Reese found himself thoroughly restrained within the gently rocking van when he came to, vision blurred, head pounding. Unsurprisingly he had been stripped of all his weapons, his vest and his only contact to the outside world; his ear piece. Fusco was hunched over beside him in a similar predicament, except he was still blissfully unaware of it. Across from him sat Shaw and Martine. The two Samaritan agents surveyed him with calm indifference. They appeared to be unarmed as well, but he wasn't foolish enough to really believe that. He had no doubt that if he tried to get loose they would definitely shoot him dead.

For the moment his rage at her betrayal was kept at bay by the utter hopelessness he felt. "Long time no see." Reese tried to move his arms but couldn't. The plastic ties were already digging painfully into his wrists. "Not exactly how I imagined our reunion."

She glared at him in her usual friendly manner and said, "You've gotten sloppy, Reese. Didn't even put up a fight."

Why would he have? A trusted comrade had ambushed them!

Coolly, "Untie me and we'll see just how sloppy I've gotten."

Shaw stared at him humourlessly. "You really think you could take me, Reese? Must have hit you harder than I thought."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"Could've been a lot worse."

"Any particular reason you didn't put a bullet in our brains? Not your style to be so soft."

"Wasn't my call."

"Oh, yeah, that's right. How does it feel to be the newest Samaritan puppet?"

"I'm nobody's puppet," she half growled. Martine shifted slightly in her seat and Shaw's posture relaxed. "This was a tactical decision. That's all. Nice to be on the winning side for once."

Ungrateful bitch.

"I always knew you were cold, Shaw, but we were a team. A damn good one. You have no idea what you've done to us. Root is-"

"We're here," said Martine a bit prematurely. The van did not come to a halt for several more seconds. Then they were unceremoniously dragged out to tortures unknown.

Back at the subway car, Harold hesitated with the key long enough to prompt the machine.

"Release Root. She is essential."

Root was lying on the fairly dirty floor, instead of on the cot right beside her, having an animated conversation with persons unseen, oblivious to Harold's presence. The conversation had recently taken a furious turn and she was more agitated, and therefore dangerous, than usual.

"You have yet to inform me how I am going to control her," he replied, eyeing Root with growing unease.

"You will not."

Before he could respond to that disheartening comment the machine continued with, "I will."

Finally he clued in. "Oh I see." He stood up and went in search of Root's old ear piece. It would have taken a few minutes to locate amongst all their clutter but the machine pinpointed its whereabouts instantly. When he came back she was still babbling away to herself, making it easy enough to put the ear piece in.

There was a bit of a delay before Root lurched upright, even more crazed and dishevelled looking, if such a thing were even possible. They hadn't exactly been able to bathe her these past couple of months. If she were out on the streets she would have blended in perfectly with the homeless. Perhaps she smelled better though.

"It's you," she said quietly, awestruck.

The level of clarity on her face surprised Harold and made him feel guilty for taking away the machine in the first place. Just like her previous incarceration, he had thought it for the best. Root was simply too unpredictable to be left alone with such a powerful toy in her current state.

After some moments of stunned silence she looked to Harold. "Yes, of course."

"Release Root."

"What are you waiting for, Harold," said Root with a smirk. "Do as the lady says."

He was a bit peeved that the machine was cutting off the conversation where he was concerned but other than becoming petulant, there was little he could do about it. So he did as the lady said.

They were marched and pushed along through the Decima complex until they had reached the heart of it. In a dimly lit, yet large open space, an enormous screen flashed out at them. Many operators were busy typing away on surrounding computers. An elderly man had his back turned to them, apparently speaking with no one.

Reese had seen that profile before.

The urge to try and break free, to kill the man, and smash everything here was strong, even if it wouldn't accomplish anything, even if it got himself killed. Only his military restraint kept him at bay. Fusco just seemed beyond confused about what was occurring. John didn't blame him. He wasn't really sure himself.

"Mr. Reese," said Greer facing him. "And Mr. Fusco. Homicide detective extraordinaire." Greer gave him a pointed look. "That wasn't always the case though, was it?"

"Cut the crap, Greer," said Reese. "What do you want with us? Why are we here?"

"Straight to the point as always. As you wish, Mr. Reese." Greer gestured to the chairs nearby but neither deigned to sit. Shaw, Martine and several other agents stood watch. "It's quite simple really. The world is on the verge of great change. It is only a matter of time now before Samaritan bests your machine. I know this. You know this." He gave Fusco an amused look. "Well, perhaps you don't." Fusco was still at a lose for words. Greer directed his attention back to Reese. "While you may think of Samaritan as an unfeeling God, the truth is, it is also a supremely merciful one. That is why after all the trouble you have caused it, you are here...and not six feet under."

"Kinda wish I was," retorted Reese. "Better than listening to your speeches."

Greer's tired old eyes flashed briefly, merrily. "You have a choice before you, Mr. Reese. Mr. Fusco. Just as Miss Shaw did." At the mention of her name, he cocked his head to glare at her. She looked at him passively. "Pledge your allegiance to Samaritan, give up this foolhardy quest for vengeance, and you may live. Refuse, and suffer the consequences."

"If you think I'd ever even consider joining your ranks, you're crazier than you look."

Martine reached for her gun but Greer gestured for her to stop. "This is a tall order I know. I will give you some time to discuss this decision with your partner." Fusco seemed dazed. "Amongst other things." He smiled. "It would be a shame to needlessly lose such talent as yourselves. Our new world order will be needing it."

Apparently there wasn't a horrible rush to rescue their comrades. The machine had told Root to go take a shower and put on a change of clothes. Since there were no such facilities in the subway station, they had been led to a woman's apartment not currently in use.

"Ah, much better," sighed Root as she came out of the bathroom in nothing more than a short towel, running her hands through her damp hair like she was starring in a conditioner commercial.

Harold was taken aback to see her in such a state, especially considering he did have the occasional feeling towards her. For all her craziness, she was very brilliant and attractive, that couldn't be denied, and he hadn't exactly entertained a woman in many years. He was no John Reese who could walk into a bar and take any one of the women there home with him. But of course he knew nothing like that would ever happen between them. Root was far too infatuated with someone else to ever notice him in that capacity. Besides, no matter what his body felt for Root, his heart would forever belong to Grace. And as far as he was concerned that was much more important.

She noticed him watching her but didn't say anything. Just smirked. The thought crossed his mind that The Machine had also made a comment about him looking a little too long and he was subsequently embarrassed. Then she headed into the woman's bedroom and dropped the towel without a second thought. He blushed. The door was not sufficiently closed and Harold quickly averted his gaze, but not before getting an eyeful.

"What do you think?" he heard her say.

"Pardon me?" he choked out, blushing even harder, doing his best not to look again, half thinking she was asking him to appraise her naked body.

"Oh, yes, you're right. That will look much better on me."

Some logic returned to him and he understood that she hadn't been talking to him at all.

This arrangement is going to become very tedious, very quickly, he thought.

A little while later, Root emerged sporting her usual dark blouse and jacket, tight jeans and high heels. Even wet, her hair was more orderly than he had seen it in months and she wore make-up for the first time since the incident, further enhancing her natural beauty. By all accounts she appeared to be just as sane as she ever was. The question was, how much longer could the machine maintain control? He knew sooner or later the other voices would assert dominance again and then he would be in big trouble. Harold had no allusions about this eventuality.

He just prayed they could complete this paramount mission before then...or all was lost.

I can't recall if Fusco knows about the Machine or Samaritan. I apologize if I got that part wrong.

Anyway, hope you guys are enjoying this so far. :)