Five was called to The Umbrella Academy by Pogo. In truth, Pogo had tried to reach out to all the members, but as was often the case, Five was the first to answer the call. The others were scattered, busy, or simply ignoring their responsibilities, just like old times.

You were there, sitting against the far wall of the library, clutching your side. Blood seeped between your fingers, staining your shirt and pooling at your feet.

The sharp tang of iron filled the air, and Five’s nose wrinkled in distaste. He froze for only a fraction of a second, assessing the situation with the precision of someone who had seen far worse.

“What the hell happened to you?” His voice was steady, almost clinical, but his eyes narrowed, scanning for threats.

His tone didn’t carry concern as much as it carried irritation. Whatever mess you had stumbled into, it looked like it would become his problem.

You winced but tried to sit up straighter, as if the effort would somehow make you look less vulnerable.

“It’s… not as bad as it looks,” you lied through gritted teeth. Five scoffed, folding his arms.

“Oh, really? Because it looks like you’re auditioning for the part of a corpse.” He knelt beside you, his sharp gaze flicking between your wound and the room around you. It was obvious you hadn’t just tripped and fallen into this mess. “Who did this?”

“It’s… not just one person. It’s bigger than that. There’s an organization—”

Five groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of where this was going.

“Of course there’s an organization. There’s always an organization.” He paused and looked at you, his voice lowering slightly. “Start talking. Who are they, and what do they want?”

You hesitated, but spoke. “They’re trying to start the apocalypse again.”

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced back at you, his expression unreadable.

“Do you have a name? A base? Anything useful, or do you expect me to time-jump into the middle of nowhere for clues?”