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༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

Diego, Allison, Five, and I piled out of the car, stepping onto the cracked pavement in front of Harold Jenkins' small, unassuming house. It was a quiet neighborhood—too quiet. The kind that felt as if it had seen better days, with peeling paint on the houses and weeds sprouting from every crack in the concrete.

We all approached the house cautiously, each step deliberate. The air felt heavier, thick with the tension of what we might find inside.

"Be careful, okay? We don't know what Peabody's capable of," Allison said, her voice low but firm.

"Yeah, well, he didn't seem dangerous when I first saw him. Kinda scrawny," Diego said with a shrug.

"Yeah? So are most serial killers and mass murderers," Allison replied, casting him a sideways glance. "Look at them." She gestured toward me and Five.

"Thanks," Five said dryly, not breaking his stride.

"Good point," Diego muttered. "So, what's this guy want with Vanya?"

None of us answered, but the question hung in the air like a weight. When we reached the front door, we all hesitated for a moment. Diego stepped forward, holding out an arm to stop us.

"Whoa, whoa. Hey, look. I'm gonna burst through—" Diego started.

But Five, as usual, had no patience for theatrics. He grabbed my hand, and in an instant, we teleported inside the house, landing silently in the middle of the dimly lit living room. The air smelled faintly of dust and something metallic, and I immediately began scanning the surroundings.

Diego, determined not to be outdone, crashed through the glass door seconds later, shards scattering everywhere as he hit the ground with a groan.

Five and I turned to see him sprawled on the floor, groaning in pain. Allison entered through the back door, looking unimpressed as she joined us.

"Subtle," she said, crossing her arms.

Five walked over to the front door and casually turned the knob, revealing it had been unlocked the entire time. "You know the door was unlocked, right?" he said, his tone dry.

Diego brushed glass off himself as he got to his feet, wincing slightly. "Yeah, well, my way works just fine. Spread out. Yell if you, uh... you know, find something—or you're in trouble," he said, trying to recover some semblance of authority.

Five gave a sarcastic tone. "Ah. Inspiring leadership. One of the greats." He glanced at Allison. "Why don't you head upstairs and take Y/n with you? We'll sweep the downstairs."

Allison nodded, already moving toward the stairs. "Come on, Y/n."

I followed her, glancing back at Five as I ascended the creaking steps. "Bye, Y/n," he said, a rare softness in his tone.

I turned back and gave him a small wave before continuing up with Allison.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Allison paused and looked at me. "Scan the upstairs."

I nodded, stepping forward as my systems activated. My vision flickered, switching into scan mode. The dull hum of my processors filled my head as I mapped the space. Three rooms detected. Attic access located at the end of the hallway. No signs of life present.

The first room to the left was the bathroom. My sensors swept the area quickly: No threats detected. Standard human hygiene products present.

—. Space clear.

The second room was a bedroom. I stepped inside briefly, noting the disheveled state of the bed and a dresser with half-open drawers. A faint chemical odor lingered in the air.

No lifeforms detected.

—. Possible signs of recent activity. Items indicate male occupant.

-. No immediate threats.

The third room was another bedroom. This one was tidier, though the furnishings were sparse. A single bed, a nightstand, and a small bookshelf with a few worn titles. No signs of life. No immediate threats. Room is clear.

Finally, I moved toward the attic. The wooden pull-down ladder creaked as I accessed it, peering up into the dimly lit space. My scanners swept the confined area: No lifeforms detected. Sparse items stored. Space clear.

My systems recalibrated as I turned to Allison. "The upstairs is clear. Three rooms and an attic—no signs of anything," I said, my voice calm and even.

Allison nodded toward me, her eyes briefly meeting mine before she moved toward the attic. The faint sound of her footsteps echoed up the stairs. As she disappeared, I stood in place for a moment, scanning the surrounding area. The air was thick with tension, the quiet unnerving.

Allison's voice called back to me from the stairs. "You'll be fine here checking the bedrooms, right?"

I turned to face her, a brief pause before I responded. "I am capable of doing just that." My tone was steady, precise—robotic almost, but with a sense of certainty in it.

She gave a small nod and smiled briefly before continuing her ascent.

I watch her climb the stairs, her figure disappearing into the shadows above. I stood still, my sensors calibrating to the environment, my optics scanning every corner of the house. Every movement, every sound was registered, analyzed. Nothing was left to chance.

I turned my attention back to the hallway. The first room, the main bedroom, stood in front of me. I moved toward it, the door opening with a quiet creak. Inside, the room was immaculate—too immaculate. The bed was perfectly made, the sheets smooth and taut, and photographs hung neatly on the walls, frozen memories of a life that seemed... too perfect.

