- [roaring]

[splattering]

[birds chirping]

- "The giants
who formed this world

"and now seem to live in it
in chains

"are actually
the cause of its life

"and the source
of all activity.

"But the chains are the cunning
of weak and tame minds,

"thus the proverb,

"'The weak in courage
are strong in cunning.'

"Thus the one portion of being
is the Producer,

"the other,
the Destroyer.

"To the Destroyer,

"it seems like the Producer
is in his chains.

"But it is not so.

"He only takes tiny bits
of existence

"and thinks
it is the whole thing.

"These two classes of men
are always upon the earth,

"and they should be enemies.

"Whoever tries
to reconcile them

seeks to destroy existence."

- I don't wanna play this game
no more.

- Silence.

Prepare for battle.

- I gotta pee.

- En garde, shit stain!

- Ow!

- Pussy!

- [gasps]

- I'll give you ten seconds,

and then I'm coming in
after you.

I am the Destroyer!

I'm gonna get you, Peter!

Fight!
I'm the Destroyer!

[cheerful accordion music]

[applause]

- Welcome to
The Feast with Peter Grey.

Today's feast,

venison steaks
and a maple syrup crème brûlée.

[sizzling]

- These venison steaks
are from Sullivan County

from a doe that I shot
and butchered myself.

- Ew, Peter!
- What?

- That's ̶ that's Bambi.

Wah-wah-wah.

[laughter]

- Come on, Peg.

I mean, hunting is one

of the most fundamentally
human acts.

We've been doing it
for thousands of years.

- It's gross.

[laughter]

- It's, uh...

it is organic.

It is sustainable.

I mean, if you want gross,

spend five minutes
on the kill floor

of any commercial
slaughterhouse.

I'm sure that you'll never eat
supermarket meat again.

- When we come back,
The Feast continues with ̶

- With crème brûlée

made from locally harvested
maple syrup.

Don't go away.

[applause]

- I mean, I really can't take
any more of this.

I can't.
He's not working with me at all.

- I don't know what ̶
he's under a lot of stress.

- What the fuck
was that all about?

- What?

- I was riffing in there,
asshole.

- Riffing?
[laughs]

- Tell him what they said.

- Tell me what?

- Peter, would it kill you
to just play along

every once in a while?

- No, tell him what they said.
- Bambi?

You thought
that was hysterical.

- No, it was a joke.

The audience
was rolling in the aisles.

- It was fucking idiotic.

That's what it was.

- I can't work
with this asshole.

- I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.

Thank you.

- I wouldn't call what you do
work.

The only thing missing from her
is a fart in a kazoo.

- Nice.
That's helpful.

- Just get another one, Phil.
They're a dime a dozen.

- [sighs]

- It's just not working anymore.

- Look, Peter, Peter,

you knew
what you were getting into

when you signed up for this.

You do the cooking.

Peg provides
a touch of folksy levity.

- But she goes too far.

I mean, everything
is a joke, Phil.

- That's what
the audience wants.

- Well, it's not what I want.

It's not what the show
was supposed to be.

I mean, I would like people
to learn something.

- No, ah, ah.

They don't want to learn
something, Peter.

They want to be entertained.

You used to understand that,
but you've changed.

- Well, now here it starts.

- The on-air rants,
the pompous lectures.

It's ratings poison, man.

- I don't care about
the ratings.

Don't talk to me about
the ratings!

- Okay, okay.

You know what?

The word from the front office

is that thanks to a major dip
in those ratings

which you care so little about,

they are most likely
not renewing

The Feast with Peter Grey
for the fall.

- You can't be serious.

- I'm dead serious.

Congratulations,
Mr. Integrity.

[dramatic percussive music]

♪♪

[dishes clinking]

- Hey, all.

What's the matter?

What's going on?

Come on, we have dinner
in less than two hours.

Chop! Chop!

What the hell is going on?

Where is everybody?

[sighs]

"Feast reviewed
by J.T. Franks.

"I've lost count

"of the Alice Waters-inspired
New Americans

"that I've reviewed
in the West Village,

"all of them terrible.

"Peter Grey's exercise

"in masturbatory
pretentiousness, Feast,

has done nothing
to up the average."

- Go on.

