i found myself in crowded rooms, feeling so alone

[numberthree]

WHO: Teen!Rumor + You
WHERE: Nonah (or wherever, we can handwave how)
WHEN: May 4th
WHAT: Allison is hit with Wild Fey Magic, and reverts back to being 13
WARNINGS: One super temper and a mass case of flippant, ruthless uses of powers



Number Three had no clue where she was when she woke up.

The bedroom was bare and unfamiliar, and someone had put her in some weird set of pajamas. While their father might be the end all be all a totalitarian dictator, he had prepared them, if not for every situation, then with skills that could be used wherever they might find themselves. If panic touched the edges of her thoughts, she brushed it away with all the dismissal of ants. She skivvied out of the strange bed, stole a tunic shirt, and belted it at the waist, making sure her every step was silent.

She'd been kidnapped and tortured before. That wasn't anything new. But she wasn't about to stick around and wait to see what the latest flavor whatever villain who got the drop on her had in mind. Weirdly. She couldn't remember how she'd been kidnapped at all, where her uniform was. But that could wait. They could have drugged her. She could focus on that once she was home.

Number Three crept out of the bedroom into ... a house? A house full of boxes? And one where the front door only had a knob lock and deadbolt? This was too weird. But she wasn't looking a gift-horse in the mouth. She slipped out from the house, closing the door carefully, slowly, and waiting for about fifteen more feet of silent steps from the door before she started sprinting down the street, still holding her breath.

It only gets weirder and weirder. She doesn't recognize any of the street signs, and she asks someone on a sidewalk where she is, and how far from home it is. But she doesn't know the name of this place. Or anywhere else they mentioned. Weirder still when she finally found someone with a phone (or whatever this was, that was the size of her hand???), and The Academy phone number didn't work.

It's a mistake the first time she mentions The Umbrella Academy because a crowd forms out of nowhere, screaming questions (about whether she's some love child from the future? And asking any number of things that seem crazily worse. She's pretty sure someone just asked if they went in for underwear or no underwear with costumes wherever she came from).

Eventually, with or without some help, Number Three does manage to wrench herself free of the teeming crowds, that are like the crowds from home and nothing like that at all. After getting a few blocks away, she dropped on a bench. She was racking her head. This wasn't her job. This was what Luther did. Or Five, if he was allowed to.

One barefoot, forlorn, if headstrong and temperamental,
child-hero for sale to any buyers who would like to find her.

Comments

[obediences]

That sharp snap of imperiousness from Five is— god, it's such a relief to hear it, when ordinarily it would make Luther bristle. It's been the better part of a year now, and another sixteen years before that, without this particular arrogant pain-in-the-ass. He hadn't even realised how much he'd missed being sassed and sniped by Number Five. He'd be happy enough to listen to that forever.

And it's hard to snap back with authority when his own voice doesn't sound like the adult he feels like, and it cracks in adolescence. Luther tries to make it sound firm, though: "I'm at home, which is secure enough — Allison should be able to lead you back here, she knows the address. Where are you downtown? Any landmarks or noticeable shops around you?"

He's hurrying through his wardrobe, trying to change out of his too-loose and billowing PJs, hopping into pants that don't fully fit, and he outright crashes into the wall in clumsiness, almost falls ass-over-teakettle. Now he's not used to being this size. He curses, once.

"What's the last thing you remember, Five?" he asks, trying to jam an arm through a sleeve. He doesn't realise, yet, that Allison doesn't know that this place is home.

[timehit]

It might be difficult for someone else to manage this three-way conversation, but Five only feels a vague sense of tedium beating at the back of his skull as he tries to wrangle out the answers he needs between his siblings. At the idea that Number Three, this version of his sister that he's been chatting with (fairly pleasant, in relative terms), knows what Luther is yammering about—well, they'll find out in short order.

He gives Number Three another look, his brows knit together this time. "He says you know where his safehouse is? Ring any bells with you?"

Turning back to his brother on the phone, Five attempts to identify the nearest shops and street signs, but it's not the smoothest operation when he can hear in perfect chaotic clarity the sounds of Luther fumbling around on the other line. There's no time for these hijinks, he thinks but doesn't say (yet); can't they get it together for a few moments at least?

It should be noted, that his final few memory before coming here, a last-ditch effort as they all held hands, plunging themselves through the fabric of time—now that was enough to instill in Five a sense of hope. Even a shred, even a sliver, that he could finally find some way to reunite with all of his siblings; to save the world; to make things right, when his entire life had been spent in examination of one terrible mistake.

