Person of Interest: Reprise

by ElnaKernor

There's only Shaw and Fusco left, and the numbers are still coming. As for Rachel Perez, she should really stop nosing around things that aren't her business ( she won't ).

There's only Shaw and Fusco left, and the numbers are still coming.

As for Rachel Perez, she should really stop nosing around things that aren't her business ( she won't ).

---

I'm going to be frank here: these last 6/8 months, I haven't been overly productive on my overly numerous fanfics for various reasons, so I'm not going to promise anything about this story, except that I've come to the conclusion I cannot be satisfied with PoI ending, and so I'm continuing season 5 here ( I've got ideas up to season 8, and a plan up to the beginning of season 7 ).

One chapter, one episode.

I might have upped the sci-fi on one point, but it won't affect most of the story, except on said point.

I'm nearly illiterate when it comes to computer, so don't hold it against me if I'm not elaborating on anything technical.

Also, anyone who's read my other PoI fics can tell I'm an obsessional John Reese fan, so don't be surprised ( later, not yet )

---

Season 5, Episode 14: Staying Alive

The teenager sneered at her computer's screen, or, more accurately, at the cyber security protocol she had just defeated with her pure genius – she wasn't a genius, truthfully, and she knew it, but somehow pretending she was from time to time, especially when she was alone in her room hacking things... Well, that made her feel slightly better about herself; that is, until reality kicked in again.

Her eyes went through the SubKor files she had just gained access to, curious as to what she was going to find in there. To be frank, hacking SubKor's research had started more as an exercice in skill than anything else, considering the teen didn't even have the slightest idea what SubKor was about – she had nosed around, but no legitimate business went by that name, and that, more than anything else, had gotten her attention. That, and the fact that SubKor seemed very, very well protected.

She opened a few files, skimmed through for half a moment, her nose scrunched up, and closed them back. Scientific blabla, not – exactly – her thing.

Just as she was about to give up – because for what she knew, SubKor was just the nickname some paranoid scientific had come up with to be discreet about their work – a folder caught her eye. "R.C. experiment". Uh. Inside, several audio files. She'd have appreciated a video format, but hey, she wasn't the one having to deal with said reports – right, the one supposed to deal with said reports. Same thing, really.

The teenager put in her earbuds, while checking that no, none of the other foster kids and / or one of her foster parents – who certainly did not deserve the title of "adoptive" parents, not because they were abusive or anything, but simply because they couldn't care less about the children they took in, as long as said children had the bare minimum to live – was going to sneak on her.

The Rodriguez couple wasn't a bad foster family, per se. The teen could certainly appreciate that they were offering an actual chance at life to nine kids they didn't even have a reason to care about, or that they never failed to do whatever needed to be done, be it getting them clothes or prescription glasses. But that didn't mean the Rodriguez did care about the children, individually. They were more of an unofficial mini-orphanage on that point. They even owned three small-sized continuous apartments in the building, which they had fused together to allow each of the children they took in to have their own – albeit small – room – the only rule was, never lock the door.

She suspected that the couple had wanted to do something good with their spare money – aka, taking in foster kids – but had no idea how to actually do it when it wasn't about the material aspect of the thing – aka, no emotional connections. At best, they were friendly acquaintances.

Still, growing up here, the teen had learned a few things about life: keep your business private, hide your personal things, don't expect strangers to be kind to you.

Or, at least, no kinder than the bare minimum.

She'd rather spend time, alone, in her room, hacking things, than "socializing" with the other kids, as it was. Killian was especially nasty, and she had learned to hide her things because of him.

The teenager barely paid attention to the first audio reports, which she found more boring than anything else, and full of scientific lingo she was not comfortable with. Instead, she thought back to her mom, back there in Arizona, who was strugling with a very horrible disease which she had almost no chance of coming out of alive; to her dad, who had to work abroad to be able to pay her mom's medical bills, and who couldn't even afford to take care of his daughter because of that; to her old life, seven years ago, just before everything went to hell.

She guessed there were worse hells in this world, but it didn't mean she appreciated to be in this particular one.

She skipped through the records, listening to a few seconds here and there, hoping to catch something hidden / comprehensible in the middle of the scientific stuff, and finally she found something interesting in the audio file from what had since been dubed "Return Zero" – no one seemed to know where it had come from exactly, except that one day it had popped up in a conversation long since forgotten, and now, six months later, everyone called it that.

The day a missile had been "accidentaly" launched in the middle of New York, causing the destruction of the higher half of a skyscraper, and about a third of the number of victims from 9/11. Could have been worse, they said. Yeah, right. Except for the victims.

Near the end of the recording, she heard the scientist's sudden gasp.

"What the -"

Sounds of shuffling, the recorder being grabbed, probably, footsteps echoing in an empty corridor – yeah, she was quite adept at listening to various things, especially as it proved necessary to keep some semblance of secrecy in this foster home, and thus had a good grasp on the most common sounds.

A door being opened brutally.

"Julian, where are you manners?"

A clipped, female voice, slightly irritated.

"He just died."

A middle-aged man, with a Minnesota accent that had barely survived being drowned into NYC's own accent. A bit out of breath.

"Are you certain of that?"

Sudden, indubitable interest from the woman.

"Pretty sure, yeah. The readings suddenly went off the chart, the body convulsed, and I don't see any other reason why it would do that. So yeah, I'm pretty sure Chapman just died."

"Take a team, get the body back here, and see if there's anything you can do with it. It's our last chance to get that project back on tracks, I'm afraid, and I don't want to lose it because we didn't try."

A moment of silence, during which something probably happened, but that wasn't perceptible on a recording.

"We know he's in New York, or else we wouldn't have gotten any results. It shouldn't be too hard to find which one of today's bodies he is, but were it to prove more difficult than anticipated, take Parker with you. She's full of surprises."

"Of course. I'll – "

The teenager suddenly tore the earbuds out, unpleasantly surprised by the powerful explosion that had happened just in the middle of the man's sentence.

That, she guessed, had been the missile. SubKor was probably situated not very far from the skyscraper that had been hit on the day of Return Zero. Whomever's body these two were hoping to get back, she realized, had certainly been harder to find than anticipated, considering the number of deaths in NYC had gone up at that very mom...

The teen's eyes widened, and she abruptly closed her computer, in a savage manner she'd normally cringe at. SubKor had eventually noticed her presence, and had used her distraction – distraction her ass, her ears were still bleeding from that freaking explosion! – to counteract her hacking, and she hadn't noticed – again, freaking explosion in her ears.

She just hoped it wasn't someone too dangerous, and that they hadn't had the time to identify her – these people were talking about recovering bodies, for God's sake! Of course they were dangerous. She just didn't know how dangerous they were...

And she didn't intend to find out.

oOo

A knock on a door.

"Come in."

The man, forty-six years old, blond hair, average face, and a haunted look in his green eyes, pushed the door open. He was wearing a lab coat, a pen perched upon his left ear, but he didn't exactly look like a scientific for all that. The muscles under his black T-shirt probably had something to do with that – at the same time, can't a scientific also be athletic?

