(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...
"It's a probability map." Number Five told Luther, who was standing at the foot of the bed. Number Five was standing on the bed once again, so that he could reach the coving for more writing space. Number Eight was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating from a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos whilst Number Five worked away. She was happily humming a tune whilst she nibbled a corner of the corn snack, tapping her feet every now and then. Her anger with Number Five had begun to fizzle away. She could never stay angry at him for long.
"Probability of what?" Luther asked, analysing the lines and lines of black handwriting that littered the bedroom rules.
"Of whose death could save the world. I've narrowed it down to four." Number Five said, stepping back to see his work as a bigger picture.
"Are you saying one of these four people causes the apocalypse?" Said Luther, directing his attention to Number Five. He briefly looked at Number Eight, but that didn't last long when he noticed her attention was completely absorbed by the Doritos.
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"No, I'm saying that their death might prevent it." Number Five corrected him, just as matter-of-factly as ever.
"Oh." Luther hummed as Number Five went back to his scribbling. Number One shrugged his shoulders, his face contorting as he tried to wrap his head around what Number Five was suggesting. "I'm not following."
Number Eight giggled. "You wouldn't be, Luther. Number One doesn't follow." She joked, though there was some element of truth to her statement. He shot her an aggravated look, causing her to withhold a further laugh.
"Time is fickle, Luther. The slightest alteration in events can lead to massively different outcomes in the time continuum. The butterfly effect. So all I have to do is find the people with the greatest probability of impacting the timeline, wherever they may be, and kill them." Number Five said, barely taking the time to take a breath.
Number Eight nodded from the corner, her mouth full of chips. "Yeah, what he said."
"Oh, yeah..." Luther nodded wearily, looking closer at the handwriting that Number Five had circled. "Milton Greene. So who's he, a terrorist or something?"
"I believe he is a gardener." Number Five said simply, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Luther shook his head, his mouth hanging open. "You can't be serious. Wait, this is madness, Five. You--" He immediately stopped speaking when he saw Number Five holding a large gun.
"Suits you, Fivey!" Number Eight said from the floor, pointing at the boy and smiling.
He chuckled. "Thanks love." He was quiet, but sincere.
Luther was still in shock to see the young Number Five, as he remembered him, holding such a weapon. "Wh-- Where'd you get that?" He stuttered, unsure of what he could possibly say.
