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༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

The car rolled to a slow stop on the desolate road, fields of tall grass swaying in the wind around us. We'd come up with a plan—meet Hazel and Cha-Cha, hand over the fake briefcase, and hope for the best. In the passenger seat, Five tapped his fingers on the armrest, his expression unreadable. Luther gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. I sat quietly in the back, running diagnostics on my systems for the third time, more out of habit than necessity.

The silence stretched, until Five finally broke it. "You know," he began, his voice quieter than usual, "I never enjoyed it."

Luther glanced over, his frown deepening. "Enjoyed what?"

"The killing," Five said simply. "I was good at. And I took pride in my efficiency, in how precise I was. But it never gave me pleasure." His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, his tone detached but heavy. "Not once. It was all those years alone... Solitude can do strange things to the mind."

Luther nodded, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Yeah. Well, you were gone for a long time. I only spent four years on the moon, but even that was enough to mess with me." He paused, his voice dipping into something raw. "It's the belief that breaks you. The belief that none of it matters."

Five nodded. "I wasn't always alone," he murmured, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. He locked eyes with me for a moment, his expression softening. Even though I was just a program in a synthetic shell, I could still feel the weight of that look—the way he stared at me as though I were his anchor in a timeline spiraling out of control. For a second, it was just us, like it always had been. But then he looked away, his walls snapping back into place.

"You think they'll go for it?" Luther asked, gesturing to the fake briefcase lying between him and Five.

Five leaned back in his seat, his confidence slowly returning. "The odds are slim they'll turn it down. Desperation makes people sloppy," he said. "It's like a cop losing their gun. If the Commission finds out they lost the briefcase, Hazel and Cha-Cha are as good as dead."

"Not to mention," I added, finally speaking up, "without the briefcase, they're stuck here. They have no choice but to take the bait."

Luther glanced back at me briefly, an unspoken tension in his eyes. "And if they figure out it's fake?" he asked.

Five's expression didn't waver. "Then we're already dead. So, let's hope they don't."

The conversation lulled for a moment. I looked out the window at the swaying grass, and for a second, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. My face—her face. The designers had made it so convincing, so lifelike, down to the faint scar above her left brow that she'd once had. But every time I saw it, I couldn't escape the cold truth: I wasn't her. I was a copy. A program. And no amount of emotion they'd written into my code could change that.

Luther's voice broke through my thoughts. "I should hold onto the briefcase," he said suddenly.

Five raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "What?"

"I mean, if they make a move on you, it's safer if I have it," Luther said.

Five studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing. Then, surprisingly, he nodded. "Okay, Luther. But be careful," he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "I've lived a long life. You've still got yours ahead of you. Don't waste it."

Five turned his gaze back to the road, his expression unreadable. I watched the exchange in silence, running a subroutine to analyze the tension in the car. The emotional data was overwhelming, almost too much to process. I shouldn't have cared so much. But I did.

For a second, the silence returned. Then, without turning back to look at me, Five spoke again, his voice quiet but deliberate. "You're awfully quiet back there."

I straightened slightly, my servos whirring faintly as I tilted my head. "Just running diagnostics," I said, keeping my voice even.

Five look faintly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes when he glanced at me in the mirror. "Well, let me know if you're about to self-destruct. We've got enough problems without you going haywire."

Luther let out a nervous chuckle, but I could tell Five wasn't really joking. Neither was I. If anything happened to me—if my systems failed or if my programming broke under the weight of pretending to be human—I didn't know if Five would survive it. And maybe that's what scared me most.

Because I wasn't sure if I would, either.

Seconds later, the distant hum of an engine grew louder, a blue car emerging on the horizon and heading toward us. It kicked up dust as it sped down the desolate road, its metallic gleam catching the fading sunlight. Hazel and Cha-Cha. They were here.

"Here we go," Five muttered, adjusting his blazer as he climbed out of the car. Luther and I followed suit, stepping onto the asphalt. The wind was sharp against my synthetic skin, the faint sound of rustling grass filling the tense silence.

