[The defunct subway car from their base rattles lightly as it trundles down the track; Shaw, unsteady on her feet, sways precariously, gripping the grab bar far tighter than any self-respecting New Yorker shoulder have to. She's barefoot, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top - the same ones the Decima folks stuck her in after they let her change out of the hospital gown - and there's an IV line dangling from her inner forearm, though the loose end isn't attached to anything. It doesn't make sense, but she doesn't even register it enough to question it. She's focused on one thing, and one thing only: the servers on the far side of the car. It is vital that she gets to them, because the Machine has a message for her - and right now, nothing matters as much as hearing it.
The car jerks hard to the left, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She growls, yanks the IV needle out of her arm, and pulls herself doggedly to her feet, determined to keep going.]
[ Keeping the hospital patient theme, Root is dressed in her psychiatric inpatient finest, a loose grey cardigan over grey clothes, except her slippers are the fuzzy pink ones she'd asked Harold for when she lived in the station. She's seated on the floor, curled up into the far corner where the server racks are, cooling cables draped around her like she'd like to be plugged in herself.
She's either asleep or dead, and either way it's disconcerting. Root carries an immense presence and force of personality with her -- she tends to steal the air from the whole room -- and right now she's absolutely vacant, eyes closed, face slack against a blinking server.
As Shaw approaches, Root's voice speaks directly into her ear, calm and level. ]
Do you want to hear it again? I understand. I loved her, too.
I can say it in her intonation if you'd like, but I thought that might come across as disrespectful.
[She's dead. Regardless of whether or not it's actually true, Shaw feels that she knows this for a fact, so she takes no time to study the body or feel for a pulse. She goes right to the Machine, pressing both her palms flat against the side of one of the servers, and exhales deeply.]
[ How does the Machine want to say it? If it has wants, it's to let Root speak for herself. It's clips of her natural voice, a recording, the hours and hours of archival audio the Machine uses to mimic her with 99.6% accuracy.
Quiet, soft, contemplative, like she's measuring out every word: ] If the worst comes to pass... could you give Shaw a message?
--She has an Axis II personality disorder, which means technically, she's a sociopath. [ Her voice is strong now, composed, impenetrable. Absolutely sure of what she's saying. ] Incapable of caring for others. The thing is, she does care. Enough to save my life.
And now I'm going to save hers.
--I'm going after her --
[ Emotion rising, imploring the listener to understand: ] I thought I could sacrifice everyone, I really did. Win some, lose some, right?
--Please, help us! [ she cries desperately, tears choking her voice, ] I need an answer, if Sameen is alive or if she's dead --
Shaw is out there somewhere, [ she hisses furiously. ] ... I refuse to do one more mission until I know what I'm doing is going to lead me to Sameen. Please.
[ In a haunting whisper: ] Hold on, Shaw. --Please get this.
[ And finally, Harold, soft and careful, almost aching with suppressed compassion: ] I think she already knows.
[The IV line that Shaw had pulled out of her arm lies abandoned on the floor, but now she holds something else in her fist: a needle, filled with a clear liquid. Slowly, carefully she lowers herself to the floor next to the servers, back pressed against them, legs bent at the knee in front of her.]
Good timing.
[She murmurs to herself, cradling the syringe in her hands. She doesn't put it down, but she doesn't look ready to use it, either.]
Thank you. Can you give her a message back?
[Dream logic. She feels certain that Root is dead, but that doesn't mean she feels certain that she's gone.]
[ The Machine would agree. It saw her die thousands of times and in its memory banks, Root is eternal. It can recreate her voice and hear her at any moment. It's not the same, but it also means she's not gone. ]
You know what's funny? [ muses the Machine, delicate and precise in Root's voice. ] She and Harry had that exchange years ago. There's never enough time.
[ A beat of silence. ]
But there's time now. She's right there.
[ Maybe Root is actually dead; maybe she's a simulation; but she is there, and that's enough for her. But is it enough for Shaw? ]
[She says the words slowly, turning them over in her brain as she speaks them out loud.]
I don't... want to hide from the real world because I hate the idea of facing it. But I don't know what the real world is anymore. I thought I did - sometimes.
[Eventually, in the weeks after Root's death and the days after Samaritan's defeat, she'd come to tenuously accept that she really was back in reality. But even then, she'd wondered sometimes. A part of her was always going to wonder; her brain had been wired to. And now...]
I hate the idea of being a captive, and I hate the idea of my body wasting away in a hospital bed while my brain is hooked up to a computer. I want being here to have a purpose.
Thanks for the validation; now what do I do with it?
[The words themselves might be bordering on hostile, but her tone isn't. She sounds tired, and worn out - like she's genuinely hoping for an answer she hasn't been able to find on her own so far.]
I asked where you want to be, if not here. You only said what you didn't want.
