This is my second only venture into AU, the other being "Existence Precedes Essence"
An answer to a question I asked myself: "What if one puts a different slant on certain comments, views certain scenes through a different lens?" (Sorry. This one came out pretty dark...) No beta; I own my mistakes.
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Well, he supposes it's his own fault. This issue should have been addressed long ago, when it first surfaced, but he'd found the initial results of that complex coding so fascinating…and interesting. But now it's become a severe liability, as the CIA - and Decima evidently - have already discovered.
The programming originally put into place was to make the quazi-interface more responsive, more easily manipulated, more…sociable. But somewhere along the line, the coding had morphed, changed, and expanded into areas never designed to accommodate it.
He glances at the Faraday cage, at the woman sitting therein, a book in her hands but very likely not reading it at all. Somehow she'd found out about the venture, and he wonders if she'd had a hand in initiating this current situation. He wouldn't put it past her! She'd seemingly made it her life's goal to find out everything about him: his past with Grace and Nathan, his involvement with the Machine, his pet projects, everything!
And what was it she'd said so matter-of-factly? About John not being his first helper monkey?
He snorts, suspecting that she may simply be envious, or perhaps irritated at not having such an assistant herself.
"It's adorable how John follows you around like that. I wish I had a pet."
But she is right on that point unfortunately. He had gone through several such employee's in the past…all of them exhibiting some fatal flaw before he'd have to terminate them. The earlier employees were simply too aggressive to handle, often causing more damage than the outcomes warranted.
And then there were the ones that swung to the opposite side of spectrum: ones that weren't motivated enough to follow through on difficult, often dangerous assignments. Those too he'd had to get rid of…
He'd thought poaching the CIA employees would be a short cut to developing and training his own, but obviously there was a reason they could be poached: unreliable, unpredictable, irresponsible in the field. In short, compromised.
But Reese…Reese was a winning combination: intelligent, trustworthy, capable, with an unusually strong streak of the White Knight syndrome in his psyche. An ex-soldier, and far more concerned with saving others than himself. A perfect fit for the kind of work needed to be done...plus the agent had already slipped the CIA's leash.
He thinks back on those early days, when he'd spent an inordinate amount of time sifting through data strings for the alert that would allow him to find this particular individual. He knew Reese's background, provenance, and had run into the ex-agent unexpectedly at the hospital - but at the time was himself in no condition to do anything about the encounter. And then Reese disappeared into the city's unwashed mass of humanity.
If only there had been a tracker on his subject, but there wasn't. The search took months and months before the alert came through.
"I know everything about you Mr. Reese…"
Oh, yes. And that he does. With the help of reams of data and an abundance of insider contacts. He has more information on the ex-op and the CIA program that developed him than Reese himself will ever be aware!
Finch had long known about that ambitious NIH undertaking, the Human Connectome: an endeavor to create a copy of the neural architecture of the human brain, the goal being to map all the connections of the brain's neurons. He'd been very aware of that project, and also worried that once completed, it would open the door to unprecedented consequences as it was but a short step to downloading and digitizing the information.
And what could be downloaded could also be uploaded…
But what he hadn't known at the time was how far that particular project had advanced. Readily available information revealed the Connectome a success, including the digitization of neuron connections. But there the information trail ended. It was only through extensive digging that he discovered how the results of that project were being used. And by whom.
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…..
Bear is staring at him. It's sometimes unnerving, being the object of the dog's intense attention, and it'd be worrisome if he didn't already know what it was about. But he does know, so turns his back on the animal and sits at the computer, flipping through the screens of various news stations and their reports of violence and mayhem.
"Staring at me isn't helping you know," he informs the dog. "It changes nothing…"
The scenes are graphic and getting worse, putting his mind on the track of where this had all started, though its background data he knows only too well, and no matter how many times he goes over it, fears it will not alter the inevitable outcome.
And unfortunately, neither will that annoying alert that keeps notifying him of the end game. His end game.
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…..
He knows for instance, that the CIA programs their agents for a combination of patriotism, courage, and ruthlessness. Creates specialized assassins. But - killing machines with a heart. And what a dichotomy that is! A gruesome dichotomy...
Still, a winning profile was eventually developed, though through a great deal of trial and error. And failures.
He regrettably had hands-on experience with some of the failures, but fortunately, also with a success. Strangely enough, the polarity in the programming actually seems to work. Or least for a while. He grimaces at the memory of all their failures, but the one that bothers him the most, will continue to bother him he fears, is this current failure.
