American Gods, Season 1

Shadow:
Best thing, only good thing about being in prison, is the relief. You don't worry if they're going to get you when they already got you. Tomorrow can't do anything today hasn't already managed.

Low Key:
Even better with a death sentence. Bang. Worst has already happened. You get a few days to let it sink in, and then you're riding the cart on the way to do your dance on nothing. This country went to hell when they stopped hanging folks. No gallows dirt, no gallows deals.

Shadow:
No gallows humor.

Low Key:
Yeah. Funniest fucking shit in the world. Ha ha!

Shadow:
You know, I'm not superstitious. I believe in plenty when there's reason and evidence to believe. I don't believe in anything I can't see. I feel like there's a fucking axe hanging over my head. You know, I can't see it, but I believe it.

Low Key:
I can see it fine. Prison has a way of trying to keep you in prison. They'll do anything they can to keep you inside with them.

Wednesday:
I offer you the worm from my beak and you look at me like I fucked your mom.

Shadow:
Sorry, no. You're just the first person I talked to that wasn't an asshole.

Wednesday:
Give me time.

Mad Sweeney:
How much has our man told you?

Shadow:
No details.

Mad Sweeney:
The devil's in the details.

Mad Sweeney:
He's hustling you. He's a hustler.

Wednesday:
Damn right I'm a hustler. Swindler, cheater, and liar. That's why I need assistance.

Wednesday:
It's not every day a man gets to bury his wife.

Audrey Burton:
Fuck me, already! I'm trying to get my dignity back, here!

Technical Boy:
Hello, Shadow. Don't fuck with me.

Shadow:
Okay. I won't. Uh, but if you could just drop me off at the Motel America-

Technical Boy:
Hit him.

[one of the faceless toadies punches Shadow]

Technical Boy:
See, I said don't fuck with me. Now that, that was fucking with me. Keep your answers short and to the point, or I will fucking kill you. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just have the children break every bone in your fucking body. So don't. Fuck. With. Me.

Shadow:
Got it.

Technical Boy:
You're working for Wednesday.

Shadow:
Yeah.

Technical Boy:
Smoke?

Shadow:
No, thank you. [coughing] Well, it's not tobacco, and it ain't weed. Smells like an appliance fire.

Technical Boy:
Synthetic Toad Skins. What the fuck is Wednesday after? What's he doing here? There's got to be a plan. What's the game plan, man?

Shadow:
I started working for Mr. Wednesday this morning.

Technical Boy:
How auspicious. You must be special.

Shadow:
No, I'm just an errand boy.

Technical Boy:
Is that all? [coughing] Wednesday is history. Forgotten and old. He should just let it happen. We are the future, and we don't give a fuck about him or anyone else like him anymore. They are consigned to the dumpster. Now we have reprogrammed reality. Language is a virus. Religion, an operating system, and prayers are just so much fucking spam.

Shadow:
Okay, w-well, y-you're saying all this like I'm supposed to know what the fuck you're talking about.

Mr. Nancy:
You want help? Fine. Let me tell you a story. "Once upon a time, a man got fucked." Now, how is that for a story? 'Cause that's the story of black people in America! [chuckles] Shit, you all don't know you black yet. You think you just people. Let me be the first to tell you that you are all black. The moment these Dutch motherfuckers set foot here and decided they white, and you get to be black, and that's the nice name they call you. Let me paint a picture of what's waiting for you on the shore. You arrive in America, land of opportunity, milk and honey, and guess what? You all get to be slaves! Split up, sold off and worked to death! The lucky ones get Sunday off to sleep and fuck and make more slaves, and all for what? For cotton? Indigo? For a fucking purple shirt? The only good news is the tobacco your grandkids are gonna farm for free is gonna give a shitload of these white motherfuckers cancer. And I ain't even started yet. A hundred years later, you're fucked! A hundred years after that, fucked! A hundred years after you get free, you still getting fucked outta jobs and shot at by police! You see what I'm saying? This guy gets it. I like him. He's gettin' angry. Angry is good. Angry gets shit done. You shed tears and call for Anansi, and here he is, telling you: you are staring down the barrel of 300 years of subjugation, racist bullshit and heart disease. He is telling you there isn't one goddamn reason you shouldn't go up there right now, and slit the throats of every last one of these Dutch motherfuckers, and set fire to this ship!

