V:
[Disguised as William Rookwood, meeting with Inspector Finch] Our story begins, as these stories often do, with a young up-and-coming politician. He's a deeply religious man and a member of the conservative party. He is completely single-minded convictions and has no regard for the political process. Eventually, his party launches a special project in the name of 'national security'. At first, it is believed to be a search for biological weapons and it is pursued regardless of its cost. However, the true goal of the project is power, complete and total hegemonic domination. The project, however, ends violently... but the efforts of those involved are not in vain, for a new ability to wage war is born from the blood of one of their victims. Imagine a virus - the most terrifying virus you can, and then imagine that you and you alone have the cure. But if your ultimate goal is power, how best to use such a weapon? It is at this point in our story that along comes a spider. He is a man seemingly without a conscience; for whom the ends always justify the means and it is he who suggests that their target should not be an enemy of the country but rather the country itself. Three targets are chosen to maximize the effect of the attack: a school, a tube station, and a water-treatment plant. Several hundred die within the first few weeks. Until at last the true goal comes into view. Before the St. Mary's crisis, no one would have predicted the outcome of the elections. No one. But after the election, lo and behold, a miracle. Some believed that it was the work of God himself, but it was a pharmaceutical company controlled by certain party members made them all obscenely rich. But the true genius of the plan was the fear. A year later, several extremeists are tried, found guilty, and executed while a memorial is builterected to canonize their victims. Fear became the ultimate tool of this government. And through it our politician was ultimately appointed to the newly created position of High Chancellor. The rest, as they say, is history.
Finch:
Can you prove any of this?
V:
Why do you think I'm still alive?
Finch:
Right. We'd like to take you into protective custody, Mr. Rookwood.
V:
Oh, I'm sure you would. But if you want that recording, you'll do what I tell you to do. Put Creedy under 24 hour surveillance. When I feel safe that he can't pick his nose without you knowing, I'll contact you again. Until then, cheerio.
Finch:
Rookwood. Why didn't you come forward earlier? What were you waiting for?
V:
For you, Inspector. I needed you.
Ebenezer Scrooge:
[in the graveyard] Must we return to this place? There is something else that I must know, is that not true? Spirit, I know what I must ask. I fear to, but I must. Who was the wretched man whose death brought so much glee and happiness to others? [the spirit points to a headstone, Scrooge begins moving toward it, then turns back, frightened]
Ebenezer Scrooge:
Answer me one more question. Are these the shadows of things that *will* be, or are they the shadows of things that *may* be only? [the spirit points again at the gravestone, Scrooge slowly approaches it]
Ebenezer Scrooge:
These events can be changed! A life can be made right. [he clears the snow from the stone and reads]
Ebenezer Scrooge:
[in tears] Ebenezer Scrooge! Oh please Spirit, no! Hear me, I, I am not the man I was! Why would you show me this if I am past all hope?... [sobbing]
Ebenezer Scrooge:
I, I *will* honor Christmas, and try to keep it all the year! I will live my life in the past, the present and the future. I will not shut out the lessons the spirits have taught me! Tell me that I may sponge out the writing on this stone! [kneeling, clutching at the spirit's robe]
Ebenezer Scrooge:
Oh Spirit, please speak to me!
Dennis:
Finally. [cracks knuckles]
Dennis:
I got you right where I want you.
SpongeBob SquarePants:
Can I help you with something, sir?
Dennis:
Name's Dennis. I've been hired to exterminate you.
SpongeBob SquarePants:
You're gonna exterminate us? [SpongeBob and Patrick look at each other, then burst out in laughter before wiping their tears]
SpongeBob SquarePants:
Listen, Junior. You caught me and my friend here in a good mood today, so I'm gonna let you off with a warning. Step aside, and you won't have to feel the awesome wrath of our mustaches.
Dennis:
You mean these? [grabs the seaweed mustaches off SpongeBob and Patrick's faces]
Dennis:
I thought you still had a piece of salad stuck to your lip from lunchtime. [Throws mustaches as SpongeBob and Patrick's eyes bulge at the sight of them]
SpongeBob SquarePants:
They were fake?