An issue the CIA addressed early in the project was that if one simply needs a weapon to point and activate, sentiment is a hindrance. Yet without some emotional input, their weapon could be - and was - easily compromised, converted to do an enemy's bidding.
Hence the introduction of the White Knight syndrome which necessitated the inclusion of some pleasant, but totally artificial memories to provide a matrix for the emotive factors. Unfortunately, that very syndrome can become a ticking bomb, or more accurately, a time-release psychological breakdown.
But in the eyes of CIA handlers, it is simply an essential, but oft times vexing additive.
"I need to take leave. Family emergency."
"You have no family, Reese…"
There had also been added some kind of ethical code, a moral compass of sorts…though the CIA tended to skimp on that factor, placing far more importance on the flexibility of processes than on principals. So of course, in many cases, that particular piece of programming didn't function well and more than one agent became far more vested in the process of executing an assignment than in the result.
He grimaces as Kara Stanton comes to mind...
Now there was a piece of work! The female agent had become so fond of her job, so enamored with killing, that even the Agency had begun to worry…perhaps the impetuous for their decision to terminate her along with her partner. And look how that turned out!
The two agents escaped their planned fate in Ordos…though, as his illicit records indicate, it was not long thereafter that Decima apprehended Stanton, and later on, Reese. A double prize for that organization: a pair of effective operatives with the reputation of getting the job - any job – done!
"We've got a lead on Reese. A dissident group helped a CIA agent escape a town near Ordos May 2010…"
The success of the two agents was likely the prime reason the shadow group extended such efforts to capture the agents. With the proper 'persuasion', a little tweaking, and these valued assets could be converted to do Decima's bidding, instead that of the Agency.
The records he'd obtained also indicated Decima, after finding the ex-op and healing wounds he suffered during the Ordos explosion, had used Reese as they had Kara, to execute several of their own assignments. Having had no initial investment in the assets, the Organization likely assigned these agents to the most dangerous, brutal of jobs. Until one went missing.
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…..
The news media is having an especially exciting few days: plenty of carnage and chaos to report. Solemn faces and grave tones can't quite disguise the elation of the individual news anchors at being the center of attention in covering these gripping events.
If he weren't so intimately aware of the reasons behind the apparent run-amok behavior these anchors are reporting, he might be more understanding of the their macabre conduct. As it is, all he feels is disgust. And sorrow.
"Not now Bear!" he says sharply as the animal places a ragged tennis ball on the desk top. But Bear is a confident dog, not at all intimidated by the brusque tones and remains at the geek's side. Someone has to remind the human, once again, that there are better things to do than watch the black box - and fill the chamber's atmosphere with anxiety. He waits patiently. Humans are sometimes just so slow...
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…..
At that point, the time-line he had developed became more difficult to fill in as there were still too many missing pieces to put together the entire puzzle. What is clear to him now is that the Organization's personnel, familiar with Black Ops protocol, had quickly removed Kara's TC, one injected into every operative. Knowing that with its remote access the capsule could function as a tracking device, Decima effectively took Kara 'off the grid' and she became invisible to the CIA.
Reese's device also went missing, but whether Decima should get credit for that is still an unknown, a puzzle piece he has yet to find. He suspects however, that the ex-CIA agent may have removed the capsule himself before being captured by Decima. He knows Reese still carries one around like a souvenir, the agent well aware that the simple act of removal renders the capsule's tracking capability impotent.
"Knowledge is not my problem. Doing something with that knowledge is where you come in."
But what he doesn't know is whether it was an evolution in character coding or whether Reese's memory of the ex-girl friend was stronger than Decima's rather persuasive programming... In any event, the ex-CIA agent escaped, leaving Kara behind as he journeyed to New Rochelle to fulfill his White Knight role and rescue Jessica from danger.
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…..
Finch sighs. There is something he must do now, and he knows he's simply postponing the inevitable by reminiscing over prior events. And the dog is still staring at him.
He ignores the tennis ball on the desk and limps to the file cabinet to lift out the small container, now really getting the animal's attention. Bear has become very familiar with the contents of the cabinet, one item of which is the treat jar.
"Were life but so simple, that humans could derive such pleasure from a mere biscuit…" he murmurs to the dog. Bear receives the treat with enthusiasm, apparently in total agreement with the sentiment. Humans could learn something from a dog, Finch thinks. Live for the moment, enjoy the little pleasures in life, give and accept affection, and don't take offense.
