The Lesser Dead - The God Of Small Places - Season 1 Finale - Episode 8

Episode Date: June 6, 2023

Season Finale. In the aftermath of a major battle, Joey is chased through the urban jungle of New York by a relentless and unthinkable enemy. As the walls close in, the decisions he makes will affect him and those he loves forever.

Echoverse. Echoverse presents The Lesser Dead. They killed Margaret. It was a war. We didn't know it was one until it was too late. And we lost. And they killed her.

We lost our home. We lost our home. We lost dark city. More. I lost a family. Another one. Margaret. I've known you for 40 years now Joseph Baker. And I'll tell you something about yourself. You're not as stupid as you are, Victoria's weak as you think. You could step into yourself like a good suit if you just notice the better thing with a voucher. Never. Old boy I think the worst stuff I did was after I got turned but it wasn't Being in war's worst would be in a vampire The exact same thing as a vampire got a reason

What's the life? Ruth Leonard Chinchilla My Pate Pichu Guagua Those are just the ones I know about. The last I saw Billy Bang, he fell off the top of a train.

I have no idea what happened to Luna, as if I'd go. I don't know what's left to do anymore, except Ron. I'm run in no particular direction, through the East Village. Pass the Tattoo Parlor's and Brigad Shops in St. Mark's Place. Down through Little Italy. I mean to Chinatown. I think about slipping into those narrow tunnels that the tongues to use for opium and gambling. But underground don't sound so good right now. So I've run west through Tribeca, then in between the art

lofts and warehouse as a so-ho. And that's when the pangs hit. In your vampire feelings like grief, love, sadness, hope, those can only happen when you're comfortable. When you feel hungry, that's all you feel. You're just diff hurting meat wrapped around a hole, a whole line with burning coals, and there's only one way to put those coals out. Of course, there are different kinds of hunger. I'm doubled over in the alley, famished, desperate. Then I see her.

She's an artist. She's painting a big abstract purple cat with a yellow sun behind it. And the yellow on the sun is beautiful. You can almost feel the warmth of that fake place. You want to step through the canvas out of all this cold and meanness and just hang out with that cat. Let this woman be your weird, hippie, God, making everything right with her brush and little yellow paint

She's really good. She in the Guggenheim her Shabby orange raincoat is beautiful too She has a sweater on under that raincoat and she's wearing two pairs of jeans. I can see her breath. No heat She's poor. No Guggenheim for her, no actual warmth from her painted sun. I watch her breathe in, use a tiny brush to put a dab of light on the cat's whisker, exhale. That's when she sees me, I expect her to run back away. Call somebody to tire it and hungry to even charm her. I just stare at her. To my surprise, she walks over.

Come in. Come in. Come here. Sit. What happened? Do you need an ambulance? No ambulance. Are you okay? I don't have a phone, but my neighbor does.

He'll be awake if he's home. I'm okay. She puts her hand to my cheek. Feels how cold I am. Rancals are brow. Now she puts her hand to my cheek. Feels how cold I am. Wrinkles her brow. Now she puts her hand by my mouth like she wants to feel around in there. May I? I know why she's asking and suddenly I'm tired of hiding. I don't care. I got no defenses. It's like she charmed me.

Yeah. Go ahead. She puts her finger under my lip, gently touches the tip of my fangs. Like I'm one of those drug lions on Wild Kingdom. You're not just cold. You're starving. Yeah. How do you know that? I grew up in Brooklyn? I knew one of you when I was a teenager. He would visit me He was kind

He died hmm. I Think so I lost someone too Tonight who my mother I mean not my real mother, as real as I got. Only a couple times in my life has somebody looked at me as sweet as she did. My first thought was what's her angle? Did she want sex? Money for me to turn her? Then it sunk in that she didn't want anything from me, except for me to let her help. I'd forgot there were people like that.

She pulled off her scarf, pulled her sweater down away from her neck, the hole in my God's burned. I was drooling into my hands. You have to promise. What? You know what? Not too much. Don't hurt me.

Don't make me like you are. I don't want that. Okay. Go on. It's okay. Go on. Huh. She offers to let me stay there for the day, but her huge windows face east and there

aren't any drapes. There's a bathroom, but it has a window too, and no tub. Shower is just a hose in a hole. Besides, the little monsters have some way of finding me. I don't want her to end up with no eyes and a cut throat, just because she's one of the last decent people on the island. She gives me a pair of jeans that sag in the butt, and a shirt with tiny flowers on it and fake pearl snaps for buttons.