This, however, is starting to feel like a step or six backward already. His narrow shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "That's not the most pressing issue at the moment," he argues, feeling unease at just laying into his last string of memories. They could all be from wildly different timelines, and this is a rocky enough moment where he doesn't feel the need to put either Luther or Allison into a troubled state.

Five knows best, in other words.

[numberthree]

Number Three looks up, her expression scrunching up after Number One mentions that other person from the device listing, only for Five to follow it up with looking at her. Reminding her that he said this place had given her that strange name, which means that Number One is talking about her. She doesn't like it.

She's doesn't like whatever this game is. Whatever this place is doing.


There's a quick, tight shake of her head. She steps in, closer to Five and the little device he's talking at, but only because she doesn't like broadcasting Academy business in a crowded street, where Five has said that people are all listening. "I don't know what he's talking about. I just got here."

She doesn't like undercutting Space's declarations and countering him as being wrong openly. It makes something in her tense up. (Except when they're alone. Sometimes. And she can rib him about things like that, while he blusters and pretending he's not smiling, almost awkwardly for all that nothing else about him is.) But there's no time for that. No time for anything but clearest, cut truth, and getting through this part of it as soon as possible.

Not if something is potentially messing with him in an even bigger way.

[obediences]

He's in the middle of barreling down the stairs and out the door, when she says that — I don't know what he's talking about, I just got here — and he almost trips again. His hand splays against the front door, bracing himself as he lets that realisation roll over him.

Did she get reset. Like Vanya was reset, and like it seems Five might've been reset. Memories gone, swept away. The entire past year swept away as if they'd never happened. Everything they—

Luther breathes out. Breathes in. Sharp. Not letting himself think too much about it yet. Pulling the metaphorical mask of Number One back on, settling himself back into the skin of leader that he hasn't been in so, so long.

Somehow it's easier, in this body. It's like muscle-memory. Feeling the familiar ripple of confidence and a crisis buzzing in his blood, his pulse, his skin.

"It's not the most pressing issue, Number Five, but it's relevant. I'm trying to find out if you remember living with us at a house here, in Nonah, in this world. For three months."

Out the door now, down the street, his own shirt hanging even baggier on his teenaged body. Heading at a brisk walk to downtown, and his family.

"If she doesn't know the house— I'm coming to you. Describe your surroundings."

[timehit]

There's a moment between all of this back and forth, just like their reunion at the estate, with everyone coming back together just to clash at each other, to run around in needless circles, it makes him want to...get away from this, get his head clear, find solutions on his own.

But he's been alone for so many years. And those consecutive stings of failure and trying to shoulders too many burdens are still fresh in his memory. Five knows he has to buckle down and face this like the man he is, not the boy this body suggests.

So, he straightens his posture and continues to be patient. "No, I don't recall any of that," he relents, trying to be some semblance of cooperative with Number One. The leader. "Consider it another version of me, some bunk alternate timeline, whatever you want. It's irrelevant now."

Maybe someone else would be worried about the implications of Luther's statement, but...the Temps Commission did their work on Five. You look at the facts, take time for what it is, deal with things as needed. It's just business.

Five puts a comforting hand on Number Three's shoulder. Senses the tension there. A blink, a push through space with the sudden force of his will, and they're both across the street. Got to watch out for onlookers.

He rattles off the details Luther wants, keeping his voice low and making sure he's being listened to. "Got it?"

[numberthree]

Her attention diverts when they start talking about time, and she gets lost—a pinch of brows. Five isn't allowed to use his powers where they relate to time. Or even extended jumps. It's the source of all of his rages against their Father. Which makes the whole set of words between them, except for 'It's irrelevant' make no sense.

Number Three stiffens at the unexpected touch, about to shake it off, before time and space fold around them, and the next second they've moved. They're back across the street where she started. The bench only a good twenty feet, at most, away from her again. This time she does casually step away from his hand at the same time Five is starting to detail everything notable around them.

"So, now we wait?" It's as much a question as it isn't. Sound simply put into the air. Which tells in the fact she doesn't even look at him while she asks. She's looking at the people passing them on either side of the roads, through the windows, in the cars. Casing for trouble. Or even just minor annoyances.

Already wishing she had a clue which direction he'll be coming from,
but that's an inconsequential brushed quickly right back away.

