—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ FIVE'S  POV ༺

"When is it supposed to happen?" Luther asked, his voice tense, breaking through the haze of my grogginess as I woke up fully. "The apocalypse?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I can't give you the exact hour, but from what Y/N has calculated, we have four days left."

"Four days?" Luther repeated, his voice rising. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"It wouldn't have mattered," I said flatly, my tone betraying my exhaustion.

"Of course it would have mattered!" Luther shot back, his voice sharp. "We could have banded together. We could have tried to stop this thing."

I tilted my head, meeting his gaze, my expression deadpan. "For the record, you already tried."

"What do you mean?" Luther asked, frowning deeply.

I didn't answer right away. I let the weight of my words settle before finally speaking. "I found all of you," I said quietly. "Your bodies."

Luther stared at me, his expression shifting into disbelief. "We die?"

"Horribly," I replied.

Luther looked away, the weight of my words sinking in. He struggled to respond, so I continued. "You were all together, trying to stop whoever it was that ends the world."

"Wait, how do you know that?" Luther asked, his voice shaky now.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a folded napkin and unwrapped it to reveal a small glass eye. "This was clutched in your dead hand when I found you," I said, tossing the eye to him.

Luther caught it and turned it over in his hand, staring at it like it might hold all the answers.

"Must've ripped it out of their head right before you went down," I said matter-of-factly.

"Whose head?" Luther asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Like I said, I don't know," I replied, shrugging.

Luther flipped the eye over again, noticing a serial number etched into the back. "There's a serial number here. Think maybe you could try—"

"No," I cut him off sharply. "That's a dead end. It's just another hunk of glass."

Luther sighed, clearly frustrated, and handed the eye back to me. Before either of us could say more, the door flew open with a loud bang.

"Piece of shit," Diego muttered as he stormed inside, his face twisted with anger.

"What's going on?" Luther said, standing quickly as Diego barreled toward me.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Diego snarled, pointing a finger in my direction, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Let me—get your ape hands off me!" Diego snapped as Luther grabbed him, holding him back.

"I can do this as long as it takes you to calm down," Luther said firmly, his grip on Diego unwavering.

Diego breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Fine," he hissed, relaxing just enough for Luther to let him go.

Luther stepped back. "Now, you want to tell us what this is about?"

Diego took a step closer, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Our brother and his walking machine have been pretty damn busy since they got here," he said, his voice sharp. "They were in the middle of that shootout at Griddy's, and then at Gumble Brothers, right after those masked freaks attacked the Academy looking for them!"

"None of which is any of your concern," I said, my voice calm, almost bored.

"It is now!" Diego snapped. His voice wavered slightly as he added, "They killed my friend."

That made Luther pause. He turned to me, his expression serious. "Who are they, Five?"

I sighed, leaning forward. "They work for my former employer. A woman called The Handler. She sent them to stop me—and Y/N. Your friend... was just collateral damage."

Diego's jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists. "And now they're my fair game. I'm gonna see to it they pay." He turned on his heel, heading toward the door.

"That would be a mistake," I called after him, my voice calm but firm. "They've killed people far more dangerous than you."

Diego paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. "Yeah, we'll see about that." Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Luther turned back to me, his expression heavy with confusion and concern. "A former employer," he repeated, his voice slow and deliberate. "What's this really about? And don't give me any of this 'it's none of your business' crap, all right?"

I sighed again, rubbing my temple. "It's a long story."

Luther pulled up a chair and sat down across from me.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

After I finished explaining everything to Luther—the apocalypse, the Commission, Hazel and Cha-Cha—I could see the weight of it all sinking into his features. He sat across from me, nursing a cup of coffee, looking both concerned and unsettled.

"So... you were both hitmen?" Luther asked, hesitantly. He slid me a cup of black coffee.

"Just me," I said, taking the mug and leaning back in the chair. "Y/N was an employee, not an assassin. She worked there, maintained the system."

Luther frowned, staring at me as if trying to piece it all together. "Uh... I mean, you had a code, right? You didn't just kill anyone."

"No code," I said bluntly. "We took out anyone who disrupted the timeline."

"What about innocent people?" he pressed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"It was the only way I could get back here," I replied sharp.

Luther leaned forward, frustration clear on his face. "But that's murder."

I sighed, my patience thinning. "Jesus, Luther, grow up," I muttered. "We're not kids anymore. There's no such thing as good guys or bad guys. There's just people, living their lives." I glanced at him, my tone cold. "And when the world ends, all those people die—good, bad, innocent, guilty. All of them. Including our family."

