II - A Strange Man Named Elliot

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After blinking into what was seemingly an apartment building, Number Five sneaked up several flights of stairs, trying to figure out which apartment would have been connected to the spying window

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After blinking into what was seemingly an apartment building, Number Five sneaked up several flights of stairs, trying to figure out which apartment would have been connected to the spying window. He peered through the blinds of the nearest door before knocking impatiently.

An adult man cracked the door open, only leaving enough space for his face to be visible. "What do you want?" He said quickly, as though he was in a rush.

"Hi, I'm selling encyclopedias for my youth group. I was wondering if-" Number Five had the door slammed in his face, which only made his blood boil. With a cocky smirk, he simply blinked into the man's apartment, landing in a kitchen. The man shrieked at the top of his lungs, panting like a dog as he tried to catch his breath.

"How'd you do that?" The man stuttered, holding a dull-pointed pencil in front of him as a weapon. He was trembling as he spoke; his hands were shaking, and his bottom lip was quivering.

"Don't really have time to explain

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"Don't really have time to explain." Number Five grinned manically.

The man took small steps backwards, frightened of Number Five. "You from the Pentagon?"

Number Five squinted. "Definitely not."

"CIA? FBI. KGB?" The man asked, the words flooding out of his mouth with anxiety.

Number Five chose to ignore his interrogation and instead noticed a jug of coffee on the kitchen counter. "Is that fresh?" He blinked over to the other side of the kitchen where the coffee was and fixed himself a cup.

The man once again screamed at the top of his lungs, causing Number Five to wince. "What..." The man gasped, struggling to string words together. Meanwhile, Number Five was completely unbothered.

"Hmm." He nodded, approving of the coffee. "This Columbian?"

The man stammered, still pointing the short pencil defensively towards Number Five. "It's my own blend."

"Hm." Number Five hummed, before noticing that one of the walls of the apartment was littered with newspaper clippings. He noticed one in particular that stated 'Strange Lights May Be Space Visitors'. "You ever heard of, uh, Area 51? Roswell?"

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