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❝ You say that as if you know me. Have we met before? ❞
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FLARE AND LUTHER'S CAR HUMS to a halt as they park on the side of the long, empty countryside road. After realizing she has nothing else to do other than wait for everything to go to shit, the girl finally decided to resort to her last option.
She would lure Hazel and Cha-Cha out with a fake briefcase, and then bargain with them to call whoever's running the Commission in return for it. That way, she can finally speak to whoever's in charge.
Flare explained her little plan to Luther beforehand, so now they sit in silence, waiting for their assailants to arrive. She stares out the window, the faint sound of music playing from the radio. Whatever happens next, it'll work out. At least, she hopes.
"I never enjoyed it, you know," the girl breaks the silence.
Luther glances over at her, "What?"
"The killing," she explains, "I did it because I had to — because it was necessary to survive. I guess I was just so young, it was easier for me to become desensitized to it," her tone is uncharacteristically calm — no sarcastic tone or aggravated rasp. "After a while, taking a human life . . . it starts to feel like slaughtering cattle once you do it enough."
The man glances over at her. His first inclination is to be concerned with the way the girl describes killing people, but he doesn't see enough psychopathy in her eyes to worry about it.
Instead, he asks, "Were you alone?"
She nods, a calm expression cast over her features.
"If I wasn't running, I was getting kicked around for being poor, or driven out for being a 'witch'," the girl makes air quotes with her fingers for the last word, "I did meet a few kind people. Some were generous enough to lend me clothing or food, but I never made any long-lasting friends. Didn't have enough time."
Luther nods. "Yeah, I get it. I spent four years on the moon, and that was enough. You were gone for just about as long. It's the being alone that breaks you."
Flare shrugs, "I suppose, but at least I still had human contact, although most of it was violent. You had absolutely no one. That is what breaks you."
The man remains silent for a moment. He thinks about what she said. The girl next to him looks far too old, yet far too young at the same time. As if she was forced to grow up too soon, but never had the chance to do it normally.
Luther moves a hand over to the briefcase positioned between their seats.
"You think they'll buy it?" he asks.
"Hell yeah!" She gives him a sideways glance, her usual demeanor returning, "They're desperate, and people who are desperate will scramble for anything that remotely resembles a solution of whatever their problem is. Besides, if they check it, it'd be after I already get ahold of whatever higher power is in charge of the Commission."
He nods again, "I should hold onto it . . . in case they make a move on you."
Flare raises her eyebrows, but doesn't protest. "Whatever makes you feel better."
Not even a few moments after the words leave her mouth, she spots a car on the horizon speeding towards them. Leaning forwards, she squints at the vehicle.
"Here come the furry-wannabes . . . " she mutters.
"The what?" Luther asks in confusion.
Flare ignores him and gets out of the car. He follows her lead. As Hazel and Cha-Cha approach, the two step around the car and make their way over to them. The assassins end up slowing to a stop a good distance from where Luther parked their car. The girl looks over at him.
"Hey . . . if they end up getting angry and turning me into swiss cheese," Flare states, "Just . . . make sure it's an open casket. No autopsy. I don't want to be naked at any point after I'm dead. Let the coroner know that I don't mind being buried in school girl attire."
She turns around before he can respond. The two agents are already making their way towards them, animal masks still adorned.
"How do you guys even see with those things on?" Flare calls, walking towards them a few steps — just enough so that Luther can't overhear their conversation.
The lady with the pink dog mask, which if she remembers correctly is Cha-Cha, removes her headwear and tosses it to the side. Hazel does the same.
"So where is it, kid?" she demands, already looking way too fed up with the bullshit.
"Oh, I got it in my pocket right here, you just can't see it—"
"We don't have time for your misplaced humor, Sparky," Cha-Cha whips out a pistol and points it at the girl.
Flare puts her hands up in mock-surrender, "Woah, woah, woah, slow down there, madam, no need to be so pissy. It's in the car! And I'm sure you're already aware that my associate over there," she motions towards Luther, "is not your average giant."
"She's right," Hazel cuts in, leaning towards his partner, "you dropped a chandelier on him—got right back up.
"So if you shoot me," the girl continues, "by the time my body hits the floor, he'd smash your precious little briefcase to a pulp."
"Probably us too, right?" Hazel finishes, "So, why don't we help each other?"
A smile makes its way onto Flare's face, "That's more like it! You are too kind, really—"
"Cut the crap and get on with it," Cha-Cha threatens, adjusting her grip on the gun.
"Okay! Jeez. I need you to call whatever higher-ups you got making the big decisions down in the Commission and get them in contact with me. I just wanna talk."
