Chapter Text
“Why do we have to be the ones to handle this?” the nightshift guard muttered, walking beside his coworker down the empty halls of the laboratory. “Last time I saw him, he almost bit my hand off, like a freaking feral animal, I swear.”
He shivered at the memory. Best not to think about it… or so he told himself.
“Man, listen—” the other guard said, gripping his gun tighter. Just thinking about getting close to the madman's cell made his skin crawl. “The pay’s good. That’s reason enough, right? George?”
They finally reached the cell. The one everyone else avoided like the plague, but the Handler seemed strangely attached to. Or… did she? No one really knew what went on in that woman’s head.
Mike, the bolder of the two, stepped closer, trying to peer through the tiny window into the dark room.
“Five Hargreeves?” he called out, hand hovering over the keypad, ready to enter the code.
“We’re about to come in. You’d better not try anything weird, or your collar’s getting activated.”
Silence.
Not unusual. But this silence felt different, deeper. Deadlier.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t been quiet before… but George, in particular, felt a creeping sense of danger rising up his spine.
“I don’t like this one, bro,” he said quietly. “Really not feeling it.”
Mike didn’t care. The pay was too good.
“Let’s just go in. He’s just having one of his tantrums. And he’s collared, remember?”
He tapped in the code. The door slid open.
The cell was empty…except for a collar lying on the floor. The very collar meant to suppress one of the deadliest, if not the deadliest, assassin’s abilities.
This shouldn’t be happening.
“This cell’s emptier than my bank account,” George whispered. “And that’s saying something.”
Mike gave him an exasperated look, somewhere between disbelief and irritation. Seriously man ?
That’s when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. A shadow. Young but fast, he knew, without a doubt who it was.
The monster left it’s cage. And it’s upset.
Fear hit him hard.
He didn’t even have time to warn George before the world went black.
…
Five jumped down from his hiding spot, casually patting some dirt off his pants. He glanced at the unconscious guards lying below.
Imbecilic troglodytes, he thought, looking at them with pure disdain.
Normally, he’d go for the kill. But right now, his body wasn’t exactly cooperating — not after weeks… no, months of this. Or had it been longer? He’d lost count somewhere between the injections and the screaming. Whatever the number, his body felt like something scraped off the floor and stitched back together by one of his worst nightmares.
Five wasn’t one for surprises, he really wasn’t. But he felt like this one was well deserved. Especially after the hell he’d been through. The feeling of freedom that came with it was almost... delectable.
After knocking out the incredibly talkative guards, Five needed a breather — and a few liters of coffee, too. Let him crash a little, especially after the stunt he just pulled.
He pressed his fingers against his neck where the collar had been. Now, only raw, angry rashes and needle-like bruises remained.
After a painfully long time training with his “improved” powers, what the Handler called it, anyway (but really, she just made him more of a monster), he had a wild idea:
What if he could phase out of the collar?
By teleporting an insane number of times in rapid succession, he pushed his body past its limit. Molecules shifting too fast to track. His atoms flickering in and out of place.
He was glad it worked, since he’s free now. But it could’ve gone very wrong. Like, dying-a-painful-death wrong. Like, getting-stuck-inside-a-wall wrong.
Sadly, the young-looking grandpa had to snap out of his thoughts when a blaring alarm rang through the building, the lights flashing red.
‘How did they-
He looked down. One of the guards had managed to slam an emergency button before blacking out.
“Seriously?”
Without wasting another second, Five picked up a gun from the guard’s belt and took off running. Teleporting in his state didn’t seem like a great idea anymore.
...
Alarms screamed overhead. Red strobes lit up the white hallway, casting his shadow like a ghost on the walls. His legs were on fire, but he didn’t slow down. Not now, not when freedom was this close, when his siblings were this close.
The first guard rounded the corner just in time to eat the butt of Five’s stolen gun. Not even a second later, Five teleported behind another one closing in, shooting him in the head without hesitation. He snatched the badge off the man’s uniform, lips twitching into a bitter smile.
Soon enough, he reached his destination: the teleporting room. His ticket out of here.
The door was closed. Expected. He’d made sure to memorize the building’s patterns. He took out the badge he’d grabbed earlier and scanned it on the keycard reader. A red sign flashed in response.
ACCESS DENIED.
…What?
He tried again. And again. Still the same result.
“They must have disabled all the cards… They knew I’d come here.”
Voices echoed in the distance, along with the pounding rhythm of running footsteps. They were getting closer.
Cursing under his breath, Five made a split-second decision. He would have to teleport, something he tried to avoid, not wanting to overuse his abilities more than they already were.
...
He blinked into the teleporting room with a snap of displaced air. A sharp, searing pain exploded in his skull, nearly dropping him to the floor. He fell to his knees, blood dripping from his nose from the overuse of his abilities.
No time.
Gritting his teeth, he stumbled to the control panel. He had one goal: find a random universe far away — far enough to heal, to disappear, to plan. To maybe, somehow, get back to his family.
