[Mallick enters the next room, and begins to close the door.]
Charles: Not yet!
[Mallick stops.]
Brit: Don't close the door. It'll set off the timer.
Mallick: Do you know that for sure?
Brit: Educated guess.
Luba: What we need to do is figure out who everyone is?
Brit: Okay, well, we know that the dead woman worked for the fire department.---
Charles: Not anymore! She got canned a month ago.
Mallick: How the **** do you...? How the **** do you know that? You're responsible for this? She had her ****ing head cut off! I'm closing the door!, I'm gonna close the ****ing door!
Brit: Just be quiet!, [Mallick stops.] Please? [turns to Luba.] What's your story?
Luba: I work for the Department of City Planning.
Brit: Married? Kids?
Luba: No, and no. Your turn.
Charles: Uh..., You're not gonna tell them about Daddy?
Luba: My dad is... Richard Gibbs.
Mallick: The owner of the Cougars?---
Charles: He's been trying to build a new stadium for years. Little did he know all he had to do is wait for his daughter to get a job in City Planning.
Mallick: [to Brit.] And you. Huh? What about you? What sort of shady shit have you been up to? Huh?
Brit: I'm a senior V.P. for a real estate development company.
Mallick: So you're boring too. Hmm?
[Charles laughs.]
Luba: The Marshvard Group. Yeah, you can't get a permit in this town without going through the Department of City Planning. Right?
Brit: No, you can't.
Luba: What about you?
Mallick: Uh..., No wife, No kids that I know of, No job.
Charles: Trust-fund baby. Anyone surprised?---
Mallick: I'm so ****ing sick of your self-righteousness, man!
Brit: Your turn.
Charles: I'm an investigative journalist for The Herald.
Mallick: The Herald? That's your massive accomplishment? You work for a gossip rag?
Charles: Bite your ****ing tongue.
[They look at the jars.]
Brit: What the hell are in those jars?
Charles: Let's do this ****ing thing before the bombs go off.
[Charles closes the door, as the bombs on the first room explode.]
Mallick: ****!
Charles: Not yet!
[Mallick stops.]
Brit: Don't close the door. It'll set off the timer.
Mallick: Do you know that for sure?
Brit: Educated guess.
Luba: What we need to do is figure out who everyone is?
Brit: Okay, well, we know that the dead woman worked for the fire department.---
Charles: Not anymore! She got canned a month ago.
Mallick: How the **** do you...? How the **** do you know that? You're responsible for this? She had her ****ing head cut off! I'm closing the door!, I'm gonna close the ****ing door!
Brit: Just be quiet!, [Mallick stops.] Please? [turns to Luba.] What's your story?
Luba: I work for the Department of City Planning.
Brit: Married? Kids?
Luba: No, and no. Your turn.
Charles: Uh..., You're not gonna tell them about Daddy?
Luba: My dad is... Richard Gibbs.
Mallick: The owner of the Cougars?---
Charles: He's been trying to build a new stadium for years. Little did he know all he had to do is wait for his daughter to get a job in City Planning.
Mallick: [to Brit.] And you. Huh? What about you? What sort of shady shit have you been up to? Huh?
Brit: I'm a senior V.P. for a real estate development company.
Mallick: So you're boring too. Hmm?
[Charles laughs.]
Luba: The Marshvard Group. Yeah, you can't get a permit in this town without going through the Department of City Planning. Right?
Brit: No, you can't.
Luba: What about you?
Mallick: Uh..., No wife, No kids that I know of, No job.
Charles: Trust-fund baby. Anyone surprised?---
Mallick: I'm so ****ing sick of your self-righteousness, man!
Brit: Your turn.
Charles: I'm an investigative journalist for The Herald.
Mallick: The Herald? That's your massive accomplishment? You work for a gossip rag?
Charles: Bite your ****ing tongue.
[They look at the jars.]
Brit: What the hell are in those jars?
Charles: Let's do this ****ing thing before the bombs go off.
[Charles closes the door, as the bombs on the first room explode.]
Mallick: ****!
[Mallick enters the next room, and begins to close the door.]
Charles: Not yet!
[Mallick stops.]
Brit: Don't close the door. It'll set off the timer.
Mallick: Do you know that for sure?
Brit: Educated guess.
Luba: What we need to do is figure out who everyone is?
Brit: Okay, well, we know that the dead woman worked for the fire department.---
Charles: Not anymore! She got canned a month ago.
Mallick: How the **** do you...? How the **** do you know that? You're responsible for this? She had her ****ing head cut off! I'm closing the door!, I'm gonna close the ****ing door!
Brit: Just be quiet!, [Mallick stops.] Please? [turns to Luba.] What's your story?
Luba: I work for the Department of City Planning.
Brit: Married? Kids?
Luba: No, and no. Your turn.
Charles: Uh..., You're not gonna tell them about Daddy?
Luba: My dad is... Richard Gibbs.
Mallick: The owner of the Cougars?---
Charles: He's been trying to build a new stadium for years. Little did he know all he had to do is wait for his daughter to get a job in City Planning.
Mallick: [to Brit.] And you. Huh? What about you? What sort of shady shit have you been up to? Huh?
Brit: I'm a senior V.P. for a real estate development company.
Mallick: So you're boring too. Hmm?
[Charles laughs.]
Luba: The Marshvard Group. Yeah, you can't get a permit in this town without going through the Department of City Planning. Right?
Brit: No, you can't.
Luba: What about you?
Mallick: Uh..., No wife, No kids that I know of, No job.
Charles: Trust-fund baby. Anyone surprised?---
Mallick: I'm so ****ing sick of your self-righteousness, man!
Brit: Your turn.
Charles: I'm an investigative journalist for The Herald.
Mallick: The Herald? That's your massive accomplishment? You work for a gossip rag?
Charles: Bite your ****ing tongue.
[They look at the jars.]
Brit: What the hell are in those jars?
Charles: Let's do this ****ing thing before the bombs go off.
[Charles closes the door, as the bombs on the first room explode.]
Mallick: ****!
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