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The world hadn’t suddenly become better, even after Samaritan was gone.
But at least people had free will again, instead of living under constant surveillance and manipulation.
The numbers still came in.
People still needed saving.
Crimes still needed preventing.
Shaw was recovering from the aftermath of the simulations Samaritan had put her through; sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night. But she was getting better. Still punched, still shot, and still ate, ate, ate.
Finch still hunched over terminals in the dimly lit lair, though he’d even started decorating the subway with small, homey touches. (Mr. Reese, and Ms. Shaw… please, restrain yourselves from putting your guns on the couches. Ms. Groves, please don’t leave your stun gun and tasers on the coffee table like some kind of display.)
Reese kept on playing the brooding soldier; given up his chance at a happy ending with Campbell, choosing instead to lurk on rooftops, in corners— or even in a New York public male toilet.
Being, as always, New York’s friendliest stalker.
Fusco, back in his detective’s chair, still griped about paperwork and cover stories. And seriously—how the hell was he supposed to explain why so many people kept showing up at New York hospitals with bullet wounds in their knees?
And Bear—the team’s one and only HR primary canine—still demanded his share of belly rubs, no matter how bad the day had been.
But for Root, the world had shifted in ways more dangerous than code or bullets could ever explain.
The hacker wasn’t used to this—to belonging, to staying, to being part of a team instead of just a legendary ghost who slipped in and out of networks, making herself a thorn in the side of federal agencies… or a general pain in the ass in the hitman underground.
She had lived too long believing she was just bad code in a corrupted world—disposable like everyone else, just noise in a messy system.
Old Root figured her life would end one of two ways—
Cut down on a mission, or one day, when the boredom finally caught up, she’d pick a beautiful place on a beautiful day, and gladly put a bullet in her own head.
That would be it.
Just hello, and goodbye.
Life had been meaningless ever since she lost her mother and her best friend. The only thing that had ever truly caught her interest after that was IT.
But now… now she was someone’s analog interface, someone’s partner, someone’s almost-family, and—someone’s girlfriend.
Sameen Shaw’s girlfriend.
And God, she adored it. She loved this role more than anything she’d ever hacked, stolen, or broken into.
Almost thirty years spent walking in the dark, sinking deeper and deeper—
Never once did she think she’d find a job she’d be willing to sacrifice herself for. A noble purpose.
She never imagined finding a team she’d want to protect, this messy, unofficial family.
And least of all, she never imagined she’d find love.
Loving someone.
The kind of love she couldn’t live without.
The kind of connection she knew she would never find again, if she lost her.
The problem was, now… the idea of being alone had become very, very disturbing.
Though she still went alone whenever the Machine threw her a number that only required Machine’s analog interface, or a mission connected to Samaritan remnants.
Nobody knew why, but Root never asked the team to back her up—she didn’t even ask her girlfriend to tag along.
She had been doing things alone for all these years; she was supposed to be independent, right?
That’s what she kept telling herself.
This day was like any other.
The Machine whispered in Her analog interface’s ear as she sat beside Shaw—who was eating a pastrami sandwich—on the couch in the subway lair, sipping her milk tea.
Maybe it was because she had bought the foods for her. Maybe it was because the woman beside her was now her girlfriend.
Either way…Shaw didn’t snatch her drink back like she usually did; she just glared. Root met her gaze, blinking innocently, and kept sipping, calm as a challenge.
Then—
Her girlfriend placed a hand to her ear, listening carefully to what the Machine was feeding her.
Shaw caught the motion, twisted her mouth once. “Another solo?”
Root smiled at her, putting her hand down. “Relax, Shaw. The Machine knows what she’s doing. This is just cleanup. Samaritan’s little ghosts rattling their chains.”
“Do you need backup? I’m free anyway.”
Root didn’t reply immediately. She slipped her two pistols into their holsters and her taser at her waist. “I love your offer, but Machine only asked me, which means I can handle it alone.”
She didn’t wait for her reply. Grabbing her laptop bag, she slung it over her back, kissed her on the cheek, “Mwah~ See you later, sweetie.”
After she was gone, Shaw muttered to Reese, “One of these days, I swear, John. I’m chaining her to the radiator.”
