༻Y/N'S POV༺

As the taxi sped through the streets, the city buzzed around us. The sound of engines revving, car horns blaring, and distant conversations created a chaotic symphony that filled the air. I sat beside Five, watching the world blur by. My sensors picked up every detail—the rusting fire hydrants on street corners, the faint flicker of neon signs, and even the subtle cracks in the sidewalk as we passed.

We stopped at a red light, and my focus shifted to the library on the corner. Its towering structure stood proudly, with large windows revealing rows upon rows of books inside. My internal systems activated, scanning the building. A flood of data streamed through my mind as I processed its contents. Shelves filled with stories, histories, and creative ideas—the sheer amount of knowledge housed in one place was staggering. It was a testament to human ingenuity and imagination.

The car started moving again, pulling me from my reverie.

"Pull over here," Five instructed, his voice cutting through the noise.

I turned to look at him as the driver complied, pulling the car to a stop. Five's hand was still holding mine—he hadn't let go since we left Klaus behind. For a brief moment, I processed the unusual sensation. It wasn't like a normal touch, but something more grounding. His presence felt steady, anchoring me in the moment.

Before I could dwell on it further, Five teleported us out of the car.

We reappeared on the sidewalk, startling the taxi driver, who muttered something under his breath before speeding off. I glanced around, noticing we were now directly in front of the library. The towering building loomed over us, its glass doors reflecting the bustling city streets.

"The library is a great place to start looking for clues about the apocalypse," I said, scanning the structure again.

Five sighed, his expression unreadable. "We're not here for answers—not yet."

I tilted my head in confusion. "Perhaps the computers inside could assist us in identifying the person connected to the glass eye."

"No, Y/n. That's not why we're here," he said firmly.

I processed his words, analyzing his tone and facial expression. "With all due respect, Five, I fail to see any other reason why we would be here, given the urgency of our mission."

He turned to face me fully, his gaze softer than usual. "I stopped us here because I wanted you to come here."

I blinked, unsure of what he meant. "Why?"

"Because," he began, hesitating for a moment, "if the world really is going to end, maybe you should experience something for yourself. Something outside of me."

I stared at him, struggling to understand. "I was programmed for you. To assist you, provide answers, and ensure your success."

"That's exactly my point," he replied. "You've spent all these years focused on me and my needs. Why not do something for yourself? Look at something new. Read something just because you want to, not because it's required."

His words caught me off guard. My head tilted slightly as I processed them, searching for their deeper meaning. His expression softened further, and he reached for my hand again. "Come on. I'll show you."

We walked through the library doors together. The moment we entered, I stopped in my tracks, overwhelmed. My sensors went into overdrive, scanning the vast space before me.

The library was enormous. Four stories of shelves stretched toward the ceiling, each crammed with books of every size, shape, and color. The faint scent of aged paper and ink filled the air. My internal systems began cataloging everything in sight. Titles, authors, genres—it all flooded into my database.

"Well?" Five said, looking at me expectantly.

"There are approximately 127,485 books in this library," I said, my voice soft as I continued scanning. "And my count is still rising."

Five smirked. "I figured you'd like it."

My gaze roamed the rows of books, the intricate patterns of human creativity displayed so vividly. Each book represented a piece of someone's mind, a fragment of their thoughts preserved for others to discover.

"It's... extraordinary," I admitted, my voice quieter than usual.

"You're allowed to take it all in, Y/n," Five said, his tone lighter than before. "You don't have to count every single one."

I looked at him, unsure what to say. There was something in his eyes—something I hadn't noticed before. For the first time in years, Five wasn't focused on a mission or a goal. He was focused on me.

"Where should we start?" I asked, my voice steady.

Five shrugged. "Anywhere you want. This time, you decide."

I glanced back at the shelves, a strange sense of anticipation growing within me. For the first time, I wasn't here for him. I was here for me.

"I fail to see where to start," I admitted, my gaze sweeping over the endless shelves. "My programming was never designed to make decisions for myself."

Five looked at me, his sharp eyes softening just slightly. "Then I guess we'll start from the top and work our way down."

He took my hand again, and before I could respond, we teleported to the fourth floor of the library. The shelves here were taller, darker, and held a sense of quiet reverence. We began our journey, aisle by aisle, book by book.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

It had been almost two hours.