- "Many of you know Peter Grey
for his insufferable

"and increasingly
skin-crawlingly awkward

"sustainable-organo-themed

"cable television series,
The Feast With Peter Grey,

"which, rumor has it,

"is teetering on the brink
of cancellation.

"The city's diners

"should be considering
themselves fortunate

if the same fate befalls
this dud of a restaurant."

Oh, fuck Franks.

- Fuck Franks?

- He creates nothing.

- Dude, he creates
public opinion,

ergo, he creates everything.

- Gordon,
he's a fucking food blogger.

- You just don't get it.

It's a fucking disaster.

Is it true?

- Is what true?

- About the show
being cancelled?

- Well, what if it was?

I've been wanting to focus more
on my cooking anyway.

- Focus on your cooking?

Are you fucking kidding me?

Bill Haythe just called.

They've decided to put
the expansion plans on hold,

which means they're dead.

Ditto with the line
of Peter Grey cookware.

Dude, without your TV face
going on the screen every day,

you have fucking nothing.

There's no cooking
to focus on.

- This is insanity, Gordon.

We were just getting started.

- Peter, let me give you
a little advice here.

This whole organic,
sustainable, green shtick,

it's a down economy.

People don't give a damn
where their hamburger comes from

or how it got to them.

They just want it
to taste good.

- So what now?

- The sous-chef
from Marlow and Sons

is gonna be in
this afternoon.

He's taking over
the kitchen.

- I'm fired?

- My hands are tied.

- Gordon, this is my life.

- Dude,
you're a talented guy,

a little pretentious ̶
scratch that.

You're a lot pretentious.

I agree with Franks
on that one.

Anyway,
you'll land on your feet.

♪♪

- [huffs]

[solemn piano music]

♪♪

[knife chopping]

[sizzling]

[faint screaming]

- I am the Destroyer!

I'm gonna get you, Peter!

I am the Destroyer!

- [yelps]

No! Stop!
No!

I've really hurt my ankle.

Johnny, stop, come on.

- Silence!

[grunts]

- [gasps]

crunch!

- [coughs]

[choking]

[gagging]

[gasps]

[gagging]

[electronic music]

- ♪ I'd give you ♪

♪ the ocean ♪

♪ I'd give you the sky ♪

♪ if I could ♪

♪♪

♪ I'd push it all back ♪

♪ between the sidewalk cracks
of your neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ Neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ Soldiers of misfortune ♪

♪♪

♪ Fight for something
they can't see ♪

- How is everything?

- Pardon?

- Do you, uh,
need anything else?

- I'd love a little joy.

- Excuse me?

- Maybe a bowl or a dish,
a plate,

a trough of joy
would be wonderful.

- l...
I don't understand.

- I know.

[sighs]

Can I get the ̶
can I get the check, please?

- "Of all the items offered
on the menu at Le Suc,

"they left off
the only one I would order

"if ever I paid
a return visit.

"That item would be
a time machine,

"with which I would go back

"to recapture
the hour and seven minutes

"Chef Daniel Berlow
pilfered from me

on my first visit."

Another scathing review.
How nice.

- Public demands raw meat.

I just give it to them.

- "l learned that
'Le Suc' means 'juice,'

"so I can't say the experience
was an entire wash.

"As for the food,
one word:

vomitus."

Vomitus?

Is that even a word?

- Yep.

- How can you write this shit?

- Just playing my role, babe.

- And what role would that be?

- The Iron Sheik.

- The who?

- The Iron Sheik,
professional wrestling.

He's the villain.

He's the guy who keeps
Sergeant Slaughter in check,

lest the public get restless.

- I see.

Whatever happened
to your novel?

You know, the one...

- Yeah, I remember the one.

- I thought it was good.

- It was shit.

- I guess
I'm gonna hit the hay.

I got to be there early
tomorrow, so...

- Okay.

- I'll be at
Saint Luke's-Roosevelt.

I left the number
on the fridge.

- Mm-hmm.

- When they give me a room,

I'll call and give you
the direct line, all right?

I wish you were coming
with me.

- I don't like hospitals.

- I know.
I just ̶

- Hey, I'm on a deadline.

I'll be there to pick you up.

[water running]

What?

Are you ever going to look
for a job, by the way?

'Cause you spend a lot of time

just standing around
the apartment in your underwear

looking at me like that,

kind of hanging out
over my shoulder.

- Do you even want
another child?

- Jesus Christ.

