Blunt

We are being watched.

The government has a secret system--

a machine that spies on you every hour of every day.

I designed the machine to detect acts of terror,

but it sees everything...

violent crimes involving ordinary people.

The government considers these people irrelevant.

We don't.

Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret.

You will never find us.

But victim or perpetrator,

if your number's up, we'll find you.

Harper Rose.

She a grad student, Finch?

Miss Rose is an anthropology major from upstate New York,

Mr. Reese.

Studied abroad in Europe. Took time off to travel.

Typical college student.

Atypical only in that

the machine did not generate her social.

It gave us her college ID number instead.

That's a little odd. Any other issues?

Just with her roommate.

Harper put in a written request

for transfer to campus housing.

She moved into a new single this semester.

I'll look into the ex-roommate.

You back on campus, Mr. Reese?

I gotta say, it's quite invigorating

being around all these idealistic young minds.

You must be enjoying your day job, professor.

As near as I can tell, college has become

an overpriced Bacchanalia

full of entitled, oversexed binge drinkers.

Well, somebody's gotta pay your salary.

Wait. Did she just switch backpacks?

Hang on a second.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.

That's not a bone, that's a Bontoni.

Protect your right to privacy.

Excuse me, you wanna help us out

and stop big data?

Picking up a dozen cell phones, Finch.

All registered to different users.

You are in a college dormitory.

Come on, Finch, within a 15 foot radius?

Ahem. Creep.

Oh.

This is a woman's floor.

Right, I was just leaving.

I think she's headed to another floor.

Hey, boo.

Hey, babe.

Thank you for covering my shift.

I feel like I'm coming down with something.

Yeah, it's called Far Cry 4

- and the munchies. - Hey.

I need a break, okay?

The boss man's got me doing cash bank runs every day.

The dude is bugging out with all that cheddar.

Look, I can handle Noah. Okay?

All right.

- I'll hit you up later? - I'll be here.

Harper's gentleman friend is a Trey Wendor,

an uninspired student with a half dozen misdemeanor arrests.

Any violent crimes?

Possession of marijuana, attempt to sell marijuana,

possession of a controlled substance.

No accounting for taste.

I got Harper in sight.

This job is way off campus.

Finch? That shift she's covering for Trey,

he works in a dispensary.

Medical marijuana?

Do what you love, you'll never work a day in your life.

State regulations require a dispensary card

for every patient.

How fast can you get me into the database?

Let's see. Detective Riley suffers PTSD

from multiple gun shot wounds.

And let's say chronic back pain. Back pain is better.

I'll have Dr. Tillman call it in. It won't take long.

Well, that was easy.

Finch, how do you know so much about getting marijuana?

Mr. Reese, do you want me to call this in or not?

On the job, Harold?

Ms. Groves.

Good to see you're still on task.

The world could scarcely afford to lose another pot dealer.

Sri Lanka?

I know you prefer sencha green, but

their black tea is to die for.

I did as you asked. I stayed away.

You did that for your own reasons, Harry.

What if you're going about it all wrong?

Maybe we should be looking for people to enlist.

A good samaritan? How can you say that after...

everything that happened?

"Everything that happened." Is--

Is that her name now?

You said you didn't want to talk about Ms. Shaw.

Let's talk about the 7.1 billion people

out there, Harold.

And the odds that a few of them just might

give us an advantage over a runaway artificial intelligence.

What's the Machine proposing?

She wants me to build an app.

For what purpose?

Don't know yet.

It's gotta be a killer app

to get the attention of the right people.

Anyone in particular you have in mind, Ms. Groves?

Looks like you've got your hands full, Harold.

I can handle it.

And this is for you.

To die for.

Detective John Riley.

PTSD.

Been shot multiple times.

Sweet Mary Jane. This place is legal?

According to the state, just not the federal government,

which means that it's still a cash business.

Wow. They must be raking it in.

They just can't find any banks that will take it.

The banks can still be prosecuted by the feds

for taking illegal drug money.

And they risk having their charters pulled.

So where does all the money go?

Good question.

It's like the Wild West or prohibition all over again.

It just makes these dispensaries

big, fat targets for criminals.

And our number is right in the thick of it.

Thanks.

Skulk and dagger, what are you having?

Something for my back.

Right. You're new here.

Uh, try the Kona push pops over there.

Thank you.

What happened to Trey?

He was supposed to make a deposit this afternoon.

You can't keep sending burnouts to the bank

with cash that smell like skunk weed, Noah.

They're not stupid.

Thought that burnout was your boyfriend.

I suppose you have a better idea?

The biggest commercial banks in the world

have been cleaning cartel money for years.

You just gotta pay the right guy.

That's money laundering. We're not criminals.

This is a legal business.

Cash has to go somewhere, boss.

What do we do with tonight's haul?

You're gonna have to make a transfer to

a secure off-site holding facility.

Security details sending multiple cars.

- Right now? - Let them in the back.

Then close up the shop. Clock out.

Sounds like our anthropology major has been

studying economics.

They're closing up shop, Finch.

It's a cash pick up.

They vary the times, vehicle routes.

That does not sound good.

Even worse, these guys aren't standard transpo.

They're Brotherhood.

Looks like Dominic is getting into

the legalized security business.

Get out the car!

This is the cartel. It's an ambush!

Give us the money!

Oh, my God! What just happened?

Who the hell are you?

Your lucky day.

They were tipped off. They knew your pickup time.

What the hell?

Damn.

Bags were switched out.

Where's the cash?

I'll be right back.

Finch, Harper knew more about this cash pickup

than she let on.

What the hell you doing? You lost your mind?

Do I know you?

Your life's in danger.

You're that fake cop back at the store.

What?

If you were a real cop,

I'd have been arrested by now.

I guess we're both good at role-playing.

Beat it.

I'm not going anywhere.

And I'm not going anywhere with you.

Trust me, lady. You need my help.

Like a hole in my head.

Keep it moving, Kush pops. I got this.

Give me the bag while you still got a chance to get out of this.

All right, fine. Take the cash.

Good choice.

Thanks.