• 1 day earlier •

Five knew that something abnormal was going on, there had been great disturbances in the space-time continuum - and he could feel it.

Yes, every second month he would feel a prickle rush up his spine - but now, it was reoccurring every second day.
And when it did happen, he would feel as though someone had poured a cup of freezing water down his back, and the little hazel hairs on his nape would wave, like long field grass on a windy day - dancing with the soft breeze.

It was a fraction unsettling, for this to be suddenly happening - and it made him incredibly jumpy and wary, he nearly stabbed Luther with a blunt pencil when he entered his room to tell him that Allison had bought coffee beans.

Not that he wouldn't stab him, that ape-man was unbearable.

So when the hairs in his body suddenly bristled one chilly morning while he was calculating the distance and years he could now jump, his body acted upon instinct and without a second thought grasped the lilac crayola scissors that had been left lying around - preparing to blink, but stopping in his tracks when he heard an all too familiar female voice.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't stab me, Number Five, I'm not as willing to go through the transplant for my vital organs again."
The Handler smiled, line red lips stretching wide like a thin line of wire.

Her prying eyes were shaded by a pair of large clubmaster sunglasses, elbow length fingerless gloved hand holding a light briefcase - dyed platinum hair perfectly curled into place, plain black attire contrasting well against it - making her ruby red heels standing out against the two shades.

"I see you successfully stopped the apocalypse." She said with a grin, Five placing his makeshift weapon back down onto the wooden desk.
"What are you doing here?" The brunet almost demanded, the woman inching forwards and placing a gentle hand in his shoulder.

"Just, wanted to pop in - say hello to my favourite assassin in schoolboy shorts."
"Cut the bullshit." He snipped,

"Still snarky as always, I want you to come back with us."
"..And why should I do that?" Five asked with a sarcastic smile, folding his hands behind his back.

"I'm sure that by now you have notice that you can feel... the disturbances in the continuum, your reflexes are extremely well trained and speedy - yes, but what you just did was certainly inhuman. You must have felt the warp through time.
That is something we can tell you all about, even help you control it - use its full potential. And, that position in management is still open - so you'll be kept busy." She gazed at the silent boy and sighed deeply.

"There is nothing left for you here, you'll be an extremely useful asset to the team - and with me in charge, your talent and genius mind won't go to waste. Promise."

"What about my family?" The brown haired boy asked, lightly pushing away the hand that had settled in his shoulder.
"What if something happens, and I'm not here to keep them out of trouble."

"I can assure you that them and your little wizard boyfriend will be safe, so - what do say?"

—

• 1953 •

"I must admit, Number Five, in all the time that I've been here - I've never met anyone quite like you." The Handler said to the brunet beside her, the two walking along the cement pavement towards a large, pristine dome-like building - the woman swinging her briefcase slightly by her side, the other with his hands placed in his navy blazer pockets.

"The hitmen, Hazel and Cha Cha, for example, are talented - certainly but..." She looked at him.
"They can't see the big picture. Your spunk, your enterprising spirit, well, it reminds me a great deal of myself - if... I may be so vainglorious.

If things work out for you here, you could potentially make a fine successor, Five." The Handler nudged him slightly in the arm as she said so, placing the briefcase down by the entrance and shrugging off her leathery trench coat, passing it to a man who had approached them - pulling off her sunglasses and placing it in her jet black dress pocket.

"I would like to discuss the logistics of my family's safety at your earliest convenience." The brunet said, perfectly crafted words flowing through his mouth.
"As well as this body replacement."

"Such chutzpah. It's refreshing, I'll admit." They ascended up a flight of creamy stairs with polished brass railing, the platinum haired woman's ruby red heels clacking loudly and echoing off the tall walls.
"Slow down, Five. All in good time. In fact, now that you've agreed to work with us, we've got all the time in the world." She guided him through the area, giving small gestures to the people and busy offices below them.

"The Commission works in support of a delicate balance between the timeline of events and mankind's free will." They strolled past a small illuminated room, filled with ebony briefcases - a female with short canary brown hair fiddling with the combination lock, which was actually the date, time and year in which they had to travel to complete their mission.
Five should know, he had used them for half a decade.

"The briefcase is no longer part of your kit, Five. Free your mind.
You're management now." The Handler gave the brunet a wide grin, patting his shoulder as if to say congratulations.

"One of us."

"All the people in this floor are case managers, each one responsible for one major event at a time."
They had stopped in front of a wide, long room - filled with rows and rows of small wooden desks, the sound of quite indistinct chatter, ringing phones and the constant click click click of the typewriter keys being pressed in quick succession being the only sounds within it.

