༻THIRD PERSON POV༺

Years had slipped by like sand through an hourglass, and Y/N was still by Five's side. Forty-seven years of patching up his wounds, organizing his paperwork, and facing every mission together, she had become more than just a figure crafted in memory. She was a constant, unwavering presence in Five's life, and despite everything he knew—despite her being a machine—he found himself relying on her more deeply than he'd ever intended.

Time had left its marks on both of them, in ways both real and artificial. Five, now 58, wore his years in the form of etched lines and scars across his face, his once quick movements now more deliberate. And Y/N, designed to match him, had been updated over the years, her appearance evolving to mirror the same signs of age and wear. The engineers had even added subtle aging to her synthetic skin, giving her a softened, seasoned look that matched Five's own.

She still spoke with that sharp intelligence, quick to correct him, her responses often laced with the dry wit he'd come to expect. Her voice held the same careful inflection, her presence in a fight just as reliable as it had always been. The familiar cadence of her "smart talks" and the small but human-like habits she'd developed over the years—these were what kept him grounded in her company.

In all that time, they had grown close in ways that transcended their original roles. Five couldn't deny how her presence had woven into his life, making a home in the quiet spaces left by old losses and regrets. It was strange and complicated, something he rarely examined too closely, but he knew that whatever their bond was, it was something he'd come to rely on, something solid and irreplaceable.

༻Y/N'S POV༺

I walked through the Commission hallways, heels tapping rhythmically with each step, balancing a stack of folders Five had requested. These halls, with their cold fluorescent lights and familiar turns, had become my routine—every line of them mapped and filed somewhere in my data.

"Morning, Y/N!" Stanley called as he passed by, flashing a quick smile.

"Good morning, Stanley," I replied, keeping my pace steady but offering a brief nod in return.

Turning a corner, I encountered another group of agents huddled near the vending machine. One of them, a woman named Denise, looked up as I approached. "Y/N, any chance you know the weather today?"

"Certainly," I answered, pausing to engage. "Clear skies, a light breeze, and temperatures mild enough for an outdoor lunch. It's ideal for a break outside."

A few of them smiled, exchanging glances at the thought. I resumed walking, returning my attention to the path ahead, with the folders still balanced perfectly in my grasp. Each step brought me closer to Five's office, the familiar sound of my heels marking a steady beat in the silence.

I stepped into the office, shutting the door quietly behind me. "Good morning, Five," I said, standing at attention.

Five glanced up, a brief, tired smile flickering across his face. "Morning, Y/N."

"I have the files you asked for," I replied, setting them down on his desk. "The Handler stopped me on my way in—she needs your signature on these reports." I placed a second stack beside the first.

He barely looked at the paperwork, focused instead on scribbling into a well-worn journal I recognized immediately.

"Still jotting notes in Vanya's book, I see," I said, catching sight of familiar handwriting in the margins.

He gave a curt nod, not taking his eyes off the page. "Can't afford to forget the details. Every note counts."

I paused, giving him a moment, then added, "Just a reminder—you've got the JFK assignment in Dallas."

"Right," he muttered under his breath. "How much time do I have?"

"Approximately eleven minutes, thirty-three seconds," I replied, as precise as ever.

Five gave a low sigh, shoving Vanya's book aside and reaching for the files I'd brought, as his gaze shifted from the past to the task ahead.

"I've already packed your weapon in the bag, along with the extra supplies you might need," I said, handing the bag over to him, resting on his bed.

"Thanks, Y/N." Five muttered, his focus split between the bag and his scattered papers. He was moving in a hurry, the familiar look of urgency evident in his movements.

"Of course. If there's nothing else you need, I'll head back to the tube room to assist Gloria," I replied, preparing to pivot away, my heels clicking against the floor.

"Wait, Y/N. There's one more thing I need from you before you go." His voice was laced with an urgency that made me stop and turn back to him.

"What can I help with?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Well... it's not exactly part of my job to ask this, but I need your help on this mission."

"Of course. Do you need an extra set of eyes on the dashboard or the cameras?" I suggested, my systems ready to assist in whatever capacity I could.

"No, Y/N. What I'm saying is... I need you to come with me on this mission."

I felt a surge of surprise, and I turned my head slightly, my circuits processing the weight of his request. "Five, you know that goes against my programming. I'm designed to assist you here in the Commission."

"Listen," he said, stepping closer, his intensity palpable. "If I share this with you, you can't tell anyone here at the Commission. Got it?"

"Your secret is safe with me," I assured him, but the gravity of the situation settled heavily in my circuits.

