All language subtitles for CSI - 14x21 - Kitty.HDTV.LOL.en

— ♪ —

(beeping)

(click)

(gunshot)

I'm standing live in front
of the Berman estate

where the casino mogul's wife

has been killed...
Mr. Berman,

I've been told, is nowhere

(barking)
to be found.

Hey, Anderson Cooper.

What?
Yeah, you.

Do a 180 and take a hike.

I don't care
about freedom of the press.

Move the perimeter back.

Move it back.

And somebody shut
that damn dog up.

Where is Lee Berman?!

Where's the husband?

Metcalf, Smith,

put out a broadcast!

I want to talk to him
in ten minutes.

(siren whooping)

AKERS: — Turn the car off.

Step out of the vehicle and
get your hands in the air.

Do you know who I am?

Lee Berman.

I own the Tangiers.
Ring a bell?

One call
to Sheriff Ecklie,

and I turn you all
into mall cops.

Looks like we got a gun
in the car, boys.

Nine-millimeter.

Don't cuff him yet, Akers.

This is a red flag case.

Spin him around here.
I'll process him on site.

Right hand. Palm down.

Okay, now you can hook him.

Mr. Berman, you are under arrest
for suspicion of murder.

Murder? Who died?

Your wife.

(mechanical whirring)

Hmm.

Ah.

Oh, there you go.

Hey.

Smart house, right?

You walk into the room,
lights go on.

You walk out,
they go off.

Yeah, I know.

Me and Umbrella Man
just lit up together.

I'm assuming

that one
of the 18 cameras outside

got a good look
at our killer.

Actually, someone
outsmarted the smart house.

Alarm system and surveillance
cameras were disabled

at 4:17 a.m.
for an hour.

Remotely.

The good news is

the motion sensors still tracked
the path of entry:

from the garage, down the hall,

through the foyer,
into the master bedroom.

In and out in less
than six minutes.

No wrong turns.

Whoever killed Audrey Berman
was familiar with the house.

D.B.

First two shots were not
immediately fatal.

Third shot,
she wasn't so lucky.

(gunshot)

She gave it a valiant effort.

Almost made it
to those doors.

Nine-mil.

Same caliber as the gun

that Nick found
in Berman's car.

So busy killing
his wife, he forgot

to pick up the casings.

Crime of passion.

Could be trouble
in paradise.

His nightstand's
completely empty.

Look at hers.

She also took over both sides
of the closet.

So I'm thinking
that Mr. Berman moved out

of this room a while ago.

Well, hello there.

(camera clicks)

(whirring, beeping)

Where'd you go?

Hey, boss.
Thanks for getting back to me.

MAN: — Did you ask for a plane?

Yes, sir, I did request a plane.

That's out of the question.

Wait, hear me out.

You know the «Kitty» case
that I've been tracking?

Yeah.
Well, one of her targets,

Lee Berman — his wife was murdered.

And?

Which tells me
our Node is there.

But for how long?

Ryan, we don't have
the resources

to send you out there
at this time.

Sir, with all due respect,

you know these cybercriminals — they're like gophers.

If you don't grab 'em
when they pop their head out,

they're gone forever.

I'll see what I can do.
Clock's ticking.

Ryan...
I got to get to Vegas.

— ♪ — CSI 14x21 — ♪ —
Kitty
Original Air Date on April 30, 2014

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
—=«O»=—
@elder_man

— ♪ — Who... are you?

— ♪ — Who, who, who, who?

— ♪ — Who... are you?

— ♪ — Who, who, who, who?

— ♪ — I really wanna know

— ♪ — Who... are you?

— ♪ — Oh-oh-oh
— ♪ — Who... — ♪ —

— ♪ — Come on, tell me who are you,
you, you — ♪ —

— ♪ — Are you!

— ♪ —

MAN: — Special Agent Ryan.

I had an up and back
to St. Thomas

until the deputy director
called.

Ordered me to detour
to Vegas.

With all due respect,
ma'am,

we're not running
a taxi service here.

So why don't you save Uncle Sam
a couple of bucks

and fly commercial.

Captain, I'm gonna tell you
three things about yourself,

none of which you're gonna like.

Number one, there's no
such thing as an up and back

to the Virgin Islands — you go
there, you're staying the night.

