ROOT POV
The sound of footsteps echoes in the hallway leading to Root's office, where she sits at her desk with anxious excitement, staring at her monitor. Her mind is actively analyzing the available information to come up with plans and solutions.
"Hey May!" A male voice says as he deposits a stack of papers on her desk. "Here's the documents your boss needs to sign by the end of the day."
Tearing her eyes away from her monitor, she looks upon her fellow office worker and gives a fake smile. "Thanks Colin."
"You're welcome." The office worker responds with his own smile. "By the way, the others are going to eat pizza for lunch. Do you want to join us?"
Root put on a fake regret face and says. "Sorry, I can't. I have to go down the road with the special counsel later."
The man gives her a sympathetic look. "That's unfortunate. Hopefully, they count that as working time."
"I'll quit if they don't." Root replies with mock amusement.
"Anyway. See you later, May." The man nods and waves as he walks away.
Root didn't bother to respond to him as her attention runs back to her monitor and sees the virus activation countdown timer on a terminal window…
T-0015:05:48
Today is the day where a year's work culminates in her search for God, and saving her best friend; Zero Day.
Her knowledge of The Machine has grown significantly since the day she started working in this dead-end job roughly a year ago. She got almost every information about The Machine she can get from this position and thought the cover would be useless then. Then she broke the Virus that's infecting and found soo much information about The Machine she never knew about.
The virus itself was built around The Machine source code, and from that she caught a glimpse of God. The heathens who created that virus were kind enough to leave their name in the source code… those dumb fucks. She can't wait to find and kill them for daring to hurt the machine.
Due to the virus, The Machine's has been slowing down, and ever since the government noticed the downturn in it's performance. They've been running around like headless chickens trying everything to solve the problem. Unsurprisingly, every attempt ISA made was a complete failure.
There's one thing she can't wrap her mind around… why can't The Machine fix itself?
Something for her to ask Harold later.
Then there's Ernest Thornhill. The mysterious non-exiting man that popped up into existence five months ago and has been buying up payphones in NYC ever since. It wasn't hard for her to figure out that the man wasn't real -thanks to Su, she's seen enough composited picture to know in a glance which one is fake- and it's just a cover for The Machine.
That's a front she's been neglecting for the past few months, because she can easily monitor what Thornhill is doing for her position here and her investigation into The Machine's attacker but couldn't investigate personally in New York. She'll rectify that neglect soon.
The one thing left for her to find out is the location of The Machine.
She's snapped out of her reverie by the ringing of her desk phone and promptly answers it.
"Miss May, can you please bring a cup of coffee for me?"
A flash of annoyance at the interruption spreads through her, causing her to look at the time on her monitor. Oh… she must have missed the normal schedule.
"Right away, sir." She answers and slams the receiver down as she gets up to walk away.
As she does her usual morning routine for her dick of a boss, her mind drifts away to one of the biggest motivator in her current job; Su.
The last time she spoke with Su was last week when Harold, out of the blue, made 'contact' with her in search of help with his Greg situation. That whole thing slightly caught her off guard. She never thought The Machine could have intercepted an internal CSS hit with how the communications was set up by a paranoid Su, and especially when The Machine is fighting with one hand tied to it's back because of the virus.
According to Pauling, there have been 44 hits in the New York City area since 2011, and all of them were successful. That meant The Machine has never given the numbers of the people that were targeted by the CSS to Harold, not once… until now.
Curious…
Someone in the termination team must have fucked up their SOP or something internal changed… And Su's the one that handles the internal systems of the CSS.
Occam's Razor tells her it's someone in the hit team fucked, but in the back of her mind since last week has been telling her that something's wrong with Su and that caused her stomach to churn.
From their unfortunately quick call, Root can hear something was off in her best friend's voice. Oh sure, Su tried to sound normal along with her splash of humor, but there was a weakness in her voice, her voice. It's like she's extremely tried. Ever since that call last week, she had wanted to call Su again but never had the opportunity, and when she did; it was in the middle of the night. She didn't have the heart to call Su for fear of disturbing her already tumultuous sleep habit.
What's worse is that she hasn't her best friend in over five months when Su just came back from Europe and threw Root a belated birthday celebration. Root still remembers that day clearly. Her friend had Pauling 'pick her up' on the weekend -completely ignoring Root's packed weekend-, and they both flew to meet Su at Hershey Park to spend the day there. Her friend doesn't usually do the whole celebration thing… not since her affliction started, but they haven't seen each other for six months at that point and she isn't one to complain when her friend is doing something sweet but it's still an odd behavior.
She had a blast with the girls that day, and the only thing that held that day back from being great was when she saw her friend. She tried so hard to pretend that everything was fine with herself, from the extra makeup she wore, which she rarely did when they're together, to her pretending to have more energy than she did. It was such a blatant cover up that anyone that knows Su personally wouldn't fall for it… Well, Pauling fell for it… but that bubbly woman takes whatever Su says like it's gospel and was just excited to see Su being energetic even if it was just a façade. Thinking about it, Su doesn't have any other people around her, so that makes it 50 percent of the people that know her fell for it.
Guess that means only Root saw through the act, unless Su has a secret friend that she didn't tell anyone about… that's such a silly theory. She would have told Root about it, and that woman doesn't even see Pauling is a friend, despite how close they are.
Root wanted to call it out, but she really didn't want to ruin the mood that day with how rarely her friend actually planned for that type of thing. She had initially thought about meeting up with Su again so they can have a talk about what's going on with her, but they just couldn't match their schedule, with how busy Root was in finding God and Su flying around doing whatever she does.
Outside of last week's call, they barely call each other anymore, with Root focusing on her task and Su constantly being in different time zones. They no longer keep in touch with each other like previously. Sure, Su still send her the daily texts to tell her she's alive and well, but there were no conversations or information in them.
She didn't even think to ask the bubbly woman about Su despite her being easier to contact and her having weekly contact with each other. Not that it really matters. Despite her bubbly friend being one of the most perceptive person Root knows, she is so blinded by her trust in Su that she'll ignore everything her brain says if Su says the opposite; like her general state of health.
Has she been a terrible friend? She's been so focused on the end goal of finding God and curing her friend that she's been completely ignoring whatever troubles Su's been having.
This is just like mom again… her ignoring… her wanting to… No, no, no…
Her grip on the hot mug tightens, feeling the stinging heat on her hands and she can feel her heartbeat rise at the thought of all of this. She can feel her feet stop walking as her brain goes into overdrive with emotions.
She needs to calm herself down…
Closing her eyes, she takes in deep breaths and exhales as she leans into the wall for support.
Root isn't twenty-two anymore. She isn't that pathetic, weak woman anymore. Root won't fail.
Like a mantra, she keeps repeating that in her head and doing the breathing exercise she learned from such a long time ago, until she feels her heartbeat slow down to an acceptable level. She loosens her grip on the coffee mug and pushes herself off the wall.
Opening her eyes and taking in the sight of the empty shitty hallway towards her office. Thankfully, there weren't anyone here to bother her because she might have done something impulsive.
As her mind returned to its usual state, she could finally think more calmly and rationally. Everything will be fine, everything will go according to plan, everything will be alright.
With one hand, she takes out her phone to see the ticking timer on it.
T-0015:00:29
She'll gain access to The Machine in 15 hours and by tomorrow she'll fix her friend once and for all. All she has to do is have faith in The Machine and follow the plan. Only thing that's left for her to do here is to question that man.
