?

- Everyone dies. - Yes. That's right.

It's a real tearjerker.

Just, uh, bring more of that.

Or else I'm gonna have to find another writer who can.

- Understood? - Yes. Of course.

All right.

Hello? You hear me?

I know you're out there. I saw what you wrote.

Why are you doing this to us?

You have to help me. Your game is ruining my life--

Always a classic

by the inimitable Hendrix.

And now, back to our coverage of the festivities.

Preparations are underway for this year's...

No!

Are you ready, darling?

- For what? - This is the new world.

And in this world, you can be whoever the fuck you want.

Oh, for fuck's sake...

Got any plans for the anniversary?

Nah. Just work.

Cashing in on that overtime, eh?

Man, seven years ago,

it would've just been robots working the holiday, but...

lucky for us, they're all scrap metal now.

Least the riots ensured our job security.

That wasn't exactly the point of the riots.

Yeah, 'cause the riots had no point.

They won us our freedom.

Sure, but from what? Ourselves?

Hey, man, the way I look at it,

that Incite machine that they blew up

didn't tell us who we could be, it told us who we already were.

- You actually believe that? - Don't you? Let me ask you this.

Has your life changed

since they destroyed those machines?

You haven't been practicing enough.

Dad!

Good to see you, Cookie.

Here. All right.

- How'd you do that? - Like I said, practice.

A lot of it.

On cans?

Yeah. On cans.

Here.

M'kay.

Remember. This.

Now stare at it.

Okay. Visualize.

Breathe out.

Hold steady.

And squeeze.

Frankie! Caleb!

I was visualizing.

Well, come inside and visualize meatloaf.

- Just a little longer? - C'mon, listen to your mother.

Coming.

Go wash up.

Enough with the cowboy shit.

- She likes it. - She's seven, Caleb.

Thanks to you, her hobbies are sugar and violence.

Look, I'm sorry.

I know it's not an easy day for you,

but the war is over.

It's time you start living that way.

Okay?

Hmm.

Go set the table.

What's the magic word?

Divorce.