He tapped at the interface, half-seeing the buttons, half-guessing. Then he collapsed onto the teleportation machine: a steel-framed chair laced with dark wiring and pulsing blue veins of energy. It hummed softly, like it was alive.
‘No time for dramatics. Not now. Not when I’m this close to passing out.’
The last thing he saw was the door exploding inward in a hail of sparks and metal, and the unmistakable flicker of the Handler’s blonde hair as she stormed through, eyes locked on him.
Five hoped he’d never have to see those eyes again.
Then he was gone.
….
He’s back in the lab. Of course he is.
He hears a hum, a woman voice, humming the cold melody he heard so many, many times, each time for no good new, it meant she was satisfied.
That was worse than anything else, it felt like she fell right through her games-
“Sit still, Five,” says the Handler, her voice syrupy-sweet. But her face keeps changing from her own, to Diego’s, to Luther’s, to something with no eyes.
He tries to move, but his limbs aren’t his. They’re heavy. Rubber-like. A child’s body. No. Don’t do this again.
“You’re such a good little weapon,” she murmurs, patting his head. Blood drips from her fingers.
He looks down. His collar is there again. So tight. He can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
He claws at his throat. Screams. Nothing comes out. Make it stop.
“You should’ve stayed,” says a voice. His voice.
It’s him, standing across the room. Older. Covered in blood.
Was it his blood ? Or the one of all the innocents he killed ?
“You ran,” says the older him, eyes glowing. “Now they’re dead.”
“No-”
“You ran.”
‘‘I’M SORR-’’
….
Five woke up with a gasp, grabbing his chest at the sudden sharp pain attacking him. He sits up, everything hitting him at the same time: the smell of rotting food, motor oil, the sound of cars driving around, the smell of blood - his own blood, surely, and... and the weird, wet pressure against his thigh ?
...Wait- what?
“The hell??”
He glances down.
A dog.
A small puppy, pressing its nose against his leg, blinking up at him.
…..Interesting.
Ignoring the ball of fur snuggled against his side, Five finally takes his time to look around, which explains the stench of rotting food. He’s in a dumpster. With a dog. In a dumpster.
Honestly, figures.
Frowning, he weakly hauls himself over the side and crashes to the ground with a painful thud. He hisses in pain, ignoring the dog’s bark as he leans against the dumpster for support.
Well, it’s pitch black outside, that’s for sure. He hasn’t seen the sky in a long time. No stars. Not that he cares. Stars were more of a Viktor thing.
Still, thinking about Viktor makes something twist bitterly in his chest.
He shouldn’t think about it.
First, he needs to heal. Then, figure out how to shake the Commission. Maybe for good this time.
They’re more of a burden than anything else anyway, he thinks, limping into the dark.
He’s sure (like, 100% sure) they’ve probably locked down his home universe just in case he tries to crawl back.
‘I need to figure out where I am. Hopefully, it’s a universe far enough.’
He got out.
He got out.
That’s… a lot of feelings.
Too much.
So, like the mature adult he is, he chooses to ignore them.
He keeps limping through the alley. It’s dirty, narrow, and blessedly empty. Probably around 1 a.m. or so, judging by the silence and dark, but honestly? He’s never been great at guessing the time without the Commission’s tech.
He looks down at his attire... it looks like he ran away from a mental institute or something, which is understandable. The clothes the Handler gave him are all white, thin, and way too clean. Like she expected him to train, kill, and bleed in a hospital gown. Real stylish.
A soft whine stops him.
He turns.
The puppy is trailing after him, its steps excited but hesitant.
He stares.
Silent.
Then turns back and keeps walking.
It’ll get tired eventually.
….
Despite what he thought, walking in the middle of the night dressed like a freshly escaped psych patient, complete with a scruffy little dog trailing behind him, was surprisingly easy.
Okay, maybe not "easy." Nothing had been easy since the world ended. But quiet, at least. Quiet enough that his brain, for once, didn’t feel like it was trying to dig its way out of his skull.
The streets were empty. Dead. Not just quiet—abandoned. Which, considering what looked like the city center, was... weird.
He frowned.
Where the hell am I?
Not that it really mattered. A city was a city. As long as it had books, maps, records, and maybe a working coffee machine, he’d figure out the rest. But still, this place felt wrong. Too quiet. Like even the shadows were holding their breath.
He stepped out of the alley, the dog padding along beside him. He still couldn’t believe it was following him after an hour of walking. He’d tried to shoo it away. Twice. It just stared at him with those dumb, shiny eyes, like he’d hung the damn moon.
Stupid mutt.
He did hear stories about strays bonding to humans that fed them, but he didn’t even feed it. He couldn't feed it. His own stomach felt like it had turned on him an hour ago, gnawing at itself in protest.
He couldn’t even teleport out of this situation—his body was at its limit, literally.
He stopped in front of a wide, empty road and scanned the surroundings. The streetlights flickered just enough to paint everything in gray.
