iZombie

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.

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.

["Monday Night Football"

theme music playing]

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.