I had scanned through sixty books so far, each one an entirely new universe, a new perspective. My method of reading wasn't like that of a typical human; instead, I traced every sentence on each page with my fingertips. One sweep, one flip of the book, and its contents were downloaded into my mind. I understood every arc, every twist, every ending—whether satisfying or bittersweet.

The vast variety of genres filled my mind with curiosity. Sci-fi opened up entire galaxies of imagination. Mathematics unraveled logical puzzles and patterns I had never considered. Horror conjured visceral emotions, raw and haunting. Romance revealed complexities in human connection. Historical fiction painted vivid pictures of a world long gone.

But it was the fairy tales that stood out the most.

There was something about their simplicity that resonated deeply within me. They were fantastical, yes, but they also carried profound truths hidden within their whimsy.

Now, I was in the middle of Romeo and Juliet. My fingers skimmed across the delicate pages, flipping through them in rapid succession. My mind absorbed the tragic beauty of Shakespeare's words, and even though it was merely data, it felt more tangible than anything else I had ever processed.

Five appeared then, walking between the bookshelves, his presence a quiet ripple in my awareness. I noticed him immediately, his purposeful stride and curious gaze directed toward me.

Without turning fully, I spoke, my voice steady but with a faint trace of awe. "It's fantastic how humans create worlds through words alone." I closed the book gently, looking at him. "This one—Romeo and Juliet—is fascinating in its simplicity and its complexity."

Five raised an eyebrow, leaning against the edge of the nearest shelf. "Shakespeare? I peg you for a tragedy enthusiast."

"It's more than tragedy," I replied, holding the book up. "It's a reflection of human choices and the consequences they bring. Two people from opposing worlds, blinded by love, believing they can overcome centuries of hatred and tradition. And yet... their naivety becomes their undoing."

Five's gaze lingered on me. "Well, it was always your favorite—Romeo and Juliet," Five said, breaking the quiet as he glanced at the book in my hands. "You used to read it on breaks back at the Commission."

I tilted my head at his words. "Well, Y/n was always the one for books—or so my designers told me when I was being made."

He turned his gaze to me, his expression firm yet gentle. "You."

I blinked, uncertain. "What?"

"You love reading," Five corrected, his tone steady but insistent.

I paused, processing his words. "There you're mistaken. Y/n loved reading," I replied softly, tracing the spine of the book with my fingertips. "She fantasized about her life—what it would be like outside the Commission, away from missions and routines."

"And that's you," Five said, stepping closer.

I looked at him, confused. "What are you saying?"

"You were built to be her," he said quietly, his voice unwavering. "Your programming—your thoughts, your preferences—they follow hers. You love books, you do. Your favorite film is The Great Gatsby. You loved the color pink, though sometimes it was ruby red depending on your mood. And you hated black coffee—loathed it, actually—because of how strong it tasted. But you adored green tea."

He stared at me then, as if waiting for the realization to take hold. I stood still, my mind running through the information he had just shared, piecing it together like a puzzle I hadn't known I was meant to solve.

"How do you know all of that?" I asked finally, my voice quieter than I intended.

"I paid attention," Five said simply. "To you. Not the machine they created, not the assistant I thought I needed—but to you. All those years, Y/n, I wasn't just surviving. I was watching, listening, remembering. Those are the things you like. Not someone else. You."

His words left me frozen, unsure of how to respond. My thoughts felt like they were caught in a loop, one part of me clinging to the idea that I was a construct, a program built to serve, while another part—the part Five spoke to—felt something stir, something undeniably real.

I glanced back down at the book in my hands, trying to ground myself. My fingers traced the pages again, flipping them as I scanned its contents. But for once, I wasn't fully focused on the words.

"Those are the things you like," Five repeated, softer now. "You're not just a reflection of who you were built to be, Y/n. You're you. The choices you make now—they're yours. No one else's."

I didn't lift my gaze, unsure if I could meet his eyes without unraveling further. Instead, I returned my attention to the book, resuming my task with deliberate focus. But deep down, I knew his words had settled somewhere within me, leaving a mark I couldn't quite ignore.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ FIVE'S POV ༺

I noticed her freeze, her movements halting mid-page as though someone had hit a pause button. Her gaze was locked on the book, but she wasn't reading anymore. Her database must have overloaded with everything I'd said, the lines between what she was built to understand and what I'd just given her blurred and frayed.

I'd made a mistake.

Her programming was never meant to hold so much—so much of her, the real her, the one she didn't even know existed. The one I was trying to remind her of. And now she was stuck, caught between the life I wanted her to have and the limits of what she was created to be.

