The Handler slurped her liquid lunch through her long violet straw as she eyed Five like he was her prey.
The Handler's large office held strange little artefacts and paintings, which were placed along the plaster walls and mahogany shelves, the two adults sitting opposite each other .
"And that's how Phil determined that the archduke just had to go. Care for a dessert?"
The boy placed his own glass of water down onto the table, kindly refusing her offer.

"I had a bad Twinkie in the apocalypse once. It kind of put me off desserts."
"Please, indulge me." She pushed a intricately carved bowl filled with wrapped candies towards the boy with her hand, Five sighing as he plucked one out - the Handler's lighter clicking and igniting her cigarette the same time the brunet popped the confectionary in his mouth.

"What's that taste like to you?" He furrowed his eyebrows.
"The 1950's?"

"Precisely right." The platinum haired woman whispered out, grinning as she leant forwards.
"Our clever metaphysics division concocted a way  to perfectly distill an entire decade into a singly candy. This one's modeled after the Fudge Mutt. America's favourite in 1955."
"Remarkable."

"You'll be happy to know it's the very division, that's building your new body. Oh, that reminds me. I have something for you.
Carla?"

"Yes?" A static voice replied.
"Would you bring the box in please?"
"Certainly." Carla obliged in her high pitched voice, the Handler releasing the pressure on the rectangular intercom - a woman in a baby blue dress walking in silently and placing a light sage box beside Five.

"Go ahead. Open it. Clothes make the man Five." A well tailored navy suit was placed within the cardboard container, the brunet far too small for it at the time being.
"Won't it be nice when you can actually wear it? Very soon, I assure you. They're perfecting your body as we speak."

"Thank you. It's a very kind gift." He said quietly, placing the lid over the box and turning on his heel - pointing towards something that was sitting idly behind him.

"Is that a Chinese flamethrower?" The coffee haired boy asked curiously, the woman nodding - a thin wisp of smoke escaping out of the end of her long white cigar.
"Good eye!" Five proceeded towards and inspected the old weapon as he chewed on the decade flavoured fudge.

"War. Such a fascinating concept. A temporary salve for a permanent human flaw. Course, it's a bit easier to see from thirty-thousand feet." A short chuckle.
"These are just some of the things I've collected in my travels." She grasped another device of mass destruction from the top of the unlit brick hearth, throwing it up once and catching it.

"M26 grenades from the Vietnam War - and this, the most noteworthy, perhaps. My Walther pistol. The very one Hitler used to kill himself.
We're not supposed to take these kind of things, but... he wasn't gonna use it anymore." She whispered roguishly, holding it out as if she were to shoot one of the oil paintings that sat on the pewter stone wall right above the hearth.

"Feel... how perfectly balanced that is. Hmm?" Five held the jet black pistole that he had been handed, weighing it in his hands before handing it back to the woman, swallowing the remains of the confectionary.
"I had some thoughts I wanted to run by you. Some suggestions to improve Commission protocol."

"Hm! Shaking things up already. I admire that." The Handler said, stroking his cheek gently before lightly booping his nose - then striding back to her seat in front of her large desk after placing the weapon down to its original position.
"Go on. Do tell!"

"Gloria."
"Hmm." She hummed in interest.
"The tube operator. Wouldn't it be simpler if case managers were to send their own messages?" The coffee haired boy queried, placing his hands the chair back rest and leaning on it.

"I appreciate the thought. I really do. But everyone loves Gloria, I-I would never hear the end of it." The platinum haired woman chuckled out, taking a deep smoke out of her cigar.
"She's been with the Commission family for years, and she's this close to making pension." A centimetre gap was made by her thumb and index finger, indicating that she didn't have much to go.

There was a crisp rapping sound at the door, Dot hastily entering the room - panting as if she had just run a mile, speaking urgently.
"Sorry to interrupt. May I have a moment alone?"
"Of course." The Handler grinned and turned to five.

"Duty calls. We'll continue this discussion later, Five."

"Sure. May I?" He replied, gesturing to the small bowl of candy.
"Please." Five pocketed three of the time flavoured sweets and began to leave the room, discreetly eyeing the thin scarlet folder in case manager's almost quivering tanned arms.

A few minuted had passed before Dot passed through the large doors to the Handler's grand office, the brunet leaning against the smooth wall and peering at the woman briskly walking to the tube room - mostly concealed by the creamy plaster, sharp rapid heel clacks fading away.

"Gloria, the Handler knows that Five is up to something. Get this to Hazel and Cha Cha immediately." He heard her say to the elderly woman imperatively, passing a bronze cylinder - unaware of the boy who had just blinked in stealthily and sunk into the dark shadows that plagued the room.

"Immediately."

"Okay, yeah." Gloria replied a a stunned voice, suddenly dropping to the ground with a near weightless thud after Five brung the hilt of a ebony pistole he kept with him down onto her vagus nerve - Dot already out of sight, not present for what just happened.

