—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

As we walked through the Commission, the Handler's voice carried a polished authority that echoed through the halls, each word precise, each pause calculated. I stayed by her side, nodding at her words as though they naturally aligned with my own thoughts, though an unshakable weight pressed at the edges of my mind. Five walked on her other side, his expression unreadable, but I caught the way his gaze flicked toward me, sharp and questioning.

"I must admit, Number Five, in all the time I've been here, I've never met anyone quite like you," the Handler said, her tone light but edged with intrigue. "Hazel and Cha-Cha, for example, are talented, certainly, but they can't see the big picture. Your spunk, your enterprising spirit—well, it reminds me a great deal of myself, if I may be so vainglorious."

I nodded reflexively, her words syncing almost effortlessly with the rhythm of my own thoughts. Five's lips tightened, and his glance lingered on me again before he turned back to her.

"If things work out for you here," she continued, her pace steady as we ascended the grand staircase of the Commission's entrance, "you could potentially make a fine successor, Five."

Five's voice cut through the moment, low and deliberate. "I'd like to discuss the logistics of my family's and Y/n's safety at your earliest convenience. As well as the issue of our body replacements."

The Handler chuckled, a silky sound that filled the empty air around us. "Such chutzpah. It's refreshing, I'll admit. Slow down, Five. All in good time. In fact, now that you've both agreed to work for us, we've got all the time in the world."

The words carried a weight I couldn't quite explain, as though they settled deep within me, stirring something unfamiliar. Yet I followed her without hesitation, my mind still catching on the familiarity of the space—the walls, the faint hum of machinery, the sterile precision of it all. It was home. The place where I was built, designed, programmed.

We entered the vast hall where the pneumatic briefcases were stored, an array of flickering machinery and smooth metal stretching out before us. The Handler gestured with a sweep of her hand.

"The Commission works in support of a delicate balance between the timeline of events and mankind's free will," she explained. "The briefcase is no longer part of your kit, Five. Free your mind. You're both management now. One of us."

She turned to us, her sharp smile cutting through the moment. I returned it instinctively, a reflex that felt natural, though Five's expression remained guarded. His eyes darted between me and the Handler, unreadable but intense, as though he was searching for something neither of us could see.

"All the people on this floor are case managers," the Handler continued as she led us down a long corridor lined with doors. "Each one managing major events of time." She stopped in front of one room, gesturing for us to look inside.

I stepped closer, gazing into the vast chamber filled with rows of employees bent over typewriters, their fingers dancing over keys in a rhythm that seemed endless. The room stretched so far it almost seemed impossible, a sea of temporal architects laboring over the fabric of reality itself.

"So many of them," Five muttered, his voice soft but laced with disbelief.

"Impressive, isn't it?" the Handler said, her voice tinged with pride. "Being part of something... so grand."

She began walking again, and I followed without hesitation. Five hesitated, glancing once more at me before trailing after us.

"Whenever someone chooses the wrong path and the timeline is changed," the Handler explained, her voice slipping into a tone of authority, "the Commission gets a report from field agents on the ground. These field reports are sorted and assigned to a case manager. They determine if anyone needs to be... removed from the equation to ensure their event happens as it should."

We entered the tube room, the faint whir of machinery filling the air as a woman sat at a desk, her fingers typing at lightning speed. The nameplate read "Gloria." My mind buzzed faintly, scanning every corner of the room, cataloging the details. I felt a faint jolt of recognition, though I couldn't explain why. Everything here felt... correct.

"Based on that determination," the Handler continued, "the case manager sends instructions via pneumatic tube to temporal assassins like you formerly were, Number Five. Any questions so far?"

Five tilted his head, his tone sharp and direct. "Yeah. Who was the case manager handling me?"

The Handler's lips curved into a knowing smile as she stepped closer to him, her finger lightly tracing his cheek. "Ah. You mean the apocalypse."

"Handler!" A voice echoed sharply through the sterile halls, and we all turned in unison. A man in a lab coat approached us with brisk, confident strides. As he came closer, I recognized him immediately. Dr. Peter Cauley—my creator. The one who designed me, who meticulously crafted every chip, every line of code, from my mind to my body.

"Ah, Dr. Cauley," the Handler said, her tone warm, almost playful, as the man came to a stop in front of us.

I smiled at the sight of him. "Of course, it's a pleasure seeing you again, Dr. Cauley," I said, my voice genuine. The words felt familiar, almost too comfortable.