Nothing Charles Bronson would wear, but better than the bloody, filthy crap I'd worn through a window. There are $12 bills and a few quarters in the pocket. I'm too tired to charm anybody out of a wallet, so I take them. I need a cab, you never know. She's out, sawing logs on the couch Jesus as a bed. I leave her sleeping. I suck a goodbyes.

I leave about 4 a.m. with'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you.

I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. I'd love to talk to you. After all, I just survived. Seems like a bad joke. Like, shouldn't I get a pass just this once? But all I walk, not really knowing what I'm looking for. Mostly watching my shoes, trying not to close my eyes because every time I do, I see the horror show in the subway station again. Turns out, my feet take me home. Not down a manhole or through some tunnel to the loops under the tracks, but home.

Before I even know what I'm doing, there I am. Looking up at the Greenwich Village townhouse I grew up in. It's a cafe now. Stubbed out cigarette butts, all of them smoked to the filter, litter the sidewalk. I don't look up at my old bedroom window at first. Not because I'm afraid, I'll see myself as a kid there. But because I'm afraid I won't. Like, as long as I don't look, little me might be up there.

I wish for it. Like praying. The what-to, I couldn't say. Let me be up there when I look. I don't care what age. Five, twelve, seventeen.

Just let me see myself. Go back into my old skin. I know it's impossible. But walking around without a heartbeat is impossible, right? It's impossible for little kids to live a thousand years and kill stacks of people, right? You could make something good happen for a change. Why not let me go? I can be better.

It's then that I get an idea. If I came back to this place, which had been important to me once, almost on autopilot, where would the others go? Would Luna be at Times Square? Nah, to public. It's vet code though. His favorite place was the closed old city hall station, and he knows I know that. Would he be there? Would he try to leave me some sign where to find him? Assuming he wanted me to, I was always kind of shitty to him. I'm real risk to go back underground, but it seems like the best lead I got. Alright, flat broke with a plan still ain't as good as got money.

You take what you can get. If you don't like the old city hall station, there's something wrong with you. The green tiles on the arches, the fancy brickwork on the ceiling, the chandeliers, the skylights. The platforms were too short and curvy for the new trains. No more stops there. Same thing happened to the 18th Street Station. But, if you stay on the 6th train past Brooklyn Bridge, you get the nickel tour at the window, while the train loops around to point north. Trains go by every 10 minutes, and it's's lit up so you can't be on the platform. The best place to hide is the old Tigger Booth's, and you gotta get small to get back there.

It's no place to just stay. It was nice to visit. Svetko took me there sometimes and I would try to listen to whatever he was saying about to bet or hungry or whatever. And he would try to listen while I talked about brawds. Maybe we were good for each other. I sure hope he made it. Which is why my heart skips of heat when I see the red envelope propped up, waiting for me to find it. The little George Washington stamp on it. He wasn't gonna mail it. It's just decorative. Joseph H. Peacock.

So formal. Joey would have been fine. Dearest Joseph, I am writing this letter in some haste, so please forgive me if it is difficult to read. I have deduced the nature of our small friends and I believe our situation is untenable. Peter, Camilla and Alfred are quite old and quite vicious and they are working with outside assistance. They are coming and they mean to kill us and claim these tunnels as their own. I tried to convince Margaret that we should flee but there is is more buddhika to her than Moses, which is to say she would rather die in her chariot than wander in the wilderness. I have determined to leave these tunnels, and would like it very much if you should come with me. Provided, of course, that your comments about finding my company in tedious were in just,

which I hope they were, Where to travel is not important, or perhaps I simply don't wish to say too bluntly, that I would prefer Boston. I will come back to this place at midnight, every night, for the three evenings following tonight's events, which I suspect will be calamitous. If you read this, and I do not return, you may safely assume that I have died the final debt. In that case, please go forward knowing you had a true friend than you suspected. And Joseph, endeavor in the future to better hear those who love you without great noise. Kind of gets you, doesn't it?

I hold up in the old ticket booth. Roll a couple of dollar bills for my pocket up and stick them in my nose. Wad up two more and put them in my ears. And I sleep on my back. Hard and long. And for the first time in a long time, I have a dream I can remember. Joseph.