“…Too much information, Shaw. I don’t need to hear that.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, pervert.”
The abandoned substation was sealed by a Faraday cage, smelling of dust and rusted copper. Root’s flashlight cut a narrow cone through the darkness, revealing rows of forgotten servers, humming faintly like something breathing in its sleep.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard a few times. Not because she feared Samaritan—it was dead, confirmed destroyed in a war they’d barely survived.
No, what rooted—fear, yes fear—in her chest was the silence.
No Shaw or Reese watching her six. No Finch communicating with her. No Machine feeding her instructions through her ear.
Just her.
Alone again.
And the truth—some part of her had been waiting for it to end like this. Alone, as she always had been.
As people like her deserved.
She shoved the thought aside, harder than the dust clogging her lungs.
“Cute hideout.”
Root spun so hard she nearly fell out of the chair. Shaw stood in the doorway, calm as if they were meeting in a coffee shop—or, in Shaw’s case, a steakhouse.
“Sameen? What are you doing here?”
“Covering your ass.” Shaw strolled in, pistol drawn, even though she hadn’t seen a single person in the building as she slipped inside. “Or at least making sure you don’t have all the fun blowing things up without me.”
Root’s mouth twitched. Relief warred with indignation.
The smile on her face gave her away. “But Machine only asked me. You probably needed somewhere else later.”
Shaw gave her a flat look. “Yeah? You think I take orders from your mistress?”
Root wanted to say she didn’t need company. Really, she did. But the knot in her chest was already unraveling, thread by thread.
So she spun back, returning to the keyboard, a smile still playing on her face. Shaw silently stood beside her, and she knew—without a doubt—she had her back.
Root flexed her fingers above the keyboard, launching into a rapid-fire explanation—checksum verifications, containment strings, redundancy failsafes.
Lines of green text scrolled faster than the eye could follow, each command a precise incision into the system’s heart.
It all came down to a blinking cursor on a black terminal screen.
One press of Enter, and the last fragments of Samaritan’s backup core code would dissolve.
It was really over. Samaritan—the greatest enemy, and yet the reason that had brought her to the team, to the home she never thought she’d have.
Shaw watched Root sit there for five minutes, just staring numbly at the screen after typing. Shaw wasn’t IT, but the pop-up dialogue box practically screamed, “Are you sure you want to destroy the powerful and evil ASI?”
Yes. Of course. Yes. One thousand times, yes.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
The primary asset gave the analog interface a few more minutes, then impatiently looked at the frozen Root, then at the screen, and back at her again.
She didn’t wait for lectures or sentimentality.
No long speeches about how hard the team had worked to get here.
The ex-ISA just leaned forward, pressed Enter with one finger. “Okay, done.”
Root blinked for a few seconds. “Sameen!”
“What? You were overcomplicating it.”
“You just hit Enter?”
“Please don’t tell me you miss Samaritan and want to resurrect it, Root.”
Root’s laugh broke loose, and unrestrained. Before she could stop herself, she stood up and wrapped her arms around Shaw’s shoulders, pressing close as the servers whined their death rattle.
“What a reckless woman.”
“Efficient. You mean an efficient woman,” Shaw corrected. “By the way, don’t you think it’s weird? Not a single goon showed up to try and shoot us.”
Root let go, thinking it over. “You’re right, it was definitely not normal.”
“Then let’s go now, before Samaritan actually puts itself into a doll and shows up as Megan. That’s probably one of the main reasons Machine let me know your location when I asked.”
Root chuckled, picked up her stuff and walked out with her. She was about to take out her flashlight, but her sociopath—
Her left arm extended forward, holding the flashlight to illuminate the path, the other on her pistol in a ready-to-fire position. And her eyes tracked the beam, scanning for threats, head slightly tilted to follow the light without revealing too much of her face.
Every inch of her posture radiating the calm of an elite military tier-one operative trained for the worst.
“Root. Are you done?” she asked, without looking at her.
The hacker glanced at the woman for a moment, then decided not to pull out her flashlight. She simply walked beside her, two pistols drawn, matching her pace.
Even in the dark, even with the silence pressing in around them, strangely she felt… no fear.