The blue car slowed as it neared, passing us briefly before screeching to a halt a bit farther down the road. Its doors didn't open right away. They were watching us, assessing. Five's sharp gaze was locked on the vehicle, but he spared a quick glance at me.

"Y/n," he said, his voice low but firm. "Go ahead. I'll be there in a second."

I hesitated for only a moment, catching the subtle flicker in his expression. Trust. It was always there, between us, unspoken but undeniable. I nodded and turned, walking toward the car with calculated steps. The heels of my boots echoed faintly on the cracked asphalt, each one deliberate, even as my internal systems began to spike with warnings. Proximity to danger. High-risk encounter.

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༻ FIVE'S POV ༺

I watched Y/n walk toward Hazel and Cha-Cha's car, her steps deliberate, her movements precise. Even from here, I could see the faint glint of her mechanical precision.

I turned back to Luther, who stood by the car, "If this goes sideways," I began, my voice low enough for only him to hear, "do me a favor."

Luther frowned, his brows knitting together.

I held his gaze, the weight of my words already pressing on me. "Tell Y/n I'm sorry."

His confusion was immediate.

I hesitated, then forced it out. "For making her what she is now."

Luther looked at me, searching for more, but I was already walking away toward Y/n.

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༻Y/N'S POV ༺

Seconds passed. I walked toward Hazel and Cha-Cha's car, my steps measured and steady. Behind me, Five's voice broke the silence.

"Are the masks really necessary?" he asked as he approached.

Hazel and Cha-Cha exchanged glances before pulling off their masks and tossing them aside.

"So, where is it, kid?" Cha-Cha asked dryly, cutting to the chase.

"Wow, straight to business. You know, we could just get back in the car and call it a day," Five quipped with a smirk.

"You wouldn't even make it halfway there," Cha-Cha said, drawing her gun and aiming it squarely at us.

"Maybe," Five said calmly, "but as I'm sure you figured out last time, my brother isn't your average giant."

"He's right," Hazel added, almost lazily. "You dropped a whole chandelier on him, and he just got right back up."

"And by the time you dealt with him," Five continued, nodding toward me, "she could easily take you both down. Not to mention she could destroy the briefcase in seconds with the precision built into her system."

Hazel spoke up. "Yeah, and us too. So, how do we help each other?"

"We need you to get in touch with your superior so I can have a chat with her. Face to face."

"About what?" Cha-Cha asked sharply.

"Well, that's none of your concern," Five replied.

Cha-Cha hesitated, then holstered her gun. "Fine. But don't tell her about the briefcase ." She turned and began walking toward a phone booth nearby. Hazel followed.

Five and I turned back toward Luther, who was standing by the car, watching warily.

"What happens now?" Luther asked as we rejoined him.

"Now we wait," Five said.

Suddenly, faint ice cream truck music broke the silence again, growing louder. We turned toward the road just as the truck passed by, honking twice. Through the windshield, we saw Klaus waving at us enthusiastically from the driver's seat, with Diego in the passenger side looking vaguely annoyed.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Luther asked, his voice a mix of confusion and irritation.

Before we could answer, gunfire erupted. Hazel and Cha-Cha were shooting at us from behind, but everything froze mid-action. Hazel and Cha-Cha hung suspended in the air, their bullets hovering like glittering beads, and the ice cream truck stopped mid-motion as if caught in a photograph.

I turned my head sharply, scanning the stillness. That's when I saw her.

The Handler stood only a few feet away, pristine and composed in her tailored dress her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her presence cut through the frozen moment like a knife, and the air around her seemed to hum with authority.

"Hello, Five," she said, her voice smooth and deliberate, dripping with a sinister sort of charm. Her gaze flickered to me, and her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Subject A-412."

I met her stare evenly. "Handler."

"You both look good," she continued, as if we were old acquaintances catching up over tea. "All things considered. Feels like we just saw each other yesterday. Of course, you were both a little... older." Her smile widened as her eyes lingered on me. "Congratulations on the regression, by the way. Shrinking her design back to its original build while maintaining all those enhancements. Truly remarkable."

