The exchange went down as smoothly as it could have, which was at least of some relief to Root. Of course that meant she was now a prisoner herself, but she knew the kid was safe and that was all that really mattered. At the end of the day it wasn't his war, so if anyone should suffer for it then it might as well be the people involved. Besides, Root knew Shaw was coming after her, so it would only be a matter of time before she was free as well.
Tracking her location hadn't been as easy as she'd hoped though. Root had expected them to move location as soon as the exchange had taken place, but she certainly hadn't expected the number of countermeasures they used.
The first thing they'd decided to do was blindfold her to prevent her from communicating with the Machine or anyone else to tell them her location. Root wasn't surprised at all by that move, but it turned out to only be the beginning.
She lost count of how many times she was forced to change vehicles during the journey. Every now and then they would pull over in an area within the shadow map and a gun would be pressed against the side of her head, signalling to her that it was time to move. She would be guided to a different car and then a second later they'd be on the move again.
It was a clever trick really, no different to the street performers who'd put a ball in a cup and then move it around so much you'd lose track of where it was. Except in this version the ball was moved while you weren't looking, so the decision as to where it ended up was more a case of guesswork than skill.
The combination of the two techniques had been enough to fool the Machine. That shouldn't have been an issue though, because the actual plan had been to track Root via the cochlear implant. That's where the Samaritan operatives really had surprised them.
Root had no idea how they'd managed it, but they'd somehow found a way to create enough interference to prevent the Machine from being able to track her. She had to admit that it was at that point she'd started to panic, worrying that her plan had backfired horribly and that she would be at the complete mercy of Samaritan.
Thankfully, Shaw was an exceptional tracker even without the Machine's aid. It hadn't been easy and they were certainly times when Shaw would tell Root she'd thought she'd lost her, but she'd been able to pull through every time.
So Shaw had tracked her for what must have been at least a few hours, although Root had completely lost track of how much time had passed thanks to the blindfold which had left her sitting in an endless darkness.
When they'd finally removed the blindfold, Root had found herself seated in a relatively large room, surrounded by agents with guns trained on her at all times. The room was itself surrounded by windows, but they'd all been boarded up to prevent her from seeing outside. So much for the view, she'd thought.
According to Shaw, who'd managed to maintain contact with her despite the interference jamming the GPS tracking, she'd been taken to a tower block which had been pretty much abandoned and left to rot by its owners. From the number of stairs she'd been forced to climb, which had not been easy to do blind, Root assumed she was on quite a high floor. No doubt that was intentionally designed to make any attempted escape all the more difficult.
Root had initially been surprised to find that she hadn't been tied up to the chair she was seated on, that both her arms and her legs had been left free to move. But then she'd taken one glance at all the guns in the room and realised that they obviously hadn't felt the need. The message was clear enough: any attempt to escape and she'd be shot before she'd even left the chair.
Shaw had needed time to analyse the building and plan an attack before she could attempt to rescue Root, which was why she was now still in that same chair, staring down the man who'd been torturing her from the moment she'd arrived.
Root smiled up at the man, the kind of smile that often made Shaw roll her eyes, and the kind that she knew infuriated the man in front of her, especially as he was meant to be breaking her. He scowled down at her in response, but the confusion and frustration in his expression only made her smile widen more.
"You know, you're not very good at the whole torture thing," she said, taunting him. "I really did expect more from Samaritan's lap dogs. But I guess it must be harder for you to make decisions now Samaritan's brain is gone."
The man growled his response at her, practically snarling in a way that was so pathetic that it took all the control she had to stifle a laugh.
"I mean, even the government was more creative than this when they tortured me, and let's be honest that really doesn't reflect well on you." Root leaned forward in her chair, lowering her voice as she added. "I'd tell you what they did, but I wouldn't want to give you any ideas." She laughed. "God knows you need some."
As expected, that was enough to send the man over the edge. His fist crashed down ferociously to connect with the side of her jaw, then it came down again and again until eventually he hit her with enough force to knock her out of the chair and send her sprawling onto the cold, hard concrete floor. And for a second, Root's whole world went dark.