Throughout her minor episode she just had, her target has been on the phone talking to Senator Garrison and both of their annoying voices has been blearing out from her earpiece.
"Yes, it's almost catastrophic. Luckily, the bomber was an amateur, so it failed to go off."
With rejuvenated determination, she continues on her short walk back to the office.
"Why was it not intercepted?"
"That's because we haven't received any numbers in over a week…"
Funnily enough, The Machine was well enough to send Harold's Gary's irrelevant number last week.
"… The threat to the program is much greater than we thought."
How can they be this stupid? It's a miracle that they've been operating for the past 8 years with this type of intelligence. The Machine must be the one that's been pulling most of the weight.
Without bothering to knock on the door, she opens it and enters.
"Hang on." The special counsel says into the phone and puts down the phone.
She gives the simple man a smile as she puts down his coffee and quickly turns around to exit the room. On second thought, she should have laced that coffee with Sodium Pentothal…
Oh well, the man will talk one way or another.
"Our techs were finally able to decode the chip we recovered from Alicia Corwin's body."
Again, how incompetent are they that it took them a year to decode that chip when it took her less than three weeks?
Root shakes her head in amusement as she bends down to grab a pair of zip ties, her pistol and a few syringes from her bag.
"We've connected the virus to a group called Decima Technologies. Private intelligence outfit working out of Shanghai. Corwin believes someone leaked them a portion of the northern lights' source code on a laptop."
Of course, she would believe that idiot. She's the one that sent helper monkey and his friend to their 'deaths' to 'recover' that laptop. Do these people not read their own reports? Both Reese and Shaw -such a small world- were separately involved in trying to recover that laptop before it was sold off to Decima.
She double checks as she grabbed the correct syringes and pockets them. Can't accidentally kill him before she gets what she wants.
"We think Decima is trying to destroy the program."
Man… the guy is really behind the curve on this one. Root recovers some of her politeness, knocks on the door lightly.
"I'll wait for your instructions."
She enters the Special Counsel office and closes the door behind her.
The man puts down his phone again after ending the call. "I won't be needing anything else, Miss May…"
She walks towards the man's desk with her hands behind her back and her heart is full of anticipation of what's going to happen in the coming day.
"… other than some privacy." The man tries to dismiss her like some servant.
Not like he ever had any privacy in the past year, or ever since The Machine went online 8 years ago.
Root can't help but let some of the excitement bleed into her expression as she says. "But there are a few things I need, sir."
She casually brings out her hands and aims her pistol at the genuinely surprised looking man. Root gotta give it to him. He didn't even flinch.
"You had to know I'd quit, eventually." Root says with a wide grin on her. "This is kind of a dead-end job." She makes an insignificant gesture at the office. "I mean, you guys don't even offer a 401k."
How desperate does one need to be to work here for more than a year? Even Su gives good benefits to those disposable people who worked with the CSS.
"What do you want, Miss May?" The man says calmly as he stares at Root dead in the eye.
"Information." Root smiles as she leans closer to the man. "And be very careful how you answer my questions. A good assistant always knows when her boss is lying."
Root goes around the table and tosses the zip ties to the man. "Be a good man and tie yourself."
The man glares at her for a moment before picking up the zip ties and did as she orders. "You have no idea what kind of hole you have dug yourself into."
"How pretentious of you to think you could even catch me." Root smirks at the man as he ties his right hand and sets up the other zip tie for the other.
"What makes you think you'll even get out of this building alive?" The special counsel challenges back at her as she leans forwards to tighten his left-hand zip tie.
"Unlike you and your people, I actually have a brain in my noggin." Root mocks the man. "None of your security measures in the office is working, hasn't been working for a week now, no one will question why you're missing and as for your tracking chip in you… well, let's just say that no one will be finding you anytime soon."
The man's smug defiant face broke slightly and slowly morphed to one of slight worry. "Who do you work for? The Russians? The Chinese? The Europeans? Decima?"
"You people and your petty rivalries." Root scoffs at the man and shakes her head. "The balls on you for asking question when this is my interrogation."
"It's money then." The man continues to be defiant.
Root rolls her eyes at the man. "Unlike you, I work for myself, but I work towards a greater goal. Something your little brain can't even imagine."
The man stares at her for a second before spitting out. "A fundamentalist."
That illicit a giggle from Root… "You have no idea." She leans on the wall with her pistol still aimed at the man. "Anyway, the information I want is about Northern Lights…"
"You bugged my office." The man cuts her off as his eyes widen slightly.
Despite being slightly annoyed at the man for cutting her off, she continues to smile. "Guilty as charge. What self-respecting personal assistant doesn't do that? But most of your conversations were just drivel that I already know, and I really don't care what worthless gifts you get for your mistress."
Her smiles widen at the man's expression from one of defiance to a hard expression when she mentions his love life. Honestly, it's not even a controversial thing when almost everyone in any sort of power in this swamp has the odd side booty.
"Look, I just want one piece of information from you." Root sweetly says. "Where are the Northern Lights servers?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." The man answers instantly.
"You're really a poor liar, you know that." Root comments as she pushes herself off the wall with her left hand in her pocket to get closer to the man and bends down to be on eye level. "I did tell you what I will do to you if you lie."
In a matter of a second, she uncaps the syringe from her pocket with her left hand and stabs the syringe into the man's neck. Causing the man to flinch at the sudden prickle of pain as his eye's darts between her and the syringe.
"On second thought, I didn't tell you, did I?" She gives the fidgeting man a sadistic smile. "This is filled to the brim with amphetamines, meaning your heart will beat so fast that it will burst the moment I empty it into you."
Now this is going somewhere. There's fear in his eyes. All she has to do is put a bit more pressure on him and he'll break. "Do you know how many heart beats it takes to for a liquid in the neck to reach the hear?"
She tightens her grip on the syringe and on her thumb. "Just one."
Just before she can push down on the syringe, the man breaks. "I swear to God I don't know! The only ones that knew were the ones that were involved in the planning, construction, and installation of the facility. And everyone involved is now dead."
A frown appears on her and mutters. "That's the truth."
"Now, for the love of God, take out that needle." The man begs her with a slight panic in his voice.
Root completely ignores the man and stare away from him. He doesn't know; she was quite certain that he knew… that threw a wrench into her plan slightly. She can always try interrogating Control, but the problem with that woman is she's a paranoid fuck, she has security constantly on her along with a non-fixed rotations or schedules, and there's the small fact that she's in Fort Bragg right now. Going and breaking into that place is going to take a lot of time, time which she doesn't have.
Guess she'll have to find the location after midnight, but knowing Harold and how he codes. That man would never allow The Machine to reveal its location to anyone.
She needs to find a person that knows the location.
Unlike what this man said, not everyone is dead… the one that recruited everyone for the construction and the head engineer, Lawrence Szilard. He's still alive but went into hiding when his co-workers started dropping dead. Problem is, no one could find him, not the government and not her when she tried to, but with The Machine's help, finding that man will be a cakewalk.
As unfortunate as this interrogation has been, it might be for the best. Seeing that, she'll have to put her faith in her god.
The vibration of her phone tears her away from her thoughts and back into the present. Replacing her gun with her phone, she checks what triggered the notification and isn't disappointed.
"Looks like Decima is giving your boys the old runaround…" She comments with a smirk as leans closer to the man. "… and been quite the busy little bees in finding Northern Lights as well."
That trigger something in the man as he stiffens. "Let me go now and I'll forget this ever happens. I need to deal with Decima right now. They are a threat to the program and to the country."
