But now, instead of a janky-ass sticky magnet,
imagine that this is our spaceship.
Since when can the ship split in half?
Also, why does it split in half? Is it ease of cleaning?
Making it in two parts meant that I could classify Avenue 5
as two half-mile vessels. Made me a substantial tax saving.
Jesus wept.
No, Jesus beat the shit out of the tax collectors. Look it up.
Or have Iris look it up for you, I guess.
So, if the ship splits, the missile can only hit one half, is that right?
No, no, no. No. We're talking about genocide.
Again!
It's not genocide if half of us survive.
- All right, semi-cide then. - The missile is a real asshole.
It will go for maximum devastation,
so probably the back half where the engines are.
So, who decides who goes in which half?
No. It's not a dictator's job to decide on a whim who lives or dies.
It absolutely is, isn't it?
Okay, here's how the algorithm works.
So, the AI algorithm delivers a rank for each passenger
based on their perceived value to the ship.
Knock, knock. Hello? Why was I summoned here?
- Yeah, and why wasn't I summoned? - Okay, so take Frank, right?
Hey. That's me.
The algorithm has tracked Frank
from the moment that he stepped on the ship
and laughed at the very idea of the complimentary slippers.
They're basically free shoes.
So Frank produces two pounds of solid waste, four pints of urine every day.
- He laughs on average twice a week. - I laugh more than that.
- You do a lot of nervous laughter. - Exactly.
His testosterone levels are normal for a woman in her seventies.
He has a 51 percent near-fatal embolism.
He has hairless feet, can't taste pears, etcetera, etcetera. Okay.
And Frank's overall ranking is 832.
Thank you, Frank. You can go now.
What was that about an embolism?
Don't stress about the embolism, Frank. You'll give yourself an embolism.
Every single J on this ship is embedded with a camera.
It tracks, through our actions and demeanor,
our positive contributions to the ship.
It's my algorithm, but I promise to keep it fair.
I love judging people.
So, we lure the lower-ranked passengers to the back,
then we split the ship in two and...
A passenger pogrom. There's gotta be a better way of doing it than this.
Look, we've always given machines the tasks that we can't handle, right?
Defuse bombs, reset bowling pins, provide reliable orgasms.
This is another thing that we should put in the hands of a machine
because ours are too shaky.
Okay. To use what is rapidly becoming our popular catchphrase,
fuck it. Let us temporarily suspend our humanity.
Great.
Passengers, today, the ship's computer will be ranking all of us.
And if you rank between one and 3000,
you will be rewarded with a first-class cabin.
Everyone else will be well provided for, so don't worry about that.
Keep on smiling and you will win the day.
Well, at least half of you will.
Did my ranking just go up?
The algorithm rewards cold-hearted decisions clinically made.
- So it's a psychopath? - Well, it has Judd in its coding.
Well, if the algorithm is in charge, I won't need the head warmer.
So, my followers all rank low because they follow me.
So let's see how that's going. They've unfollowed me.
That was fast. You have to respect that. Fickle little bitches.
How can my ranking be so low
when I am 3D printing an actual human baby in my cooch?
We don't need a bigger suite, though. Babies are famously small.
Not in your family. You had a head like a refrigerator.
Honey, like I told you, it was a bad angle. In every single photo.
Well, my love for you is even bigger than your freakish skull, Doug.
Wait.
Were you saying that 'cause you meant it, or were you trying to get a ping?
- Of course I meant it. - Okay.
That smile is freaking me out, but I'm just going to go with it.
How can I be bottom half? Doesn't make sense.
I'm a good person. Fact.
- Frank? Why have I gone down? - Sorry, I'm making bathroom.
Ryan compliments me all the time.
- He says he never met anyone like me. - That's a known British insult, honey.
- No, it's not. - No, I think it is.
- Don't nervous laugh me, Frank. - Sorry.
- I'm going out. - I'm almost done.
Wow, mi amor.
Wow. "A Traditional British Eelhouse. Eel-sy does it, Guvnor."
Why are we eating here?
The camera-to-customer ratio is pretty high here.
And you lot could use a bit of a lift.