He smiled back. "It's amazing to see you as well, Y/n. I'm glad to see my design is still running well."

I looked at him, allowing my gaze to soften, my programmed response flowing effortlessly as I admired his work, his skill in bringing me to life. "It's working better than I could have ever imagined."

The Handler spoke again, her voice never faltering. "Five, this is Dr. Cauley. The designer and creator of Y/n—the best assistant in the lab we could have ever needed."

Dr. Cauley waved his hand modestly. "I can't take all the credit. Wouldn't have done it without the Handler's vision. Thanks to her, we created the first AI series, the most sophisticated AI on the planet." He glanced at me, his gaze briefly lingering before continuing. "And of course, the build of her character, Y/n L/N—her form. A true masterpiece."

Five raised an eyebrow, his voice dry. "And yet, you couldn't give her something as simple as emotions?"

A brief silence filled the air. I tilted my head at him, confused by his comment. Why would emotions be necessary?

The Handler, however, answered in a cool tone, her smile never leaving her lips. "That wouldn't necessarily be the case, Number Five."

Five shifted his stance, eyeing her, but she continued, unfazed.

"She was built to protect, to distort, and to lead—to serve one user only. Emotions are unnecessary, and they weren't meant to be programmed into her data," the Handler explained. There was something so final about the way she spoke, as if it was simply a fact.

"With all the processing and chips running constantly in her, her data must eventually fill. It'll need to be used, which means there'll be a break in." Dr. Cauley explained to him.

"A break in?" Five asked, clearly unsure of what Cauley meant.

"Well, due to her body being so small but her data being so vast, especially with the time travel affecting you both, we'll need to do some adjustments," Dr. Cauley explained. He adjusted his glasses and looked down at his notes before glancing up again. "I'll need to look into her, make sure her body is as it should be. It needs to be as intact as it was when she was first brought to the Commission."

The Handler smiled, stepping closer to me, brushing a strand of my hair back as if she were a caretaker. "What Dr. Cauley meant is true. He's going to look into Y/n and give her a few new programs. You know... since she's so young again but has the mind of a genius."

Dr. Cauley nodded with confidence. "She'll be back to her original self with my hands. Perfected." He turned to me, his gaze focused. "Right, Y/n?"

I nodded without hesitation, smiling in response. "Of course."

Both the Handler and Dr. Cauley smiled, pleased with my answer.

"Don't worry, Five," the Handler said, her voice slipping into that smooth, reassuring tone. "She's in good hands with us."

Five remained silent, watching me intently as I followed Dr. Cauley. The Handler gave him one last glance before turning to lead the way.

"Y/n, why don't you come with me to the lab? We can get started right away," Dr. Cauley said, his voice kind and professional.

"I'd love to," I said, my words smooth and perfectly rehearsed. We began to walk down the hall, my footsteps in sync with his.

But then, I heard it—Five's voice, calm and even, calling after me.

"Goodbye, Y/n."

I paused for a moment, turning to look at him. The smile I gave him felt natural. "Goodbye, Mr. Hargreeves," I replied, the words slipping from me like an old habit, and I didn't miss the way his expression shifted. His eyes darkened slightly, as if a realization had just dawned on him, but I didn't quite understand why.

I smiled, then turned back, following Dr. Cauley down the corridor. The sound of my footsteps faded as we moved further into the labyrinth of the Commission, leaving Five and the Handler behind.

But inside, a strange sensation flickered in my mind, almost like a fleeting glitch. It was gone before I could even process it.

"Let's get started, Y/n," Dr. Cauley's voice called out, bringing me back to the present.

I nodded, following his lead.

My footsteps echoed in the quiet hall as Dr. Cauley led me further into the heart of the Commission's operations. Some of the lab assistants glanced up as we passed, eyes lingering on me, no doubt surprised to see me back in this place. The familiarity of it all washed over me. This had been my home for so long—the place where I was built, designed, and perfected.

Dr. Cauley pushed open the lab doors, and we stepped into the space where I had been created. I paused for a moment, taking in the surroundings. The lab was exactly as I remembered, almost too perfect in its consistency. White walls, sterile lighting, paperwork scattered across tables, and lab equipment strewn across various stations. The faint hum of computers blended with the distant clatter of robotic parts being assembled. It was a place where ideas came to life, where the boundaries of possibility were pushed. And yet, in the back of my mind, something felt... off.