What? Wake up, cop, Shine. What? I look up, and there's Margaret squatting, perched on the arm rest of a bench in Central Park. Only her feet, aim regular feet, their bird feet. Oh, and even weirder? It's daytime. Nobody's on fire.

What the fuck happened to you? I died, didn't I? When straight out, how to use up what little credit I had coming back here? Part of the deal is I wasn't supposed to talk. But you are talking. And where's your gore gone necklace? I let that go. You should too.

I gotta stop talking now. So stop. Seriously? You're just gonna make parrot noises at me now? And now you gotta fucking beak? Ah! Ah! Why'd you bite me, parrot Margaret?

And there I am in the weird light of the old city hall station. Why'd you bite me, Paramargrit? There I am in the weird light of the old City Hall station, rubbing my nose, just full of little bugs. One of my dollar bills came out of my nostril. Christ, I hate sleeping outside of my fridge. Bugs love our noses, ears, and assholes. At least I got lucky with the other joints. Look at my watch. Jesus, almost midnight. I was so exhausted, I slept straight through the day

and almost at a time I'm supposed to meet Svekko. I get small, pour myself out of the bust of window of the kiosk, and I decide to choose my ground for when Svek shows up. Some place I can keep an eye on things. Keep out a sight, just in case. So I see the glass is busted out of one of the sky lights and I climb the wall tiles upside down like a spider until I'm up there. There's a kind of ledge under the thick glass squares in City Hall Park where you can sit and visible like if you know how to flatten your silhouette. From there you can see the whole platform below.

I crawl up to that ledge and wait. I got there about Alfie. He's wearing glasses. That's weird. Closer, when I noticed something about Alfie, he's wearing glasses. That's weird. They're much too big for him, just wearing them to be funny, I guess. They leap onto one of the brass chandeliers hanging over the platform. And that's not a small leap.

They entwine themselves with the fixture. You'd never see him if you weren't looking. Never. And how did they figure out to come here? Then it dawns on me. The glass is on Alfie. There's fight coals. Suddenly, I get an image of the poor schmuck upside down on one of their chains. Getting his tits branded from hot iron or something. We're hanging by the wrist. Getting his feet cut off again and again and again.

The thing about a vampire, you can torture us in ways that would just kill a breather. And these little fuckers were alive in the middle ages. That's like the gold rush of torture everybody was into. Of course, Fetco talked. I'm already imagining how I'm gonna pretend to Of course, Fetco talked. I'm already imagining how I'm going to pretend to be mad at him. And reluctantly forgive him, like usual. When I realize I'm never going to see him again, because they killed him, like they kill everybody.

Like they're going to kill me if I'm not careful. Which brings me to my main problem. How the hell am I going to get down from this skylight while they're here? I take it out of here. If I can jump on the back of that train, they might not be looking when I go. And they won't hear anything over all that squealing. God bless those rickety six trains. Come on. Come on.

Now. Fuck. Okay. Good news. I made it. And I don't think the little butt wad saw me. Bad news is between the jump and the swing of the train, I'm scrambling to stay on. Shit. The people in the car kind of notice. I mean, you're notambling to stay on. Shit. The people in the car kinda notice. I mean, you're not supposed to stay on the train for the turnaround, but people do. Some did.

But now we're moving, at least, going north toward Brooklyn Bridge Station. And I'm watching for those little white faces running in the tunnel, but they still haven't caught on. And I'm home free. What? No. No, no, no, no, no. Now, some citizen has pulled the emergency brake because I'm on the roof.

So I surf on top of the stopping train, leap off the front, and run like hell through the tunnel. I check behind me, no kids. I make it to Brooklyn Bridge Station station climb up onto the platform when I sprint up the steps. They're too weirdly crowded for this time of night. I got to do something about this Let me throw! Let me throw! Let me throw! They're coming up the stairs behind me now.

The boy's little blonde heads. Camilla's dark one. Grinding like we're playing tag. There's no way I can outrun them. Taxi! Where are you off duty pal? You're on duty now. I'll get you on the food now!

Drive now! We're too. Anywhere, Lowery's side, Tomkets Park, fast! I think we're home free for a minute, and the traffic gets thicker. I look back on the sidewalk, see Peter's little head. Damn they're fast! Here, Grant, take it right on Grant! Go through little Italy, fast!