Later, back at their apartment, they sat side by side on the couch, drinking whiskey while watching the New York news on TV.
The anchor was reporting on dropping crime rates in several U.S. cities. And, of course, the politicians took credit, everyone claiming it was because of their new policies and tough-on-crime measures—ignoring the shadows and the cops working behind the scenes.
They were enjoying the quiet before Root asked, “Have you ever wondered what your life would be like without Machine… or the existence of ASI?”
Shaw tossed a nut into her mouth, took a sip of whiskey. “Stay in ISA, I think so. Until… well, until they decided to shoot me in the back for whatever reason.”
Root tilted her head, curious. “And would you miss it? The missions… the purpose military gave you?”
“I don’t miss it, Root. And honestly, I don’t really have any great purpose, but I do know I don’t want to be a criminal either. Especially knowing everyone expects a sociopath to be one. It is either doctor or military, that’s it.”
Root’s lips quirked into a teasing smirk. “So… your sociopath’s moral compass is just… inconveniently aligned with society?”
Her girlfriend just rolled her eyes, tossing another nut. “Why are you suddenly asking me this question, anyway?”
She smiled, saying nothing at first, just letting the thought linger. “…Because I can imagine my life without the Machine.”
Shaw took a sip and waited for her to continue.
“I would still be the cynical hacker. Sit in front of a computer, taking contracts, killing any target anyone paid me to kill. And repeat. Bad people, good people—it wouldn’t matter. Friends, family, maybe even kids… nothing I wouldn’t kill.”
The black-haired woman just looked at her.
“I wasn’t a good person. The things I’ve done… I can never undo them. That’s why I don’t judge Harold for his attitude toward the Machine. I don’t even have the audacity to tell Greer he’s wrong.” Root shook her head, a humorless smile tugging at her lips. “Who am I to judge? I’m just someone who manipulates people with computers, with zero good purpose.”
“…Not everyone gets a second chance, but you do. That means something, Root. It means you’ve changed.”
“Maybe I have,” Root murmured, fingers absently tracing the rim of her whiskey glass. “The computer was all the little meaning or interest there was for me in this world. I was totally okay with being alone. Yet,” she trailed off, shaking her head with a smile that wasn’t quite steady. “Being alone… now the idea terrifies me.”
Shaw didn’t answer.
She simply set her glass down, stood, and with zero ceremony hoisted Root over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Root squealed, laughing in spite of herself. “Sameen! Put me down!”
“Nope.” Shaw’s tone was deadpan, but her grip was firm. “I’ve heard enough of you going on about ‘just you and stupid computer’. If you think I’m letting you date a rectangle box instead of me, you’re out of your damn mind.”
"What?!" The hacker’s laughter softened into something quieter, warmer. “Hey, I might seem a bit crazy, but I wasn’t crazy enough to have objectophilia.”
“Could’ve fooled me. The way you talk to Robot Overlord doesn’t sound like that at all,” Shaw said, setting her down on the bed.
Root looked up at the woman hovering over her. “Are you saying you’re jealous, darling?”
“Please,” she murmured while brushing her lips along her neck. “Why would I be jealous over a bunch of wires and code?”
Root tilted her head a bit, giving her girlfriend better access. “Hmmm… if you say so. You know, now that I think about it, it’s actually kinda hot to date a computer.”
“Wait, WHAT?!” Shaw looked at her immediately. “For real? I was just joking.”
“Computer… it’s so sexy, clever, always listens, never complains, and… never refuses a command. Better than human.”
“…A computer can’t give you what I can give you.”
“What?”
“This.” Shaw ripped Root’s shirt aside; she didn’t need to say more because the action spoke louder than words.
See? Plan to provoke her girlfriend… successfully executed.
Very successful.
The analog interface already knew why the Machine had sent her that mission earlier.
It was a reminder.
She just needed to remember that she wasn’t alone anymore.
Just let herself feel it—the warm, steady, grounding weight of belonging.
And somewhere, deep in the architecture of the city’s networks, the Machine watched—silent and satisfied.
The special lesson for Her analog interface had been delivered.
Being independent didn’t mean she had to be alone.
Especially when alone could mean freedom and not isolation.