"Julian. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Don't be sarcastic, please. We have a problem."

"Something's wrong with one of the contracts?"

"No."

The woman, who hadn't even turned her chair around to speak, her eyes only on the mirror that had allowed her to recognize her employee, was now standing, a frown etched on her face.

"A problem with the subjects?"

If it was the case, then there was something to worry about. If it had been a contract, they could just have sent another subject, possibly even Alpha, to take care of it, but if the subjects were the problem... What if they were still unstable? Sure, they had stabilized about two months ago now, but it wasn't as if they were in charted territory here. For all they knew, they could be breaking down by the end of the week.

"No. But someone accessed the Subkor network, and reviewed the reports from the experiment."

No need to precise which experiment, just as they never bothered precising with contracts, which project, or which subjects. If it was just the word, then it could only be those ones.

"Any idea who, and what for?"

The scientific winced, and shook his head.

"Not yet, but the IT team is on it. They don't know what has been accessed, of course, and I've made sure they won't know. What do we do?"

The woman looked out the large windows for a moment, silent, before finally coming to a decision.

"Send one of the subjects to take a look at the situation, as soon as you get more info. Say, Upsilon, for exemple. She's not on assignment right now, I believe. Have her take the files back, if the hacker kept them. She's also to assess the danger, and if needed... She'll have to take necessary measures."

The scientific made for the door, but stopped just before leaving.

"Shouldn't we send Alpha, if it comes to that?"

The woman gave him a disbelieving look.

"All the subjects are just as able as he is, Julian. It's kind of the point of the project, you know that. And do you really want to have him anywhere near anything concerning Chapman?"

"No, not really."

"Exactly. Now, go, and call Upsilon."

oOo

Lionel put his glass down – soda, still not drinking, go him! – and looked at Shaw over his reading glasses with a look she didn't like one bit. It predicted a conversation she wasn't comfortable having – not that that Sameen was comfortable having any kind of conversations.

"So you're telling me the Bauer case is as good as closed, considering you've probably bashed the asshole's head into a wall or somehing, but I can't actually close it, because the body mysteriously disappeared."

Shaw gave him a look that, on John, would have meant Lionel'd better not ask at all, and which probably meant exactly the same thing on Tiny, Dark and Stormy. The two were more alike on many points than you'd think, after all.

"I'm just saying you shouldn't be wasting time searching for Bauer. And, for Bauer's killer, because the body should wash up soon enough. Not that there's a killer to look for, since, you know, the legist will conclude the guy drowned in the Hudson."

Fusco looked about to say something, but he changed his mind, closed the file he had on him, and reached for a breadstick.

"How's Bear?"

"Good. Still a bit moody, considering his favorite lug hasn't come back in six months, and the dog is far from stupid, but he's mostly good. Which you know, since I've taken him with me last time I visited, and your son was glued to him all along. So, you're trying to build the conversation up to a point, and since I've got you on that one, you could just spill, Lionel."

The cop sighed, took another breadstick, and handed it to Shaw.

"Take a bite, Satan's Niece."

Shaw simply took the offered food, and started to eat it slowly, with an impassible face.

"I'm just thinking you need a friend. Not many friends, just, you know, one."

"I've got you."

No point denying it, now. Fusco was one of the very few people Sameen actually, really cared about – of course, despite what everyone would say about her, despite what Sameen herself would say, she in fact cared a bit about people, meaning that she didn't wish them any ill and agreed to say they mostly didn't deserve whatever might happen to them in most cases, that someone should act to give them a chance, and that this someone could as well be her. If she didn't, she would not be working for the Machine – even if she often justified it with her need for action.

Fusco didn't flinch, nor did he turn into some kind of mush, which was something she appreciated about him. He genuinely liked her, even if neither of them could tell how exactly it had come to be, and he didn't make a whole sentimental mess of it.

"Of course you've got me, but I think you need someone else, who's more... like you. Like John and Root were, I mean. It's good to have friends who are different, like Glasses and me, but it's also good to have someone who understands better."

They didn't really speak of Reese or Root – the Machine had told them what had happened – and they didn't really speak of Finch either, because they understood that the older man needed out. They just hoped that one day, he would come back – not necessarily to work, just, to see them, to tell them himself that he was alive, that he was retiring. They deserved at least that, but wouldn't get angry if it took the man some time to come and say Hi – as long as he did it at some point.

Sameen reached for a breadstick herself.

"Well, except if you know where to find a psychopathic martyr and a sociopathic flirt whom I could actually come to trust and that are also overtrained, I think I'll have to pass on that one."

Fusco looked slightly confused for a second.

"Wasn't Root the psycho one?"

Shaw gave him a look – Lionel wasn't exactly sure what kind of look it was, but it sure as hell was a look.

"Sociopathy and Psychopathy are two rather controversed mental conditions. The experts don't ever agree about them, as it is. The French, for example, don't recognize them as medical conditions, and only talk about sociopathic and psychopathic tendencies. Some people would tell you that Psychopathy is from birth, and Sociopathy is an acquired trait, on the other hand, not that I agree with that. By this standard, Reese and I are psychopaths, and Root was a Sociopath, molded into what she had become by the events of her youth, despite what she'd tell you. You've known Reese for almost five years, and you've worked with him. You know what I mean."

Fusco made a face, and shrugged.

"I guess, yeah. And you're right, it's not exactly the kind of people you can just pick out of the street and hope for the best."

"It's exactly the kind of people who tend to stab you in the back the moment you start to trust them, and it's just not a risk I can take given the work I'm doing. Reese was one of a kind, who did care, but could just as well ignore it when needed, and could rely on logic rather than feelings unless it hit really too close to home, and Root had been molded back into someone better by the Machine, but that only happened because she held It into such high esteem from the moment she realized Its existence. I can't just try and replace them."

A public phone rang just outside the coffee shop, and Sameen left a few dollars on the table.

"Duty's calling. If you could pay for me, Lionel..."

Without waiting for an answer, the operative went to the public phone. She wrote the new number on the inside of her hand with the pen she had just lifted out of Fusco's pocket. As the detective walked out of the coffee shop as well, she handed it back to him, which was greeted by a frown of confusion, followed by a mildly angry scowl.

"Don't pickpocket me again."

"I'll stop when you start actually noticing it before I give whatever I took from you back. Now, I have some work to do. I'll call you as soon as I've deciphered that number."

Finch's closed system was a good thing, overall, considering Sameen couldn't ensure that she'd be able to forever prevent anyone from getting their hands on the Machine if it had still been an open system. It needed her to investigate, but that was the same as it had always been, and even if it allowed some margin for human error, it also ensured that she'd actually know what she was stepping into whenever she had to intervene – reading a paper file, no matter how complete, was never the same as being in the middle of it all, and even someone like Shaw could tell you that.