Her arm was the only thing that prevented her skull from cracking open on the concrete. Root groaned as she came to and tried but failed to block out the ringing in her ears and the pounding in her head. The metallic taste of blood had also entered her mouth, and she found herself wondering whether it had been the punches or the fall that had split her lip.
Root struggled to concentrate, to think straight, but the punches had left her dazed. Her eyes watered and her vision was blurred as well. She blinked. They didn't clear. She tried to swallow, but even that proved to be painful.
"Root?" A voice called out her name in her head. She recognised the voice and she felt certain she knew the person it belonged to. Then why couldn't she find a name? She wanted to scream from the frustration. "Root," called the voice again. "It's Shaw. Can you hear me?"
Shaw. Just hearing the name brought everything rushing back to her. Root cleared her head just enough to let her focus for a second. She realised that with her position on the floor, her face was completely blocked from view. This might be her only chance to speak to Shaw without being noticed.
"I can hear you," she replied quietly. "It's nice to hear your voice."
"Are you alright?" asked Shaw, her voice filled with concern.
"I'm fine," lied Root. "Although it might be best if you could fast track a rescue," she added.
"I'll be with you soon. You just need to hold out a little bit longer."
Root went to reply, but before she could she felt hands grip her shoulders as she was dragged up and then dumped roughly back into the chair she'd fallen from. It looked like her conversation with Shaw was going to be cut short. She winced as the pounding in her head worsened, but there was no way in hell she was going to show any more signs of pain than that to the Samaritan bastards around her.
Root narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her, who, to her satisfaction, remained visibly angry as her glared down at her.
"Where is your Machine located?" he growled. Root let out a long, drawn out sigh, gleefully enjoying the additional irritation it gave to the man.
"As I've already told you, I don't know. As far as I know, the Machine sacrificed herself in order to destroy the horrific abomination that was Samaritan." Her face was blank and emotionless as she continued. "And she was never my Machine. She belonged only to herself."
The man snarled at her in the same pathetic way as he'd done earlier, before he began to pace back and forth in frustration, no doubt searching that empty mind of his to find out what he could do to make her talk. Root let him think. The longer he stayed there doing nothing, the more time it gave Shaw to get there and free Root from this mess.
The man finally came to his decision, and from the look in his eyes as he approached her, Root could only assume it was violence. Not that she'd expected anything else. At least Control's methods of torture had been interesting, she thought.
Root did wonder what had happened to her. Probably another victim of Samaritan's slaughter, she thought. Although, Root had to admit that she had been a resourceful woman, so maybe not. Then again, Root reminded herself as the man reached her, this was not the time to be theorising about Control's fate, whatever it was.
The man grabbed her hair with one hand, tugging her head back violently as he slammed his other fist into her stomach. She coughed and bent forwards as he released her, clutching her stomach as pain shot through her abdomen. It hurt like hell, though she doubted anything would ever come close to the immense pain of being shot there by a sniper rifle. Without thinking, her hand drifted over the scar that would forever remind her of that day.
"You really shouldn't have done that," she said, letting the pain feed venom into her words.
The man leaned down and moved closer until his face was uncomfortably close to hers, so close that she could smell his breath and the food that still lingered on it from his last meal, which from the smell could not have been good for him. Root resisted the urge to recoil, opting instead to stand her ground and stare him down.
"And why is that?" He asked.
Root's lips widened into a dangerous smile that sent the man backing away as she replied.
"Because I was supposed to be going on a very important date tonight, and I can only imagine how angry she's going to be when she gets here and sees what you've done to me. Trust me, she's going to make you hurt for it, especially since, unlike you, she actually knows how to properly torture a person."
The man let out a low laugh as he shook his head.
"We evaded your Machine. Pretend it doesn't exist anymore all you want, it doesn't matter. Just know that no one's coming to save you." He unleashed a wicked grin as he continued. "But part of me does hope that Sameen Shaw will be joining us. Maybe you'd be more forthcoming if we broke her instead, while you watched, helplessly."