And your
returning there,

it's not for Mrs. Captain.

Ooh.
(men chuckle)

Number two, you and I
both know, morally...

Okay. Wheels up.

Let's get Agent Ryan
to Vegas.

Grab my bags.

Okay, gentlemen,
this is Las Vegas.

I'll deal.

When was the last time
you saw your wife?

Yesterday morning.

I got you beat.

We saw her last night.

I didn't kill my wife.

Here's a photo of the nine-mil
we found on the front seat

of your Aston Martin.

These are the shell casings
that you left behind

in your wife's bedroom.

Also nine-millimeter.

Now, that's the only evidence
we have of you in that room.

That's because you've been
living in the guest bedroom

with another piece of tail.

I want to know everything
about this girl.

Who is she? And where is she?

Okay.

Let me play it out for you.

Your marriage is a bust.

Nevada's a community property
state, right?

Your wife
is going south.

The new chick
is heading north.

It's a classic trade-up.

You killed your wife
to be with her.

Now, as the comics
in the lounge act

at the Tangiers
like to say,

how am I doing?

This Brass is good.

And he's asking
all the right questions;

just not my question.

Do you mind
if we change dealers?

Good morning, Mr. Berman.

FBI Special Agent Ryan.

Cyber Crimes Division.

I'm not gonna ask you
if you murdered your wife.

I'm more interested
in a relationship

you've been having
with a woman online.

Her name's Kitty, right?

The way your pupils
just dilated,

I'd say there was a little more
than chitchat going on

in that chat.

Ten-Stars-VIP.com.

That ring a bell?

An exclusive
VIP sex site

for affluent men willing to pay
for anonymity.

I could say more.

Everyone with a law degree,
take a hike.

MAN: — Mr. Berman,

I strong...

(door opens)

Want to know something funny?

You and I were both
seeing Kitty.

So, I log in
under an assumed name, Ralph,

a lonely rancher
from Montana.

After about a month,
Kitty sends me a virtual gift.

And when I refuse to open it,
she kicks me off the site.

So back
at Quantico,

I'm trying everything.

I get male agents to log in
under assumed names.

But even when we open
the gift,

still she kicks us off the site.

You want
to know why?

'Cause Kitty is only interested
in wealthy men

that she can verify.

Well-known men,
like you.

You opened the gift, didn't you?

I didn't get any gift.

I'm a behavioral scientist.

Fancy for «human lie detector.»

Okay.

I got a gift.

I opened it.

The chat box went away,

and I could talk to her.

No more typing.

Hands-free,

so to speak.

How long
did this honeymoon last?

A week.

Ten days.

Then it ended.

I ended it.

You're lying again.

Here's my big question:

What did Kitty have on you?

Call my lawyers back in here.

Ran facial recognition
on our mystery woman.

No hits in the Nevada DMV.

You're not gonna find her
in any database.

It's okay.

I can help you with that.
Everybody, uh,

this is Special Agent Ryan.

She's a cyber psychologist,
specializing in cyber forensics,

and I'm afraid
I don't know anything else.

May I?

(beeping)

Clikk, you there?

Yes, ma'am.
Get me into Kitty.

Logging into Ten-Stars-VIP.com.

White label user.

All I need is a name.
All right, CSI, give me a name.

Hodges. That's
a good name.

All right, stand up.

Are you a sex site guy?

No, ma'am.

RYAN: — You ever been

on Ten-Stars-VIP.com?

No, ma'am.

Mm, you sure
about that?

First name?

Uh, that would be David.

Clikk,

verify David Hodges.

STOKES (chuckles): — Oh, it's the FBI, man–

you're toast.

(Clikk whistles)

A little deceptive
on the sex sites.

But he's never been
to Ten-Stars-VIP.

HODGES: — Okay...

uh, I can explain that.

I had a fiancée...

At ease, stud.
Just... just fall back.

You are science cops.

RYAN: — I'm a cyber cop.

I work crimes
that start in the mind,

live online
and play out in the real world.

You work dark alleys.

I work the dark Net.

You chase suspects.

I chase Nodes.

RYAN: — «Node» short for «bad guy.»

Little childlike drawing.

This iceberg represents
the Internet.

And believe it or not,
the world only uses this top

four percent.

The tip.
The surface Web.

