three

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chapter three:if i'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?── © websofopacity ──

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chapter three:
if i'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?
── © websofopacity ──

Luther Hargreeves found himself wandering into a smoky bar before his employer, Jack Ruby, an infamous mobster

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Luther Hargreeves found himself wandering into a smoky bar before his employer, Jack Ruby, an infamous mobster. The venue was crammed with all kinds of people who came to listen to the same girl crooning into the silver microphone, clearly relishing in the warm spotlight. While people slowly started the file out of the place, Luther spotted his brother sitting alone at the bar. He swam through the sea of people over to Five. He bent over to the boy's level.

"Thanks for nothing, dickhead," Luther snarled in his brother's ear.

Five looked up innocently at Luther, smirking, and motioned for him to sit on one of the stools. "I was hoping I would find you here as well."

"Why are you here? Who let you in?" Luther demanded, staying where he stood.

"I have a ticket. How I obtained a couple of drinks is none of your business and doesn't matter anyway. Listen, I screwed it all up again," Five started to explain but was cut off.

"What are you talking about?" Luther asked, resisting the urge to grab Five by his collar.

"I'm making a plan. I just talked to Allison about this—"

"Allison's here?" Luther interrupted him again.

"She just left to go backstage. Stay focused. All I need is to round up all of us and get on the same page to figure out if there have been any timeline changes," Five continued. "Or, we're fucked entirely, and we will all inevitably die horrific deaths."

"We ended the world again?"

Five nodded. "That is if I can't get our shit together. So in the meantime, I recommend tying up any loose ends now, which is exactly what I'm about to do. Excuse me."

Five returned his glass to the bartender, the clinking sound echoing in the crowded bar, and made his way backstage. He blinked passed the sorry excuse of security that was planted backstage. His footsteps seemed to drag as he neared the dressing room door. Frustration knotted his brow as Five ran his hand through his dark hair. His mind raced over the hundreds of thrown-out speeches he wanted to say to her, anticipating the storm about to ensue. He adjusted his necktie, straightening his appearance as if preparing for battle.

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