༻ FIVE'S POV ༺

It's funny how people cry over someone they barely spoke to, barely knew. People they only passed in the hallways, exchanged a nod with. Hell, even if they'd worked together their whole lives. It's fucking weird. Or maybe that's just me.

I walked through the crowded hallway, and all around me, people were staring at posters of her. Y/N. Plastered across every wall like some ghost that wouldn't let go. "We miss you," "You'll be missed" scrawled over her face in bold, desperate handwriting, as if somehow that made it real. A few of them actually had tears in their eyes, staring up at her picture like she'd been the best part of their day, like they'd lost something vital.

I scoffed, shoving past them. None of them knew her—not really. They didn't know the way she'd come in early to prep my briefcase, or the way she'd sit across from me at lunch, actually making the food taste halfway decent. She wasn't some hero to them; she was just a face in the hall, an empty smile on their way to the break room.

I didn't need their pity, and I sure as hell didn't want it. As far as I was concerned, they could keep their little sob stories and leave me out of it. I was fine without their mourning. I had my own way of remembering her—quietly, privately, and without this circus of strangers crying over someone they never really knew.

I made my way down the corridor, through the maze of Commission rooms, and finally to my bedroom. Pushing open the door, I stepped inside and shut it behind me, leaving the muffled sounds of the halls and those damn posters outside. I let out a long breath, dropping my case to the floor with a heavy thud. Peeling off my vest, I hung it on the hook by the door. It felt like shedding armor I'd worn too long.

I moved to my bed, collapsing onto it and staring up at the ceiling, trying to will away the dull ache in my chest. Turning onto my side, I caught sight of the picture frame on the small table beside me. Y/N. The one damn thing I'd kept.

It was a photo of us at one of the Commission's "team bonding" parties. A rare night out. She was in a white dress that sparkled under the lights, her hair done up just right. She'd looked... incredible. That picture captured something I didn't even know I'd miss—her laugh, that warmth she had. Seeing it was almost enough to bring her back, for just a second.

But today—today was an anniversary. Seven years without her. Seven years since I made that mistake, that decision that took her from my world. And as much as I could pretend I didn't care, I knew damn well I'd never forgive myself for it.

I was thirteen when I decided to prove my father wrong. I thought I could do it—crack time travel, show him I was more than just a kid with potential. But instead, I got myself stuck, stranded at the end of the world with no way back. Just me, alone in a wasteland. Until the Handler showed up. She offered me a deal: a way out, a way to save myself. All I had to do was work for the Commission. I didn't hesitate.

They trained me, and I became one of their best—an asset who did the jobs no one else could. I kept to myself, focused on the missions and the promise of a way back. Making friends? That wasn't the plan. This was a job, a means to an end. Nothing more.

But then she came along. Y/N. The one person who wasn't afraid to see me for who I was, or who I'd become. She'd walk up to me in the halls when everyone else would steer clear. I tried to stay detached, to keep things strictly professional, but she had this way of getting past my walls, pulling me into her world. She made this place almost feel like...something more.

And then, I messed up. One mission, one mistake, and I lost her. Lost the one person who made any of this worth it. Now, here I am at twenty, still haunted by it. The pain of losing her feels as fresh as the day it happened. Like a wound that never healed, a reminder of what I can never get back.

"Agent Five Hargreeves, please report to my office," the Handler's voice crackled over the wall speaker in my room. "Agent Five Hargreeves. My office." I glanced at the speaker, annoyed. I was starting to wonder why these things existed in the first place, especially since they seemed to exist solely for her commands.

I pushed myself up, raking a hand through my hair, and walked out, weaving through the Commission's maze of corridors. Everywhere I looked, people were gathered around posters of Y/N. They were wiping away tears, their faces somber, standing in front of makeshift shrines they barely had the right to make. They'd slapped up posters still reading, "We miss you" and "You'll be missed," phrases as hollow as they were. The words looked almost as artificial as their tears.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, and pushed past them. None of them knew her. Not like I did.

When I reached the Handler's office, I opened the door without a knock, stepping inside and letting it close behind me.

"Ah, Five," she purred, glancing up from her desk. "Perfect. You got my message." She didn't even bother with a pretense of small talk, just gestured at the chair across from her.

I shoved my arms into my uniform pants, not sitting. "You called?"

"Please," she said, her smile saccharine. "Sit."

I sighed, reluctantly taking the seat, and watched as she lit a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke in slow, practiced rings.

"I'll get to the point," she said, feigning some kind of sympathy I knew wasn't there.

"Good. I'd prefer it that way," I replied, tone flat.

She leaned back, eyes never leaving mine. "I'm sure you know why I called you here today."

Of course I knew. I didn't say a word, but my jaw tightened. Today marked seven years since I'd lost her—since the day I let Y/N slip through my fingers because of one fatal miscalculation.