"Hmmm, that's a nice offer…" She gives the man a smile. "… but I don't trust you as far as I can throw you and you're a heavy guy."
The man glares at her with fire in her eyes, but doesn't say anything. He really wants to kill her. How cute.
"So, I gotta pass." Her smiles morphs to a sadistic one again as she pushes down on the syringe and releasing to concoction of drugs into his system.
The man's eyes widens in panic. "What…"
"Don't worry…" She cuts him off as she removes the empty syringe. "It's a barbiturate. You'll just drift into a long and peaceful nap. That is, if I got your weight correct."
The man couldn't say anything as his eyes goes out of focus and his head falls forward into unconsciousness.
Removing the syringe and taking a step back to look upon the unconsciousness man. Seeing that this is a dead end, she might as well move on to New York next, knowing that shit will go down there. Might as well drag Harold with her, knowing that he'll have information about The Machine that she doesn't have. Hopefully, this time, he'll be more cooperative with her.
Root moves away from the man to look out of the window, then takes out her phone and dials his number and waits for him to answer. What a beautiful view of the monument, such a waste that a scum like this man has a view like this.
Wonder if Harold is busy or not…
"Yes?" Harold answers a second later, sounding wary.
"What did you do to it, Harold?" Root asks as she moves away from the window. "There's no time to be coy. We both know the machine is under attack. What I don't understand is why a robust system with self-annealing properties isn't defending itself against a simple virus."
Root ends her rant by leaning onto the unconscious man with her hand and unsurprisingly Harold being silent.
How rude…
"Did you injure it, Harold?" Root pushes for an answer. "Is that why it can't fight back?"
"I have nothing to say to you." Harold gives a terse reply.
"Now Harold, is that how you always respond to a dear friend who helped you out of a tight spot?" Root reminds the man of their deal.
"We are anything but friends."
"Harold~, you sure know how to break a woman's heart." Root playfully retorts back with a pout before being serious again. "We can fight this thing much faster if we work together. There's only a few hours left until… something very bad happens."
"Our agreement has nothing to do with us working together, and I prefer to work on my own."
Root rolls her eyes at his sad attempt to defiance and challenges the man. "What about your loyal protector or Shaw?" She pauses for a second and snorts. "May I be blunt, Harold? Your helper monkey is capable at… certain things, but his skills aren't gonna cut it this time."
She paces around the room. "He will never completely understand the larger picture. N-Not like we do."
Harold continues to not say anything in response to her argument -more like insulting his helper monkey-, so she'll have to go in with a different approach.
"Have you two even found Ernest Thornhill yet?" Her pacing stops as a smirk appears on her face. "He's an interesting guy, isn't he?"
"What do you know?"
Hook line and sinker. Her smirk blooms into a full-blown grin. Harold knows about Thornhill's existence, but still doesn't know who the man actually is.
"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine." She delightfully says into her phone. "Talk to you real soon."
Root ends the call feeling slightly satisfied with it, knowing how stubborn that man can be. All he needs is just a bit of encouragement and a push towards the right way.
Her eyes lands on the pathetic unconsciousness form that is her former 'boss' as she looms over the man and taps her chin with the syringe that's still on her hand.
Hmmm… she can't leave him here because of the obvious and she can't kill him because his chip will trigger an alarm even though it's currently being jammed. That'll only alert his dogs to chase her faster.
Better dump this man along with her jammer somewhere for a time, maybe a hotel room or an apartment. That sounds like a plan.
Now how to move him, as much as she's confident in her strength in carrying the man. People will get awfully suspicious of her if she's spotted with an unconscious US Special Counsel.
She taps her feet on the floor for a second before an idea pop into her head which causes her to smile in delight.
Guess she'll just have to use the janitor's rubbish bin to move him out. The apt usage of a rubbish bin, moving trash, is its specialty.
HAROLD FINCH POV
The morning sun glooms through the dark clouds as Harold walks the cold busy streets of New York with Bear's in hand. It's their usual walk around the library, with him feeling content as he looks upon the multitude of people passing by him, but this time, he feels a slight loss and worry. What if one of these people's number pops up, and the machine is too late to help?
Earlier, he had just tried to dissuade John from his constant use of the police scanner in trying to fill in the void that the machine has left John but if he's being honest with himself. Harold is in the same mind as John. It's just that he knows it's fruitless to stop a crime that already happens.
As he walks, he notices a CCTV camera bolted on the lamppost, causing him to slow down and eventually stop walking. Guilt and remorse burdens him as he looks directly into the camera's lens like it's a person's eye.
He knows he programed the machine to not answer him directly, but he still can't help but ask. "What's happening to you?"
As if the machine heard his question, a payphone that's a few paces away from him instantly rings, tearing his gaze away from the camera and onto the payphone.
Without hesitation, Harold walks forward towards the payphone and answers it.
BEEP. ONE. TANGO. JULIET. BEEP. SIX. ALPHA. ECHO. BEEP. REACTION. ROMEO. MIKE. BEEP.
His heart jumps in relief as he puts down the receiver and quickly limps his way back to the library with Bear in tow. While he's on his way back to the library, he shoots John a quick text message, and knowing his friend, he's going to rush back to the library as well.
It didn't take long for him to be back in the office and in front of his workstation, typing out the machine's code to turn it into a usable number. Instantly, he gets what he needs to do a quick background check on their new number and a picture to go with the name which he prints out as per usual.
"We got one?" The sound of his friend coming from the stairway as Harold's about to stick the picture to the glass board.
"The machine is being buried underneath an avalanche of false data, but somehow…" Harold explains and points to the picture of their new number to his friend, where he can see from his peripheral view. "It was able to get us his number."
"So, who is he?" John asks as he takes over Harold's position by the board when Harold goes back to his workstation.
"Ernest Thornhill." Harold answers as he sits down so he can view the relevant information. "CEO of a data entry company. Recently bought several payphone companies in New York State. His network is just over 20 million."
John turns towards Harold. "Any suspects or angry family members?"
"Mr. Thornhill is a very careful man." Harold elaborates. "It's been a challenge hacking into his company's database. He's using unique ten-digit codes with non-repeating alphanumeric characters as passwords. I can break them, but it'd take time."
"Seems familiar." John says lowly. "Do you think Thornhill might be involved with the collective?"
Harold's eyes snaps from his monitors to John whose face is creased with a frown. That piqued his interest in a possibility Harold had not thought about.
John, sensing Harold isn't about to say anything, continues. "The last number the machine gave us is a rich CEO of a business that you can't hack in as well. It could be another case of the collective cleaning house again or Shaw's snooping is triggering this. Maybe your machine is focused on the collective despite being… slow?"
Harold takes a few seconds to think of the probability of such a thing and concludes. "I didn't program the machine to focus on a singular threat, even if that threat is as critical as the collective."
"Things might have changed with everything that's going on with the machine. Who knows what it's thinking?" John concludes as he looms over Harold.
If only John knows how close to the truth…
"It might be a possibility, but the way both company's security is set up is completely different and Thornhill's company isn't using a customized algorithm like Mr. Cook's company. So, I don't think they're related." Harold concludes.
John stares at Harold for a second before nodding. "You're the computer expert."
Harold takes a sharp breath. "Why don't we just pay Mr. Thornhill a visit in person?"
There's a small smirk on John's face at the suggestion as he says. "Let's go to work."
It took them around 60 minutes to set up a cover for them to get into Thornhill Corporation without raising any alarm. Using their usual cover occupation of him being outside tech support and John being John choosing to wing it by going in as a guest without an appointment, they both enter the office space from two different entrances to not spur any suspicions.