Luther didn't respond immediately. He just sat there, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the reality I'd just laid out. Finally, he spoke. "Why would they be after Y/N? I mean, you came back here, but why bring her?"

I glanced over at her, still sitting in the chair, her system in standby mode as she recharged. Her face was calm, almost serene.

"I needed her to come along," I said simply.

"To help you stop the apocalypse?" Luther asked.

I hesitated, my eyes lingering on her. "No," I said quietly. "She was someone before."

"Before?" Luther echoed, confused.

"A real person," I corrected myself, my voice faltering just slightly.

Luther's expression softened as he looked back at her. "What happened to her?"

I exhaled, the memories rushing back like a tidal wave. "A mission failed. One of mine. It cost her life." My voice dipped lower.

Luther's brow furrowed as he studied me. "The former employer you mentioned... did she created her?"

I nodded slowly. "She designed Y/N. A highly realistic version of her, from head to toe. At first, she was just a machine, but I made her more. I programmed her to grow, to think beyond her initial purpose."

"And now?" Luther asked, still trying to understand.

"She started as my user-specific companion for forty-seven years," I said, my tone flat, "until I broke her out of that system and brought her here. I reprogrammed her to leave behind the restrictions of her creators. But in doing that, I broke the terms of her contract. The Commission didn't just lose a weapon; they lost their greatest tool. That's why they're after her now. To reclaim her—or to destroy her if they can't."

Luther leaned back, his eyes darting between me and Y/N. "She and I talked before she powered down," he said, his voice thoughtful. "She said her designers programmed her with emotions, and yet... she didn't really understand them."

"She looks like Y/N," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But she doesn't see herself as her. Not the person she was made to be."

"What do you mean?" Luther asked, his confusion deepening.

"I've tried showing her," I admitted, my voice tight. "Tried telling her that she is Y/N. But every time I do, her system gets overloaded. The conflict—who she is now versus who she was designed to be—it pushes her to the brink. If I push too far..." I trailed off.

"What?" Luther pressed, leaning forward. "What happens if you push too far?"

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. "She could break down completely," I said finally, my voice almost a whisper. "Her system might crash. She wouldn't recover from it."

Luther looked at me, his concern etched into his face. "Have you seen it happen? Have you seen her break down?"

I clenched my jaw, my hands tightening around the coffee mug. "No," I said, my voice trembling ever so slightly. "And I never will."

Luther didn't say anything after that. He just sat there, watching me as I stared at her. We both looked at her, sitting there so still, so quiet. And for a moment, the room felt impossibly heavy, the silence pressing down on us like a weight neither of us knew how to lift.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S  POV ༺

Once I was fully charged, my systems powered back up, and Five and I made our way back to the Academy. Luther had opted to stay behind, promising to catch up with us later. The walk back was quiet, as it often was with Five lately. His mind seemed miles—or years—ahead, consumed by the looming apocalypse. He had always been singularly focused, but now, as time slipped through his fingers, the weight of it seemed even heavier.

When we reached the Academy, the grand hallway was eerily silent. The chandelier still lay shattered on the floor, a stark reminder of Hazel and Cha-Cha's attack. I followed Five as he navigated around the wreckage without a word, his small frame moving with practiced precision. We ascended the stairs, the creak of the wood under our feet the only sound in the vast, empty mansion. As we passed by other rooms on the way to his, Five suddenly stopped. His sharp eyes caught something—bloody footprints leading from the bathroom to Klaus's room.

He looked at me, and I nodded toward Klaus's door, understanding his silent command. Together, we approached, and Five rapped on the door with a steady hand.

"Hello, Klaus," I said as the door creaked open.

"Oh? Hey, Y/N," Klaus replied, his voice uncharacteristically dry, his movements sluggish.

"You okay?" Five asked, studying him with a discerning eye.

"Yeah, I just... long night," Klaus said, waving it off as he pulled a shirt over his head.

"More than one, from the looks of it," Five said, his tone flat but pointed.

"Yeah," Klaus repeated, fumbling with the shirt.

Five's gaze narrowed as he noted something new. "Don't remember the dog tags," he said, nodding toward the necklace Klaus was now wearing.

"They belonged to a friend," Klaus said quietly, his hand brushing over them.