The Handler took another drag on her cigarette, exhaling as she spoke. "The Commission is hosting a memorial for Y/N. We'll be gathering in the main hall... and we all expect you to be there."

I forced a dry smile. "Yeah, I think I'll pass."

She narrowed her eyes, but kept her expression carefully composed. "Five, what happened to her was a tragedy—a failure of the system." Her voice dropped, as if rehearsing empathy. "She wasn't just another agent. Her death wasn't routine. That's why we take this seriously. She was one of the Commission's best. It's worth commemorating, don't you think?"

I met her gaze, eyes hard. "I think the posters and pity parties in the hallway are more than enough."

The Handler's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "We all miss her, Five. She was like family to us... and especially to you."

I clenched my jaw, saying nothing. I didn't want to sit through a room full of workers pretending they understood her, pretending they had the right to mourn her. Y/N had been more than a memorial service and certainly more than an excuse for a meaningless speech. She'd been... real. To see them turn her memory into some public spectacle felt like a betrayal of everything she'd actually been.

"Which is fine. I had a feeling you wouldn't attend." The Handler gave a small, knowing smile, clapping her hands as if she'd just wrapped up a performance.

"Great. So are we done here?" I asked, already half out of my seat, not interested in lingering for whatever else she had to say.

"Not quite." She caught me with that glint in her eyes, something brewing behind the polite facade. "There's someone I want you to meet. Someone new."

"A recruit?" I said, disinterested.

"Not exactly." She pressed a button on the intercom, still watching me. "Dot, could you bring her in, please?"

"Yes, of course!" Dot's chipper voice echoed from the speaker.

The Handler's eyes never left mine. "You see, Five, as head of the Commission, it's my responsibility to keep things... predictable. Missions executed seamlessly, agents in line. But sometimes, predictability needs innovation." She paused, watching for a reaction. "And we're taking a step forward—a real leap into the future."

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed. "And what leap would that be?"

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door. The Handler glanced over, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. "You're about to find out."

"Come on in, Dot!" she called out.

Dot stepped inside, her usual enthusiastic smile firmly in place. "Hello!" she greeted brightly, glancing between us.

"Five, I assume you remember Dot?" The Handler gestured toward her.

"For the past seven years, yes," I replied, deadpan.

The Handler ignored my tone. "Dot, bring her in, please."

Dot nodded, nearly tripping over her excitement, and quickly turned to the doorway. "Right. I'll go grab her."

I shot the Handler a skeptical look. "And this is...?"

The Handler only smiled, a flicker of something cold behind her eyes.

Just then, Dot's voice drifted back through the hallway. "Okay, just a few steps in. That's it."

I looked back as Dot guided someone into the room, her hand on the figure's shoulder, gently easing them in. I froze, the air catching in my chest.

It was a girl, moving with a strange mix of hesitation and precision, her gaze focused, unblinking, and unsettlingly familiar.

"Five," the Handler said, her voice laced with satisfaction. "Meet Subject A-412. Or, as she's better known..." She paused, glancing at Dot, who gave a quick nod before reaching over to brush a lock of hair aside from the girl's face.

Dot pressed something hidden just beneath her skin, and there was a faint hum, almost mechanical. The girl's head lifted, and for a moment, her eyes glowed a cold, unnatural blue before shifting back to a warm, familiar shade.

"...Y/N Y/L/N," the Handler finished, her tone triumphant.

I felt my stomach twist. My eyes narrowed as I looked her over—this perfect, uncanny replica of her, standing right in front of me like it was nothing. She looked exactly like Y/N, down to the smallest detail: her expression, her height, the faint freckle under her left eye, the one she hated but I always loved. Every inch of her was exactly as I remembered... except for the blank look in her eyes.

"What is this?" I demanded, my voice colder than I intended, but I didn't care. Whatever this was, it wasn't her. It couldn't be.

The Handler tilted her head, her satisfaction only growing. "This is innovation, Five. You of all people should appreciate that. We took... let's call them creative liberties, thanks to some of our more advanced resources. Subject A-412 is the first of her kind. A perfect replication—her memories, her expressions, all carefully calibrated to bring back the value we lost seven years ago."

My jaw clenched. "She wasn't 'value.' She was a person. And this... thing? It's not her."

The Handler just smiled, as if I'd proven her point. "You know, I thought you might respond that way. But perhaps once you see her in action... once she remembers things, Five, the way she remembered you, perhaps then you'll appreciate the significance of what we've accomplished."

Dot stepped back, her face sympathetic but nervous as she watched us both.

I looked at the girl—the bot—in front of me, the memories of Y/N crashing over me, and yet this stranger was all that was left of her. I wanted to walk out, to shut the door on this entire idea. But I couldn't. I was locked in place, staring at her, as the Handler's words rattled in my mind.