The only problem was, there wasn't any tech genius left to help her, and Shaw's own hacking skills were the bare minimum, just like Reese's had been. Moreover, "Detective Riley" had been officially reported missing two weeks after Return Zero, and since then his ID for the NYPD system was inactive, which meant Sameen couldn't access anything anymore – yes, she knew Reese's password, not that he had made it much of a mystery to begin with.

The most the operative could do by herself when she received a new number, like now, was to go to the library and decipher the code of the day.

Ergo, Sameen had to rely on Fusco's own access to even know whose SSN she was working on all the time. She was aware she needed to do something about that, but as the only logical, practical and possible solution was to hire some tech support to do what Finch and Root used to do, Sameen was clearly procrastinating. Especially as she didn't know how to even find some hacker she could trust with such a responsibility.

And, there was the fact she didn't even have an operational base anymore – the Library had been compromised a long time ago, and the Subway had been found after the explosion. Sameen had been able to salvage a few things, amongst which a recording of Root's voice – The Machine's, she suspected, but it was still Root's voice – telling their story in a few sentences, but everything was back at her place, right now, and that was it – that, and Reese's flat was still being paid for by Finch's money, but Sameen wasn't going to even go there for now.

As she was about to disappear in the crowd, Fusco's voice called her back to attention, a tinge of worry in his tone.

"You're going to be alright working it alone?"

Shaw and Lionel both knew the operative could more than hold her own, but they were also both aware that she couldn't do everything, be everywhere, and be alert at all times. The close calls she had encountered in the last months were growing in number, reminding Lionel of John's own near-meetings with Death back when the man had been the only one on the field, when Lionel had only been an unwilling participant, and Joss had still been after John's ass – only, even worse, because Shaw didn't even have Finch to back her up.

"I'll call you if it gets too problematic."

Shaw's definition of "problematic" and Lionel's were definitely not the same, but that was the most he would get out of her. He supposed that was better than nothing.

oOo

The young man gestured to the screen, and Upsilon took a step towards him, her eyes on the lines of code, even if she only had a vague idea of what they were supposed to do.

"We've all tried, but we are unable to track the attack back to its perpretator. Whoever hacked the network did a very good job protecting their own computer. On the other hand, we've been able to gain access to the computer itself, if not to what it contains. If they use it again, we'll get their exact location, and you'll just have to go and see."

Upsilon took a step back, a slight frown etched in her features.

"Any chance they let you in on purpose?"

The IT guy winced a bit, but didn't look particularly worried.

"Like a trap, you mean? Weeeell, I guess everything's possible, but as I said, the contents of their computer is completely out of reach, which demonstrates a certain level of skill. On the other hand, letting the computer itself be reachable is a rookie mistake. I'd say the attack was more something along the line of someone a bit too curious stumbling into whatever they shouldn't have, without any experience in the actual way these things work. Like, not an amateur at hacking, but perhaps an amateur at hacking things they should really be discreet about hacking?"

Ypsilon didn't even raise an eyebrow at the convoluted explanation that was totally not making anything clearer, her eyes simply moving onto the IT employee.

"Not a professional in technological espionage, but someone with the skills of a professional?"

The young man's eyes started to shine oddly, as a large grin split his face into two.

"Exactly! Whoever they are, they know the ropes of hacking, but not the ropes of espionage, so to say. Which doesn't mean they can't make any damage, because they certainly can, but they're more likely to get themselves caught while making that damage."

Upsilon whispered, more to herself than to the IT guy:

"Like a professional fighter doesn't necessarily makes an efficient operative, even if they both are equal fighters."

Then, looking back at the screen that was still spewing meaningless – to her – code, and writing her phone number on a post-it note for the employee of the IT department:

"Call me as soon as you get a result."

And with that, the woman was gone from the IT office. An older man glanced up from his screen and at the young employee, his mouth downturned with a rather unpleasant look.

"Don't even think about it."

The younger man still had his eyes on the door frame Upsilon had just passed, a weirdly naive look in his eyes.

"Think about what, Ryan?"

"About what you're thinking. She's from the division downstairs, and you definitely don't want to get mixed up in that. The simple fact that they gave us only minimum access to investigate into the hacking from this morning should be enough of a warning. Whatever the division is up to, it's not our business, and I'm pretty sure it's not completely legal nor ethic."

The division, as everyone called it, had been created when Sonia Dobbs, a scientific in charge of biological research for Summakor Corporation, had been made CEO by the new owner – technically the son of the previous owner, who had taken over as his father's death had been made official, if you were to believe what they said upstairs. Which Ryan Bells didn't, for some reason he couldn't really explain – that is, aside from the fact that no one had seen Michael Conor inside the building since 2009, and a few other oddities that the older employee had learned to keep to himself.

No one really knew what the division was for, except that it had originated in one of the scientifics experiments led by Sonia Dobbs, and that it apparently was using quite a lot of the various technological innovations Summakor Corporation came up with. From what Bells had seen, most of the people working in the division were former military, and they all gave that slightly unpleasant feeling "Lucy Johnson" did.

Lucy "Johnson". Yeah, right. Just another reason why Bells wasn't buying the whole thing; everyone working for the division seemed to be called "Johnson" these days.

Bells' younger, idiotic colleague just continued staring at the door.

"Yeah, she's fascinating."

oOo

"You've got your number?"

Fusco's voice on the other side of the phone call sounded almost bored, and perhaps a little bit sarcastic, but Sameen smirked, knowing full well that the man was internally dying of curiosity. The cop just knew that whatever the new number was this time, there was a chance it'd be interesting – granted, not every number was that interesting, and more often than not Sameen received the number of an unfaithful husband or whatsnot, but it didn't change the fact that they did get interesting cases from time to time. And unlike Fusco's own cases, most people were still alive at the beginning of the story.

Sameen gave him the latest SNN number, her eyes on the three books she had just taken off the shelves of the public library she now used to decipher the numbers.

Half a moment later, Fusco was back online, reading her outloud what he had found.

"Rachel Perez, sixteen years old. No precedents with the law. Her mother is ill, and her father's working up to his last breath to pay for her medical bill, so she ended up in the foster system, here in New York for some reason instead of Arizona. She currently lives with Maria and Miguel Rodriguez, and a few other kids. Can't tell you more than that."

Sameen scrunched her nose, wondering what the girl could have done to land herself in such trouble that the Machine would give her her number.

"Few chances she's the perp, then. Can you send me her picture?"

"Doing that now."

Sameen's phone biped, and she opened the file the detective had just sent her.

"Uh."

"Not quite like you pictured her, perhaps?"

There was a mocking tone to Fusco's words that Sameen found frankly irritating.

"Well for some reason, when you said her name was Perez, I dumbly assumed her to be more latina and a lot less black."

A chuckle, and Fusco deigned saying more.

"Her father's from Mexico, but her mother is very, very black. Like, the blackest black to ever black. So the kid is reasonably black with a latino name. You know, interracial marriage doesn't necessarily involve a white person."

