Here's the fun part. What happens when Paragon Finch and Reese get a number? That question is at least partially answered right now.
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Chapter 1 - Another Day, Another Number
A paragon's definition of 'normal' tends to change depending on who you talk to. However, John Reese's definition of the word? Pretty sure even a paragon would call it anything but. A fire paragon working with a psychic paragon to stop crimes before they happen doesn't really fall within anyone's parameters of the word 'normal.'
Nevertheless, the Man in the Suit strolled into the Library- his 'office' if you will- while trying to be as quiet as possible. Even though he didn't make a sound, his boss could feel his presence.
"Good morning, Mr. Reese," the reclusive billionaire greeted as he typed away at his computer.
"You're here early, Finch. And you look exhausted. Did you sleep at all last night?" the ex-op wondered.
"I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Reese. It is five in the morning, after all," Finch shot back.
"Yeah well. I couldn't sleep," Reese answered.
"Neither could I. In my case, though, it was because of him," Finch pointed to a picture of a young-looking man taped to the clear board in front of him.
"We have a new number?"
"Warren Miles. 26. Lives alone, his parents live in California. His sister, Chloe, died last week."
As the words came out of Finch's mouth, the books he used to decode Miles' social security number started floating themselves back to the shelves where they belonged- no doubt assisted by the man who owned the building. One of the many perks of holding a psychic element is you don't have to physically go anywhere to move things.
Unphased by the self-moving books, Reese asked, "Cause of death?"
"She was killed in an explosion in Times Square," Finch revealed.
"An explosion... You don't mean the incident, do you?"
"I'm afraid I do."
News of 'the incident' had travelled like a shockwave throughout the paragon community in New York. On Tuesday of the previous week, a huge fight broke out between several paragon in the middle of Times Square.
Many innocent people were caught in the crossfire- apparently, including Chloe Miles. The fight ended abruptly when a fire paragon caused a massive explosion, killing all involved in the actual fighting in the process. Reese wondered if their current number's predicament had anything to do with the incident, but he needed more information.
"Huh. Do we know if he's a paragon himself?"
"As far as I can tell he comes from a family of humans. His sister was profiled as a human when she died and so were their parents in the numerous interviews they gave after the fact."
"So chances are he's probably human, too. What does he do for a living?"
"He's a private investigator. Mostly he helps people find long lost friends and relatives in the city."
"Were you able to find an office or home address?"
"I was able to locate where he lives."
"Send me the address. I'll get eyes on him right away," Reese suggested. He then slipped out of the Library just as quietly as he came in.
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Four hours. It took four hours for the number to leave his house after Reese parked outside. Arriving at six in the morning, he wondered what caused Warren Miles to get such a late start that day. As the operative left his car and approached the brownstone where the number resided, he informed his employer to the situation.
Ok, Finch, he just left. I'm gonna check out his place, see what I can find, Reese thought- which was all he had to do for his partner to know what was going on.
Another perk of being a psychic: you don't have to use a phone to communicate with people. After he built The Machine, Finch had spent years trying to figure out how to communicate with his operatives on a secure network and it turned out, it was in his head the whole time.
Psychic paragon have a unique ability that allows them to create mental connections with people and talk to them through thoughts as if they were on the phone. For Finch, this meant that he could always be in contact with Reese and his detectives as long as they were conscious.
Let me know if you find anything of use, the fugitive hacker instructed.
Reese approached the building, trying to blend in. Using a bump key to force the door open, he let himself in and started scanning his surroundings. The first floor was an open layout with scarce furniture.
On the far end of the single-room floor there was a bland desk with an office chair behind it and an even more uncomfortable-looking chair in front of it. In the front of the house by the entrance, there were several couches and a coffee table set up for what appeared to be a waiting room.
This must be his office, too, Reese observed half for his boss and half to himself.
That explained why their number didn't leave the house until ten in the morning; he was probably working. Thinking it best to get eyes and ears on the number as soon as possible, Reese placed a bug underneath the client chair in front of the desk and mounted a small camera on the smoke alarm. From there, the camera would have a wide enough view to see the whole floor.
Alright, the bug and camera are installed, Finch, Reese updated.
Yes, the feeds just came on, Finch's voice echoed in his mind. It had become a comfort of sorts for Reese to know that his backup was just a thought away. He much preferred it to their old style of communication, just a phone call and a bluetooth earpiece, which often got lost or broken.
Using the mental phone line Finch created allowed them to communicate at all times, even when Reese was in danger, which kept the billionaire's nerves at bay. Although sometimes Reese would become too focused on their conversations and zone out to the point where people would get worried, but that was a minor side effect.
Of course, it took awhile for the two to get used to it at first. They had worked together for almost a full year before Finch decided to inform his employee that he possessed this ability. But that wasn't unusual for him considering how upfront he was about his trust issues.
