ATLAS // Five Hargreeves

[#4] Stoners for Hire

FIVE LIKED VANYA, really, he did. But she thought he was crazy, and she didn't believe him when he told her about the end of the world, and so she had really gone down in his estimations.

After informing her of what he saw after jumping too far forwards in time – getting stuck in the apocalypse without enough energy to travel back home – and after pouring one too many glasses of whiskey and a pink liquid he wasn't sure he was capable of identifying, Vanya had informed him that she knew a great therapist that might be able to help him differentiate his thoughts.

A therapist.

Five didn't need a therapist to help him save the world, he needed a fucking God and another glass of whiskey.

Still, he was thankful that she offered him a place to sleep, a comfortable couch with an itchy blanket, and although he didn't feel like resting, he appreciated that she was willing to accommodate him in her shitty apartment that smelled like death and despair.

Instead, Five decided to find comfort in the four modern glassy white walls of Mertech, a clinic specializing in the development of prosthetics, and more specificially – glass eyes belonging to those that might possibly provoke the end of the world.

During his time in the apocalypse, Five had wandered across the bodies of his siblings, all laying breathless under the rubble like the rest of the world, and in Luther's hand, clutched in a tight grasp, was a glass eye engraved with a serial number and the Clinic in which it were created from.

"Uh, can I help you?" A man said, passing Five a strange look as he walked towards his office. Five turned, pulling a polite smile as he rolled the eye in his hand, feeling comfort through the cold glass. His eyes flickered down to the doctor's lapel, a tag attached to his lab coat reading out Dr. Lance.

"I need to know who this belongs to." Five says, holding up the eye. Dr. Lance recoiled slightly, suddenly uncertain.

"Where did you get that?"

"What do you care? It is yours, is it not?" He scoffed before rolling his eyes and returning to his calm, polite posture. "I found it, at the playground actually. It must have just... popped out. I want to return it to it's rightful owner."

He grinned, a sinister bearing of his teeth and the doctor winced.

"Aww." The receptionist cooed, placing a hand on her heart. "What a thoughtful young man."

Five shot her a tight-lipped smile. "Look up the name for me, will ya?"

"Uh, I'm sorry. But the patient records are strictly confidential." Dr. Lance said with a wary nod. "That means that I can't-"

"-I know what it means."

"I'll tell you what I can do." Lance said, nodding in confirmation. "I'll take the eye off your hands and return it to the owner. I'm sure he or she will be very grateful, so if I can just..."

He stretches out a hand towards the glass eye, only for Five to yank it from his grip with a tight smile.

"Yeah," He hummed. "You're not touching this eye."

Dr. Lance frowned, shifting uncomfortably to try and assert his dominance. He leaned down, hesitantly. "Now, you listen here, young man-"

"No, you listen to me, asshole." Five sneers, reaching up to grab the doctor by his collar, pulling him further towards him. "I've come a long way for this, through some shit your peabrain couldn't even comprehend. So just give me the information that I need and I'll be on my merry way."