Limitless

My name is Brian Finch.

I was your average 28-year-old screwup

until I took a pill called NZT.

Suddenly I had access to every brain cell.

Every time he takes it, for the next 12 hours,

he basically becomes the smartest person in the world.

And that's why the FBI hired me.

My name's Brian Finch,

this is Rebecca Harris,

and we're with the FBI.

God, that sounds cool.

There's just one problem.

NZT will kill you,

unless you have this.

Now you can have as much NZT as you want with no side effects.

Why would you help me?

Let's just say I need somebody

in a position.

You describe to the FBI, or anyone,

about these shots...

I will let you die more painfully

and slowly than you can fathom.

So, Brian, you ready to become somebody who matters?

It's time.

So, what's it like to work for the FBI?

All in.

Colonel October's men have the uncut diamonds.

You need to win this hand

if we're gonna protect the launch codes.

And, Brian,

you don't play baccarat with Uno cards.

Just shut up, okay?

This is my fantasy. It's not yours.

It's not exactly like I imagined it would be.

The first thing they asked me to do was sit around.

A lot.

They wanted to study me, so they could find out

why I'm immune to the side effects of NZT.

Which is good,

- because the side effects are - Ow!

Very, very bad.

Of course, I know why I'm immune.

But I can't tell them that.

You take one of these shots,

and you can have as much NZT as you want.

So they wanted me to do everything exactly like I did

before they gave me the job.

But it turns out, getting watched all the time

gets old fast.

NZT kept things... interesting.

For 12 hours a day, I had access

to every nook and cranny of my brain.

You're on the verge of having a life

that most people can't even begin to imagine.

Those two guys?

They're my official babysitters.

They've got names, I think.

I just call them Mike and Ike.

By the time a week went by,

we all got a little stir-crazy.

I think we were all very happy

when the FBI said they were finally ready

to put me to work.

So, no, I'm-I'm not saying that I'm an FBI agent,

per se. Uh, it's more of, like...

It's like an affiliation.

You know? Like mutual welfare, benefit.

- That kind of thing. Mutual? I mean,

- what's in it for them? - Uh,

you'd be surprised, actually.

It turns out, uh, I've got talents.

Aptitudes, I guess you could call them.

Doesn't the FBI do background checks?

They give, uh,

vouchers, I think,

waivers for, you know...

Sounds like an incredible opportunity.

That guy right there, the one who just rescued me,

he just got a new liver,

arrangements courtesy of yours truly.

Well, the FBI technically got the liver.

I just agreed to take a job so they would do it.

They say your dad's coming home on Thursday.

So I thought we should all do dinner.

I mean, if,

you know, you don't have a mission.

Should be good.

Sorry. I just want to get back to the FBI thing,

- okay? - Yes.

- So if you are not an agent, - No.

- Are you... - Oh...

deputized?

Do you...

have a badge and a gun?

Welcome to the FBI.

You'll never see a real badge or a gun,

but at least you got those.

Are you hazing me?

That's awesome. Thanks, man.

So? Day one.

So epic. Where we going?

Boyle and I are going to Fort Greene.

A journalist named Stephen Fisher died in a one-car accident

- last night. - Okay.

Um, I thought we were, like, a...

like, an elite division or something, you know?

But we investigate car crashes?

Um,

not typically. But Stephen Fisher wrote

about corruption at three different

- Fortune 500 companies. - Ah.

He was nominated for a Pulitzer after he exposed

a Russian intelligence operation at a defense contractor.

He had enemies in very high places.

We want to make sure

one of them didn't kill him.

Possible KGB assassination in Brooklyn.

I'm all over it.

Mike, give me my pill. Let's do this.

There hasn't been a KGB

since 1991.

- No? - No.

And Agent Harris told you what we're doing.

You...

are staying here.

Your first assignment.

You want me to learn Farsi?

The Bureau needs analysts that speak this language.

"Analysts. "

So... I just...

sit here in this room?

Only while you're on NZT.

W...

What happens

if I try to leave? Are these guys... are they my bodyguards?

Or are they... prison wardens?

This isn't what either of us expected when I brought you in,

Brian, but it's a first step.

You can do good work from here.

Do enough of it, everyone will get hungry for more.

And then you're out of here.

You okay?

Yeah. I mean,

I guess I just thought there'd be more baccarat.

Hmm?

Don't worry about it.

After a couple of hours, I had a decent handle on basic Farsi.

My head was spinning.

I needed to think about something else

for a few minutes.

Maybe I couldn't be out there in the field,

but I could learn more about the guy who died.

Whoa. Stephen Fisher was my age.

I assumed he was old. Like, at least 40.

When I was 26, I built a potato gun.

That was my big accomplishment.

This guy forced the CEO of Yao to resign.

He called out hypocrites and corrupt fat guys everywhere.

He traveled the whole world.

He fell in love.

Stephen Fisher knew who he was.

Which makes him the polar opposite of me.

You see that, right?

Mm-hmm.

Now, why would somebody cover up a new bumper sticker

with another copy of the exact same sticker?

It's not a good time.

I don't think Stephen Fisher died in an accident.

- Brian... - Uh-uh, hear me out.

If you wanted to kill Fisher in a way that looked

like an accident, you could easily rig up a car crash.

You'd just need a remote override

of the car's control systems.

And if you wanted to be sure that Fisher was dead,

you could even make a little explosive

that would make the gas tank go up,

and the whole thing would get lost in the wreck.

Brian, can we talk about this in ten minutes?

You could do all of that if you had an electronic chip on the car.

You'd just have to get it there.

Fisher had a Thoughtful Dissent sticker on the back right side

of his car, and a couple of days ago,

somebody put an identical sticker

over the one that was already there.

Now, I think that is where the chip is.

Brian, I know.

We found it under the bumper sticker about an hour ago.

Stephen Fisher's death was a homicide.

That's... Okay.

Good. You're really good.

Um, what about the bomb, though?

It would have to be small enough

that it broke apart in the crash,

and it'd also have to fit onto the fuel check valve of a Jeep.

We're looking for it.

Uh, I can help.

I've been doing a little light reading about bombs,

and there's three different designs that I came up with.

I'm pretty sure they're the only ones that'll work.

And right now I've just got