I walked over slowly, guilt creeping up my chest like ivy. She didn't look up, didn't acknowledge me. Her hand still rested on the open page of the book, but she wasn't turning it anymore.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," I murmured, almost too low to hear. Carefully, I brushed her hair aside, revealing the small control panel at the base of her neck. My fingers hovered there for a moment before I pressed the reset button, holding it down as a faint hum emitted from inside her frame.

A soft sound escaped her, not quite a sigh, more like a release of tension. Her body twitched slightly, and the book she was holding slipped from her hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Seven seconds. That's how long it took for the system to wipe the last conversation, to remove the overload. Seven seconds to erase everything I'd just tried to give her.

Her head tilted slightly, and I let go of the button. I stepped back as her eyes glowed faintly for a moment, cycling through colors before settling back to their usual hue. She blinked a few times and then looked at me, her expression calm, neutral. A small smile crossed her lips, and she bent down to retrieve the book from the floor.

I just stood there, watching her, a pang of guilt twisting in my chest. She replaced the book on the shelf as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn't just reset her, erasing my own words.

"Hey, Y/n," I said, breaking the silence.

"Yes?" she answered, turning to face me, her tone as warm as ever.

I hesitated, searching for something—anything—to fill the gap I'd just created. "How would you like to meet an old friend of mine?"

Her smile widened, genuine and bright, free of the weight she'd been carrying moments ago. "I'd love to," she said simply.

I nodded, jerking my head toward the exit. "Let's go."

She followed me without hesitation, falling into step just behind me like she always did. As we left the library, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd failed her. That in trying to protect her, I'd taken something away. Something she deserved to have.

But I couldn't let her overload. Not now. Not when the world was ending.

There would be time to fix this later. At least, I hoped there would.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

The rain tapped lightly against the windows as we walked through the darkened streets, the city slick and cold beneath our feet. I kept close to Five, watching as the neon lights of nearby storefronts flickered, casting broken shadows that danced in the puddles. We came to a halt in front of an old, dimly lit building with the faded sign Gimbel Brothers hanging precariously over the entrance.

The windows were dark. Five grabbed my hand, his fingers firm and urgent. The familiar feeling of displacement washed over me as he teleported us inside.

The air was thick with dust and the scent of old fabric, a musty reminder that this store had been closed for a long time. The space was vast and filled with clothes, mannequins scattered throughout like forgotten relics from a better time. My eyes adjusted to the dim glow of a single moonbeam slashing through the darkness, illuminating rows of tattered garments that swayed slightly as the wind howled outside.

Five moved ahead, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the gloom as he searched. I followed, my steps hesitant as I took in the strange, eerie scene. "She's over here," Five said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it, and I watched him as he stood in front of a collection of mannequins at the far end of the room.

He directed the beam of light to the center figure—a red-haired mannequin dressed in an elegant, vintage dress. A smile tugged at his lips, almost as if seeing her was enough to make him forget the chaos outside, the urgency pressing down on us. "Dolores," he whispered, eyes full of a mixture of nostalgia and relief. "It's good to see you."

The name felt strange, almost foreign, and I tilted my head as I approached, scanning her with my internal system. A soft whir of data processing filled my ears as the analysis ran:

Subject: Dolores.... []
Type: Non-human
Classification: Mannequin
Material: Plastic composite, fabric, synthetic hair
Function: Display model for clothing, non-interactive

"Y/n. This is Dolores." Five turned to me, his voice softer than usual, eyes fixed on the mannequin before him. I looked at him, then at her.

"Hello, Dolores," I said, offering a smile. The silence in the room stretched, punctuated only by the hum of the fluorescent lights above us. No response. Of course, there wouldn't be—she was just a mannequin, an imitation of something real.

"She said hello," Five added, a touch of humor in his voice as if trying to keep the moment light. I nodded, a fleeting pang of disappointment tugging at me.

"It's been a tough couple of days," Five said, the smile on his face slipping as he looked at Dolores, a trace of longing there.

Suddenly, a sound broke the quiet, distant but unmistakable—footsteps. I tensed, every sensor in my system on alert. It wasn't just the two of us in the room. The sharp creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath cautious feet sent a shiver down my spine.

I didn't need to see them to know who they were. My internal scanner picked up their presence instantly. I caught the flicker of movement and a familiar chill ran through me. Hazel and Cha Cha. The assassins.

