- May 6th. - It's about to begin.
Whose name was on the account?
It was yours, Link.
You planted that message?
How does it feel to know you're responsible for the death of your friend?
The machine gave up its location to save our lives.
They're going to kill her, Harold.
Ripped By mstoll
An update now on our top story.
Utilities have yet to determine what is behind these power surges...
...although speculation ranges from aging infrastructure to Chinese hackers.
Samaritan.
It appears to have located the machine, most likely on a data farm out west.
But the surges are happening all over, now headed east.
It's possible the machine distributed itself in more than one place.
Samaritan's trying to cut off her power, starve her.
- And for all we know, it's already succeeded. - Still no word from the machine?
Not since Greer let us go.
She won't talk to me. Or can't.
It's coming from behind the wall.
Must have been walled in during renovation decades ago.
Zero, zero, zero, zero.
- What is it? - Nine zeros.
It's the machine's distress code.
I programmed it in to warn me of an imminent system shutdown.
- Shutdown? You mean--? - The machine is dying, Ms. Groves.
- Three-one-four. - Three-one-four.
Pi. That's the code for the case. She needs our help.
How can we help if we don't know where it is?
She needs us to pick up a few more things, and fast.
- We'll find her on the way. - Mr. Reese isn't answering his phone.
A mission this critical, shouldn't we try to find him?
You wanna stay and wait for the phone to ring?
Fine, but right now we have another calling.
Time to make a deal, Detective Riley. The Elias era is over.
New world order.
I want the same arrangement he had.
Your friend Harold is gonna be my inside man.
I want the keys to the city.
There are no keys.
No arrangements.
You think I'm stupid?
No. You're just smart enough to get yourself killed.
Go get Detective Fusco. Put a bullet in his head.
- Here I thought you couldn't look any worse. - You should've seen the other guy's knuckles.
- That was kind of hot. - Let's go, champ.
Zachary, how goes the hunt?
A quarter of the nation's power supply has been compromised.
Soon the machine will lose access to it entirely.
We've all but treed the fox, Mr. Greer.
Splendid. Then burn down the tree.
Shiffman, index these numbers with addresses, coordinates.
We're looking for a target.
Threat reports for tomorrow, May 6th.
New York, Chicago, D.C. Just the highlights.
Yankees game, Empire State Building, subway system all low.
Willis Tower, Wrigley Field negligible. D.C.
- No reports for D.C. - None?
There they are. All low. Must have been a glitch.
Samaritan had a glitch?
I have reason to believe an attack is gonna take place in the next 24 hours.
It's called the "correction." May 6th. What have you heard?
Any operations in and around the capital?
All quiet except the address in Columbia Heights.
- The one in the memo. - What memo?
Operational quarantine. Do not disturb. Nobody in or out.
Columbia Heights? Who wrote this memo?
Ma'am, you did.
Detective's gone. Somebody sprung him.
And look who came back.
- Why would I help some cop? - Because that's your game.
You play both sides of the fence.
- Just like you did with us and the cartel. - Unh!
Didn't think I'd ever really trust you, did you?
I came to get answers. The only thing we're leaving is bodies.
Lock down all the exits, find Detective Fusco, and shoot him on sight.
She's talking to me again, Harry.
Surely the machine isn't hiding itself in a high-end apartment building.
We're here for a reason.
We just have to do what she says when she says it.
Easy for you to say. You're the one the machine says everything to.
There's no fire. Our alarm didn't go off.
Why did our system say it did?
We got confirmation from Dispatch.
See, Harry? The machine has a plan.
The penthouse?
Look at these.
Leading edge of night-vision system.
Ultra HD. Built-in infrared illuminator.
And a piezoelectric battery that charges itself whenever it's moved.
Never run out of juice. Go ahead.
Turn off lights.
Sold. We'll take them.
Got what we came for. Come on, Harry.
Oh, dear.
Why aren't we moving?
New York's Bravest down there must have disabled the emergency override.
- We have to reprogram the controls. - There's no time.
No more standing on the sidelines. You want us to save your skin?
Get in the game.
Thank you.
Get ready, Harry.
Something tells me this won't be our last wild ride today.
The machine wants us to break into Caleb's office and borrow a few things.
Your employee ID got us through the front door, Ms. Groves.