Man:
But the ship will burn. All of us will die.

Mr. Nancy:
[chuckles] You already dead, asshole. At least die a sacrifice for something worthwhile. Let the motherfucker burn! Let it all burn!

Wednesday:
Too many people tell each other not to repress their emotions, to release their feelings, to let the pain go. There's a lot to be said for bottling up emotions. [pause] I'm gonna tell you something and you're gonna want to hurt me, but what I say has gotta be said. So I want you to consider my words very carefully and refrain from knocking my teeth out.

Shadow:
Say it.

Wednesday:
Word on the street is your wife died sucking your best friend's cock. And you, sir, are only obligated to feel bad about that for so long.

Shadow:
Thank you...for warning me.

Media:
[as Lucy Ricardo] Look at me, Shadow, all in Hi-def. We shot the show in 35mm, cutting edge. Looks like hell in the transfer. Funny how things supposed to make you look good only make it worse. I can't even fill the whole screen.

Shadow:
...The fuck is this!?

Media:
Just little old me.

Shadow:
I'm talking to Lucille Ball...

Media:
Lucy Ricardo. I'm all sorts, Shadow. The screen is the altar. I'm the one they sacrifice to. Then till now. Golden Age to Golden Age. They sit side by side, ignore each other, and give it up to me. Now they hold a smaller screen on their lap or in the palm of their hand so they don't get bored watching the big one. Time and attention, better than lamb's blood. Huh. They beat your pretty face all up. I hate that. I hate that they were hurting you, Shadow. I would never do that to you, honey. No, I want to offer you a job.

Shadow:
Doing what?

Media:
Working for me. I want you in my camp with us. Look at it like this, Shadow; We're the coming thing. We are already here. We are self-driving cars and 3D printers and subdermal time-release insulin. And your old boss is still selling oranges on the side of the road. Not even organic. We are now and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. And he ain't even yesterday anymore. I heard about the trouble you had with the Technical Boy. I was impressed with how you dealt with him. Efficient, no-nonsense, effective. Who'd have thought you had it in you? He was underestimating you, sweetheart. They all are. Not a mistake I'll make.

Shadow:
Yeah well I don't wanna work for you...I Love Lucy...We're done.

Media:
Whatever the old guys are giving you, I can give you so much more. You name it, honey. What do you need? Hey, you ever wanted to see Lucy's tits?

Shadow:
I think I'm losing my mind.

Wednesday:
Well, when will you know for sure?

Shadow:
I've heard of guys losing it when they get out.

Wednesday:
Are you trying to wiggle your way out of this job?

Shadow:
Lucy...I-Love-Lucy talked to me.

Wednesday:
Oh, the television program?

Shadow:
No, Lucy herself came-- This is so fucking crazy.

Wednesday:
And like the rest of your life is sane?

Shadow:
Lucy talking to me from the TV is weirder by several orders of magnitude than anything that's ever happened to me.

Wednesday:
So far. Oh, at times the universe does seem to have singled you out for unique abuse. In these moments, you gotta ask yourself: Would I rather be ignored?

Shadow:
Yes.

Wednesday:
Okay, yes, ignore me. Always better dead than forgotten. And no one is ever gonna forget you. Now, flattering as that may be, this, on top of your other adventures-- Hmm.

Shadow:
Sudden onset of strange.

Wednesday:
Fair cause for consternation, unless strange is a new language and what we're doing here is vocabulary building.

Shadow:
Fuck your vocabulary.

