WITCH. five hargreeves [1]

thirty. 1955

EDITED AUGUST 19, 2021

Eight sighed as she made her way towards Reginald's liquor cabinet, taking the biggest bottle she could find. She dragged her way towards one of the stools and poured herself a glass. With all of the equations running in her head she couldn't think clearly anymore. Sure, she was one of the smartest kids back when Reginald was alive, but she wasn't as smart as Five.

Eight looked in confusion when she had seen Grace humming, walking to where the living room was. She could still recall those times as a child when the robot would sing her lullabies to sleep, so hearing Grace hum brought a small smile to her face.

"Oh hello, Eight." the robot smiled, before going back to dusting the books. Diego told her the night before that Hazel and Cha-Cha killed Grace, and seeing her alive made her more confused than ever. The fact that she was supposed to be dead had only hit her now.

"Grace?" Eight quickly gulped down the remaining beer, before making her way towards the robot.

"Hm?" Grace asked in her usual, calming tone before Diego came in, just as surprised as she was.

She looked at him frantically, lips mouthing the words "What the hell?"

"Mom?" Diego repeated what Eight said earlier. Grace adverted her attention from the animal head she was dusting before making her way towards Diego, a pleasant smile on her face.

"Hello, Diego dear." she smiled, making her way.

"How are you.." Diego eyed Grace up and down. "Walking around?" he finished, holding her hand. To his surprise, it was full of stitches, and Diego guessed that someone must have repaired her.

"One foot in front of the other." Grace chuckled. "Why? How do you do it?"

"Mom... I." Diego mumbled, looking down at her arm. Eight guessed that telling Grace he shut her off wasn't the best idea. "What's the last thing that you remember?"

Eight was about to listen to what Grace was about to say until time paused, much like the other day when The Handler visited them. The birds outside stopped chirping, the dust falling down stopped, and everything was paused all of a sudden.

They really had to choose the worst time.

"Eight," Five called out. Eight snapped her head towards his direction, seeing that The Handler was beside him. The woman gave a small, creepy smile before staring at the beer bottle that was beside her. "Time's up, Eight." she held out her hand for her to reach. Eight sighed, staring at Diego and Grace one last time before holding her hand, immediately transporting them to the headquarters.

They were back in 1955.

-

"I must admit, you two, in all the time that I've been here, I've never met anyone quite like the two of you." The Handler commented, with Eight and Five following after the woman who led them out of the warehouse.

"Hello, Handler." An unknown person greeted, but the woman decided to ignore the greeting but instead focus on Five and Eight. "Hazel and Cha-Cha, for example, are talented, certainly, but they can't see the big picture. Your spunk, your enterprising spirit,"

When The Handler hugged Five from the side, Eight was pretty sure that she would murder her after all this. "Well, it reminds me a great deal of myself, if I may be so vainglorious. If things work out for you here, you could both potentially make fine successors, Eight and Five." The Handler rambled, walking them both into the building. A butler went in their direction, taking the coat the Handler had off before the three of them went up the stairs.

"I'd like to discuss the logistics of my family's safety at your earliest convenience." Five ignored all those compliments. Slightly grabbing Eight's hand when he notices the murderous look on her face.

"Such chutzpah." The Handler sighed, taking some of her accessories out of her hair. "It's refreshing, I'll admit. Slow down, Five. All in good time."

"In fact, now that you've finally agreed to work with us, we've got all the time in the world. The Commission works in support of a delicate balance between the timeline of events and mankind's free will." The Handler informed.

Eight and Five stared at the briefcases that were all huddled in one station, remembering all the shit that they've been through. All those murders. All those people they killed, flashing in her head for a small instant. "The briefcase is no longer part of your kit, you two. Free your mind." The Handler noticed that they had been staring at it for too long. "You two are in management now, one of us."

"All the people on this floor are case managers, each one responsible for one major event at a time." The woman explained, showing them into a room filled with people.

"There's so many of them." Eight commented, amazed by the amount of people.

"Impressive, isn't it? Being part of something so grand." The Handler smiled for a moment, before starting to walk again. "Come along." The Handler smiled, walking down the corridor again.

Eight sighed.

"Whenever someone chooses the wrong path and the timeline is changed, the Commission gets a report from field agents on the ground. These field reports are sorted and assigned to a case manager. They determine if anyone needs to be removed from the equation to assure that their event happens as it should." The Handler smiled, walking into a room filled with tubes.

Eight and Five stood by the doorway awkwardly. Now that they were in the bodies of teenagers, everything they did felt extremely awkward.

"Based on that determination, the case manager sends instructions via pneumatic tube to temporal assassins like you bother formerly were, Number Five and Eight."

"Any queries so far?" The Handler asked, staring at the couple. "Yeah." Five replied, looking at the Handler. "Who was the case manager handling me?" he asked. "Ah. You mean the apocalypse." The Handler traced her hand on Five's cheek. Eight continued glaring at the woman. "Hands off my man." she snarled, making the Handler surprisingly take her hand away, leading them into another room.

"Five, Eight, meet Dot." The Handler smiled, pointing at a woman who was typing on a keyboard.

"Oh, hi." she greeted, looking between Five and Eight. She was awestruck at first since they were practically legends in the commission.

"Dot is responsible for all apocalypse matters. In fact, it was Dot here who first flagged your appearance in 2019."

"No hard feelings."

"Oh, there's a lot of hard feelings." Although Eight had meant it as a joke, the woman cowered in fear.

"Well, you both certainly put us through the ringer. Outsmarting two of our so-called best temporal assassins. If that doesn't spell leadership material—"

The typing stopped and soon all of their eyes were fixated on her. " ..... I just don't know." she said in a normal voice, and soon the typing continued again.

"I suspect you like a challenge, Five.
Which is why I've given you a particularly complex first case. It's too bad Joseph Späh decided against sabotaging the fuel tank. It would've been so much easier." she frowned, giving Five a file. Five reluctantly sat down. The Handler faced Eight, a smile of her face. "And Eight... Manuel L. Quezon, president of the Philippines decided to refuge 1,200 jews, who were close to dying. One of those jews may put and end to the apocalypse, so you know what to do. Find who among those 1,200 needs to be removed." she smiled, putting a file down.

"Anyhoo," she smiled, walking out the door. "If you have any questions I'll be right behind you."

Eight and Five shared an uneasy look, before deciding to go to their work.