- Is the food all eels? - Is it all eels?
Eating eels is what won us the Battle of Agincourt!
We thrashed Hitler's anus with a brace of eels.
I don't like eels.
Nobody like eels. They're the celery of the sea.
But just relax and embrace the authentic British smell
of abandoned phone boxes and James Corden.
Hoity-ho and scupper my bollocks!
Let me show you lovely, lovely cunts to your shit and stable.
That means table. This way.
I think the C-word is considered affectionate in the UK, right?
Yes. Absolutely. Yeah. Sometimes makes it into the wedding vows.
Here we are, the old cock and balls.
We'll have an "Eel-ivia Colman," an "Idris Eel-ba,"
and an "Eel-ementary, My Dear Wats-eel" for the tab-eel.
Excellent choices, man.
Why are you acting weird? I thought the rankings were just a bit of fun?
Yeah. It's just fun, cor blimey!
Is that for your dreadful cockney accent?
- Or 'cause you're lying? - No.
It goes down when he lies.
Eel-ivia Colman. We deboned it for you. Means we took the bones out.
It looks like mashed up eyes.
- Hold your nose. Push on through. - Or what'll happen?
Nothing.
Just as long as they don't force feed us.
Do we die?
Of course not.
Okay. Ryan, you need to tell us everything, right now.
- Welcome, Ryan Clark. - Knew this software would be cheap.
- Can you change your voice? - No.
Can you change yours? See? I have a humor chip.
Okay, so let momma see what baby's been thinking.
Ryan's most used words.
- Karen. Karen. Karen... - Ryan!
- Do you want to expand context of... - Karen.
- ...words? - Oh, yeah, baby.
I'm talking about fucking Karen!
Honestly? Being around Karen makes me feel like a teenager again.
And I was deeply uncomfortable as a teenager. Borderline suicidal.
Christ, that woman is like a verruca on my blinking anus!
Well, that could be anyone.
I'm talking about Karen, for fuck's sake.
Dull and draining. Like a month of fucking Wednesdays.
I'll tell you who can fuck along nicely. Karen Kelly. Karen Kelly.
I bet if you say that in the wrong pyramid, your mouth fills with beetles.
You S-head.
Honestly, that woman haunts me like a perfumed plague pit.
Shut the fuck up!
You deserve it.
- No, but I want to buy this for you. - I want to buy it for you.
That's so cute.
I bet a beautiful couple like you are ranking highly, am I right?
No. She's my sister.
Shame. I mean, not a shame, a waste. No. What I mean is,
I was going to say you would have lovely children,
but then, children of incest are plain looking, aren't they?
Not that yours would be. Yours would be lovely.
If you're planning to have them. Shit!
Did you just tell them their incest children would be plain?
Yes. Yes, that's what just happened.
You know, Rav, I think conversation isn't your natural medium.
I think you'd do better with a grand gesture. Like, a "You go girl" moment.
Okay, yeah, like 10,000 points for Rav.
Yes. Yes. As long as you're not talking, I think you're... After you.
Hurry up. I'm sorry. Shit.
You have five hours of ranking left. Five hours.
What are you doing?
You just have to smile for the cameras. It's easy.
I know the intersection points where I can hit multiple cameras at once.
It's efficient and avoids cheek fatigue.
Is it okay if I join you?
Absolutely not.
You know, I say screw the rankings. I am not looking.
- Yeah. - I don't...
- Or maybe we should... - Way ahead of you.
- 4 472. - 5 347.
I can't believe it. I'm number two.
How? Really? I'm so pleased for you.
That makes me so happy.
Wait. Who's number one?
Who the fuck is better than me?
She's a real number two, all right.
Looks like the algorithm likes your joke.
Does it find me attractive, too? Maybe I could take it to dinner.
You're on a roll.
Yeah, I think I'm going to head up to the bar.
I don't believe this.
You told us it was about where we live, not whether we live.
I really did love you, Ryan.
- Oh, my God. You actually did. - I did, too.
I did wonder.
You always seemed to be two drinks short of curling up in my laundry.
So, where do we go from here?
I don't know.
Okay, por dios.
I love you both equally, but differently.