"And that new tattoo?" Five asked, his voice dipping just slightly, a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Klaus glanced down at his arm, as if noticing it for the first time. "You know, I don't totally remember even getting it. Like I said, it was a long night."

Five stepped closer, his expression sharpening. "You did it, didn't you?" he said, his voice tinged with certainty.

"What are you talking about?" Klaus said, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed, avoiding eye contact.

"You know," Five said, his voice low and deliberate. "I can recognize the symptoms, Klaus."

"Symptoms of what?" Klaus asked, his tone defensive.

"The jet lag. Full-body itch. Headache that feels like someone stuffed cotton into your brain," Five said, his words cutting.

Klaus looked at me, then back at Five, realizing he couldn't hide it anymore. "You gonna tell me about it?" Five pressed.

Klaus sighed and finally admitted, "Your pals, when they broke into the house and couldn't find you—or her—they took me hostage instead."

"And in return, you stole their briefcase," Five said, his lips curling slightly into a knowing smirk.

"Yeah," Klaus admitted. "I thought there was money in it. I could pawn it, you know, whatever. But then I opened it..."

"And the next thing you knew, you were... where? Or should I say, when?" Five asked, leaning closer.

Klaus looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "What difference does it make?"

"What difference—? Okay, how long were you gone?" Five demanded, his tone growing more frustrated.

"I don't know," Klaus said softly, his voice trembling. "It felt like forever."

I stepped forward, scanning him. I placed two fingers on his wrist, reading his pulse and body language. "Judging by your heart rate and changes in cellular composition, I estimate... one year," I said evenly, releasing his arm.

Klaus looked at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. "A year," Five echoed, his tone suddenly serious. "Do you know what this means?"

"Yeah," Klaus said, forcing a weak smile. "I'm ten months older now."

"No, this isn't some kind of joke, Klaus. Hazel and Cha-Cha will do whatever they can to get that briefcase. Where is it?"

"Gone," Klaus said simply. "I destroyed it. Poof."

Five's expression darkened. "What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped.

"What do you care?" Klaus shot back, his voice rising in frustration.

"What do I care?" Five repeated, his anger boiling over. "I needed it, you moron. I needed it so we could get back. So I could start over."

Klaus stood abruptly, his face a mask of anger and pain. "Just... just leave me alone," he muttered, brushing past us and out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Five called after him, his voice sharp.

"Interrogation's over," Klaus said, his back to us. "Just... leave." And with that, he disappeared down the hall.

Five exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. He turned back to Klaus's desk, his movements calculated. Grabbing a piece of paper, he quickly scribbles something down.

I stepped closer, watching him. "What's our next move?" I asked.

Five tucked the paper into his pocket and turned to me, his expression resolute. "I need your help on this one," he said simply.

Without another word, he grabbed my hand, and together, we made our way to his room. The weight of everything hung heavy between us, unspoken but palpable.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

For over an hour, Five and I worked in near silence, filling his room's walls with equations, names, and probabilities. The faint scrape of chalk against the walls and desk was the only sound as we focused. He was perched on his bed, standing to scrawl across the upper portions of the wall, while I sat at his desk, jotting calculations in a notebook. The room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp that cast long shadows, making the chaotic scrawl across the walls feel even more ominous.

"Okay," Five said, his tone sharp and clipped as always, "I think I've got something."

I stood and walked to his bed, climbing onto it to stand beside him. Chalk in hand, I added two more names to the list he'd compiled. "I've got two—it's tenuous but promising," I said, scanning the wall.

The soft sound of footsteps drew our attention, and we turned to see Luther stepping into the room, his eyes widening as he took in the writing covering every inch of the walls.

"What is all this?" Luther asked, his voice heavy with confusion.

"It's a probability map," Five answered, not even looking away from his work.

"Probability of what?" Luther pressed, stepping closer to the wall.

"Of whose death could prevent the apocalypse," Five said simply, pointing to the names we had narrowed down.

Luther frowned, glancing between the names and Five. "Are you saying one of these four people causes the apocalypse?"

"No," Five replied sharply. "I'm saying that their deaths might prevent it."

"Oh," Luther muttered, the realization hitting him.

I flipped through my notes, double-checking my own calculations as Five continued adding to the wall. Luther's brow furrowed further. "I'm not following."

I turned to him, closing the notebook in my hands. "Time is fickle, Luther. What Five is saying is that even the slightest alteration in events can lead to massively different outcomes. It's the butterfly effect."

