As we pulled up in front of my house. We all got out of the car, and I followed Five, Diego, and the girl toward the front door. The air was heavy with tension, each step feeling like it carried the weight of whatever confrontation was coming.

We walked inside, the house feeling eerily quiet. I could hear the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the creak of the floorboards under our feet as we made our way upstairs to the living room. Everything felt normal and yet not at the same time, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

When we reached the top of the stairs, I froze. My dad was standing there in the living room, holding a gun. His hands were steady, his eyes wide and panicked. "Dad, what are you doing?" I asked, my voice shaky with disbelief. This wasn't like him—my dad was cautious, sure, but he wasn't violent.

"Y/n, get over here!" he ordered, his voice tight with fear. He didn't look at me, his eyes locked on Five, Diego, and the girl. When I hesitated, he barked again, more urgently, "Now!"

I glanced over at Five, who looked just as surprised as I felt, though he was better at hiding it. Without thinking, I quickly sped-walked to my dad's side, but he immediately pushed me behind him, his arm firm as he kept me shielded. The gun remained trained on the group standing in our living room, his eyes darting between them, filled with a mixture of fear and resolve.

"Dad?" Diego said, his voice full of confusion, as if he were trying to place a memory. It was Five who answered, his voice level and calm despite the situation. "His daughter," Five explained, as if that somehow made everything clearer.

"Where did you get the film? 'The Frankin Footage'—the truth is time," my father demanded, his voice shaking slightly as he kept the gun raised.

"Do you know him too?" Diego asked Five, clearly trying to piece things together.

"New acquaintance. He's harmless," Five responded, though there was an edge to his voice.

The girl, who had been quiet up until now, gave Five a skeptical look. "Are you sure about that?" she asked, her tone sharp, her eyes scanning my dad for any sign of a threat beyond the obvious.

"Dad, put the gun down," I pleaded, my voice trembling as I tried to reason with him. I could feel his tension, the way his hand gripped the gun tighter as if he was ready to pull the trigger at any second. He kept me behind him, not even looking at me as I spoke.

"Are you or are you not an enemy of the people?!" my father shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. I could tell he was scared, and that fear was driving him to the edge.

Diego raised his hands slightly, trying to diffuse the situation with a calm, almost casual tone. "Such an open-ended question, yeah," he said, glancing at Five. "Really depends on the people," Five added, a touch of his usual sarcasm creeping into his voice.

My dad wasn't having any of it. "You move one more muscle, I will blow your brains out," he threatened, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. I could feel the tension in the air, so thick it was hard to breathe. I wanted to scream, to cry, to do something to make all of this stop, but I was frozen, trapped in the space between fear and disbelief.

Diego looked at Five, his expression one of quiet determination. "You want this, or should I?" he asked, his voice low.

"No, I got him," Five replied, his tone steady, though his eyes were sharp, assessing every detail of the situation.

Diego distracted the girl by getting her attention. Five vanished and repeated, pointing the gun up to the ceiling causing the father to shoot out a bullet, I screamed in shocked disbelief. Me and my dad quickly back away a bit from the bits of the roof feel down, Diego came and stolen my father gun out of his hand.

Before anything else happen the girl turn her attention to all of us. "What the hell just happen?" She said in a confused tone but with a smile.

_______________________________

The rope bit into my wrists as I struggled against it, trying to find some way to free myself, but it was no use. Whoever tied us up knew exactly what they were doing. The knots were tight, and the rope was rough against my skin, rubbing it raw with every movement. My dad was tied up beside me, his eyes wide with panic as he tried to muffle something through the towel shoved into his mouth, but it only came out as a frustrated, garbled noise. They even put Sushi in her cage duel to her hissing at everyone and almost attacking them.

I glanced over at him, trying to offer some sort of reassurance, but I wasn't sure what I could say or do to make this any better. The situation felt surreal—how had things escalated so quickly? Just a few hours ago, I was heading to school, my biggest concern being the test I had to pass. Now I was tied up in my own living room, watching as a group of strangers who had barged into our lives examined the very thing my dad had been terrified of.

Five, Diego, and the girl were all focused on the footage playing on the small TV. The grainy black-and-white images flickered, casting eerie shadows across the room. My dad's panic was palpable, even through his gag, and I could feel my own fear rising as I watched the footage, though I didn't fully understand what was going on. But it was clearly important—important enough for them to tie us up to keep us out of the way.

As I sat there, helpless and unable to do anything, the girl casually walked over to the side table, picked up a bottle of nail polish, and pulled a chair up next to my dad. She settled in, as if this were the most normal thing in the world, and began painting his toenails with meticulous care.

I stared at her, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. This was the last thing I expected—who paints someone's nails while holding them hostage? She glanced up at me, her eyes bright with a mischievous glint. "I went into your room and borrowed your nail polish, that's  cool, right?" she asked with a smirk.

I tried to say something, anything, but the towel in my mouth turned my words into muffled nonsense. I glared at her instead, hoping to convey my frustration and disbelief. She just smiled, taking my incomprehensible response as agreement. "Cool, thanks," she said cheerfully, returning her attention to my dad's toes.

