We were just about to start
on the toe, when his heart stopped.
We opened him and began massaging the
heart. He recovered right away, right?
Just imagine!
We decided to drop him
off at a different floor,
but he fell off the gurney
and broke his leg.
Imago is the path to transformation.
It is the path to transcendence.
It is a turnover...
of the very soul.
A shift of the very spirit.
Today, everyone
recieves Imago.
So anyway,
he comes to,
all bloodied, bandaged up,
his leg in a cast,
and he still has
the ingrown toenail!
When he saw that,
he up and died completely.
I found them.
The city is dead.
My god, so many bodies.
They'd all been dead
a few days at the outside.
They were black as coal.
Dried out.
Turned into brittle flakes.
Stop ruining our appetite, would you!
Don't give a damn.
Looks like one of us,
or all of us,
broke the quarantine.
-Shut up!
Maybe a few of the locals, if they were
smart, escaped to the mountains.
Nonsense. They've been
dead thousands of years.
This is a holiday.
Take your communion
and calm down.
Absalom, Absalom...
Be a good boy.
Imago is both love and hate.
We turn young,
we turn old.
Turn into sinners and saints.
I shouldn't have done that.
Henceforth I shall be called Abel!
Abel.
Let's go take a trip to your city.
Son of a bitch.
Stop it. Absalom.
What's the matter?
I was ashamed, Captain.
Of him, of us all.
The men are tired.
-I'm tired too.
But where's their respect, sir? Their
reason? Their sense of the right thing?
Respect, reason. Those
things are scarce even on Earth.
And you want enough for the entire cosmos.
I just hated the idea of them
watching us... -Them? -Them.
I believe in things.
In the spirit infused in things
by those who created them.
They're all around us.
All the things which had uses.
All the mountains, the valleys, which had
names. Look at what we're doing to them.
Do you remember what happened to Mexico
when Cortez arrived from Spain?
A culture destroyed by righteous bigots.
History will never forgive Cortez.
It won't forgive the bloody trail of the
Ottoman Empire, will not forgive Fascism.
And I can add one more item to that list.
It will not forgive us, either.
I know how you feel.
But you can't take it too far.
And you can't go around
thinking you always know best.
No good can come of that, either.
Here you go. A souvenir.
A keepsake, from their city.
Go on back.
Be quiet.
Hear that?
Footsteps.
They're singing.
Do you hear?
I hear it.
Who's there?
We ate about ten years
worth of dust. No tracks.
Do you think he's alive?
-I think so.
I don't think he'll ever come back.
I don't know how I know,
but that's the way I feel about him.
I think we're complete
strangers to him. Superfluous.
He's not coming back.
Where did you get that?
A souvenir, from their city.
These were decommissioned
about twenty years ago.
We gave you up for dead.
What are you doing?
No! No! No!
Absalom! No!
No! No! No!
Mother.
You know nothing about guns. Swine.
We've been looking for you,
and you're off in your damn ruins.
What if I told you I found
the city's last inhabitants?
So where are they?
-Never mind.
Let me ask you a question.
How would you feel
if people came to your homeland
and started tearing it up?
I know how I'd feel.
I've got some Cherokee blood in me.
I can relate.
You can relate.
Well, then.
Today one of the survivors, their angel,
came to me and said:
"When you die, give me your boots."
I said that I would.
He said: "When you die,
give me your clothes."
I said that I would.
He pressed on:
"When you die,
give me your face."
I said that I would.
Then he said to me:
"Now... you will never die."
"Go...
"Do what you wanted to do."
So here I am.
John.
John!
-Murderer.
I've met them. Understood
them, loved them.
I feel I am their last hope.
No one wanted to stand up for them,
no one wanted to help them.
I did it. And now there's
no