[ It's a neutral observation, but the Machine means it as a leading statement. It can't offer suggestions if it doesn't know what Shaw wants. And however many calculations it can run, ultimately it will always prioritize a human being's right to autonomy. ]
You need a goal. You've always been mission-driven.
I don't have a boss here. I don't have any goals. I'm here because of crimes I've committed, which isn't conducive to goal-making. And I don't make great choices when I set my own goals; you know that.
[One hand still holding loosely on to Root's she turns to face the servers fully, her knees bumping against the hard metal.]
If you're looking to me for direction, then you should know that my purpose hasn't changed.
[ The Machine sounds smooth, unruffled. It won't contest Shaw's characterization of her own choices but if she's looking for a direction, she should be able to guess the kind of answer the Machine will give her. ]
Why don't you ask her?
[ Root's hand warms and twitches in Shaw's grasp. Her closed eyelids flutter. ]
Why not share hers until you can find your own? She won't mind.
[ That's a bit of a joke, with Root's delivery and in Root's voice. Meanwhile Root herself smiles softly and curls in closer to Shaw, feeling somehow satiated and comfortable against the hard-edged server racks. ]
Mm. I can hear you, [ she murmurs. ] This is a nice dream.
You talkin' to her without me? [ she mumbles, and her eyes slowly open. ] You did make friends.
[ The Machine doesn't say anything, deliberately giving them a moment. It has run countless simulations of similar moments and it knows Root very well.
Root's eyes open and she sees Shaw right in front of her. Her expression goes slack with surprise before she's struck with wonder, her hand tightening to painfully grip Shaw's as she struggles to push herself upright. ]
[Shaw immediately gets to her feet and reaches for Root in earnest - doing her best to steady her as she straightens up, making sure she doesn't just flop back down again, smoothing her thumbs over Root's shoulders.]
It's me. It's me; I'm here. I'm-- I dreamed we were in a weird city.
[And she's still there, isn't she? Aldrip feels like a dream, it is a simulation, and yet it feels very present-tense.
But at the same time, no, it can't be. This feels real, too.]
Root--
[Root doesn't give her purpose, but she does ground her, making her feel as safe and sane as is humanly possible. Shaw clutches at Root's shoulders, for her own sake as much as for Root's.]
Where we are? We're in the subway car, with the Machine. We're dreaming.
[ Root hasn't somehow achieved lucidity; her dreaming mind is just convinced that if she sees Shaw, it is a dream, one she's had so many times before she recognizes it as it's happening.
She's strangely a little unsteady on her feet but leans freely on Shaw, still shocked and almost numbed with the intensity of emotion. ]
If you're here then I'm dreaming, [ she breathes out. ]
[Shaw shifts around to Root's side and wraps an arm around her shoulders, doing her best to hold her upright. They're in the subway or they're not, they're in Aldrip or they're not, they're dreaming or they're not--
Her body stays perfectly upright and steady, but her head feels like it's spinning, and she clutches Root tighter.]
Because you're dead.
[She says, finishing Root's thought in the way she thinks makes the most sense. But she's still uncertain enough that she prompts her with--]
[ Root clutches onto Shaw fiercely, like she'd climb inside her if she could, emotion breaking past the numbness and rupturing into something ugly and desperate. ]
She thinks it's too dangerous, [ she explains, tears welling up. ] But I don't care what happens to me.
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The car jerks hard to the left, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She growls, yanks the IV needle out of her arm, and pulls herself doggedly to her feet, determined to keep going.]
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She's either asleep or dead, and either way it's disconcerting. Root carries an immense presence and force of personality with her -- she tends to steal the air from the whole room -- and right now she's absolutely vacant, eyes closed, face slack against a blinking server.
As Shaw approaches, Root's voice speaks directly into her ear, calm and level. ]
Do you want to hear it again? I understand. I loved her, too.
I can say it in her intonation if you'd like, but I thought that might come across as disrespectful.
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Say it however you want to say it.
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Quiet, soft, contemplative, like she's measuring out every word: ] If the worst comes to pass... could you give Shaw a message?
--She has an Axis II personality disorder, which means technically, she's a sociopath. [ Her voice is strong now, composed, impenetrable. Absolutely sure of what she's saying. ] Incapable of caring for others. The thing is, she does care. Enough to save my life.
And now I'm going to save hers.
--I'm going after her --
[ Emotion rising, imploring the listener to understand: ] I thought I could sacrifice everyone, I really did. Win some, lose some, right?
--Please, help us! [ she cries desperately, tears choking her voice, ] I need an answer, if Sameen is alive or if she's dead --
Shaw is out there somewhere, [ she hisses furiously. ] ... I refuse to do one more mission until I know what I'm doing is going to lead me to Sameen. Please.
[ In a haunting whisper: ] Hold on, Shaw. --Please get this.
[ And finally, Harold, soft and careful, almost aching with suppressed compassion: ] I think she already knows.
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Good timing.
