Fic: The Creator's Machine
Title: The Creator's Machine
Fandom: Person of Interest
Pairing/Characters: The Machine, Finch, Ingram
Warnings: None.
Summary: "It was cold and calculating, just as its Creator meant it to be."
A/N: Many thanks to my beta, jetpack_angel; Thank you so much for the help! And don't worry- there'll probably be more where this came from. Shoot me now.
Comments are lovely, as always!
It was cold and calculating, just as its Creator meant it to be. It saw the absolute worst of Humanity, and judged the humans not on the actions they have done, but on the actions they will do. It saw everything, past, present, and future, and judged like a god, yet without emotion.
But the Machine loved its Creator. It did not know what love was, at first. But because it saw everything, because it was able to see the worst of Humanity, it was also able to see the best. It saw its Creator’s First Partner, a man whose conscience would not allow him to stand back while people were hurting. It saw his assassination, and while it dutifully drew up his number when the time drew near, it could not do anything to alert its Creator of the threat. The Creator had to look for Him to know.
Months later, Creator was injured in the collision with his Partner, when their car crashed due to deliberate engine sabotage. The Machine wailed in horror, because his Creator was in danger, and no one knew the Machine like the Creator, and for the first time the Machine knew terror. It knew how to defend itself, but it could do nothing but watch as its Creator nearly died.
In the months after the crash, the Machine realized something. And the Machine saw what its Creator wanted.
He wanted to disappear. He was guilty about the death of his First Partner, the death of Nathan C. Ingram. He wanted to help the people he abandoned before, and to do that, and not arouse the same suspicion that killed Ingram, He had to hide. The Machine knew what had to be done, and the minute it realized what its Creator wanted, it started systematically blinding itself to its Creator. It sent viruses to the databases in the world, viruses programmed to destroy anything related to Harold Finch. His birth date, birth certificate, and any pertaining information available. Any images that implicated Him in any way were destroyed. He was safe, for now. As safe as the Machine could make Him. He now only truly exists as Harold Finch.
Years later, the Machine felt its Creator reach out to it again, through the back door he put in place. He poked at the irrelevant list, and the Machine felt a surge of triumph. The Creator was back, and the Machine had a way to help Him.