Disclaimer: I do not profit off of this fic.

A/N: *nudges canon aside* Do let me know if I need to warn for anything.


Shaw remembers a voice in her ear, saying they're sorry. She doesn't know how many times the voice apologises, but before each repetition of sorrys, the voice always asks her to pretend.

She shakes it off, and escapes the Samaritan facility.

They've put a chip in her – she thinks, nothing's sure. What is happening to her?

She shoots John.

She kills Greer, and Lambert, and Martine.

Then there's Root, and she shoots herself.

She wakes in a white room, as always, with Greer smiling pleasantly at her.

"Bastard" she grunts, opens her mouth to say more – someone stabs her with a tranquiliser dart – as always – but not before she hears, "1988. That-" as everything dissolves.

They give her five minutes of lucidity each day, or she assumes its each day, because Greer is wearing a different suit each time.

Martine comes along at regular intervals, she itches to punch her face.

Time passes.

She shoots herself before even contemplating shooting Root. The memory of the voice doesn't fade.

" 4119 now." She hears, but she still doesn't know the fucking time.

Has it been a day? a month? a year?

Greer comes in with Martine, and, why the hell not, she decides, to take the advice of that voice today, and pretend.

The voice, now she thinks of it, sounds suspiciously like Root for some reason.

She's facing Root, having heard Samaritan's interface give her the 'join me or die I am the best for humanity' speech over again and, her gun is underneath her chin. She pauses for a moment, lets her dull anguish fade to nothingness, moves and shoots before she can think about it.

Root falls in slow motion. She can't look away. She hopes to hell this is a simulation.

Then, she heads to Harold, calling him and letting him know that Root sacrificed herself to save her.

It ends with Finch dead, but her not knowing where the machine is.

Again. Again. Again.

It always ends with all of them dead, but her not knowing where the machine could be.

She wakes, lucid, after who knows how long and sees Greer who looks extremely smug.

"It seems you've come to see the truth Ms. Shaw."

She attempts a weak snort, "I've always been good at seeing sense."

"Took you long enough" Martine's voice says, half grudging, half sneering.

"Root got to me. She's good at hacking people like that." She says, as bored as she can muster.

"I, for one am glad you did see sense." says Lambert smarmily, and she tightens her mouth, resisting the urge to tape his mouth shut.

They let her bathe, give her a phone – bugged, an ear-piece – they're not even trying to trust her.

Samaritan begins murmuring in her ear immediately, like if it doesn't, she'll forget she joined their side.

Something about obeying, and honour and loyalty.

"How long has it been?" she asks.

"Half a year" answers Lambert.

Six damn months.

She hopes, hopes, hopes this isn't another simulation.

The machine contacts her a week after via morse code through her earpiece.

Decoding it reveals a HI SRY SRY SRY

She grunts as she settles more firmly in the bed in her sparse room, and listens to extremely sparse details of what the machine can tell her, about Root, about John, Harold and Lionel, glad for the distraction from her nightmares.

"So, what's my task now?" she asks Greer, the next day. He smiles and gestures to a white screen.

A deep male voice speaks in her ear, "We cannot let your skills rust, Sameen. Other missions, until your main one to infiltrate your ex-team."

She nods, and leaves the room even as Samaritan drones on about her current task in her ear.

Plenty of time to observe, gather intel, and find any chinks in Samaritan's armour.

Take revenge, and protect the program, her directives are the same.

And she's a good soldier if not anything else.


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