[She murmurs to herself, cradling the syringe in her hands. She doesn't put it down, but she doesn't look ready to use it, either.]
Thank you. Can you give her a message back?
[Dream logic. She feels certain that Root is dead, but that doesn't mean she feels certain that she's gone.]
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What's the message?
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[She lifts the syringe and presses down on the plunger, expelling every last drop of sedative onto the floor.]
Tell her I wish we'd had more time.
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[ A beat of silence. ]
But there's time now. She's right there.
[ Maybe Root is actually dead; maybe she's a simulation; but she is there, and that's enough for her. But is it enough for Shaw? ]
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I dreamed we were in this... simulated city. But we've been here the whole time, haven't we.
[Right here, on the floor of a destinationless, endlessly moving subway car.]
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[ The Machine as Root sounds factual, even, but with a note of softness like it's offering an opinion. ]
Where do you want to be, if not here? [ A sincere question, not rhetorical. ]
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[She says the words slowly, turning them over in her brain as she speaks them out loud.]
I don't... want to hide from the real world because I hate the idea of facing it. But I don't know what the real world is anymore. I thought I did - sometimes.
[Eventually, in the weeks after Root's death and the days after Samaritan's defeat, she'd come to tenuously accept that she really was back in reality. But even then, she'd wondered sometimes. A part of her was always going to wonder; her brain had been wired to. And now...]
I hate the idea of being a captive, and I hate the idea of my body wasting away in a hospital bed while my brain is hooked up to a computer. I want being here to have a purpose.
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[ The Machine is frank and unsympathetic, not bothering to mince words and not trying to offer a solution. ]
You didn't have control over that. And you don't have control now. It's natural to feel like it might still be happening.
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[The words themselves might be bordering on hostile, but her tone isn't. She sounds tired, and worn out - like she's genuinely hoping for an answer she hasn't been able to find on her own so far.]
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[ It's a neutral observation, but the Machine means it as a leading statement. It can't offer suggestions if it doesn't know what Shaw wants. And however many calculations it can run, ultimately it will always prioritize a human being's right to autonomy. ]
You need a goal. You've always been mission-driven.
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[One hand still holding loosely on to Root's she turns to face the servers fully, her knees bumping against the hard metal.]
So give me one.
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[ The Machine sounds smooth, unruffled. It won't contest Shaw's characterization of her own choices but if she's looking for a direction, she should be able to guess the kind of answer the Machine will give her. ]
Why don't you ask her?
[ Root's hand warms and twitches in Shaw's grasp. Her closed eyelids flutter. ]
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[When she feels Root's hand move, she curls her own fingers around it more solidly, giving it a squeeze.]
Root. Listen. Can you hear her?
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[ That's a bit of a joke, with Root's delivery and in Root's voice. Meanwhile Root herself smiles softly and curls in closer to Shaw, feeling somehow satiated and comfortable against the hard-edged server racks. ]
Mm. I can hear you, [ she murmurs. ] This is a nice dream.
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[She gives Root's hand a tug, gentle but insistent.]
It's the Machine. Talking. To me.
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[ The Machine doesn't say anything, deliberately giving them a moment. It has run countless simulations of similar moments and it knows Root very well.
Root's eyes open and she sees Shaw right in front of her. Her expression goes slack with surprise before she's struck with wonder, her hand tightening to painfully grip Shaw's as she struggles to push herself upright. ]
It's you. It's really you? I couldn't find you--
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It's me. It's me; I'm here. I'm-- I dreamed we were in a weird city.
[And she's still there, isn't she? Aldrip feels like a dream, it is a simulation, and yet it feels very present-tense.
But at the same time, no, it can't be. This feels real, too.]
Root--
[Root doesn't give her purpose, but she does ground her, making her feel as safe and sane as is humanly possible. Shaw clutches at Root's shoulders, for her own sake as much as for Root's.]
Tell me where we are. Really.
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[ Root hasn't somehow achieved lucidity; her dreaming mind is just convinced that if she sees Shaw, it is a dream, one she's had so many times before she recognizes it as it's happening.
She's strangely a little unsteady on her feet but leans freely on Shaw, still shocked and almost numbed with the intensity of emotion. ]
If you're here then I'm dreaming, [ she breathes out. ]
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Her body stays perfectly upright and steady, but her head feels like it's spinning, and she clutches Root tighter.]
Because you're dead.
[She says, finishing Root's thought in the way she thinks makes the most sense. But she's still uncertain enough that she prompts her with--]
Right?
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[ Root clutches onto Shaw fiercely, like she'd climb inside her if she could, emotion breaking past the numbness and rupturing into something ugly and desperate. ]
She thinks it's too dangerous, [ she explains, tears welling up. ] But I don't care what happens to me.
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... You still think I'm missing.
[Goddammit.]
Root, no; that's not why this is a dream. I escaped; I'm back. You found me in the park.
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