Sameen sneered at the jib, and squinted at the picture of the teenager – long, micro-braided black hair, black eyes, cute without being beautiful, and with an unnatural torsion of the mouth that betrayed the fact she had been asked to smile from a mile away. Now the operative had to figure out who would want anything to happen to the kid...

oOo

Rachel sat in the back of the study room – the physic teacher was, once again, absent – with her friends, who were, once again, making plans for the week-end, and forgetting to include her – they weren't even doing it on purpose, but it just kind of seemed to happen all the time, even with her being present and all. She had tried, discreetly, to participate, to remind them that they had forgotten to ask her if she'd want to come, but it had apparently gone right over their head. The teen wasn't quite feeling like telling them outblank that yes, she'd like to come too, thank you, so after a few minutes she just took her computer out of her bag. They'd possibly think she wasn't even trying to participate because of that, but it wasn't as if they noticed when she did try participating, so...

Sometimes she just felt like she was kind of transparent – not invisible, no, because people knew she was here, they even took her into account, but more in a manner as to not bump into her than anything else.

And people wondered why she wasn't an overly sociable person...

As she focused on her computer, she noticed something amiss – that is, not what was wrong, just that something was wrong. She could have written it off easily, as she tended to get a bit paranoid of everything just slightly different from usual, but of course, she didn't – if she had, then it wouldn't count as paranoid. There was something amiss, of that she was certain, and she wasn't going to feel good until she knew what it was. Could be nothing, could not.

What she needed to know, was what it was.

It took her barely one minute to realize that someone, somewhere, had access to her location – not to her personal files, no, those she had protected, but to the signal she was using.

Rachel refrained from shutting her computer close like earlier this morning, aware that it would be more than noticeable to about everyone in the room, and that it was too late anyway. They had her location – it had to be about SubKor, and the files she shouldn't have been hacking into at six in the morning.

The teenager simply turned her computer off and started putting her things back in her bag. There were enough people in the high school for whoever had her location not to find her that easily, and if she moved now, even within the school, she should be able to escape notice – her high school, fortunately, wasn't big on video-surveillance, so that was a plus too.

One of the boys noticed her leaving – people only noticed her when she didn't want them to, it seemed – and reached for her sleeve.

"You're not staying?"

Rachel forced an almost sincere smile on her lips, though she could tell it probably looked quite uncomfortable.

"I... I'm going to grab something to eat. I don't think I can wait forty minutes for lunch."

The boy gave her a knowing look, and Rachel blessed her erratic eating habits and other quirks, that made him think he knew what this was about.

"You've thrown up your breakfast again, haven't you?"

"I'm pretty sure it's because of the shower I took right before. Hot water and food don't mix up, from my experience. Consequences, I'm starving right from 10 a.m."

Two of her friends decided to come with her for food – one because she just didn't eat in the morning, the other because he was basically eating all the time. Rachel thought it was even better. Made for a more believable excuse, in case someone came around to ask about her.

Not that she was worried or anything.

After all, she hadn't hacked into something that might or might not be dangerous to hack into, right?

oOo

Sameen was cleaning the floor of an impossibly long corridor when she saw Rachel Perez in person for the first time – without Finch to handle everything, she had been reduced to abducting a cleaning lady and pretending to take her place because the woman was down with the flu; it wasn't pleasant, but hey, it did the job.

The kid was going out for some fries, apparently, but the operative couldn't help noticing that she seemed a bit too stressed for someone who's going to buy lunch, even if it was only eleven twenty-five. Sameen sure as hell was never stressed over eating early, and she didn't think anyone could find it stressful.

She'd have dumped her cleaning duty to follow Rachel Perez, except someone was watching her right now, and Sameen didn't want to let go of her cover just yet. Even if cleaning the halls of a high school was definitely not something she'd normally do.

So she was simply going to pair the kid's cellphone...

Except it didn't work. Sameen frowned, tried again, and failed again. Finch's app only failed when the protection on the target was quite strong, which was saying something. A sixteen years old hardly needed that kind of protection on their cellphone.

A sixteen years old hardly had access to that kind of protection for their cellphone, except if they personally knew how to make it themselves.

She'd have to take a look at Rachel Perez's grades, just to see what kind of student she was dealing with. Most kids who got into difficult situations were either dumb because of puberty, or too clever for their own good. Sometimes both.

As soon as her cleaning duties took her out of the janitor's watchful surveillance, Sameen put down the broom and looked for one of the school's computers that she could interrogate about Rachel Perez – again, she might not be the best hacker in the world, but if she was already inside the building / network, and the security wasn't top notch, she could more or less find her way around the geekery. A high school shouldn't be completely out of her reach. Besides, she had Finch's gadgets for the basics.

As for getting caught, well. Someone would probably end up knocked out with a broom, but she was trying to save someone's life, here. She had to be allowed some leniency.

After some time of stumbling around the school's network, the operative had a good idea of Rachel Perez's school performance. Aka, not-the-best-in-most-subjects,-but-second-or-third-of-her-class-in-basically-everything, which made her the best student in her class, when you considered everything at once. Never absent, either, and not even one problem with any teacher, though most of them seemed to think she could do better if she actually tried. The best in Mathematics and Chinese, though, because why not.

Too-clever-for-her-own-sake, it seemed.

Sameen left the office she had broken into – easy, when you have the keys – without having had to knock out anyone, which was probably a good thing.

Just as she was about to leave and look for the kid, though, she crossed paths with a woman that made her skin crawl.

Just above five foot tall, more muscular than you'd think given how thin she looked at first, cropped hair, with a nasty cicatrice on the left side of her neck, she wore a dark suit with pants instead of a skirt – so much better for running, and fighting someone – and had a professional look about her – what kind of professional, that was another matter. Sure, her smile seemed genuine and sweet, and the papers in her hands weren't exactly weapons, but Reese could do that perfectly too, and he was deadlier than most.

"Operative" was the feeling Sameen immediately got from her, and the woman would probably have made her too, if she had been looking for another person like her. Only, Sameen knew to look for a danger on Rachel Perez's life, while whoever this danger was, probably didn't know there was someone looking out for the girl.

Sameen quickly ditched the cleaning lady outfit, and discreetly followed the woman, until she managed to bug her with a listening device – secure phone, too. Then she went to look for Rahel Perez – only, with her ears in the woman's pocket all along.

oOo

Upsilon shook the principal's hand, and introduced herself as Lucy Johnson, representative of Summakor Corporation. The company was looking for possible future employees amongst high schoolers, and wished to invite whoever was interested / had the potential to a visit of the main branch, here in New York, so she was going through every high school in Manhattan.

"We are aware most of the students we'll be taking an interest in aren't necessarily from the richest upbringing, but if the interest is mutual, our company might pay for these students' college years, in exchange for ten years of commitment to the company, of course."

The principal gave her a thousand watts smile, and put his hands in front of him, his back straight as an arrow, possibly already calculating how to make this sound good to whoever would want to listen, if something came out of Summakor's proposition.

"And what kind of students are you looking for, exactly?"

Upsilon made a show of relaxing on her chair, and put on a sugary smile.

