As they drove through the grey streets, Harold found himself looking at the man in the driver's seat. Could he trust this battle hardened man with his secrets? Secrets that will mean death if they are found out? People had been close to finding out before, a previous slave wanted revenge and tried to blackmail Harold. Harold hated guns and hated conflict. That was the second person he'd killed with his own hand, and it was more harrowing than the first:

The slave in question, had taken photos of Harold's penthouse and written letters to the Larrelles telling them of his secrets. Harold knew any exposure would harm his reputation and wealth, but he might not be executed because of his money and reputation. As he sat at his mahogany desk and read through the latest letter and accompanying pictures, he opened the draw and took out a Glock 17 pistol. He'd arrived at his slave's personal quarters, the slave was washing up when Harold entered. He drew the gun up and fired some of the 9mm bullets into his chest. His lifeless body slumped against the wall, Harold looked him in the eye, he wasn't even sorry, just numb. The only thing he felt was the cooling blood splatter on his face. He'd shared his darkest secrets with the man who now laid dead before him and he'd betrayed him. Harold knew he'd have to be more careful next time. No killer would ever be found – he could buy his freedom.

Ever since that fateful night, Harold had been alone, watching the world from afar. After a few years he started watching people again. He could read people with ease – people watching was his favourite past time – people had always been interesting to him, everyone was different and unique. They all had their own stories and reasons. Telling the difference had got easier, those who took TyRon had dead eyes and those who didn't hid. Harold had a gift for seeing the honest truth in them, his made him very powerful indeed. From a distance, Harold himself looked ordinary, his injuries making him more so but close up people could see the genius behind the glasses, hear the crisp snap of the boots and cane on the ground and they feared it, making him the wolf in sheep's clothing. He could see that John had his own secrets and that he could also keep them. His eyes looked older than his face, a trauma of some sort no doubt. Harold looked down and opened the file on his lap, he skim read it hoping to find some answers.

'Not everything about me is in the file.'

Harold looked up to find John's piercing grey eyes boring into him through the mirror.

'I have put myself on the line making you my slave. I don't want to regret it.'

'What do you want to know?'

'At the minute, I'm not sure. It's left here.'

Reese turned left down another rod leading to the east of the State. They continued along the road in silence. The road snaked around into an underground car park.

'You can pull up here.'

He parked the car next to the elevator doors and opened the rear door for Harold. Harold struggled to swing his aching legs around. Some days the pain was almost unbearable, some days he'd even been bed ridden with pain and unable to do anything about it. He was a solitary human, the majority of citizens were like robots, existing to continue the existence of the human race. He wondered why he had created the drug, but then he remembered the conflicts that had torn the world open. So much death, he didn't want that ever again. He closed his eyes, blocking the thoughts out.

'Mr Finch?'

Reese's pokerfaced voice broke through his thoughts. Harold looked up at him, eyeing the piteous look in his eyes through his own well-constructed pokerface. Harold collected his cane and eased himself out the car thanking Reese quietly as he stood up. If things were going to work, Reese would have to learn to cover his emotions. In the elevator, Harold and Reese stood shoulder to shoulder in silence.

'If things are going to work between us Mr Reese you need to improve your mask. If people can see any emotion you will be shot on site, there will be nothing I can do.'

John nodded again as the doors open. They walked out into a large white walled and black floored hall. Harold limped over to two large doors, opened them and entered the penthouse. Harold's penthouse had the standard white wash walls and black floors with uniform furnishings. The penthouse was open plan, the sparse kitchen on the right that flowed around to the even sparser living area with black leather sofas which faced out to a large clouded glass wall. Towards the back of the penthouse, where a series of rooms, mostly likely bedrooms, bathrooms and a study. There were two more rooms that didn't seem to serve any obvious purpose other than a spare rooms. Harold walked over the kitchen and reached up to the cabinets for a glass. Reese saw what he was trying to do and rushed over to help him. He reached over Harold and got a glass down. Harold looked at John.

'I am fully capable of doing this myself.'

'I know but it's my job to serve you and you are in pain. Take a seat and I will get it for you.'

Harold reluctantly took a seat at the bar and watched Reese stand in the kitchen.

'If there anything you'd like in particular?'

'Just water.'

Reese poured some water into the glass and placed it in front of Harold. Harold picked it up and drunk a little. He looked at Reese still stood beside him, he placed his glass down, slightly irritated.