I rolled my eyes, feeling a surge of anger and helplessness. Here we were, tied up and gagged, our lives in danger, and she was painting my dad's nails as if it were some kind of joke. Once we all seen the screen play we all turned are attention to the screen.

"Is it on?" A woman asked.

"I-I- don't know," a man responded.

"What do you mean?" There's an "on' button just— there's something over... that jigga-ma-thing whatever," the lady said.

"I hit the jigga-ma-thing," the man argued.

"Five, what even is this?" Diego ask Five.

"Shh. No questions," he answered.

"They're so cute! I love old couples. I'm always so proud of them for not murdering each other," the girl spoke. 

"Shush," Five spoke.

"Yeah, I-I'm Dan Frankel and—" the old man talked.

"I'm Edna Frankel," the woman behinds the camera said. "And we are in Dalles Texas, to see the president. Today's date is November 22, 1963," the old man pointed out, which I furrowed my brow in confusion. November 22?

"Well that's six days from now," the girl said. "

"Holy shit. This is it," Diego spoke. "The grassy knoll. Kennedy's about to get shot. How do you have this?" Diego spoke to Five.

Hazel died to get me this footage. It must be the key to stopping doomsday," Five explained.

"Hazel?" Diego asked.

"Long story," Five answered.

"What's doomsday?" The girl asked Five.

"Longer story," Five answered again.

I tried to wriggle my hands again, hoping that maybe this time I'd be able to loosen the knots, but the rope barely budged. Frustrated, I shifted my focus to the towel around my mouth, trying to nudge it down with my chin.

As I strained against the gag, a soft rustling sound filled my ears. I froze, my heart pounding, and turned my head slightly. Five was leaning in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Keep it down, would you? Or I might not take the towel off your mouth," he whispered, his voice low and edged with something that felt like a threat.

I met his gaze with a glare, trying to convey just how much I hated him in that moment. He only smirked, clearly enjoying my frustration, before turning back to the footage as if nothing had happened. His indifference infuriated me even more. Here we were, tied up and terrified, and he had the nerve to act like it was all just a game.

"But whatever is on this film, he wanted us to see it," Five explained. The film kept going, the old couple talking. Until gunshots were fired. "Oswald." Diego muttered.

Everyone kept screaming in the footage. "Oh no," I heard Five whispered. He went back and rewinded the tape. He stopped at a specific scene. "This can't be,"

"Okay you gonna fill me in now, guys? What the hell is this shit we're watching?" The girl demanded answers. The two boys got closer to get a better look.

"No that's impossible," Diego told us.

"Clearly it's not," Five said.

"What- what is it?" My father finally but yet barely able to speak.

"Dad," The two boys said in union.

_______________________________

After Five and the others left, the room fell into a heavy silence. My father was slumped forward in his chair, his head hanging down. His breaths came slow and uneven, and I could see the exhaustion etched into his features. He looked half asleep, worn out from the ordeal. I was in no better shape, the ropes biting into my skin and the towel around my mouth making it hard to breathe comfortably.

I kept trying to wriggle my hands, desperate to loosen the ropes, but the knots were too tight, and my efforts only made my wrists feel raw and bruised. The pain was almost unbearable, and I wanted to cry out in frustration, but I couldn't—my mouth was still gagged, and the muffled sounds only added to my sense of helplessness.

The muffled sounds of Five, Diego, and the girl's voices reached me faintly through the door. They were discussing something about Kennedy's death, but at that moment, I didn't care. The only thing on my mind was getting free, getting my dad free, and figuring out how to make sense of this mess.

The door slid open, and Five walked in again, his expression unreadable as he stood in front of me. He had his hands casually tucked into his pockets, and I could see the faintest smirk on his lips. "If I take the towel off your mouth," he said, his voice low and measured, "you won't scream, yell, or call out to anyone. Got it?"

I stared at him, my eyes filled with a mix of defiance and desperation. Slowly, I nodded, hoping he would finally give me some relief.

Five moved behind me, his movements smooth and deliberate. I felt the towel loosen as he carefully untied it from around my mouth. The fabric fell away, and I took a deep, relieved breath. My jaw ached from being held in that position for so long, but at least I could speak again.

"See, wasn't so bad," he said, his tone almost conversational as he turned to face me.

"Why the hell did you tie us up?" I demanded, my voice sharp and hoarse from the gag. "What are you really after?"

Five's expression remained impassive. "Why did your dad point a gun at us?" he countered. "We all have questions."

I scoffed, my frustration boiling over. "Because you gave him a good reason to! I wish he would've blown your brains out."

His gaze flicked over me, a hint of something—annoyance, maybe, or just indifference—in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" I called out as he made his way out.

"Somewhere," he said without looking back. "I'll let you out when I'm back. Lila will be here to keep an eye on you. And don't even think about trying anything."