I work down here,
in the 96%,

in the deep Web,

where criminals
are anonymous,

where money... is untraceable,

and where everything
illegal's for sale.

And what does this
have to do with Mr. Berman?

Well, Berman's having
a relationship

with your mystery woman,

a woman named Kitty–
and Kitty...

she's one of a kind.

What's your name?

Kitty.

Because the more you pet me,
the more I purr.

What's your name?

RYAN: — David. Kitty — ooh, I like that.

KITTY: — What else do you like, David?

RYAN: — Oh, I like sex.

I like sex, too.

RYAN: — What are you into?

Everything.

Name it.

How many legs on a bicycle?

So, you're a leg man?

How many bicycles on a leg?

You want to ride me?

FINLAY: — Wow, she always brings it

right back to sex.

Sex is her business.

Now, we're gonna have
a little fun.

RYAN: — I'm gonna frustrate
the algorithm

with a nonresponsive response.

You want to ride me?

You want to ride me hard?

Chain. Yank. Sweat.

Wet. Bleed. Finger. Lick.

Tongue. Ass. Ride.

Ride. Ride. Ride. Ride.

(repeating rapidly): — Ri...

(distorted): — Ride. Ride. Ride. Ride.

Ride. Ride. Ride. Ride. Ride...

What the hell kind
of sex site is this?

RYAN: — My team has been tracking Kitty
for six weeks.

She is a computer-animated
avatar chatbot

with machine-learning
artificial intelligence.

Okay, good, we're all caught up
now.

So...

she's not real.

But the person
who created her is.

That's why I'm here.

What's with
the mushrooms?

It's in my nature to nurture.

Mm.

I guess I threw you
a little curveball

with Kitty, didn't I?
You know, all this

cyber hocus-pocus
is fascinating, but...

now what?

I still have
a dead woman downstairs,

a casino mogul
with GSR on his hands,

a gun on the front seat.

Up until now,
I've been thinking that

Lee Berman killed
his wife for a...

a younger woman online.

You come along,
you tap a few keys,

and then you reduce our motive
to a bunch of digital bits.

So...

where's that leave me?

Can you cut me CSI Finlay?

I'm bucking time here.

I really need to get into
the husband's computer.

Why her?

Men. Sex sites.

They're time assassins.
Fine with me.

But Lee Berman's computer
wiped out right in my hands,

so...
Was a sledge hammer involved?

No.

Then... the data's still there.

— ♪ —

FINLAY: — Oh, look.

Virus detected.

Two-way camera enabled
on Berman's computer.

A gift from Kitty.

There are some gifts that
should never be opened.

Here's what I suspect
happened to Berman.

No more chat box.
No more typing.

You can see me.
I wish I could see you.

Now, let's put those hands
to good use.

KITTY: — Oh, yeah.

RYAN: — He was so happy
to be hands-free,

he had no idea
he was being recorded.

KITTY: — Yeah, you're doing great.

You're doing great.

So Berman made a sex tape
and didn't even know it.

People forget
the cameras

on their laptops, their tablets,
their cell phones–

they're cameras.

They record.

I figured
if rich guys

like Berman were being targeted,
money was the end game.

And the good news
about his two-way cam is that

it recorded every one
of their encounters.

Everything from their first
hello to their last good-bye.

I imagine you pinning me down,

taking me against my will.

Wait.

I want you to dominate me.

She can't feel pain;
she's not real.

Then why is
she massaging

her jaw?

It's usually the sign of an
underlying medical condition.

Don't you want to see
how it ends?

David.

Hey.

I was just bringing
this to you.

Saves me the trip.

What do we got?

Nine-mil, right?
Mm-hmm.

Thank you.

Hi, Doc.
D.B.

What a shame.

Audrey Berman
was a great lady.

Heart of gold when
it came to this town,

and a very good friend
of mine, too.

Can't say the same
for her husband.

It's always the better half
that gets punished

for the other half's sins.

What do you got there?

Is that a bruise
on the ring finger?

Minute abrasions
along the knuckle.

They weren't apparent
at the scene.

Developed
since we brought her in.

Wedding ring wasn't in
her personal effects.

Wasn't in evidence, either.

This is one of the biggest
diamonds I've ever seen.

Instant divorce.