It probably wasn't easy for the self-conscious coder to open up and let Reese in. Luckily for Reese, the mental connection that enables them to communicate is controllable so Finch can only hear the thoughts Reese wants him to hear and vise versa. He didn't want his boss to hear all the thoughts he was having about gaining his trust and end up scaring him into shutting down again.
Reese continued his recon and started combing through the number's desk. A few files that sat next to a laptop caught the trained man's eye which he flipped through to get an understanding of the PI's caseload. There were three profiles, all pretty thin, which included the client's name, who they needed Miles to find, and a short description of why.
Finch, I'm sending you a few names. They look like cases Miles is working on. Might have something to do with why we got his number, Reese suggested as he snapped pictures of the cases. With the tap of his phone screen, he texted the pictures he took to the eccentric billionaire. Finch simply confirmed he received the pictures before the ex-soldier turned his attention to Miles' laptop.
Do you need assistance with the password? Finch asked.
Reese was momentarily alarmed by his boss' comment- he was pretty sure he hadn't mentioned the laptop yet- before remembering that he had just installed a camera above the desk.
I don't think so. I have a feeling it's… Reese trailed off as he typed. Got it. His password was 'Chloe'. A tribute to his sister.
The two of them stayed silent, even in their heads, as Reese copied all of Miles' files and emailed them to Finch to sift through while the ex-spy continued his sweep of the brownstone; his next step was to check upstairs. After he was finished with the laptop, Reese closed it and arranged everything exactly as he remembered finding it. Satisfied that he had recon-ed the floor thoroughly enough, the Man in the Suit made his way upstairs.
Right away, Reese noticed that the second floor was just as dull as the first floor. There were only three bedrooms, one of which was turned into a kitchen, and a bathroom. Both remaining bedrooms were so minimalistic that the trained operative couldn't tell which room their number actually slept in. He managed to figure it out when he spotted a small family portrait on a dresser in one of the rooms. As he was scrounging around in the drawers checking for anything out of the ordinary, Reese heard the door open downstairs and two voices carrying through the house.
That was quicker than I expected, Reese thought. Before he made his escape, Reese stood at the top of the stairs hoping that it would be close enough to pair with the number's phone.
Immediately after his phone confirmed the connection was established, the seasoned mercenary climbed out the bedroom window and down the fire escape.
While walking back to the car, Reese picked up the microphone from the phone pairing and started listening to Miles' conversation with whoever he brought into his office.
"So does this mean you found him?" A woman's voice asked.
"I believe so. You said his name was Cameron, correct?" Miles' clarified.
"Yes, yes. Cameron Fields," the woman added.
John kept one ear on the conversation while asking, Finch, do you have anything on a Cameron Fields?
Yes, I do. He's one of the people Mr. Miles was tracking for a client. His name was on one of the files you sent me earlier, the hacker answered.
What did you find out about him?
Nothing that sheds light on our PI's situation. The woman who was looking for him, Camille Survos, is the boy's mother. They were estranged after she was forced to give him up for adoption. If one of his cases is the source of the threat, I highly doubt it's this one.
With that conclusion, Finch and Reese halted their conversation and continued to listen.
"Your son now works at a local bookstore here in Queens," Miles informed his client.
"Did you approach him?" Survos wondered.
"I did. He seemed curious to meet you," Miles reported.
"'Curious' in a good way?" Survos hoped.
"Yes," Miles reassured. "He was very anxious to get in touch with you. He even gave me his phone number and told me to give it to you."
There was a slight pause, presumably for Miles to hand over the phone number.
"Thank you so much, Warren. I should have come to you a lot sooner," Survos admitted.
"No problem, it's my job," Miles replied.
A few seconds after the conversation wrapped up, Survos came out of the brownstone, jumped into her car, and drove off. Miles wasn't far behind. Following his client's timely exit, the PI climbed into his own car and sped away as well.
Miles just drove away. I'm gonna follow him to his destination. Maybe he's meeting another client, Reese noted.
The drive ended up being only about fifteen minutes. Miles parked in a prime spot outside a small restaurant, but he wasn't there for lunch. As soon as he pulled up, the hired investigator started taking pictures of someone inside the restaurant from his car. Reese parked directly across the street and thought he spotted Miles' target.
Finch, can you get an ID on this guy? The trained man asked as he took and sent the picture of the target.
Yes, that is Francis Nilton, another name from one of the files you sent. Not many details on his case, though. Just that Miles was hired by a woman named Victoria Waters.
Miles hasn't approached Nilton yet. He's just surveilling him, Reese briefed.
Did you say he's surveilling him? Finch clarified.
Yeah, why?
No reason. Just seems redundant. You surveilling the surveillor.
That thought already crossed my mind. Trust me, you never realize how boring surveillance is until you watch someone else do it.
Conversation ceased as Miles' target exited the restaurant and headed east. Miles waited a few seconds to give Nilton some space before jumping out of his own car and following him.
Nevermind, Finch. Our guy is now on the move, the ex-op recanted as he got out of his car. Quickly, he crossed the street to catch up to their number. It was time to continue this pursuit on foot.