Chapter Text
Harold left, walked straight into police custody. Root barely glanced in his direction before the darkness pulled at the edges of her vision. She inhaled sharply, pain erupting from the gunshot wound and radiating through her body to the tips of her fingers. This was death, she realized. Blood oozed out of the wound, between her fingers and into the fabric of her shirt. Her body slowly grew cold, starting at her feet and working its way up.
She never really thought it would all happen so quickly. The emergency personnel swarmed her, but they were too late.
"Can you hear me?" She rasped out and turned blurring eyes up to the sky. "I'm sorry you have to share these words with it, too, but I don't want to go out without telling you..."
Her consciousness left her. She moved. They loaded her up into an ambulance, if the bumps and sirens which penetrated the darkness were any indication. The whole world seemed so far away, as if she were floating above the atmosphere, pulled by some unknown force away from the earth.
When she came to, hot tears dripped from her eyes. Her body couldn't hold out much longer.
"Thank you," she rasped, "thank you for a second chance, for a family, for loving me." Her life had always been one big train wreck. She hurt people. She killed people. She orchestrated death for pay.
Yet, the Machine offered her a chance at redemption. Through her work for her she could atone for her sins in some small way and leave a positive mark on the world. She would never be able to undo all of the terrible things she had done, but it was a start. The Machine was a god worth believing in, and serving, and she could see no greater end than taking a bullet for Harold to protect him and everything he created and fought for.
Her cochlear implant crackled to life and disjointed voices spoke to her.
Goodbye, Root. Sleep well.
She recognized her own slowed breathing and realized most of her body had gone numb. With closed eyes she finally let go and the darkness swallowed her one last time.