[obediences]

Part of Luther wants to keep both of them on the call while he heads over, a reminder that they're all still here, but it'd be inefficient. So they hang up and he shoves the communicator into his pocket and he breaks into a run. He'd use his relatively new televator ability to get himself there faster, if he just knew of any elevators at the location.

So it's the simplest way: just a sprint through the streets, shoes pounding on the pavement, drawing raised eyebrows and questions from locals as they see the imPort go haring past. He's been in obsessive shape his whole life, and never moreso than at this age, thirteen and rife with possibility: Luther runs and runs until he reaches the intersection, until he sees two of the Academy waiting for him.

And the sight almost stops him dead in his tracks. Seeing himself at this age was strange enough, but Three and Five, like this, side-by-side, restless and impatient, it's like he's been rocketed right into their past. As if Number Five's timejump had actually succeeded, so long ago. The years roll and roll back as if the intervening time never happened. Three looks exactly like she ever did, defiant tilt of her chin and all.

(Although Five is looking subtly older, so much older behind those eyes than he ever did when they were kids together. There's a similar weariness in Luther's demeanour now, too: a sobriety that doesn't quite match the careless, cocky creature he'd been at this age.)

"Good," he says breathlessly as he reaches them, drinking in the sight of them. As three pieces click seamlessly into place, for the first time in so long. "I don't know what's happening, but at least we're together."

Luther's words to live by.

[timehit]

There, that doesn't take too long now does it? Five watches as Luther (young and full of vigor, not that haunted hulk of a man Reginald Hargreeves had molded him into) comes sprinting toward them at a determined clip. Shoulders up, hands folded behind his back, he lets his assessing gaze wander over his brother. Trying to determine what he can at face value, which isn't insignificant.

Five might have strong desires to go off on his own, but he doesn't have any urge to try on the mantle of leader. Not like Diego, Number One's eternal rival. His mind was meant for more important matters, not some trivial pissing contest between one member of the Academy and another.

"That we are," Five agrees dryly. "So now what? I hate to break it to you, but I only just got here." (And as for Number Three, well, who can say?)

Not enough time to offer a sufficient sitrep, is it? Any strategic insight will just have to wait. For now—Five might look a little cold and removed, but he doesn't argue Luther's statement. If they're together, at least in some part, then that's a more favorable position than where they apparently started.

He sighs, holding himself a few steps back, letting the other two get their usual business out of their system. After all, no matter the time and circumstance, some things run forever in the same obvious course. And he didn't need to spend years working as a hit man for a shady, clandestine operation obsessed with a perfect timeline to tell him that. No, it's been right in front of their eyes this whole time.

[numberthree]

Number Three doesn't move any. She doesn't need to.

Which did not change that something fundamental solidified just a little more at the sight of Number One charging down the sidewalk through startled crowds, who were both jumping out of the way and stopping to grab a shot of him in midrun. Just the sight of him did it. And then his voice, as he started talking. Like Five. ( ... but not, too, somehow? )

But it wasn't as though showed, or needed to.
This was business. Whatever this all was.

"Took you long enough."
Is arch, without actually being accusative.

Like somehow he'd kept her personally and specifically waiting hours, and wasn't standing there golden-blonde hair all wind mussed, and bright blue eyes wide, ill fitted in whatever those clothes were, even for not looking the slightest toward out of breath even for however short or far he came from in so short a time since he got directions.

There's only the faintest flick of a muscle that twitches at the corner of her mouth, hardly even there enough to count as real. "Have you seen or heard from the others?"

[obediences]

"No." His distraction is particularly thunderstruck once he hears her: Allison's actual voice, in real life, not just a memory on a video. With an arch playfulness that only comes out in glimmers nowadays. She's so accepting of Five's presence, too, as if it's entirely normal, as if he's only been gone minutes and not a lifetime.

Despite the fact that Reginald isn't here to loom over them, ever-watchful and disapproving, despite the fact that it's been a year of growing more accustomed to each others' presence, Luther still doesn't broach that distance between them. Doesn't reach out to touch her or either of them. Not like he has to, for his longing to be noticeable anyway: he's always been annoyingly predictable, staring besotted over the breakfast table.

But this time there's another edge to it. A sort of bittersweet loss: he hasn't seen Number Three in so, so long. And it's not the Allison he knows. He can already sense those vague differences: her back is straight, her shoulders unburdened by everything that's to come. He has a creeping, burgeoning suspicion in the back of his mind.

