Chapter Text
The warehouse smelled of dust, old circuitry, and blood.
Reese tasted copper in the back of his throat as he dragged Nathan Ingram behind a stack of server crates, bullets sparking off metal around them. Each impact sent vibrations through the floor, rattling the air like distant thunder. Nathan’s breath hitched sharply — a wet, broken sound that made Reese’s stomach twist.
“Stay with me,” Reese whispered, pressing a hand to Nathan’s side. His fingers came away slick and red. Too much red. The warmth of it steamed faintly in the cold air.
Nathan gave a faint, rueful smile — the kind a man wears when he knows the truth and wishes he didn’t. “John… it’s alright.”
“No,” Reese said, voice low and fierce. “It’s not.”
Nathan coughed, blood flecking his lips. His whole body shuddered with the effort. “They found out… about the Machine. About what it can really do.”
Reese’s jaw clenched. He had suspected as much. The last few weeks had been a blur of coded messages, late-night meetings, and Nathan’s growing paranoia — paranoia that now looked a lot like foresight.
Nathan reached into his coat with trembling fingers. Reese caught his wrist, thinking he was reaching for the wound.
But Nathan shook his head. “No. Take it.”
He pressed a small, matte-black flash drive into Reese’s palm. It was warm from his body heat. Too warm. Reese felt the weight of it like a live coal.
“What is this?” Reese asked.
“A back door,” Nathan whispered. “A failsafe. If the wrong people take control… this is the only way to stop them.”
Reese stared at him, throat tight. “Nathan—”
“There’s someone else,” Nathan said, voice thinning. “Someone who helped me build it. Someone smarter than me. Someone who can still fix this.”
Reese leaned closer, trying to shield Nathan with his body as more bullets tore through the air. “Who?”
Nathan swallowed hard, eyes fluttering. “His name is… Finch.”
Reese froze.
He had heard the name once. A ghost in Nathan’s stories. A partner who vanished before the Machine went online. A man Nathan never spoke of again.
“Where is he?” Reese demanded.
Nathan shook his head weakly. “I don’t know anymore. Last I heard… Montana. Off the grid. But John—”
His hand tightened around Reese’s wrist with surprising strength, nails digging in.
“You must find him. And you must not let them get this drive.”
Reese nodded once. “I’ll get it to him.”
Nathan’s eyes softened. “I knew you would.”
Footsteps echoed through the warehouse — heavy, coordinated, closing in. Reese’s instincts screamed at him to move, but Nathan’s grip held him in place.
“John,” Nathan whispered, voice barely audible now. “If they capture you… swallow it.”
Reese stared at him. “Nathan—”
“Promise me.”
Reese’s throat tightened. “I promise.”
Nathan exhaled, a long, shuddering breath. His hand slipped from Reese’s wrist. His eyes drifted toward the ceiling, unfocused.
“John…?” he murmured.
“I’m here,” Reese said, voice breaking.
Nathan’s lips curved into the faintest smile.
“Good.”
Then he went still.
Reese bowed his head, just for a moment. Just long enough to feel the weight of the loss — the finality of it, the cold settling into Nathan’s skin. Then the footsteps grew louder, and the moment shattered.
Reese looked down at the flash drive in his palm. Nathan’s blood smeared across the casing. The last piece of him. The last hope.
Reese didn’t hesitate.
He shoved the drive into his mouth and swallowed it dry, the sharp edges scraping his throat. It hurt.
He rose to fight — but the first agent rounded the corner.
The blow to the back of his skull came a second later — a white-hot explosion of pain — and the world went black.