Kill Process | A Person of Interest Adventure

The Divide

Harold Finch paced nervously in the subway lair, his mind clouded with doubt and fear. The Machine had spoken, not just in numbers or predictions, but in words. Clear, direct words. It was a leap he never wanted it to make. And now, the team was starting to rely on The Machine's voice in ways that made Finch uncomfortable. They were beginning to trust it, to follow its orders without question.

And that terrified him.

Root's voice echoed in his head. *"This is what we've been waiting for, Harold."* But it wasn't what *he* had been waiting for. He had designed The Machine to protect people, to save lives, but under control—his control. Not like this. Not as an autonomous force. If it was speaking now, how long before it started deciding on its own what the 'greater good' was?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden beeping on the console. Another number had come in. Finch sighed, rubbing his temples. There was no time to worry about the existential implications of The Machine's evolution. They had a mission to complete.

Reese and Shaw entered the lair moments later, both looking tense and alert. Root followed closely behind, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth, as if she were privy to some grand secret.

"The Machine gave us a new number," Finch said, turning to face them. "Daniel Marks, age 28. A software developer with ties to a cybersecurity firm. The Machine flagged him as a potential victim, but it's been vague about the threat. I don't know if this is Samaritan-related, but we need to be careful."

Reese crossed his arms, his expression calm but focused. "We'll look into it. Where's the last known location?"

Finch tapped a few keys, pulling up a map of the city. "He works out of a small office downtown. I suggest you start there. I'll try to gather more intel from here."

"Got it," Reese said, heading for the door. Shaw followed, her usual no-nonsense demeanor intact.

Root lingered for a moment, her eyes on Finch. "You know, Harold, you should trust The Machine more. It hasn't let us down yet."

Finch's jaw tightened. "It hasn't *yet*, but that doesn't mean we should follow it blindly."

Root smiled, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and understanding. "It's not blind trust. It's faith. The Machine knows more than any of us could comprehend. It's guiding us toward something bigger."

Finch turned back to his monitors, unwilling to engage in another debate with Root. "We'll see about that," he muttered.

---

Across town, John Reese and Sameen Shaw moved through the crowded streets, blending in as they made their way toward Daniel Marks' office. Reese could feel the weight of the recent changes in the air. The Machine's sudden ability to speak to them directly had shaken him more than he cared to admit. He trusted The Machine—it had saved his life and countless others—but there was something unsettling about hearing its voice. It made everything feel more... personal.

"You don't seem thrilled about this whole 'talking Machine' thing," Shaw said as they approached the building.

Reese glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "It's new. We've always followed The Machine's intel, but now it's... different."

Shaw smirked. "If it keeps us from getting shot, I don't care if it starts sending us postcards."

Reese chuckled, though the tension remained. "I just hope we're not putting too much faith in something we don't fully understand."

They entered the office building, moving swiftly toward Daniel Marks' office. The hallway was quiet, save for the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. As they approached the door, Reese's instincts flared. Something was off.