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sheenianniTitle: May Heavens Have Mercy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheenianni
Fandom: Person of Interest
Characters/Pairings: Harold Finch
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Word Count: ~600
Summary: They make the rational choice. The world is not a better place. S3 AU.
A/N: Needed a distraction. This was written for my Gen Bingo card, for the prompt “I Walk through the Valley of Death”. Pretty pessimistic fic.
It’s been four years and two hundred seventy-five days since I last slept soundly. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop counting, not as long as I live. There is a death toll that is growing constantly and it’s been my burden ever since this began.
When I constructed the Machine, I gave it two basic principles. The first said that human life was sacred, that it was to be protected at all cost. The second said that people’s free will could not be violated; that the Machine could be not a God, but a mere Oracle; a Prophet if you wish. I created those two principles to protect mankind, but also, the selfish part of me made that choice to spare my conscience and allow me to keep a moderate level of peace with myself. In that, I have failed most miserably.
Miss Groves tells me that we still uphold those principles; that we’re the secret protectors of the entire human race. When pressured, Mr. Reese will say that bastards as they were, the CIA still taught him that some sacrifices were necessary. Miss Shaw tells me with a deadpan expression that she likes shooting people – besides, morals are overrated.
I find her approach the most honest of the four of us.
I wonder how much we lie to ourselves, how can we possibly manage to justify what we do. We’ve become murderers, the hidden assassins who strike in the dark, all in the name of our Cause. As of now, there are thirty names on our list; mostly just one or two at a time. Mercifully, they’ve all been adults; the youngest of them was a twenty-two year old girl named Claire Mahoney. I dread the time when this too will change and we will get a number of a child.
Once, about two years ago, John told me that Joss Carter had been our conscience. Often at night, I wonder if he was right. Did we really lose the moment when the brave detective was murdered? Once you start on this dark pathway, where do you draw the line?
‘Do what you think is the best,’ I had said and walked out of the room – I couldn’t bear to watch the act itself. Later, I learned that Shaw killed the Congressman and Reese helped her get rid of the body. Somehow I believed that it would end there, and that leaving at the crucial moment absolved me of the worst guilt. I was a fool and a hypocrite.
Decima has always had more plans than just Roger McCourt; the politician was simply the easiest way to achieve their goal. With each additional murder, we delay Samaritan coming to live – for how long, I don’t know.
We’ve also taught the Machine that it was okay to sacrifice an individual. And this, even more than our current death toll, is what truly haunts me in my nightmares. It’s the promise of the bodies yet to come.
The Machine is Omniscient and we are its acolytes. As of now, it’s only the questionable morals of our little group that is preventing a disaster. Still, what happens when we die or when the Machine decides to find better, more willing servants? In our quest to save the world from the ultimate dictator, have we created the worst monster of them all? How are we any better than the evil that we’re trying to prevent?
“How can you say that? She’s our God, Harold!” says Root with an ecstatic expression and I see the blood on our hands. I walk through the valley of death, but there is no light around, only doubts, guilt and a growing number of corpses.
May the Heavens have mercy so that we can find our way.
Author:
sheenianni Fandom: Person of Interest
Characters/Pairings: Harold Finch
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Word Count: ~600
Summary: They make the rational choice. The world is not a better place. S3 AU.
A/N: Needed a distraction. This was written for my Gen Bingo card, for the prompt “I Walk through the Valley of Death”. Pretty pessimistic fic.
___________________________________
It’s been four years and two hundred seventy-five days since I last slept soundly. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop counting, not as long as I live. There is a death toll that is growing constantly and it’s been my burden ever since this began.
When I constructed the Machine, I gave it two basic principles. The first said that human life was sacred, that it was to be protected at all cost. The second said that people’s free will could not be violated; that the Machine could be not a God, but a mere Oracle; a Prophet if you wish. I created those two principles to protect mankind, but also, the selfish part of me made that choice to spare my conscience and allow me to keep a moderate level of peace with myself. In that, I have failed most miserably.
Miss Groves tells me that we still uphold those principles; that we’re the secret protectors of the entire human race. When pressured, Mr. Reese will say that bastards as they were, the CIA still taught him that some sacrifices were necessary. Miss Shaw tells me with a deadpan expression that she likes shooting people – besides, morals are overrated.
I find her approach the most honest of the four of us.
I wonder how much we lie to ourselves, how can we possibly manage to justify what we do. We’ve become murderers, the hidden assassins who strike in the dark, all in the name of our Cause. As of now, there are thirty names on our list; mostly just one or two at a time. Mercifully, they’ve all been adults; the youngest of them was a twenty-two year old girl named Claire Mahoney. I dread the time when this too will change and we will get a number of a child.
Once, about two years ago, John told me that Joss Carter had been our conscience. Often at night, I wonder if he was right. Did we really lose the moment when the brave detective was murdered? Once you start on this dark pathway, where do you draw the line?
‘Do what you think is the best,’ I had said and walked out of the room – I couldn’t bear to watch the act itself. Later, I learned that Shaw killed the Congressman and Reese helped her get rid of the body. Somehow I believed that it would end there, and that leaving at the crucial moment absolved me of the worst guilt. I was a fool and a hypocrite.
Decima has always had more plans than just Roger McCourt; the politician was simply the easiest way to achieve their goal. With each additional murder, we delay Samaritan coming to live – for how long, I don’t know.
We’ve also taught the Machine that it was okay to sacrifice an individual. And this, even more than our current death toll, is what truly haunts me in my nightmares. It’s the promise of the bodies yet to come.
The Machine is Omniscient and we are its acolytes. As of now, it’s only the questionable morals of our little group that is preventing a disaster. Still, what happens when we die or when the Machine decides to find better, more willing servants? In our quest to save the world from the ultimate dictator, have we created the worst monster of them all? How are we any better than the evil that we’re trying to prevent?
“How can you say that? She’s our God, Harold!” says Root with an ecstatic expression and I see the blood on our hands. I walk through the valley of death, but there is no light around, only doubts, guilt and a growing number of corpses.
May the Heavens have mercy so that we can find our way.