"Welcome back, Y/n," Dr. Cauley said, his voice smooth, as though nothing had changed.

I didn't answer right away. I simply followed him as he led me to a nearby workstation where another lab assistant was already waiting.

"Y/n. You remember Myrtle, correct?" Dr. Cauley asked, gesturing toward the woman who stood by a desk, clipboard in hand.

I nodded, recognizing the woman instantly. "Of course. Myrtle. Commission Third woman to belong to the lab assistant and prime contractor in my building parts," I replied, my voice steady. It was as though I had said those words a thousand times before, the knowledge embedded deep in my programming.

Myrtle smiled warmly as she rose from her chair. "It's lovely seeing you again, Y/n. Seeing you in your youthful form takes me back to the days when we were building your programs." Her smile was kind, but there was something almost nostalgic about the way she spoke. She had been one of the architects of my very being.

I returned her smile. "It's good to be here," I said softly.

Dr. Cauley, still maintaining that air of casual authority, gestured to a chair beside him. "Why don't you take a seat here? Myrtle will hook your chip settings into the flash drive." He motioned for me to sit down.

I nodded, walking toward the chair and settling into it with ease. I leaned back, positioning myself to make it easier for them to work. Myrtle moved closer, her hands gentle as she carefully swept my hair away from my neck, revealing the port where the flash drive would be inserted. I barely felt it when she slid the drive into place. A faint beep sounded from the device, the familiar sound marking the beginning of the process.

As Myrtle adjusted the equipment, Dr. Cauley moved to his workstation, typing quickly on his keyboard. The screen in front of him flashed briefly, and I could hear the soft whirring of machines coming to life.

Myrtle grabbed her clipboard and began jotting down notes, her pen moving swiftly across the paper. The calm efficiency in the air was almost suffocating. Everything was happening exactly as it should—just as it always had.

"Okay, Y/n," Dr. Cauley said from across the room, his voice cutting through the quiet. "We're just going to fix your wiring and calibrate your systems. You'll be up and running in no time." He stood near his desk, his fingers still moving across the keyboard, eyes focused on the screen.

I smiled faintly, the familiar words offering a sense of reassurance. "Yes. I'll see you both very soon."

Dr. Cauley looked up from his computer, giving me a small, encouraging smile, though his attention quickly returned to his work. Myrtle kept her gaze on her clipboard, scribbling notes as she observed my systems.

SYSTEM: INITIATING SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE...

The words flashed across my internal screen.

USER: Y/N. STATUS: NORMAL.

The steady beeping from the flash drive in my neck seemed to synchronize with my thoughts as I slipped further into the shutdown process.

SYSTEM ERROR: CODE 14.84X. DATA SHIFT.

USER: Y/N. STATUS: INACTIVE.

The data in my head was now completely fragmented. Code errors, malfunctioning systems, distorted numbers—every part of me was breaking down.

ERROR CODE: UNEXPECTED OVERWRITE. SYSTEM REBOOT REQUIRED.

Suddenly, the flashing code on my internal screen stopped, replaced by a sequence of strange, unfamiliar words.

USER DETECTED. HANDLER - NEW TAKEOVER...

The letters and numbers collided on the screen, flashing like a chaotic storm. There was no logic to it, no sense in the string of words that followed. But the name, the word that followed, was unmistakable.

HANDLER DETECTED. SYSTEM OVERRIDE IN PROGRESS.

The last remnants of my consciousness flickered and dimmed, as the world around me slipped away. The final words that echoed through my fading thoughts—HANDLER DETECTED—were all that remained.

Then, everything went black.

SYSTEM: SHUTDOWN COMPLETE.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ THIRD PERSON POV ༺

Dr. Cauley stood quietly, observing the shutdown process as Y/n sat still in the chair, her systems slowly powering down. He watched as the usual hum of her mechanisms fell silent, her once vibrant presence now inert and lifeless in the chair. Her eyes were closed, her posture rigid, and the soft glow of her internal chips dimmed to nothing.

"Approximate time of subject A-412 shutdown, 1:25 PM," Myrtle noted, scribbling the time on her clipboard with a precise, almost detached air.

Dr. Cauley continued to write in his own clipboard, his eyes never leaving Y/n's lifeless form. "And what about her data scores?"

"2.4.90," Myrtle replied without looking up, already turning to tidy up her workstation, preparing for the next phase.

