Five sat in his room pouring over equations and formulas. His expression was stern, frustrated even. How was he supposed to stop this? How could he stop this vicious cycle of apocalypse after apocalypse. He’s tired. Tired of fighting the apocalypse just to end up where he started. Okay fine, he has an obsession with chaos. He loves the thrill of a kill, the feeling of control. But he’s tired. He wants to relax. To buy a red 1970’s stingray and go on a nice long road trip.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice someone walk in. Didn't hear the creaking of the bedframe as they sat down on the old single bed in the corner of his bed. The only thing he cared about was the bottle of red wine in his hand and the equations on the chalkboard in front of him.