Root clenched her fists as rage flashed across her face. She'd die before she let any of these monsters even lay a hand on Shaw. But if any of them were to hurt her, in any way, Root would be sure to give each and every one of them slow, painful deaths.
The sound of muffled gunfire in the distance drew her attention back to the matter at hand, and Root's smile returned as she turned back to the man.
"Looks like my date has arrived," she said with a small sense of glee.
Some of the colour drained from the man's face as he looked towards the door, where the sound of crashing and gunfire was getting louder by the second. He then turned with fury back to Root, before storming over to a table that had been set up in the corner to collect a knife.
"It's a shame," he said menacingly, "that you won't be alive to greet her when she gets here." Well so much for the whole torturing Shaw and making her watch, thought Root. That threat crashed and burned pretty quickly, didn't it?
Root did feel a small sense of panic rising as the man approached her with the knife. With all the guns still trained on her, she was in no position to fight back.
"Hey Sameen," she said hurriedly, "I could really do with a distraction right now."
"Give me a second," replied Shaw. The reply was followed by a series of grunts and crashes which Root could only assume meant Shaw was caught up in the middle of a fight. Root braced herself in preparation to fight as the man drew nearer with the knife. Fighting would almost certainly get her shot and killed, but she figured that anything must be better than being sliced apart. At least this way she may take the man down with her.
Root was a second away from using her chair to smash the grin straight off of the man's face when a clunking sound drew the attention of everyone in the room, including her own. She looked down to see a metal canister rolling across the floor towards her. Root smiled to herself and shook her head as gas began to fill the room. Of course this had been the plan Shaw had chosen to go for.
Root's eyes stung and watered like streams as the tear gas spread, but as painful and irritating as that was, it was the perfect distraction. The man became distracted as he turned to bark orders to the others in an attempt to control the chaos that erupted around them.
Root seized the opportunity. She sprung forwards, moving fast enough to prevent the man from having any chance to react. In a heartbeat, her arm was wrapped around his neck and she squeezed with all her strength. The man flailed about in her grasp, lashing out wildly with the knife still in his hand. Root let out a hiss as the blade caught her arm, but she didn't loosen her grip.
Soon, she felt the man's body slacken as the knife clattered onto the concrete. It was with some relief that she dropped his limp body onto the ground. Root's eyes still stung, but now her throat burned as well, not to mention she could barely see thanks to the gas.
It was only when the bullets started spraying around her that she realised how horrifically bad her position was. She was unarmed, injured, and in the centre of the room. It was only a matter of time before she would get caught in the crossfire between Shaw and the Samaritan operatives.
Root's initial reaction was to drop down low. That way, unless anyone had decided to shoot beneath knee-level, she should at least be safe from any stray bullets. The next thing she needed was a weapon. The gas was beginning to clear and she was going to need something to defend herself with if she wanted to stand even a small chance of staying alive.
She fumbled around until her fingers clasped the fallen knife. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. At least she could slash someone's ankles if they came too close. It wasn't much good against guns though, she had to admit. Well, she'd just have to throw it and hope for the best.
"Root, where the hell are you?" asked Shaw.
"Middle of the room," she replied, coughing as she spoke. "Was the tear gas really necessary?" she added.
"You're the one who wanted a distraction," snapped Shaw. "Besides, from what I gather that tear gas just saved your life. You should be thanking me."
Root had to admit that Shaw did have a point there. She stayed where she was, hoping that Shaw found her before anyone else did. Then the gunfire stopped suddenly, and Root felt a sense of dread begin to build up in her stomach. But then she heard footsteps approaching her and she didn't need to look up to know who they belonged to.
The smoke finally cleared and Shaw appeared, standing over Root. The first thing Root noticed was that Shaw was wearing a gas mask which she removed as she knelt down next to Root. That must have been nice for her, thought Root.