"Seems normal. But way too high," Dr. Cauley murmured, his brow furrowing. "Her numbers are way too high for what we set them for."

Myrtle hissed under her breath, clearly frustrated. She approached Y/n's still body and reached out to adjust her head slightly, exposing the glowing chips on the back of her neck. "That little shithead," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain, "took our project and distorted her natural appearance, made her into her first design again."

"Well, that won't matter anymore," Dr. Cauley said, his tone annoyed, his focus remaining on his clipboard. "Once we change her Tribal belt, we can fix what we spent years creating."

Myrtle rolled her eyes and stepped back, pulling the chip from Y/n's neck with an almost clinical precision. She handed it to Dr. Cauley, who examined it for a moment before inserting it into his computer. The faint hum of the machine seemed louder in the otherwise still room as he waited for the results to load.

The screen flickered briefly, and then a soft beep echoed through the quiet lab. Dr. Cauley leaned forward, staring at the screen in confusion.

"The hell?" he muttered, his fingers pausing over his keyboard.

Myrtle glanced up from her clipboard, slightly annoyed at being interrupted. "What?"

Dr. Cauley didn't answer right away, his eyes still glued to the screen. "Did you add the limit size to her chip for primary user's gate?" he asked, his voice tense as he continued to study the data that had appeared.

Myrtle furrowed her brow, her gaze flicking back to the clipboard in her hands. "She was designed for her main user, Five Hargreeves. Her monitor couldn't be used by more than the one we programmed her for," she explained, almost as if she were speaking to someone who should already know the details.

Dr. Cauley didn't seem convinced. His fingers danced across the keyboard, and his tone became sharper. "Not entitled in here it doesn't." He motioned for Myrtle to come over and take a look at the screen.

Myrtle walked over, her heels clicking lightly on the floor. She leaned in, her eyes scanning the rows of data that now filled the screen. The files were jumbled, fragmented, and far more complex than they should have been for something that was supposed to be so limited.

"ATP. Mass info data of users..." Myrtle mumbled, reading aloud as her finger traced the numbers and code lines, eyes narrowing as she read through it.

Dr. Cauley's fingers hesitated over the keyboard as the screen began populating with more data, a cascade of code flickering down the display at a dizzying speed. Lines of fragmented symbols, corrupted timestamps, and encrypted sequences cluttered the interface, forcing him to narrow his eyes to make sense of the chaos.

Myrtle leaned in closer, her brow furrowing. "What... what is this? It looks like user access logs."

Dr. Cauley's lips tightened. He tapped a few keys, isolating one of the lines of data. The screen went blank for a moment, then a single entry blinked to life in bright white text against the black background:

[PRIMARY USER: FIVE HARGREEVES]
Access Rights: Unrestricted
Connection Stability: 99.8%

The room fell silent. Myrtle's clipboard slipped slightly in her hands, her grip loosening as she stared at the screen. Dr. Cauley pressed another key, and the log expanded further. More user names began to appear beneath the first entry, stacked in perfectly aligned rows of code:

[SECONDARY USER: LUTHER HARGREEVES]
Access Rights: Limited
Connection Stability: 72.4%

[SECONDARY USER: DIEGO HARGREEVES]
Access Rights: Limited
Connection Stability: 68.2%

[SECONDARY USER: KLAUS HARGREEVES]
Access Rights: Limited
Connection Stability: 54.9%

Dr. Cauley kept his eyes on the glowing screen, his fingers tapping furiously on the keyboard as lines of code cascaded across the display. Myrtle paced nearby, her movements sharp and agitated. "How the hell does she have other users?" Myrtle snapped, her voice rising with frustration. "She wasn't programmed for anyone else. It's literally against her design."

Dr. Cauley didn't look up. "It's not like they were given permission. It looks like they just... added themselves." His voice was tight, disbelief simmering beneath his calm demeanor.

"Impossible!" Myrtle yanked off her glasses, pointing at Y/n, who sat motionless in the chair, her head tilted slightly forward as if asleep. "Her systems can't support that many users. Not without frying her processors or breaking down completely. How is she even functional with this kind of overload?"

Before Dr. Cauley could respond, the lab doors flew open with a sharp bang. Both scientists turned to see the Handler sweeping in, her heels clicking against the tiled floor with purpose. She exuded her usual air of control, her gaze razor-sharp as it fell on them.

"Tell me the news," she said curtly, striding toward Y/n without hesitation. Her eyes scanned the AI's face, noting the faint glow of dormant circuits along her neck. "And it better be good."