'There are no cameras or microphones in there, relax will you? And sit down.'

Reese sighed heavily and sat at the bar. Silence brooded between them. Reese turned to Harold.

'I have a few questions.'

'I thought you might. Ask away.' Reese's brow furrowed, Harold picked it up immediately. 'This slave and Master relationship only exists outside this apartment, in here you are my friend and partner. You do not have to watch what you say, and we are to have complete honesty with each other. Outside this apartment, you will speak only when spoken to. You will guard me and serve me. Understand?'

Reese nodded. He hesitated before asking a question. 'You're a sense offender?'

Harold paused. 'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I don't need TyRon to numb my emotions Reese.' The two men looked at each other. 'Before I created TyRon, I lost the woman I loved. The world died that day and I vowed to change it.'

Reese processed the information about the infamous Harold Finch.

'Why me? What made you want me?'

'Mr John Reese. The highest ranking Larrelle in history who sacrificed everything for the benefit of State. You are highly skilled and have little connecting you to this world. Perfect for me. There is nothing to cloud your judgement. I've watched you for years now, I've been very impressed with you and then you ceased you dose and became a sense offender running to the underground to hide. I needed someone who still felt but needed the necessarily skills and…' he paused, considering his next word carefully. 'Stamina. Have you any more questions?'

'No, I don't think so.' Said Reese, trying to make sense of the new information.

'Ok, just ask when you do.' Harold stood up and walked over to the cabinet and got down a glass, he reached into another cabinet and took down a bottle of scotch. 'There is one thing I need to know.'

Mr Reese looked up at him.

'Why did you become a sense offender?'

'I was out the State one day, doing a raid. One offender jumped me and broke my dose. I skipped it, I started to feel, I started to realise what was happening to the world. We were destroying everything that made the human race great, all the creative and emotional things, all burnt. I didn't want to be part of it anymore.'

Reese angrily pushed his bar stool away and walked over to the large clouded glass wall. Harold followed him. Reese stood in front of the glass with his arms folded bristling with anger at what the 'great' human race had become. Harold stood next to him, the silence stretched out between them.

'I'm sorry for what I created.' Harold said quietly.

Reese sighed. 'It wasn't aimed at your specifically Mr Finch.'

'Harold. Here I am Harold and you are John.'

'Ok Harold. It's not your fault, you were trying to help solve conflict, you didn't know this would happen.'

'I have something to show you.'

Harold limped over to one of the back rooms, he opened the door to the sparse bedroom and walked through it, sliding yet more clouded glass across revealing a large balcony overlooking the State. John walked out to the balcony slowly, Harold looked up at the look of utter wonder in John's eyes. The look created a warm feeling resonating deep inside Harold, a feeling that he hadn't felt in years. He stopped those thoughts, it was too soon.

'From here you can see the whole State and no one can see you. Here is one of the only places I feel alive.'

John looked down at him over his shoulder. 'One of the only places?'

'One of the only places.' Harold confirmed.

More silence spread between them as the winter sun set below the horizon.

'Beautiful.' Harold whispered.

John smiled tightly, he thought he'd never see a sunset again.

'Come on, let me show you to your room.'

Harold limped back inside leaning heavily on his cane. He paused and leaned against the door, joints screaming in pain. He closed his eyes and composed himself. He felt strong arms around him and the ground disappear from beneath his feet. His eyes opened quickly.

'John this isn't necessary. I can look after myself.'

'I don't know anything about your injuries but I know a lot about pain. You are in an excruciating amount of it, let me help you. You saved my life, let me save you. Please.'

Harold stopped resisting and relaxed into John's muscular arms. For the first time in years he felt completely safe, like he had in the days before TyRon. John carried him over to the bed and set him down on it, Harold rest his head against the pillow and his eyes drifted shut. He felt John remove his shoes, socks, jacket and vest then pull the covers over him.

John stood back and looked at the sleeping man on the bed. He would never have guessed that the man who, essentially, controlled the world was a sense offender and that he would be living with him. He closed the door and walked back into the living area, he scanned the room looking for a place to sleep. He'd never been one to sleep in beds or sofas, he sat down on the floor in the corner and leaned back against the concrete closing his eyes, comforted by the safe feeling that Harold had given him.