"Mostly those with scientific dispositions. We're particularly looking for researchers in biology, and good computer engineers, for now, but there are a few other disciplines we're looking into. I've heard you've held a small informatics competition between the students of three different schools, a few months ago, after some students suggested it?"

"Oh, it was more about the spirit of the thing than the actual competition, but yes, we did. We do that kind of things whenever we can, whatever the subject, as long as they agree to organize at least half of the event, especially as it motivates the students more than the usual methods. The teachers seemed to like the idea, and while most of us ignorants didn't understand a thing of what happened, they really thought it helped them to see which of the children had more than an interesting potential."

So someone in this school did have some really promising skills, then.

Upsilon did her best to look curious – she was interested, after all, if not in the way the principal thought – without seeming like she was looking for someone in particular – which she was.

"Would it be too much to ask for the name of the winner?"

The principal shook his head slowly, as if to deny that there could be anything remotely suspicious about the request.

"Of course not. After all, you'll certainly meet her, if you go on with this visit of your enterprise. Her name is Rachel Perez. A quiet girl, intelligent, if a bit in her own world. From what the cmputer science teacher told me of what happened, she literally outran her adversaries, and even amongst them there were a few children who were more than good at this game."

Upsilon smiled – the most likely suspect, then – and continued talking with the principal for a few more minutes, because Summakor Corporation was in fact interested in new talents, and if the pretext she had used wasn't quite true at the moment, Miss Dobbs might follow up on the idea if they found a few interesting teenagers.

oOo

Sameen approached Rachel Perez as the teen was away from her friends, just after she finished her fries, and only a few minutes after "Lucy Johnson, Summakor Corporation" had finished her very interested and very fake talk with the high school's principal.

The operative waited for her just outside the public toilets, and was perfectly placed to witness the kid's anxiety as she finally emerged from the booth – she doubted the teenager had actually needed to use the loo; more likely this had been to try and conceal the panic attack from her two friends.

The girl stopped in her tracks as she noticed a persian-looking woman staring right at her, her back on the wall of the public washroom, her arms crossed on her chest.

Before Rachel could pretend she was only mildly perturbed by the encounter, before she could even think that maybe this had nothing to do with the people who had tracked her computer back to her location only half an hour ago, the woman spoke up.

"What did you do, exactly, to get a trained operative asking about you at your school?"

Rachel adjusted her bag's shoulder strap awkwardly.

"I don't know what you're... You must be mistaking me for someone else."

She probably should be walking past the suspicious woman, now, but Rachel had always been unsure of what to do in, like, any situation, and that kept her from moving. Which might not be such a bad thing, considering she had no idea what the woman wanted with her, and exposing her back to her could have proved fatal. Not that she was panicking or anything like that, no, certainly not.

The woman didn't say anything for a moment, just kept staring at Rachel, which was more than a bit unnerving. Her face had no real expression, and that was something Rachel just didn't know how to deal with. She usually relied on the changes in expression to guess whether or not she had done something socially wrong, even if most of the time, she was just as lost and prey to self-doubt when trying to decipher those expressions; still, a change was a change, and indicated something, even when she couldn't decide what.

With this woman, there wasn't even a change.

The teenager, still working up the courage to walk past the stranger, didn't know what to do with herself, or with the situation.

Fortunately for her, the woman eventually spoke again.

Of course, as soon as she did, Rachel wished she hadn't.

"Rachel Perez, sixteen. One of the best students in your high school, possibly the best. Terminally ill mother in Arizona, overworked father abroad, you live in a foster home with Maria and Miguel Rodriguez, and what's certain is that you've got problems, because you're acting jittery, and someone who's a trained operative started digging at your school, specifically fishing information about the best computer expert at your school, and it just so happens to be you. Also, I wouldn't be here if your life wasn't threatened in some way, so there's no point pretending nothing's wrong."

Rachel's brain immediately picked up on several parts of the woman's speech, once it moved past the fact that this stranger knew entirely too many things about her for it not to be uncomfortable. Least of these points wasn't that not only did the woman seem convinced the teen's life as in danger – or was it what she wanted her to believe? – but she also didn't bother explaining why exactly she was here in the first place.

The teenager tried to give a sarcastic response, except she was never very good at self-assertion, and so her sarcasm ended up full of doubt and incertitude, which sounded very weird a melange. A bit strangled, too.

"Obviously something's wrong. After all, there's a stranger who's speaking to me of things she has no business knowing, in a public washroom. That's the first wrong thing I can see here."

The woman didn't seem particularly impressed with her attempt at sarcasm, but there was something in the way her eyes moved around the empty booths and back onto Rachel that told her she appreciated her intellecual grasp on the situation, if not her self-control that was clearly slipping here – that, or nothing at all, considering Rachel wasn't very good at reading people, and even less gifted at reading people who showed absolutely no emotion.

"This place isn't secure at all, though it's good for anonimity. Now that the ones who are looking for you actually know who they're looking for, on the other hand, I'd rather have you in a secure place. We're moving."

Rachel was pretty sure she was supposed to say something like "wait a minute" and demand an explanation at that point, but she just found herself following the woman while hugging her bag close to her chest. She was thinking about the situation, of course, and was even questionning quite a lot of her actions, such as hacking into things without assurance that there wasn't any risk of being targeted for it, the fact that she was following the stranger even when she wasn't trusting her not to be the one sent after her in the first place – only trying to get her in a better place for a quick and silent murder – or the sad reality that she was always letting people bully her into action when she should really just say no.

Of course, if acting before asking saved her life this time – which might not be the case, but again, could just as much be the case – she wouldn't change her habit afterwards. No matter how, one day, it might prove to be a grave error.

Only when the woman got her into a subway train, and there was nothing else left to do than to discuss the obvious issue here, did Rachel start asking questions – careful not to sound too accusing, or anything that could anger her potential savior / agressor. Angering your savior could lead them into not being interested in saving you anymore, and angering your agressor rarely ends well too, so she was going to avoid doing either of those actions.

The teenager started fiddling with one of her braids, a nervous but tentative, and surely hardly convincing smile on her lips.

"Can I... Can I ask who you are?"

The woman finished checking their surroundings before answering:

"You can."

Which wasn't an answer at all.

"What do I call you, then?"

The stranger turned around and looked Rachel in the eyes. The girl didn't bother hiding her discomfort, but she refused to look away first. Which, considering the woman didn't seem to even know what being uncomfortable was, ended up with an intense and unending staring contest.

"'You' is fine."

Accepting that she wasn't going to get a straight answer, the teenager tried another approach. If she wasn't to be privy to any personal info – though she could have made do with an alias, honestly – maybe she could get something where she, herself, was concerned. Like, what the woman was trying to accomplish by taking her with her – not that Rachel had any assurance she wouldn't be lied to, but as always, she worked with the idea that you couldn't get anything out of nothing, but you could wriggle something out of even fake data, if only by proving it not to be true. Here, even if the woman lied to her, it would be more useful than if she said nothing – as long as Rachel kept in mind that there was the possibility she was being lied to.

And people wondered why she had trust issues.