Well, this is a lot to take in. What?
I didn't do anything. Unless I'm being penalized for existing.
This has just tipped over into bullying. I'm going to have to sort this out.
Guys, you know, I am getting so old. You know, when I go to the toilet,
I don't take a book. I take an encyclopedia.
Back in the game. Now let me tell you about my brother, Larry.
I don't want to say he's unhygienic, but my God,
the only time he washes behind his ears is when he's eating a slice of watermelon.
You ever wonder why the word "Monosyllabic" has five syllables?
Boy, that kind of split the room.
Spike is going to drop the mic and I'll be back in five. Thank you.
Number one stuck in your craw?
You know that old folk song, "Simply the Best"?
That's my funeral song. Not "Simply the Second Best."
You know why? 'Cause that's not a song!
Message. It's from number one. "Meet me at Judd's statue."
- How are we looking? - We're both trending below cannibal.
What?
You have two hours of ranking left. Two hours.
Oh, God. Oh, God, this is it, Doug.
- No, I'll think of something. - No, I think the baby's coming!
- It's too early. - It's not checking into a hotel.
It's literally coming out of my body right now!
- All right. Towels! Do we need towels? - No, fuck towels! I need drugs!
Women want to be unconscious!
Hey, my hat!
Fuck. Fuck.
Judd's ranking advice. Hi, how are ya?
I was told if I kept smiling, I'd be fine, but my ranking's lower than snake shit.
I think it's because whatever's happening on your face right now isn't a smile.
It's more like a smirk. I want you to watch me. See this? See this?
You see what I'm doing right now? That's a fucking happy factory right there.
There's thousands of people working up there making nothing but joy.
- I'm smiling. - No.
You maybe have minor nerve damage or something?
I would maybe get your hands on some Botox and a disgraced surgeon.
Judd, your algorithm inexplicably despises me.
- See? - It's actually a very simple system.
It's...
- How do you turn it on? - Don't you use it?
No. I can't be in my own app because then it would achieve singularity.
You just press that down there.
And let's just... Fuck.
- Are you low? - As if.
That is very cheering.
The German word for what I'm feeling now is "Schitting Fantastiche."
Okay, I could really use your help right now.
Could you maybe tell me some of your problems or whatever?
I'd be doing you a favor.
- So, I'm in love with a woman. - Which is great.
- But she's married. - Which is... bad?
Well, yeah. The marriage is complicated. The thing is...
I'm going to stop you there.
Is this a problem that I can solve with either money or aggressive legal action?
- Probably not. - Then this is not going to work for me.
I need points, Ryan. I am desperate for points. I will pay for points.
Christ. You're like an upturned turtle, aren't you?
I'll take the hit on that.
Excellent. Ooh, well done, you, sir.
You... Fantastic! Everyone's a winner. No, soccer's the winner!
Help! Somebody help!
Oh, God, that man's choking! He's choking! Somebody help him!
Rav, look at me. Saving a life is a rankings bonanza. Come on.
I don't know what I'm doing! What am I going to do? Help me!
- Give him the Heimlich! - I don't know the Heimlich.
- I know the Heimlich. - No, no. She's got it.
- Pump. Pump. - I'm here to help you!
You're helping each other.
- I think you have to do it harder! - It's not work...
- He's bloody heavy! - She's saving him! She's saving him.
Thanks.
Well, it's an easy mistake to make.
You know, a heart attack is often indistinguishable from choking.
- Hey. Hey, let me help you with that. - No, thank you.
- Let me help you with your bag. Please!
- No. - Fuck.
- Hey, Iris. How are you? - That's confidential information.
- Damn it. - Everything okay, Iris?
The algorithm seems to have figured out my smile hustle.
Is the algo evolving?
Well, if it is, then we must evolve too. Like how bears learned to dance.
I would like you, Iris, to be my friend slash employee again. My friend-ployee.
- Did you say that for the rank? - No.
Yes. Yes. I said the friend thing for the rank.
And then I said that I said it for the rank for the rank, too.
For this to happen, you're gonna have to treat me like a human being, because I am.
You are like a human being.
I am a human being, damn it, and I want respect.
