XX - And Seven... Homicidal Rage

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A soft rattling echoed throughout the room as the refrigerator door opened with a harsh pull.

"Five?" Luther grunted as the sound awoke him from a small nap. He removed the full-sized blanket that was only just covering his torso and sat upright on the couch, noticing that Number Eight was still napping on the couch opposite him. Her cheeks were still slightly tear-stained, but she looked more peaceful. "Five. Wh- You okay?" Luther asked as he found Number Five standing before the fridge, chugging an exceptionally large bottle of water.

The boy slurped the remainder of the fluid before gasping, exasperated. "I'm going to need to be hydrated." The boy sighed, slamming the fridge door behind him.

"Hydrated?" Luther asked, a confused frown forming across his facial features.

Number Five simply shrugged before grabbing a small cannister from Elliot's bathroom cabinet

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Number Five simply shrugged before grabbing a small cannister from Elliot's bathroom cabinet. He began to tip the power on his skin, including under his arms and down his shorts.

Luther stared at Number Five, baffled. "What's with the baby powder?" He asked, his eyes forming a squint.

"It'll help with the itching." Number Five replied bluntly.

"What itching? There's itching? What the hell is going on here?" Luther mumbled, though quickly, his eyes widened in realisation. "You do have a plan! Eight is going to kill you, Five. You're going to have to talk to her."

Number Five jumped up and down on his toes, dispersing the baby powder around the surface of his skin. "I know, I know. I needed some time on my own to think it through. It's a desperation move, but... since our brain dead family is incapable of meeting a simple deadline, I've got no choice." He pulled his blazer over his shoulders with flare.

"No choice about what?" Luther asked, following Number Five closely as he left the room.

"I have to find myself. I just arrived in Dallas fifteen minutes ago." Number Five replied, looking at the watch he had stuffed in the pocket of his shorts.

Number Eight stumbled into the room, her head groggy and her eyes squinted. "Will you two dimwits turn it down a notch? Some of us are trying to sleep." She grumbled, rubbing her puffy eyes with the backs of her hands. Her white hair was unruly and tangled and her clothes were hanging on her body at a skewed angle.

"Should I be worried about you, Five?" Luther asked after offering Number Eight a small smile.

The girl scoffed, still angry at Number Five. "Probably, Luther."

Number Five sighed deeply. "Luther, if you recall, I was sent to 1963 on a job by the Commission to make sure the President was assassinated." He said, beginning to stretch out his limbs.

"What the hell is he doing?" Number Eight asked, her voice raspy, as she looked at Luther with furrowed brows.

Luther shook his head. "Long story." He turned his attention back to Number Five. "So, you're saying that your old self is out there?"

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