Wednesday:
Okay. This is gibberish. Seems you have a choice. You may have to consider that you didn't see what you saw.

Shadow:
Or?

Wednesday:
Or you did. The world is either crazy or you are. They're both solid options. Take your pick, and when you decide, come and tell me. But don't rush into it. Take your time. Difficult decision.

Shadow:
They threatened to reprogram reality. I mean, is-- Is that what this is? Are they just fucking with my head? Are you fucking with my head?

Wednesday:
There are bigger sacrifices one might be asked to make than going a little mad.

Czernobog:
[chuckling] I think in the old country, you know, I am forgotten. Here, I'm like a bad memory. So, I had to find work, and I found meat business. You know it?

Shadow:
I know the eating part.

Czernobog:
I know the killing. [chuckling] So I got job on killing floor as a knocker. It was a good job. Yeah, skilled labor. A cow comes up the ramp. Boom, boom, boom. And you take a sledge hammer, and--Boop! You knock the cow dead. It takes strength.

Zorya Vechernyaya:
No cow-killing stories during dinner!

Czernobog:
How do you think meat get on your plate?! Huh? [chuckles] It takes strength, but not only strength. It takes talent, because it's a craft. You have to do it right, or the cow gets angry. And angry meat taste bad. Yeah, you need arms to break the skull, but that's not the goal. The goal is to crush the brain inside the skull, and quick, before the pain can travel from outside the brain to the inside, so the brain never knows the brain is crushing. To give a good death is art. But nowadays, they have this bolt gun. You know? Put it on the forehead [imitates gun firing] Yeah. Now every monkey with a thumb can kill. [laughs] They sit there all day and all night. [imitates gun firing] So much for killing.

Mrs. Fadil:
[as Anubis pulls out her heart] I was using that.

Anubis:
We shall see if you have used it well.

Zorya Polunochnaya:
Careful! The buffalo is waning tonight.

Shadow:
You're Zorya Poluch...Pulch...The sister that was sleeping.

Zorya Polunochnaya:
I am Zorya Polunochnaya, yes. And you are called Shadow.

Shadow:
What are you looking at up there?

Zorya Polunochnaya:
I was looking at that. See?

[Shadow looks through the telescope]

Shadow:
The big dipper?

Zorya Polunochnaya:
Odin's Wain, they call it. And the Great Bear. It is a thing. It's not a god. Like a god. It's a bad thing. Chained up in those stars. If it escapes, it will eat the whole of everything. So we watch the sky all day, all night, the three sisters. If he escapes, the thing in the stars, the world is over [snaps fingers] Like that.

Shadow:
And people believe that?

Zorya Polunochnaya:
A long time ago.

Shadow:
[noticing her nightgown] You're not cold?

Zorya Polunochnaya:
Cold doesn't bother me. This time is my time. My sisters, they're of their times. When is your time? Your birthday?

Shadow:
No, I-I don't want my fortune told.

Zorya Polunochnaya:
My fortunes are the best. [she takes Shadow's hand] Virgins have the advantage. And now we have something. Oh. No. You have nothing. You believe in nothing so you have nothing. You are on a path...from nothing to everything. You had something recently. You lost it.

Shadow:
My-my wife.

Zorya Polunochnaya:
Not your wife...Did you sell your head to Czernobog?

Shadow:
Yeah.

Zorya Polunochnaya:
You keep giving away your life. You don't much care if you live or die do you?

Shadow:
The world's not what I thought it would be.

Zorya Polunochnaya:
You'd rather die then live in a world with bears in the sky. I can help you. First, you must do something for me.

Shadow:
What is it? Gotta fight you? Play checkers?

Zorya Polunochnaya:
You have to kiss me. I have not ever been kissed. I don't know if I like it. We do this now.

Shadow:
I-

[she kisses Shadow on the lips]

Zorya Polunochnaya:
...Kissing is disgusting, but in a nice way like blu cheese or brandy. Take the moon.