He sighed, returning to his packing, a mix of determination and concern evident in his posture. "Once we're in Dallas, I'm going to attempt to travel back to 2019 to find my family."

"To save the world?" I asked, surprised at the enormity of what he was proposing.

"Exactly. But I need your help to pull this off." He turned back to me, his expression serious.

I felt my internal programming push back. "You know I'm not programmed to join you on your missions, Five. This goes beyond my parameters."

"Perhaps I should inform The Handler about my joining you—" I began, but he immediately stepped closer, a look of urgency in his eyes.

"No, no. You can't tell her. This has to stay between us."

I looked at him, weighing my options. "I was built to protect and guide you within the Commission's boundaries. Leaving would break that contract, and I would have to report it."

"No," he insisted, frustration and desperation mingling in his voice. "You were built to stay and help me. You're my primary user. You have to listen to me." He reached out, cupping my shoulders, his touch both grounding and intense.

"You have to promise me that you won't tell anyone," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with a pleading urgency.

I froze, momentarily caught in the gravity of his request. "Y/N. You have to listen to me. You can't tell anyone," he urged, giving me a slight shake.

"Okay," I muttered, feeling the weight of my response.

Five let out a small sigh, returning to his bag while I stood silently, watching him prepare. "In order for me to assist you with this task, what will I have to do?" I asked, my circuits buzzing with curiosity.

"Once we get there, I just need you to be there. When I open the portal, you jump in right after me," he replied, tossing the bag over his shoulder.

He walked toward me and paused, standing directly in front of me, our eyes locking for a moment. "I have one question. My metal user is indicating that The Handler is wondering where I am. I was scheduled to meet with her in the lab for my scanning," I stated, my tone steady.

"Well, I guess that means we have to head out right now," he said, checking the time on his pocket watch before putting it away with a decisive motion.

"Are you ready, Y/N?" he asked, and I looked at him, my gaze drifting to his loose tie. I stepped forward and gently adjusted it, smoothing the fabric with a light touch before giving it a soft pat. "All ready, Five," I assured him, feeling a sense of purpose rise within my circuitry.

Five moved to his corner of the room, grabbing his briefcase. He then reached for my hand, and I felt a jolt of warmth at the contact. My sensors registered the sensation—his hand enveloping mine. My eyes widened slightly as I scanned the feeling, the connection both familiar and profound.

"This might make you dizzy," he warned, his voice low and steady.

Before I could respond, he activated the briefcase, and a surge of energy crackled through the air. In an instant, the world around us shifted, and we were pulled from the confines of the Commission to the bustling streets of Dallas.

I felt the familiar tug of energy dissipate as Five and I materialized in a narrow alleyway. The air was thick with anticipation, and I released his hand, my sensors still tingling from the contact. Five immediately opened his briefcase, rifling through its contents, his movements swift and purposeful.

I stepped out of the alley, my eyes wide as I took in the new surroundings. My scanning system whirred to life, attempting to process the influx of data flooding in. Dallas, 1963. The year flashed in my mind, and I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer chaos and excitement buzzing around me.

People rushed past, their faces a blur of emotions—anxious, excited, and oblivious to the pivotal moment about to unfold in history. I registered their hurried footsteps, the scent of street vendors' food mingling with the faint whiff of gasoline. It was overwhelming. I had been programmed to analyze and respond, but the sheer vitality of this era was unlike anything I had ever encountered in the sterile halls of the Commission.

I took a cautious step forward, my heel clicking against the pavement. "Five," I called softly, my voice slightly drowned out by the noise of the street. He looked up, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sorted through his equipment.

"Stay alert, Y/N," he replied, his voice steady but urgent. "We need to find a vantage point."

"Understood." I scanned the area, my sensors detecting a group of people congregating a few blocks down. They seemed drawn to a commotion—perhaps an event or a speech. My analysis calculated that this could provide an excellent cover for our activities.

I turned back to him, "There's a gathering ahead. It might offer us the distraction we need."

Five glanced up from his briefcase, his expression shifting as he followed my gaze. "Good idea. Let's move," he said, closing the briefcase with a definitive snap.

As we stepped into the bustling street, I felt the pulse of the crowd around us. People laughed and shouted, unaware of the significance of the moment we were entering. My circuits hummed with excitement and caution; the thrill of being in the past enveloped me, but so did the weight of our mission.