The door slid shut behind him, and I was left alone with my thoughts. I let out a frustrated sigh, my anger mingling with a deep sense of helplessness. There was nothing I could do but sit there, still tied up and waiting for whatever came next. I glanced over at my dad, wishing I could comfort him, but all I could do was sit in silence, my mind racing with worry and uncertainty.

_______________________________

The minutes dragged by, each second feeling like an eternity as I sat in the living room with my dad. The darkness of the room was gone, but the unsettling quiet and the rough ropes digging into my skin made it hard to relax. I glanced over at my dad, still slumped in his chair, his mouth covered with the towel. He looked exhausted, and I felt a pang of guilt for not being able to help him more.

My stomach growled, reminding me just how hungry and thirsty I was. My throat felt parched, and I longed for something to drink, but there was nothing in sight. My weariness was mounting, the stress of the situation wearing me thin. I glanced around, trying to see if there was anything I could use to free us or at least make our situation a bit more bearable.

The sound of footsteps approaching caught my attention, and I turned to see Lila walking in. Her demeanor was calm and collected, a stark contrast to the chaos around us. She was followed by Diego, who was leaning heavily on her arm. He looked seriously injured—blood was seeping through his clothes, and his face was pale with pain. She guided him to the couch and helped him lie down, carefully removing his shirt to tend to his wounds.

I watched, a mix of curiosity and concern bubbling up inside me. Lila was methodical as she cleaned his injuries, her movements precise and practiced. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a certain calmness to her actions, as if she had done this many times before.

As the minutes ticked by, the silence between us grew heavier. Diego's breathing was shallow, and his eyes were closed, lost in a restless sleep. I could only imagine the pain he was in, and the sight of him so vulnerable was a stark reminder of how dangerous things had become.

After about an hour of this uneasy silence, Lila finally broke it. "You know," she said, glancing over at me with a hint of amusement in her voice, "For a father who's quite the chatterbox, his daughter is often quiet."

I looked up at her, a mix of surprise and irritation in my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

She gestured to Diego, who was still unconscious. "You've been so quiet. I would have thought you'd have more to say, given the circumstances. Your dad's always so full of stories and opinions. I guess it's different when you're the one in the hot seat."

I frowned, feeling a surge of defensiveness. "Well, maybe I'm just trying to deal with the situation the best I can. Unlike you, who seems to find all of this rather casual."

She gave me a small, almost pitying smile. "Casual? This is just how things are for me. It's our world. But I understand if it's all a bit much for you."

I sighed, looking back at my dad. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly, though the worry never fully left. "Why did you guys come here? What's so important about this footage?"

Lila's expression shifted slightly, and she glanced at Diego, who was still out cold. "It's not something I can explain right now. Maybe when things are less... chaotic. For now, we're just trying to handle things the best we can."

I shook my head, frustrated but unable to argue more. "Well, can't you at least get me something to eat or drink? I'm starving over here."

Lila walked over to me, her steps steady and deliberate. My heart skipped a beat as she approached, her hands moving to my bound wrists. The ropes were tight and uncomfortable, and the relief of seeing her begin to untie me was almost overwhelming.

"You're going to untie me?" I asked, my voice laced with both surprise and cautious hope.

"Yeah," she said, her tone nonchalant. "Unless you're planning on trying to kill me and run off with your daddy."

I shook my head quickly. "No, I'm not planning anything like that. I just want to get out of these ropes and maybe find something to eat or drink."

Lila's fingers worked skillfully, loosening the knots with surprising efficiency. "Good. Because, honestly, you're actually a fun one," she said, her eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. "Unlike the other two."

I raised an eyebrow at her, puzzled. "The other two?"

"Yeah," she said, finishing with one wrist and moving to the other. "Diego and Five. They're a bit more... intense. You're not as uptight. I like that."

As the ropes fell away from my wrists, I rubbed them, trying to get some feeling back into them. "So, you're saying you're not like them?"

Lila shrugged. "I guess you could say that. I'm more of a go-with-the-flow kind of person. I like to keep things interesting."

I looked at her, trying to gauge her intentions. "And what happens now? Are you going to let us go, or...?"

She smirked slightly, but there was something softer in her expression now. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm just giving you a bit of a break. We're not out of the woods yet, and there's still a lot that needs to be sorted out."

I sighed, feeling a bit of hope but also a lingering wariness. "So what happens next?"

Lila glanced over at Diego, who was still unconscious on the couch. "Next, we deal with him. Once he's patched up, we'll see where things go from there. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find something for you to eat. You both look like you could use the it. And plus, I'm quite on the rumbled side too.

I nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

She gave me a small, reassuring smile. "Don't mention it. Just don't get any ideas.

I smiled at her before I raised my hand for her to take. "I'm, Y/n."

"Lila. Lila Pits." She says as she shook my hand. And with that, she turned and walked out of the kitchen. I watched her go, my mind racing with questions and worries. I glanced over at my dad, who was still tied up but now more alert, looking at me with a mix of confusion and concern.

I moved to him and began to work on loosening the ropes around his legs, hoping to make him more comfortable. My hands were still sore, but the relief of being able to move more freely was a small blessing.

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