But accessing the company code will be a whole other matter.
For a genius, my boss keeps his code locked...
...behind a surprisingly last-gen security structure.
The cameras are resisting loops, so I've had to disable them entirely.
You sure that's such a good idea, Harry?
If the machine can't see us, she can't help us.
I found the code. Now I just need to download it.
That was way too easy.
- Which means... - Just relax, guys.
I'm sure there's a good reason why Shannon here...
...or whatever your name really is, broke into a secure area...
...and tried to access my compression algorithm.
I know this sounds insane, but I'm trying to save the world...
...and your compression algorithm plays a small but crucial part of doing that.
I just-- I can't think why I should trust you.
Then don't. Trust him.
Hello, Caleb.
Mr. Swift.
What's going on here?
Let me just take a moment to say how proud I am of everything you've done...
...since I knew you as a student.
And I truly wish there were time here for a more appropriate and meaningful reunion.
But right now I have to try to explain as best I can why we need your algorithm.
Hold on, Mr. Swift.
Anything you need, you can have, no explanation necessary.
You saved my life.
Thank you.
Boys, there's no time.
Oh, and, Caleb...
...we also borrowed a few of the prototype 128-gig multistate RAM chips from Project X.
You knew about Project X?
Really needed it. Thanks again.
Huh. Look what we have here. Phone hooked up to my mesh network.
Detective Riley and company commandeered it for themselves.
Clearly you owe me a big favor.
We got a soldier down, south exit. No radio response. We gotta move out.
That's quite a dilemma.
You stay and be caught or leave empty-handed.
Unlock it.
Get Harold down here, or both their lives are on you.
I won't ask again.
Perhaps if we knew the machine's location...
...we could determine how much time we have to save it.
Clearly the machine is experiencing some kind of malfunction...
...brought on by these power surges.
So far all we've gathered to save it is one algorithm...
...a few RAM chips and a pair of night-vision goggles.
- Hardly a recipe for success. - Recipe?
We're not baking a cake here, Harold. Trust the process.
- Mr. Reese. What a relief to hear from you-- Mr. Reese?
Of course. I figured Riley wasn't his real name.
Nice to meet you, Harold. Can't wait to start working together.
- Where is John? - Don't worry about John.
Long as you cooperate, he gets to keep on breathing.
We'll send you a new location. Be there in 15. Alone.
The machine will have to wait. I have to help John.
- Harold, the machine is the priority here. - No, people are the priority here, Ms. Groves.
The machine's only reason for existing is to save them.
I'm not gonna sacrifice John to help rescue an AI...
...that on its best days is cryptic and withholding...
...and on its worst, borderline homicidal.
She's not perfect, Harold, but she's the only chance we've got.
We let Sameen slip away, so now we're supposed to let John go too?
I didn't wanna sacrifice Sameen either.
But if the machine dies, the world we wake up in tomorrow...
...is one none of us wants to see.
She needs John alive as much as we do.
She won't let him down. Come on.
Come on, jump in the car.
Are you out of your mind?
Since when is that relevant? Get in, Harry.
Looks like we found our Harold.
Which means you are no longer needed.
Nor you. Put them down. Let's get the hell out of here.
Mr. Reese comes with us.
What the hell is that?
Old fax machine.
What does it say?
"Sharp right leg. Left knee, ACL. Tactical blade. Glass jaw."
- Can you hear me? - Hell, yes.
- Ten o'clock. - Shoot him.
Three o'clock.
One o'clock.
Drop the gun. Get down.
I said down on the ground.
- All clear. - Got him, detective.
Detective Fusco.
You're under arrest, jackass.
Quarantine address, Columbia Heights.
Get the ratchet.
Takes some balls to run an off-the-books op at a quarantined address.
Why'd you choose me?
You had Agent Shaw in your sights, and you let her go.
You value people over protocol, and you're not afraid to question authority.
Well, then I have another question.
Why are we breaking into this place?
- That quarantine order from Research? - Mm-hm?
I never ordered it, that's why.
- That smell. - Ammonium nitrate. Fertilizer.
From the smell, a lot of it was here just a few hours ago.
Blueprints too, but for what?
Ma'am, you need to see this.
Propane tank. Why is the lid cut off?
To build a bomb.
There's at least a half a dozen more.