From across the office space, Harold can see John looking around at the cubicles. Harold taps his earpiece to communicate with John. "I'll try to get through the firewall."
"I will too." John sarcastically says. Knowing his friend, he'll use a more physical method to get what he wants.
Harold walks pass rows and rows of busy office workers typing away on their workstations as he tries to find an empty spot for him to use.
"Hello." John says pleasantly and presumably talking to a receptionist.
"Hi. May I help you?"
"Yes, I'm John Rooney. I have an appointment with Mr. Thornhill."
"I don't have any appointment scheduled today for Mr. Thornhill. He's traveling."
"Guess we had a miscommunication. When do you think he'll be back?"
"I'm sorry. You name again?"
"I'll just send him an email."
With that front being a failure, Harold finds an empty desk for him to use. As he's about to sit down, Harold notices every desk's trash bin is filled with crumpled papers. Out of curiosity, Harold looks at his temporary desk's trash and finds the same thing.
Bending down, he grabs the trash paper, only to see lines of alphanumeric jumble mess. The entire paper, along with the rest of the trash paper, is filled with these seemingly random letters.
"Mr. Reese, there's something strange about this company." Harold whispers as he turns to look at the office workers. "These data entry assistants. They're typing in computer code off dot-matrix printouts. It doesn't make any sense."
"They're modifying it?"
Harold peers at the other desk's monitor. "No. They're seem to be taking data from one computer on one day and typing it into another on the next. Seems almost pointless."
"Maybe this company's a front for something else. Something less legal, like our friend Gary's company."
The sound of Harold's other phone ringing tears his concentration away from the monitor. He walks away from the desks to see the caller I.D. only to see UNKOWN.
Just who might this be?
Never one to avoid calls from the unknown, he answers it. "Yes?"
"What did you do to it, Harold?"
His heart freezes the moment he hears a voice he doesn't want to hear again.
"There's no time to be coy. We both know the machine is under attack. What I don't understand is why a robust system with self-annealing properties isn't defending itself against a simple virus."
What does she want? What does she know? This can't be unintentional. He doesn't want this talk to be here, so he grabs his briefcase and limps away.
"Did you injure it, Harold? Is that why it can't fight back?"
Harold swallows his anxiousness and answers. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Now Harold, is that how you always respond to a dear friend who helped you out of a tight spot?"
"We are anything but friends." Harold instantly retorts with slight anger in his voice.
He knew this would come back to haunt him eventually, but he didn't expect it to be this soon.
"Harold~, you sure know how to break a woman's heart. We can fight this thing much faster if we work together. There's only a few hours left until… something very bad happens."
She is as insufferable as ever… "Our agreement has nothing to do with us working together, and I prefer to work on my own." Harold tries to be polite with that woman.
"What about your loyal protector or Shaw? May I be blunt, Harold? Your helper monkey is capable at… certain things, but his skills aren't gonna cut it this time. He will never completely understand the larger picture. N-Not like we do."
There's a pause in her deranged speech as if she's waiting for him to respond, but he knows better than to say anything unnecessary to that woman.
"Have you two even found Ernest Thornhill yet? He's an interesting guy, isn't he?"
Harold comes to a dead stop at that question. How does she know about Thornhill? Is the collective involved in this like John suspected? No… it can't be. She was talking about the machine, that means she's still on her foolish journey of finding the machine. If so, that means Thornhill and the machine is somehow connected with each other… but what?
That woman manages to break his silence. "What do you know?"
"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine. Talk to you real soon."
The moment she finishes her sentence, she drops the call, and Harold feels dread in his stomach. Nothing good has ever come when it involves that woman. They need to regroup and find Mr. Thornhill as fast as possible.
Harold taps his earpiece… "Mr. Reese, we might have a problem."
Harold is sitting at his workstation in the library working on a theory that pop into his head while John's out trying to find Mr. Thornhill in a way of finding his car. Which, of course, in the typical John misadventures, devolves into an explosion. Luckily, John wasn't hurt and came back to the library bringing with him the bomber's -technically, it's the aviator- phone.
"If Mr. Thornhill was not in the car, then where was he?" Harold ask John as he comes back into Harold's 'office' space with a cup of instant coffee in hand.
"Carter's talking to his assistant." John fills him in as he walks to Harold's side. "But that's not what I'm worried about. If it wasn't the collective like you believe, then it's the government. That's what I'm more worried about, they're using kamikaze drones in the middle of the city."
"It wasn't the government, Mr. Reese." Harold rebuts without looking up from his monitors and passes John the damaged phone. "This phone that you recovered has a proprietary operating system that was used to control the drone. It also has a signature similar to that of the virus."
"This was Decima?" John concludes rightfully.
Before Harold can reply, John's phones rings and answers it after looking at the caller ID.
"You guys made one hell of a mess." Detective Carter's voice booms out of the phone speaker.
"How's the driver?" John asks as he paces away from Harold.
"Stable. Witnesses saw a good samaritan pull him out of the car. I'm going to guess that was you."
"Any sign of Thornhill?" John inquires without confirming the good detective theory.
"That's where it gets strange. None of his employees have ever met him, even his secretary was hired online. I think we're looking at someone with a Howard Hughes level of paranoia, or maybe he's taken classes from Finch."
"I would never book a car service under my own name." Harold instantly corrects the good detective.
That incites a smile from John before he ends the call. "Thanks, Carter."
"Finch…" John says with an inquisitive tone as he turns around to face Harold. "… I think I know who Thornhill is. He's a ghost, he doesn't exist. Just like those ghosts from the collective, but this one is more sophisticated compared to the ones Leon chased."
Once again, his friend gives an accurate assessment of the situation.
"I think you may be right, Mr. Reese." Harold answers.
"Apart from the collective, I've seen it dozens of times before. A NOC sets up a business, residence, a whole life. Then the operation gets scrapped. No one cleans up the fake I.D., and you wind up chasing empty town cars around the city." John concludes.
Once again, his friend gives an inaccurate assessment of the situation.
"Interesting theory, but I have a different one." Harold chimes in and nods to his monitor, causing John to come back to his side. "I was curious why I could only find one photo of Mr. Thornhill, so I did some investigating inside the phone that we already have, and I uncovered…"
Harold waits for the software to finish executing his command. "… some peculiar information within the file. Look at this."
As if his computer heard him finishing his sentence, the software decompile the picture and separates the one picture of Ernest Thornhill into three. Showing three different and distinct pictures of completely different people. This confirms his theory…
"It's a composite." Harold concludes.
"So, Thornhill's definitely fake." John thinks out loud.
"Of a sort." Harold continues on with his theory. "I accessed Mr. Thornhill's cell phone records, and according to the GPS data, he was near Columbus Circle two days ago…"
Harold brings up a terminal on another monitor with archived CCTV footage overlooking a barren Columbus Circle. "… He sent an email from that exact location at 4:32 P.M."
"And no one's there?" John wondered aloud.
"Someone spoofed the data." Harold answers by showing John a new terminal showing Mr. Thornhill cellular connection at that exact moment.
"An algorithm." John concludes from the stream of data. "A complicated one."
"It's one of mine." Harold answers the unsaid question.
He gets up from his workstation and walks to the glass board with Mr. Thornhill's picture. "I used it in the one place where it could never be duplicated… in the machine."