_______________________________

As Five and I materialized in the alley, I released his hand and took a moment to adjust. The air was thick with the scent of asphalt and something unfamiliar, the distant sounds of a bustling city wrapping around me like a new algorithm I was trying to process. My systems whirred softly as I scanned my surroundings. Dallas, 1963—a date that had been meticulously programmed into my memory banks. The street was alive with movement; pedestrians rushed by, each absorbed in their own lives, completely unaware of the significance that this moment held.

After a while, we sought refuge in a nearby bar, a dimly lit establishment that seemed to cradle secrets within its walls. The two of us perched on bar stools, the rough wood beneath me contrasting sharply with the sleek metal of my framework. I positioned myself carefully, observing as Five flipped through a newspaper, seemingly lost in thought.

"Can I get you something?" a gruff voice interrupted, drawing my attention to the bartender, who was wiping a glass with a rag that had seen better days.

I glanced at the small, colorless TV mounted above the bar, where news of Kennedy's motorcade flickered on the screen, but the bartender's persistent gaze pulled me back into the moment.

"I'm talking to you, girl," he said, his tone dismissive.

I remained silent, scanning the room and trying to ignore the prickle of discomfort that rose within me. I had seen enough to understand the implications of my presence here, especially in a time where my existence was meant to be concealed.

"Gonna stay here, you gonna order a drink?" The bartender's impatience seeped into his words.

Five shifted next to me, his body language signaling the tension that was building. "She's fine," he replied sharply, his focus now on the man before us.

"Wasn't talking to you, old man?" The bartender's voice dripped with sarcasm, but it was his body language that drew my attention—a posture that screamed hostility.

"Order something or beat it, girl," he continued, turning back to me with an air of entitlement.

I held his gaze, the data processing within me calculating the threat level. Subject exhibiting aggressive behavior. Response required. I stood my ground, refusing to show any sign of backing down.

At that moment, Five interjected, grabbing my hand as he rose. "Okay, that's enough." His voice was low but firm, underscoring the protective instinct that drove him.

The bartender shoved Five's hand away with an aggressive motion, sending a ripple of fury through my circuits. My systems kicked into high gear, and the metallic framework of my being pulsed with a wave of urgency. I felt the protective protocols activating; I would not stand by while he was threatened.

"Don't touch him," I said, my voice steady and resolute, each word calibrated to convey my determination.

Five's eyes met mine, a flicker of surprise mingled with gratitude. He had always appreciated my unwavering loyalty, but this time felt different—a deeper connection forged in the heat of conflict.

The bartender, clearly underestimating our resolve, smirked as if he were the dominant force in this exchange. Error: Subject lacks awareness of capabilities.

"Back off," I commanded, my voice steady and devoid of any doubt, an authoritative tone meant to quell his aggression.

A moment of silence stretched between us, and for an instant, I felt the weight of my purpose solidify. Objective: Protect Five. I would fulfill that objective, no matter what.

Five moved slightly closer, his posture indicating he was ready to intervene if necessary, but I was already prepared. The bartender had crossed a line, and I would ensure he understood that I was not just a passive observer in this moment.

"What, you need your grandpa to speak for you?" the bartender laughed, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Time to go," he added, turning to grab Five's arm.

In a split second, my protocols surged to the forefront of my programming. I grasped the bartender's wrist with a firm grip, yanking his hand away from Five as he winced in pain, dropping the glass beer cup that shattered against the floor. The sound echoed, a shattering glass that felt like a sharp punctuation mark in this escalating confrontation.

The bartender glared at me, anger mixing with surprise. He attempted to swing his other fist toward my face, but my reflexes kicked in. I intercepted his attack, catching his fist in my palm. He stood there, shaking and straining against my grip, trying to muster the strength to break free. I remained steady, my gaze locked onto him with a calculated intensity.

Around us, the men in the bar began to laugh, a crude chorus of mockery at the sight of a man overpowered by a woman. But I was not just any woman; I was designed for efficiency, for protection.

My eyes flashed a deep red, a signal that my systems had engaged in defense mode, and I could sense the bartender's confidence evaporating. He froze, caught in the stark realization of his own vulnerability.

With a swift, precise motion, I released him and gripped the back of his head, slamming it down onto the bar table with a force that rattled the glasses. The glass surface cracked slightly beneath the impact, and he fell back, stunned, raising his arms to shield his face from his bloody face.

I stood there, my posture unwavering, as he groaned and scrambled away, panic etched across his features. The laughter that had surrounded us faded into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of his retreating footsteps.

As the adrenaline from the confrontation subsided, my systems flickered, and I felt a brief moment of disorientation. I blinked, my eyes returning to their normal hue, the red fading away as my combat protocols disengaged.