Enough to blow an entire floor off a federal building.
And whoever made it is already on the move.
Take care of yourself, John.
- I'm gonna enjoy watching you get put away. - Wouldn't count those chickens just yet.
I'm gonna go along. Make sure the feds don't screw this one up.
- Wanna jump in the van? - I'll take a rain check.
Need to help Finch.
You did a nice job, Lionel.
I fail to see how over a dozen bags of ice plays into our larger mission.
It's Cinco de Mayo.
If she asked us to pick up some salt and limes, I'd say you have your answer.
Which brings me to my next concern. You've been in God Mode since this morning.
Isn't such constant contact with the machine likely to attract Samaritan's attention?
When you're right, you're right. Start the car.
Hey, you're 5 bucks short on the ice.
- Whoa. We're cool, we're cool. - Appreciate your understanding.
Get in.
With the wave of brownouts spreading across the U. S...
...experts expect power surges and outages up the East Coast...
...and into the greater New York area.
Management's been redirecting everyone.
There have been surges all over the country.
We're gonna be banking some serious OT tonight.
What the hell are you doing?
We've been replacing these for how many months now?
- Never been tempted to see what's inside? - It's a line conditioning box.
That's all you need to know. Now put it back.
But why aren't we allowed to see what's inside?
- What's the worst that could happen? - Last guy who had your job...
...he opened up one of those boxes.
Next day, he was gone. That's all I know.
- You're the boss. - Smart. Now get in the cab.
- Senator. - Why the urgent meeting?
Your phone.
Soundproofed.
Heh. Job finally getting to you?
Not the job. Samaritan.
We need to pull the feeds, blind the damn thing now.
Why would we blind the single greatest watchdog America has ever had?
Greer used us.
He's making a power play, and Samaritan is his weapon.
There's gonna be a bomb that detonates here in D.C. tomorrow.
Why would Greer allow an attack, much less plan one?
- It'd make Samaritan look inept. - Come on, Ross.
You know how the wheels spin in this city.
A few pawns get fired...
...but the person who's really responsible just gets a bigger checkbook.
After the Vigilance attack, we handed the feeds to Greer for Samaritan.
After this attack, we'll be under their thumb completely, all of us.
Even you.
- What's the alternative? - Go back to the old machine.
Ingram's machine?
The black box so slippery it moved itself to God knows where?
It never lied, never slaughtered.
This meeting is over.
And if you're lucky, I won't tell anyone about the insane rant I just heard.
MY Phone.
Take my advice. Get a firm grip.
Good advice, senator.
That's exactly what I'm gonna do.
- Iris, we need to talk. - John.
What's going on?
You need to go now.
- Get out of town for a few days. - What?
You once said you were pretty sure I wasn't a cop.
Well, if what I'm about to do goes sideways, the wrong people will figure that out too.
- And anyone I care about will be at risk. - What is it? An organized-crime thing?
Much worse than that.
Look, I don't know how this is gonna shake out, but you've got to trust me.
You want me to trust you? Trust me. Tell me what the hell is going on.
All right.
I make it through this in one piece, we'll talk.
I'll tell you everything.
No holding back.
Okay.
John, am I going to lose you?
Take care of yourself.
Senator Garrison, I hope you haven't summoned me for a tour of operations.
If you wanna see Samaritan at work, there are more appropriate times.
Where is everyone?
I gave them the night off. Cinco de Mayo. Good for morale.
I told them to get a margarita but stay on call.
Because an attack can happen at any time.
Isn't that right?
She just gave me our final destination. She's in Brooklyn.
We're running out of time, Harry.
We can only go just so fast, Ms. Groves.
- This thing has eight cylinders. - But I sincerely doubt it can fly.
We'll never make it under an hour, not in this traffic.
All we need is a little help.
- I stand corrected. - Hang on. We're coming.
What is this place?
I don't know, but the machine says we're here. Let's go.
- Heard you guys could use some help. - John.
I'm so relieved to see you.
See? The machine is taking care of all of us. Now we have to return the favor.
Harold? Harold Admin?
That would be me.
Sweet. I thought I was gonna have to take these back to the truck. Sign.
Fifteen laptops, huh? Start-up?
We're trying to avoid a shutdown, actually.
Let's get the ice in before it melts.
- Get inside, Harold. - Samaritan.