"Why are you doing this?"

This question, unlike the others, seemed to get something out of the woman, because she took a moment to consider her answer.

Which was another question.

"Shouldn't you be asking 'what' I am doing, instead of 'why' I'm doing this?"

The teen blinked, unsure of what the stranger meant by that.

"I'm sorry?"

"You don't seem like an idiot, and even less like someone who trusts naively, so you probably haven't just assumed I'm trying to help you. In fact, you're probably trying to determine if I'm one of the villains or one of the good guys, possibly somewhere in between. So the logical question would be for you to ask what I'm trying to do here, and not why I'm doing something that you still haven't determined."

Rachel often had that problem, where she jumped ahead to the part she thought logical, but people told her she was missing the obvious. Which she was, in a way, because to her not only the question, but also the answer, were exactly that: obvious. So she skipped it. And she thought everyone would too, except they didn't.

Even in this case, where the answer wasn't obvious – are you, oh stranger, trying to save me, or to kill me, or to use me? – the girl just considered the fact that asking the question would not get her a straight and sound answer, and that she knew the implications of either possibility. From that, she had jumped to the next question.

"Because you would tell me the truth, if you were one of the bad guys?"

The stranger stared at her – again – and something that might have been the beginning of the shadow of a smile seemed to animate her lips for about half a second.

"You can call me Shaw."

Surprised, Rachel forgot what she wanted to ask for a moment.

The train stopped, and the woman gestured for her to follow as she left it. Rachel reaffirmed her grip on her bag, and made to follow.

Just as they left the subway station, a short, stocky, curly-haired cop entered her field of vision.

Only vaguely reassured – Rachel didn't buy the 'no cop can be trusted' philosophy, but she did know there were black sheeps everywhere, and no badge absolutely assured you of the integrity of someone – the teen watched as the woman stopped next to the detective and turned back to look at her. With a look that said "come here or so help me, I won't be responsible when you get yourself shot in the guts".

She strangled a laugh, and forced herself to join the two adults.

"Shaw" – Rachel wasn't sure she trusted the authenticity of the name, but she sure as hell was more comfortable having even a possible alias to call the woman – finally gave her some info as to what was going on, though she certainly didn't say it for Rachel's benefit, and more for the cop's.

"Someone's going around her school asking about who has the best computer skills around, making it sounds like their enterprise is looking for future talents to finance into college, and guess who's the lucky winner? Miss Rachel Perez. According to her school reports, she's a little genius, or close enough. Also, she's been hugging her bag, with her computer inside, strongly enough to suffocate one or two babies, since I've gotten to her. I'm pretty sure she's hacked into something she shouldn't have, and now the consequences are coming for her. Also, did I say the operative who's looking for her is likely just as overtrained as Reese was, or I am?"

The cop just raised both eyebrows, and turned around to look at the building behind him – a bit decrepit, definitely unused, and totally not welcoming.

"Governmental agent, then?"

"Looks like it, at least. She's not just a former mercenary, because these guys are amateurs for the most part. This one doesn't look dangerous, knows how to lie around her interests, and can certainly kill anyone with a spoon if needed. I just could feel it, almost like I was against..."

"Shaw" didn't end that sentence, a frown etched on her face for once, and looking like she had just tasted somehing sour and quite disturbing. The detective gave her a mildly surprised look, and pushed the door to the building open, not pushing for an explanation.

"As you requested, devoid of any homeless person, to reduce the casualties."

He got a very distressed look from Rachel as a result, while "Shaw" gave him the stink eye.

"What? It's, you know, just in case."

"You're scaring the kid."

The cop seemed to think the operative was more to blame for Rachel's distress than he could ever be, and he let it be known with a sneered "I am?". The woman didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer, though – she just closed the door closed.

As for Rachel herself, she was distressed by almost everything, by now, and she let it be seen without shame, though she tried not to let it impede her thinking process – all she had left to rely on at that point.

oOo

Upsilon waited for a moment for Parker to pick up the call, her eyes still on the building she had just left. Rachel Perez's foster home. She had presented herself as looking for students to finance, exactly the same thing she had told at the high school, considering Miss Dobbs had validated her initiative as getting two birds with one stone.

The sound of the call being accepted preceded her handler's voice only by two seconds.

"You found something on our hacker."

The woman seemed unable to put a question mark at the end of her interrogative sentences.

"Everything points to Rachel Perez, a high schooler with too much time on her hands, and not enough attention from her foster parents."

A silence on the other side of the phone call, then Parker's toneless care for the situation.

"You do realize you might have to eliminate her."

Upsilon gritted her teeth at the woman's casual mention of murder – of course, she would do what was needed, no matter what was needed, but she didn't like the fact that Parker was so casual about it. That her handler's first thought was about the possibility of murder, rather than the possibility of a better outcome.

Upsilon, herself, had seen both outcomes right away, rather than to focus on only one of the two.

"I need to speak with the girl. For all we know, she was just shuffling where she shouldn't have out of boredom, and has no idea as to what she found. If it's the case, there isn't a reason to kill her."

Not that Upsilon knew what it was about either – but what she knew was that killing wasn't always the appropriate sanction. Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn't.

As if to remind her of the scenarii in which murder was the solution – as if Upsilon needed the reminder – Parker simply continued on.

"Because she's a teenager doesn't necessarily mean she wasn't hacking her way into our network with nefarious intent."

Thank you, but the operative didn't need Parker's help to remember that.

"I said I'll do what's needed. And Miss Dobbs trusts us to be judges of that. Not you, Parker. Us."

Something that never failed to irritate the subjects' handler, as it was.

Parker's words were clipped as she finished the conversation.

"As long as you don't forget that what's needed isn't always what's pleasant."

Upsilon adjusted her earbud, and started walking away from the building.

She didn't need the reminder. Neither of them ever needed the reminder. They had been chosen because of that – because, according to Miss Dobbs, they had perfect field judgment. Because they knew how to balance necessity and ethics like no one else. Because they weren't idealists, without falling into the dangerous slope of the means to an end.

Ypsilon's phone buzzed, and a second later, the IT employee's voice rang in her ear.

"The computer's been localized again."

The operative might have given it a smirk, but Parker's speech had gotten her into a sour mood, so she didn't.

oOo

The cop – "Fusco", apparently – sat next to Rachel as "Shaw" continued on doing whatever it was she was doing – reconnaissance of the building, it seemed. The woman didn't want to be caught unaware, and so she was reviewing all the ins and outs of the place... or something like that.

"Don't worry too much, kid. Shaw's good at what she does."

Rachel's half-smile still wasn't convincing – her intent to find out what was going on, on the other hand, had not faltered. Like, at all.

She was going to get answers – except if it got her killed. Since, you know, you can't get answers once you're dead.

"What is it she's doing, exactly?"

Fusco seemed slightly uncomfortable, but still answered. In a very vague, very suspicious way, that's true, but the teen was starting to wonder if the two strangers even knew what they were doing themselves – not to say that they weren't doing it well, just that they probably didn't have a word to put on it either.

