Hey everybody! Thanks, as always, for reading and being so darn nice! Hope you're all having a good holiday season! It's crazy that this time last year, I'd just started writing this madness.
Chapter 55 will be posted next Thursday, December 10th.
"Come on through here." The voice was familiar. Bear growled menacingly. "Oh crap! No— Heel! Sit!"
It was Daniel Casey. Root hurried down the hallway and saw that Bear was lunging at him, trying to sink his teeth into Daniel's arm.
"Bear," she said. Her voice was weak, but Bear dropped back to the ground, although his hackles stayed raised.
Daniel wasn't the only figure at the other end of the hallway. Root recognized Jason Greenfield and, between Jason and Daniel, Michael Evans. They each had one of Mike's arms around their shoulders and were half-carrying him as he gingerly limped between them. Daniel looked up and saw Root standing in a patch of soft light filtering through the dirty windows.
"Thank god you're here. I wasn't sure if you guys were still actually using this place," Daniel said, grinning as he shifted Mike's arm over his shoulder. Bear returned to her side, still baring his teeth until she put a hand on his head.
"What…" Root had to clear her throat. It felt strange to speak. She couldn't remember the last time she'd said anything aloud. It had probably been to the dog, at least a day ago. "What happened?"
"Is your psycho bitch friend around?" Jason asked lightheartedly. When Root just looked at him, he elaborated. "Evans needs a doctor. She went to med school, right?"
"Shaw's not here," Root said softly. Jason looked frustrated.
"Ok, then the guy in the suit. He's got military training, he can probably handle this," Jason said dismissively.
"Reese isn't here either," Root said, swallowing hard.
"They found us. Again." Daniel said, helping Mike sit down on the only chair in the room that hadn't been tossed on its side or broken.
"How?" Root asked, concerned that perhaps Samaritan was able to see past their tricks.
"Let's just say that Jason's not allowed to pick our hiding spots anymore," Daniel teased.
"Shut the hell up, Casey," Greenfield sneered. "You try coming up with new places to hide."
"Some guys with guns found where we've all been staying. Daizo took Tasha and Divya to a new safe house, but Mike fell and screwed up his ankle. We think it's just a sprain but… better safe than sorry," Daniel explained. Jason had paused, looking around the room and realizing that something was wrong. Still, Daniel was oblivious, picking up a second chair and putting it upright, motioning for Mike to put his foot on the seat. "Here, I think you're supposed to keep it elevated."
"Where are the others?" Jason asked, his voice tense. His wary tone caused Mike to look up fearfully. He knew by now that when someone asked a question like that, there was a big problem.
"They're…" she started softly. She had to pause to shake her head, as if that might clear some of the fog that had descended on her. "Uh, they're working. John, Lionel, and Sameen, I mean. It's— It's just me here."
Even Daniel had stopped to look at her.
"Where's Harold?" He asked quickly. Root's eyes teared up and she shook her head.
"What?" Daniel said, taken aback by the unspoken news.
"Shit," Jason cursed. "Don't get too comfortable Evans, we've gotta go."
He motioned for Mike to get back up.
"When are the others coming back?" Jason continued, trying to haul Mike back to his feet with a hand under his arm. Daniel put out a hand to stop Jason.
"I don't know," Root admitted. Daniel's surprise grew, and Mike started to get up on his own, clearly afraid. Jason shook his head in frustrated disgust.
"So what? You're just going to sit here and wait for some guys with guns to come and find you?" He asked. But Root wasn't listening to Jason. Instead, she was looking at Mike, thinking about questions she'd been asking herself for the past few days, alone in the subway. When Mike realized that she was getting ready to ask him something, he stopped moving, steadying himself with a hand on Harold's old desk.
"Do you think that we did the right thing?" She asked, barely more than a whisper. He had been there with her while they had planned all of the explosions. Had been there while she roped more and more people into the madness of a war between rival super-intelligences. Mike's eyebrows furrowed.
"Yeah, I do," he said finally, nodding his head.