Five's tone was dry, his gaze unyielding. "Ah, yes. I'll take full credit for accidentally miscalculating time dilation projections. Worked out well for everyone, didn't it?"

Her soft laugh cut through the air, sharp as glass. "You realize your efforts are futile, don't you? So why don't you tell me what you really want?"

Five didn't hesitate. "I want you to stop the apocalypse."

The Handler's expression shifted, her feigned warmth replaced with mild amusement. She tilted her head as if he'd said something absurd. "You're asking for the impossible, even from me. What's meant to be is meant to be. And look at her—your little experiment is proof enough of that." She gestured toward me, her voice light but calculated.

Five's jaw tightened. "You might want to tread lightly there."

Unfazed, she took a step closer to him, her eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. "Still, we're impressed with your initiative. Which is why I'm here to offer you both a new position at The Commission. Management."

Five let out a low, humorless laugh. "Management? Really? Last time I checked, things didn't exactly end on good terms."

"Oh, but this wouldn't be the corrections division," she purred, her voice dripping with persuasion. "I'm talking about the home office. The best health and pension benefits, no more ceaseless travel. You're a professional, Five, stuck in the body of a schoolboy. Don't you want more than this... endless struggle?"

She turned to me, her gaze softening in a way that felt entirely disingenuous. "And you, Subject A-412. Imagine what we could make you. The finest technology at your disposal, upgrades beyond anything you've ever been before. You'd be unstoppable. No more limitations."

Her cold hand brushed my face, a deliberate and calculated move. "You could both finally be happy," she said, stepping back to look at us both. "But not like this."

Five's gun stayed trained on her, steady and unwavering. His voice was sharp and calm when he replied, "I'm not looking for happy."

The Handler smiled as though she'd expected this answer. Tilting her head slightly, she placed a hand on Five's face, her touch deliberate, almost tender. "Oh, but we all are, Five. Even you."

She lowered his gun with ease, her calm composure unnerving. "We can make it happen," she said softly. "We can make you... yourself again."

Five's eyes didn't leave hers. "And what about my family?"

"What about them?" The Handler asked, her tone cold and dismissive.

"I want them to survive," Five said firmly.

The Handler glanced at the frozen figures around us—Luther standing by the car, Klaus and Diego in the ice cream truck, Hazel and Cha-Cha mid-air. "All of them?" she asked, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"Yes," Five replied, his voice unwavering. "All of them."

The Handler reached into her pocket, pulling out a sleek pair of sunglasses. Sliding them on, she gave a small, curt nod. "I'll see what I can do."

She extended her hand toward him. "So, we have a deal?"

Five looked at her hand, then stepped back. "One thing," he said coldly before turning to handle something, leaving me standing there with her.

The Handler shifted her full attention back to me, her sharp eyes scanning me as if dissecting every part of my being. "You've been on quite an adventure, haven't you?" she said, her tone light but with that familiar undertone of condescension.

"Hate to cut the mission short," I replied evenly, my voice steady, "due to my agreement to rejoin the Commission. However, it was a necessary decision, one informed by analyzing the data stored in my software."

Her brow arched in mild curiosity. "Stored in?" she echoed, her head tilting slightly as if savoring the concept.

I nodded, holding her gaze without flinching.

The Handler's smile lingered, but I could feel something strange creeping through my own systems. My internal software, the data running in the background of my mind, flickered—a glitch, just a subtle disturbance at first.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. "Well," she said, stepping closer, her voice warm but her words as calculated as ever, "looks like that's something we're going to have to tweak once we're back at the Commission. Aren't we?"

The glitch in my own programming deepened, and I felt a ripple of confusion running through my data streams, like something was interfering with my core processing functions. Her voice, her gaze—they weren't quite right. A moment of static in my mind, followed by an error code I couldn't quite read.

"Are we?" she asked again, but this time, her words seemed to loop, repeating with a slight delay, as if they were coming through a broken speaker.