- I need to hear you say it.

Because if you think

that I enjoy going in
for these treatments,

all the poking
and prodding and ̶

- Then don't.

Don't.

- You don't mean that.

- Really?

- What is wrong with you?

You've become so mean.

- Yeah, well...

shit happens.

And then your kid
dies of cancer.

- Stop!

Look at me!

I said, look at me!

I am so sick of this
poor, bitter asshole routine.

We're starting over right now,
you and me.

We're starting over,
just yes or no.

Just ans ̶
just answer me, okay?

- l ̶ l had ̶

I had this moment
just a few minutes ago.

I was watching you pack,

and you were putting
all your stuff in,

and I couldn't help
but thinking

that if you took that bag

and you walked out
the door tomorrow

and you never came back

that it would weirdly be
the exact same thing

as if you did come back.

I-I don't ̶
I don't care.

Live, die, stay, go,

I don't give a shit anymore.

Think about that.

[keys clacking]

[sniffs]

[sighs]

[keys clacking]

Okay.

[axe chopping]

[rattling]

[zipper zips]

Hello?

[groans]

Hello?

[metallic clanging]

[tires squealing softly]

[grunts]

[semitruck engine rumbling]

[door squeaks open]

- Good morning,
Mr. Franks.

[chains rattling]

- [groans and coughs]

- Thirsty?

Water,

universal solvent,

elixir of life.

Three weeks without food

but only three days
without water.

- This is about my review?

This is about
my fucking review?

- For now, you will fetch
your own water.

- [laughing]
This is insanity.

You realize that this is
absolute fucking insanity,

right?

- You will fill the bucket.

You will carry the bucket
back to your tree.

And then, and only then,
you may drink.

- My site gets
40,000 hits a day.

Don't you think that somebody's
gonna notice that I'm missing?

- If you break the rules,
you'll get nothing.

Is that clear?

I said, is that clear?

clang!

[groans]

- Ah, fuck!

Ah, fuck!

Help!

Help!

Fuck.

[groans]

Fuck!

[coughing]

- Mr. Franks,
no one can hear you.

[gunshots]

- Help!

- Help!

- Fuck!

- Help!
- Help!

- Help!

- Help!

- Help!

- [coughing]

- I'm not sure if
we're in the middle of nowhere,

but I feel
we're quite close to it.

[gunshot]

Rules,
Mr. Franks.

Rules.

Not a drop till we get back.

Fill the bucket.

Empty the bucket.

Empty the bucket.

- Fuck off.

[grunts]

Fuck.

Ah, fuck.

- Pick it up.

- [groans]

[chains rattling]

- We'll try again tomorrow.

Perhaps a night under the stars
will clear your mind.

- Okay, wait!
Wait, wait, wait!

Wait! Wait!

Wait, Grey!

You fucker, wait!

[sobbing]

Help!

[gulping]

[gasping]

[coughing]

[footsteps tapping]

- Phase one
of your rehabilitation

was instilling in you
a respect for the rules,

which I think we can both agree
you've finally acquired.

- Look.
What do you want?

I have money.

- Phase two involves empathy,

teaching you to care.

- Okay, I swear to God,

I will not breathe a word
of this to anyone.

If you just let me go,
I'll make something up.

I'll say ̶

- As a critic,

you have no emotional connection
to your work,

so I suspect that this part

will be slightly more
challenging for you.

- For the love of Christ, man.

- [clears throat]

Let's see.

"September 25, 2007.

"Over Easy,
reviewed by J.T. Franks.

"The pretext of Over Easy
is simple:

"breakfast your way,
all day.

"lf the wretched, scabby mess
of egg yolk and charred white

"that the kitchen brain trust
at Over Easy

"recently tried to pass off
as breakfast my way, all day,

"then perhaps
they should drop the 'Easy'

"and simply refer to this
wretched Williamsburg newcomer

as 'Over.'"

How do you like your eggs?

- What?

- I said,
how do you like your eggs?

- Over easy.

- Excellent.

You may eat as many eggs
as you like,

as long as you cook them
to perfection,

over easy.

No runny yellows.

If you deviate
from perfection,

there will be consequences.

- What about my hands?

- What about them?

- [laughs]

I can't cook like this.

- Then you don't eat.

Well?

- [groaning]

[butter sizzling]

- Oh, dear.