"You're in trouble, kid, and Shaw finds people in trouble, and help them. Or, prevent them from doing something they shouldn't, but in a lot of cases that's also helping them. And when it isn't, well, she's helping someone else as a result, so, close enough."

"Alright, I get it, but... I'm not saying I believe you yet, mind you, but I get what you mean. But how does she know when people are in trouble?"

The cop laughed for a moment, then turned sober.

"I've wondered about that for a while, too."

"And someone told you, in the end."

The detective's face didn't move by an inch, but somehow, Rachel caught a tiny change in it, perhaps in color, but she wasn't quite sure. She understood immediately that it wasn't something the man was willing to discuss.

"In the end, yeah."

She obviously wasn't getting answers about that either, then.

The teen stood up, and went for the window, making sure to stay out of sight from the outside. The one who was coming after her, according to "Shaw", was certainly on her way to this place, now. In fact, she could very well be here already.

She watched the street in silence for a moment, and eventually asked – yet – another question.

"So, the two of you, you're saving people. I get that too. But why?"

"Are you kidding me?"

Rachel turned back to look at Fusco, who was giving her a disbelieving look. The people they helped usually were too focused on saving themselves, she guessed, they didn't even think to ask about the obvious.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't be doing that. But it has to be tough, doing that for nothing. The logistics, the legal issues, the more-than-reluctant clients. Everything. And, sure, it's good, what you're doing, supposing you've told me the truth, but people just don't do that. Not necessarily because they're egoists or anything like that, but simply because they have to look out for themselves first. You can't take care of others, if you're yourself in deep shit."

"So what you're asking, is not 'why do that?', but 'why you?'".

The teenager started at Shaw's words, who had just come back from her tour of the place, and was standing right outside the light, in the nearest door frame.

The woman tilted her head at Fusco, who took out his gun.

"She's here. Lionel, you're staying with the kid. I'll be in the next room."

Rachel's stomach knotted at the knowledge that "she" was here. She had no idea, absolutely no idea, as to what was going to happen now, and she wasn't in a hurry to find out. But she guessed it had to happen anyway, so better now, than for her to wait in fear.

oOo

Upsilon waited until she was inside the building before ostensibly taking out her gun. The place, as she had learned, had been unused for a few days, since Narcos had raided it and kicked out the drug manufacturers who had tried to establish themselves here three months ago.

She went through the ground floor without encountering anyone, or any kind of trap, and moved up to the first floor, not liking the setup at all. Sure, maybe Rachel Perez had noticed the tracking on her computer, and had come here to hide, thinking no one would look for her in this place, but this wasn't anywhere near her school or her foster home, and why would she have used her computer if she knew about being tracked? No, the most likely explanation was that the teen thought she could handle this alone, and had gotten a small gun or some other kind of weapon to try and lead Upsilon into a trap.

That, or the kid had managed to secure her computer, but had needed to open it to do that, in which case she was certainly long gone... except if she wasn't.

In what used to be an open space for offices, but that was now bare of any desks or any kind of separations, Upsilon found the computer, open in the middle of the room. With no one sitting in front of it.

She didn't take a step inside. Either she'd find a taunt on the screen, or nothing at all, or maybe even something of interest, but she wasn't going to step a foot inside the room until she was certain the teenager wasn't on the other side of the room, ready – or at least thinking she was – to shoot whoever would enter.

Upsilon reassured her grip on her gun, and silently turned around to take a look at the other rooms on this floor, before going for the computer.

She was immediately met by the sight of another gun, held low just like her own, but she didn't doubt the woman holding it could use it very efficiently anyway. Just like Upsilon could.

The operative's eyes went up to meet the woman's.

Expressionless.

"I've seen you before."

Impossible to say where, though. The most plausible explanation was that they had met at some point during the day, running around Rachel Perez's life. Could come back to her later. Or maybe not.

The woman didn't react at being recognized, and moved immediately onto the subject at hand.

"You're going to have to back off Rachel Perez."

Upsilon toyed with the idea that the girl had been working for someone, when hacking into Summakor Corporation, and that this was her protection detail, but it didn't seem quite right. Nevertheless, she'd have to work on that assumption, at least until she could come up with a more convincing explanation.

Because the persian woman – Iran, Irak, perhaps – was quality. Upsilon couldn't afford to ignore her, if only for her own safety, let alone for her mission.

"If you want me to back off, you're going to have to give me a good reason, and physical threats are not going to cut it. As it is, they're more likely to make me think I have to deal with her."

"The kid only went looking through things she shouldn't have seen out of curiosity and teenage stupidity. She's not a threat to you, or your employers."

The woman, Upsilon noticed, hadn't commented on the subject of physical harm – letting open the possibility, but not jumping in it either, then. Something the operative could appreciate.

"Let me talk to her, then."

"Not alone."

"Of course not."

The two women stared at each other for a moment, then the stranger called for someone, her eyes never leaving neither Upsilon nor her gun.

"Fusco, get Perez in here."

A man's voice echoed from one or two rooms away.

"You're sure about that?"

"I am. If she wants to go on living, she has to face the consquences of her actions. Which means, get her in here."

"And what if the sanction isn't appropriate to the deed?"

That one was Rachel Perez, Upsilon could guess – feminin voice, younger than all of them, and rather shaken with the whole experience. Considering that she was most assuredly meaning "death" by an inappropriate "sanction", the operative could understand why.

The stranger with a gun responded with a cold voice, and a promise in her words, to both Rachel, and to Upsilon:

"If she tries anything, she knows I'm going to shoot her. Now get over here and put an end to this."

A teenager with african braids timidly entered the room, shortly followed by a stocky man – with a gun too, just to make it obvious that while Upsilon might succeed in taking out one of them, possibly even Rachel Perez herself, it was more than probable that she'd get hit, possibly killed in the process.

At least they knew where they stood in this...

Upsilon focused on the teenager, her own gun still strained on the woman – it both assured her some security, and told the girl that she wasn't here to shoot her, at least not for now.

"My employer was hacked early this morning, confidential files had been accessed, and the trail goes back to you, Rachel Perez. Now, either you did it with ill intents, or you where simply nosing around. The issue of this situation depends on your answer, and, more than that, on your honesty on the matter. So?"

The girl shifted on her feet, but didn't even try denying anything.

"I... It's just, I tend to skim through whatever's here to look at, even when I obviously shouldn't, but I don't usually take a look. Only, this time, I couldn't identify the network, nor the name, or, you know, anything at all. It got me curious."

The man behind her rolled his eyes.

"So obviously you thought, 'why not?'"

The teen had started to wrench her hands, and it was only getting worse under the scruttiny.

Upsilon sighed, and put her gun back in its holster. The man glanced at the woman, who nodded. Neither put their own weapon back, but they did put them down. The operative had to admit, it did a wonder to the atmosphere, not having any gun strained on anyone.

"Do you have any idea of what you went 'skimming through'?"

The girl winced a bit.

"Scientific stuff?"

"And more than that?"