(two gunshots)

— ♪ —

RUSSELL: — How we doing
on those bullets?

(sighs)
Bullets from the wife

don't match the gun
from the husband's car.

Nick processed on site.

Berman's hands were
positive for GSR.

I know, but the stria
don't match.

Berman have a carry permit?
I checked.

He is a regular member of
the Gun Club off Blue Diamond.

Well, there you go.

GSR on guns is like paint — it sticks around.

Maybe long enough

to transfer to his hands

when he handled it last night.

If the gun wasn't
the murder weapon, though,

why did Berman have it
in the first place?

There's got to be a reason.

How's it going?

Hey, good, good.

Uh, I know that Greg was
jocking Berman's smart house,

(chuckles): — but I don't think he saw
this smart car, man.

It's amazing.

It's like a detective on wheels.
You just give it

a CSI badge and
a field kit.

I did run diagnostics.

According to CSI Aston,

from the Tangiers,
Berman manually entered

his GPS coordinates at 4:15 a.m.

Arriving at his destination,
Industrial Park,

at 5:13 a.m.

And then, of course,

I handcuffed him at 5:37.

So he was
nowhere near the scene.

He couldn't
have killed his wife.

But that
doesn't mean

he didn't pay for it.

That bag I found
in the trunk

could have been used
for a money drop.

Okay, so...

what do we think?
Berman hires some guy

to kill his wife,
meets him in the park

an hour later
for the payoff.

I mean...
that does fit the timeline.

I'm not sure it fits
the logic, though.

I mean, what's a guy
like Lee Berman doing

driving an Aston Martin

around Industrial Park
at 5:00 in the morning

with a gun on his seat?

Yeah...

we're missing something.

This may be
what you're missing.

You're gonna pay,

or you're gonna pay.

LEE: — A hundred thousand–
that was one thing. 250?

Now you want
a half a million dollars?

I'm done.

You're done when
I say you're done.

Now it's a million.

You don't want
to play ball with me.

I will kill your whole family.

Who do you want to see
in a casket first,

your wife or your kids?

(quietly): — You leave them
out of this.

Now it's $2 million.

You say another word,
and it's four.

Same drill — wire the money,
convert it to bitcoins.

Forget bitcoins.

I want a face-to-face!

LEE: — I'm in charge now! My terms!

Industrial Park
off Blue Diamond!

Cash on delivery!

I am ending this tonight!

Aw.

You do love me.

FINLAY: — And that was the last time
that they spoke.

Classic extortion.

How does an avatar
programmed for sex

turn so sadistic?
RYAN: — Kitty's not a sadist.

Her creator is.
A psycho-sadist.

Most likely male.

He derives pleasure
from inflicting pain on others.

Physical, emotional,

financial.

Berman didn't pay
to have his wife killed.

He paid the sadist to spare her.

But he didn't spare her.
She's dead.

The second that Berman
initiated this power struggle

with his «my terms» bravado,
the sadist got pissed.

So he killed Berman's wife
and he took his money.

Which means Berman's the only
person who's ever seen this guy.

First you tell me
this girl is fake,

and now you're
telling me the «guy»

who was shaking me down

killed my wife?
Hey, Mr. Berman,

we have you on tape

agreeing to pay
$2 million cash.

Question is, who'd
you give it to?

RYAN: — You can't pay $2 million

to a chatbot.
So who'd you pay the money to?

(indistinct whispering)

Oh, wait a minute,
wait a minute.

There never was any cash,
was there?

You went to the
Industrial Park–

not to pay Kitty,
but to kill her.

And when you got there,
I'm guessing

all you had was
your gun in your hand.

Gun in my hand?

That's a polite way to say it.

No one showed.

I didn't
say it before because...

because I was ashamed.

I'm fooling around
online and...

it gets my wife killed.

That's the first
honest thing you've said.

I'd like to thank
both the FBI and the LVPD

for proving what
we knew all along.

Mr. Berman is innocent.

And we're out of here.

Kitty?

Kitty. Kitty.
It's you.

What the hell
is going on?

They said
she wasn't real!

LAWYER: — Calm down!

I'm looking for the person

who gave my picture
to the press.

My name is Susan McDowell.
I'm from San Diego.

I'm cooking dinner
for my little girls.

I look up and I'm
all over the TV.

The other woman in
a love triangle.