I sat back down on the bar stool, the commotion around me beginning to dull into the background noise of the bar.

The bartender, now at a distance, was wiping his face with a towel, his hands shaking slightly as he peered at me with a mix of fear and disbelief. I could sense his thoughts; he was weighing whether to approach again or slink away into the shadows of the bar.

I turned my attention back to the small, flickering TV above the bar, its colors dull and uninviting. The static buzzed between poorly transmitted news segments, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air around us. Five's gaze, however, was locked on me, disbelief etched into the lines of his face.

"Kennedy is about ten minutes away," I stated, my voice steady as I scanned the bar's interior. "We should leave now. If we hurry, we can reach our destination in about five minutes."

Five's eyes narrowed, confusion flickering across his features. "What just happened?" he asked, his tone low and measured.

I blinked at him, my processors whirring as I processed his question. "What do you mean?"

His gaze shifted to the remnants of the broken glass table, glistening ominously with the bartender's blood, before snapping back to mine. I met his stare, unwavering, my expression betraying nothing.

He cleared his throat, the silence heavy between us. "You're right. We should leave. Kennedy is coming."

I nodded, acknowledging his decision, and rose from my seat on the bar stool. The air crackled with unspoken thoughts as Five cast one last glance at the shattered glass before we moved toward the exit.

As we stepped outside, the vibrant chaos of Dallas engulfed us. People rushed past, their laughter and shouts merging into a distant hum. Anticipation coursed through my circuits; the mission was finally underway.

Five scanned the bustling streets, instincts honed for potential threats. His gaze returned to me, intensity radiating from him. "We need to stay low and blend in," he instructed, urgency lacing his voice.

"Understood," I replied, matching his pace while simultaneously scanning the crowd for possible dangers. My internal algorithms worked to calculate our route, analyzing the movements of those around us.

As we moved purposefully through the throngs of people, I noticed a shift in Five's demeanor—his urgency was palpable. The gravity of our mission weighed heavily on both of us, but his determination was a familiar anchor, reminding me of the bond we shared.

"Once we're in position, I'll monitor the perimeter," I said, adjusting my internal sensors. "I'll alert you to any changes in our surroundings."

He nodded, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "You didn't have to go that far back there," he said, frustration tinged with concern evident in his tone.

"I understand my role," I countered, maintaining my calm. "The bartender posed a threat. Neutralizing him was necessary."

"I get that," he replied, voice taut. "But I don't want you to have to resort to violence. It's not who you are."

I processed his words, attempting to grasp the emotional complexity of the moment. "Isn't it?" I asked, meeting his gaze directly. "I am programmed to eliminate threats. If that requires engaging physically, then it is my duty."

Before I could elaborate, a loud horn blared nearby, prompting the crowd to surge forward. I shifted my focus back to the task at hand, recalibrating my priorities as the atmosphere thickened with tension.

"Kennedy's motorcade is approaching," I announced, urgency sharpening my tone. "We need to get into position now."

Five glanced at me, the weight of his concern pressing down as he nodded. "Right. Let's move."

Together, we navigated through the throngs of people, urgency propelling us forward. I couldn't shake the feeling that everything hinged on this moment, and I sensed Five's determination mirroring my own.

As we neared the designated area, my systems hummed with energy, analyzing the chaos swirling around us. The crowd remained oblivious to the stakes at play, unaware of the monumental moment that was about to unfold.

I stood behind the white fence, scanning the crowd of eager faces awaiting Kennedy's motorcade. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, an electric charge hanging in the air as I calculated his imminent arrival. "Based on my analysis of the road conditions, Kennedy will be making his turn in precisely two minutes and twelve seconds," I stated, my voice steady, though I could sense the weight of the moment.

I glanced at Five, who knelt beside me, absorbed in scribbling notes in his notebook. His focus was unwavering, seemingly oblivious to the significance of our surroundings. "Perfect, I just need to finish writing," he muttered, his pen moving fluidly across the pages.

As I leaned closer, I noticed an irregularity in the numbers he had written down. "Five, your notes appear to contain an error," I remarked, my internal systems whirring as I processed the data. "There seems to be a discrepancy."

"Don't worry, Y/n. It will all be fine," he replied, dismissing my observation without a second thought.

I shook my head, frustration bubbling beneath my composed exterior. "This is not a matter of concern; it is critical. Accuracy in your work is paramount, especially at this juncture. If there are inaccuracies, we may need to adjust our strategy."

He glanced up, brow furrowing in concentration. "I don't see it anywhere," he insisted, though I could sense a flicker of doubt creeping into his voice.

