/Location: Hong Kong

22°16'41.2"N 114°10'54.2"E

1435 HKT

6 May 15/

Shaw sighed and ran her hand over her forehead, using her sleeve to wipe away the growing layer of sweat. She grit her teeth, equally frustrated by the heat and by the random sputtering of the dying AC unit in the tiny apartment.

Then there was the whimpering. That was getting annoying.

"Shut up," she said quietly, sending the apartment's actual occupant an icy glare. The man, boy really, was 19; a student at a local university. He got the message, and Shaw watched his throat as he swallowed down any additional noise. He curled himself further into a ball, wrapping his hands over his bent legs as best he could with all his limbs wrapped in duct tape.

Satisfied that he would remain quiet, at least for the time being, Shaw glanced down the scope of her rifle again. She pressed a finger to her ear.

"Lambert, I have eyes on target," Shaw said quietly, leaning forward into her scope. Richard Chow, 58, businessman, entrepreneur, and top money launderer for the Triad, straightened his tie as he stepped out of his car. He was also a father of three with his first grandson on the way, but Shaw knew better than to think about that part.

"Fantastic news Sameen," the British man replied, slightly out of breathe.

"Six men on his security detail," she sighed angrily. "I knew you spooked him last night."

"Well," Lambert grunted, "Humans are hardly perfect now are they dear?" Lambert grunted again, and Shaw heard the sound of a skull hitting concrete. She rolled her eyes.

"You almost done?"

"You show so little concern for your partner. It really is disappointing," Lambert pouted, his breathing steadying.

"I have eyes on the briefcase," Shaw added. Chow's silver Halliburton case was cuffed to his wrist.

"Splendid," Lambert replied, sounding practically giddy. Shaw grit her teeth. "On your mark then."

Shaw sighed and drew in a breath to steady herself. She let it out slowly, lining up her shot. Her finger twitched on the trigger once as a sudden gust of wind burst across the street. It passed, and she fired.

Chow crumbled to the ground and everyone around him on the busy streets started to scream, running for cover. Chow's men pulled their weapons, simple pistols, which didn't possess enough range to even see the barrel of her sniper rifle, let alone allow them to take a shot at her. They went down quickly; a shoulder graze here, a leg there.

"Am I clear Sameen?" Lambert asked, sounding bored.

"Don't call me that," she hissed, lining up another shot. She watched the man fall to the ground, his face twisted in pain. "Five down, no eyes on the sixth." She scanned the area quickly, eyes wide, looking for any sign of movement as her rifle skimmed over cars, trash cans, trees, anything that could provide cover. Shaw found him easily; half hidden behind an industrial dumpster. She moved the scope to his legs, but he fell to the ground before she could pull the trigger. Lambert stepped out from behind the body and Shaw grit her teeth.

"Found him," Lambert looked in her general direction and smiled as he tucked his silenced pistol back into his coat. Then he strode purposefully towards Chows dead body, quickly picking the lock on the briefcase.

"Got it."

"You didn't have to do that," Shaw said finally.

"As adorable as it is that you still insist on knee capping everyone we meet, we're on a deadline," Lambert said coolly.

"He wasn't our target."

Lambert sighed. "I suggest you get out of there before the police arrive."

Shaw nodded numbly in agreement, pulling the rifle back from the window.

"And Sameen…" Shaw froze. "Samaritan gave no further instructions on what was to be done with that boy. So tidy up as you see fit."

Shaw let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and closed her eyes for a moment. She pivoted quickly, grabbing a knife from the kitchen. The boy started to whimper and cry, and Shaw knew if there wasn't duct tape over his mouth he'd be begging for his life. She stabbed the knife viciously into the back of the chair she had occupied and turned to him. Then she squatted down in front of him and grabbed his collar, pulling him closer.

"You can play this one of two ways. One, you can wait till I'm gone and try to cut yourself free. The cops will be here in two minutes and eight seconds. You won't be done by then. And I don't think you really want to explain what you're doing with a GM6 Lynx on your kitchen table. Especially not one that was just involved with a double homicide, so I'm going to suggest you take door number two, and just sit there quietly for the next 97 seconds until the police arrive," Shaw's face contorted into a bitter, menacing smile. "Sound good?" The boy nodded furiously and she released his collar, letting him fall back against the wall as she headed for the door.

Shaw ducked into the hallway with nothing but a silenced pistol tucked into the waistband of her black jeans. She strolled casually to the end of the hall before sliding into the side stairwell. Shaw took them two at a time, bounding out into a back alley where Lambert was already waiting for her in their car.

"You look positively dreadful," Lambert smirked, taking in her sweaty appearance as she entered.

"It's the heat," she muttered angrily as Lambert shifted the car into drive.

"Well no wonder, with the way you're dressed," he gestured to black jeans and long black sleeved shirt she wore.

Shaw's jaw clenched. "When I wear short sleeves people tend to stare," she sneered.

Lambert grinned back at her, unfazed by the menacing glare in her eyes. "To be fair, I did ask nicely first," he reminded her, clearly enjoying the way her jaw clenched and she went deathly still.

"What's next?" she asked finally, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"Passports in the glove compartment," Lambert nodded towards it, "With the tickets."

Shaw leaned forward, wedging the compartment open to find a manila folder. She dumped the contents onto her lap. Sameen Drake, from Nevada, a pharmaceutical sales rep returning to the states from a business trip abroad. Her eyes widened as she picked up the tickets.

"Is this a joke?"

Lambert pretended to pout when he looked over at her, "And here I thought you'd be so excited to be going home Sameen."

