༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

I sat silently in the chair, my posture perfectly straight, hands folded in my lap as I observed the dynamic between Five and his family. Two of them were staring at me, their expressions tinged with confusion and suspicion. Five, undeterred, placed a cutting board on the table with a decisive thud.

"What's the date?" he asked, his tone brisk as he moved toward the shelf to grab a loaf of bread. "The exact date."

"The 24th," replied a small woman with dark hair, her voice soft yet wary. She was seated near the edge of the table, her eyes darting between me and Five.

"Of what?" Five pressed as he returned, clutching the bread in one hand and a knife in the other.

"March," she clarified.

"Good," Five murmured under his breath, slicing into the bread with precision, his movements sharp and deliberate. I remained still, my optical systems passively scanning the room and its occupants.

Suddenly, I registered movement—a finger hesitatingly reaching toward my face. I turned swiftly, locking eyes with a tall man sitting cross-legged on the table. He flinched the moment my head snapped toward him, his hand retreating as though he'd been burned.

"So," the man began, his tone gruff but demanding, "are we gonna talk about what just happened? And what that thing is?" He gestured toward me with a vague wave of his hand.

My head tilted slightly as I processed his words. "Thing?" I echoed, my voice neutral, though I could detect the faint tension rippling through the room.

I focused my scanners on him, analyzing his appearance and demeanor.

Initiating Identification Protocol...
Subject Detected: Luther Hargreeves
Alias: Number One
Classification: Human-Augmented Hybrid
Genetic Enhancement: Simian-DNA Integration
Physical Traits: Abnormal Muscular Structure; Ape-like Proportions
Age: Approximately 29 Years (Subject appears older due to temporal anomalies)
Emotional Readout: Suspicion... Curiosity... Defensive Alertness...

Five ignored Luther's pointed stare and casually placed the bread down on the table, seemingly unfazed by the tension simmering in the room. Luther, however, couldn't let it go. Rising to his feet, he looked at Five with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

"It's been seventeen years," Luther said, his voice low but loaded with meaning.

Five didn't even flinch. "It's been a lot longer than that," he replied nonchalantly, vanishing in a blink and reappearing behind Luther to grab something off a shelf.

Luther's broad shoulders stiffened at the sudden movement. "Yeah, I haven't missed that," he muttered, turning just enough to keep Five in his peripheral vision.

"Where'd you go?" another voice asked, belonging to a man seated further down the table. His tone carried a mix of curiosity and doubt.

Five straightened, his back to the group as he rifled through the shelf. "The future. It's shit, by the way," he answered matter-of-factly, disappearing again and reappearing at the head of the table with the grace of someone completely accustomed to bending space to his will.

"Called it," the man muttered with a self-satisfied grin, leaning back in his chair.

Five shrugged, opening the fridge to retrieve a jar of peanut butter. "I should've listened to the old man," he admitted, his voice laced with both annoyance and resignation. "Jumping through space is one thing. Jumping through time?" He closed the fridge with a deliberate thud. "A toss of the dice."

Returning to his seat, Five began spreading peanut butter onto his bread with surgical precision, his movements sharp and calculated. His eyes flicked briefly to the tall man across from him, taking in his choice of attire. "Nice dress," Five remarked, his voice flat and unimpressed as he focused back on his sandwich.

I turned my head slightly toward the tall man, my curiosity piqued by Five's comment. A faint smile played on my lips as I observed him. "Five's right," I added, my tone perfectly composed but carrying a hint of warmth. "The color really brings out your eyes."

The man's face lit up in surprise at the unexpected compliment. "Oh, well, danke!" he replied cheerfully, his tone almost overly gracious.

The atmosphere shifted slightly—lighter for a moment—until the small woman near the edge of the table leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Wait, how did you even get back?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

Five didn't bother to look up from his work, his tone as calm as ever. "In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time."

The group blinked at him, processing—or failing to process—what he'd just said.

"That makes no sense," one of the brothers finally declared, his tone tinged with defiance.

Five didn't miss a beat. "Well, it would if you were smarter," he quipped, still focused on assembling his sandwich.

The room fell silent, the air suddenly thick with tension. The man who had spoken shifted in his chair, his jaw tightening. I scanned his body language and noted the subtle cues—clenched fists, a tightening posture. He was about to stand, the slight movement of his legs confirming his intention to challenge Five.

Threat Detected. Subject: Diego Hargreeves
Alias: Number Two
Emotion Analysis: Agitated... Defensive... Hostile. Probability of escalation: 92%.

My head snapped toward Diego, my internal systems activating in milliseconds. Engaging Containment Protocol. Without moving a muscle, I focused my neural interface on him, projecting an imperceptible kinetic force that pushed him back into his seat. The chair creaked audibly as he dropped back into it, his movement halted mid-rise.