Shadow:
What?

Zorya Polunochnaya:
Just take it. Here.

[she plucks the moon out of the night sky and gives it to Shadow as a silver dollar]

Zorya Polunochnaya:
Don't lose this. Don't give it away. You've been given protection once. You had the sun itself. I can give you the moon. It's the daughter, not the father. Now you wake up.

Wednesday:
That woman thinks Jesus suffered for her sins. They're her sins, why should Jesus do all the suffering?

Shadow:
Cause his dad sacrificed his ass.

Wednesday:
Don't blame the parent. Plenty of suffering and blame to go around. Although that White Jesus could stand a little more suffering. He's doing very well for himself these days.

Shadow:
And how many colors does Jesus come in?

Wednesday:
Well you got your white, Jesuit-style Jesus, you got your black African Jesus, you got your brown Mexican Jesus, you got your swarthy Greek Jesus.

Shadow:
That's a...That's a lot of Jesus.

Wednesday:
There's a lot of need for Jesus, so there are a lot of Jesus.

Shadow:
Wasn't supposed to snow today. Wasn't even supposed to be cold.

Wednesday:
So, you're perfectly okay believing that tiny people on television can predict the weather. But you crinkle with consternation at the mere suggestion that you could make it snow.

Shadow:
One of those things is science, okay? The other is fantasy.

Wednesday:
You're talking about it like it's apples and oranges.

Shadow:
It's not apples and oranges, okay? It's reality and fantasy.

Wednesday:
Oh, so that's how the world works! It's either real or it's fantasy?

Shadow:
Yeah, that's how the world works.

Wednesday:
Yeah, says the man who hasn't seen it. Shadow, at best, you suffer from a failure of imagination. We're gonna have to fix that.

Wednesday:
This is the only country in the world that wonders what it is.

Shadow:
You've been to a lot of other countries, have you?

Wednesday:
No. No, never, just this one. Just that the others know what they are. I mean, no one wonders about the heart of Norway or goes searching for the soul of Mozambique. Mozambique knows what it is. They all know what they are.

Shadow:
Americans know who they are.

Wednesday:
They pretend they know. But it's still just pretending, like I'm pretending now. Just like you.

Shadow:
What am I pretending?

Wednesday:
You are pretending you cannot believe in impossible things.

Shadow:
Uh, I'd be genuinely deluded if I believed that shit.

Wednesday:
If you are deluded, I believe it's genuine. You don't strike me as the disingenuous type. Okay, let's go.

Shadow:
Huh? Did I make snow?

Wednesday:
Did you make snow? Well, if you choose to believe you made snow, then you get to live the rest of your life believing that you can do things that are impossible. Or you can believe it's a delusion.

Shadow:
No, see, delusions feel real, okay?

Wednesday:
That's why it's a delusion.

Shadow:
None of this feels real. It feels like a dream.

Wednesday:
What a beautiful, beautiful thing to be able to dream when you're not asleep. I've-- I've crossed enough paths to know that one in four people are rock stupid. Even the smart ones have got some kind of delusion they believe in, whether it's gods or ghosts. Do you believe in love?

Shadow:
Yeah, I believe the shit out of love.

Wednesday:
Did you always?

Shadow:
Not before Laura.

Wednesday:
So you didn't believe till you did, and then the world changed because you believed. Belief is only a product of the company we keep and how easily we scare. And you do not scare easily.

Shadow:
And my company is questionable.

Wednesday:
Always has been. The only thing that scares me is being forgotten. I can survive most things but not that. Very best part of memory is it's mostly about forgetting. We remember what's important to us.

Media:
Mass delusions are as old as I am. I was there when the Martians invaded in 1938. What a panic. Powerful panic. Now there are starmen waiting in the sky. They believed it was true, and it was.

Laura:
I don't think you're ever going to get your coin back. Never ever ever. Not ever.

