Blade Runner 2049 Page #2

OK?

Happy Anniversary.

An emanator.

Thank you.

Honey, you can go anywhere,

you want, in the world, now.

Where do you wanna go first?

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I'm so happy when I"m with you.

You don't have to to say that.

The dig's come through.

W have a new lead.

Get down here.

Carbon read:
14.6 GPH.

Your box is a military foot-locker,

issued to Sapper Morton,

creatively repurposed as an ossuary.

A box of bones.

Nothing else in it, but hair.

The soil samples indicate that

she's been buried for 30 years.

The bones, all dismantled, fully cleaned,

meticulously laid to rest

She?

Cause of death, Coco?

No breaks, no sign of trauma except...

fracture through the ilium.

That's a narrow birth canal.

Baby must've got stuck.

- She was pregnant?

- M-hm.

- So he didn't kill her?

- No, she died in childbirth.

What's that?

Go back.

Closer.

Closer.

That.

Huh...

A notch in the iliac crest.

A fine pont, like a scalpel.

Looks like an emergency C-section.

The cuts are clean,

no sign of a struggle.

He was a combat medic.

Maybe he tried to save her

and he just couldn't.

He didn't seem like the saving type.

He went to the trouble

of burying her.

Sentimental skin job.

Sorry.

So, where's the kid?

You scanned the whole field?

Just dirt and worms,

no other bodies.

Maybe he ate it.

That's not possible.

She was a replicant.

Pregnant.

The world is built on a wall

that separates kind.

Tell either side, there's no wall,

you bought a war.

Or a slaughter.

So, what you saw...

didn't happen.

Yes Madam.

It is my job to keep order.

That's what we do here,

we keep order.

You want it gone?

Eraae everything.

- Even the child?

- All trace.

You have anything more to say?

I never retired something

that was born, before.

What's the difference?

To be born is to have a soul, I guess.

Are you telling me, no?

I wasn't aware that

was an option, Madam.

Attaboy.

Hey.

You've getting on fine, without one.

What's that, Madam?

A soul.

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And you new models are happy

just cleaning the sh*t.

Because you've

never seen a miracle.

Wallace Corporation

Earth Headquarters

Just checking in

on an old serial number.

Confirmation DNA?

I have hair.

Oh!

An old one.

Pre-Blackout.

Ah, it's gonna be tough.

Not much from then,

and what's there is...

thick milky.

You can customize them

as much as you'd like.

As human as you want them to be.

But, your operation is strictly

a drill site, isn't it?

I wouldn't waste your money on

intelligence, attachment or appeal.

Unless you'd like to add some

pleasure models to your order.

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