I stepped further into the room, my mind working quickly. My scanning abilities activated, and I began to take in every detail of the space. The faint hum of my internal processors was the only sound. Nothing stood out at first—no heat signatures, no anomalies. The room appeared ordinary. I walked closer to the nightstand, my mechanical hand reaching out to pull the drawer open. Inside was an assortment of odds and ends—letters, pens, papers scattered in a haphazard pile.

Nothing. No clues, no hidden messages. Just remnants of an unremarkable life. I closed the drawer, my mind running through the data, piecing together the information.

I moved to the second nightstand, eyes flicking across the space. It was empty—eerily empty. A tidiness that felt unnatural. Every object in its place, everything arranged too perfectly. I frowned slightly, my sensors picking up on the dissonance.

That's when it happened—the sharp sensation hit me. My systems reacted immediately, an unexpected surge of energy running through my circuits. It was as if I had connected to something, a signal, perhaps. I turned my head, my enhanced optics locking onto a nearby table where a laptop sat.

I approached it without hesitation, my movements calculated. As I reached for it, the screen blinked to life with the words "Welcome Leonard." It was too clean, too direct. There was no doubt.

I tilted my head, analyzing the device. Leonard—the name, the signal. The pieces were aligning. This was no accident. The screen shifted, revealing a password prompt.

Password.

I eyed the laptop screen, the blinking Password prompt mocking me with its simplicity. Leonard's security wasn't anything sophisticated, but I still needed to be precise. I placed my finger on the laptop's surface, my internal systems immediately syncing with the device. A rush of cold data flowed through me, numbing the peripheral world as my focus sharpened.

[Initiating Access Protocol...]

Lines of code streamed across my mental display, processing with rapid accuracy. My sensors interfaced directly with the machine, scanning its underlying security measures. The encryption layers popped up like barriers, but they were trivial—nothing I couldn't handle. I ran an algorithm designed for these exact scenarios, its cold efficiency mirrored by the pulse of my synthetic heartbeat.

Password Detected...
Cracking Encryption...
Verifying User Input...

The data swirled in tight loops, my programming dissecting each string of letters and numbers that the system generated. With a sharp pulse, I sent a counter-sequence through the encryption—an override written specifically to bypass this kind of basic protection.

: Override in Progress...
: Key Bypass Successful.

[ACCESS GRANTED]

I opened my eyes, the sharp pulse of my system signaling the completion of the bypass. The screen that had once flashed the password prompt now glitched, flickering as it shifted into the main page. I focused, scanning the contents, my fingers moving over the keys with mechanical precision.

The folders and files unfolded before me like a map of Leonard's life, but I had no time for pleasantries. My focus zeroed in on the Mail folder. I clicked through, sifting quickly through the digital mail, reading through official correspondence from various businesses and offices. Nothing unusual. Routine exchanges—except, of course, for the sense that I wasn't simply looking for the ordinary.

My gaze sharpened as I navigated deeper. His Trash folder—empty. All deleted, cleared out, wiped clean.

Not this time.

I moved quickly, bypassing the unnecessary and headed straight for his Search History. I scrolled through his recent activity. My sensors pulsed with a slight spike when I found it.

There it was.

Information on the Hargreeves family. His searches weren't casual. They were deliberate. His search history filled with detailed information on the family—on each of them.

But what caught my attention, what made my pulse quicken, was his father—their father. He had researched Sir Reginald Hargreeves extensively.

I narrowed my focus. Then, my gaze locked on something even more alarming.

A reminder—Download Clips Reminder.

A fleeting moment of uncertainty passed through me, but I quickly clicked the note, my system bypassing the unnecessary warning with a surge of efficiency. The progress bar blinked as the file loaded. My internal analysis ran through the process—whatever was contained in this file, it was important.

It wasn't long before it finished. A new page popped up, one that wasn't a simple document or video. It was a note-taking app, its title unassuming, but the content made my internal systems freeze.

Data.

My data. My parts.

I stared at the page, scanning its contents. The note detailed the various components of me—parts of my physical form labeled with meticulous detail, my systems identified and cataloged with disturbing accuracy. The data described the parts that could be "accessed," the pieces that could be taken apart, rebuilt, or reprogrammed.

My sensors heightened, a cold shiver running through my interface. I scrolled down, my movements calculated and precise, until my eyes locked onto a single image. A photo.

The photo was from an earlier memory.

It was me and Five at the library, the moment frozen in time. He had been drunk, his head heavy and resting on my head, and I had sat beside him, my head leaning onto his, his warmth radiating through my system. I hadn't even realized the photo had been taken. But it was there, on his screen, in his notes.

But there was something off about the picture—it was cropped. The focus was no longer on both of us, no longer on that moment where we had shared the quiet, strange connection. It was just me.

Just me.

He had been watching me long before we even met.