Luther nodded slowly, still processing.

"So," Five said, hopping off the bed and brushing chalk dust from his hands, "all we need to do is find the people with the greatest probability of impacting the timeline and..." He grabbed my hand to help me down from the bed before finishing bluntly, "...kill them."

Luther's expression twisted in disbelief. "Oh." he muttered, stepping closer to the wall. "Wait—Milton Greene? Who's he, some kind of terrorist or something?"

Five didn't even blink. "I believe he's a gardener," he said flatly, jotting the name into my notebook.

"You can't be serious," Luther said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Five didn't respond. Instead, he bent down, sliding something out from under his bed—a long black bag. As he unzipped it, a sniper rifle gleamed under the dim light.

"Where did you get that?" Luther asked, his voice rising in shock.

"From Dad's room," Five replied casually, assembling the rifle with a practiced precision that sent a chill through the air.

At that moment, I stood and pulled something from a corner of the room: a weathered bow and a quiver of arrows. I adjusted the string and checked the arrows with quiet efficiency.

Luther's jaw dropped. "Whoa! And where did she get that?"

Five barely looked up. "The old archery set from the lessons Dad forced on us. She found it."

Luther's disbelief turned to frustration. "You can't seriously be planning to—this guy Milton is just an innocent man!"

"It's basic math, Luther," I said, not looking up from the bow as I adjusted it. "His death could stop the apocalypse. Innocent or not, he's going to die anyway. The apocalypse won't spare anyone."

Luther's face tightened. "We don't do this kind of thing."

Five's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting like a blade. "We aren't doing anything. We are," he said, gesturing to me and himself.

"I can't let you go around killing innocent people!" Luther said, his voice raising to a near shout.

"Well, good luck stopping me," Five retorted, slinging the rifle strap over his shoulder as we made for the door.

"You're not going anywhere!" Luther snapped. Desperate, he lunged for Dolores, who sat in her usual place on Five's chair. Grabbing her, he held her out the window, his grip firm but hesitant.

Five froze, turning slowly, his expression darkening. He raised the rifle, aiming it directly at Luther. His voice was low and menacing. "Put... her... down."

"Put the gun down," Luther said, his voice shaking but resolute. "You're not killing anyone. I know she's important to you, so don't make me do this."

"It's either her or the—" Luther began, but before he could finish, I acted. My movements were swift, almost instinctual. Raising the bow, I nocked an arrow, drew back, and released. The arrow struck the wall beside Luther's head, so close it made him flinch.

In his shock, his grip on Dolores faltered, and she slipped from his hands. Five's expression flashed with fury, but before Dolores could fall too far, he teleported in a blink, catching her mid-air.

I lowered my bow, I turned to Luther. He was staring at me, wide-eyed, then at the arrow embedded in the wall beside him.

"You missed," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't," I replied coldly, holding his gaze until he looked away.

Luther stepped back, still holding the rifle Five had abandoned to save Dolores. He gripped it tightly, his eyes darting between the two of us. "I can do this all day," he said, his tone even but firm.

Five didn't respond immediately. Instead, he sat down on the edge of his bed, cradling Dolores like she was something sacred. His expression was a storm of anger and exhaustion, but he didn't speak.

Luther sighed, lowering the rifle slightly but still keeping it close. "I know you're both good people," he said, his voice softening. "I didn't want to do this—I didn't want to use something more important to you." His gaze flicked to Dolores, then to me. "But you left me no choice."

Five's eyes snapped up from Dolores, locking onto Luther with the kind of intensity that made most people fold. But Luther held his ground, stepping closer. "You wouldn't have risked everything—come back here, done all this—if you didn't care about saving the world. About saving us. About saving her," he said, nodding toward me.

Five's expression faltered, just for a moment, and his gaze shifted to me. For once, there was no biting sarcasm or cold indifference. Just a flicker of something raw, something real.

"You're not alone anymore," Luther added, his voice steady and sincere.

Five's grip on Dolores tightened for a moment, then he let out a slow, measured breath. He looked back at me, his eyes searching mine as though trying to confirm what Luther had just said. I met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between us.

"There is... one way," Five finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, reluctant.

Luther perked up slightly, stepping forward. "Okay. What is it?"

Five hesitated, his expression darkening. "But it's just about impossible," he added grimly.

"More impossible than what brought you both back here?" Luther asked.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

WORDS WRITTEN:
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