Now I see Camilla running. Christ, how long can they keep it off? Hey, drive like it's a goddamn emergency. Like your wife's in labor. You got it, guy. Oh, God. And now we're getting somewhere. For a minute.

Jesus! Ah! Yes! AHHHHH! Thing about an accident, a lot of things happen at once, like I got glimpses. The driver's face going sideways into the steering wheel, teeth flying. I see this from room my legs, I tumble out of the front window, quarters flying out of my pockets. Right next to me, here comes Alfie. He had actually caught the taxi. I'd been holding on under the car when the accident happened. Now he smears across the pavement. He looks painful.

This is my fault. You know the excitement? I kind of forgot, to arm people don't drive so good. Oh, fuck you, I'll set up. I'll ask you. I think my winning cable... I fall down, the managed to get up again. Alfie's more fucked up than me.

I crouch behind a trash can. I got some broken ribs, but thank Jesus not my legs. I'm feeling ready to run. Then Peter and Camilla rolled up. That's a bad one. Alfie's all in touch. If they had looked where I was, see my eyes over the trash can. It would have been over right there. I got lucky. Alfie looked at the driver who was a bloody mess, and was like a starving dog smelling gravy, Camilla too.

Now the two little kids, they start licking blood off the driver's face. I can still see his head rocking back and forth. Creepiest thing I ever saw and that's saying something. I back away at a crouch. Keep the trash can between us. I see ambulance lights approaching. 50 bucks says when it gets here, they leave. So I run.

I'm so tired. But I run. I go north on Elizabeth. I find this no-name Italian cafe with the rusty brown-celled doors on the sidewalk. The Kinyu almost fall into in the morning when they're loading shit. I pop the chain. I shut them behind me. I start crawling between cardboard boxes, sacks of potatoes, little brown oranges.

I remember now the sign on the window, fresh squeezed ojuice. These guys must have been fresh off the boat. I sniff. Pick up the smell of rats. Follow it on my hands and knees. Rats always know a way out. The smell leads me to a dead mini-fridge, which I move and see a discolored panel on the wall. Bingo.

Hiding space, or crawl space. Only one way to find out. I get the panel off. I shrink enough to crawl in. Jesus, I hope it goes somewhere. I pull the panel back up. I feel around me. I feel a stack of money.

Then another. 20s and hundreds and rubber banded bricks. Behind them, there's an opening to some kind of pipe. Now figures, I finally find a mafia stash and it's just in my way. Oh, shit. How he's eating butter! If you want to eat it, it's all because his blood drops outside. Oh fuck.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He's in here! Oh, uh. It's in here! Huh? Suck when you're hugged so much.

I gotta get real small to fit into this pipe. I hope it leads somewhere... anywhere. Alright. Ooh, you got a mouth. I'm pushing myself through this door. Oh my God! I'm pushing myself through this fucking pipe to nowhere. My bones and gods all flat, my clothes rubbing off, with this thousand year old girl squeezing in behind me, and gaming.

Stay away from me! Let go! Say it, girl! Let go of my foot. Let go of my foot. I can't go forward anymore. The pipe stops. Something crushed it. I mean, I can't go any further.

It's the only way out. It's back. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop it! I'm kicking, but she hooks her fangs into me. I can't see it, but I feel it. She's looking for a big enough vein, and not in any particular hurry. Did you know you can drain a vampire?

Of course you do. What am I saying? It doesn't kill us. Not yet. It just makes us dry up. Stop moving. Hi, Brnie, like a mummy. But with just that little spark of life left. I take a big breath in, like maybe I want to say something. Beg her. But there's nothing to say. A one. I lost. I smell her then, her scent over the smell of rat shit and still water. I don't know how to explain it, except to say she smells like time, just old-ass, heavy years that never, ever, stop coming and one thing that never shows mercy is time I'm in Central Park. It's a bright spring day. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my cheeks

Somebody's dog comes up to me. It wants to play. I Pet him and he licks my hand. I can't remember how long it's been since I pet a dog's fur. Or been this close to one without it going ape shit. I see up ahead by the fountain. There's one of those living statue guys. He's painted all gold, has a three cornered hat on, real fancy, with feathers and all, and a mask with a big long nose, like from Rome, or maybe it was Venice.

I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. I saw it in National Geographic. bucket he's got at his feet and he changes positions, drawing a toy sword and going into a fencing post.

