…{
"Root, watch out," Harold called as a shot rang out. Root turned in time to catch Harold as he fell, calling his name desperately. She placed a hand over his chest and let his weight lower them both to the ground, not caring that a team of Decima agents was closing in. Rather than draw her weapon, Root dragged Harold to the corner of the room, fully expecting to catch several bullets in the back. Instead she saw all but one of their pursuers drop to the floor as Reese stepped into view; his eyes swept the room, focusing on Harold, before he gave her a brief nod and wrestled Lambert outside, shutting the door behind them.
Root tried not to panic as she helped Harold press one hand to his torso to stem the bleeding. "You saved me, Harold," she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
Harold looked at her with what Root had first interpreted as fear and condescension, but what now seemed more like concern. "The Machine…wasn't speaking to you," he said, straining to get the words out.
Conflicting emotions warred in Root: she had been waiting for Harold to regard her as a comrade since the day she found out about Her, but she was supposed to do the protecting, not the other way around. Especially now.
"I'm sorry," she said, the apology sounding alien in her mouth.
"No…Ms. Groves," Harold whispered, his hand squeezing hers gently. And in that moment Root understood why he insisted on using the last name she had worked so hard to leave behind, along with bitter memories of who she had once been. Coming from Harold it was an endearment of sorts, and a caution to each of them – but especially her – not to go beyond their humanity, lest the consequences be dire. "Keep…going."
"I'm not leaving you." Root couldn't understand why She wouldn't speak at a time like this; why She wouldn't have prevented this from happening. Root pulled Harold closer to her, holding him and stroking his cheek in an uncharacteristic parody of a lover's embrace; if these were to be his final moments, she wanted to offer a fraction of the warmth she had been shown.
"The mission." He coughed, sending specks of blood flying. "Ms. Shaw. Mr. Reese."
"I will," she promised, knowing it might be in vain. "No matter what."
"Good." Harold smiled and Root was reminded once again why She cared about humans so much. Machine learning and morality code were well and good, but having a creator, for whom the notion of bad code didn't exist, really made the difference.
"Can you walk?" Root asked, stubbornly ignoring the wetness drenching her hand. "I'll help you."
"…slow you down," he muttered. "Go. They…need you."
"Samaritan can wait," she said softly, swallowing the lump in her throat. If anyone was to create God, they'd certainly found the right person. Maybe the only person. And Root couldn't lose him like this.
"Trust…The Machine," Harold continued, looking her in the eye, as if seeing the depths of Root's soul and the doubts that lurked there. "…but not too much."
Root wanted to say she understood what he'd been trying to tell her all this time: that people came first. That it had really been him teaching her how to care through The Machine. When she had chosen to save Cyrus Wells instead of pursuing an objective she knew to be more important, something in Root had changed. The implications of that choice resonated in her even now. "Harold, I—"
"It's been a pleasure…Root," he interrupted her, now gasping for breath. "When I said we…didn't have anything…in common…"
"I know," she said, allowing a lone tear to streak down her face.
Harold's chest gave one last heave and he shut his eyes. Root remained where she was for a whole minute before standing up carefully. An explosion greeted her, blowing the door to the computer lab off its hinges. Once she had regained her balance, Root drew both guns, eyes burning with a rage she had only felt once before, and turned the corner.
The hallway was littered with bodies of fallen Decima agents. One of them belonged to Lambert. And another to Reese. The explosion had taken place far away enough that Root could still recognize his face. She turned, knowing there was nothing she could do for him, and went down the corridor towards her destination. None of them knew where Shaw was, but with no one to cover her, there was no longer the luxury of hacking the stock exchange to restore it; she was going to have to take the hardware apart at the source.
Continue on this path, Root finally heard Her whisper, as if now was a good time to get involved. 30 paces.
Where were you when Harold was dying, she asked. John? But there was no answer. Root followed her instructions nonetheless, gun at the ready; that being the nature of their relationship. Turn left now. Elevator to basement.
She obeyed, finding the area strangely unguarded. Root kept walking and came to a line of doors. Third door. Power supply.
She gained access using the keypad and slipped in. Clear. A nexus of wires concealed in large sheathes ran vertically in front of her. With no time to be delicate, Root grabbed an axe and stalked towards them.
"I'd put that down if I were you," a voice Root recognized as Martine Rousseau's called from behind. Agents rushed to flank her on either side, their boots clinking against the ground.
"Well I'm not you," Root said, her voice devoid of its usual playfulness, as she commenced her attack on the electrical equipment before her. Sparks flew and wires sizzled as the agents opened fire. Root took the hits, staying upright for as long as she could before finally dropping the axe and crumpling to the floor.
}
/ /Case: Admin, Analogue Interface, Asset: John Reese
/ /Mission failure
/ /Party eliminated
/ /Analogue Interface compliance related to Admin survival
/ /Considering alternatives…
/ /Searching for a diversion…
/ /Locating Asset: Sameen Shaw…probability of survival: 30%
/ /Running simulation again…
else if (…){