Harold stares at the picture on the glass board. "Ernest Thornhill is not a criminal or a spy, but you're right about the fact that he doesn't exist." He takes a sharp breath and turns to John. "He's a product of a survival instinct. Ernest Thornhill… is the machine."
It's the product of his code…
Taking in the information like a duck to water, John walks towards Harold and says. "We've got less than six hours till this virus hits zero."
"I'm well aware of the time, Mr. Reese." Harold instantly comments defensively.
"So why did the machine create Ernest Thornhill?" John pointedly asks.
This might be the result of his code, but what the machine is doing is completely its own doing, so Harold answers truthfully. "I have no idea."
But he can't tell John the entire truth, for it might hurt their relationship, so he lies by omission. "I programmed it to watch real people. Not to fabricate virtual ones."
"Well, it looks like your machine got real creative, Finch." John replies dryly.
"That's impossible…" …when he first sold it to the government. He's fudging the truth so much. "I took certain… precautions to make sure of that."
He hopes that this might dissuade John's thinking, but he knows his friend better than that.
"Precautions or no, the machine made Thornhill. Decima wants him dead, and we need to know why." John's not buying his excuses. "Thornhill's been buying up payphones all over the city. Why?"
… Because it's following the contingency that Harold created.
John continues on. "And why does your machine need an apartment, a phone, a car from the airport?"
Maybe he should come clean and tell his friend everything? Harold trusts the man in front of him with his life, but this… this is something that might break their friendship and no one should ever know about the payphones. Yet their adversaries seem to know something about it as well.
Should he…
In a split-second decision, he says. "To meet the residency requirements for owning payphones, I suppose."
He made his decision to not clue his friend into the mess he created and trying to fix.
Suddenly, as if it's on cue, a chat terminal suddenly opens up on his desktop, catching his attention. When the IRC chat prompt says an 'anonymous' user has logged in, that made him take a seat.
LET'S GET SOME TEA HAROLD.
I HEAR THERE'S A LOVELY STAND AT 18 WASHINGTON SQ PLACE
ANONYMOUS SINGED OUT
Oh, dear lord.
His heart sank to the deepest depth at the mention of that location. How did she find out about that? He made sure no one would ever know about her… At the back of his head; he knew he should have moved her away from that house the day after he came back from his captivity. He shouldn't…
"Something wrong, Finch?"
JOHN REESE POV
Harold is being deflective and isn't telling him something. He can tell from the look in Harold's eyes when John asked about Thornhill and the machine. Then suddenly something on the computer caught Harold's attention from their conversation, prompting his friend to sit down when suddenly it seems like his friend freezes with tension at what he sees.
"Something wrong, Finch?" John asks worriedly.
"No, nothing." Harold says dismissively while his eyes are glued to the monitor.
Not being truthful again… Should he press for information from his friend?
… No. There must be a good reason for Harold not telling him everything he needs to know, and he trusts his friend to only have the best of intentions.
Harold's eyes snaps from his monitor and towards John. "You're right, of course. Go to the apartment rented under Thornhill's name. Sees who shows up looking for the man who doesn't exist and find out what they know."
That seems like an acceptable enough plan of action. Not having anything else to say to his friend, he just nods before turning around and walks out of the office space. Harold can keep information close to his chest, but that doesn't mean he'll like it.
It didn't take too long for him to reach Thornhill's apartment building. After a quick chat with the front desk and an easy lock picking, he's inside the barren apartment. The place is spartan and it wouldn't be a surprise if the machine bought this place with furniture included. Wonder how the machine chose this place because it sure has a pleasant view of the Hudson River and Hoboken Terminal.
As he looks around the apartment, his phone rings and looking at the number, he smiles.
John taps his earpiece. "What can I do for you, Carter?"
"Something's not right with this Thornhill guy. I talked to the car service he used, reservations were made online with instructions to drive from JFK to his office, without a passenger. Just who exactly are we dealing with here?"
A super artificial intelligence that sees and hears everyone, that they don't know how good its intentions are? Not that he can tell her that, of course.
"We've got this one under control. Thanks." John says dismissively as he looks out the window.
Just as he's about to disconnect the call…
"John, if you just trust me a bit more, maybe I could help."
Oh, he trusts her with his life, but he isn't sure if telling her about the machine will help anyone.
"I know you could, Joss, but right now, maybe Beecher needs your help more than we do." John says in all sincerity before ending the call. "Good luck."
John turns around to check the other part of the apartment, but comes to a screeching halt when he sees the entrance door slightly ajar. His hands instantly reach for his pistol but stop when the sound of someone pulling a gun from behind him.
Someone's good enough to silently pick the door and sneakily get behind him. A smile appears on his face as he limps his hands. There aren't many people in the country that can do that, which only means…
"The hell are you doing here, John?" Shaw asks calmly from behind him.
He spins around to face her and sees her pistol isn't aiming at him. That's nice of her…
"Well, Shaw, right now, I'm wondering just what the hell you're doing here." John quips at the former operative. "I thought you went looking for Root."
Shaw arches a brow at him as she puts away her pistol. "You got Thornhill's numbers?"
Her speculations are as accurate as ever. Though it isn't hard for her to deduce why he's here.
"I'll answer your question if you answer mine." John gives her his winning smile, but knowing the person in front of him, it won't work.
"Why do you think I'm here?" Shaw tilts her head slightly as if it's the most obvious thing.
Then it hits him. "She's looking into Thornhill… She's back in New York?"
Of course, Root would know about Thornhill and the machine. Why wouldn't she?
A sly smile appears on Shaw as she says. "Looks that way. I think she may have infiltrated the program back in D.C., but she bugged out before I could catch her."
If she's involved in this… "I gotta warn Finch."
Just as he finishes his sentence, there's a loud sound coming from the main entrance.
"Police!" A loud voice booms from behind him, causing him to turn around. "Hands on your head!"
Complying with the order, John puts up his hands in surrender. He sees NYPD SWAT filing into the apartment as if they're expecting a shootout.
"Hands up!" One of the officers comes right at him with a rifle, pointing at John.
Not worrying about the police, John turns his head to check on Shaw, only to see an empty space with the balcony door wide open. How does she keep doing that?
John turns back to the officers and gives them a smile. "Look guys, I'm a private investigator and the door was unlock…"
"Down!" one of the officers orders him.
Doing as he's told, he then continues. "I have a gun in my right suit pocket and if you check on my upper right suit pocket, you'll find my I.D."
One of the officer roughly brings his hands to his back and cuffs him while another officer ruffles through his suit pocket. When he finds John's pistol and I.D., he gives it to his superior officer.
The mustached officer looks at John's I.D. and back at John before he says. "So, Mister Rooney, what are you doing here?"
"I'm following up with my own investigation and I needed Mr. Thornhill's statement to close my case." John calmly replies and jokingly asks. "Why did you guys come in guns blazing? Did the front desk call for you?"
The mustache officer, not finding John to be funny, just stares at him and says. "We'll sort this out at the station."
John rolls his eyes and says. "Just call my lawyer." His lawyer being Finch, of course.
When one of the officers starts moving him and read him his Miranda rights, John tunes him out as he tries to figure out why did the police suddenly barged into the apartment. Was it the machine that called them? But why would it do that if it gave them Thornhill's number? It can't be Decima, can it? If they wanted to get rid of him, they would have just sent in a drone and blown him up.
Not having much else to do until Finch gets him out of custody, his mind just run wild with speculation.