Now he puts the sword back in and stands on one leg. Does this kid know she has to rescue him that he can't stay like that forever? She does. Golden Benesky pulls off his mask but his face ain't gold. It's just... Svetko. Come on Jenny, I don't know. Now he's looking right at me. He looks kind of sad. Why are you sad Svet? Because you do not yet realize you are in a dream. And soon you will wake up to grave circumstances. Really bad?

The worst. Worst than you? I mean, you're dead, right? You get used to it. You know what? It's not so bad here. I think I'll just stay here. An admirable planet.

Good luck. He puts the mask back on. Like Scram Kid, I need to make some dough. And I look around around and there I see her, the most beautiful girl in New York. Just about my age with her hair and two grades, son on her face and her whole life in front of her. And I'm about to talk to her and I can tell by the look in her eyes she wants me to. When somebody claps. No, no. They're gonna wake me up out of this.

I don't wanna go. But I got to. And we begin. As always and ever in the language of this land whose blood nourishes us. Thank you, warm bodies. I'm sitting on a brick ledge in a bricked up room. Close to the river I can smell it. My eyes have been so shocked, but there's enough of a slit I can see. Dead flowers and mismatched candles surround me.

Or us. A light dry hand holds mine. A skeleton's hand. My mouth is hanging open. My fangs are gone. The skeletons missing those teeth too. Probably a vampire. They took my fucking fangs.

They won't grow back unless I get blood. But I'll never get blood again. Will I? You know you're fucked when I fly lands in your mouth and he just gets to walk around and check things out. Are you happy, go to small places? That's Peter. They're all wearing the same get off. Little white bedsheet robes, crowns

of barbed wire and flowers with little bits of colored glass, like they're putting on to play at some fucked up church. We know Joey is a tapie. Poor Joey. But God inside Joey, are you happy? If you're happy, and you know it's clever hands. Camilla raises her hand. Farms open like a tiny priestess. Blessed be the ladders and the staircases that bring rabbits down to us and to us life. Blessed be the mothers and the fathers,

diddling each other. So babies might be born and grown and give us life. Blessed be the God of the small places. Blessed be our cousins, Sadduk and Millie, who died the death in Marcia and Godwin, who died the death in Nabbley. And blessed be our cousin left winner, We do not know where he is. Blessed be our God of small places. They all get up and Camilla climbs up and kisses the skeleton right on her open dead mouth. Milton, right on her open dead mouth. Chloe, you have given the God to Joey now.

He's your husband, and you're all this place together. My bride's name is Chloe. Joey? And Chloe? No. Ow! Not here. Goodbye, Joey.

She kisses me now. Peter takes out a Polaroid camera. Now the boys kiss us. Then they all leave through a hole that was just a few missing bricks. I guess they got more to her outside because I can hear the travel. Remember I said there was nothing as final as your morgue drawing posing? That was wrong. And that's the story, Chloe, run on it.

And that's the story, Chloe. Sad, huh? I told you I was gonna break your heart. I don't know how to get out of this one, but I'm not given up. Not yet. Margaret would kick my ass in hell if I did. I'm gonna make a movie for myself, a nice one, somewhere sweet, some place I'd like to live. To some party you still dream in that pretty dry scolliores.

Instead of dying in this sad little crypt, let's live a little. You and me kid, let's make it a day in the park. The episode 8. The God of Small Places. The lesser dead was performed by Jack Kilmer as Joey Peacock. Many drivers Margaret McMannis saw Rubeneck as Fetco, Iris Wardow as Camilla, Toby Ryan as Peter, Ava Lebrook as Alfie, directed by Dan Black, written by Christopher Buelman, series created by Christopher Buelman based on his book The Lessor Dead. Executive producers Mark Stern, Joshua D. Mauer, Christopher Buelman, Minnie Drivell, and Jack Killman. Producer Alexandra Whitney.