"The others have been gone for months, and their network IDs are still deactivated." He'd checked. "Do neither of you really not remember?"

It's a repetitive question and he just knows he's going to catch flak from Five for being so slow on the uptake, but Luther's stuck on this detail, like a gear catching and grinding. It doesn't help that his brother is evasive as ever, simply disregarding the questions he doesn't feel like answering at the moment. But now Luther turns that assessing gaze onto him, brows furrowing into a frown, one man staring through into another though neither of them are the right shape:

"Do you remember the Icarus Theatre?"

[timehit]

The others, now that statement opens up an entire catalogue of possible questions. Is there some kind of order at which this government is taking people out of their own time and place? Or is it pure chance, a simple flip of a coin? Filtering out siblings at whim, toying with power for power's sake.

Well, whatever case may be, it seems to Five to already prove a real pain the ass. He rolls his eyes at Luther's repetitive questioning, only speaking up when he mentions the theater. "We were together," he offers, a vague hint of confirmation. "I guess you could say it was like old times, save for maybe a certain someone."

Except for Vanya, discovering the full awful potential of her powers and bringing down death and destruction on a helpless world. Vanya, who he insisted on taking with them on their little jaunt through time.

"But to reiterate so you hopefully don't ask again, no, I don't remember being here before. Whatever here is, aside from being a current thorn in my side. We had something to finish and I'd like to get back to that, all things being the same."

Klaus could be a flake and a pain, but his accusation still rings painfully in the back of Five's mind. Obsessing over his need to be reunited with his family and to save them all from a horrible death, he hasn't given a lot of thought to things outside of that one goal. Like an addiction, even if it's a crude comparison. Certainly, he never once imagined being pulled out to a place like this. He looks away, a bitter expression flickering across his face for a moment.

Glancing toward Number Three, he waits to see what she'll say about it. "So what about you? What's the last thing you remember before waking up today?"

[numberthree]

Number Three is not at all impressed or interested in theatres. It's beyond her if that name is supposed a ring a bell. There were a lot of things Luther liked, in his books and extra studies to please their Father, that it was beyond her ken to memorize and keep straight. She would never be like that. Especially not for Him.

There was a low-level buzz of annoyance starting to grow, her arms crossing, as she was trying to make any sense of what each of them meant. Of course, she remembered yesterday. And the rest of their siblings. It makes her expression incredulous when Five turns to her with that really stupid question.

"The end of yesterday?" Allison asks, looping Five's question without her own fast, sharp retort, that was unimpressed with the question. What else was she going to have remembered last? "I'm pretty sure I fell asleep in the middle of the pile of books for finishing yesterday's lessons for science, math, and music."

She knows she didn't finish them. She didn't care. It was boring.
She was fine at it, but it was boring. And tedious. And she didn't care.

[obediences]

Luther's frown deepens as he looks at Five. Why are you being so—

But to his credit (and thanks to years of additional experience), Luther's able to bite back those words before he blurts them out. Five is smart; there's usually a reason behind what he's doing, even if he doesn't share that rationale with the rest of them.

Why isn't he acknowleding the Icarus or Vanya or what they're working on?

Then, the realisation comes. Allison. It's Allison. She really isn't herself. And it's extra-obvious a moment later, when she answers the question. A pained expression crosses Luther's face. Five is Five is Five, as he was during the week before the end of the world, a world-weary soul trapped in that too-small body (and that had taken some getting some accustomed to), but Allison's cut right out of their childhood. A blast from the past, an artefact ripped out of that tapestry and dropped here, where she doesn't belong.

"Oh," he says, and clears his throat. Unsure how to explain this whole bizarre situation. That no matter what he looks like, he's actually thirty years old. That he's not the brilliant, uncomplicated Spaceboy either of them knew.

Instead, he just shakes his head. "The timeline's messed up, Allison," he says, not realising — forgetting — that she doesn't answer to that yet. "I can explain later. Let's get back to the house. Five— I'm glad you're here, especially since you're used to this sort of thing. That... uh, thing we're finishing, it's on pause as long as we're here. Time won't pass while we're here. So the most pressing is figuring out what happened to our bodies."

He sounds a little bit like a leader, at least.

[timehit]

Five can't help but wince and clench his jaw when Luther fumbles and says that name. Allison. Unfortunately, a life alone hasn't trained him in the fine arts of interpersonal skills. Handling delicate emotions isn't the same skill-set as handling a rifle, and killers make for bad counselors.