A cold realization gnawed at me, and my systems froze. Leonard's interest in me had gone beyond simple observation—it was calculated, deliberate. He knew me before I had ever known him. His obsession wasn't just with the Umbrella Academy —it was also me. And whatever he planned to do, it wasn't just about taking down the Hargreeves family.

It was about taking me apart, piece by piece.

"Guys, you need to see this" Allison's voice echoed from the attic.

I turned my head sharply in the direction of her call, my auditory sensors amplifying the sound of her footsteps above. But my gaze lingered on the laptop before me, the dim glow of the screen reflecting off my face.

I couldn't leave this behind.

With a measured breath, I settled back into the chair, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. The files weren't just information—they were evidence. I needed to ensure that everything Leonard had gathered about me and the Hargreeves family would be saved.

My eyes locked onto the screen, and I initiated the transfer.

[System Interface: Initiating data sync...]
[Source: Leonard Peabody - Local Drive]
[Target: Y/N Neural Network - Encrypted Storage]

The process began instantly, my mind linking seamlessly to the laptop's systems.

I scanned the contents at lightning speed, parsing through emails, documents, saved files, and even cached web pages. My internal systems broke each piece of data into fragments, securely encrypting and storing them in my personal database.

Every keystroke he'd made, every search query he'd typed, every folder he'd tried to hide—it was all laid bare before me.

[File Detected: Notes_App_Data.bin]
[Description: Detailed breakdown of Y/N's systems and components...]
[Status: Transferred]

The information on my parts and systems transferred first, the fragmented data stitching itself back together seamlessly as it flowed into my mind. I could almost feel the weight of his obsession as each byte of information downloaded into me.

I continued scanning deeper.

[File Detected: Captured_Images.zip]
[Description: Photographs from multiple locations—Library, Hargreeves mansion...]
[Status: Transferred]

The photo of me and Five at the library blinked into my memory archives. Cropped, edited, stored.

My gaze hardened as I bypassed every firewall he'd tried to set up, ensuring that nothing was left behind.

[File Detected: Search_History.dat]
[Description: Hargreeves Family - Personal Data; Reginald Hargreeves...]
[Status: Transferred]

Finally, the last piece of data—the information he had gathered on the family. His obsession stretched far beyond me; it was tied to all of us. And now I had the proof.

The screen flickered, signaling the completion of the transfer.

[System Notification: Transfer Complete.]
[Total Data Synced: 100% - Stored Securely.]
[Connection Terminated.]

I blinked, my eyes refocusing as I pulled my finger away from the laptop's surface. Its once-vivid glow dimmed to a standby screen, its secrets now residing within me.

I straightened, the weight of the knowledge settling in my circuits.

I rose from the chair, closing the laptop with deliberate care. The faint creak of footsteps behind me caught my attention.

"Coming?" a voice called softly.

I turned and saw Diego standing in the doorway, waiting. "Yes," I said, my voice calm and measured, concealing the storm of calculations running through my system. I walked toward him, and he stepped aside, allowing me to ascend the narrow staircase first.

The attic was small, dimly lit by a single window where pale light filtered through, casting a faint glow on the space. As I reached the top, my eyes scanned the room. My system didn't need to enhance the scene to register the grotesque array of objects around us.

It was a shrine.

Posters covered the walls, yellowed with time. Action figures lined the shelves, their faces melted or crudely burned. Old lunchboxes, drawings, and photographs littered the room, all focused on one subject—the Umbrella Academy.

And yet, everything had been mutilated. Each of their faces—our faces—had been cut out or scorched beyond recognition. The drawings of the family as children were especially unsettling, with large, dark Xs drawn over our heads.

"What the hell..." Diego muttered, his voice trailing off as his eyes darted across the room.

"All of our faces are burned off," Allison said, her voice tight, almost disbelieving.

"Well, that's not creepy at all," Diego added, his attempt at humor barely masking the unease. "This guy's got some serious issues."

Allison folded her arms, her gaze sharp as she studied the room. "Why would someone do this?" she asked, her tone laced with frustration and a tinge of fear.

I stepped forward, scanning the rows of action figures on the shelf. Reaching out, I picked one up—an old replica of Luther. Its face was burned, melted beyond recognition. I turned it over in my hands, analyzing the marks, the precision of the damage.

"This level of fixation isn't uncommon," I began, my voice calm but steady, as though I were explaining a calculated conclusion. "It's the behavior of someone who once admired but now resents. Obsessive fans often start with an idealized version of their subjects, and when reality doesn't meet their expectations, that admiration twists into anger. Hate."

I replaced the figure on the shelf and stepped back, my gaze sweeping across the room. The photos, the drawings, the defaced memorabilia—it all told the same story.