Every story mentions the
Las Vegas Police Department.

I drove five hours.
I want answers.

I understand.
I want some myself.

(clears throat)

I put your photo out there.

The FBI is working a case,

and you're a person of interest.

Person of interest?
Are you kidding me?

Do you use social networks?

Are you even
listening to me?

I have a husband overseas
serving his country.

I am trying to hold
my family together.

That guy in the hall, he
is not the first person

to call me Kitty.
What about Facebook?

Instagram? Snapchat?

Vine?

Yes. I'm on Friend Agenda.

My husband's stationed
in Afghanistan.

It's the only way we
get to see each other.

How often are you on it?

Every day.

I send Bradley photos
and videos of the girls.

I post whatever I can to
bring our life to him.

Do you grind your teeth
at night?

How do you know that?

You're massaging your jaw.

You have an idiosyncratic
medical condition.

I'm guessing it's TMJ.

It started when my
husband deployed.

It's how
I knew you were out there.

And it's why
I released her photo.

Mrs. McDowell,

someone took your face,

your body

and your mannerisms,

and they made a virtual you.

They gave it a name, Kitty,
and they put it on a sex site.

The guy who did it is now
making millions of dollars.

How could he do that?

I think we need to assess
your social vulnerability.

RYAN: — This is your Friend Agenda page.

Do you recognize
any of these six people?

WittyGirl285 is a girl
I went to school with.

BarbaraSD is an

over-caffeinated mom
trying to set up a playdate.

I don't know
the other four.

Today, these
are the top six people

who viewed your site.
Not your friends.

Your wannabe friends.

Your top hit is Nebula1.
Who's he?

I have no clue.

Well, he visited your site

2,507 times
in the last six months.

That's 15
times a day.

Playdate mom?
She was there two times a week.

That guy hiding behind
the smiley face–

he's the one that
did this to me?

2,500 times? Really?

I have two little girls.

What if this guy comes after us?

I'll protect you.

I give you my word.

Mr. Berman...

Listen, until we catch

your wife's killer,
I think it would be a good idea

for you to stay
at the hotel.

Little extra layer of security.

I don't know what you
want to do about your dog.

Dog?

I don't have a dog.

STOKES: — Where you going, bud?

Come here.

Hey.

Nice pooch, Nick.

Thank you.

Nice pooch, Nick.
Yeah, thanks.

Hey, so I finally
figured out

how the killer knew his way
around the Berman house.

Place was up for
sale a few years ago

and the, uh,
360 virtual walk-through

is still online.

All the killer had to do
was take the tour

and he knew every inch of the place.
Scary.

Something that
is supposed to

help you sell your house
ends up being

a blueprint to kill your wife.
Yeah, he'd

still have to get past guard
shacks, armed security

and electronic sensor gates.
It's like Shawshank over there.

I worked a grand theft
horse case there a while back.

Community's zoned
for four-legged friends.

Residents ride their horses

in and out of there
all the time.

Well, that's how he did it.

Where there's a horse trail,
there's a dog trail.

Maybe security thought this guy was
just walking his dog.

That's how he
got past them.

Yeah, and then once onto
the Berman property,

he didn't need
the dog anymore,

so he let her loose.

(whines) That's okay,
sweetie.

Uncle Hodges is gonna adopt you
when all this is over.

No, he's not. Uncle Greg is.

But I am going
to scan you

with my «ARF»–ID Reader.

(beep)

Shelter dog.

Rescued into a life of crime.

Okay, get a shot of
her for me, will you?

Yeah.

Say cheese, sweetie.

Cheese, sweetie.

Got your text.
What do you got?

Well, this is a first.

Our killer adopted
a death-imminent mongrel dog.

You know, a mutt.
But he made a mistake.

He left a copy of his driver's
license at the dog pound.

The information
is bogus,

but the girl at the
counter I.D.'d the photo.

So I'm looking at our killer.

It gets better.
Nick saw a security camera

in the parking lot of the animal
shelter. We ran the plate.

Rental?
Affirmative.

Time to LoJack this jackass.

Control, this is Two Zero
Three Charlie, Captain Brass.

We're at
the LoJack-identified site.

Eyes on a silver Ford.
Nevada plates. Adam, King,

Sam, Henry, Four, One, Three.