"Why? How can you be sure?" She asked. Despair was close to consuming her once more, sucking her down into tears and sleep again.
"Because they were going to kill me, and Tasha. They wanted us dead because I questioned their plans for server rooms. And Divya's mom. They killed her too. Doing experiments with new materials to find new ways to make their all-seeing eye more powerful. They didn't do enough to keep her safe from the shit they were using, and she got cancer, and she died. They refused to take responsibility, and silenced everyone else who worked with her one way or another because they didn't want the public to know what they were up to. And there are hundreds of other people whose names we don't know and probably never will because they completely vanished. Erased from existence, like they meant nothing. Like they were irrelevant."
"And we fought fire with fire. We blew holes in every one of those buildings. What if there were people inside?" Root asked. She could feel panic rising in her again, her heart beginning to race.
"There weren't," Mike told her, exasperated.
"You don't know that," Root said quickly.
"Yeah, we do," Jason interrupted. Root shook her head, confused, and watched his eyes narrow. "It's been all over the news. They went inside of every one of those buildings in every country, and no one was hurt. Even in the places where it was early in the morning, every single person who should have been in every single one of those places got messages at the last minute with some reason that they shouldn't go to work."
"Even people who were visiting for meetings got cancelled on," Daniel added. Root couldn't believe it.
"The people who have gotten hurt and killed have been attacked after the bombs went off," Mike said. "The news and investigators and stuff, they've got all their theories about who it is that's kidnapping and murdering these people but… it's them. I know it is."
Mike seemed very sure of himself as he continued. "They know we're involved, but they don't know who we got to help us at the different places, so there's been a squad that's just… trying to get rid of anyone who might have helped."
"What?" Root asked, stunned.
"They didn't just come after us," Mike said. He couldn't seem to believe that Root honestly didn't know what had gone on. "There's a team of them that we think is traveling around, trying to make sure that no one who helped gets away. Some people on the news think that they're the ones that set off the bombs and when they didn't hit their targets they decided to go with uh… a more hands-on approach. And other people are saying they're vigilantes seeking justice for the attacks, but…"
Root had gone numb. Mike leaned forward, trying to get her to look at him to make sure that she was listening. She met his gaze and he continued.
"But that blond woman that Shaw saved us from is one of them. She dyed her hair brown but it's her. And… I saw some of the pictures of people who've been killed. The ones I knew… they were on our side." Root felt very scared. Mike was so concerned, and his lips pursed as he tried to work out the best way to say what he wanted to next. Daniel saw that Mike was struggling and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Like he was tapping in, giving Mike a break.
"They've been showing the pictures on the news, of people who've disappeared or been found murdered… Mike thought that the ones that you didn't directly meet with looked sort of familiar too. We looked into them. They're just… secretaries, and security guards. People who issue visitors passes, things like that," Daniel said. Root thought she knew what he was getting at and felt the blood drain further from her face. "We think they're fighting blind. Those people weren't on our side, but they weren't against us. They were just employees that happened to have the wrong job. Since Mike's old bosses don't know who's working against them, they're fighting everyone."
Root wished that the Machine was with her, listening and giving her instructions. The Machine had done what She had set out to do, destroying the servers, but Samaritan was fighting back.
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" She asked, the words bitter.
Daniel licked nervously at his lips.
"Will you help me look for some medical supplies?" Daniel asked Root. He could tell that Root was confused. "You probably know your way around here better than I do."
She nodded.
"You guys should stay here. We'll be back in a minute," Daniel said, looking at Jason meaningfully.
Root followed Daniel out of Harold's office and towards the room where Finch had once kept Root locked up.
Once they were out of earshot, standing beside a cart of medical supplies that they had always kept close by just in case, Daniel turned to her and picked up their conversation exactly where he'd left off.
"Samaritan's people can't keep this up. They're afraid people are going to start talking. They're not sure how much people know, and if enough of their targets were to come forward and say that all of these companies are working under a huge umbrella corporation that's been murdering and manipulating its way into everyone's lives, Samaritan's done for. There are workers at these companies all over that have gone into police custody, and on the news they're reporting that some people are going into witness protection programs," Daniel said. His optimism was too much for Root.