That's too bad.

[pan clangs]

- [screams]

- I was very clear, very clear,
Mr. Franks.

Over easy.

No runny yellows.

- [screaming]

- You broke the yolk!

You broke the yellow!

Now for my review.

J.T. Franks is a worthless cunt
who doesn't deserve to live.

The end.

- [yells]

[whimpers]

[cheerful accordion music]

♪♪

[applause]

- Welcome back
to The Feast with Peter Grey.

Today's feast, rainbow trout
with a potato frittata.

- This trout comes to us
from Sullivan County,

from Roscoe, New York,

which our local anglers like
to refer to as Trout Town, USA.

The butter I picked up

at a local farmer's market
in Livingston.

Now, you just have to look
at that creamy, rich color.

Beautiful.

Now to our frittata.

We're gonna let this go
for another minute.

The egg.

- [screaming]

- You know, the egg
is really a perfect food,

packed with protein, vitamins,
omega-3 fatty acids.

- Cholesterol.

[laughter]

- This egg
comes from Honey Hill Farms,

which is just about
an hour or so

up the Hudson River.

Now come in.

As you can see,

look at that beautiful,
deep, rich, golden color.

Really exceptional.

- Looks like
a regular old egg to me.

[laughter]

- Peg, maybe you could
make yourself useful

and dice those potatoes.

Now, a frittata is essentially
an Italian-style omelet,

which, if I can just...

An Italian-style omelet...

- Looking for this?

[laughter]

- Well ̶ oh!

- Oh, oh, oh-oh!

Your frittata has spill-ata!

[laughter]

- Mr. Grey?

Mr. Grey!

- Oh, not today.

- Bill Coley,
private investigator.

Sorry to bother you.

I'm just following up
on a missing persons.

Do you know him?

- J.T. Franks.

- You ever met him?

- Can't say I have.

- He wrote a nasty review
of your restaurant.

- J.T. Franks
writes nasty reviews

of every restaurant
in this town.

Nastiness is his métier.

- Well, he seemed to reserve
an especially toxic disdain

for you, though.

- I wouldn't know.

- Well, he compared
your venison burger

to a vasectomy scar.

- [laughs] Well,
he has a way with words.

I must admit,

I laughed at that one
when I read it myself.

- Now, his review,

would that have anything to do
with your abrupt departure

as head chef at Feast?

- My departure has been
in the works for some time.

- Doing a little
off-roading there, Mr. Grey?

- I have a house
in the country.

- Oh, yeah?
Where?

- Am I a person of interest,
Mr. Coley?

- Ah.
No, no, no, no.

That-that-that's cop talk.

Me?

I'm just following up
on a missing persons.

If you think of anything,
give me a call.

[television anchor
speaking indistinctly]

- Authorities say
there has been little progress

in the case of missing
food critic J.T. Franks.

For more on
this developing story,

we go to News 3's
Melissa Sanchez.

- Katherine Franks,

the wife of missing food critic
J.T. Franks,

made an emotional
televised appeal today

for any information
on her husband's whereabouts.

Can you tell us
where the police are right now

in this investigation?

- We're asking anyone
who might have seen him

to please come forward

and to contact
your local law enforcement.

- And is there anything

you would like to say
to your husband

if he's watching this?

- Jimmy,
if you're watching this,

please...

Please,
know that I'm here

and all I want to know
is that you're safe.

- Franks was last seen

leaving the midtown offices
of Gastropunks.com

on April 19th.

Anyone with information

is asked to call the
phone number on your screen.

- Wake up!

[electronic zapping,
screaming]

Wake up! Wake up!

We've got the dinner rush!

Wake up!

- [screams]
- Wake up!

Fire those entrees!

- [screams]

- Fire those entrees!

Good afternoon,
Mr. Franks.

- Okay.

You've made your point.

Look,

I'm a dick.

I understand that now.

I-I write these things

without thinking about
the consequences

for people like you,

and it's just because
I hate myself,

and I'm sorry.

[stuttering]
Do you hear me?

I'm sorry.

- Oh, my dear sweet Jesus,
is that good.

- Listen.
Listen to me.

Just look at me.

What do you want me to say?

- Do you like steak,
Mr. Franks?

- I've learned my lesson.
What do you want?

- Do you like steak,
Mr. Franks?