STOKES: — Key's still
in the ignition, Jim.

Well, you have evidence.

But no one to tie it to.

He knew that.

That's why he left
it all behind.

Ballistics confirmed
that's the murder weapon.

No prints. No DNA.

We tracked down
Berman's jeweler.

He's the one who
identified the ring.

Five carat rock.

Worth over $2 million.
RUSSELL: — Great payday for a killer.

Untraceable.

I also processed
the disposable phone.

There were only
two numbers in memory.

One from an animal shelter

and one from
a rental car agency.

The only thing
probative, really,

is the video.

Wait, there's a video on
a disposable cell phone?

Oh, yeah.

Play it.

(gunshot)

(woman grunts)

(shrieks)

(gunshot)

(sighs)

You okay?

I missed it.

Hey, slow down,
will you?

What did you miss?

Something on that snuff film?

It's not a snuff film.
It's proof of kill.

Sent by the hit man

to the deep Web.

To create a résumé
in cyberspace.

So he gets hired
for future hits.

Wait... (exhales)
You're saying

that the guy who created Kitty

is a hit man?
No.

No, no, no.

The man who created Kitty

is a psycho-sadist.

He derives pleasure from
inflicting pain to others.

He would never tape
himself killing somebody.

He is the one I'm after.

Don't you see?

My psycho-sadist
hired your hit man.

So, your Node...

Was never even in Vegas.
And that's what I missed.

So, now we're
looking for two ghosts.

Mine is underground, and yours
is halfway around the world.

Brass called Interpol.
They put out a worldwide

broadcast on our hit man.

Hopefully they'll
get a bead on him

so they can drag
his ass back to Vegas.

When's the last time you
changed your profile picture?

I don't know, probably after
I shaved my beard off.

Good, you're controlling
your self-image.

So's he. Before Nebula1

was a smiley face,
this is what he looked like.

(laughs)
Oh, yeah,

that rates really high
on the creepy meter.

Nebula1 — what's that all about?

Nebula means dark mist.

He thinks he's
beyond our reach.

Tell me, what do you see?

The obvious? Um...

Caucasian male, 20s,
button-up shirt,

books, family
photos, window,

blinds.
And from what I can tell,

it's nighttime.

Put it in context.

Barbells

on the floor.
Guy works out.

He's antisocial.
He doesn't like the gym.

Yeah, and he doesn't like
to take out the trash, either.

(short chuckle)
Cans are stuffed.

To-go cups,
food containers.

He orders in a lot.

He's agoraphobic.
He doesn't like to leave.

Not even to eat.
Well, we need

to I.D. him, right?

Guy's got a lot of
family photos there.

If they were his family.

What do you mean?

Blood is thicker
than water, but it's not

thicker than
a watermark.

Back up the bus.

He downloaded
a fake family?

Everything you see
here is staged.

Family photos communicate
that he's a good person.

Books are supposed
to make us believe

that he's intelligent.
Blinds are closed

so we don't know
where he lives.

Hmm.

Why did you say
it was nighttime?

I don't know.
I mean, I can see

stars through the blinds.

What, he stage those, too?

No. No. That's an oversight.

(computer chirping)

It's Gestalt theory
of good continuation.

Looks like an arch.

It's the Gateway Arch.

He's in St. Louis.

I'll triangulate
coordinates.

Clear!

Clear!
Clear? What do you mean, «clear»?

No suspect on the premises.

Ma'am, you need to see this.

We've got a whole
nerve center here.

Computers, hard drives,
the works.

STOKES: — Oh, looks like he's
still in business, but

if he never leaves the house,
then where is he?

Give me the ceiling.

All four corners.

He's got a Web cam!

He's watching us! It's a trap!

Get out! Extract! Extract!

Go! Go! Everybody out! Go!

(shouting, explosion)

(static)

(sighs)

Figured I'd find you out here.

Hey, you saved all
those men's lives today.

Unfortunately, the evidence
didn't fair so well.

We lost DNA, prints.

All the hardware
was incinerated.

Oh. Is that right, D.B.?

Well, yes, Avery, it is.

I found a photo

of Susan's house on her phone.

She never posted it
to Friend Agenda.

If I upload it,
he'll know where she lives.

You're thinking
of putting her in play?

I applied some pressure.