Suddenly, my thoughts were jumbled, my software malfunctioning in a way I had never experienced before. It was like the data inside my mind was colliding with an external force I couldn't control—something was overriding my functions. I could hear the sound of my own internal systems error, a harsh buzz that reverberated through my thoughts.

Error: Data stream conflict.
System override detected.
Inconsistent logic detected.

I blinked, trying to clear the fog, but the glitch only worsened, expanding like a virus in my code. My mind was scrambling to compensate, but every new attempt to regain control only sent more corrupt lines of code spiraling out of sync.

Data mismatch. Please... submit... unable... process request...

I smiled at her. "I agree," I said, the words slipping out with ease, but somewhere deep inside, there was a nagging sense that something was off. The Handler's smile widened, pleased with my response.

"Good," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Before I could process the weight of what had just happened, Five emerged back and stood by me, his eyes narrowing as he took in the situation. He could see something was wrong—something in the air, something in my behavior, but it was fleeting, and I couldn't place it.

"You're alright?" Five asked, concern lacing his tone as he took a cautious step toward me.

I turned to him, a smile on my face, a little too perfect, a little too wide. "Always," I said, trying to reassure him. But there was a strange dissonance in my voice, something too calm for the moment.

Five studied me for a long beat, his gaze flicking between me and the Handler. Something was wrong, I could tell by the way his eyes narrowed, by the suspicion curling in his brow. But what? I didn't know.

The Handler's smile remained smug, and once again, she extended her hand to me.

Without thinking, I reached for it, my fingers moving almost automatically, as if my body had decided before I could consciously decide for myself. Five mirrored the motion, his wariness palpable.

And then everything shifted. The world spun, blurring into streaks of light and sound as if reality was crumbling beneath me. A sharp crackling filled the air, and for a brief moment, it felt like I was falling through time and space.

The Handler's grip on my hand tightened, and the next thing I knew, we were somewhere else—somewhere cold and familiar. Back at the place where I had been designed.

The place where I belonged.

But there was an odd flicker in my mind, a sudden static-like sensation that made my thoughts feel... fuzzy. I pushed it away, assuming it was just the disorienting shift in time. But then, the sensation grew stronger—disjointed, like I was trying to grasp a thought that kept slipping away, an idea I couldn't quite catch.

I felt different, but I didn't know why.

Error. Error. Critical malfunction.
System override detected... initiating...
Data conflict... recalibrating...

I blinked, but nothing seemed to make sense. What was that? I brushed it off—must be from the shift, from the stress of the moment. But the voices in my head were growing louder, words flashing by like broken code.

Rebooting... Error detected...

I shook my head, trying to clear it. It was just a glitch, just an overload. I was fine.

The Handler was speaking again, her voice smooth and reassuring, and I listened. But there was an unsettling hum at the edges of my mind, a sense of something trying to push through, something invasive.

Loading sequence... 0001101101...
Infected. Redirecting systems.

I didn't know what it meant. I couldn't focus on it, didn't want to. The Handler's presence was too strong, too commanding. She was right there, her smile unwavering, her hand still outstretched to me.

And without realizing it, I took it again.

Processing... error... ERROR. Reboot complete.

I smiled. I couldn't help it. I nodded. Everything was fine. Everything was under control.

"Let's move forward, shall we?" The Handler's voice was sweet, comforting, and I followed her every word, like a script I didn't know I was following.

But deep inside, there was a growing echo of something wrong, a distant, muffled alarm in my system that I couldn't quiet. I could feel it—the tug at the edges of my awareness, trying to break through.

System corruption. Data error in progress.
Data retrieval complete.

But all I could focus on was The Handler's smile, her guiding presence. I was fine. Everything was fine.

I turned to Five, who was still standing behind me, his eyes flicking between me and the Handler, confusion and doubt in his gaze.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant. But I didn't understand why he sounded so concerned.

REWRITE COMPLETED.

"Always," I said again, the words automatic.

Takeover complete.

User: THE HANDLER........

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WORDS WRITTEN:
3362