Mad Sweeney:
Not not ever. Meat's going to slide off you sooner or later, dead wife. Sooner if you keep soaking it in hot water. All that connective tissue holding you together. Well, that's gonna liquefy. You'll find yourself on a hot, humid summer day just cooking in that moist heat. And you're going to fall right off the bone. When you do, I'm going to reach up under those ribs, and I'm going to pluck that coin out of you like a berry.

[Mad Sweeney tackles Laura into the bathtub and tries to drown her. The police then bust in]

Police:
Freeze! Hands up!

Mad Sweeney:
She ain't dead! She ain't dead. See? [Laura lays motionless at the bottom of the tub] Oh, you're an asshole. [as the police handcuff him] You're a fucking asshole, dead wife!! You're a fucking asshole, dead wife!!! You're an asshole, dead wife!!!

[Laura smiles at the bottom of the tub]

[Media as Marilyn Monroe floats into the room]

Shadow:
I Love Lucy? How the fuck are you floating!!?

Media:
Happy Birthday Mr. President.

Shadow:
No, no, no, no, no, no, no. You you you're TV. You you you were black and white.

Media:
I'm as colorful as the story I'm telling. This one's filmed in glorious Technicolor. Full-color pinup to film legend to murdered. Oh, don't believe what they say about an accidental overdose. Last thing I saw from the floor of my Brentwood bungalow was a CIA spook jabbing a needle into my eyeball, lest I tell Kennedy tales unwanted. Isn't that delicious?!

Media:
Wouldn't you like an upgrade? A brand new, lemon-scented you?

Wednesday:
Oh I'm a fine me. I just keep getting better every year.

Mr. World:
Of course you are, and that is the you that deserves to be seen incorporated. Everyone in the world gets their place.

Wednesday:
With you?

Mr. World:
That's why they call me Mr. World.

Wednesday:
And if they disagree?

Mr. World:
I get it. I do. [chuckling] You're an individualist. Rugged individualism. It simply doesn't work anymore. Brands. Sure. A useful heuristic. But ultimately, everything is all systems interlaced, a single product manufactured by a single company for a single global market. Spicy, medium, or chunky. They get a choice, of course. Of course! But they are buying salsa.

Wednesday:
An oyster. Inside every pearl there's a single irritating grain of sand. That's me. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. Just like an oyster, you're trying to cover me up with something smooth and shiny. Pretty on a necklace, but inside the shell, that slimy thing just wants that scratchy thing out of there. You say merger? I hear exile.

Media:
It's not our fault they found other ways to occupy their time.

Wednesday:
That's all you do, occupy their time. We gave back. We gave them meaning.

Mr. World:
Then give it to them again.

Mad Sweeney:
I've done the math. This times that equals you're a cunt, divided by the only way I'm going to get what I need is if you give it to me, equals the only way you're going to give it to me is if you don't need it. Like my friend Jesus Christ, the only thing you need, dead wife, is resurrection.

Laura:
Did you just name drop Jesus Christ like you know a guy who knows a guy?

Mad Sweeney:
[chuckling] Did you have a genie in your bottle? Did you rub one out of him darling?

Vulcan:
I franchised my faith.

Wednesday:
Franchised?

Vulcan:
You are what you worship. God of the volcano. Those who worship hold a volcano in the palm of their hand. It’s filled with prayers in my name. The power of fire is firepower. Not god, but godlike. And they believe. It fills their spirits every time they pull the trigger. They feel my heat on their hip and it keeps them warm at night.

Mad Sweeney:
Your heart's not beating for this life anymore dead wife. This life is done.

Laura:
Only felt my heart beat one time since I died. When I kissed Shadow.

Mad Sweeney:
That doesn't obligate him to feel shit. You're so worried about being alive, but to him you're already dead. Wait, you kissed him?

Laura:
Yeah I just said I kissed him.

Mad Sweeney:
Put your tongue in his mouth?

Laura:
Just the tip.