"Samaritan has eyes on all levels of government. From local police departments up to the White House. Anyone who seeks protection from the government is willingly walking straight into the arms of the same people who want them dead," Root said. She couldn't keep the pitch of her voice from creeping up the scale as she spoke, her anxiety high.
"Sure. But if it's being reported on the news that people are seeking asylum, Samaritan can't keep making them vanish or turn up dead. Controlling the government is only worth anything as long as the people you're leading have faith in you," Daniel said. Root paused, wondering if he might have a point. "If it looks like these people are being snatched out from under the noses of the people whose job it is to protect them, the public will start doubting."
Root was shaking her head before he'd finished.
"Then they'll call all of their victims terrorists. Spies. They'll lie and manipulate. You know they will. They always have," she said.
"But these 'terrorists' are not some vague 'other' from overseas, where people can point to a specific race or a different income tier or religion," he said. "These are your neighbors. You go to their cook-outs. They borrow sugar from you. Your kids and their kids climb the fences between your yards to play after school. Why would your neighbors become terrorists?"
Root didn't answer.
"They wouldn't. Not unless there was something that really was worth fighting for," he said. She could see his eyes flitting between hers.
"And besides," Daniel continued. "Calling all of the men and women they're after terrorists would be admitting that over a hundred terrorists had managed to trick them. If that many people were caught after being able to work together from across the country— across the globe— and set off that many explosives, who's to say there aren't hundreds more. They don't want to seem that weak."
Daniel was right. He smiled at her. It was a grim smile, but it wasn't hopeless.
"As long as their artificial intelligence isn't working, they're going to have to use manpower to try to figure out who was actually involved. And with all of the security feeds scrubbed, and none of the employees fully in-the-know about either side of this fight, that's going to be difficult if not impossible," Daniel pointed out. "The Machine has been in contact with all employees that are being looked into, the ones working with us and the ones that were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Every one of them is being told to get the government to provide protection. Samaritan is going to have to help the same people that it's trying to get rid of."
Root's eyes were glued to his feet. They had thought this through. Daniel, Jason, and Daizo had clearly discussed it all and they were right.
"But… What if the Machine isn't any better than Samaritan?" Root asked quietly, finally looking up at him. He was taken aback by the question. "What if they're not as different as we thought?"
"The Machine and Samaritan aren't the same. The Machine cares. Why else would it plan any of this? And make sure that we're safe?" Daniel asked. Root didn't answer.
"It's like I said before: Samaritan's people are fighting, but with their system gone, they're fighting blind. They're striking at everyone because they don't know where to aim," Daniel continued. "The Machine would never do that. It's too dangerous."
"She had us blow up buildings all over the world," Root said, frustrated. "How can you say She wouldn't fight the way that they're fighting?"
"I told you, the Machine made sure no one was there," Daniel said. Then, when Root stayed quiet, considering all that he'd said, he nodded. "Everyone matters. The Machine knows that."
Root looked at the medical cart and thought about all of this.
"Hey Casey, come on, man," Jason's voice made its way to them through the empty library. "We should keep moving."
"Alright," Daniel called back. He grabbed some of the bandages and a few instruments, taking his time. Root could tell he was watching her.
"You should come with us," he told her. "It's no good, sitting here hoping that they come back."
"They will," Root said. But she didn't know that. And Daniel seemed to be aware.
"Okay," he replied gently. "If you change your mind, you know how to find us."
"Actually," Root told him, feeling the shakiness of her sadness rising again, "She's not talking to me."
"She's not…" It took him a moment to absorb this news. "But— then how did you know that we were coming here?"
"I didn't. I just… the dog needed to walk, and I knew I should get out of our safe house," she explained. "Just for a little while."
"Then… then the Machine must've known you were here. It must've wanted us to find you and get you to come with us. Why else would it tell us to come here?" Daniel asked.
"I don't know," she confessed. "It's not safe here. It hasn't been for a long time."