- [whimpers]

- Do you like steak,
Mr. Franks?

- Yes!

- Well, you might
be interested to know

that this steak comes from
a local farm,

pasture-raised,
grass-fed,

no drugs, no hormones.

The flavor is sublime.

How do you take yours?

- Medium rare.

- You don't say.

"June 24, 2008.

Black and Blue,
reviewed by J.T. Franks."

- Not again.

- "What is it
about medium rare

that the city's chefs
find so difficult to execute?"

- What the fuck
do you want from me?

- "Season
with salt and pepper,

"3 1/2 minutes
on the grill,

"flip and repeat.

A monkey could do it,
right?"

Well, calling all monkeys.

Hungry?

Well, tell you what.

I have another
of these babies

right here in the cooler.

Toss it on the grill.

Cook it just right,
medium rare,

not a flea fart
hotter or cooler.

If you can manage that,

then the steak is yours.

I grew up in these woods,
Mr. Franks,

me and my big brother,
Johnny.

Johnny was kind of
a randomly cruel kid,

the type that would pull
the hind legs off a rat

and put it in a box
with a blind cat,

just to see what would happen,
I suppose.

He did things to me too,

mean, nasty things.

One day,
he pushed me too far.

It's amazing
the kind of rage

that can build up
in a small child.

I dug his grave
with my bare hands,

covered his body
with leaves and dirt.

No one ever looked twice at it.

It was hard on my parents,

never knowing
what happened to their boy,

whether he was dead or alive.

But eventually,
many years later, they died,

and with them,
the pain was resolved.

There are two classes of men
in this world,

Mr. Franks.

One who create

and add something to
the collective human experience.

And those who destroy,

who lurk in the shadows
and wait for saps like me

to come along
to punch myself out

and collapse

so they can poke me
with sticks

until I beg for mercy.

There will always be
these two classes of men,

and they should be enemies.

He who seeks to unite them,

seeks to destroy existence.

And your steak
is overcooked.

- [whispering] Why?

- What?

- Why?

- What, Mr. Franks?

I can't hear you.

If you're going to speak,
then speak up!

- [yells]

- Ah!

[screams]

- [laughs]

- That's right, Mr. Franks.

That's right.

After all,
we're just animals.

There will be a special reward
for you after this.

- [laughing]

all: ♪ For he's
a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ which nobody can deny ♪

- Whoo!
- Bravo.

Ah, listen, they say ̶
they say that all good things

must come to an end,

and despite all the headaches,

this show
was very good indeed.

- Too good.

- Too good.
Too good, absolutely.

To Peter and Peg.

We didn't always see
eye to eye,

but there's nobody
I respect more.

Salute.
Salute.

- Cheers.
- Cheers, guys.

- Thanks.
Well done, well done.

- [humming]

- What are you doing in here?

- The door was open.

You know,
I had to wear makeup once,

back in my cop days.

Did this, uh,
public service announcement,

little thing
on domestic violence.

- I'm sorry, Mr. Coley?

Is there something
that I can help you with?

- There's no need to be rude,
Mr. Grey.

- I'm sorry.

It's just that
I have an important meeting

I have to attend.

- Oh, really?

'Cause it seemed to me

that you are on
a bit of a losing streak,

you know, what with
the restaurant and the show.

- That which does not kill me
only makes me stronger.

- Well, you must be pretty
damn strong at this point.

[chuckles]

What happened to your hand?

- I burned it.

- Mm.

So I've been doing
a little digging.

It's a terrible tragedy
with your brother.

Yeah, in that regard,

you and J.T. Franks
have a lot in common.

- Oh?

- Yeah, his son died
two years ago.

Leukemia.

- Well,
that's a very sad story.

I didn't even know
he had a wife.

- Yeah,
a real nice lady.

It's a funny thing, though.

She's convinced
that Franks has run off,

you know, that he doesn't want
to be found.

I mean,
I don't believe it.

See, I got these
superhuman nostrils.

I can smell bullshit
a mile off.

How'd you burn your hand?

- Cooking.

- Cooking what?

- Soufflé.

- What kind?
- Cheese.

- Was it good?

- Delicious.

- Okay.

You...

you take care of that hand.

Looks serious.

[dramatic orchestral music]

[tires squeal,
horns honking]

[engine turns over]

♪♪

[door squeaks]

[chuckles softly]

- Cheese soufflé, Mr. Grey.