I respect you so much.
Okay, I will do my best to make the respect happen.
You also need to drop all the lawsuits against me.
- Even the fun ones? - Yes.
Okay. Okay.
Oh, man. I missed you, Iris.
I missed you, too.
You lying fuck. Goddammit, Iris. You're really fucking me here.
Hello? Number one?
So...
The cream has risen. We are the cream.
- Be the cream. - What the fuck? You?
The best of us is Mads.
You are two. I is one. We are three. Pronounced "Free."
I see. No, no, no, it doesn't understand you.
You're just saying nonsense confidently and you have cheekbones.
Billie, don't overthink it. It's a very, very number two thing to do.
Just accept that I am the king of this ship and you are basically my...
If you dare say queen, I will gouge out your tongue with my thumbs.
- No. I was going to say my jester. - Your jester?
Tongues are too slippery to gouge, you silly jester.
This is ridiculous.
You are the stupidest computer I've ever met.
I'm going to turn you off before you make me hate numbers.
I'm actually bisexual. I've had sex twice.
Spike slam.
You know, people say to me, they say, "Gosh, was it scary?
Walking on Mars?" I say, "I don't know. I had my eyes closed the whole time."
You know, my fourth wife...
Fuck! Okay, this... Here! There's nobody in here.
See, that's not helping our rankings, honey.
Maybe you could just smile through the pain?
I hope your ass splits and a bus falls out!
I completely understand your hatred, honey.
- I hear screaming. - No, no, no. I can't get involved.
God, we're so fucked. Babe, can I hold... I need to...
What are you doing with your hands?
Oh, my God, the baby's coming. I've never seen a real birth.
I mean, aside from my own, but that was a cesarean so I missed the money shot.
Sadly, I am a midwife only to disaster.
What is this, cervix tourism? Two tickets to see a woman being split in half?
- You mean like the ship? - The ship is being split in half?
- Yeah, so the missile... - Missile?
If you push hard enough, you could suffocate Matt with a flying placenta.
Wait, is that why you're ranking us?
- Oh, my God! - No! No. Right, stand back. Here I come.
- Auntie Iris going to land this baby. - I'm not shitting out a shuttle!
Just smile, like me.
I can't get involved
because last time I got involved in a medical emergency, a bald man died.
- Be uninvolved more quietly, please. - But doesn't she need a doctor?
- Okay, baby. Smile! - Push!
- Smile! - Push!
Sound happy. There are mics everywhere.
Just picture stroking her squidgy little cheeks while she's sleeping.
- I can't! I can't! - Fucking picture it!
You have five minutes of ranking left. Five minutes.
I stepped back and you all flourished.
- Isn't that interesting? - If you said it, no.
Wow. You're a mother, Mia.
And I'm a father.
- Karen! Karen! What are you doing? - I'm fruit effing your rank.
You called me an anal verruca, and it hurt.
- You mind taking that off? - You said you hated me.
The algorithm was fooled by that?
Look, I don't hate you.
Yeah, I do hate you. But there are tons of people I hate more than you.
Matt and Judd, they're the top ten all by themselves.
- Really? - Yes. Look at you.
You're intelligent. Relentless. Not relentless. You're consistent.
And you get things done.
Things that don't want to be done. It's actually annoyingly brilliant.
But I am sorry.
You know, we always hurt the ones we love.
Yeah, that's not where this is headed.
Hey. I'm your fruit monster. I'm sorry.
Points for Karen.
Can someone please explain to me
why she's shitting around and getting rewarded for it?
What kind of value system is that and how may I exploit it?
No, it's rewarding her apologizing.
The algorithm is learning to love a teachable moment.
So, wait a minute. If I... If I were to call Matt, as I have many times,
a dead-eyed masturbating parakeet, and then apologize for it,
"I'm sorry, Matt," I get points for that?
No need to apologize.
I mean, I'm flattered you think I have the vibrancy of a parakeet or...
the energy to feather my cloaca to completion.
I'm going to go prepare my nest for impact.
Doesn't that mean everybody's just going to go full metal asshole
and then apologize to each other right after?
Yeah?
