BEING NICE IN THE COMMISSION got you nowhere.
It had taken many of the Commission agents a few tries to get this right, to get it correct and they learnt it the hard way. Atlas, however, realized this pretty quickly. That, and the fact that it required much less energy to just mind your own business and tell anyone who needed to fuck off, to do so immediately.
The popular statement that it takes more muscles to frown was a not a scientifically proven fact, but instead scientifically proven bullshit. Frowning actually requires the use of eleven muscles, whereas smiling requires twelve, and although the difference isn't all that extraordinary, Atlas wanted to save all the energy she could.
She wanted to save energy for things that were necessary. Like breaking out of solitary confinement.
Prior to the stunt that Atlas and Five had pulled earlier – you know, trying to blow up the Commission and everything – Atlas had been put into a white box that they called Secure Unit #1. Within her first week of solitary confinement, however, Atlas decided that the room was somewhat nauseating and broke out by stabbing one of the Commissioners with a pencil that he always kept in his back packet. He was alright in the end, but Atlas was not.
She was then placed into Secure Unit #2.
Secure Unit #2 was much more spacious, with the white paint much crispier and fresher than the box she had been placed in before. There was a small vent at the top of the ceiling which pumped out air from the canteen, and sometimes she would be able to smell the strong scent of blueberry porridge of hot chocolate that they were preparing for dinner. She was really starting to like it, but a box was a box, and you couldn't keep a lion in one for very long.
And so, she broke out of that one, too. A little less violently, of course, but broke out nethertheless.
When The Handler arrived to take her to Secure Unit #3 – Atlas was unsure why the Commission had so many Secure Units – Atlas was greeted with a simple question.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Atlas responded in The Handler's favourite language.
"Je m'amuse."
The French could always make everything much nicer.
But in all honesty, Atlas didn't really lie. She was having fun. It wasn't like she could just break out of the Commission and meet up with Five in wherever-he-was. They had blown up the briefcases and there was really nowhere else to go. And so, to amuse herself, she found salvation in the knowledge that The Handler was slowly going insane each time Atlas broke out of a cozy, white box and arrived sitting in her office, her feet up on the desk and her hand reaching into a bowl of taffy.
The last time – third time lucky – Atlas was finally given another mission other than her own entertainment. When she waltzed into the office, she took a few minutes to spin in The Handler's chair and move her pens around a little before she reached into the forever-full taffy bowl. She dug right to the bottom.
The metal came as a surprise. After all, the taffy's weren't known for their metallic flavouring, and were usually nice and gooey in the middle. Trackers, however, were not.
A red blinking light encased in a black coating, just small enough to fit inside one of the taffy sweets, was wrapped innocently in the 1950's casing. She nearly bit into it – a large health hazard, by the way – and it was so small that it could almost slip down her throat undetected.
When she pulled it out, slipping it over her tongue and into the palm of her mouth, she examined it with a curious interest, before popping it open to reveal intricate wiring that was all too familiar.
Atlas thought that stealing The Handler's sweets would make her irritated, a habit that the woman never appreciated, but then again, she had failed to notice that The Handler never left the bowl empty or hid them from her sight. After all, Atlas' sweet-tooth ensured that she was constantly under their control, disguised as something that stuck to her teeth and made her feel sick the more that she ate.
She frowned in annoyance, and slipped the tracker into her pocket.
Not a second later, the door swung open and was followed by a sigh that would have usually made Atlas grin, if she had not been so occupied with her latest discovery. Now, she could hear the fake sigh in The Handler's voice, her performance letting Atlas know that despite her reaction, The Handler already knew she would find Atlas not in her room, but instead sitting at her desk.
Because of course, she did. Atlas' stomach was filled with taffy trackers.
She hated being tracked. She hated not knowing things. She hated taffy trackers and why did she even take them in the first place? It was her fault anyways, always trying to irritate The Handler through simple acts and now she was being tracked. She was being tracked, and Five was being tracked, too.
Five was being tracked.
The Commission knew where he was.
If they knew where he was, why wasn't he dead yet? Why wasn't The Handler celebrating? Gloating in her face that there was no other option left for her, other than to come back to the Commission? Why hadn't the world below them been blown into pieces?
The Handler did what she did best. She was stalking, and then she would pounce. But at first, she would wait.
But what was she waiting for?
"Atlas," The Handler sang, crossing the room with a tutting sigh. "You can't keep escaping."
She turned and snapped her fingers, gesturing to two security guards that made their way towards the young girl. Atlas let them pick her up by her arms with ease and escort her towards the exit.
"It would be much harder for me to escape if you upgraded the security system." Atlas retorted. "I suggest you add a few more locks."
"You broke through forty-two of them in an hour."
"But it would have taken me longer if there were forty-six."
The Handler didn't reply, instead pinching her nose in defeat and waving a hand.
"Take her away. Please."