[chuckles]

[chuckles]

- [cries faintly]

[muffled moaning]

- [straining]

- [yells]

[screaming]

- It's okay.
It's okay.

I'm gonna help you.

I'm gonna get you
out of here.

Gonna get you
out of here.

I need something
for that chain.

I'll be right back.
I promise.

- No!
No, no, no, no!

[grass rustles]

[blows landing]

- Hello?

No!

[screaming]

- He's dead.
He's dead.

- [laughing]

Go on,
you fucking coward.

Coward.

[laughs]

Come on!

Come on!

- No one can save you now,
Mr. Franks.

[door slams shut]

[gunshot blast]

[loud cleaving]

[melancholy piano music]

♪♪

[sizzling]

- [sighs]

Open raviolo with wild rabbit

and red mulberry ragout and...

open raviolo with wild rabbit

and red mulberry ragout.

May 19, 2009.

"Feast reviewed
by J.T. Franks."

[laughs]
Who am I kidding?

I don't need the paper
to remember this one.

"Silly.

"That's the only word
that could characterize

"Peter Grey's open raviolo
with wild rabbit

"and red mulberry ragout.

"How else
to describe a dish

"which boasts a rabbit ragout
sweetened with the very berries

"which said rabbit feasted on

"as a happy creature
in the wild.

"l was left wondering

"what horrible sin
did Mr. Bunny commit

"that he should have to suffer

" such a twisted
and Dante-esque fate.

"And who does Peter Grey think
would actually believe

"such culinary balderdash?

"Note to Peter Grey:

"J.T. Franks knows
frozen Chilean mulberries

when he tastes them."

Two preparations,
identical in every way

except that with one,
I have substituted

Atropa belladonna,
or deadly nightshade,

for the red mulberries.

Consumption of two to five
belladonna

by a child is lethal.

For an adult,
10 to 20.

With that in mind,

you may sample one bite
from each plate

to ascertain which has
the mulberries

and which the belladonna.

You will then consume
in its entirety

the dish of your choice.

There's a third option.

If you like, you can decline
this challenge.

You can elect neither plate,

in which case
you'll eat nothing.

Is that clear?

- Mm-hmm.

- Bon appétit.

- [groans]

[sighs]

- Ah.

Cleanse the palate.

- [gulping]

[swishing]

[sighs]

- Oh, come on, Mr. Franks.

A tastemaker as formidable
as yourself,

this should be
a walk in the park.

- [groans]

That one's the mulberry.

- Very well.

Do you wish to proceed?

- Yes.

- Dig in.

[breathing and chewing loudly]

- [groans]

- [laughing]

[applauding]

[laughter]

[sighs]

Now we wait.

Are you feeling
a little wheezy, Mr. Franks?

- [belches]

[coughing]

- A little
shortness of breath.

Air passages constricting.

- [gasping]

- I would imagine...

your vision's
getting blurry now.

- [gasping and coughing]

- Hard to believe

that tastebuds so formidable
they could

discern the difference between
local and imported mulberries

would miss something
so obvious

as belladonna

unless of course
you are completely full of shit.

- [screams]

- And now for my review.

- Oh, God.

- J.T. Franks,
self-appointed authority

on good taste died today

because his tastebuds
were so atrophied

that he could not taste
the difference

between shit and shinola.

The end.

- [coughing]

And now for my review.

[laughing]

Pasta overcooked.

[laughing]

Ragout sour.

[coughing]

Poor little rabbit.

Peter Grey,
culinary huckster,

third fucking rate.

Now and forever.

[laughter]

- Do you know what this is?

Pilocarpine.

- [groans]

- It's the fucking antidote.

Do you think I would let you off
that easily?

- [rasping and gasping]

[gasping]

[line ringing]

- Hi, this is Bill Coley,
private investigator.

Leave a message,
and I'll get back to you.

[electronic beep]

- Hi, Mr. Coley,
this is Katherine Franks here.

Um, I guess
I'm just checking in.

I didn't hear from you today,

so I'm just wondering
where we are with everything.

I guess just call me
when you get this.

Okay, bye.

[water running]

[rattling]

- [yelling]

[thumping]

[mechanical clicking]

[water running]

[door slowly creaking]

- [whimpers]

- I'm so sorry.

