Westworld Page #3

No bother at all. It's a beautiful spot.

I always found it a shame that I have it all to myself.

They come here every day.

Would you like a closer look?

(Horse nickers)

(clicks tongue)

Don't be scared. They're very gentle.

Here, put your hand out real flat.

They're beautiful, aren't they?

You're one of them, aren't you?

You're not real.

I have to go now. Sun's almost down.

You should, too. There's bandits in these hills.

(Man whistles)

Man #2:
Hyah! Hyah!

(Horse whinnies)

(men shouting, whistling)

Here we go, yah!

Yah!

(Whistles)

You waiting up for me, Daddy?

I told you I'd be home before dark.

I found this in the field today.

Doesn't look like anything to me.

But where is she?

Have you ever seen anything like this place?

Doesn't look like anything to me.

I'm gonna help Mama put supper on.

(Lighter clinks, clicks)

I had the same thought.

Needed a little sunshine before turning in.

So, when do you get to rotate home again?

If you're this bad at writing small talk, how the f*ck did you get your job?

Get to the point.

I wanted to apologize if I came across as aggressive.

And I wanted to talk to you about the update.

The problem's been resolved.

There should never have been an update in the first place.

Ford and Bernard keep making the things more lifelike.

But does anyone truly want that?

Do you want to think that your husband is really f*cking that beautiful girl or that you really just shot someone?

This place works because the guests know the hosts aren't real.

So what exactly are you suggesting?

Stop the updates altogether.

Maybe even roll them back a bit.

Make the hosts more manageable.

Lobotomies tend to do that.

Well, think of the benefits in terms of design time, maintenance, costs.

Not to mention the Dr. Ford factor.

The guy's gonna chase his demons right over the deep end.

I mean, no one respects him more than me, but at some point...

I. No one respects him more than I.

Your pronoun is the subject of the second clause.

I was saying...

You were saying should our fearless leader have a breakdown, you want to leverage it for your career.

Listen, a changing of the guard is long overdue.

I just wanted you to know that you have my support and that I know that the corporation's real interest in this place goes way beyond gratifying some rich a**holes who want to play cowboy.

And here I thought you were only good for writing depraved little fantasies.

You're right.

This place is one thing to the guests, another thing to the shareholders, and something completely different to management.

So enlighten me.

What do you think management's real interests are?

You're smart enough to guess there's a bigger picture, but not smart enough to see what it is.

You know how much use that makes your support to me?

f*ck all.

Get some sleep, Mr. Sizemore.

You'll have more rich a**holes to gratify tomorrow.

(Piano playing)

Early night, Maeve?

Feeling a bit out of sorts.

Clementine can pick up the slack.

Night.

Forgetting something, Kissy?

I'm beginning to think you're getting sweet on me.

Well, on account of you being half cornhusker.

Tell me which half is which and I'll search that half.

(laughs)

Yeah, the half that's gonna cut your f*cking throat.

(Floorboards creak)

I told you, I didn't take...

(hammer clicks)

(gurgling)

Good as new again, huh?

Sometimes I envy your forgetfulness.

We've got a serious problem with one of the hosts.

Thinking this one's still thirsty.

Not gonna die this time, Arnold.

Ain't nothing gonna kill me.

(Gasps)

(gunshot)

(whimpering)

You can't have none. Ain't for you.

Found me another bottle.

You're a growing boy.

A growing boy.

(laughs)

Growing boy!

(Powers down)

We got two guests inside.

We'll go talk to them, you sort this mess out.

You know, they're supposed to turn on each other, but only if a guest takes them on the High Sierra storyline, and Walter always buys it.

Well, I guess Walter got tired of buying it.

I suppose this means the sheriff wasn't an isolated incident.

It's good news, really.

Confirms the problem was part of the update.

We can roll them back, clean them up, put them back in service.

You think I'm gonna sign off on this f*cking homicidal thing going back into service?

It's homicidal by design.

Walter kills other hosts all the time.

I'll admit the method here is a little unconventional, but it didn't hurt a guest.

The hosts are supposed to stay within their loops, stick to their scripts with minor improvisations.

This isn't a minor improvisation.

This is a f*cking shitstorm.

We recall all remaining updated hosts tomorrow.

Examine them one by one, decommission the faulty ones.

What about narrative?

A recall of that size will be disruptive.

I've told our overstimulated friend to advance the saloon heist a week and make it twice as bloody.

Should give us cover to recall the remaining hosts and the guests will love it.

I'm not sure Ford will approve.

I'm not sure either, which is why you get to be the one to tell him.

This is your fuckup, Bernie.

Only seems fair.

Ford:
So our creatures have been misbehaving, and you haven't yet isolated the bug?

That's so unlike you, Bernard.

Unless, of course, you have and are simply embarrassed by the result.

It's the code you added, sir.

The reveries.

It has some...

"Mistakes" is the word you're too embarrassed to use.

You ought not to be. You're a product of a trillion of them.

Evolution forged the entirety of sentient life on this planet using only one tool...

The mistake.

I flattered myself we were taking a more disciplined approach here.

I suppose self-delusion is a gift of natural selection as well.

Indeed it is.

But, of course, we've managed to slip evolution's leash now, haven't we?

We can cure any disease, keep even the weakest of us alive, and, you know, one fine day perhaps we shall even resurrect the dead.

Call forth Lazarus from his cave.

Do you know what that means?

It means that we're done.

That this is as good as we're going to get.

It also means that you must indulge me the occasional mistake.

(Groans)

About three liters.

That's how much blood I left in you.

Lose more than that, you die.

But for now, you're mine.

I'm gonna get some answers out of you.

(Gurgles)

(laughs)

Where are you... (laughs)

(coughing)

What do you want?

You know about games, don't you, Kissy?

Well, this is a complicated one.

I don't play. I only deal.

Who said anything about you playing?

You're livestock, scenery.

I play.

The others, they just come here to get their rocks off, shoot a couple Indians.

But there's a deeper level to this game.

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