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Four to shack.
Container 14 ready to winch.
Six to shack.
Silver extraction completed.
Tha's good eating.
Burritos, enchiladas...
Black beans and rice, man.
That's Puerto Rican. I gotta take you...
I hate to break up
the great Latino gourmet debate...
but we ain't off the clock yet.
Since we got a few more days here,
can somebody...
please tell me who the hook is?
Fifteen, is that you?
You got a hook on box 22?
The man is asking you
if you're hooked on 22, dumb shit.
Watch your mouth, Sixpack.
Fifteen to shack.
This is Jones.
I ain't the hook.
Seven to shack. I'm the hook.
Okay there, seven.
Pack up box 22 and call it a day.
Hey, Willie, you trip on a tit
or something? We're all waitin' on ya.
Go suck on a shrimp, Sixpack.
Seven to shack.
Ready to winch.
There we go.
Winch on.
Okay, miners, let's come on home.
You heard the man.
Let's get movin'.
Come on, guys.
We only have three days left.
I hear that.
Put the kettle on, Beck.
We're coming home.
Well, Doc,
not so as you'd notice...
but the sun has set
on yet another day...
of hard labor and toil
here at the homestead.
Sixteen tons
and what do you get
Another day older
and deeper in debt
Saint Peter, don't you call me
'cause I can't go
I owe my soul to the company store
Jonesy! Help!
My rebreather's stopped!
I'm losing compression!
I'm gonna blow my suit!
Doc! Beck!
Yeah, I got you, DeJesus.
You look fine from in here.
- Give me a readout.
- My rebreather's stopped!
I'm losing compression!
I can't breathe!
I can't get an accurate readout
if you panic.
Doc, we got an emergency here.
We need you. Got trouble.
So just breathe slowly
and through your nose...
and out through your mouth.
I think you're hyperventilating.
- Hyperventilating, my ass!
- How do you do this?
- He's gonna blow.
- No, he's not gonna blow!
Doc, come on!
- Check his oxygen level.
- Yeah, I'm doin' that.
- Do something, quick!
- I'm doin' it.
Hook him to my RV-four transpac.
Right. Hook him to the RV...
No! Don't do that!
Don't circumventilate him.
I think you're risking
an implosion probability.
Doc, we need you.
Bring him into the shack.
- There's not enough time!
- You've got time. Just do it.
I'm gonna die!
You ain't gonna die.
Just keep him moving.
Take it easy. We'll make it.
Open the damn door.
Come on! Get him inside!
Keep him moving.
Come on, lift lock. Go.
Come on, lift lock. Up.
Rebreathers. I don't trust anything that
doesn't have bubbles comin' out of it.
It ain't the goddamn suit, man.
It's Beck.
It's not his fault.
Doc shoulve been there.
If he was a real shack boss,
Doc would have been there.
He got real lucky.
Hey, Wall Street broke
the 15,000-point barrier today.
Shit. There goes my bonus.
You know, I stood next to a guy
who blew a suit once.
He was in the Indian Ocean.
- That is not a pretty sight.
- Leave Hazy alone, man.
One tiny little hole
in the fucking toe of his suit.
No bigger than your dick.
Yeah, that ocean came in.
The pressure just crammed
his whole body up into his helmet.
We just buried his helmet.
- That woulve been you, DeJesus.
- Hey, I know about implosion.
Yeah, I bet you do.
I bet you was imploding in your pants.
- Knock it off, Sixpack!
- Cut it out, you guys.
We've been stuck down in this hole
for a hell of a long time.
We had a close call. We're not gonna
let something like this break us apart.
The doc is my responsibility.
It would be just my luck to finish two
months' worth of work two miles under...
and have the whole place fall apart
with just three days left.
Anyone check weather up top?
It's raining, but it's
supposed to be clear for pickup.
As long as there's no waves.
I hate waves.
Waves my ass. Do you know what you'd
be doin' if you were up top right now?
Drinkin' brew and eatin' pussy.
- How about gettin' stuck in traffic?
- Wherever I can find it.
I'll tell you what you'd be

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