- What's the holdup, Harold? - Surprisingly high-tech security.
Two. Four. Three. Star.
- Three. Star. Seven. One. - Star. Seven. One.
I got it.
- Cozy. - An electrical substation.
Hidden in the heart of residential Brooklyn.
You seem pretty relaxed, considering the circumstances.
The way I see it, my case hangs on the credibility of a onetime dirty cop...
...and a detective with ties to an organized-crime boss.
Won't help with the feds. They'll hit you with RICO.
Perhaps. But the brotherhood runs lockup now.
I've got protection. You, on the other hand...
- Do you plan to make my stay inhospitable? - Something like that.
- Be seeing you in Rikers. - I have to admit, I admire your certainty.
But I still have a few friends.
Unfortunately for you, I am not going to Rikers.
Lock it down, Finch.
I've got a dozen bogeys, and I'm guessing more are on the way.
I can't hold off an entire army.
And laptops and ice aren't gonna help. We need to find the machine.
That may prove impossible.
This is one of any number of city substations devoted to the distribution of electricity...
...across the southern half of New York.
The machine can't be here, because there's simply not enough room.
- If the machine's not here, then why are we? - That's what we have to find out.
Looks like a computer I made as a teenager. What is it for?
No idea. Just following orders as fast as I can.
That cable, first transformer. Hurry.
Did you find it, Harry?
- The one that steps down to 7200 volts. - Yes.
But why on earth would we need to tap into that much raw electricity?
Thornhill.
John, look out your window. On the power line, do you see any boxes?
I see one.
It's marked with a T. Why?
I believe I was mistaken.
The machine is here.
- It's here because it's everywhere. - What do you mean, Harry?
Two years ago when the machine moved itself, it didn't go to a data farm.
It went into the wires.
It uploaded itself directly into the nation's electrical grid.
But, Finch, if the machine is everywhere, then how the hell do we save it?
Good question.
And I think I have the answer.
I'm flattered that you went to such trouble for a private conversation.
Spoofing a message from the senator. Could have just called.
I had a feeling your schedule was booked. Through May 6th.
Yes, I know about the correction. Ammonium nitrate?
Easy enough to acquire that you could frame anyone for it.
But the piece you're gonna tell me is the target. Right now.
Or you're going to shoot me?
You should be so lucky.
If you refuse, two men are gonna walk through that door.
One will put a black bag over your head. The other will zip-tie your wrists.
You'll be thrown into a hole so dark and deep...
...that even your precious Samaritan can't see inside.
And the last thing you'll hear is my voice saying:
"This is where you belong."
Even if your theory about this attack were true...
...think how much you'd stand to benefit.
An even more generous black budget.
Courts who'll rubber-stamp any request for surveillance you care to submit.
The courts.
That's it.
That number.
It's a docket number.
The Supreme Court is scheduled to hear a case challenging the federal government's...
...surveillance powers tomorrow. But take out the justices...
...and you could stack the court in your favor for generations to come.
Only it's not gonna happen.
- Grice? - Ma'am.
The target is the Supreme Court. Evacuate the building.
- Locate the bomb. - Roger that.
Looks like the correction has just been canceled.
Let me get this straight, Finch.
The machine is using the power grid as a giant brain?
Essentially. There is an tremendous amount of unused space in copper power lines.
The boxes on the lines allow the machine's digital signals to travel in that space.
A highly complex computational system hiding in plain sight.
And now that system is flooded with energy.
Driving the machine across the country to this last corner of the grid around New York.
Samaritan's trying to flatline the machine.
We need to save her before it finishes the job.
Attention.
We'd tell you you're surrounded, but your machine has probably filled you in on that.
Evacuate the building and maybe you'll live.
If you're inside when we come through that door...
...that will no longer be a possibility. You decide.
- What's the plan? - We save the machine by storing it.
Downloading it straight off the power lines...
...into the random-access memory in this briefcase.
- The machine's gonna fit into a briefcase? - Not the entire machine.
Just the core heuristics, a strand of DNA.
We'll use Caleb's compression algorithm to squeeze it all in.
Who says you can't put the genie back in the bottle?
Be careful, Ms. Groves.
The process you're describing is completely untested.
Even if it does work, the machine will be so compressed...
