Harold Finch sat at his desk, just about to check if his "Machine" had predicted any imminent threats based on social security numbers or other data patterns. As he booted up his custom-built system, a mysterious dialogue box popped up on his screen.
It wasn't anything dramatic like, "Do you want to know the true meaning of life?" Just a plain text box, but its mere presence was enough to send a chill down Finch's spine.
As a seasoned programmer and technological genius, Finch was certain that his system—entirely custom-designed and not running on anything as mundane as Windows—should not have displayed anything he hadn't personally authorized. Where had this odd dialogue box come from?
The answer lay across the city, where Castle, lounging in his state-of-the-art lab, had instructed JARVIS to send a message to Finch as a playful jab. The message read:
"Mr. Finch, we need to talk about your recent operations in Manhattan with Mr. John Reese. While your actions may have saved lives, they've also violated a few laws."
Castle had done this mostly to amuse himself, but he hadn't anticipated how much it would rattle Finch.
To Finch, this intrusion was deeply unsettling. He prided himself on the security of his systems and his ability to operate undetected. Yet here was someone who not only knew what he and Reese had been up to but had effortlessly breached his firewalls and commandeered his laptop camera.
Still, Finch was no ordinary man. Despite his shock, he quickly composed himself. His logic-driven mind began assessing the situation, forcing calm into his demeanor. Whoever this was, their message didn't appear malicious. If anything, it seemed to suggest they wanted to talk.
Then, another line of text appeared:
"I mean no harm. In fact, I personally admire the noble work you and Mr. Reese are doing. However, Mr. Finch, while you're reveling in the satisfaction of saving lives, you may not have considered the complications your actions are causing for law enforcement. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed by the police, and they're finding them... troubling."
Finch's unease deepened. Whoever this was had total access to his system. The way they casually referenced his activities—and their technical expertise—suggested they were either an ally or a far more dangerous adversary than he'd ever encountered.
His thoughts turned to a certain wealthy writer rumored to have acquired a supercomputer and who, as Finch had learned, was dating the captain of the precinct where he and Reese had been operating. Could it be him?
After a brief hesitation, Finch pushed his glasses up his nose and typed a response:
"Who are you? How do you know about my work? Did you breach my system just to warn me about the police?"
Castle, seated comfortably in his underground lab with "Little Fatty" (his affectionate nickname for Harold Ramsey, the young programming prodigy) and the brilliant young hacker Lamsey, watched the scene unfold on Finch's webcam feed.
Unlike his earlier encounters with fictional characters from his previous world, Castle felt no particular awe or excitement about meeting Finch. His limited exposure to Person of Interest had left him unimpressed with Finch's "Machine," which seemed to Castle to be little more than a glorified big data analysis tool.
As someone who had painstakingly coded JARVIS, a genuine strong AI, Castle couldn't help but see Finch's creation as amateurish by comparison. Sure, it was impressive for its time, but by Castle's standards, it was just an advanced algorithm.
"Look at him," Castle mused, watching Finch regain his composure almost instantly. "No wonder this guy built his empire from scratch. That level of mental fortitude is something else. Harold, if you woke up one morning and found someone had silently hacked your system, could you stay this calm?"
Harold Ramsey rolled his eyes. "Uncle Rick, the guy's waiting for your response. Maybe focus on him and not on roasting me?"
Castle smirked. "Fine, fine. Let's give our friend something to chew on."
Back on Finch's screen, another message appeared:
"I am someone who knows what you're doing and appreciates it. However, your activities are attracting the wrong kind of attention. The NYPD is already aware of anomalies in your operations, thanks to certain tools at their disposal."
Finch frowned. He typed back:
"And you've come here to warn me out of altruism? What is it you want from me?"
Castle chuckled. "Oh, he's sharp. I like him." Turning to JARVIS, he instructed, "Let's raise the stakes a bit."
The dialogue box updated again:
"Let's just say I'm uniquely positioned to understand your work. I also have a vested interest in ensuring you don't create unnecessary complications for people I care about. So here's the deal: move your operations out of the 12th Precinct's jurisdiction. Brooklyn, Harlem, Queens—anywhere but here."
Finch leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Interesting," he murmured. Whoever this was clearly had an agenda, but they weren't overtly hostile.
Typing his response, he asked:
"And if I refuse?"
Castle couldn't resist laughing. "Oh, Harold, you're feisty. I like that."
Leaning back, he gestured at the screen. "JARVIS, let's show him who he's dealing with. Recompile his Machine's latest predictive model in real-time, add an extra layer of analysis, and display the results directly on his screen. That should get his attention."
Moments later, Finch's screen lit up with a live analysis, displaying patterns and predictions his Machine hadn't yet processed. Finch's jaw tightened as he realized the intruder wasn't bluffing—they genuinely had the capability to outmatch his system.
The final message on his screen read:
"Think carefully, Mr. Finch. I'd hate for this to become adversarial."
Finch exhaled sharply, pushing his glasses up again. "I see I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
For the first time in years, Harold Finch felt the weight of being outclassed.
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