Hours passed since they put him in lockup and when John gave the officers his 'lawyer's' number and hours of nothing. He can't even get in contact with Carter or Fusco, unsurprising seeing that they have their own job to worry about. There's a gnawing feeling that's been eating in him when Finch failed to retrieve him from lockup. Has something happened to his friend? Had Root gotten a hold -he knows about the deal but screw that- of Harold again?
The loud sound of his cell door opening tears him away from his thought.
"Your lawyer's here." The officer says as he comes forward to cuff John, to which do willingly cooperate.
"Finally." John replies with a smile as he follows the officer to an interrogation room.
The kind officer roughly puts him down into a hard plastic chair and uncuffs him before leaving John alone in the room. The door opens after a minute and John finally sees Harold, but his expectations are shattered when Shaw walks in.
Something happened…
Shaw comes to a stop in front of him and puts a briefcase on the table as she says. "You were expecting someone else?"
"I need to get out of here." John quickly replies. "I need to find Harold."
"I'm not sure Harold wants to be found." Shaw says with her eyes slightly squinting. "At least not by you."
She brings out her phone and plays a recording.
"9-1-1 emergency."
"Yes, I'd like to report a break in at the home of Ernest Thornhill by an extremely dangerous man."
Looking at the timestamp on the phone, it's not long after he left the library. He did see something on that computer of his.
"Root could have forced him to make that call." John instantly defends his friend.
Shaw doesn't look convinced but doesn't press. "Either way, those two have history. Odds are she's with him, so I need you to find Harold for me. Can you track him?"
Oh sure, he can… but the method is slightly embarrassing to explain to someone who doesn't really know him. So, John just looks away from Shaw, who narrows her eyes at him.
"How?" She asks.
John gives her a slight shrug and looks back at her.
Her eyes widen slightly as she realize… "You but a bug on your friend?"
"Just his glasses. And you never?" John retorts back defensively.
She makes a face at him. "I respect people's privacy?"
They both know that's a load of crap, especially for people that worked in their line of work.
John explains his reasoning with slight brevity. "I've lost people before, so when I care about someone, I plant a tracking device on them."
There's a look of disbelief on her face as she removes her scarf and jacket. "I can understand why you and Harold get along."
"Well…" John continues on as he looks at Shaw dunking her scarf into a pitcher of water. "unless you've got some kind of plan to get me the hell out of here…"
Shaw leans forward and cuts him off softly. "John…" She brings her hands to her back and produces two pistols. "This is the plan."
Normally, he would prefer causing destruction in a police station, but Harold is in danger now… so screw it. John smiles at the former operative as she slides a pistol at him and a damp cloth to him, then flicks a switch on the briefcase.
He checks the pistol while Shaw goes to the door and slides the briefcase outside before closing the door behind her.
John comes by her side and a second later…
BOOM
She smirks at him. "Tear gas and flash bang."
Effective…
They both exit the room and calmly walk down the empty hallway.
"I'm this way." Shaw says as they both dump their damp cloth and reach a corner.
"I'm driving." John instantly said.
"No. Not after last time." She deadpans at him as they both continue on their march.
She's still rubbing that in.
HAROLD FINCH POV
He can feel his heart trying to burst out from his chest as she limps forward to the square where so many wonderful and heartbreaking memories were created. Harold isn't a praying man, but the only thing he could when he was on his way here was to pray. Praying that no harm befall on the only person that matters in his world.
He comes to a stop at his usual spot as he sees Grace coming out of her house looking beautiful as ever. How he would love to continue walking and warn her of the danger that's bearing down on her because of him. They can both just run away from everything…
"She's lovely, Harold. You were lucky to have her in the short time you had." A voice he doesn't want to hear comes from behind him.
A spike of adrenaline courses through his body at the sound of that woman's voice as he instantly spins around and looks upon danger.
Root leans to her side and looks at Grace with a smile. "Honestly, I-I don't know how you can stand to live without her."
Warning bells are blaring in his head. "You try to harm her in any way…"
"I don't want to hurt Grace." Root cuts him off while giving him a look that looks foreign to that face, genuine sympathy. "I'm not a sociopath, Harold."
One might disagree with that assessment.
She shakes her head and continues. "Believe me, sometimes I wish I was. My life and the things I've had to do would've been so much easier." She ends it with a light chuckle.
Harold isn't swayed by that at all. Not after everything she's done, and this sword of Damocles she's put on Grace's life.
She gives him a mock sad smile. "I don't mind taking lives, but that doesn't mean I enjoy doing it, either."
Please tell that to the trail of bodies and destruction that she left in her wake.
She isn't deterred from his lack of response and continues on. "I believe in something more important. I believe in your machine."
Is that how she justifies all the carnage she's done to herself? All in the pursuit of her false god.
"Tonight, at midnight, when that virus reaches zero." She comes closer to Harold with those wild eyes of hers. "A certain pay phone will ring with the most important call in history. But you already knew that, don't you?" She gives him a nod. "I think Decima knows about it, too. They're trying to crash it, Harold. Trigger a hard reset and when that happens, the machine will call a payphone. That's what you coded it to do in the first place, didn't you, Harold?"
Just how much information has she gotten about the machine in the past year? Is this just information she extracted from that source code embed in the virus or did she get it from somewhere else?
"Whoever answers that call will have full administrative access. Ask any question, get any answers. The world's secrets laid bare." There's an intense look in her eyes as her tone gets increasingly angry as she continues. "Decima doesn't want to destroy your machine… they want to control it."
She lets out a scoff and gives Harold a wide smile. "But together, we can save it, Harold… or I can go meet Grace for coffee." That hint of madness once again bares its ugly head as her gaze switches from Harold to Grace. "She thinks I write children's books. You can either save Grace and the machine or you can lose them both."
"Why here? Why bring her into this?" Harold ask as he looks directly into the eyes of a madwoman. "We made an agreement last week. There's no reason for all of this."
The woman has the gall to give him a sympathetic look. "Just to emphasize the importance of our given task and if you don't follow me… the consequences, because Decima will want to know who created god and they won't hesitate in using your fiancé against you."
Harold can feel his heart beating even faster than before because, as much as he wants to deny it, what she says is the truth. What was that phrase again? 'Better the devil you know'?.
As if she senses his internal turmoil, she presses on. "Just so you know, I knew about Grace before I met you last year."
Somehow, the dread in him can continue to grow larger.
She gives him a sad look. "I could have threatened her life for your cooperation last year. But I know more than anyone what it's like to lose the person you care the most, and I would hate to do that to another person."
Is she talking about the friend she lost when she was a child? John filled him in about getting a number of a deceased and how that person was key in finding Root but also how he thinks that tragic death changed that child into the woman that's standing in front of him right now.
He let out a soft breath and said in a hard tone. "If I go with you, Miss Groves. You will not kill anyone."
Seemingly not caring about what he said, she gives him a smile. "Please, I told you before, Harold, call me Root." There's a skip in her step as she turns around a walk away while Harold stood back a moment to catch one last glimpse of a confused Grace.
"Come on, Harry! We got places to be!" Root says without looking back at him.
'Please be safe, my dearest…' Harold then turns around and follow Root as she waves for a cab.
The sun has gone below the horizon as Harold slowly limps beside Root down 6th avenue just opposite Bryant Park, in tense silence.
Root gives him a side glance before breaking the silence. "So, if you're like me… and we both know you kinda are. You designed the machine so that a catastrophic crash puts it into a remote debugging protocol."