He looks between the two, obviously considering whether or not he should follow along. Sit tight and wait to be given orders, go through more rounds of questioning? Now, there's some appeal in keeping an eye on these two—this entire place is a list of unknown factors, a whole number of possible dangers that they'll likely have to approach together for however long they're stuck in this place.

(Trapped, again. A castaway out of time and space.)

"You two should get back and have a good talk," he says, seeming to agree save for one omission. "At the very least, get off the streets so these locals won't gossip."

Five looks up and down the busy street, noting the number of people who cast their curious glances to this small band of adolescents (there's no place to even be smug about it, to say, well now you know how I've felt). He notes the weight of the folders and information that were passed to him; housing details, work assignments, an education. Ridiculous at the outset, but not worthless as covers go. And money, well—it doesn't grow on trees.

"I've got a few things I'd like to check on," he gives as an explanation, sensing or expecting a possible argument. "Seeing as I'm new and all, I imagine it's poor form not to get a little more acquainted with one's immediate surroundings."

[numberthree]

Five might wince, but Number Three's eyes narrow in an all too familiar gesture for that age. The uncertainty that so much easier leans into the red. That relies on sharpness and anger more than allows for uncertainty, for the acceptance of mistakes. She might have even been about to open her mouth --

-- but then Number One said that next.

There wasn't time. He'd explain later.
This was the next step of the plan.

It doesn't leave, but it rolls back one step. One. Because even Number Three knows when to take her orders, what can wait, that this situation being handled is more important than the unexplained details. The flicker of sharp emotion smoothing out into effortless, empty coolness. A blank slate of an obedient expression. She always was a better actor than the others. Better at her control, except when she chose not to.

(The way she never chose to do so for their Father.
She lived in every petty and outright rebellion there.)

She doesn't like any of this, but she believes Space. If he says he'll explain later, he will. If he says she has to wait, she will. Not forever. But long enough so they aren't still in the field, with all these passing strangers, occasionally whispering and pointing at them. She doesn't like it, but she'll do it for him. Without complaining. Without hesitation.

Five just rolls on, saying where he thinks he should be headed next, and Allison find her five cents have to point a knife tip somewhere, and if she's denied her first choice. Then. "And, then, you'll find us, how?"

[timehit]

"I will find you, by any number of methods," he takes a slightly less acerbic tone with her, but Five is Five. His attitude can be tempered but never quite diminished. "Number One, for example, should relish the chance to update me on my communicator here. Why I believe he can dictate any number of orders at a moment's whim, can't you?"

Sure, it's sass, but there's a less obvious hint at—obedience is too strong a term for Five, so let's call it cooperation for the sake of common goals. Keeping the family safe, for instance, and hopefully finding a good way out of this place.

Taking his hands from his pockets, he moves them up to adjust his tie. Another necessary task in his quickly growing list? Getting a better wardrobe. "It's just a little light recon anyway," he tries to reassure her, "and I don't think that's entirely unwarranted in this situation, wouldn't you say?"

Regardless, he levels a stare at Luther. If the leader wants to be insistent, well, there's no need to make a stink of it in the street when he can just slip out in the middle of the night too. Five will find a way to get what he's after, even if they want to keep an eye on him.

[numberthree]

She could argue that he's already overlooked her, by listing himself as new alone, as though she weren't, but she doesn't. She's not Number Two. She can actually hold her tongue when the next steps have have already been laid out. Chose when to bite, and when to hold. Without being ordered to it by demand.

Which isn't to say that it doesn't add to the tension vibrating at a very ready buzz under all of her skin. She would rather be doing that, or anything else that looked like active action, than holding still. She didn't like being patient, even when asked. Even when she had to be.

She could be good at it. It didn't mean she had to like it.

Plus, if it broke down to that in words, it would still have meant she was likely going one of two ways, with one or the other of them, and if she had the choice: there wasn't one. It wasn't something she needed two seconds to think on. Not when there weren't any other stakes in it even. She'd back Space even without knowing entirely what all of this was.

[obediences]

Other families might have had tearful joyous reunions, falling into each others' arms for a hug.

The Hargreeves don't work that way. All of this, it rankles a little. Five is used to working on his own, not taking orders from someone literal decades younger than him, and One isn't used to being bossed around by one of his siblings either, so both of them sit uncomfortably in it like square pegs in round holes. It's not exactly like the combativeness he might've seen from Diego, but...