"So many of them." Five said quietly.
"Impressive, isn't it? Being part of something... so grand.
Come on." The coffee haired boy lingered for a moment before following the Handler, who had soon filled the silence that hung between them.

"Whenever someone chooses the wrong path and the timeline is changed, the commission gets a report from field agents on the ground. These field reports are sorted and assigned to a case manager. They determine if anyone needs to be... removed from the equation to assure that their event happens as it should."
An elderly and frail woman that seemed like she could be easily blown away by a breeze was within the room the Handler had stopped at, adjusting her small half moon spectacles as she carefully placed a fifteen centimetre cylinder within one of the many tubes that were lined up.

"Based on that determination, the case manager sends instructions via pneumatic tube to...temporal assassins like you formerly were Number Five. Any, queries so far?" The platinum haired woman asked with a grin, the brunet giving a short sarcastic grin in return.

"Yeah. Who was the case manager handling me?"

"Ah." The Handler brought a hand up and gently graced his pale skin, stroking his cheek once.
"You mean the apocalypse."

"Five, meet Dot."
The brown haired woman paused her work, looking up and smiling brightly - the continuous quiet clicking from the other typewriters drilling annoyingly into the old teen's mind.

"Dot is responsible for all apocalypse matters, in fact, it was Dot here who first flagged your appearance in 2020."
"No hard feelings." The brunette quickly added with a wide smile.

"Well, you certainly put us through the ringer. Outsmarting two of our so-called best temporal assassins.
If that doesn't spell leadership material.." The Handler purposefully spoke loud enough to capture the attention of the other case managers, the clicking ceasing for a moment, silence falling over the small room.

"... I just don't know." The platinum haired lady chuckled slightly, gently patting Five once again in the shoulder before slowly walking down the area - the rapid typing resuming.

"I suspect..." The Handler began, swivelling around to face the coffee haired boy.
"you like a challenge, Five." A plain wheeled chair squeaked as she drew it out from the unoccupied desk with an aluminium desk name plate with the words Mr Five printed on it, patting the back rest.

"Which is why I'm giving you a particularly complex first case." Five pulled his hands out of his blazer pockets and grasping the crimson red file the Handler handed him, opening it and observing the contents within - a small black and white photo of an airship paper clipped at the front.

"It's too bad Joseph Spãh decided against sabotaging the fuel tank, it would have been so much easier." She laughed out almost tiredly.
"Anyhoo, if you have any questions... I'll be right behind you." As she left the room, the coffee haired boy slowly seated himself on the wheeled chair, carefully reading through the file papers - and soon proceeding to work on his case, using the old typewriter in an almost amateur manner - of course, he's never had a reason to ever use one before this.

Dot, who's desk was placed right behind Five's, leaned to one side - speaking in a cheery manner.
"Hiya Five. How's it going?"
"I must have utter silence in order to complete this task." He replied almost instantly, pressing the silver handle on the writing machine - the wide rectangular beige paper moving up each time, eventually getting to a point where he could just slide it out without damaging it.

"Oh, oh, okay." The female case manager stammered out, waiting a couple seconds before leaning out to the opposite side.
"Hey, a few of us are having lunch, and I was wondering if you..." Five cleared his throat in a manner that said leave me alone, opening the top draw and pulling out one of the brass little cylinder capsules - placing the rolled up paper he had within it.
"... you're, doing something."

The brunet closed the metal draw with a dull clank, pushing himself out of the wheeled chair and tread towards the door.
"Oh, bye - bye!" Dot waved awkwardly, the boy stepping out of sight.

There were speedy whooshes within the pneumatic tube room, bright lights blinking - the clacking of heels nearing Five, who was standing before one of the many tubes that were lined up - having figured out how it functioned on the spot, already beginning to place the capsule in hand into it.

"I'm afraid that's not procedure." The Handler loomed over the brunet's shoulder, Five pausing - turning and slowly passing the cylinder to the platinum haired woman, the elderly fragile woman that he had seen earlier getting up from her position at a wooden desk on the far side of the room.

"Five, meet Gloria. Gloria is perhaps the single most vital cog in our machine."
The grey haired woman chuckled in a flattered manner, her face carved with hours by time's antique pen.
"Gloria, this is Number Five." She said, pulling out the beige piece of paper within the brass cylinder - the brunet giving a small charming grin directed towards Gloria .

"Look at you. Deadly little thing." The old woman said in a frail, feeble voice.
"So happy we decided to close the contract on your life!"