"I'm not an expert in biology, you know. I've barely seen what it's about, and I didn't know half the words used in the reports. I mean, I could probably translate into normal English if I had the time, the files, and an access to the Internet, but here, right now, out of my raw memory? I have no idea."

Upsilon watched Rachel Perez as she spoke, and came to the conclusion that, indeed, there was nothing to fear from her. An execution was far from necessary.

A warning, though...

"For your own sake: don't try remembering it. And don't try to hack that damn network again. It might not be one of us coming after you, next time, and it could end badly. Besides, if you try again while warned... Even one of us could decide you're not worth the trouble."

Fat chance of that, but the girl would have to be really stupid to try again.

Upsilon turned back on her heels, but stopped as the man's voice called her back.

"And that's it?"

The operative looked at him for a moment, checked on the woman who was unreadable, as always, and looked back at the man, her expression flat.

"Do you want it to be more?"

"No, but..."

"The girl isn't lying, and I don't think she's enough of a fool to try anything now. If she had been trying to sell what she saw, or to use it however she could have, then we wouldn't be talking like we are. She isn't. Ergo I don't have a necessity to kill her."

And with that, Upsilon left.

oOo

Fusco joined Sameen near the door, leaving the girl in the back of the room, where she was trying to relax as much as she could.

"Do you think the Mighty Eye Out There is broken?"

The operative barely glanced at him, as she watched the other woman walk down the street towards the subway station.

"What do you mean, Lionel?"

"Well, doesn't Big Brother only reach out to you when there's a risk of deathly event? This woman just walked out without even a fight."

Sameen snorted, and finally looked at her friend.

"She was entirely ready to kill, she just didn't see a need to do it. If it's the first time this happened, be it because it's her first job, or because she only had to deal with situations in which she judged a death necessary so far, the Machine couldn't have predicted that she wouldn't kill Rachel Perez. Moreover, how does she even judge of the necessity of a death? The Machine saw the risk, and dispatched me."

The cop made a face, but didn't argue.

"I guess our presence might have also tilted the scales... Perhaps if you hadn't gotten to the girl first, things would gone way differently."

Sameen shrugged. What hadn't happened, hadn't happened, and even if you could guess, you could never know for sure.

"All I know, Lionel, is that she was skilled. She could have fought back, but she didn't. Not even to make a point. Because that wasn't what she was here for."

And that... That was disturbing, if only because most people in this business would have, no matter how pointless it could seem. If only to say "I could have". Sameen only knew a handful of people who wouldn't have.

Rachel Perez joined them at that moment, looking a bit awkward, and sorry to disturb.

"I... Is that all?"

Fusco looked for the operative's go on, as she was the expert here, before reassuring the teenager.

"Yeah. You can go home, kid. Just, don't go upsetting these people again, whoever they are."

The girl's pale face was enough of a promise in itself.

"...Thank you."

That last part was quiet, and almost went unheard, but not by Sameen. As the kid made her way to the outside, looking like she still wasn't sure she could actually leave, the operative decided to answer one of her earlier questions.

"We had a friend who would probably have said he was doing this, not only because someone had to do it, but also because he would never force it onto anyone else. That sure, other people could, and would if they had to, but that he was here to do it so that they wouldn't have to do it themselves. That everyone had a right to a second chance, and the least he could do was to offer them that chance; after that, it's their problem whether or not they chose to take it."

The teenager looked like she wanted to ask about this friend, but she didn't – and if she had, Sameen wouldn't have answered.

Instead, she hesitantly asked:

"What about you, Shaw?"

The operative stayed silent for a moment, but did answer that one too.

"I need something to do, and since I have the choice, I'd rather do something good."

It was more complicated than that, of course. But it would have to do.

The teen looked like she wanted to say more, again, but once more didn't say a thing.

Sameen waited a minute, and left too, Fusco just behind her.

"You're going to keep an eye on her tonight, aren't you?"

The operative snorted, her eyes on her phone's screen, that was displaying the blinking dot of the tracker she had put on the teenager a few minutes before the unknown woman's arrival – in case things went south and she had to find a kidnapped / fleeing Rachel Perez.

"Because you trust this woman's word, Lionel?"

The detective didn't even need a smartass answer to that.

oOo

Rachel stopped by a public library on her way home; she had spent the last half an hour arguing with herself about researching "Shaw" and "Fusco", feeling it wouldn't be very grateful to poke her nose into their business, and at the same time being overly curious – the same kind of curious that had gotten her into that mess, granted, but knowing it and not being it were two different things.

So, of course, the grateful part of her lost the battle, and before she knew it, she was typing "detective Fusco NYPD" on a public computer – she'd have to clean her old one and buy a new one, soon, because she didn't like knowing that someone had already tracked her using it.

She'd also have, she thought absent-mindedly as her eyes skimmed through a few press articles about Lionel Fusco, to be more careful next time she started doing things she wasn't supposed to do.

The fact that maybe she should just not do that kind of things did cross her mind, but somehow it remained very discreet and easily dismissed by the curious part of her.

oOo

Upsilon was finishing her report on Rachel Perez – barely half a page, only for Miss Dobbs, and fated to be burned as soon as read, but still a report – when Alpha, Iota and Lambda came back from their latest contract.

Noticing her, and having seen the Parker Glare on his way back, the young man stopped next to Upsilon's desk.

The woman raised her eyes onto him only once she was done with her report, sealed into an envelope that Parker the Terror would not get her hands onto.

"Parker isn't happy."

Alpha still had a few drops of dried blood clinging to his short black hair, but apart from that, he looked like any other – very handsome, truthfully, but in a very discreet way somehow – young man in a leather jacket. Twenty-five-ish, deceivingly innocent look on his face, and sporty. People noticed him, yes, but at the same time, didn't. Which was very useful in their field of work.

Weirdly enough, Upsilon always imagined him in a dark suit first, even though he hadn't worn one once since the division had started.

"Parker wishes she was in charge, except she isn't."

Alpha didn't comment, and Upsilon didn't take it any other way than it was meant to be taken: they always agreed, and there wasn't anything different about that. If Parker was in charge, none of them would be here. The way Parker worked wasn't their way, and as it happened, their way was Miss Dobbs' way. Parker was only here to handle the logistics of their teams, not to take decisions.

"Something went wrong on your contract?"

There wasn't any judgement in Alpha's question, if only because they were all aware here – except Parker, but that was a given; she wasn't one of them – that skills weren't everything. Luck had a lot to do with it, and sometimes neither luck nor skills could get you out of a situation.

"It wasn't a contract."

"No?"

"A teenager hacked the network out of curiosity, and I had to make sure there wasn't anything else behind it. I made a decision that Parker doesn't agree with."

Alpha turned to look in the direction of Parker's office, and snorted.

"You let the kid go."

Upsilon rolled her eyes, and confirmed with an overly neutral tone:

"I let the kid go. Shame on me, my ancestors, and my guinea pig."

Alpha's grey, slightly blue eyes were the only ones to laugh at the comment – just as Upsilon's.