“Looks like a funeral warmed over,” he muttered, more to himself than to the dog.
The dog just wagged its tail. Trusting and eager. Acting like Five was a damn hero or something (He is not, that is something he is sure about).
Five crouched down beside it, eyes sharp despite the ache in his joints. Sleep was a memory. His limit had been reached hours ago, but pain had a funny way of keeping you alert.
“Why won’t you leave?” he asked quietly.
The dog tilted its head at him, tongue lolling out.
Ben would have liked you.
Five wasn’t an animal whisperer, that was a Ben thing.
That thought hit harder than expected. He swallowed.
Ben had always had a soft spot for the broken things. The ones that didn’t quite fit. Used to sneak in strays when Dad wasn’t looking. Kittens, birds, even a damn raccoon once. Got caught every time. Never stopped. Even when training got harder as a punishment after that.
(At the time he didn’t notice how broken Ben was. How broken everyone was. Or maybe he did, but chose to ignore it.)
Even after he died, they kept sneaking in. Like they were still looking for him.
Five reached out, poked the dog’s head. It yipped once, cheerful. He shook his head, about to stand, when a sound caught his attention—footsteps. His body tensed automatically.
He rose. Turned. Three men.
Nothing about them screamed "threat"...well, except the knife in one of the men’s hands. And the grin. That was worse.
“Well, look at what we’ve got here,” the one with the knife said, eyes gleaming. “I say we got lucky tonight, boys.”
Of course.
Of course the first people he runs into after everything are bargain-bin thugs. He actually felt offended.
“I’ve got nothing to give you,” he said flatly.
The puppy growled, hilariously tiny but fiercely determined. But was ignored. (#justiceforrandompuppy)
“That’s not your decision to make,” the man holding the knife—who Five labeled Sharpy—said.
“Not in Gotham.”
Gotham?
That got his attention. It sounds weirdly familiar.
So. He wasn’t just in a new city. He was in an entirely new reality. At least he got a confirmation that the machine worked.
That name didn’t exist where he came from. He was really sure about that.
Sharpy, noticing his silence, just asked, tilting his head.
‘‘You’re not a Gothamite, are you?’’
His companions just sneered like the NPCs they were.
‘‘No Gothamite in their right mind would walk around in the middle of the night, especially so close to Crime Alley.’’
“If I wasn’t,” Five added smoothly, “would you kindly tell me where the nearest library is?”
Knife Guy blinked. Then laughed.
“Are you stupid? We’re about to rob you!”
Five stared. Dead-eyed and so unimpressed.
He’d killed men in suits sharper than these idiots. Had assassinated politicians, spies, targets so paranoid they had armed drones flying around their homes.
These guys? The fact that they thought they were somewhere near his level was somewhat irritating.
“It wasn’t a question,” he said coldly. “Where is the nearest library?”
Sharpy’s laughter died. His face twisted into anger. Who did this brat think he was?
“You’re dead, kid.”
He moved.
So did Five.
One arm grabbed the wrist holding the knife. Twist. Snap.
Knife Guy screamed, or tried to. Five knocked him out before the sound finished leaving his throat.
When he turned around, he saw the puppy biting one of the two last standing thugs, while the other tried to kick the dog off his friend’s leg.
Five didn’t give them the chance to regroup. He stepped forward.
“Where,” he said, voice low, dangerous, “is the library?”
The bitten one was crying. The other practically wet himself.
“S-straight ahead! Really! You can’t miss it!”
He didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked, the puppy trotting loyally beside him.
When they were out of earshot, he crouched again. The dog’s mouth was smeared with blood.
“You’re a biter, huh?”
He gently lifted her, checked.
“You’re a girl.”
The dog wagged her tail, panting happily.
“Truly a good biter, huh, girl?”
He set her back down. She didn’t leave his side.
Five sighed and kept walking.
Maybe, just maybe, a little company wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. As long as he didn’t get too attached, of course.
….
Five regrets every nice thing he’s ever said about this damn dog. How come she was calm during the first thirty minutes with her, but now...after beating those wannabe assholes, she can’t stop barking at everything that moves?
“Alright, listen.” He pointedly glares at the little demon whose breed he still hasn’t identified yet. “I need you to chill the fuck out.”
They are currently standing in the alley just next to the library ; suspicious enough. But he couldn’t care less right now. Especially when this canine is making things way harder than they should be.
“I need you to stay quiet, I need a lot of concentration beca-” BARK!!
Another one. Dog or not, she clearly knows what she’s doing...making his miserable life even more annoying than it already is.
“You understand me, don’t you?” BARK!!
Sigh. “Of course you do.”
Five turns to look at the library entrance. He can’t even teleport inside anyway, not right now, at least, and he is exhausted, incredibly tired, and hungry. Plus, spending time trying to unlock the door, seems exhausting. I should try my shot tomorrow- BARK!!
…He really should.