Dark City

Dr. Schreber:
First came darkness, then came the strangers.

Mr. Hand:
It seems you have discovered your unpleasant nature.

John Murdoch:
I was just thinking, what you do seems kind of dangerous right now. I mean, how do you know I'm not the killer?

May:
I don't. Why, you feeling any urges I should know about?

John Murdoch:
When was the last time you remember doing something during the day?

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
What do you mean?

John Murdoch:
I just mean during the day. Daylight. When was the last time you remember seeing it? And I'm not talking about some distant, half-forgotten childhood memory, I mean like yesterday. Last week. Can you come up with a single memory? You can't, can you? You know something, I don't think the sun even... exists... in this place. 'Cause I've been up for hours, and hours, and hours, and the night never ends here.

Mr. Wall:
Do not fret, Anna. I will give you some more pretty things soon.

Emma Murdoch:
I'm not Anna.

Mr. Wall:
You will be soon, yes.

Dr. Schreber:
You are probably wondering why I keep appearing in your memories, John. It is because I have inserted myself into them.

Mr. Hand:
I have become the monster you were intended to be.

John Murdoch:
You know something, I don't think the sun even... exists... in this place. 'Cause I've been up for hours, and hours, and hours, and the night never ends here.

John Murdoch:
Here, let me ask you a question. You heard of a place called Shell Beach?

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Sure.

John Murdoch:
Do you know how to get there?

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Yeah.

John Murdoch:
Tell me.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Right. You just... you go to the...

John Murdoch:
Where? Where do you go?

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Just give me a second, will you...

John Murdoch:
You can't remember, can you?

John Murdoch:
I know this is gonna sound crazy, but what if we never knew each other before now... and everything you remember, and everything that I'm supposed to remember, never really happened, someone just wants us to think it did?

Emma Murdoch:
But how can that be true? I so vividly remember meeting you. I remember falling in love with you. I remember losing you.

Emma Murdoch:
I love you John, you can't fake something like that.

John Murdoch:
No, you can't.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
What's that make so far, Husselbeck? Six hookers in all?

Husselbeck:
I believe so, sir.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Give the man an "A" for effort.

Husselbeck:
Everything Detective Walenski committed to paper should be here.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
The only thing that should be committed is Wolenski.

John Murdoch:
Hey, do you know the way to Shell Beach?

Taxi Driver:
You're kidding! Me and the Mrs. spent our honeymoon there. All you gotta do is take Main Street West to... or is it the Cross . . .You know, that's funny, I can't remember if it's Main Street West or the Crosstown.

Mr. Book:
Is it done?

Mr. Hand:
Oh yes, Mr. Book. I have John Murdoch in mind.

Walenski:
I've been trying to remember things, CLEARLY remember things, from my past, but the more I try to think back, the more it all starts to unravel. None of it seems real. It's like I've just been dreaming this life, and when I finally wake up, I'll be somebody else. Somebody totally different!

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
You saw something, didn't you, Eddie? Something to do with the case.

Walenski:
There is no case! There never was! It's all just a big joke! It's a joke!

Dr. Schreber:
These do bring back memories. This one is still warm. What is it? The recollections of a great lover? A catalog of conquests? We will soon find out. You wouldn't appreciate that, would you, Mr. Whatever-your-name is? Not the sort of conquest you would ever understand. Let's see, a touch of unhappy childhood, a dash of teenage rebellion, and last but not least, a tragic death in the family.

Mr. Hand:
There used to be a ferry when I was a boy. Biggest thing you ever saw, lit up like a floating birthday cake.

Emma Murdoch:
That's just what my husband once said to me on this very spot.

Mr. Hand:
Where is your husband now?

Emma Murdoch:
I wish I knew. What brings you here?

Mr. Hand:
I met my wife at this place.

Emma Murdoch:
It's where I first me my husband.

Mr. Hand:
Small world.

Emma Murdoch:
It's beautiful.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
It was a gift from my mother. She died recently. I keep it with me to remind me of her.

Emma Murdoch:
I'm sorry.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
It's a funny thing, though. I can't remember WHEN she gave it to me. How do you think I could forget a thing like this?

Mr. Book:
SHUT IT DOWN! SHUT IT DOWN FOREVER!

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
So Husselbeck, what kind of killer do you think stops to save a dying fish?

Mr. Wall:
No more Mr. Quick. Mr. Quick, dead, yes.