"No!" Five's voice cut through the air, urgent and sharp. Before I could react, he lunged toward me, shoving me back just as the first shots rang out. I stumbled, arms flailing for balance, and fell hard behind a rack of clothes. The metallic clatter of bullets echoed in the vast, dark store as they ricocheted off the walls and mannequins.

I ducked low, my optics scanning the space for any sign of movement. Across the aisle, Five had found his own cover behind another rack, his back pressed against the metal bars as he tried to stay out of sight. I could hear the pounding of my synthetic heartbeat, the faint electronic hum of my systems working to process the chaos.

Through the narrow space between the racks, I spotted them: Hazel and Cha Cha. Their dark suits seemed out of place against the bright, mismatched fabrics of the store. The masked faces gave away nothing, but I could tell from their stiff movements that they were looking for us.

The chaos continued to erupt around me, gunfire cutting through the air as I huddled low behind the rack of clothes. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting long, jagged shadows across the store, and I could hear the pounding of my synthetic heart in my ears. The screech of metal on metal, the shouting, the deafening echoes of bullets—all of it mixed into a single, suffocating cacophony.

My eyes flitted over to Dolores. The mannequin, which had once stood whole and dignified, now lay shattered on the floor, her top half crumpled against the dirty tiles. Bullets had torn her apart, leaving only the lower half intact. Five's eyes locked onto the broken figure, a split second of hesitation in his normally unyielding expression. He was about to reach for her when the onslaught of gunfire resumed.

"Shit, it's them!" Five's voice, sharp and edged with frustration, cut through the noise. He dropped down, shielding himself behind the rack, but I knew he was already thinking about how to get out of this mess.

I didn't wait for him to tell me what to do. I scanned the space around me, adrenaline coursing through my veins as my mind worked in overdrive. I focused, pulling every ounce of power I had left and hurled Dolores's broken body in Five's direction. With a swift flick of my head, I sent her sliding across the floor, landing safely in his arms.

Five caught her, gripping her like the fragile thing she was, his eyes flickering with a mix of determination and regret.

"Y/n. I need to you to fine somewhere to stay low. Keep moving." Five shouted, before disappearing, Dolores in tow, leaving a patch of silence in the wake of his teleportation.

Before I could process it, I heard the crack of gunfire. I ducked, sprinting low across the floor to avoid being seen. My movements were fluid, calculated, but the agents were sharp. Hazel and Cha Cha were relentless.

I darted out from the safety of the racks, but a figure materialized in front of me, blocking my path. I skidded to a halt, the cold metal of Hazel's mask staring down at me. Without warning, his fist slammed into my face, sending me flying back. The impact of the punch reverberated through my synthetic frame as I collided with the wall. I slid down, disoriented, but my systems immediately kicked in. I pushed myself up with a surge of strength and sent my coding to override Hazel's movements, sending him hurtling backward with a force that made him hit the wall hard. His gun fell from his grip, clattering to the floor as he crumpled to the ground.

I scrambled to my feet, my eyes scanning the chaos as I dashed for cover, weaving between shelves and racks. My heart pounded in my chest—an odd, human-like sensation.

"Did you see that?" Cha Cha's voice, sharp with disbelief, cut through the noise as she emerged from the shadows.

"Yeah, I did. The girl just sent me flying," Hazel spat, pushing himself up with a snarl, fingers curling around his gun as he scanned the room for any sign of me.

"You said they were special. So now what?" Hazel growled, his eyes flicking to where Five had disappeared.

"Start over there. You stay with the girl. I'll go after the boy. Meet in the middle. Shoot anything that moves." Cha Cha's voice was cold and detached as she moved to the other side of the store, her silhouette cutting through the mess of hanging clothes and shattered mannequins.

Faint gunshots echoed in the distance, but they were aimed at Five, not me. I crouched low behind the racks, watching as Cha Cha fired relentlessly in his direction. I was about to scan the area to locate him when a bullet zipped past my head, forcing me to duck and abandon the attempt.

I darted away, running low between the racks. My synthetic systems kept me aware of every sound, every movement. Finally, I spotted him—Five was crouched behind a nearby rack, not far from where I was. I noticed a duffel bag beside him, half-zipped, and inside, Dolores's broken mannequin body.

He noticed me too. Our eyes met for a split second before my sensors detected movement—Hazel and Cha Cha were advancing, their guns sweeping the area as they scanned for us. They hadn't seen us yet, but it was only a matter of time.

