Chapter Text
Root’s heels clicked loudly on the cold concrete of the sidewalk. Her breath fogged up in front of her as she walked quickly towards her destination. Despite her best efforts, anticipation was growing in her chest. She fought it, trying to prevent the painful cycle she’d been suffering through for months now; finding a lead, following it as her hopes grew, only to have them crushed as she encountered yet another dead end. No Samaritan, no compound, and no Shaw.
But she couldn’t stop the little voice in her head that whispered that maybe, maybe, this time could be different.
Not that that was the only voice to be heard in her head.
--Analog Interface entering shadow area. Recommend change of course.--
Root clenched her jaw and continued walking.
--Area known to support low numbers of Decima agents. Odds of danger to Analog Interface high.--
Her fists were clenched so tight that her knuckles were white, but Root still couldn’t keep herself from snapping back, “Yes that would be the point.” She pauses for half a second. “Unless you’d like to finally break your silence and tell me what I want to know?” She asks sweetly as she looks over her shoulder at a security camera.
Silence.
Her smile falls and she shrugs, “I thought so. Well if you won’t share, I’ll find someone who will.” And with that, she picked up her pace towards the old parking garage that was deep in the shadow area.
She’d heard word that there was a drop planned for this location tonight for some Decima agents. Root wanted very badly to talk to these people. She felt the comforting press of her favorite two pistols holstered in the back of her waistband and smiled. She wanted to talk to them very much.
She drew these two guns and held them ready as she entered the building. The drop was supposed to take place on the third level, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be lookouts stationed all around. Her watchful eye scanned every corner and shadow as she did her best to ignore the technological god in her ear that wouldn’t shut up.
--Prolonged time spent in shadow areas not recommended. Acquire reinforcements.--
Root cleared the first floor and headed up the staircase.
--Contacting John Reese--
“What?!” Root squealed before catching herself and looking around quickly for anyone who might have heard her. There was no one, and Root wasn’t sure whether that knowledge should relieve or tighten the knot of anxiety settling in her stomach. Certainly it was good that she was progressing unnoticed, but no agents on guard might mean no drop, which would mean no leads...
“Root?” The sound of Reese’s voice in her earpiece made Root jump, just a little.
She cursed silently. She’d been so focused on making sure she stayed undetected that she hadn’t cancelled the call to him in time. She tried to play it off, speaking in her normal playful tone, “Hey John. It’s been a while.”
Reese’s dubious tone told her that he didn’t fall for the casual call act for a minute. “Yes it has. Last I heard you were hanging people out of windows in Hong Kong.”
That had been a month ago. Root had followed a lead about a Samaritan-run operation there. A similar setup to that of Maple, but instead of manipulating a small town, Samaritan had been controlling a few blocks of the busy Asian city. At least, until Root (finding no trace of Shaw anywhere) destroyed the weapons manufacturing factory that had been the heart of the operation.
“Oh you know how it can be, John,” Root says airily, continuing her way up the stairs. “Some people just don’t like to share.”
Lambert had been in the factory. The people she’d hung out of windows had been very eager to tell her when and where he could be found there.
There’s a half second’s hesitation, and Root can practically hear him fighting down hope, “Did they share anything useful?”
She bit her lip and forced herself to keep her tone playfully cheerful, “Nothing worth contacting you boys for.”
Lambert hadn’t known where Shaw was being kept. He claimed that last time he’d been in the States, he’d known they had plans to move her, but not the intended destination. Root put him through enough pain to know that he’d been telling the truth.
She almost felt bad that he hadn’t been able to exit the building before the bombs went off.
Almost.
“Speaking of contacting us,” John said slowly, “Do you need any-?”
“No,” She cut across him, sharp and firm. “I’m back in town, John. But not for you, not for Harold, and not for Her.”
“Then why did you call?”
“Must have been a wrong number,” And with that, she hung up.
She wished there was somewhere she could glare at to convey her annoyance to The Machine. Certainly, She’d grown a bit sharp with Root as the weeks had dragged into months and still Root’s search for Shaw had remained fruitless. But She’d always been there to help Root when she found herself in a tight situation, offering countermeasure strategies, or escape routes.
Root knew that She wasn’t doing it for Shaw.
She was doing it for Herself.
Have to protect the Interface, she thought bitterly to herself.
“You do that again, and I’m ripping this thing out of my neck,” She snarled under her breath.
That had been part of their arrangement. The Machine had quickly realized that Root would not give up her search for Shaw, but She would not tell Root what She knew, no matter how Root pleaded. And She would not assist Root any further in the investigation. But She would stay as a fallback as long as Root remained her Analog Interface.
Root arrived at the door to the third floor and listened. She didn’t hear anything, but that did not necessarily mean nothing was there.
She readjusted her grip on her guns and opened the door.
The entire level was empty save for one car at the far end. Root squinted in the dim lighting, and thought she could see someone leaning up against it. Her eyes searched the entirety of the floor, and saw no one and nothing else. Slowly, cautiously, she walked towards the car, both guns aimed at whoever it was by the car.
The person made no attempt to move, and no action that indicated an awareness of Root’s approach. When she’s close enough to judge that they’re in shooting range, she calls out, “Put your hands where I can see them.”
The person does as they’re told, raising their hands slowly into the air. At the same time, a respectful and even voice welcomes her, “A pleasure to see you again as well, Miss Groves.”
--Voice recognition identifies John Greer.--
Chimes in the Machine, still listening through Her Interface. Not that Root needed that tidbit of information. She would never forget this man’s voice. She clenched her jaw, “My name is Root.”
The old man shrugged as well as one can with their hands over their head, “I’m afraid I’ve always been one to call people by their proper names.”
--Highly recommend nearest escape route.--
Root knew that the Machine was right. If Greer was here, waiting for her, something must be wrong. But she also knew that this might be her best chance to find out what she desperately needed to know. The last time she’d held Greer at gunpoint, they had ended in a draw. And Root wasn’t as forgiving now as she’d been then.
“What is this?” She demanded, trying hard not to let her anger or confusion show. “What are you doing here?”
Greer smiled calmly, “Have no fear, I only wish to talk. I leaked you the information about an exchange at this location because I knew you would show up.”
“Your methods of invitation are quite extravagant,” Root said with a sweet smile. She tightened her grip on her weapons, “Now tell me where Sameen is, or I’ll blow both your kneecaps off.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Greer replied. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Why don’t I take you to her?”
Root had just enough time to hear footsteps behind her before a sharp needle stabbed into her neck, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.