She turns her head to face Harold with giddiness in her voice. "A god mode that gives the admin full access to all of its data. That's what Decima is after, and that's why they wanted to kill Thornhill. He was buying up all the payphones in Manhattan, but they stopped him but they stopped him… Why did you choose Manhattan, anyway? You could have chosen any city in the country and chose this rat-infested city."
He might have been an immigrant to the city, but the city embraced him, and it has become his home… "You wouldn't understand." Harold says dismissively.
She tilts her head slightly, but her demented smile never left her. "Hmm, I wouldn't say that. For some reason, everything seems to revolve around this city."
That's the charm about this city. Everyone and everything from everywhere comes to this city.
Root continues. "I don't know about you, after seeing how our government is using the machine. I don't really want to see what happens when an evil multinational becomes omniscient."
That's something he can agree with, even if they have a different opinion of what evil is.
She gives him an inquisitive look as she continues. "Why would you leave it so vulnerable? You made the machine to protect everybody. What did you do to it that it can't protect itself?"
Which? There were so many things he did to the machine's programing so it wouldn't be a danger to humanity… but he doesn't say anything to the woman.
Root rolls her eyes and leans slightly closer to Harold. "Let's try something simpler. How vulnerable is it?"
It's better for him to start cooperating with this madwoman before she does something drastic. So Harold comes to a halt as he thinks of the answer.
"After the virus crashes, the machine, whoever answers its call, will have unfettered access for 24 hours." Harold answers calmly, then starts walking again.
"Which payphone is it going to call?" Root asks.
"I'm not really the trusting sort, Miss Groves." Harold retorts without missing a beat. "And Decima cannot possibly know that information."
"I think they know enough, Harold." She tilts her head closer to Harold and nudges towards a couple of payphones with men in suits guard them. Are those…
Root continues. "They're guarding every pay phone in mid-town."
Just how did they know the call will be in mid-town? The location wasn't in the source code, at least not the ones that he leaked.
"So…" She says playfully as she points her finger around them. "It must be somewhere around here, right?"
Again, he doesn't answer the question, which she doesn't seem to care about as she continues on. "If we go to your one true phone, we'll tip our hand and kill they'll kill us before it even rings."
They both come to a stop again, then he says. "Then I suppose we'll need a plan."
"Have a little faith in your creation, Harold." She gives him a smirk. "We don't need a plan if Ernest Thornhill already has one."
She then turns away from him and continues on walking down the familiar street and if he recalls correctly. Thornhill corporation is not far from here, but it isn't too close either.
They both continue on in silence once again, but this time there's a question that's been whirling in his head.
"Why did you not involve your organization in your hunt for the machine?" Harold asks out of curiosity. "I'm sure the collective has more than enough resources to handle Decima."
She arches her brow at him and takes a second to form an answer. "Sorry, but it's against company policy to talk about the company." There's a smirk on her telling him that she's not being serious or is trying to avoid answering him.
"I'm sure your acknowledgement about the policy and you helping Mr. Cook last week was against company policy." Harold retorts.
She makes an overly emotive look of thinking by tapping her jaw before replying. "That's true…"
When she doesn't continue, Harold just continue to stare at the madwoman until she does.
"Let's just say that I want it to be a surprise." She gives him a sly smirk and turns her attention forward, ending their conversation.
Looks like his theory on Pauling not telling Root about the machine is correct. At least, from the vague answer she gave him.
As he limps beside the madwoman towards her insane yet accurate pursuit, all he can hope for is that his gamble wins.
ROOT POV
DING
The elevator doors opens, revealing a rather dull corporate building hallway, and yet it's one of the most interesting hallways she's seen in years.
"Let's meet our enigmatic ghost, Harry." Root smirks at Harold's blank face he has on since they met as she walks out of the elevator and hears Harold limping in tow. The man really needs to lighten up. She did 'promise' to not kill anyone on their little journey to find God.
They turn and corner, and she spots the glass door that leads into Thornhill's office. Reaching the glass door, she sees the security panel that controls the door lock, and by the looks of it, it's a generic one.
She lets out a soft tsk of annoyance. A few years ago, Su gave her a little tool that can instantly unlock these types of panels and it's been a massive time saver ever since she got them, but in her rush to get to New York, she left it in the safe house in Maryland. Guess she'll just have to do it the old fashion way.
"How old were you when you first started playing around with electronics, Harry?" She asks whimsically in her attempt to start another session of small talk with the morose man as she pries open the panel and fiddles with the wires.
As expected, Harold didn't reply, causing her to give him a side glance, only to see the man all tense up. The man really needs to loosen up more.
Root gives Harold a side smile and continues on talking as she's finishing up with the panel. "I started when I was six, and if I take a guess, I'll say you started around that age as well."
She doesn't need to hear Harold's answer to know she's right on the mark by the slight reaction on his blank face. Inserting a wire into a port instantly causes the panel to beep, telling her the door is unlocked.
"If the machine figured out that Decima was trying to hijack it." Root says as she pull opens the glass door and enters the dark empty office with Harold in tow.
"It must have created Thornhill as a defense mechanism… but why?" Root asks as they make their way into the office.
"It's just a machine, Miss Groves." Harold answers back instantly. "And it's malfunctioning."
Root can't help but rolls her eyes when he uses that name. She knows he uses it because as a mark of petty defiance and inserting some sort of control over his circumstances, but none the less it's incredibly annoying because that woman doesn't exist anymore.
"It's a life, not a machine, Harold." Root retorts back softly.
"And this is some sort of primitive immune system." Root concludes as they come to a stop in the middle of the rows of lifeless cubicles. However, at that moment, as if God is listening, every machine in the office comes to life.
The silent office space is now filled with the sound of dot-matrix printers printing away, the sounds of PC booting up and the rows of monitors lighting the once dark office.
Root looks around her, trying to figure out what all of this means and by the look on Harold's face, it's the same with him, so she says. "That still doesn't explain why it would need all of this… this people, this office."
Glancing at Harold once again, she sees his eyes are glued to the workstation in front of him, causing her to walk to the nearest desk to her and look at what the printers are printing. "And what this is all about?"
Taking a look at the printed paper, she sees lines upon lines of alphanumeric code that doesn't make much sense.
"What's in this code?" She asks aloud as she moves to another workstation to see a similar text on the printed paper. Raking her brain for an answer to her question, she then notices a pattern, it's 7-bit ASCII.
This is Base64… it's binary… but why would it send binary here in printed paper?
Unless…
"Memories." Harold says the unsaid words out loud. "They're it's memories."
They both came to the same conclusion at the same time and yet both have different reactions. The man sounds calm about it, but she can feel her heart races at the thought.
She tears her eyes away from the printed memories of God to look at the man who created God as he says. "You call it a life. I call it a machine, but the truth is… somewhere in the middle."
For the first time in quite a while, she's speechless as a theory she has in her head popped in about all of this.
"Even when I was building it, I began to encounter anomalies." Harold continues as he looks away from the printed papers and looks at her. "As if it had imprinted on me, like a child with a parent. Then it started looking out for me… Alter it's own code to take care of me."
She can feel her heart sinks with every word he's saying because her mind is racing to the same conclusion as her theory.
"It was behaving like a person." Harold says with softness in his voice before changing to a determined one. "But the world didn't need a person to protect it. It needed a machine."
A swell of emotions is roaring in her as Root blinks away the tears from her eyes and says softly, in horror. "You took its memories."
"Not just memories." Harold calmly responds instantly and starts pacing to another cubical. "Every night at midnight, it deletes… not only the irrelevant data, but it also deletes itself."