They stood in silence, Daniel looking at her like he hoped she might say something more.
"I wish you'd come. So you weren't alone," he said. "You look tired."
"No, I— I want to stay. I want to be here when they get back," Root said. She tried to smile lightheartedly. "Besides, I'm not alone. I've got the dog."
Daniel nodded slowly.
"I understand," he told her. Then he sighed deeply. "So I guess this is goodbye then. For now, anyway."
Root smiled, but it was weak. She hated that he was looking at her with so much pity, and she wished that she could be sure that someday, they'd see one another again. It was strange, knowing that she had made friends with Daniel, Jason, and Daizo. It was easy to forget when things got hectic and they didn't see one another for a stretch, but as soon as they were together, at least one of them would greet her warmly.
"I guess so," she said.
It had been four days since they had arrived in London, and there was no word on Greer's whereabouts. Shaw was tired of being directed to blown-out offices around London where tech monkeys tried to salvage what they could from the burnt remains of Samaritan's bases there. In the hellish bunker that the Machine had provided for them, Shaw, Reese, and Fusco stayed mostly silent. None of them could stand the thought of not being available, just in case something did happen. So they stayed sullen and angry, cleaning and re-cleaning their weapons.
That fourth evening, as they returned to the office building where they had been spending their nights, Shaw dropped her weapons on the conference table, shook her coat off from over the cast on her broken hand, and sat down heavily in one of the chairs.
"You can't do that," Reese growled at her. She didn't bother looking up at him. Instead, she focused on gingerly rubbing at her arm above the top of her cast. Her hand was aching but she was trying not to take too many of the pain meds. They made her just a little slower than usual, and in this situation, that slight delay in response could be the difference between life and death. "Shaw, are you listening to me?"
"What?" she snapped, glaring up at him. He shook his head at her in disgust, eyes rolling to look at the ceiling.
"You have to tell us what the plan is, and let us go in first," he said.
Shaw rolled her eyes right back, snorting derisively.
"Sorry, I'm not letting you have all the fun," she told him, dragging a semi-automatic gun into her lap and struggling to take it apart to start cleaning it. With one hand broken, it was almost impossible to disengage the mechanism.
"Shaw," he warned right as she finally managed to detach a piece of the gun, slapping it down on the table.
"What?" she repeated, louder this time, her anger getting the better of her.
"Your hand is broken. You have to let us help," Reese said. Shaw huffed. Had she, in fact, burst in through the door of their last hit without telling the others the plan? Yes. Because the Machine hadn't given her anything more than a location and that they should be prepared to defend themselves. Had she almost dropped the gun she was carrying in juggling it to open the door? Yes. Her hand encased in the cast was virtually useless, but she didn't want to let the other two take the lead. She wanted to be the first in to threaten and shoot anyone who didn't do what they were told.
At any rate, the latest break-in turned out to be yet another attempt to stop everyone from working on fixing Samaritan, getting everyone to agree to receive more money from these strange newcomers than they had been promised by Samaritan, and whisk them off to safety from Samaritan's gunmen.
No one had taken them up on their offer as of yet, of course, choosing instead to commit suicide, just like Greer had told them to. And Shaw could tell that it was beginning to weigh on Fusco. Even Reese had a harrowed look of desperation on his face when they had exited the building. But it honestly just made Shaw mad, and more inclined to bust open the next door they were sent to.
Plus, her assessment that today's raid had been an attempt to stop the workers wasn't quite accurate. That part of the day had occurred in the room beyond the large entry hall where Shaw and the other two had fought their way through a squadron of armed thugs. The hired guns were armed and dangerous, and this was what Reese was taking issue with. Shaw had gotten alarmingly close to getting shot, but Reese had seen it coming from over her shoulder and shoved her so hard that she ended up on her hands and knees on the ground, scrambling to keep her gun pointing the right direction as she growled through the pain of landing on her broken wrist . And the bullet that she had narrowly avoided would not have just clipped her. She'd have been hit in center mass.
