Heavy rain echoed through the loft with a methodical tapping, suggesting the night's predicted storm had finally hit. Dammit... Was it night already? Was it even the same day?

His chest hurt like hell, but at least the head ache had subsided to a dull hum. Reese rolled up and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the room to catchup.

That's when he realized it wasn't just the rain he'd been hearing, Finch was close; the keyboard tapping said so. "You get the number of that bus?" Reese groaned.

"Afraid not Mr. Reese, though I may have a lead." Finch stiffly turned from the kitchen bar, trying to judge Reese's condition before delving back into the business at hand. "Glad to see you're up."

John slowly stood, protectively clutching an arm around his aching ribs and carefully moved beside Finch at the bar. "That's debatable... What are you doing?"

Finch turn back to his laptop and the dissected device littering the counter top. "I recovered this from your attackers. Some of these microchips are not simply microelectromechanical systems, but implement very specialized nanotechnology, which narrows their possible origins to only a couple exclusive military domain companies in Japan. I should be able to establish exactly where they came from, and more importantly.., who purchased them."

"Be nice to know who those guys are." Reese picked up a chunk and held it up to the light, until a twinge ended the effort. "How long was I out?"

"Just over three hours."

Reese looked at this watch. 8:45 pm. "Thought you had a date?"

Finch huffed a laugh. "The Detectives went to dinner with Stark. Well, not with Stark, but rather..."

"Finch.., I get it. What happened?"

"They had a rather interesting encounter with an industrial real-estate magnate, by the name of Mr. Thomas Gideon. It would seem Mr. Gideon was attempting to recruit Miss Stark's services.., on an exclusive basis. When she refused, he had a couple of his men try to change her mind."

"That was a mistake..." Reese muttered. "Did they survive?"

Finch chucked at the ironic statement. "Detectives Carter and Fusco saved them, yes. Stark left unscathed and without divulging any useful information. However your friends made another appearance."

"Really." John raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"In fact, both Detectives describe a van pulling up just as Stark was coming under attack, only to watch it speed off once they intervened and Stark's safety was clear. White van, no plates."

Reese rolled eyes in exasperation. "So they are protecting them. They've had the means and plenty of opportunities to take them out, so if these guys aren't the danger..." he paused, "then they're working together. Trent lied and we're back to square-one. No closer to knowing why the machine gave us their numbers."

Reese grabbed the edge of the bar against a sudden wave of pain. "Dammit. What the hell did he shoot me with?"

Finch shoved away from the charred pieces of hardware strewn down the bar's length, and pointed at John's vest laying at the end. "Have a look for yourself."

Reese moved to the vest, scrutinizing the damage as he flipped it open. "By the size..., I'd say a modified 45 caliber, but this wasn't a normal bullet. It disintegrated. I'm guessing a tungsten-nytrilium composite core. I used to use something similar for close range combat situations, where further penetration needed to be avoided, but they must have used a secondary explosive to pack the punch that thing had," he flipped the vest over again, "leaving no ballistics evidence."

John wasn't aware Finch had left until he returned with some pills. "What's that?"

"Pain relief, Mr. Reese. This situation is evolving too quickly to have you side lined by stubbornness. Take them."

Reese couldn't argue he was 'fine.' Finch was right. They had no idea what they were up against. "Fine." He begrudgingly took them, then began rehashed their findings.

"So they're protecting our numbers by eliminating anyone that threatens them. They use military grade, short-range weapons to cut collateral damage and traceable evidence, and jam transmissions to avoid detection..."

"It sounds like our numbers are indeed the perpetrators and pivotal to some plan the soldiers are trying to keep on schedule." Finch looked at Reese.

"When I got in the way, they didn't hesitate to take me out. These guys aren't playing around, whatever it is, it's not going to be good."

"Agreed. Mr. Reese, given the situation, I thought it prudent to retrieve everything from the scene. That includes the bodies, since I assumed you'd want a closer look."

"You run them through the system?"

"There were no matches. As far as I can tell, they don't exist anymore than you do, Mr. Reese."

"Real enough." John pointed out, placing a tentative hand to his chest. "These guys had some serious skills Finch. They were disciplined, all business, and used a mixture of combat styles from around the world. Their equipment goes beyond any standard military issue... That's why I pegged them for hired Mercenaries."

Finch processed that for a moment. "So not only are their identities unknown, but now you believe they've been hired by another unknown source?"

Reese simply nodded. "How are we looking for tomorrow tonight?"

"We should be able to track our numbers using their phone signals. But I'll attempt to reverse engineer the jamming signal to keep track of them in any event."

"I'll keep visual contact just in case." Reese offered.

"You sure you're up to it? And what will you do once you get where ever it is they are going, Mr. Reese?"

John ignored the first part of Finch's question. It wasn't like he had a choice. "Well Harold, I'll just have to think of something when I get there. For now, I need a hot shower and some food."

"And some rest, Mr. Reese, it's going to be a long day..."

Carter hung up. The good news: John sounded like his normal self and was up-and-around. The bad news: he was, back to his normal self and wanted them to bring the bodies.

She still had a real moral issue with removing such crucial evidence from a crime scene. God - did she just referred to the bodies as crucial evidence? How could she have this let happen?

But she knew the answer...

This was just another one of those incidents of gray; the shades of which she'd have to learn to deal with, to continue doing the work. Who knew that the good-guys would end up wearing so much damn gray and not white.

Annoyed, Carter walked over to Fusco's desk. She leaned over, irritation clear in her hushed words. "So...I just got a call... We have to meet you know who, with the you know whats, in the trunk of your car."

Fusco innocently looked up at her. "Hey, don't beat yourself up. You know we didn't have a choice about that right? When 'Glasses' asks you to jump, you just do. Right? I know they're creepy.., not the bodies," he corrected, "I mean Finch and Reese, but they're intentions are good.., usually, and they get results."

She was wrong to be venting; he really was right. It just irked her that most of the time they did what was asked of them with little to no information preceding the requests and when those requests left her morally conflicted - it just sucked. "Yeah, I know... blind faith. Come on, buy ya some coffee on the way."

"You know where we're goin'?" Fusco asked as they left the precinct.

"Some old warehouse at the end of 13th. Knowing John, some place with no prying eyes."