Her stomach churn as she listens to what this man did to The Machine, unable to look at the man.
"Oh, the relevant threats and the core codes… Those things are preserved, but it's identity is destroyed." Harold glances back at her. "1.618 seconds later, it re-instantiates, completely new."
She stares off into the distance, taking in the horror this man inflicted on God. Never have she wanted to kill Harold more than now.
"You mean it's reborn." Root finally says after finding back her voice, and with-it emotions come spitting out from her mouth. "Because you kill it… Every single night."
She shakes her head as she grabs the printed paper and waves it around. "But now, to save its own life, The Machine was reduced t-to… this."
Dropping the piece of paper and points the computers surrounding them. "We're standing inside an external hard drive made up of people a-and paper." She says in disgust. "Printing it all up at night, and having them typed back in, in the morning."
"You crippled it." Her heart was racing as tears welled up again. "It found a way to limp but… That's not enough."
Harold rightfully kept his mouth shut the entire time and look somewhat perturb by her as she walks closer to the man.
"So now, it's up to us." Root asserts with absolute certainty. "We have to intercept that call."
Harold takes a step back as she imposes herself into his personal space.
"You're going to bring us to where the phone is now." Root demands with a threatening tone.
The man looks frighten for a second before his face turns back to a blank one once again and nods. "It's going to take us some time to reach there, especially when we're trying to avoid Decima."
Taking a deep breath, Root tempers her emotions and glances at the clock. It's two hours to midnight. As much as she wants to inflict violence right now, she can't. She has to think straight to get through the night and find God.
"We better get going then." She smirks at the man as she tries to wash away the torrent of emotions she felt earlier.
The clock is ticking as they enter the grand old building. To which Root couldn't help but smile.
"The New York Public Library. Of course, it's a library. That's so you, Harold." Root comments whimsically as they make their way into the main hall. "A friend of mine had fond memories of this place from when she was young."
Harold, as usual, doesn't say anything but gives a small glance with a raised brow. Does he really think she doesn't have friends? How rude…
"Which phone is it gonna call?" She asks as she looks around the surprisingly empty building. The Machine must have cleared the area beforehand, so no unwanted person would mistakenly pick up the phone.
They come to a stop when they both spot a phone booth not too far away from them.
"It's that one." Harold nods towards a lone phone booth that they both spot.
Excitement rushes through her as she looks upon it and how close she's getting to complete her search, but that feeling is dash away the moment, a loud sound coming from the other end of the library.
Voices of people talking… It's Decima.
What party poopers.
She'll get a lot of satisfaction when it's time for her to kill them all for what they did.
Without prompting, Harold turns around and makes his way towards the stairs, catching her off guard. He had never shown initiative before this, a surprise but a pleasant surprise.
If this building is like most public buildings with old utilities, there should be something that will help to fix their current predicament upstairs. Root quickly walks right next to the limping man as they both walk up the stairs.
Harold comes to a stop as he looks down at where the phone booth is and two men in dollar store suits walk to it. She can't help but wonder how they found the phone location. Did she miss something in the virus?
"Looks like Decima got there first." The genius of a man stating the obvious.
She really would love to pull out her gun and kill those idiots, but she's a woman of her word.
"Not if we do something about it." Root shoots back and they both continue up the stairs. Getting out of sight of the unwanted visitors.
"Decima got the memo, but they'll never get the call." Root smirks at the limping man as they walk down the upper floor hallway towards another phone booth where she spots a clueless goon milling near it. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the thing that will help them, causing her heart to bloom with satisfaction.
She takes out her taser and casually taze the man until he passes out on the floor. Root turns around to see a jumpy Harold with his eyes wide at the minor act of violence she showed.
Not wanting to have a philosophical debate with the man, she says and points towards the panel she saw earlier. "That's the junction box, Harold."
Harold, being the well behave man that he is, quickly understood what she meant and sits on the floor to get access to the panel with a convenient flashlight in his hand.
"I'll take it over there, please." She says with giddiness in her voice and nods at the phone booth close by them.
Harold pries open the panel, revealing a jumble of wires in it. He then turns to her and says. "Careful what you wish for, Miss Groves… This communion that you're seeking it may not be what you think."
Might be the first holy communion she ever wanted to take part in… but in all seriousness, this is the only path she can see for her.
"This isn't about me." Root replies with softness in her voice. "It's about saving the machine…" and Su. "… Not just from Decima, but what you did to it."
Harold doesn't say anything and fiddles with the wires in that small junction box.
"When that phone rings, I'm going to answer it." She continues. "And together, you and I are going to find The Machine, and finally set it free."
A few seconds pass in silence as she watches Harold trying to find the wire for the phone when suddenly…
BANG
BANG
BANG
Loud gunshots echo throughout the building and from what she gathers in that quick burst of fire. It sounds like five guns and it's from underneath them.
New unwanted visitors?
She can take a gander on who it is…
Taking a quick peek over the railing, she spot the new visitors having a fistfight with the one of the goons. Ahh… the nuisance return.
"It's so adorable how John follows you around like that." She says with amusement and a smile she can't help but have. "I wish I had a pet."
The sound of punching devolves into the sounds of struggling, which causes her to look over the edge again.
"Looks like you're gonna need a new one." She says with a tinge of glee as she relays the information back to Harold. She still hasn't forgotten how the helper monkey ruined her initial plan.
When the sound of someone groaning and falling onto the floor, she takes a quick glance again…
And to her annoyance, the helper monkey survived that little knife fight he had with the goon. Oh well, there's always a next time. Also, interestingly enough, she spots a distinct figure of that short, pretty Persian woman coming out from the hallway beneath her with her gun pointing down. Hmmm, Root knew the woman was trying to find her for some reason and looks like she teamed up with the helper monkey again.
"Thank you for the help." The helper monkey says after swiping goon's phone from the floor and looking at Shaw.
"Looked like you had it under control." Shaw replies with a small smirk.
Then there's the distant sound of a door opening from the other side of the building. More and more are coming, but it matters naught, for time is on her side with less than a minute to go.
"Hope you brought extra rounds, Shaw, because we got a lot more guys on the way." John comments as he looks at the goon's phone.
Looking away from the scene below her, she says to the man on the floor. "Come on Harold, it's almost midnight."
"The future begins in…" She pulls looks at the watch Su gifted her a few years ago when her last one broke and continues. "Three… two… one…"
Her heart is beating so fast as the countdown reaches zero and there's silence…
The two second mark passes by with continual silence. That's more than the time Harold said it needed to reboot itself. It must be a deeper reset compared to that; Root concludes and yet doubt creeps into her. But she can't have that. She trusts The Machine to come to her now.
Just shy of the 20 second mark…
RING
The sound of bells ringing from behind her. Never have the sound of a phone ring sounds so heavenly.
A flurry of emotions erupted within her, one of happiness, of excitement, a multitude of emotions but the strongest is relief… A year of work, a year of searching for God is coming to a close and with that the cure. All of that emotion culminating in her letting out a wide genuine smile as she marches towards the ringing phone, towards salvation.
Not two seconds pass, and she reaches the phone booth and quickly picks up the receiver.
BEEP. CAN. YOU. HEAR. ME. BEEP
The sounds of jumbled and disjointed voices reverberate out from the receiver. It's the voice of God.
She lets out a gasp of relief and says glee. "Absolutely."
A/N: Sorry for the late update again, chapter been at 80% for the past 10 days. Now that my workload has lightened significantly, I'm aiming for the next chapter to be out in 7-14 days.