More the fact that Five is a lone wolf. That's it. He prefers to go about things with his own methods.

And as much as Luther has to look down to meet Five's eye, and instinctively wants to think of him as the boy who vanished — he still looks just like it — Luther has to keep consciously reminding himself that it isn't like that. Not anymore.

"I'll send you the Nonah address, and you should send me— us— what they've assigned as yours. I trust you'll be able to find ours later. There's a spare room, you're welcome anytime. And I'll send you an information dump of what I know about this world." He knew how much Five liked information, at the least.

And then he lingers on this next point, because he has to impress this particular fact upon his brother, making it clear that they haven't all just been dumped here straight from the Icarus, that it isn't just some wayward detour from their jump across universes gone haywire. This is important:

"I've been here for over a year, Five. So if you have questions, just ask. But I'll let you get settled first."

I've missed you is what he doesn't say. Again: the Hargreeves don't work that way.

[timehit]

Here we go, terms and conditions. His mouth draws back with a twitch, as if he's trying his hardest to hear Luther out and keep whatever retort he's considering at bay. After all, a compromise is, by all odds, the best scenario Five can expect. That Number One isn't trying to impress his authority upon him right then and there is, well, commendable.

Not that he's used to giving out accolades.

He doesn't bother to jot any of that down, doesn't need to. Writing reports, and really that's how he sees this, is ingrained in his blood by now. And sure, the Handler might've been prettier, but there's something to be said for authority that isn't holding a gun at you either.

"Keep an eye on your messages," he says. That's it. You give me trust and I'll give back. Reginald didn't trust in him and look how that turned out; stubborn and headstrong and not only out the door, out of time.

Five turns to take a parting glance at Number Three. It's a shame, and he almost hates to leave it at that, but. If any of them have a chance at making this awkward situation work, it's obviously Luther. "Be seeing you again soon," he says to her, raising up one hand in a wry salute. Au revoir, for now.

They don't get the satisfaction of watching him depart. No, it's as sudden and abrupt as ever. A blink and space bends to Five's will, leaving nothing but empty air where he was standing. No hint of his boyish frame in the crowds of passersby, no wave goodbye in the back of a taxi.

Just a promise left on the wind that he'll return again soon.

[numberthree]

Number Three arches a cool brow at that farewell, as though she's neither impressed at his antics nor is he as amusingly above it all as he likes to think he is. But he's gone in about as much time as it takes her to make that expression.

Her neutrality, though, slides to a side almost as fast as the rip in space contorts itself back to normal, and she turns. Which is about as much time as Space gets. It's not entirely a regular thing. But it's been happening more and more. Everything shifting in the breadth of a second. Of something like not quite, but near seclusion.

All her silence and step-file to the line, warped suddenly in words shaped-sharp, if not to being thrown like daggers. The pressure places on more specific words that were though pinned points. "We do not have an address, and the Academy number is not working, so you should start explaining just whatever it is you seem to think is going on here."

Before she begins to list The Unfavorable Options.

[obediences]

He's still watching the spot where Five vanished — using the teleportation power that had been Luther's in the City, so it's almost become familiar. It's a fleeting glimpse, there-and-gone, almost leaving you wondering if you'd imagined the whole damn thing. He'd have wanted his brother to stay longer, glad to have him back, but it's like trying to hold onto slippery water in your hands or a cat weaselling out of your arms. Five will be back at his own pace, when he's good and ready.

Luther sighs (still sounding so much older and more tired), and turns back to his other problem. Even then, a fond smile settles over the boy's mouth even as she cuts into him, her dutiful demeanour obliterated as soon as they're alone and she can safely talk back. It's a sharp tartness that the older Allison doesn't often use anymore; only sometimes. And it's her voice. That voice. All of it suddenly heaves him tumbling back into old history and it's jarring, looking at her, to think that they aren't actually there in the past after all.

At least Five had come through the Porter, been given the introductory schpiel by the government and the informational packet. Allison (no— not Allison, it's Number Three, she didn't even recognise her name when he'd said it) doesn't even seem to have the benefit of that.

Luther balances his words, eventually settles on: "This isn't home. We've been transported to a different universe, kind of like how Five jumps between time and space. We're in a city called Nonah, in North Carolina. We— you and I have a house here. None of the others are here besides Five now."

As crisp and to-the-point as if he's relaying the mission parameters.