Mad Sweeney:
Was it cold and dry?

Laura:
Probably.

Mad Sweeney:
Did it taste like cigarettes and vomit?

Laura:
I have been smoking. ...Perhaps I misjudged the kiss. Probably should've had some gum or a mint.

Mad Sweeney:
Yeah or a fucking tic-tac! If your man had any doubts about whether his wife was dead or not, that ended em. Death do us part. Take the fucking hint!

Laura:
What fucking hint?

Mad Sweeney:
He's gone! Your man came, he saw ya, tasted death on your tongue and he left. He ain't your man anymore. He's Wednesday's man. I saw him give it over. Right over there, right at that table over there. That's where he took his last glass of evil, vile fucking mead and made his bargain with the devil himself. Your piece of shit husband got a new life. Why don't you? This one got a new life. [motioning to Salim] He ain't looking back.

Salim:
I did. And I'm not.

Vulcan:
You saw what I was. I was a story people forgot to remember to tell. And they gave me a gun. They put power back in my hand, and I gotta tell ya, it feels good. Every bullet fired in a crowded movie theater is a prayer in my name. And that prayer makes 'em want to pray even harder.

Ice Cream Truck Man:
Can I help you with something, ma'am?

Laura:
Yes! I've always wanted to steal a car. So I'm going to steal yours.

Ice Cream Truck Man:
Uhh...well it's not mine, it's my boss'.

Laura:
Okay well then I'm stealing his. [grabs a bunch of cash out of Mad Sweeney's pocket and hands it to him] I don't know how much is here but you take that, you tell your boss that you were robbed, which you have been.

Ice Cream Truck Man:
My boss is never gonna believe me if I look like this.

Laura:
Oh you look fine. You look great!

Mad Sweeney:
No he means without evidence of a tussle. He wants me to punch him.

Ice Cream Truck Man:
Whoa. You could kill me. Can she do it?

Mad Sweeney:
Trust me. You don't want this one hitting ya. [punches him]

Laura:
How much gold do you actually have?

Mad Sweeney:
How much is in a hoard?

Laura:
What the fuck is a hoard? And why do you have one?

Mad Sweeney:
I was a king once.

Laura:
[scoffs] Okay.

Mad Sweeney:
I was. Then they made me a bird. Then mother church came along and turned us all into saints and trolls and fairies. General Mills did the rest.

Laura:
So what's the appeal? What's Wednesday selling at this God fest that you gotta get a ticket?

Mad Sweeney:
War.

Essie:
In the Americas, anyone can be anything they insist upon. New name, new life. That's a place a body could be happy.

Mad Sweeney:
What the fuck is happy?

Essie:
Fucked if I know.

Essie:
You have done me many a good turn.

Mad Sweeney:
Good and ill. We're like the wind. We blow both ways.

Mad Sweeney:
[in Gaelic] Créd as co tarlaid an cac-sa-dam!? Nach lór rofhulangas!? Is lór chena, níam olc! Níam!!

Translation:
"Why is this bullshit happening to me!? Haven’t I suffered enough?! I’m not evil!! I’m not!!"

Easter:
Come here, sweet Shadow. Allow me to impart some wisdom. There's far too many secret societies out there. They have no loyalty and no love. They range from barely competent to deeply dangerous.

Wednesday:
You don't sound like one of us.

Easter:
I'm not one of you.

Wednesday:
Oh, yes you are. You're as forgotten and as unloved and unremembered as any of us.

Easter:
I'm doing just fine. Happy Easter. Christ is Risen. Hello, boys!

[the many Jesuses approach]

Wednesday:
Well, you were before these assholes were born. Until the day that Jesus Christ crawled out of his stinky old grave, folks would paint eggs with dandelions and paprika for her. To exchange as gifts at the first sign of Spring in her name: Ostara.

Easter:
Oh, they still do. They still do! On my festival days they still feast on eggs and rabbit and candy and they do it in my name.

