Death of Innocence
Day 5
Day 5: "You better pray I don't get up this time around."
Debris, pinned down, "it's broken."
Homeless Encampment, same night
Couldn't get comfortable on the ground.
Hurt a lot even in the hospital bed; but now, in the cold, on the hard, hard concrete, no meds to chase the pain away – he'd have to dig deep tonight.
Joan snored softly nearby. A good meal eaten and an old friend, too, for some company. Slept well. Didn't dream so much tonight. Almost happy in her sleep. Let's see what morning would bring.
Reese, on the other hand, in and out of dreams. Like pages from the book of his life – nothing off limits – all laid bare in his thoughts.
Remembered the time he'd fought. Nearly killed a man, early on, back home. Broke some bones this time, bled him more than a little.
"It's broken," he'd said, holding his hand up to Reese. Boot to his hand had done it. And there was more, much more he'd done.
Last time, his gang had been there, too. Wasn't even a fair fight then. Tossed Reese around among them – kicked, punched, even sliced him with a knife. Left him lying on the ground.
Vowed he'd find him again, alone. And did. Still a hell of a fight, even alone. Put him on the ground, this time.
"You better pray I don't get up this time around," he'd said. Gasping. Didn't look so tough, now, to Reese. Wasn't gonna get up this time.
So, he'd left; gone home. Nursed his own the way he'd learned. Thought they'd be done now: like for like.
When the law came, took him in. Judge said two choices. Jail, or go where he'd put his attitude, his violence to better use. Wasn't much of a choice.
Joined the Army, like his Dad. The Rangers, for himself.
They'd put his attitude, his violence, to better use – for a while. Seemed to see something, didn't know he had. Molded it to something he didn't expect. Became a Warrior because of them.
Saw it in himself, then – and took some pride for a while.
But then, something happened. Became the weapon, not the Warrior. Pointed by other hands, at targets he didn't know. Not soldiers, anymore. Could be anyone.
Lost track of who the enemy was. Lost track of who he was. Kept trying, the way Rangers do.
Deeper into the woods, instead.
Lost his way.
Finch fretted.
At his keyboard, talking with the Machine. No luck finding Reese, yet.
Racked his brain. Where would he go? Maybe he'd just given up. He knew why.
Hadn't needed to hear the sound – his cries in his room. Anguish. Miss Shaw had known the word. Not the sound.
She didn't register emotion like them. It was difficult for her.
So much like a machine in that way, but so much more than the Machine could ever be. He frankly wouldn't let it, even if it could.
Their lives couldn't be allowed to be More – more important, more worthy, more protected. They were primary and assets. But just human beings, like everybody else, he'd reasoned. No special treatment for them.
Why, you ask?
Corruption lies down that road. Absolute power? Absolute corruption. Not here. Not in his Machine. They'd take their chances, like everyone else. A little help, when needed, like everyone else.
Numbers on his wall? – and just a little help from his Team. That was the plan.
But entropy has a way of catching up. Order turned to chaos – not overnight, but gradually – hard to see sometimes.
Look at it now. Order just a short time ago? Debris, smoldering now.
The cost? Too great. Finch wasn't sure he could go on.
What was the point?
A tiny patch on a giant wound.
Maybe, this wasn't salvageable. Maybe they'd failed.
Lost too much, too many. Couldn't get them back: Nathan, Arthur, Joss. Nearly John, too, this time. Too many times.
And what of Grace? Gone, too. Away. Safe, he hoped. Another life, far from here, far from him.
There was a hole in his heart. Could feel it, getting larger. A black hole inside himself. Swirling. The dust of his life sucked in.
And him – pinned down to his vow: Never Again.