I am so sorry, Spike. That was an error in judgement.
Fuck you!
I'm so sorry I said that, Jaden. I've grown so much since then.
You are indistinguishable from my mother. I can't believe I married you.
- Not now, Frank. - See, I'm sorry. See?
I'm sorry. So sorry.
Sorry!
Another beautiful day in the neighborhood.
- Sorry! - Sorry, sorry.
I think we should shut the ranking off for the good of mankind.
- Not because you're in the bottom half? - No. No.
'Cause actually, because I just said that nice thing about mankind,
I'm actually in the safe zone again.
Okay. You still want me to turn it off?
- Sorry! - No. No.
Because, for whatever reason, I don't feel very bothered by it now.
Goddammit. Yeah. Yeah. I should shut it off.
Sorry!
I now believe your husband may have been killed by his own heart
whilst I was trying to save him from choking
on what turned out to be nothing.
- But nevertheless... - Let me be sorry!
...I just wanted to say,
he seemed like the most wonderful, bulky man. I am so sorry.
Big upgrade!
Sorry!
Ranking complete.
This is just a reminder, you only have a couple of minutes left.
If you ranked between one and 3000, please head for the front of the ship.
Everyone else, head to the back.
- Elena. - Ryan?
I'm 3,942. What are... What are you doing?
- Here. - What is this?
- I love you, Elena. - I love you.
Five thousand nine hundred and sixty-three is...
Yeah, sorry, Charles. Maybe I'll save you in the next life.
- Mi amor. - Be safe, my darling.
- Billie, you're joining us. - But you're number two.
Yeah, but we're engineers, so... we should be with the engines, right?
You're right. Yeah. Grease and math, my two pillars.
- How did you do in the end? - It was good, but then bad.
Apparently, my jokes are offensive. I got complaints from bisexuals,
people who don't know the meaning of the word "Monosyllabic,"
folks who are allergic to watermelon.
Looks like there's a dipes to clean.
You know, after this one, it gets all yellow and seedy.
- Okay, well, that's unpleasant. - I'll deal with those ones.
I like Daddy Doug.
That's why we got in the top half, baby.
- I'll get the wipes. - Okay.
- Fifty seconds. - Remember me.
Tell my story.
- Do not believe the accusers. - Forty seconds.
I've wished him away in the past, but this is as sad as a graveyard sunset.
At least he'll live on through all this branding.
- I'll give him three minutes. - Thirty seconds.
Make way for King Mads of the front section.
Happy birthday to everyone who has a birthday.
Hey, this is the back. What are you doing here?
What are you doing here? The algorithm peg you as an engine jockey?
Yeah.
Slammed you as an emotionally incontinent walking bald patch?
- Exactly. - Ten seconds.
Ready?
Let bisection commence in three, two, one.
- Wait! - There's a wall coming down!
Oh, babe, I put them over here.
No, Doug! The doors! The doors! Doug! Doug! Doug!
Buddy! Buddy!
There's a big-ass missile locked onto this side!
Lock onto me if you want to live!
You can never thank me enough! I'm a space Moses!
Listen, there is indeed a missile coming towards the ship,
and I have to tell you now that it is most probably aiming for the back of the ship.
- Where we are. - Sixty seconds to division.
All the bodies that Judd took over there means more body heat in the front,
so the missile probably hits them now, right?
Yeah, I think so. I mean, it's programmed for mass destruction.
It's a real mass-hole.
Right. I don't care if the whole ship hears.
I love you, Elena. I love you so much,
and it's an honor, truly, to lay down my life for you...
- Ryan. - ...and for... Sorry, just one second.
MISSILE PROBABLY NOW HITTING FRONT JUDD'S FAULT
Thirty seconds.
Judd! You... gurning hemorrhoid.
You've just taken a giant J-shaped shit on my sacrifice!
Twenty seconds.
Elena, I'm sorry that this is the last thing you're going to hear me say.
Ten...
I mean, there were some really lovely bits for her to think about.
Five, four, three, two, one.
- Doug! Doug! - Mia?
Support the head!
Mia!
Buddy!
What's going on?
- Elena! - Elena!
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