Dennis:
Of course they were fake! This is what a real mustache looks like. [Pulls face mask off, grunts to sprout mustach from his upper lip]
Patrick Star:
Is he a mermaid?
Dennis:
All right. Enough gab. [approaches SpongeBob and Patrick, who are trembling in fear]
SpongeBob SquarePants:
What are you gonna do to us?
Dennis:
Plankton was very specific.
SpongeBob SquarePants:
Plankton?
Dennis:
For some reason, he wanted me to step on you.
Patrick Star:
Step on us?
Dennis:
Yeah! That way, you'll never find out that he stole the crown! [SpongeBob and Patrick look at each other]
Dennis:
Uhh, perhaps I've said too much. [extends spikes from the soles of his boots. SpongeBob and Patrick tremble in fear as Dennis positions his boot above them]
Patrick Star:
That's a big boot.
Dennis:
Don't worry. This'll only hurt a lot! [laughs]
Dennis:
I love this job! [Continues to laugh, only to be crushed by a bigger boot]
Patrick Star:
Bigger boot! [tries to run away]
SpongeBob SquarePants:
Wait, Pat! This bigger boot saved our lives.
Patrick Star:
Yay!
SpongeBob SquarePants, Patrick Star:
Thank you, stranger!
William Travis:
I have here pieces of paper, letters from politicians and generals, but no indication of when, or if help will arrive. Letters not worth the ink committed to them. I fear that no one is coming. Texas has been a second chance for me. I expect that might be true for many of you as well. It has been a chance not only for land and riches, but also to be a different man. I hope a better one. There have been many ideas brought for in the past few months of what Texas is, and what it should become. We are not all in agreement. But I'd like to ask each of you what it is you value so highly that you are willing to fight and possibly die for. We will call that Texas. The Mexican army hopes to lure us into attempting escape. Almost anything seems better than remaining in this place, penned up. If, however, we force the enemy to attack, I believe every one of you will prove himself worth ten in return. We will not only show the world what patriots are made of, but we will also deal a crippling blow to the army of Santa Anna. If anyone wishes to depart under the white flag of surrender, you may do so now. You have that right. But if you wish to stay here with me in the Alamo, we will sell our lives dearly.
Charles Eastman:
My dear Senator Dawes, as I believed you sincere in asking me to keep you informed, I write you again in an appeal for your assistance. With no medical equipment here worthy of the name and understocked in medicines, there has been little reason for the sick to risk the journey to the agency for treatment. I bought a horse and a wagon with my own salary and have just now returned from the several weeks in the villages. It is a mistake to trust the official reports. Measles, influenza and whooping cough have ascended from hell all at once. My own assistant's child has been taken. The agent here, Royer, has no experience and even less inclination to help these people. Of equal concern is the epidemic of hopelessness that has overtaken the reservation. That the Sioux would bear the wretched taste of cod-liver oil for the ounce of spirits contained in the bottle is, to me, the whole of their experience in a nutshell. I no longer deny them. Many here fear a return to the old ways. The prophesy of a Paiute shaman called Wovoka has spread from tribe to tribe faster than a telegraph signal, rekindling old superstitions among the Sioux and old apprehensions among the whites who are sure to mistake desperation for hostility. As conditions worsen, the church can provide little solace beyond a Christian burial. Sincerely yours, Charles Eastman.
[last lines]
Veronica Caine:
Now this attic that once resounded with the joy of liberty has now been replaced with the sound of marching feet. In the late 1930s, Germany, a beaten country, needed something to distract its people from what they had become. So madmen came to power based on this weakness. He knew how to play on the peoples primitive fears. It's always easiest to blame it on someone else and it always starts off slowly and oh so very subtly. You pick out something that annoys you or disturbs you, perhaps something that you can never be. So we focus on this thing. It's easy to be angry at those people who are smarter than you, prettier than you, richer than you, different from you. Who don't look like you, speak like you, think like you, act like you, walk like you, live like you, who you think don't even know you. They first took my mother because she was an atheist, then they took my father because of the color of his skin. It's a slow burn to repression especially when you prey upon that thing that unknowingly makes them you. So then you twist the blade into their heart and their mind and you extract an unreasonable fear based on these weaknesses and then you are them, they are you.