- [mumbling]

Where are we?

Where are we?

- I'm so sorry.

I'm so fucking sorry.

- [coughing]

- Get back.
Just breathe.

[door bangs open]

- Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome back
to another episode of

Cook For Your Life
with J.T. Franks!

- Fuck you!

- J.T. Franks,
you have come quite a long way,

despite a few bumps and bruises,

but I suppose
that's to be expected

in any budding young chef.

[laughs]

And here we have
your lovely assistant,

your lovely sidekick.

- Hey! Hey!

- A sidekick,

which I really ̶

I really think
it's just what the show needed,

the incessant patter,
the banal jokes.

Wouldn't you agree?

- You fucker!

- Wouldn't you agree,
Mr. Franks,

that this is what
the audience wanted?

- Come here!

- You know,
I have something very special

planned for you later,
very special,

and I really think
you're going to love it.

- Don't fucking look at him!

- Mr. Franks?

- What?

- I think you should conserve
your energy.

- Get the fuck out of here.

- You're going to need it.

I'll be doing
the cooking tonight.

[door slams shut]

- You gotta just leave her
out of it.

Look.

Fuck.

You think I ruined
your career?

That's fine.

Just fucking do
whatever you want to me.

I don't give a shit.

You just have to leave her
out of it.

- Precisely, Mr. Franks.

It seems that no matter
what I do to you now,

you just don't care anymore...

[sighs]

Which doesn't help me any.

Actually, it occurs to me
that you really want to die.

Ergo, I can't just kill you;
otherwise you win.

You see my dilemma.

But you wanted to live
a few days ago.

I expect your wife
will be the same way.

So I won't be telling her
at first

what she's been eating.

I'll keep it seasonal,
sustainable.

I don't know,
maybe a crown roast

or barbecued ribs
with a savory maple glaze.

You do look a little stringy,

perhaps braising
might be the best.

Hell, I might even
sample a little bit myself.

By the tree there, Mr. Franks,
by the tree.

Yes.

Turn around, please.

Turn around.

All right,
let's see those hands.

Up.

There we go.

All right.

You have...

three minutes starting now,

and then
I'm coming after you.

- I haven't got a chance.

- Probably not.

- But you have less than
an hour of daylight,

so I suggest you get at it.

[dramatic percussive music]

♪♪

- [sobbing]

[gagging]

- [groans]

[water splashing]

[groans]

- [crying]

[gasps]

[ropes creaking]

- [panting]

[coughs]

[sticks snapping]

[gunshot]

- [moaning]

[sobbing]

[line ringing]

- 911.
What is your emergency?

- I've been kidnapped.
My name's Katherine.

I've been kidnapped.

My name is Katherine Franks.

- What is your exact location?

- I don't know.
I don't know.

It's in the country somewhere.

[gasps]

- Are there any
identifying landmarks?

[footsteps tapping,
floorboards creaking]

Ma'am?

Ma'am, are you still there?

Are you still there?

- [gasping]

[screaming]

- It's me!
It's me!

[shushing]

Hey, it's me!
It's me!

Hey!
Hey, hey, hey.

It's okay.

[shushes]

We have to go get the car.

- No.

- Yes, we do.

We are in the middle of nowhere.

We have to go get
the fucking car.

Okay?

Come on.

Fuck.

- [whispering indistinctly]

- We have to go back inside.

- No.
No, we don't.

Let's run.
No, we can't.

- We have to get the keys.

We have to get the keys.

We are gonna
get out of here fine, okay?

Trust me.

[floorboards creaking]

[shushes]

[floorboards creaking]

[engine turns over]

[gunshot]

- [screaming]

[metal crunches]

[sobbing]

Please, no.
No, no, no.

[sobbing]

[screaming]

[gunshot]

[screams]

[gunshot]

[whimpering]

[sobbing]

- Oh, dear.

I am the Destroyer.

- [screams]

- [gagging]

[stark piano music]

♪♪

[electronic music]

- ♪ I'd give you ♪

♪ the ocean ♪

♪ I'd give you the sky ♪

♪ if I could ♪

♪♪

♪ I'd push it all back ♪

♪ between the sidewalk cracks
of your neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ Neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ You'll go somewhere ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ I'll find you there ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ You'll go somewhere ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ I'll find you there ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ Soldiers of misfortune ♪