Y/N's face stared back at me, silent, waiting for a command she'd never have needed before.

I stepped closer, waving my hand in front of her face, then snapped my fingers. Nothing. No reaction. She didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't move a muscle. It was like looking at Y/N through glass—so close, yet completely unreachable.

"How the hell did you even do this?" I mumbled, still staring, searching for any hint of the person I once knew.

The Handler's eyes gleamed with pride as she stepped closer, practically savoring the moment. "It's remarkable, isn't it?" she said smoothly. "Everything Y/N knew, everything she was, we archived—her memories, her skills, her mannerisms, even the subtlest nuances of her expressions. A seamless transfer from memory into code. A marvel, really."

I glanced at her, not hiding my disgust. "So, what—you've put her life into some twisted program? Like she's a spreadsheet you can re-open?"

The Handler's smile didn't falter. "She was invaluable to the Commission, Five. Imagine being able to call on that resource again, to never lose that expertise, that potential. This," she gestured at Y/N, "is that potential, perfectly preserved. Every detail. Every quirk, every line of memory. It's as though she never left."

I turned back to her—no, to it—and tried to see Y/N in that vacant gaze, in the eerie stillness of her face. But she wasn't there. The person I knew, the person I lost, was gone. This was nothing more than an echo of her, and no matter how closely it resembled her, it could never be her.

"And this is only the beginning for Y/N," the Handler said, her tone oozing with satisfaction. "Dot, would you do the honors?"

Dot's face lit up, and she reached forward, pressing the hidden switch on Y/N again. There was a low hum as the bot's systems whirred to life, her eyes moving—scanning the room, landing on me, and then the Handler. She blinked, her face settling into a neutral, polite expression.

"I've been wanting to do that," Dot said happily, stepping back like a proud parent.

I rolled my eyes, but my focus was locked on Y/N. She was moving now, her face animated with all the familiar expressions, but each one felt off, like an actor hitting their marks, following someone else's script.

The Handler took a step forward, her eyes glinting with something smug. "Y/N, you remember Agent Five Hargreeves?"

Y/N's gaze shifted to me, and I braced myself, hands clenched tight at my sides. For a second, it felt like it was her again—like she might smile, or give me some clever remark like she used to.

But instead, she inclined her head, her tone formal, detached. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hargreeves."

The words felt like a slap. This was her voice, her face, but there was nothing behind it. No warmth, no recognition—just that polite emptiness, a hollow imitation.

I scoffed. "Good afternoon?" I muttered, barely containing the frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Is that all she can say?"

The Handler just smiled, too pleased with herself. "Give her time, Five. She's... reacquainting herself. The memories, the mannerisms—they're all there, coded down to the smallest detail. In time, you might even forget she ever left."

I felt the bile rise in my throat. "Forget?" I bit out, staring her down. "This isn't Y/N. It's some twisted attempt to play god."

The Handler shrugged, unbothered by my anger. "Think of her as... an upgrade. With the benefit of not needing silly things like sleep or rest. The perfect partner, wouldn't you say?"

I looked back at Y/N, who was still watching me, her expression frozen in that polite, empty smile. It was everything I'd thought I wanted—to see her again, to bring her back. But not like this.

"Y/N, why don't you tell us the number for the Commission?" The Handler asked, her voice sweet but with a glint of satisfaction as she watched me, gauging my reaction.

Y/N's gaze shifted to the Handler. "Certainly," she replied smoothly, as if reciting a fact she'd known all her life. "The Commission is an interdimensional agency tasked with maintaining temporal continuity across all timelines. We operate under the identifier 214-09, established initially as Sector Alpha in 1888 to address discrepancies within critical events. Our current trajectory includes over 1,037 active agents, divided across 22 operational branches globally."

Every word was crisp, calculated. It was the kind of answer Y/N would've given if she'd read it off a training manual.

"My god. I did it again," the Handler practically purred, clapping her hands with satisfaction, as if she'd just completed a masterpiece.

"Yeah, you did!" Dot echoed, grinning as if this was something to celebrate.

I turned to look at the Handler, trying to make sense of it all. She seemed downright pleased, like she'd pulled off some kind of miracle. But this—this was crazy. This wasn't Y/N. It was some... thing in her place, a shell wearing her face.

The Handler noticed my look and tilted her head, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Well, Five, I'd say my work here is done. Why don't you take Y/N with you? Show her around, let her get... reacquainted."

I glanced at Y/N, her eyes unblinking, that same polite, detached expression fixed on her face. I scoffed under my breath, not hiding my disgust, and turned on my heel. Without another word, I pushed past her, past Dot, and out the door.

There was no way in hell I was going along with this twisted game. Not a chance.

༻☂︎︎༺

WORDS WRITTEN
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