"I'm afraid your reputation precedes you. And it looks like you're building on it here." The Handler spoke in a matter of factly voice, uncurling the sheet and reading the words on it.

Terminate Karl Weber.

"Ooh, Karl Weber. Now tell me, why unfortunate Karl." The Handler said excitedly, the charming grin now bewitched into a mischievous one - deep ocean blue eyes glinting, looking between the two women as he spoke in a sophisticated and devious manner.

"Karl Weber is the butcher at the shop where Captain Ernst A. Lehmann acquires his weekly roast. So, if Karl dies, his butcher is passed on to his son Otto - who never washes his hands which is disgusting."

Gloria gave a look that looked as if she were offended greatly, the platinum haired woman looking at Five with a pleased smile.
"So he's the one who gives the captain his roast."
"And that gives him food poisoning." The brunet continued, the two alternating between sentences.
"Which makes him late for work, which delays the takeoff."

"And to make up for lost time," Five turned to Gloria.
"the Hindenburg flies through a weather front of high electrical charge and humidity."

"And the static electricity inside the aircraft makes it a virtual tinderbox. Tiny engine sparks..."
"And just like that, we have..." An explosion was mimicked by the boy, hand slowly dropping from head hight down the the middle of his torso - opening as it were the fulmination itself.
The women laughed with glee, the elderly grey haired woman casting an expression of astonishment and admiration on her face.

"I'm sure you've all heard that Mr. Five had proven to be as, adept with a pen as he was with a sword." The Handler announced when she and Five entered the small room that they were in a few minutes ago, patting the boy's back with pride before he returned to his seat - opening a second file that had been placed onto his desk.

"Let his effort serve as inspiration, to you all.
Herb!" She suddenly voiced.
"How long have you been on the Lusitania?"

"Oh, ah... Well, let's see, I, uh..... I" He stumbled on his words and struggled to specify exactly when, a look of that suggested he was caught off guard on his face.
"Sorry?"
"When I first started..."
"Sorry? I can't hear you. Still can't hear you." The Handler cupped her hand around her ear, cutting in between his words almost rudely - a noisy and short buzzer that sounded saving him from having to answer, everyone but Five within the room getting off their chairs and quickly hurrying out of the room for the break.

"Oh, Gene, a word before you go to lunch. Gutenberg seems to be having second thoughts about the printing press." From the corner of his eye, the coffee haired boy watched everyone - including the Handler - file out of the room, immediately closing the crimson folder in his hands once it was empty.

He turned to Dot's desk, picking up a folder that hadn't been there earlier - and carefully stuffing it up his argyle sweater vest, and making his way to the men's bathrooms.

Five sighed quietly, the metal stall lock clicking - the boy sitting down onto the toilet seat and quickly pulling out the folder that was within his vest, whispering a cuss in annoyance as the door opened - the heavy sound of heels reverberating throughout the tiled restroom.

"Shit."

"So, how's your first day going?" The Handler asked curiously, entering the stall beside him.
"Couldn't be better." He replied, repressing the sarcastic tone that desperately wanted to lace his words.

"Glad to hear it." The sound of urination and choked sparse coughing soon filled the area - Five furrowing his dark eyebrows in confusion, and slight disturbance.

"I burnt my rugae. Ever burn your rugae?" The urination continued.
"Ruugaeee. The ridges on the hard plate that help pass food to the oesophagus."
The brunet quietly and cautiously placed the cardboard folder back into his sweater vest, being attentive that he didn't make any obvious sounds that would alert the woman beside him.
"Anyway, I'm on a liquid diet for two days, hence the marathon of urination. One faulty cog, and nothing works as it should." The sploshing sound finally died away, the dodgy metal toilet roll holder clacking as she grasped the toilet paper.

"You know, we value integrity at the office above all else. Trust is essential, and that trust is... built over time. But in the event of a breach, the Commission will act swiftly and without mercy. An efficiency I'm sure you above all people can appreciate, Number Five." The soft rustling of clothing signified that the woman had finally finished, the toilet flushing loudly - nearly drowning out the resounding heel clicks.

"I'm feeling peckish. Have you had your lunch?" The tap whined at an A 440 as she washed her hands, soon ceasing after several seconds.
"Not yet." Five replied, shaking his head to no one in particular.

"Great. How would you like to lunch with me in my office? You can eat solid foods, and I can live vicariously..." She peeked over the gap of the colourless door to the brunet's stall.
"Through you."

He gave a faux dimpled grin.
"Sounds great."

☂︎