THROUGH TIME & SPACE ★ FIVE HARGREEVES X READER

CH. XXVI

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NUMBER FIVE

"you got blood on your hands,
how do you plead?"

2019

"TO LEARN TO SHOOT, IS to surrender."

The dense winter air was heavy on (Y/N)'s face. The hat over her head didn't make it any better. Everything just felt too wrapped and tight as the icy wind bit and chipped at her face.

Her father, Reginald, stood just a little off. With a hand behind his back, he walked back and forth, continuing his lesson. His walking stick, which never really was used for its intended purpose, waved around idly before him before it smacked the girl's calf, causing her to flinch.

"Keep your eyes on the subject, Number Eight, for a target is never to be underestimated."

She gulped, merely nodding her head.

"You, as the wielder of a weapon, are just as vulnerable as the one staring down the barrel. Taking aim is telling yourself to make a decision. Once your finger hovers over the trigger and the target falls into your sights, there is no turning back. You are not to hesitate. The mere seconds, passing... ticking, at every moment is a sign of vulnerability. You are not to wait."

(Y/N) shuffled, raising her father's gun and pointing it towards the test dummy that stood far from her.

"With that being said... Pogo!"

"Yes, Master Reginald?"

"Bring out the target."

"Target?" (Y/N) looked up, confused. Pogo came walking out from under the shade, bringing with him a birdcage, carried in his arms. The girl froze. "Dad, I don't think this would be a good—"

"I said no hesitation!"

She looked down warily at the bird that unknowingly crept out of the cage, pecking and flinching at the way the grass under it moved.

(Y/N) tried to slow her breathing. It was a simple task. An ever-so simple task that still took all of her might to think of the only outcome that could come of this. Terrified, she pressed her eyes closed the second she let her finger slip.

A shrill squawk penetrated through the trees, as the atmosphere shifted.

Upon opening her eyes, (Y/N) expected to see a gouge of blood. She expected to gasp and for her father to find any possible flaw in her shot to lecture on. Instead, she was met with two dents in a small dirt parting beside a patch of land where the bird once sat, with only a few feathers hanging in the air and two bullets in the ground to prove they were ever there. From afar, she could hear the sound of wings flapping, fading further and further away.

Reginald sighed, shaking his head. "I expected better of you, Number Eight."

"But Dad—"

"That will conclude our training for today. Go back to your siblings at once and prepare for dinner. We will proceed with the same exercises tomorrow."

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"WHEN'S IT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN?" Luther asked, "this... apocalypse."