"About what?"
"That, unfortunately for you, is top secret!"
Cha-Cha eyes Flare for a moment, contemplating her suggestion. She seems incredibly unwilling to oblige, but with reluctance, she lowers her weapon.
"Don't tell her about the briefcase."
The girl nods, shrugging, "Whatever you say, boss."
They all back away, both sides eyeing the other with tense hostility. Flare doesn't turn her back on them as she paces towards the car, watching as Cha-Cha briskly walks towards a payphone while Hazel observes from a distance. Leaning against the car, the girl watches her dial in whatever number belongs to the Commission officials.
"What happens now?" Luther asks.
"Now," Flare replies, " . . . Now, I guess we wait and see."
It doesn't take long before the woman finishes whatever phone call she was just on. Flare watches her quickly return to Hazel's side, moving to whisper something in his ear. She tries to squint to get a better look at what's going on, but suddenly, the distant sound of a very eerie children's song meets her ears.
An ice cream truck appears to be making its way down the road towards them. All four of the individuals gathered on the road share a mutual look of confusion, observing the strange phenomenon in bewilderment. Flare turns to Luther.
"You think that's upper management?" she asks, the car now close to passing them.
But he doesn't get to respond before both of them lock eyes with Klaus who's waving happily from the window, Diego in the passenger's seat. A wide smile spreads onto Flare's features at the sight of them.
"No way!" she exclaims excitedly, watching the truck go by.
"It's a setup!" the two assassins scream, before opening fire on the vehicle.
Luther moves to stand in front of Flare, blocking her from any flying bullets that might be wizzing their way. A loud crash is heard as the car careens into Hazel and Cha-Cha, and their bodies go flying. The girl crouches, bracing herself from the whirlwind of chaos that's spawned around her.
Then, everything stops. The world goes silent. In a state of confusion, Flare lifts her head and glances around.
Time appears to have literally frozen. Luther is standing completely still in front of her, arms still outstretched from attempting to shield her from any harm that may come their way. Stepping out from behind him, the girl looks over at where Klaus had driven the ice cream truck.
She sees Hazel and Cha-Cha mid-frozen in being hit by the thing, and a bunch of scattered debris flying off of the car. Except all of it is suspended in mid-air. Then, she spots the bullet which had been flying right towards Luther's chest.
Warily, Flare steps under Luther's arm and begins to make her way over to the crash. It almost feels like an out-of-body experience. The way the world seems to have stopped — it's like she's the only person alive right now, while everyone else dropped off the face of the earth. A feeling of dread overwhelms her, and she can't quite pinpoint why.
"Neat trick, isn't it?"
A voice suddenly rings out through the silence. Flare whirls around. Her eyes land on the sight of a woman. She appears to be older, yet still incredibly beautiful for her age — curled silver hair gracing a tall, yet slender figure dressed in a dark suit, and carrying a briefcase.
Ah, so this must be who Cha-Cha called.
Flare takes a step back. The woman lifts her veil which hangs from a small, yet fashionable hat. She then removes her sunglasses to reveal a pair of bright blue eyes. Immediately, the girl feels unsafe, as if her gaze can somehow peer deep into her soul and see all of her darkest secrets by just holding eye contact. It's intimidating.
"Hello, Flare," she speaks again. "You look good, all things considered."
Flare tries to ignore the alarmed feeling in her stomach and remains calm. She holds her hands behind her back, crossing one leg in front of the other.
The girl greets her, "You say that as if you know me. Have we met before?"
The woman returns her smile with one just as wide, yet it feels like anything but that. The expression is void of anything warm. Rather, it's like that of a wolf staring down a rabbit — very similar to that of a look she's seen several times before on someone else.
"You could say that," she replies, "but I don't think you've met me."
Flare tilts her head, "And what do you mean by that?"
The woman lets out a short chuckle, "It doesn't matter. All will present themselves in due time. However, your efforts are futile."
"My efforts?"
"Yes, your efforts in trying to stop the apocalypse," her piercing eyes remain fixed on Flare's calculating ones, "why don't you tell me what you really want?"
The girl looks at her for a second, eyebrows furrowing. She doesn't quite understand what's being asked of her. She knows the question has a double-meaning, but she decides to try and answer it anyway.
"I want you to stop it," Flare answers with a sarcastic grin, "but I don't think you wanna do that for me, do you?"
"What you're asking for is next to impossible, even for me. What's meant to be is meant to be. That's our raison d'être."
The girl straightens herself, taking a cautious step forwards, "Really? And what's to stop me from burning you into a pile of ashes?"