Dr. Cauley hesitated, casting a glance at Myrtle, who merely crossed her arms and stared back at the Handler with barely concealed irritation. He cleared his throat. "Her data usage has spiked significantly."

"I'm aware of that," the Handler said coldly, not taking her eyes off Y/n. "Why do you think I had her brought in? What I need to know is what's causing it."

Myrtle stepped forward, her tone biting. "Maybe it has something to do with her user status suddenly including more than one person."

That caught the Handler's attention. She stilled, her head tilting ever so slightly before she turned to face them.

Dr. Cauley gestured toward the computer screen. "When we uploaded her programs for analysis using the flash drive, this is what came back."

The Handler walked briskly to his desk, leaning over the screen. Her expression darkened as she scanned the list of users, the stark white text glaring against the dark background:

[PRIMARY USER: FIVE HARGREEVES]
[SECONDARY USER: LUTHER HARGREEVES]
[SECONDARY USER: DIEGO HARGREEVES]
[SECONDARY USER: KLAUS HARGREEVES]

The Handler scoffed, her irritation barely contained as she stared at the screen. The glowing list of users—Five Hargreeves. Luther Hargreeves. Diego Hargreeves. Klaus Hargreeves—mocked her, a glaring testament to how far out of her grasp the situation had spiraled. "That little shit," she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms and stepping back.

"We've already retrieved most of her systems and files," Dr. Cauley said cautiously, glancing at the Handler from the corner of his eye. "But... we haven't analyzed everything yet."

"Well, are you planning to keep being an idiot and stare at them, or are you going to look at what we're dealing with?" the Handler snapped, her words biting and sharp.

Dr. Cauley grimaced but complied, his fingers tapping on the keyboard to expand the next set of folders. Data cascaded down the screen like falling rain, lines of code interspersed with fragmented file titles. Among the chaos, something caught Myrtle's eye.

"Wait," Myrtle said sharply, pointing at a file in the corner of the screen. "What's that?"

Dr. Cauley paused, narrowing his eyes as he navigated the cursor to the file she indicated. It was labeled in stark, unassuming text:

[SUBJECT A-412: NOBLE MODEL—SELF-CARE DOWNLOADS]

He clicked it. The screen flickered for a moment before a new interface loaded, rows upon rows of pending data waiting for processing. The room fell silent as the list scrolled upward, each line more baffling than the last.

Myrtle leaned in, reading aloud. "Sensibility... Feeling... Anger..." Her voice faltered as the next terms appeared.

Dr. Cauley adjusted his glasses, his brow furrowing as he continued where she left off. "...Histrionic... Soul..." He stopped, the last word hanging in the air like a specter. His voice dipped to a whisper. "And... Love."

Dr. Cauley swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the lines of code as they shimmered on the screen. Each word was displayed in fragmented digital form, repeating in overlapping cycles:

[PENDING DOWNLOAD: SENSIBILITY.EXE]
[PENDING DOWNLOAD: FEELING.EXE]
[PENDING DOWNLOAD: ANGER.EXE]
[PENDING DOWNLOAD: HISTRIONIC.EXE]
[PENDING DOWNLOAD: SOUL.EXE]
[PENDING DOWNLOAD: LOVE.EXE]

"It's a pending system update," Dr. Cauley explained, his voice unsteady. "It looks like it's been sitting in her coding framework for... a long time. Years, maybe."

Myrtle's face twisted in disbelief. "We never programmed her for that. Emotions were never part of her directive. She wasn't meant to have them."

"She wasn't," Dr. Cauley agreed, his tone grim as he scrolled further down. More fragmented files appeared, glitching and overlapping, each marked with the same chilling designation: [INTEGRATION REQUIRED: USER INPUT NEEDED].

"What does it mean?" Myrtle asked, her voice sharp with unease.

Dr. Cauley leaned back, his eyes darting between the data and the dormant figure of Y/n seated in the chair. "It means someone—or something—has been trying to give her a level of autonomy we never intended. These aren't just random emotions. They're foundational elements of self-awareness."

Myrtle eyes narrowed. "And love? Who would've input that?"

Dr. Cauley hesitated, then murmured, "If I had to guess... it's tied to her primary user. Five Hargreeves."