Original audio production, music and sound design by Salt. Executive produced by Noah Gersh. Jamie Sheffman, Nick Panemey, and Kenzie Wilbur for Salt. Original music and composition by Benjamin Sterley, four echo votes, developmentley, four echo verse, development executives, Nick Garland, Ben Chaudish, Anna Sherman, head of production,

lore sweet, business and legal affairs, lore black Dawson, Steve Andrade, finance, Andrew Lewis, Morgan Crowdstrom, four Lewis, Morgan Crowdstrom, four assault, head of production, Liz Lemay,

head of engineering, Jordan Galvin, head of post production, Robert Adler, producer, Ali Strobel, production manager, Alice Beard, postproduction coordinator Teresa Avila edited by Tom McLean Assistant Editor Aaron Kennedy Sound Designed by Christopher Bondis Additional Sound Designed by Ben Giechen Noah Kawalski and Sam Platinum

Mixed by Zach Jurich Magician, Noah Kowalski, and Sam Plattman. Mixed by Zach Jurich, Dialogged Supervision by Noah Kowalski. Scripts Supervision by Omar Barahuna, recorded by Aaron Kennedy, Additional recording by the cutting room and sound disposition. Additional performances by Episode one, dark city. David Perez, Butterbeam's friend. Asante Jones, Butterbeam, Rainbitter, Younger Sociale,

Michelle Tforasca, Older Socialite, Ryan Nathaniel George, Billy Bay, Ryan M. Shah, Old Boy, Tristan Chen, Mikey Baker, Carly Rothenberg, Rook, Mara Schuster-Lefkowitz, Leather Tuscadero, Episode 2, The Moth. Tony Ande Noble as Never. Juan Francisco Villa, Mapache. Essence Brown, Sally. David Perez, Beecho.

Kevin Rivera, Guarroir. Rafael Corkhill, German porn guy, Michelle Tuaraska, German porn woman, Paul Bamba, apartment guy, Dawn Anderson, Sandy, Mara Schuster-Lefkowitz, apartment guy, Molly Dullse-Maskolo, Luna, Quincy Dunn Baker, Pohn Vendor, Tony and the Noble, prostitute, Quincy Dunn Baker, alphabet devil, Ryan M. Shaw,

Fat Art Garfunker, Episode three, Castle Gone Red. Toby Ryan, Peter, Keith Levy, Lady Jesus. Molly Dullse Mascula, Luna, Quincy Dunn Baker, Balducci, Ryan Nathaniel George, Billet Bay, Paul Baumbach, Steve Rubel, Ryan Miel George, Villa Bay, Paul Baumberg, Steve Rubo, Ryan M. Shaw, Gary, Carly Rothenberg,

Leopika, Marco Khan, Sanville, Michelle Tuoraska, Vilma, Tristan Shen, Young Joey, Ryan Nathaniel George,

Austin Michelle Tuaraska, Vilma, Tristan Shen, Young Joey, Ryan Nathaniel George, Officer, Asante Jones, Butterbeam, David Perez, Butterbeam's friend, Episode 4, Stays, Carly Rothenberg. Mrs. Baker. Carly Rothenberg. Ruth. Tristan Chen. Mikey Baker. Episode 5.

The Hessian. Ryan M. Shaw. Oldboy. Juan Francisco Villa. Mapache. Sarah Jane Jane Drummond, Kate, Ava Leafa Butler, Tony Ann Denobel, Neva, Quincy Dunn Baker, Baldnick, Keith Levy, Hooker, Molly Dahlson-Moscalo, Luna, Ryan Nathaniel George, Billy Bang. Episode six, Rasputin, Tristan Chen, Mikey Baker, Molly Dalsa-Moscalo, Miss Kemp,

Carly Rothenberg, Liam Peacock, David Perez, Beecho, Michelle Tuaraska, Vilma, essence Brown, Elise, Rafael Corquim, Edwin Peacock, Tony and the Noble, Neva, Juan Francisco Villa, Habachari, Hassante Jones,

Cop 1, Ryan Nathaniel George, Cop 2, David Perez, Cop 3, Episode 7, A Throne Room in Hell, Ryan M. Shaw,

Old Boy, Tony and Denobel, Never, Dan Blank, Saxon Earl, Essence Brown, Elise, Ryan Nathaniel George, Billy Bannon, Molly Dahlson-Moscow, Luna, Brain Bitter, Commuter 1, Ryan Nathaniel George, Commuter 2, One Francisco Villa, Platform Car,

Sante Jones, Vette Commuter, Tristan Chen, NYUK, Episode 8, The God of small places. Paul Bamba. Taxi driver. Tony Antenobal. Never. Essence Brown. Artist. Ryan M. Shaw. Old boy. Juan Francisco Vía. Witness. Marco Khan. Other driver. Juan Francisco Villa, Witness, Marco Cahn, other driver, Dawn Anderson, kids mom. you