For but a fleeting moment particles of dust floated upward in the air around him, rising as snow might lightly fall and decorating the sky above a sickly grey. If he looked, he knew what he would see: their eyes devoid of life, their bodies aged but recognizable, Luther’s fist tightly curled. When he unfurled his fingers, the flesh would feel so cold. His chest tightened, lungs stubbornly refusing air.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
Five managed a gasp, eyes squeezing shut. The elasticity of their flesh lingered on his skin; he’d buried the bodies he found days too late to avoid decay. He’d thought he would find his way back those first days; that was fifteen years ago. His fingers trembled as they grasped too firmly at the worn canvas, “This’s not...” Words didn’t come easily, dying on his lips as he took in the scene once again, every last detail inexplicably as Five remembered, “This makes no sense.”
It was a now-faded painting of the academy in ruin, his siblings bodies strewn about. Only, it was dated well before the event could have occurred.
“No,” he called back to the silence surrounding him, “Well, yes.” How long had he stood here, just staring? Long enough for Dolores to worry, at least; she didn’t say so outright, but he could tell by her tone of voice, “I found a painting.” Upon closer inspection, there was a signature.
Two leads were more than many of his missions with the Commission provided. Often, they were just a name and an order; he found a loose thread--or preferably two--himself when necessary and just pulled until the details he needed unraveled. The key difference between then and now, however, was that in those instances he was the inevitable. Now, Five sought to prevent the inevitable instead with nothing but the added complication of his siblings’ involvement. They were intolerable children, but that only intensified his conviction: they had so much maturing to do. They deserved the chance to grow up and make their own mistakes along the way. Judging by how they acted now, there would be many; hopefully, the consequences of theirs wouldn’t be on the same scale as his.
His entire life built up to this moment, yet here he was grasping desperately at loose ends. The prosthetic eye turned up nothing of value. He was left with his less tangible option; should it also fall through, he had calculations to do. Eliminating three or four specific people could tweak the events just enough to prevent the Apocalypse, but sorting out just who would be tedious. Five would have to try, but he hoped it didn’t come down that close to chance in the end.
“I’m looking for Carmen Cumel.” Jesus, he hated his voice. His lips pursed, but he forced them into a smile nevertheless; Five didn’t have time to grapple with the discomfort.