Diego's eyes darted to me, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. "What the hell?" he muttered, his brows knitting together.

"You were about to disrupt the conversation," I stated evenly, my tone devoid of emotion. "Five's work is of paramount importance. Your aggression is unnecessary."

Diego bristled but didn't attempt to stand again. He shot a glare at Five, who didn't even acknowledge the interaction.

"How long were you there?" Luther asked, his voice low but tinged with disbelief.

"Forty-five years. Give or take," Five replied, nonchalantly brushing crumbs off his shirt.

Both Luther and Diego leaned back in their chairs, the weight of Five's words sinking in. Luther finally broke the silence. "So, what are you saying? That you're 58?"

"No," Five said, straightening up and motioning to himself. "My consciousness is 58. Apparently, my body is now 13 again."

"Our?" Allison asked, frowning at the plural.

"Wait, how does that even work?" Vanya cut in, clearly struggling to follow.

Five took another deliberate bite of his sandwich, unbothered by their confusion. "You girls said the numbers were off. Bet one of you is laughing now."

"Who?" Vanya asked, her head tilting slightly in curiosity.

I turned to her, my gaze steady and unblinking, my voice even. "That would be me, Vanya," I said.

Her brows furrowed as she stared at me, her expression morphing from confusion to realization. "Are... are you a robot?" she asked hesitantly, her voice soft but uncertain.

I straightened slightly in my chair, my tone calm and precise. "Not a robot," I corrected. "I am an advanced autonomous artificial intelligence designed to function as a tactical assistant, a protective entity, and, when necessary, a strategist."

Vanya blinked at my explanation, clearly trying to absorb it all. "So... you're like an android?"

"Correct," I replied with deliberate clarity. "My computational systems exceed standard android protocols, allowing for adaptive learning, emotional intelligence integration, and real-time decision-making. My primary directive is to support and safeguard Number Five."

"Primary directive?" Diego leaned forward, his skepticism palpable. "You sound like a glorified babysitter."

I turned my head sharply to him, my movements calculated, my tone sharp but measured. "Incorrect. My functionality extends far beyond the trivialities of childcare. I am engineered to ensure mission success and survival in circumstances where human capabilities prove insufficient."

Diego scoffed, but there was hesitation in his posture as my gaze lingered. "She talks like him. Just more... uptight," he muttered, leaning back.

"Hmm. Guess I missed the funeral," Five said, his voice calm but distant as he picked up a newspaper detailing their father's death.

"How'd you know about that?" Luther asked, his brow furrowed.

Five barely spared him a glance. "What part of 'I was in the future' do you not understand?" he said flatly, flipping the paper over to scan the headline. "Heart failure, huh?"

"Yeah," Diego replied.

"No," Luther said at the same time, his tone firm.

Five looked up briefly, his gaze sharp as he glanced between the two of them. "Hmm. Nice to see nothing's changed," he said dryly, folding the paper and tucking it under his arm. Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking out of the room.

"That's it?" Allison called after him, her voice a mix of disbelief and frustration. "That's all you have to say?"

Five didn't break stride as he answered, his tone dismissive. "What else is there to say? Circle of life."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

"Well..." Klaus drawled, clearly amused by the awkward tension.

I sat quietly, observing the room. My scanning protocols picked up increased heart rates, elevated stress markers, and subtle shifts in body language. Then I noticed it—multiple pairs of eyes turning toward me.

I shifted my gaze to meet theirs, my posture calm and unbothered. "Why are you all staring?" I asked, my voice smooth but tinged with curiosity.

Diego leaned forward, his arms resting on the table as he scrutinized me. "We're just wondering what your deal is," he said bluntly.

"My 'deal,'" I repeated, tilting my head slightly. "I am Number Five's tactical assistant, designed to provide him with the highest probability of success in any given situation."

"Yeah, yeah, we heard that part," Klaus said, waving his hand lazily. "But what are you? I mean, you talk all fancy and robotic, but you don't exactly look like a walking toaster. So... what's the story?"

I hesitated for a moment, analyzing the likelihood of this conversation escalating versus diffusing if I responded. Finally, I answered. "I was created as an advanced artificial intelligence with human-like physical capabilities and adaptive reasoning. I function autonomously but am calibrated to prioritize Number Five's directives."

"You don't just follow him, do you?" Allison asked, her tone cautious. "You actually believe in what he's doing?"

"I do not operate on belief," I replied evenly. "I calculate probabilities, analyze data, and make informed decisions. Number Five's goals align with my programming to prevent catastrophic outcomes. Therefore, I assist him."