"This isn't just a collection. It's a manifesto. A deliberate act of targeting," I continued. "From the way everything is burned, sliced, or scratched out, he isn't just angry. He's personalizing this. He blames you. All of you. Perhaps for what you represent... or for what he believes you've taken from him."

Allison turned to me, her brow furrowed. "You're saying he's trying to get back at us? For something we didn't even do?"

I nodded. "It's possible. Obsessive minds like his don't follow conventional logic. He's created a narrative in his head where you're the villains.

"Shit." The word escaped both Diego and Five at the same time, low and grim, cutting through the uneasy silence of the attic.

"This was never about Vanya," Allison said, her voice tight with realization as she turned to us. "This was about us."

Her words hadn't even settled when Five stumbled, swaying unsteadily on his feet before collapsing to the floor.

"Five!" Allison's voice cracked as she rushed to his side, dropping to her knees, panic lacing her every movement. Diego followed instantly, kneeling beside her. I remained rooted to my spot, frozen. Not by fear, but by something deeper. Something programmed. Something... ordered.

I couldn't move. I couldn't act. Not since Five had given me the command in the car. The directive echoed in the back of my mind like a locked door I couldn't break through.

"Forget about me being hurt in any way."

Yet I couldn't look away. My gaze was locked on him, my sensors tracking the slowing rhythm of his vitals. His heart rate dropped. His breathing was shallow. He was in pain, and I—I couldn't help him.

"Jesus Christ, Five." Diego's voice broke through the tension as Allison lifted his blood-soaked shirt, revealing a bullet wound in his abdomen. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the floorboards a deep crimson.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Diego asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Five exhaled a faint, ragged breath, his words barely audible. "You have to keep going. So...close."

And then he went silent.

"Five?" Allison's voice sharpened with alarm. "Five!" She shook him, panic etched across her face.

I stood motionless, my hands hanging uselessly at my sides. My systems churned with conflicting inputs—every directive urging me to act, every instinct screaming at me to move—but the order was absolute. I couldn't override it. Five had made sure of that.

"Y/N," Diego's voice cut through the haze, sharp and demanding. He was in front of me now, his hands gripping my shoulders, his expression somewhere between frustration and desperation. "Why didn't you tell us?"

I didn't respond. My eyes remained fixed on Five, unmoving.

"Hey!" Diego's voice was louder now as he shook me, but it felt distant, as though I were underwater. "Why didn't you help him?"

Finally, my gaze shifted, sluggish and mechanical, to meet his. My voice came out fractured, the words forced. "He... told me not to." A faint glitch flickered in my tone, a trace of static breaking through.

Diego stared at me, confusion and anger flickering across his face, but Allison called out before he could press further.

"We need to get him back to the Academy. Now." Her voice was urgent but steady, taking control of the situation.

Diego didn't hesitate. He lifted Five's limp body into his arms and made his way toward the attic stairs. Allison turned back to me, her expression softening when she saw that I still hadn't moved. My gaze had drifted to the floor, to the deep stain of blood that Five had left behind.

"Y/N?" she called gently, but I didn't respond. I couldn't. My systems felt locked, stuck in a loop of helplessness and guilt.

"Y/N, we need to go." Her tone sharpened, but still, I didn't move.

Finally, she stepped toward me, wrapping her arms around me firmly. Without warning, she lifted me, carrying me out of the attic. I didn't resist. I didn't even react. I just let her carry me, my body limp, my mind spiraling.

"She's stuck or something," Allison called out to Diego as they carried us out of the house. "Let's get them both back."

Diego didn't argue. He opened the back door of the car, laying Five down across the seat, his head resting awkwardly on my lap. Allison sat me down next to him, her hands lingering briefly on my shoulders as though she was checking for some sign of life in me. But there was nothing she could fix. This wasn't physical. It was the weight of Five's order, still binding me, still holding me back.

Diego shut the door, and they climbed into the front. The engine roared to life, and the car sped off toward the Academy, leaving the cursed house—and everything in it—behind.

I stared down at Five as he lay motionless across my lap. His face was pale, his breathing uneven. Blood seeped from his wound, staining his shirt and my own clothes. My sensors tracked his heart rate—it was faint but steady for now.

Carefully, I reached out and brushed a lock of hair from his face. The action felt both natural and unnatural, my movements smooth yet deliberate. My fingertips lingered for a moment, as though trying to reassure myself that he was still there. Still alive.

My systems registered the faint, weak beat of his heart, the erratic rhythm of his pulse. Every calculation, every diagnostic told me the same thing: he needed immediate medical attention. But the part of me that wasn't just wires and code, the part of me that was something more, simply sat there, quietly hoping that he would stay. That he wouldn't leave.

And for the first time, I hated my programming. Because the one thing I was created to do— protect him—was the one thing I wasn't allowed to do.

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WORDS WRITTEN:
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