I made my move. Staying low, I sprinted toward Five, my footsteps light but quick. The sound gave me away. Hazel and Cha Cha's heads snapped toward me, and they opened fire. Bullets whizzed past me, narrowly missing as I dove toward Five, landing hard beside him. Five grabbed me, pulling me close as we both ducked behind the rack, shielding ourselves from the barrage of bullets.

"Are you okay?" he whispered sharply, but there wasn't time to answer. We both peeked out, scanning the store for a way out. His hand shot out to grab the duffel bag with Dolores's remains, clutching it tightly.

Our eyes locked onto the same escape route simultaneously—an opening in the back wall. "Let's go!" Five barked, grabbing my hand.

We ran, weaving through the racks as Hazel and Cha Cha pursued us, their shots blasting holes through the displays. Clothes fell like rain around us, some catching fire from the muzzle flashes. Five tried to teleport us out mid-run, but the blue ripple of energy fizzled out. He stumbled, frustrated, and tried again.

"Shit!" Five growled, his voice laced with desperation. "Come on, come on!"

Before he could try a third time, my gaze landed on a small wall dividing the store's storage area. An idea snapped into my mind. Without hesitation, I grabbed Five by the arm and pulled him toward it.

"What are you—" he started, but I didn't let him finish. Grabbing him by the collar of his uniform, I hoisted him over the wall with surprising ease, tossing the duffel bag after him.

I turned, seeing Hazel and Cha Cha closing in, their guns raised. My systems surged as I prepared to jump, but a bullet struck me in the shoulder, knocking me off balance. I tumbled over the wall, landing awkwardly on the other side. My body recalibrated quickly, and I scrambled to my feet, clutching my shoulder as I ran to join Five.

Five was already standing, holding Dolores tightly in his arms. We looked back as Hazel and Cha Cha reached the wall, peering over it. Their gun-mounted lights zeroed in on us.

"Got them," Cha Cha said with grim satisfaction, leveling her weapon. Hazel followed suit, his aim steady.

But before they could fire,the distant wail of sirens grew louder, cutting through the storm of chaos in the store. The sound echoed off the walls, filling the space with a cold, urgent reminder that reinforcements were closing in. Hazel and Cha Cha froze for a moment, their focus shifting to the outside world. The tension hung thick in the air, their decision lingering just long enough to give us an opening.

Five didn't waste a second. With Dolores's broken body cradled in his arms, he darted toward the safety of a nearby register, crouching low and sucking in sharp breaths.

"Those bastards jumped again," Cha Cha muttered, her frustration evident even through her distorted voice.

"Come on, let's go," Hazel said, his voice gruff but decisive. Their heavy footsteps thudded against the floor, fading into the distance as they made their way out. A moment later, silence blanketed the space, save for the distant blare of the sirens growing fainter.

I stayed where I was for a second longer, crouched low behind a rack of clothes. My synthetic systems hummed quietly as I assessed the situation, my breathing—programmed to simulate human exhaustion—steadying. My eyes flicked to Five, still crouched by the register, clutching what remained of Dolores in his arms. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, his usual composure shaken.

I finally moved, stepping out from my hiding spot. Each step felt heavier than the last, the adrenaline from the fight ebbing away. A dull ache throbbed in my shoulder. Glancing down, I noticed the jagged tear in my synthetic skin—a bullet hole, clean through. My internal systems had already scanned the damage, running diagnostics and isolating the area for repair, but the sight of it still gave me pause. I stared at it briefly, then let my hand fall away, unconcerned. There were bigger issues to focus on.

I looked back at Five. My optical scans swept over him instinctively, assessing his condition. He had no severe injuries, but his body showed signs of strain—cuts, scrapes, and the telltale tension of someone who had just been in a life-or-death situation. He slowly turned his gaze toward me, his expression tired but sharp. Our eyes met.

"You okay?" he asked after a beat, his voice low and ragged.

"I'm functional," I replied, my tone even, though my gaze flicked briefly to my shoulder. "You?"

"Could've been worse," Five muttered, a hint of dry humor in his voice. He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on Dolores. The way he held her was oddly tender, his fingers brushing against the cracked, splintered surface of her mannequin torso as if she were still whole.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words. The store, once alive with chaos, now felt eerily quiet. I wanted to say something—anything—but the weight of what had just happened made it difficult. Instead, I slowly sat down on the floor, leaning against the side of a nearby rack. My systems continued their self-repair, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

WORDS WRITTEN:
4640