Shaw stared at the ticket intensely, not quite sure what game Greer, Samaritan, Lambert, whoever was playing. She was holding a one way ticket to JFK airport.

"Don't call me that," Shaw grumbled. Lambert just smiled, returning his eyes to the road as two police cars raced past them.

/Location: New York: Below Ground

40°42'50.1"N 73°59'53.9"W

0300 EDT

7 May 15/

The sound of a phone ringing made Root bolt upright. Her eyes were blurry and there was a burning in her side that made her wince, but her hand was already wrapped around her gun before another hand covered hers. Harold's.

"It's ok Ms. Groves," he soothed, before returning his attention to his computer station.

Nodding once, Root let her heart rate settle, moving her hair from her eyes as she felt her breathing normalize. "Why didn't you wake me?" She asked, her voice hoarse.

Harold's eyes darted to her briefly, contemplating his answer. "Mr. Reese was perfectly capable of taking first watch," he said evenly, his lips pursed into a thin line. "With your injuries-"

"We both got shot Harold," Root sighed, still feeling too tired to argue the point. Her eyes drifted to John. He had his back to them and he was whispering into his phone. If they had been followed, if Samaritan was going to storm their little headquarters, it probably would have happened already. Standing watch was probably an unnecessary precaution. But with The Machine gone they had no way of knowing for sure.

"Yes," Finch's eyes followed her line of sight to Reese, his shoulders hunched, blood stains still evident on his black jacket, "I'm sure Mr. Reese will appreciate the rest, if you're feeling more awake," he conceded.

"Doesn't matter now Finch," Reese said evenly, his face unusually grim. "I have to go." He tucked his phone into his pocket.

"Mr. Reese, this is not the time to-"

"That was Fusco, on the phone. A sniper killed Dominic and took a shot at Elias," Reese explained quietly.

"Took a shot on Elias?" Root questioned, cocking her head to the side as she considered all the possible implications.

"Through and through to the shoulder. High powered rifle. Did a lot of damage," Reese's lips were pressed into a thin line that almost exactly mimicked Harold's, and not for the first time Root found herself wondering which one had picked up that particular quirk from the other.

"But Mr. Elias is alive?"

"Just. Fusco has him in the hospital under a fake name, but that won't hold," Reese sighed.

"As much as it pains me to suggest this, is it even wise for you to go back to work?" Harold asked, his eyes darting to her.

Root sighed, a bitter smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "I don't know," she admitted quietly. "The blind spot The Machine installed in Samaritan should keep Detective Riley and Professor Whistler's covers in place, but…" she shrugged.

"And what about your cover Ms. Groves?"

"I don't think I have one Harry," her smile widened, revealing her teeth, but she could feel her eyes water and quickly let it slide off her face. The Machine had created new covers for her almost daily. Her last cover, Abbigail Burkle, was a bartender in the West Village, but she'd had that identity for mere days before The Machine had been pulled offline. If anyone so much as looked at that cover funny it would collapse on itself.

"Either way Finch," Reese sighed, "We need to get Elias somewhere safe."

Root's eyes widened, "Are you suggesting we bring him here?"

Reese's shoulders tensed. "No…that would be bad," he acknowledged quietly. "But if someone is trying to start a street war, killing the head of the Brotherhood and taking out Elias is a pretty good way to start."

"Someone?" Root scoffed. "It's Samaritan."

Harold's frown deepened. "Why would Samaritan kill the heads of both organized crime syndicates? That only leads to instability."

"Unless Samaritan is making a play," Reese offered, his brow knitting together in concern, "Samaritan already has the governor of New York in his pocket, why not the head of a new crime family?"

Root nodded thoughtfully. "Even Samaritan can't figure out how to stop organized crime. But controlling it? That's doable. And terrifying."

"Yes. Completely," Harold murmured thoughtfully. "But who is Samaritan's heir apparent?"

"A good question," Reese nodded, "One I hope you two can figure out while I get Elias somewhere safe."

"The safehouse in Tribeca should be…uncompromised," Harold offered. Reese nodded as he moved back to the lockers, switching his blood covered dress shirt for a clean one. He did it slowly, but still couldn't stop a grimace from crossing his face. Root winced as she watched him switch shirts, knowing she'd be making a similar face soon, just as soon as she felt confident she could make it to her feet without collapsing.

Harold's eyes snapped back to her when Reese left and she was sure he could tell how tightly her jaw was clenched. "You can sleep Ms. Groves," he assured her quietly.

Root shook her head quickly, regretting it instantly as another wave of dizziness hit her. "No, I'm fine," she assured him, her eyes drifting past him to the black briefcase open on the counter. "How is She?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I'll need more time to know for sure but…She…" Harold hesitated as he stumbled over the pronoun, suddenly unable to meet Root's gaze, "recognized Mr. Reese and myself. And asked if you were alright Ms. Groves."

Root managed a small smile, relief flooding through her. "So She's intact?"

"There is still a nearly infinite amount of code to sort through and tests to run before I could truly make any statements about our success. But yes, I am…optimistic about the results," Harold said evenly.

She leaned her head back against the side of the car, her eyes fluttering closed despite her best efforts. "Optimism Harry?" she teased, her voice unsteady.

Harold smiled softly back at her. "Just rest Ms. Groves, we're safe here," he promised.

"Is anywhere safe anymore Harold?" she murmured softly, feeling her eyelids grow heavier.

Hopefully there is some interest for me to continue. Thank you for reading! 11/08/15