Stranger:
Poor, poor Mr. Quick.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
I've met quite a few murderers in the course of my work. Murdoch doesn't strike me as one.

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
Perhaps you are not accustomed to digging deep enough.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Well, I do know when someone is lying to me, Doctor.

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
Forgive me, Inspector, but you are not a clinician. Judging personalities happens to be my business.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Well, maybe you could give me a few pointers.

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
Certainly. Let's take you, for instance. You are a fastidious man, driven. Consumed by details. I would say your life is rather lonely.

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
I have a weak heart, you know.

Mr. Hand:
Your weakness is not, we think, an affair of the heart.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
You saw something, didn't you, Eddie? Something to do with the case?

Det. Eddie Walenski:
There is no case! There never was! It's all just a big joke! It's a joke!

[Mr. Hand has been imprinted with Murdoch's memories]

Mr. Book:
Is it done?

Mr. Hand:
Oh, yes, Mr. Book. I have John Murdoch in mind.

Mr. Hand:
We're very lucky, when you think about it.

Emma Murdoch:
I'm sorry?

Mr. Hand:
To be able to revisit those places which have meant so very much to us.

Emma Murdoch:
I thought it was more that we were haunted by them.

Mr. Hand:
Perhaps. But imagine a life alien to yours, in which your memories were not your own but those shared by every other of your kind. Imagine the torment of such an existence: no experiences to call your own. If it was all you knew, maybe it would be a comfort.

Emma Murdoch:
What brings you here?

Mr. Hand:
I met my wife at this place.

Emma Murdoch:
It's where I first met my husband.

Mr. Hand:
Small world.

Emma Murdoch:
I love you, John. You can't fake something like that.

John Murdoch:
No, you can't.

Desk Sergeant:
How can we help you, sir?

Mr. Hand:
You can sleep!

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
Inspector, he is more disturbed than we thought.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
I may not be the judge of personality that you are, Doctor, but you're the one who looks disturbed to me.

Mr. Hand:
I'm dying, John. Your imprint is not agreeable with my kind. But I wanted to know what it was like — how you feel.

John Murdoch:
You know how I was supposed to feel. That person isn't me. Never was. You wanted to know what it was about us that made us human. Well, you're not going to find it...[taps head] in here. You went looking in the wrong place.

John Murdoch:
Maybe I have lost my mind, but whoever I am, I'm still me and I'm not a killer.

John Murdoch:
Hey, you happen to know the way to Shell Beach?

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
Weren't you looking for the human soul? That's the purpose of your little zoo, isn't it? That's why you keep changing people and things around every night. Maybe you have finally found what you are looking for, and it's going to bite you on your—

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
First there was darkness. Then came the strangers. They abducted us and brought us here. This city, everyone in it, is their experiment. They mix and match our memories as they see fit, trying to divine what makes us unique. One day, a man might be an inspector; the next, someone entirely different. When they want to study a murderer, for instance, they simply imprint one of their citizens with a new personality — arrange a family for him, friends, an entire history, even a lost wallet. Then they observe the results. Will a man, given the history of a killer, continue in that vein? Or are we, in fact, more than the mere sum of our memories?

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
When they first brought us here, they extracted what was in us so they could store the information, remix it like so much paint, and give us back new memories of their choosing. But they still needed an artist to help them. I understood the intricacies of the human mind better than they ever could, so they allowed me to keep my skills as a scientist because they needed them, but they made me delete everything else. Can you imagine what it is like being forced to erase your own past?

Dr. Daniel P. Schreber:
Now remember what I told you: Never talk to strangers.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
Nothing like a little healthy paranoia.

Inspector Frank Bumstead:
No one ever listens to me.

Mr. Hand:
On occasion the imprinting does not take. They behave erratically when they awaken. We find them wandering like lost children.

Mr. Hand:
There's work to be done.

Mr. Hand:
We fashioned this city on stolen memories: different eras, different pasts all rolled into one. Each night, we revise it, refine it, in order to learn.

Mr. Hand:
You've seen what we are. We use your dead as vessels.

Det. Eddie Walenski:
They steal people's memories, you know? Then they swap them around between us. I've seen them do it! Back and forth, back and forth, until no one knows who they are anymore.

Mr. Book:
He is powerful, yes — dangerous — but he can also lead us to what we seek: what the doctor calls the soul. It is time for our experiment to move into a final phase.