The woman shrugs, "I'll just be replaced. I am but a . . . small cog in a machine," she tucks her hands behind her back similarly to how Flare has, taking a step towards her. "This fantasy you've been nurturing about running around and bringing an end to the apocalypse — it's just that. A fantasy."
She takes another step forward.
"And I'll say, though," she continues, stepping towards her once again, earning a wary look from the girl, "we're all quite impressed. Your initiative, your . . . stick-to-it-iveness — really quite, quite something. Which is why we want to offer you a position back at the Commission . . . in the Temporal Assassins Department."
Flare scoffs, "I've heard this speel a million times, lady. I don't know who you are, but whatever management scheme you're running — I'm not interested."
"Hm. I guess I should've introduced myself first. Well, I'm The Handler, darling," she lets out a sound of amusement. "Come work with us, Number Eight. You know it's where you belong."
"Don't call me that."
"Ah, it appears I've struck a nerve," she observes, "No matter, I'm sure you've already thought over the idea, but let me give you some clarity. I'm talking about the corrections division. And you won't be starting out as a basic recruit, no. You'd be working with the elites, and even under the wing of the most elite — Number Five."
She takes a step back, waving her hand towards the space next to her. Flare gives her a confused look.
Suddenly, Five apparates beside the woman.
"What the—"
"I know you two have some . . . history together," the woman continues, "so I thought I'd do you the highest honor of allowing you to work with each other. Interpersonal relationships within the workplace are usually discouraged to prevent complications, but I thought I'd bend the rules a little. Just for you."
Five looks between the woman and Flare, his hands in his pockets.
"I'll admit, I'm impressed," she continues, "I didn't expect you to land such a devastating blow to my best assassin, but you did it."
She motions towards Five's arm, which he briefly lifts up the sleeve to reveal a bandaged spot before returning his hands to his pockets.
"It's just more evidence that you would be a prodigy in the position," she finishes.
Flare looks between the two, still shocked at the boy's sudden appearance. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little voice is saying to do it. Throw it all away. All of it. The running, the fear, the stress — let go and join the Commission to escape her problems.
"Aren't you tired of this game of cat and mouse, gorgeous?" Five suddenly asks. "If you work with me, your problems will disappear. You know that better than I do."
Flare's jaw tightens in response to his condescension. Despite the overwhelming urge to leap at him and knock his teeth out, she remains still and quiet. Why argue with someone who won't listen?
"I mean," The Handler cuts in, "surely you can't be happy . . . like this."
"I'm not looking for happy," Flare snaps.
She gives the girl a skeptical look, before lifting a hand to her cheek to affectionately caress it. Flare instinctually jolts back.
"We're all looking for happy," the woman says softly. "We can make that happen."
They're right. She hates to admit it, but they're right. The realization has been festering in the back of her mind, but Flare has continued to push it down whenever the idea attempts to surface. Her temptations come rushing back to her.
If she joins them, she wouldn't have to run anymore. There would be no more need to worry about the world ending, and she could finally put her powers to good use on her own terms, and in a position which fits perfectly for her. The answer is simple. The opportunity is right in front of her. So, why does she still hesitate to take it?
"The choice is yours, Number Eight," the woman's voice rings out to break the silence.
Flare tilts her head, "And what about the Hargreeves?"
"What about them?"
"I want them to survive."
The woman looks around, an exasperated breath leaving her lips. She turns back to the girl, a hint of annoyance now having appeared on her face.
"All of them?" she asks.
Flare raises her eyebrows, "Uh, yeah. Last time I checked: all of them."
She gives the girl a hard look for a moment. Then, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her sunglasses, placing them back onto her nose.
"Welp, I'll see what I can do," she extends a hand to Flare. "Do we have a deal?"
The girl looks down at her hand cautiously. She glances over to Five, who gives her a blank expression. Indecisive.
If she really does this, there's no backing down. She returns her gaze to the woman.
"Hold on," Flare says.
Jogging over to Hazel and Cha-Cha, she picks up their guns and removes the magazines, before chucking them far off into the field. Then, she returns to Luther, and moves the bullet heading for his chest a few feet to the side for good measure. Deeming that her job is done, the girl quickly returns to Five and his apparent boss.
"That's my girl," the boy says, his lips curling upward ever so slightly.
Flare feels something stir in her stomach, but she immediately pushes it out of her mind. Now is not the time for her weird teenage hormones to be interfering.
The woman extends her hand once again, this time appearing a little more impatient than before. Hesitantly, Flare accepts the gesture, reaching forwards to shake her hand. The moment she makes contact, they vanish in a blast of colors.
For the first time in a while, the girl feels that same-old feeling of weightlessness again.