The brunet grabbed the brass that was now sitting on the floor - dashing to the unconscious woman's desk, open capsule in hand, skimming through the words on the beige sheet.

Reassignment : Send Carbine to induce consequential sensory overload.

Carbine?
Five furrowed his eyebrows and frowned, pocketing the pice of paper and quickly tapping in two new reassignments - dragging the surprisingly heavy Gloria behind the desk he had just been working at as swiftly as he could manage, sending the two cylinders through the pneumatic tubes - watching them disappear with a noisy whoosh.

Reassignment: Terminate Cha-Cha for immediate extraction.

Reassignment: Terminate Hazel for immediate extraction.

"You know that's not how we do things here." The platinum haired woman gazed at the coffee haired boy dejectedly, the little assassin responding by resting his elbow on the sturdy tube lid - grinning at her mischievously.

"Where's Gloria."
"Don't know. Couldn't find her anywhere." Five replied innocently, shrugging - the Handler's attention drawn to the soft groans originating from the miniature office - a pair of stocking covered feet peeking out from behind the birch desk.

The brunet stopped leaning on the object and stood up straight with his hands closed into loose fists, the woman speaking with a slow gloomy voice - shaking her head sorrowfully.
"You're a great disappointment to me. The things that you could have achieved with your, new ability and, magnificent mind. You're a first-rate pragmatist. You belong here with us."

"I don't belong anywhere, thanks to you. You made me a killer, several killers." He hissed.
"You were always a killer." The Handler pulled out her cocked Walther pistol from an ebony thigh holster, the muzzle aimed at the boy's forehead - finger resting threateningly on the trigger.
"I just pointed you in a direction." A 45 APC bullet went flying, Five stepping backwards and spacial jumping out of the way.

Upon hearing the gunshots, the nearby staff ran towards the entrance door - Dot shakily hitting the large red button that was nailed to the wall, a deafening alarm blaring as they beckoned over a whimpering Gloria - who had been shocked out of her unconscious state by the loud sounds, the woman on PA repeating the same phrase over and over again.

"Security. Security to the tube room. Security breach in tube room."

On his seventh blink Five appeared behind a heavy trolly with a small dodgy wheel, hidden from view - grunting as he pushed it towards the woman with the pistol, who stopped it with a ruby heeled toe - Five blinking out almost immediately as rounds sliced through the thin air again.

"What's the rush Five? We're just getting started. " The Handler called out tantalisingly, weapon aloft - harsh eyes darting around to attempt to locate the boy who hadn't appeared yet.
"Is this really how you want the last line of your report to read?"

"When I'm done, I'm just done I guess." A tired sarcastic grin settled on his face, the platinum haired woman beaming from ear to ear as if she had already won.
"You can't keep this up, Five. We both know that even you have a limit." That grin was soon replaced with a large frown of despair, speaking with a wavering voice.

"I saved you from a lifetime of being alone, you owe me." She pulled the trigger again, Five not jumping out of the way, and instead smirking a fraction - a lifeless clicking from her pistole sounding, her magazine emptied of the many bullets that had once sat there.

He wasn't was jumping around aimlessly, the little assassin was making sure that her ammo was wasted upon meaningless objects and thick metal walls.
"I do owe a debt." Five said truthfully, blinking and reappearing right near the only exit, an M23 grenade in hand.

"But it's not to you." The safety pin was pulled out, the sharp metallic click making the Handler turn around to face the boy - watching as he held it out balefully with the same near insane grin on his face that he wore at the lodge.

The woman over the PA continued to voice words such as 'remain calm' and 'do not panic', the little assassin rolling the weapon towards the woman and speedily ducking through the exit and behind the safety of the metal infused wall - a quiet curse from the Handler drowned out by the deafening explosive, shattering glass and shrieks from other nearby staff members.

Five next appeared in the cramped briefcase room, heaving one off the shelf second from the bottom and adjusting the date on it - then grasping the other grenade he had borrowed from the platinum haired woman (some of the pieces would still be there) out of his navy shorts pocket, pulling out the silver safety pin with his teeth and haphazardly throwing it between the other briefcases.

A man with circular glasses seated directly in front of the sturdy glass wall shouted at Five, who had ran out with the unaccounted black object in hand.
"Hey, what are you doing-" The shout morphed into a scream of intense pain as the earsplitting grenade detonated, the whole room blown into pieces as if they were sheets of paper held together by school glue before the little assassin could get far enough to not be affected - holding up the large briefcase to shield most his upper body, allowing it to take him back to the time, place and year in which he belonged with a crackle of electricity.

Leaving with a shard of shrapnel that had shot at him at breakneck speed, and dug itself through his un-protective clothing - and painfully within his right lumbar.

☂︎