Wednesday:
Serious question, my dear, I have no doubt that millions upon millions exchange tokens and observe the rituals of your festival all down to the hunting of hidden eggs, but does anybody pray in your name? Do they say it in worship? Well, they mouth your name but they have no idea what it means. None whatsoever. Same every Spring: you do all the work, he gets all the prayers.

Easter:
What has gotten into you?!

Jesus of Nazareth:
I feel terrible about this...

Easter:
[comforting him] No! No!

Wednesday:
It's her day! You took it. You crucified her day! When they started following you, everybody else got burned, in your name! Happy fucking Easter!

[Easter and the Jesuses are shocked]

Easter:
You shut your mouth before I slap it off your goddamn face! [looks shocked at her own words] How dare you? How dare you? How dare you come into my home and uncork all over Jesus of Nazareth, and all the other Jesuses who died on the cross, and even the ones who didn't, how dare you?! These are kind, generous men and they've come to celebrate their day... my day.... goddammit, our day! And you come in here and disrespect them?! They are gods, for God's sake!

Mr. Wednesday:
They're sons of. They're men who walk the streets. They shake hands, they take shits! What I'm doing here is of no concern to them. This is your day, love. Always has been, always will be.

Shadow:
Did you always believe?

Jesus:
Did I always believe? I am belief, Shadow. I don't know how not to believe.

Shadow:
I don't think I know how to. I think I maybe don't...don't really believe. You know, I don't really believe any of this. And maybe everything that's happened so far is just some kind of vivid dream. And I don't even know if I can believe that.

Jesus:
Even if you don't believe, you cannot travel in any other way then the road your senses show you. And you must walk that road to the end.

Media:
You feel you've been treated unfairly?

Easter:
I feel misrepresented in the media.

Media:
Put a pillow over that feeling and bear down until it stops kicking. St. Nick took the same deal you did. The only reason why you're relevant today is because Easter is a Christian holiday.

[Easter scoffs and looks offended]

Media:
We are the distributors. The platform and the delivery mechanism. We control the story. We control the flow.

[Technical Boy appears]

Technical Boy:
We are the flow.

Wednesday:
What you offer is existential crisis aversion. "Don't look over there, look over here." "Don't listen to that, listen to this." You provide a product, an innovative distraction and you keep innovating it and you keep providing it. The beauty of what we do is we only need to inspire.

Technical Boy:
Hmm, you don't have the juice. And don't act like your fucking rent boy here is your disciple. Here's the thing: you're old as fuck. Things are never going back to the way that they were. The times, they are a-changing. You can't fight progress.

Wednesday:
People create gods when they wonder why things happen. Do you know why things happen? Because gods make them happen. You wanna know how to make good things happen? Be good to your god. You give a little, you get a little. The simplicity of that bargain has always been appealing. That's why we're here, and that's precisely why I matter.

[Mr. World Appears]

Mr. World:
You only matter in matters of war. And there's not going to be a war. We have the guns. We have the firepower. You have the swords and knives and hammers and stone axes. We fight, we win. We don't fight, we win.

Technical Boy:
You die out either way.

Mr. World:
You are the passenger pigeons and thylacines. Nobody cares about you. It's either going to be a bloodbath, or we'll wait you out and get the whole thing without a fuss. My message to you: don't fight.

Wednesday:
Do you have faith, Shadow?

Shadow:
What are you?

Wednesday:
Do you know me? Do you know what I am? Do you want to know my name?

Shadow:
Tell me.

Wednesday:
This is what I am called. I am called Glad-of-War, Grim, Raider, and Third. I am One-Eyed. I am also called Highest, and True-Guesser. I am Grimnir, and the Hooded One. I am All-Father, Gondlir, Wand-Bearer. I have as many names as there are winds, as many titles as there are ways to die! My ravens are Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory! My wolves are Freki and Geri! My horse is the gallows! I am ODIN!!!