"In the later years of the 36th century, a fifth World War broke out. Those of us who survived knew that mankind could never survive; our own violent and aggressive natures could simply no longer be risked. So we created a new, better man: the Larrelles, who's task is it to seek out and exterminate the true source of man's inhumanity to man – his ability to feel." - Harold Finch.

Harold Finch. A smallish man clad in a charcoal grey suit, thick black framed glasses resting on his nose, a frowning brow with a thin black cane clasped tightly in his right hand and on his fourth finger a large silver ring with Master carved into it. The cane was the latest edition to his attire – a neck and back injury rendered Harold in pain and with walking difficulties a few months previous. He stood on his balcony gazing over the dystopian world beneath him. His eyes carefully searched the streets and grey concrete block buildings below: the scene familiar to that of fascist Russian centuries before. He loved yet hated this world. The world was now peaceful – no conflicts. He was a rich man, the richest, although he was not in control of the world physically his money and wealth made him the most powerful man alive. No questions asked. He was free to do as he wished, as free as the State of Reconse let him. The cold, late winter air was painful on his joints; the cold seeped into the very core of them and made them ache. He walked back inside his penthouse, cane clinking on the stone floor. He despised the cane, it made him feel weak like he was unable to hold his own weight but the cane brought its own power. The civilians were scared of him, they bowed their heads in terror as he walked by the cane announcing his presence everywhere he went, he liked that. Power.

Today was an important day, A few years ago he heard of a military Larrelle: John Reese. A dangerous man who'd sacrificed all he could for his job, everything including his wife, one Jessica, executed for sense offence back in 3724. Harold was curious about a man such as Reese, he wanted a man such as Reese. Harold stood in front of his floor length mirror, straightened his tie, tugged his sleeves over his hands and left the penthouse. He rode the elevator down to the car park and walked over to his large Mercedes saloon. Even his car had a powerful presence about it. He climbed in and drove out into the winter weather. The State itself moved at a slow place but every step from every citizen was calculated and in time. Harold watched them through his tinted windows, the children dressed in white linen uniforms, the women in grey linen and the Larrelles in the black crisp suits. The colours of the state – minimal emotion. Harold had always found the Larrelles interesting – sacrificing everything for the chance to serve, protect and kill for the benefit of the state.

He pulled up the tall metal gates keeping TyRon from the citizens. A guard walked out.

'This area is off limits to citizens.' His voice uncharacteristically like a recorded message.

'I think you will find I am allowed.'

There were times where he didn't mind his injuries as much, the limited movement of his head and the sharp intake of breath from the guard told him that he didn't need to look at him. The guard knew who he was and feared it.

'Sorry sir, didn't recognise you.'

Harold continued to stare ahead as the guard opened the gates, he eased his saloon car forward slowly into the underground car park of TyRon. TyRon was the creator and Distributor of the drug that fuelled the great society. The drug that cancelled out all emotion rendering people uniform and monotonous. The perfect society where no one had disagreements and no one fought. This is where the citizens came to get their doses and the offenders came to die. Harold had received news that they had something he wanted. He parked in his bay next to the door and walked into the building. He walked up to reception and was greeted with a small, dead eyed smile from the young woman behind the desk.

'Good morning sir.'

'Morning.'

'How are you this morning?'

'The weather could better.' He said bluntly. 'You have something for me?'

'Of course.' The young woman stood up and bowed slightly. She walked out from behind the desk and led Harold down the vast concrete corridors, his cane echoing against the cold walls. They stopped at a metal door. The receptionist entered a code and the door slide open slowly, grinding on the rust that had begun forming on the hinges. They entered the room.

Inside, the room was roughly eight by eight, with half of it caged off. The room was dark and had a unnerving smell to it. Harold turned to the young woman beside him and gave her a cold look, she nodded and left the room, grinding the door closed.

Harold listened to the silence, only hearing his own short, pain breathes and someone else's breaths, much longer, much more mysterious.

'Had a feeling I'd be seeing you soon.' Came a voice from the darkness with a slight cheeky and light tone to it.

'It is proper for me to visit such a Larrelle as yourself Mr Reese.'

The figure spat at the mention of Larrelle. 'Come to gloat? Or do you want to see what happens when you cease the dose?'

'No. I have read your file and I am impressed. The highest rank military Larrelle turned sense offender, now on trial with an almost certain execution.' Harold paused. 'What a waste.'

The figure stepped up to the cage and Harold got his first glimpse of the man they feared; namely John Reese. 6.2 feet of tall, toned and tanned muscle. Harold let his eyes scan Reese: the black hair with silvering areas messily swept over to one side, numerous scars lining his chest and shoulders and prominent abs tucked into plain beige slacks with his large bare feet on the concrete floor. Harold took a step closer, he could feel John's breath on his face.

'I have a proposition for you.' Reese looked at him sceptically. 'I spare your life and you become my slave to do with as I please.'

'If I refuse?'

Harold shrugged his shoulders as best he could and started walked up and down the small room, clinking his cane on the floor with every step. 'You will die.'

'Not much of a choice is it?'

'Depends on how you see the world Mr Reese. Life or death.'

'Slavery isn't living.'

Harold stood below Reese again and took off his glasses, he stared Mr Reese in the eyes. 'Depends on how you see the world Mr Reese.' Harold replaced his glass and started walking towards the door.

Reese saw the living glimmer in his eyes, could it be that the Davarn, the great wealth behind the world was turning his back on the very thing that he had created? Could it be true that the great Harold Finch was living a lie?

'Wait.' Said Reese.

Harold took his hand off the door handle and turned around slowly.

'I want to go with you.'

Harold smiled thinly. Reese took a deep breath and fell to his knees, he sat back on his ankles with his thighs spread slightly and his muscular hands spread on his knees, with his head bowed obediently. Harold walked back over to the cage and ran his thumb over the scanner, opening the cage door. He stepped inside and stood over Reese's inferior body.

'Do you accept my proposition?'

'Yes sir.'

Harold smiled. 'Stand.' He said sharply.

John stood and Harold took a silver choker out of his coat pocket. He clipped it around Reese's neck and ran his thumb over the engraved letters: S – L – A – V – E.

'From this moment on, you belong to me and only me. You will do as I ask without hesitation. I will be placing many great secrets on your shoulders which you will not share with anyone – any sharing or grievous error will result in execution.'

'Yes sir.'

'One day, I might even remove this collar from you.'

Harold patted the silver chocker and turned back to the door with Reese at his heel. Harold took Reese out into the corridor and walked him back through the tunnels to the reception. Harold stood at reception and collected Reese's file.

Outside John opened the back passenger door of the Mercedes saloon. Harold stood and looked at him.

'I am fully capable of driving myself.'

'It's my job to serve you. I can also see the excoriating pain you are in. Let me drive.' Reese knew he was being bold but he wanted his please his new owner and make his life earlier – Reese had always served those higher than him, he always would.

Harold continued to look at Reese for a few moments more, sighed then eased himself into the back of his car. John closed the door and walked around the sweeping bonnet and sat in the driver's seat. He moved the chair back and realigned the rear view mirror, he caught Harold's eye.

'I will give you directions, drive carefully, I get car sick as a passenger.'

John nodded once and slowly drove out of the car park.