Shaw cupped a cheek in her hand as she studied Root's face. She then began gently tracing her fingers over the tender cuts, scratches and bruises that covered Root's face. If it looked anywhere near as bad as it hurt, then Root was not at all surprised by the concern that appeared in Shaw's expression.
"Which one of them did this to you?" asked Shaw, her voice shaking.
"It's taken care of," replied Root softly, taking Shaw's hands in her own, hoping that she'd be able to assure Shaw that she was alright. Shaw lowered her head, pressing her forehead softly against Root's.
"I told you it was a bad idea," she said.
"Well it worked, so it can't have been that bad," replied Root, drawing at least a hint of a smile from Shaw for the comment.
That was when the man Root had taken down began to stir. Before he could move, Root took the knife and pressed it against his throat.
"Now it's my turn to ask some questions," she said.
Root almost recoiled from disgust when the man began to laugh. His eyes drifted over to Shaw and then his grin returned as he looked back at Root.
Root's heart sank. There was something seriously wrong here. She turned to Shaw to see what she made of it, but her eyes had drifted over to the doorway, as if she'd suddenly felt the urge to get out as quickly as possible. Root pressed the knife down harder.
"Speak," she demanded.
"We knew you would never give up the location of your precious Machine," said the man. "But we also knew that if we could capture one of you, the other would come."
Root slowly shook her head. This didn't make any sense.
"Then why the evasion, the threats, the questions?" she asked.
"To keep you off the scent," he explained. "We knew this had to feel authentic if we wanted to trap you both here."
"What is he talking about?" asked Shaw.
Root turned to her with a defeated expression. "This whole thing was a trap," she said. "A set up, to get us both here. To kill us. Isn't that right?" She turned angrily back to the man.
"In a few seconds, a bomb is going to engulf this building, taking all of us with it. There's nothing you can do to stop it, and there's no way for you to escape."
Root slammed her hand down, tearing through the man's throat as she did so. She didn't want to hear another word come out of his mouth. She let go of the knife and grabbed Shaw's arm, dragging her towards the door.
"Root," said Shaw, pulling her back. "Root, look at me." She turned. Shaw's expression was just as desperate as hers, but it wasn't a desperation to run like hers was. "There's no point running," said Shaw, pulling Root into a tight embrace and burying her head in her shoulder.
Root didn't fight it. She let the tears fall as she held on to Shaw. Shaw had been right. This plan hadn't just been a risk, it was suicide. And now Shaw was going to die alongside her, and it was all her fault for not seeing this coming.
Shaw pulled out of the embrace for a second and looked at Root with more compassion than she'd ever seen before.
"I know you wanted to wait for a better time," she said, "but we're running out of that and I don't want to die without telling you." She took a steadying breath and gave Root one of those rare smiles that she just loved to see. "Root, I-"
She was interrupted by the sound of the door smashing open. They both turned to see Fusco burst into the room, weapon drawn.
"What are you doing here, Fusco?" asked Shaw angrily.
"Saving you two lunatics from the massive bomb downstairs," he replied. "You think I was just gonna let you storm this place without backup. I followed you here and sent in an anonymous tip to the feds. Luckily they brought the bomb squad. How did you miss that by the way?"
"I came in through a back entrance," said Shaw, both relieved and irritated.
"Well I better get you two out of here before the entire police department comes looking for you," said Fusco, gesturing towards the door.
"Can we just have a moment alone first, Lionel?" asked Root, putting on her sweetest smile.
"Sure," he said, taking a step out into the hallway.
Root could barely contain her relief as she turned back to Shaw. They'd come too close to death this time, but none of that mattered when she looked at Shaw and saw that she was alive, knowing that after some recovery, they'd both be fine.
"When I've had a bit of time to heal," she said, "I promise I'm actually going to take you out. Then we can finally discuss what you wanted to tell me on our own terms."
Shaw let out a small laugh. "You better keep that promise," she said, putting her arm around Root as they left the room together, leaving the dead Samaritan operatives for someone else to clean up.
Hopefully, they'd be able to put this whole thing behind them soon. Then things could begin to return to normal, whatever that was.