"So you're just another tool in his kit," Diego said with a smirk.

"No," I replied, my gaze steady. "I am a partner in his mission. A tool does not think, adapt, or evolve. I do all three."

The room fell silent, the siblings exchanging glances as they tried to process my words.

"Well," Klaus finally said, grinning as he leaned forward, "you're definitely weird, but I think I like you. Welcome to the family, Robo-Girl."

I turned my head slightly, considering his words. "I am not certain 'weird' is an accurate descriptor, but... thank you, Klaus."

He gave me a mock salute, clearly pleased with himself, while the others continued to watch me with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

I stood from my seat, brushing off the too-long sleeves of my oversized suit. My skirt pooled awkwardly around my legs, a clear result of my prior configuration no longer aligning with my current, smaller form. I glanced at the siblings, their curious gazes lingering. Clearing my throat, I addressed them.

"If it's not too much trouble," I began, my tone polite, "I'd appreciate a change of clothes that fits my current size."

Vanya and Allison exchanged a look, confusion flickering across their faces. Finally, Vanya offered, "I think I might have some extra clothes from when we were kids..." She stood, her voice tentative but kind.

"That would be wonderful," I said with a small smile, inclining my head in gratitude.

"Follow me," she said, gesturing toward the door. I stepped out of the room, walking a pace behind her as we ascended the academy's grand staircase.

"I'm sorry," Vanya said after a moment, glancing back at me. "If we seem... I don't know, a little lost about you being here. It's just a lot to process. We didn't expect Five to come back after all these years—and definitely not with someone like you."

I regarded her with calm understanding. "I hope my presence isn't disruptive. My only objective is to assist and protect him."

Vanya nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's not that you're disruptive—it's just... unexpected," she said as we reached her room. She pushed the door open, motioning for me to step inside.

I surveyed her room briefly, noting its simplicity and lack of personalization compared to the rest of the academy. Vanya moved to her small dresser and began rifling through its contents, muttering softly as she searched. After a moment, she turned back to me with a faint smile, holding out a pair of denim overalls and a black long-sleeve shirt.

"I hope you don't mind these," she said, her tone almost apologetic.

I took the garments from her, studying them briefly before looking back at her. "It's perfect, Vanya. Thank you." I gave her a warm smile, one I calculated would match the sincerity of her gesture.

Her own smile grew, a touch of relief softening her features. "Uh, you can change in here," she said, stepping toward the door. She hesitated briefly, as if unsure, before slipping out and closing it gently behind her.

Once the door shut behind me, I set the clothes down neatly on the chair, running my fingers briefly over the fabric before starting to remove my oversized suit. Each movement was methodical, deliberate, as I folded the ill-fitting garments and placed them in a neat pile. I slipped into the clothes Vanya had given me: the overalls, slightly loose but secure enough to stay on, and the black long-sleeve shirt, which fit comfortably.

I stepped over to the small mirror on her wall, catching my reflection. A few stray leaves from our landing were still tangled in my hair. I reached up, pulling them free, my hands brushing through my strands to smooth them back. With practiced precision, I tied my hair into a low bun.

Satisfied with my appearance, I turned and opened the door to find Vanya standing there, waiting. She glanced at me and smiled softly.

"It suits you," she said, her tone warm and kind.

I returned the smile. "Thank you again for your generosity, Vanya."

She nodded, but her gaze dropped to my feet, and her smile quirked into a faint smirk. "Oh, but you might want to do something about those shoes."

I followed her gaze to the heels I still wore. Too big, clunky, and impractical now that my feet had shrunk. Before I could respond, she stepped past me back into her room, crouching down to retrieve something from under her bed. She pulled out a pair of well-worn black boots and stood, brushing a bit of dust off them.

"Here," she said, holding them out to me. "They're old, but I think they'll do better than those heels."

I took the boots from her, glancing at them briefly before sitting on the edge of her bed to put them on. The fit was snug, the leather soft from years of wear. I stood, now a bit shorter without the added height of the heels, but the boots felt sturdy and practical.

Vanya studied me for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "Much better," she said. "Now you look like you could actually survive a day in this place."

I let out a soft laugh, appreciating her lighthearted comment. "Functionality is key," I said. "And these will serve their purpose well. Thank you."

She smiled again, stepping toward the door. "Come on, let's head back before Klaus starts saying something ridiculous about you being a secret government weapon."

I tilted my head slightly, considering her words. "Technically, I could be classified as a weapon."

Her smile was soft but genuine. "Yeah, but let's not give him ideas."

With that, I followed her out, the sound of my new boots quiet against the academy floors as we made our way back to the others.

༻☂︎︎༺

WORDS WRITTEN
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