Carefully breaking another biscuit in half, Finch offers a second treat to his four footed companion, his mind already resuming a review of the current problem's history.
So much for taking a dog's advice.
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…..
His records terminate at the point where Reese escaped his captors and headed toward New Rochelle. It is very likely Decima agents pursued the ex-op, but the same lack of tracking data that had continually foiled Finch, also prevents the Organization from finding their escapee, even now.
However, a reclusive billionaire has access to resources that elude Decima…
You know, before we, before I found you, the numbers haunted me…
What Decima had not known, hopefully still does not know, is that while the TC is the most effective way to track an agent, there are other minute signals given out by the internal programming. Signals so deeply embedded that only a very precise, very focused, very unique filter will recognize them - and Finch was…is…certainly not without the wherewithal to piggyback on other resources and pick up on those signals.
He'd forced millions of data streams to pass through his digital sieve, looking for those tell-tale signs that could identify the elusive agent. And several months later, the alert had finally sounded…his target inexplicably close, located at a police precinct station. He could pluck Reese from under the noses of the CIA and Decima without either being any wiser!
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…..
"No… Sorry. That's enough." Finch closes the jar and replaces the container in cabinet. He's quickly learned that when it comes to the treats, Bear is a bottomless pit! The dog gives him a final glance, clearly checking if the human might have a change of mind, then evidently convinced the jar is permanently closed, huffs his disappointment, grabs the tennis ball from the desk top and trots to his bed.
Finch returns to the massive desk, pushes his chair a few inches to the right, then the left, fighting with himself not delay, not to sit down.
Because, well, there is no putting this off any longer.
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...
Mr. Reese is laying waste to large swaths of the city, hell bent on revenge in a virtual repeat of a scenario that occurred several years ago when discovering that the woman in his memory was no longer in existence. That revelation, the loss of an important piece of the matrix, almost destroyed the ex-agent, creating a severe internal identity crisis.
I don't know who I am. I haven't known for a long time. I know who I was…
Finch shakes his head. He should have foreseen this. He should have dealt with that part of the ex-soldier's psyche at the beginning…exorcised it. Then perhaps all this would not be necessary.
But he'd grown fond of the emotive part of Reese's character. The caring, the loyalty, the dedication to the Numbers. The dry humor… And frankly, he thought that in giving the ex-agent a specific job, a purpose, everything would be back under control. That the proper synapses would click again, patterns fall back into their predictable order. It had for a while; he'd thought it would be sufficient…
But, evidently not. The events of the last few days indicate clearly that a serious flaw has developed in the coding, or rather, in the evolved coding. The White Knight factor is running in conflict with the destruction of another important individual, and seemingly has Mr. Reese spinning out of control again, unable to handle the loss of another emotive piece of the matrix.
Finch limps slowly to the small closet near the back of the chamber, Bear following nervously, picking up on the strained atmosphere. "I know," he says to the dog, as he removes a long barreled device. "But it's for the best. We'll just have to look for a replacement. Again."
Rummaging through a metal box marked 'TC', he selects a small golden capsule after carefully inspecting several others. Then breaks open the injector for loading. He'll likely only get one chance, but he can do this, needing the capsule to only enter the thorax, the largest area on a human silhouette. That done, he can activate it remotely.
It's just a matter of getting close enough and that shouldn't be a problem, considering the current programming loop that seemingly continues to operate within his employee. Mr. Reese stills sees him as a friend, someone who gave the ex-op a purpose in life. Finch will be able to get close because John Reese trusts him. And isn't that a shame…
"We become what we behold; we shape our tools, and then they shape us."
He holds the shiny Termination Capsule briefly, and sighs again as he rubs it between his fingers, feeling the writing engraved into the metal. The script is small and delicate, a unique label for a unique individual. Exquisite…artful. It's beauty completely out of sync with its terrible significance.
The inscription is clearly readable, forming only one word: 'Reese'
End
Parts of this AU fic are actually true: there is a project called "The Human Connectome".
Just google the project name. Interesting, fascinating…and…scary!
3.09 "The Crossing":
Root: "Lets not pretend that John is your first helper monkey... Just how many guys did you go through?
Finch: (Silence)
Root: "I can't imagine what it must be like for you. After all this time to let go of your creation."
Finch: "The Machine is still sending us numbers Ms Groves."
Root: "I wasn't talking about the Machine..."
Finch: (hesitates) "John..."