"Fifty-eight seconds until Kennedy turns the corner," I reminded him, urgency threading through my words. The crowd surged, excitement building as more people pressed against the barricade. "If you intend to open the portal, we need to act immediately."

With a decisive snap, Five closed his notebook, the gravity of the situation settling on him like a heavy cloak. "You're right. No time for mistakes." He stood and, with a flick of his wrist, summoned the familiar blue energy that swirled around him. A small portal began to form, shimmering with the promise of what lay ahead. I peered inside, where shadows shifted and morphed, hinting at the chaos we were about to encounter.

Just then, a gust of wind whipped through the alley, sending a chill down my spine. The chaos escalated when a fire extinguisher suddenly hurtled toward us. "Duck!" Five shouted, urgency lacing his voice.

Without hesitation, I raised my hand, halting the extinguisher mid-air, my mechanical grip firm and unwavering. It hovered for a moment, defying gravity, before I lowered it gently to the ground, ensuring no one was harmed.

I glanced at Five, who was still processing the commotion. He took a moment to regroup, his expression shifting as he surveyed the chaotic scene. "We need to move," he said, urgency now coloring his tone. "The portal isn't going to wait for us."

I stepped toward him, my circuits humming with adrenaline as I grasped his hand tightly. The portal flickered ominously, its edges narrowing as the world around us erupted into chaos.

Feeling the pull of the portal urging us forward. We pushed through the turbulent energy together, determined to break through despite the violent winds that threatened to tear us apart.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted into chaos, panic spreading like wildfire. I felt the tension in the air, the cheers morphing into frantic shouts as people scrambled in confusion. I could sense danger lurking, and my instincts kicked in, scanning for threats.

With one final push, we leaped into the swirling portal, the world around us warping into a whirlpool of colors and sensations. The air crackled with energy as we tumbled through time and space, the sensation both exhilarating and disorienting.

Then, with a jolt, we landed hard on the ground, the sounds of chaos ringing in our ears. I blinked, my systems recalibrating as I processed our new surroundings. We had made it, but the intensity of Dallas felt like a fading echo, replaced by the familiar disarray of our own timeline.

As we hit the ground with a jarring thud, the world around us spun momentarily before the winds finally stilled. I pushed myself up onto my knees, the cool asphalt biting against my skin as I began dusting off my shoulders. My suit, once form-fitting and sleek, now hung loosely around me. The vest drooped on my arms, and the entire ensemble felt like an outdated relic, ill-suited for my current configuration.

My gaze shifted to Five, who was already standing, brushing off the debris from his clothes. He looked the same as I remembered—his youthful face marked by determination, unburdened by the weight of time. The stark contrast between his current form and the weathered version I had come to know filled me with a mixture of nostalgia and wonder.

"Y/n," he said, extending his hand toward me, the gesture both familiar and reassuring. I reached out, taking his hand in mine, feeling the warmth radiate from his touch, grounding me amidst the uncertainty.

"Five," I replied, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. My internal systems were recalibrating, attempting to process the situation. Scanning...

Result: Scan failed.

Pending diagnostics...

I glanced up at him, still caught in the moment, when I noticed a flicker of hesitation cross his features. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"I am functioning within normal parameters," I said, though my optics struggled to stabilize. My processors were attempting to analyze the anomaly.

Error: Temporal Displacement Anomaly Detected.

Initiating recalibration...

"Y/n?" Five's voice broke through my reverie. "What's going on?"

"Diagnostics indicate significant deviations. Your appearance... it does not align with historical data."

**Visual Anomaly: Subject appearance not aligning with stored data. Current age—approx. 13-

I noticed multiple people stepping into my line of sight, their presence a sudden disruption to the otherwise familiar atmosphere of the diner. As I turned, I caught sight of two women and three men approaching us. Their emotions were palpable, a mix of disbelief, shock, and something more unsettling—disturbance.

"What the hell?" Five muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he instinctively shifted closer to me.

"Does anyone else see Number Five, or is that just me?" one of the men said, his eyes wide with surprise.

"With a girl?" another man chimed in, his tone incredulous as he looked back and forth between us.

Five's gaze flicked between the group and me, panic etched across his youthful features. "Shit," he breathed, a hint of frustration threading through his voice.

The entire group fell silent, their attention laser-focused on us. I could feel the weight of their scrutiny pressing down, intensifying the already tense atmosphere.

Emotional Readout: Shock detected. Unknown variables present.

༻☂︎︎༺

WORDS WRITTEN
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