Lucius Malfoy:
Mr. Potter! Lucius Malfoy. We meet at last. Forgive me, your scar is legend. As, of course, is the wizard who gave it to you.
Harry:
Voldemort killed my parents. He was nothing more than a murderer.
Lucius Malfoy:
You must be very brave to mention his name. Or very foolish.
Hermione:
Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.
Lucius Malfoy:
And you must be Miss Granger. Yes, Draco's told me all about you. And your parents. Muggles, aren't they? Let me see. Red hair... vacant expressions... tatty second hand book... you must be the Weasleys.
Arthur Weasley:
Children, it's mad in here. Let's go outside.
Lucius Malfoy:
Well, well, well. Weasley senior.
Arthur Weasley:
Lucius.
Lucius Malfoy:
Busy time at the Ministry, Arthur, all those extra raids? I do hope they're paying you overtime. Though judging by the state of this, I'd say not. What's the use in being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?
Arthur Weasley:
We have a very different idea about what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.
Lucius Malfoy:
Clearly. Associating with muggles. And I thought your family could sink no lower.
Blind Seer:
You seek a great fortune, you three who are now in chains. You will find a fortune, though it will not be the one you seek. But first... first you must travel a long and difficult road, a road fraught with peril. Mm-hmm. You shall see thangs, wonderful to tell. You shall see a... a cow... on the roof of a cotton house, ha. And, oh, so many startlements. I cannot tell you how long this road shall be, but fear not the obstacles in your path, for fate has vouchsafed your reward. Though the road may wind, yea, your hearts grow weary, still shall ye follow them, even unto your salvation.
[Sam runs to the top of a skyscraper and prepares to hand over the Cube to a waiting helicopter... ]
Sam Witwicky:
[spotting Starscream] WATCH OUT! [Starscream fires at the copter, incapacitating it]
Sam Witwicky:
Oh my God... Where do I go?
Optimus Prime:
[hurrying across rooftops] Hang on, Sam! [With a crash, Megatron rises from below; frightened, Sam clings to a statue at the edge of the building]
Megatron:
Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?
Sam Witwicky:
[terrified] Oh no! No!
Megatron:
Give me the All Spark and you may live to be my pet.
Sam Witwicky:
[still making a stand] I'm never giving you this All Spark!
Megatron:
Oh, so unwise... [With a roar, he pulls out a flail from his arm and smashes the rooftop, sending a screaming Sam plummeting towards the ground... ]
Optimus Prime:
[grabbing Sam] I got you, boy! Hold on to the Cube! [Prime leaps down, but Megatron grabs him, and all three tumble down into the street]
Gun Salesman:
We call this piece the Fecalator. One look at it and the target shits him or herself. Try it on.
Loki:
Well, it's a lot more compact than the flaming sword, but it's not nearly as impressive. Just doesn't have that Wrath-of-the-Almighty edge to it. I mean, come on, how am I supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked with this thing? Look at this...
Bartleby:
Well, then, you know, don't use a gun. Just lay the place to waste, like.
Loki:
Easy for you to say. You get off light in razing. You got to stand there and read at Sodom and Gomorrah, I had to do all the work.
Bartleby:
What work did you do? You lit a few fires.
Loki:
I rained down sulphur, man, there's a subtle difference.
Bartleby:
Oh, yeah, I'm sure.
Loki:
Hey, you know, fuck you, man. Any moron with a pack of matches can set a fire. Raining down sulphur is like an endurance trial man. Mass genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in, outside of soccer.
Press Conference Reporter:
Mr. President, has it been a good visit?
The President:
Very satisfactory indeed. We got what we came for, and our special relationship is still very special.
Press Conference Reporter:
Prime Minister?
Prime Minister:
I love that word "relationship." Covers all manner of sins, doesn't it? I fear that this has become a bad relationship; a relationship based on the President taking exactly what he wants and casually ignoring all those things that really matter to, erm... Britain. We may be a small country, but we're a great one, too. The country of Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter. David Beckham's right foot. David Beckham's left foot, come to that. And a friend who bullies us is no longer a friend. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward I will be prepared to be much stronger. And the President should be prepared for that.