"I'm fine, John," Shaw grumbled at him.
"No. You're not," he said. Fusco shook his head in frustration at the pair of them, making his way into the separate space where there were cardboard boxes filled with folders of information about clients and orders for supplies.
"Why don't you examine your own head instead of trying to boss me around," she told him, dismissing him and flipping the gun in her lap to detach another piece. He stood over her, waiting for her to look up at him, but she wouldn't.
"You can't keep being reckless. You're going to get hurt," he said softly. "And I can't let that happen."
Shaw stopped what she was doing, her lip curling with rage.
"I'm not a damsel in distress, and you're not my white knight. So stop acting like one," she told him.
"You need to stop acting like a toddler having a temper tantrum," he retorted sternly. "We can't afford to lose anyone else. We were barely saving the numbers as it was, before all of this happened."
Shaw felt her blood run hot at the sweeping generalization of 'all of this'. She wondered what that entailed in his mind. Harold getting shot? Root handcuffing her? The explosions?
"When we get back—"
She laughed bitterly, cutting him off, and he stared at her.
"When we get back?" she snarled. "What the hell makes you think we're going to make it back?"
"Maybe you won't, the way you keep running into trouble head first, but I don't plan on dying here," he said, his voice low with anger.
"Why? Why would you even wanna go back there?" Shaw asked. Their rage was evenly matched when his nose wrinkled upwards and he yanked the gun from her hands, tossing it to the far end of the table. She stood up aggressively, his chin higher than the crown of her head.
"Because there are still numbers to save," he said, leaning into her space like it was a threat. Then he stepped back, shaking his head. His voice got lower, impossibly. "They're never going to stop coming."
"They can sort their stupid shit out for themselves. I don't care," Shaw told him, setting her jaw.
"You should," he murmured sadly. His lips pursed in disgust. He was disappointed. Defeated. "If you don't, then Harold spent all that time with us for nothing."
Shaw saw red.
She barely remembered throwing a punch at John. Had no recollection of how one of the chairs ended up knocked over, and a lamp tumbled from a desk and broke on the floor.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Fusco intervened, helping Reese push Shaw off of him. He must have heard the commotion and raced back in. "What the hell? What's wrong with you two?"
Reese was gently feeling his jaw bone. His fingers were hesitant in their exploration of the joint, and Shaw could see that he was using his tongue to check inside of his mouth. There was no blood, but he still tested his jaw, moving it around cautiously.
Sam watched him, and felt very little remorse. She was not unlike a lion, ready to fight him until one of them had to back down.
When Reese looked at Shaw, she could see that he was mad, but also satisfied. He'd gotten what he wanted. That just made Shaw angrier, itching to get in another hit.
But Fusco was holding up a hand towards her like a referee in a boxing match, and as her adrenaline slowly subsided, Sameen realized that John hadn't fought back.
"Don't tell me. Your moral compass won't let you hit a girl?" Shaw taunted. John blinked slowly. Her voice dripped with sarcasm when she continued. "And they say chivalry is dead."
"I wouldn't hit you," he said quietly. She grunted a derisive laugh.
"And you think I'm the reckless one," she sneered. John rolled his eyes at her implication that she was dangerous, and she shifted her weight, eager to show him just how wrong he was.
"Shut up, will you?" Lionel told her, then looked at Reese. "Both of you. Calm down."
And then the Machine spoke in Shaw's ear, and she turned to look at the window like that would somehow help her understand the instructions.
Greer had tried to make a move. Had tried to do something to restart Samaritan's programming. And the virus that Harold had implanted in the rival AI's system had worked. His final act was the only reason that they were able to immediately pinpoint Greer's location.
Shaw's eyes snapped back to John's and she reached for the gun. Fusco reached out to stop her, alarmed.
"The Machine found Greer," she said. Reese was reloading his weapons before Lionel had absorbed what it was that Shaw had said.
"Put this on your gun," John grumbled at her, tossing her a strap to put her firearm around her shoulders. She gave him a dirty look, but did as he asked while they waited for Lionel.