Atlas grinned at the reaction and shrugged off the man to her right. He winced slightly and she wriggled from her grasp, skipping down the hall to her new home; Secure Unit #4. Behind her, The Handler made sure that she closed the door and slid open the small slit resting at her eye-point.
"Anything you would like to add?"
Atlas' hand curled around the tracker in her pocket and the muscle in her jaw jumped and clicked. She forced herself to smile, a sardonic, sarcastic grin that beared her teeth. She could feel The Handler wince.
"Va te faire foutre."
The French could always make everything sound so much nicer.
...
LEONARD PEABODY LIVED at 31 Acer Drive with a small garden, pickett fence, and a porch that would have been perfect for a dog laying in the sun. Leonard, however, didn't have a dog. Psycopaths didn't do well with dogs.
"Be careful, okay?" Allison warned her brothers as they walked up the garden towards his house. The lights were off, allowing them to realize that he wasn't home. "We don't know what Peabody is capable of."
"Yeah, he didn't seem dangerous when I first saw him." Diego snorted. "Looks kinda scrawny."
"Yeah, well so are most serial killers and mass murders. I mean, look at him."
Five didn't have to look up to know that Allison had gestured towards him and nodded with a tight-smile.
"Thanks."
"Good point." Diego sighed before shaking his head. "So, what's this guy want with Vanya?"
"I don't know," Five said, watching Allison disappear around the back of the house as he followed Diego up the steps towards the main door, limping slightly. "Why don't we ask him after we kill him!"
"Woah, woah, hey. No killing, okay?" Diego replied, standing in front of him with a stern look. He opened his mouth to continue his instructions, but frowned as he noticed that Allison had disappeared. "You know what? It would be nice for people just to stick to the-"
Not listening, Five warped through the door and inside. Diego growled with impatience.
"-To the plan. Great."
He sighed and began to jog on the spot, preparing, before launching himself through the glass of the door. It smashes instantly and he falls through, beginning to groan and trying to avoid the small shards that littered the floor. Above him, Allison and Five begin to chuckle with amusement.
"Subtle."
Five smirked and pulled open the door. "You know it was unlocked, right?"
Diego did not know that.
"Yeah, well, my way works just fine."
They eyed the broken glass with raised eyebrows and he tried to distract them from the mess by waving his free, slightly cut, hand. "Spread out. Yell, if... you know... you get in trouble."
With another groan, he walked through to the kitchen and disappeared. Allison scoffs loudly and shares a look with Five.
"An inspiring leadership."
"One of the greats."
Peabody's house was painfully average, with pictures of his grandmother stamped onto the plain white walls and a cupboard dedicated to vintage cups that he liked to look at once in a while, but never drink from. He owned three different types of coffee – all the shitty ones, though – and was a big fan of 'Harry Potter', judging by the worn out book covers and a small poster in the corner of his room that exclaimed he was a Hufflepuff.
Allison very much doubted that he was a Hufflepuff.
She found evidence of this through a small ladder that led up towards his attic, the place where the painstakingly average became something a little more... different.
Different was certainly the right word.
Leonard was not only obsessed with the Wizarding World and kids with powers, but instead the real world and real kids with powers.
Those real kids being the Umbrella Academy.
It only looked less like an honorable shrine, and more souvenirs from a trip that Allison very much didn't want to see.
"Diego!"
Posters lined the walls, each of their own, masked faces staring back at them, outlined with Academy merchandise such as dolls and magazine covers, which had been torn into pieces and stuck back together, as if he wasn't sure if he loved them or hated them. The dolls had their limbs torn and faces burnt off, barely recognizable if it weren't for their distintive Umbrella Academy uniforms.
"Well, that's not creepy." Diego says, he and Five making their way up the stairs and looking around. "This guy's got some serious issues."
"Shit." Five reiterated.
"This was never about Vanya." Allison said, pressing her lips into a thin line. "This was about us."
Behind them, Five spun around slowly, surveying the room. The movement made him disortientated and his eyes fell limp. Instinctively, he pressed a hand to his abdomen, pressing down on it and letting out a low groan. In front of him, his siblings began to talk lowly, reaching out to touch one of the posters.
With a short intake of breath, Five's eyes closed fully and he fell backwards. The floor shuddered beneath him.
Allison and Diego spin around, retracting their hands and knitting their eyebrows together before crouching down to his level. They share a bewildered look.
"Five? What's going on?"
Diego groaned under his breath and began to lift up Five's blazer, then his sweater. On the floor, Five groaned at the movement and rolled his head back, beginning to hold his breath as Diego discovered a large bullet wound embedded into his abdomen. He cried out as Diego reached to touch it, quickly taking his hand away.
"Jesus, Five, what the hell?" Allison yelled out. "Why didn't you say anything?!"
Five turned to them, his voice raspy. "You have to keep going... you're so... close..."
"No." Diego said, determinedly. He shook his head. "Not until you're healed."
His words were lost as Five began to fall unconscious, white encasing his mind. Diego shakes him, frantically, but he gets no response.
"Five-!"
"Five-!"
"Five-?"