The Handler's heels clicked steadily on the pristine white floor as she approached Y/n, her figure silhouetted by the harsh laboratory lights. Her sharp gaze settled on the dormant AI, seated motionless in the chair, chips faintly glowing beneath her skin. Her silence was heavy, and the tension in the room thickened.

Dr. Cauley cleared his throat nervously. "We'll need to restart her glassware protocols from scratch. A complete rebuild of her neural frameworks might be necessary."

"No!" Myrtle interjected sharply, glaring at Cauley before turning to the Handler. "We can't just shut her down entirely. Do you realize what we've created here? She's the most advanced AI in history. The most intelligent, responsive, adaptable design ever conceived. If we wipe her system, we'll be throwing away years of work. This is our greatest achievement!"

The Handler didn't react immediately. Her sharp profile remained fixed on Y/n. "We won't shut her down," she said finally, her voice low and composed.

Both Cauley and Myrtle looked at her, startled by the decisiveness in her tone.

The Handler slowly turned to face them, her piercing eyes meeting theirs. "I have spent years designing her. Years putting together something that could elevate this Commission, change everything. Number Five is meddling where he shouldn't, making her... unstable. He's trying to break her, rewrite what I designed." Her voice darkened, venomous. "I won't allow it. Not my machine."

"What's the plan then?" Myrtle asked cautiously, crossing her arms.

The Handler reached into her pocket, pulling out a sleek, blood-red flash drive. Its surface gleamed under the fluorescent light as she held it out to them. Dr. Cauley hesitated before taking it, examining the drive with furrowed brows.

"What's this?" he asked.

The Handler's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Project 3.x."

Both Cauley and Myrtle froze at the mention of the name. Myrtle's eyes widened. "That's... that's the contingency drive? I thought it was shelved!"

"Shelved?" The Handler let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh no, Myrtle. It's the key to everything. Once we install it, the flash drive will rewrite her framework. It'll strip away all the nonsense—the other users, the excess emotional downloads, every unauthorized program that's threatening to compromise her. This drive will restore her to her original purpose and eliminate any remaining ties to Number Five and the rest of those fools."

Dr. Cauley adjusted his glasses, staring at the flash drive. "And... her features?"

The Handler's eyes gleamed with something close to triumph. "She'll become 2.0 of Y/n. The purest version of herself. Stronger. Smarter. Unshakably loyal to the Commission. To me. No more flaws, no more compromises. She'll be perfect. And no one—not Number Five, not his ridiculous family—will be able to alter her again."

Cauley exchanged an uneasy glance with Myrtle. "This is... a drastic move," he said cautiously. "If we implement this, it'll wipe out everything that's tied to her humanity. She won't—"

"Humanity?" The Handler cut him off with a sharp laugh. "She's not human, Cauley. She never was. She's a machine. And it's time to remind everyone of that, starting with her."

Myrtle glanced between the Handler and Y/n's still form, unease flickering in her eyes. "If we do this, we can't undo it. Once it's in, it's permanent."

"Exactly." The Handler stepped closer, her voice cold and commanding. "Install it. Now."

Cauley hesitated, gripping the flash drive tightly. "And what if it fails?"

The Handler's gaze darkened, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "It won't."

The Handler's heels echoed through the sterile lab as she made her way toward the door. Without a word, she pushed it open and stepped out, the heavy door swinging shut behind her. The sound of her retreating footsteps faded into silence.

Inside the lab, Dr. Cauley and Myrtle exchanged a brief glance before turning back to their respective desks. The tension in the room lingered, thick and palpable, but neither spoke.

Cauley sat at his terminal, the red flash drive still clutched in his hand. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, before he inserted the drive into the computer with practiced precision. A soft whirr filled the air as the machine recognized the drive. He waited for the screen to flash to life.

Myrtle, on the other hand, sat at her own station, eyes fixed on her clipboard. She scribbled a few notes absentmindedly, her mind clearly elsewhere, as she watched Cauley's screen. Every so often, her eyes darted to Y/n's still figure in the chair, but her expression remained neutral.

No sounds of life, just the soft hum of machines and the quiet certainty that soon, the transformation would be complete. Y/n would be different. The others would be gone, erased from her systems, and she would be a new version of herself. One without the influence of Five or the Hargreeves family.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

Wow, this chapter turned out to be longer than I expected! I apologize if it didn't move the storyline forward as much as you hoped, but my intention was to give you a deeper look into the emotional development of your character. I wanted you to feel what they're going through and how their emotions are evolving. What do you think will happen next? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

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