Hello, Mr. Sullivan.
You've dialed a special number
that can't be traced or monitored.

Now listen carefully.
Take the service elevator at the end of the hall,
down to the basement level.

- You'll be clear for the next five minutes.
- Wait a minute...

Keep moving.
Roll up your sleeve please.
We don't have much time.

Are you insane?
You're not sticking that into me.

He is a medical trainee, Mr. Sullivan.
I don't care if he is a fucking brain surgeon!
You're not gonna drug me.

We're undrugging you.
The shot will block out the DigiCorp narcotics.
The chemicals they are putting
in your blood's stream at every convention.

Do you normally drink something inside the convention room?
Mineral water.
The drug is tasteless and odorless.
You wouldn't have known.

Did you take the pills I gave you?
Have the noises in your head started to go away?
- And reoccurring dreams?
- What is this?

Why didn't DigiCorp check my
transmission in Omaha?

There was no transmission in Omaha.
Or in Buffalo, or anywhere else.

- Why are they sending me at these conventions?
- The conventions are charades.

You and the other convention guests
all work for DigiCorp. You're all spies.

You're given phoney assignments,
phoney identities.