...it won't be able to process information or send signals or communicate.
- And if it doesn't work? - Then the machine will be torn apart.
The core code shredded, irretrievable. In short, John, we'll kill it.
And then they'll kill us and the world as we know it.
At least we'll die trying.
We're the machine's last hope, Harold.
Then we'd better get to work.
At the Supreme Court, searching for the device now, ma'am.
Check every room, Grice. No stone left unturned.
My men will find your bomb.
You know me.
You're not making it out of here alive.
You could save yourself some complications...
...if you tell me who put you up to this, what they offered you.
Don't you recognize an idealist when you meet one?
An idealist who wants to make the world a better place by...
...murdering a few hundred people?
Come, now. The world has only ever been made a better place by violence.
You know that.
Every leader who ever preached peace did so guarded by armed men.
One thing we can agree on, kill a few people at random...
...nothing changes.
But kill the right people...
You're gonna have to hurry. We got 20 or 30 of them out there.
Twenty-three in front, 10 more approaching from the back.
Not to belabor the point, but we're running out of time.
So if this works, the voltage gets stepped down...
...passes through the demodulator...
...where the machine's signal is separated from the noise...
...compressed with Caleb's algorithm in these laptops...
...then finally into the RAM in this briefcase...
...powered by the piezoelectric battery. Not the whole machine.
- Just enough to rebuild if... - If we make it out of here.
Sorry, Mr. Reese. I know I was up-front about the risks we'd be running but--
Forget about it, Harold. There's no place I'd rather be.
Hey, boss.
Time to get you out of here.
Come on.
- What is it? - Breach in the back entrance. Get back.
Reese, where the hell are you? We're sitting ducks here.
I know. Figured I'd get some night air.
John?
- Can you hear me? - Yes.
Good. Now kill the lights.
Hold your positions.
Smoke grenade!
I can't see him.
One o'clock. Eleven o'clock.
Whatever you're gonna do in there, Finch, do it now.
Here we go.
- Ma'am? - Yes.
You're not gonna believe this.
I've been through every room, every floor. There's nothing.
No explosives of any kind.
You're right. I don't believe it.
Where is it? Where's the bomb, Greer?
Do you really think Samaritan would use such crude tactics?
You don't take over the world with gaudy displays of violence.
Real control is surgical...
...invisible.
It interferes only when necessary.
No one will question Samaritan...
...because no one will ever know when it has acted.
All right.
Let's end this.
Put down the weapon.
Samaritan has watched this world for a year.
It's settled on a list of corrections.
Corrections that were long overdue.
- Put it down, Dominic, now. - This doesn't involve you, detective.
That's where you're wrong.
Get down, detective.
Most of humanity is docile.
Pliant.
It's only ever a few hundred people who create all of the problems.
Samaritan has identified them.
The disrupters, the outliers who have problems with authority.
And then there's the disloyal, the grit in the gears.
Thank you, for leading us directly to them.
We couldn't have done it without you, Control.
Six o'clock.
One o'clock. Eleven o'clock.
I'm gonna keep trying to hold them off, Harold. How much longer?
I don't have any idea.
Cover your eyes.
You haven't failed yet.
You had an impossible challenge, one I never programmed you for.
That's not true. I...
Eleven o'clock.
Root, I don't think the machine can help us anymore.
She's dying, going off-line.
You are my creation. I can't let--
I can't let you die.
Power surging across the city.
It's coming for the machine.
Harold, no!
Men have gazed at the stars for millennia...
...and wondered whether there was a deity up there...
...silently directing their fates.
Today for the first time, they'll be right.
And the world will be...
...an undeniably better place.
Pity you won't be there to see it.
But the attack.
This was a test of loyalty, of which, I'm sorry to say, you failed.
In Samaritan's view, there is no room for outliers.
Which means there is no room for you.
But don't worry, you'll be taken to a place where you belong.
Is it finished?
- Oh. That hurt. - Did it work, Harold? ls she in there?
Yes. Yes, I think so.
We have to move, Harold. We're on our own now.
John?
Ah.
You're alive.
Got a few more years of my pension, Harold.
What our status?
Well, I've got one and a half clips, a MetroCard...
And God's either dead...
...or running on double A's.
You always did like a challenge, Mr. Reese.
Let's move.
Ripped By mstoll