Person of Interest: 500-600 (Patreon)

The first time Root killed Shaw, Shaw was surprised more than anything else. She was lying in her bed, wondering if she should bother trying to lockpick the restraints, when the door opened. She looked up blearily, expecting Greer or one of his Mini-Mes, and instead, there was Root.

The thing on mute inside Shaw could suddenly be heard, felt by its vibration, its bass rumble somehow louder than the shrillest scream.

And then Root lifted her gun and fired.

The next time, Shaw worked on the locks, useless or not. She never really remembered, but she always remembered; her life a series of waking dreams nestled inside each other. The locks were easy to pick this time. When the door opened, Shaw looked at Root and felt the vibrations of the wordless scream and rolled out of the bed by instinct more than anything else, as the bullet ripped into the mattress, sickened it into vomiting up feathers. But the next bullet hit, and the sound of the gunshot was louder than the muted thing could ever be.

The next time, Shaw picked the locks, ran for the door. Just as Root opened it, Shaw was upon her. She hadn’t kept in practice, but her anger had been honed to a razor edge. Bone hit bone, and Shaw’s didn’t break. Root laid there, cracked, and Shaw knew it was just a simulation, she knew, she knew…

“Why?” Root asked, hurt, even a little petulant, and the question was so Root—a little girl asking her friend why she didn’t like her anymore—that Shaw couldn’t move as Root came up with a knife, its shine arcing into her belly…

The next time, Shaw beat her again. Broke her again. Let her live again. And she still didn’t avoid the knife. Of course. She couldn’t avoid the knife. That was love, wasn’t it? There was always a knife attached. She wondered if the muted thing was still roaring. She couldn’t feel its vibrations, but then, she rarely did.

Shaw rushed Root again, ready for the gun and the knife and the pain, but Root had her hands out, empty, warding Shaw off like some escaped zoo animal.

“It’s me, Sameen! I promise—I know what they’ve been doing to you, but it’s really me! I’m here to get you out of here!”

Shaw didn’t believe it. Not as Root led her down the hallways, not as Root fired twin automatics into everyone in their way, not as the car roared and the wind was through gunshot windows and in her hair, swirling it together with Root’s as John drove and she wondered if the sun had always been that bright.

Root kissed her after the car stopped. It was more of a relief when the gun in her hand went off. The bullet ripped through her spine and she didn’t feel anything, not even the muted thing as it continued to scream without sound. Couldn’t hear it, couldn’t feel it, could only know that it was quiet, whatever it was.

The next time, Root had her hands up again. Shaw took them. Put them around her own throat.

“Get it over with,” she said, interrupting all Root’s talk of saving her.

Root hesitated.

Then she squeezed.

The muted thing kept waiting to be heard.