I got an agoraphobe
to leave his house.

We could lure him.

He is moveable.

And now you want
to move him again

and use Susan to do it.

(Ryan sighs)

But you're on the fence
about it?

The Internet
amplifies crime.

If my Node gets
away with this,

his cyber cred
will be immortalized.

He will spawn hundreds, if not
thousands, of copycatters.

So, it's Susan
versus the greater good.

I looked that woman in the eye,

and I promised her

I would protect her.

We are talking about a woman
and two little girls.

Do you want my opinion?

Greater good.
Put her in play.

I've got you covered.

(camera shutters clicking)
My name is Susan McDowell.

My husband's a Marine
proudly serving in Afghanistan.

I am a mother of two girls.

I thought I was tough,
that I could handle anything.

Then someone hacked
into my life,

hijacked all my photos online,

used my likeness,

my face, my body,

put me on the Internet,
where I was virtually raped

by thousands of men.

There is no law against
what this man did to me.

There is no law against
what this man did to me.

But I was violated.

Virtual rape...

Is rape.
SUSAN: — ...is rape.

And I refuse
to stand back and do nothing.

And I refuse to stand by
and do nothing.

Susan, you can do this.

The difference

between a victim
and victory is action.

Take back your life.

Provoke him,
expose him for what he is.

You see this?

This is what he turned me into.

A whore, a prostitute.

He's selling my body

to thousands of men

around the world 24/7.

As of today,
I'm shutting you down.

And so here's my message
to all you men out there.

Log off and check
into your families.

Don't let this coward win.

(Ryan laughs)

(whooping)

RYAN: — Well done, Susan.

CLIKK: — Agent Ryan, I've been tracking

Nebula1's activity
on Friend Agenda

since you announced
her press conference.

In the last hour, he's peeped
her page 900,000 times.

He D.O.S.'d her?

He's so angry,
he crashed her site.

You wanted obsession.
You got it.

We're going to San Diego.

— ♪ —

You're a cop.

You're a sadist.

Where's Kitty?

You mean Susan?

You're confused.

Susan is real, Kitty is not.

I created Kitty.

I made her.

I'm not gonna ask you again.

Is that a .45?

(sniffing)

I guarantee you
it's never been fired.

I've had bigger guns pointed
at my face.

Wait till you see my other gun.

I saw it.

The one your hit man used
to kill Audrey Berman?

I thought
I'd do this one myself.

I thought you'd be
more of a blade man.

She just got him to trade down.

How long are we gonna play
this waiting game?

We wait for Agent
Ryan's code word.

You going to cut me?

You like to watch me bleed?

Yeah.

You want me to cut you again?

Are you hearing that?

Yeah. She's adding
years to his sentence.

Tell me about the first time.

I was eight years old...

and I cut my sister's breasts

with a straight razor.

I got no problem
cutting you.

Well, I do.

I'm out of here.

You're not going anywhere!

Have you ever
been murdered before?

Mushroom.

(explosive rumbling)

(grunts)

Drop it!

Drop it! Drop it!

Stay down!

Stay down!
You're under arrest

for attempted murder
of a federal agent,

conspiracy to commit murder,

extortion and a thousand counts
of being a creep.

Say bye-bye to your Wi-Fi.

(grunting)

You all right?

I'll feel a lot better when you
get our hit man behind bars.

You're something else.

(laughs)

Oh, my God.

SUSAN: — Thank you so much for
bringing us down here.

The girls are
so excited.

(laughing)

They want to be pilots
just like their dad.

Girls!

(gasps)

BOTH: — Daddy!

BOTH: — Daddy!
(laughs)

You brought my husband home?

After all you've been through,
you both deserve

a hero's welcome.

Thank you.

(Ryan laughs)

(laughs)

(laughs)
That was nice.

So, this is good-bye,
I guess, huh?

Well, for now.

Where you off to?

Oh, bank robbery, Pittsburgh.

How much?
Three cents.

Oh, give me a break.
Talk to me. How much?

Three copper pennies...

from 80 million
checking accounts.

$2.4 million a week.

Makes for one hell of a heist.

Check your bank statements.
No kidding.

And they say there's no
such thing as the perfect crime.

It's not the perfect crime.

It's cyber crime.

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
—=«O»=—
@elder_man