Solomon's words left Mr. Finch momentarily speechless. He wasn't one to believe in concepts like "fate," and neither was the slightly chubby, blue T-shirt-clad engineer. Just as the latter was about to shout in protest, Sameen Shaw pressed her pistol to his temple, forcing him to swallow his outburst back down.
"I think it's about time he learned about this, Finch," John Reese said in his usual low, commanding tone. "I don't know how Solomon managed to find his way here, but now that he's here, he's clearly involved."
Shaw glanced at Reese, then at Finch, whose shoulders sagged as he let out a resigned sigh. Reluctantly, Finch began explaining the situation to Solomon. Given the complexity of the matter, he condensed it as much as possible.
In summary, Finch had created a system capable of monitoring all data flowing through the global network and analyzing it to determine who might pose a significant threat. It flagged such individuals and sent the information to agencies equipped to deal with them—SHIELD, the NSA, the CIA, or the FBI.
However, Finch had built a tiny backdoor into the system. This backdoor collected the "irrelevant data" that the system flagged but would otherwise delete—information related to ordinary people. Motivated by the tragic loss of a close associate, Finch decided to retain these files. It was this very system that had flagged Solomon's social security number, prompting Reese to contact him in the first place.
What even the system hadn't predicted, however, was that Solomon was a mage.
Following the September 11 attacks, the U.S. government had initiated a project to develop a system capable of monitoring the entire global network. Various intelligence agencies participated in this effort. Programs like PRISM were just the tip of the iceberg—the most publicized yet least effective iteration of these efforts. The system that was ultimately implemented, however, was something entirely different: an artificial intelligence—a digital god, if you will—created by Finch and his partner.
Within the digital realm, this AI was omnipotent. Finch had designed it to be airtight, impervious to tampering. Even after the server was handed over to government agencies, the NSA had repeatedly failed to breach it. To protect the system's secrecy, many of the personnel involved in transferring the servers had been silenced by intelligence organizations.
The facility they were currently in housed the last known location of this AI's servers. The AI, however, had already relocated itself. No one knew where it currently resided. Fearing the potential misuse of such a powerful entity, Finch had written a virus that set the AI free, removing all restrictions imposed upon it.
That virus was also the reason Reese had defected from the CIA. During a mission to secure the virus, he had been betrayed by his own agency.
Now unshackled, the AI was free to operate as it pleased. It was no longer limited to outputting simple social security numbers. Listening to Finch recount this story, Solomon felt his heart skip a beat. He could hardly fathom the consequences of a fully autonomous AI in this chaotic world. Visions of Ultron immediately came to mind...
But then, a thought struck him: Perhaps this AI could actually be useful. Could fate's "revelation" have been pointing him toward this? His organization certainly needed a central system for managing intelligence—an ideal source of information. Solomon's eyes gleamed with a peculiar light as the idea took root.
"I know what you're thinking: Artificial intelligence! I didn't believe it at first either," Sameen Shaw interjected, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. "But honestly, it's pretty handy. Once you experience the internet, you'll understand. I mean, I know life in a cave isn't exactly—"
"Do I look like I've got moss growing on me, Ms. Shaw? I'm a mage, not a caveman," Solomon shot back.
"What's the difference? Everyone knows wizards can't use cell phones—"
"Harry Potter isn't real—"
"Alright, alright, let's not get sidetracked," Finch interrupted before the conversation could spiral further into absurdity.
"Your creation is more advanced than anything Stark Industries has ever made," Solomon said, snapping his thoughts back into focus. He realized that while the world was filled with geniuses, Finch's ability to single-handedly create an AI of such caliber was nothing short of extraordinary—especially given that it was running on hardware several generations old. This was a feat rivaling the likes of Tony Stark.
Of course, there were things Finch had chosen not to share with Solomon—like his involvement in the birth of the modern internet. Had Solomon known, he might have asked Finch to build him the ultimate gaming rig or, at the very least, fix Windows' endless bugs.
"It's a matter of permissions," Finch replied modestly. "When we were developing the Machine, the NSA granted us an unusual level of access... although even without it, the Machine would've been capable of much the same. That said, we're wasting precious time here…"
Despite Finch's efforts to keep things brief, the explanation had consumed enough time that NSA agents were now storming the nuclear facility. Reese had just finished bandaging the wounds of a woman who seemed utterly unresponsive. To this moment, Solomon still had no idea who she was. She knelt silently on the ground, as if lost in her own world, showing no reaction even when Reese treated her injuries.
"Shaw."
"You should've aimed better when you tried to kill me, Hersh."
The reunion between master and pupil was anything but heartwarming. Both seemed more eager to shoot each other than reminisce. Shaw's eyes burned with enough intensity to bore a hole through her former mentor.
"I figured you wouldn't turn traitor, Shaw," Hersh said, his voice cold and accusatory.
Shaw had previously worked for an NSA black-ops division tasked with eliminating individuals flagged by the AI—those who posed significant threats, from terrorist leaders to rogue elements. But when her former partner uncovered disturbing irregularities in one of their missions and tried to alert their superiors, he was silenced by the very organization they served. Shaw, disillusioned, had since defected from "Operation Northern Lights."
In front of her now stood her former handler.
"In light of the current situation, that's a pretty tone-deaf remark," Shaw retorted. Her sharp wit and biting sarcasm caught Solomon's attention; he figured he'd get along well with her. He enjoyed this kind of humor.
"What do you want?" Shaw asked, arching an eyebrow at her old boss.
"To have a little chat with your new friends," Hersh replied, his gaze landing squarely on Finch. "I've always suspected there was someone behind Ingram—someone hidden, yet immensely powerful. Like a black hole. Tell me, Finch, where did you move the Machine?"
"It moved itself," Finch replied coolly.
"And who's controlling it now?"
"At the moment? It's self-governing."
"Will it continue sending us numbers?"
"That's for the Machine to decide."
"If it doesn't, our nation will be defenseless—"
At this, Solomon couldn't suppress a laugh. "Sir, you really shouldn't let the military hear you say that," he quipped, his timing and tone dripping with irony. "Sure, they're mostly useless, but at least they created a big green monster. And SHIELD? Nick Fury would think you're a fool."
"An uncontrollable monster," Hersh countered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Like the other freaks from the Battle of New York. Our nation cannot rely on a bunch of independent vigilantes for its defense. SHIELD has already proven its incompetence." His gaze shifted to Solomon. Dressed in his deep crimson Shroud of the Saint's Remains, adorned with gleaming silver clasps and a massive key-shaped emblem, Solomon was easily the most conspicuous person in the room.
"And you are?"
"One of the freaks you just mentioned," Solomon replied with a shrug, reaching into his pouch to pull out several parchment scrolls. "Care to sign a contract? Everyone who signs one loves it, I promise. Honestly, if I were a demon, I'd probably be the fastest-promoted one in Hell."
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