(Number Five x Female OC)
Highest Rankings:
#1 #numbereight
#1 #numberfive
#1 #benhargreeves
#1 #aidangallagher
#1 #allisonhargreeves
After one of her brothers died and one disappeared, Number Eight and the remaining members of the Hargreeves fami...
Number Five and Number Eight approached room number 12 at the Rain Quail Hotel apprehensively. The door was ajar, allowing an amber glow to seep through the gaps.
"I've been waiting for you." Said the voice of The Handler from the other side. Number Eight rolled her eyes, sensing The Handler's seductive tone from a mile away. The pair entered the room, only to find that it was full of outdated and dowdy decoration. The wallpaper was littered with birds and the carpet was a garish floral print. As the entered further into the room, they notices Agnes, the waitress at Griddy's, tied to a chair with tape over her mouth.
"You must really like doughnuts." Number Five said sarcastically.
"Help me." Agnes said, her voice muffled through the tape that covered her mouth.
"It's been a while." The Handler said, perched on the bed. She had an irritatingly smug expression on her face as she looked upon Number Five and Number Eight.
Number Eight looked around herself, confused. "It's been three days." She scoffed.
"For you, maybe. But for me, it's been a lot longer since I've seen those adorable little shorts." She pointed a figure towards Number Five's uniform, making Number Eight feel nothing but discomfort. She had a pair of chopsticks in her hand and a Chinese takeaway box was placed on the coffee table, leaving a lingering scent in the room.
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"Well, you've had time to heal." Number Five said, analysing her face for injuries after he blew up the Tube Room at the Commission with her in it. She had a creeping scar on the lower right hand of her face, though her hair managed to cover most of it.
The Handler rose, twisting her chopsticks in between her fingers. "Luckily, for us, time is the one thing that my organisation has an abundance of." She said, tottering towards Number Five and Number Eight.
"We got your message, by the way. Nice packaging, but so much for Commission protocol." Number Five said, smirking at The Handler.
The woman chuckled. "There have been a lot of changes since you left the commission." She came to stand in front of Number Five, to which he frowned at. "You really did some damage. The briefcases were all but destroyed, to say nothing of the...highly trained personnel you killed. After all, what is an institution if not for-"
"What do you want?" Number Eight interrupted, sick of her tiptoeing around the subject. The girl crossed her arms, looking The Handler up and down.
"To be happy, Number Eight. To have a simple, unfettered life, to... do the work that my superiors require. But, your being here, well, it complicates all that." The Handler replied, sitting down on the dusty cough. It was completely full of old-fashioned cushions that were patterned with oversized roses.
"Then why the hell are we here?" Number Eight asked dumbfounded by The Handler's explanation.
"Billions of people are about to die tonight. You can change that." Number Five hissed at The Handler. Agnes whimpered from the corner as she heard the news, her mind fluttering with thoughts of Hazel.
