𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 | 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 | 𝚆𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕

^^^

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!"

I jumped out of bed. What the hell was that about again? I checked my watch. It was a few minutes past noon. I was late.

Damn it.

I ran my fingers through my hair and adjusted my skirt. I opened the door and was immediately flooded with screams coming from Five's room. I clicked my tongue. He loved to make enemies of our family members.

I ran into the boy's room. I immediately noticed that all the previously empty walls were now full of new drawings, calculations, and equations. I also noticed a couple of crossed out names. Delores sat in Five's chair; her plastic eyes fixed on one of the most scribbled walls.

For the first time, I agreed with her. It was sick for me too.

But it was too late for Five to seek therapy.

The boy was standing in the middle of the room, writing something in his miniature notebook. Luther stood in front of him, his massive arms waving.

"IT'S MADNESS, FIVE!"

"What is going on here?" I asked.

Luther's eyes immediately fell on me, and I saw a plea for support in them. Five didn't even look at me (not that it surprised me in any way) but instead started rummaging under the bed.

"You can't show up on time for once, can you?" He grunted bitterly.

I raised an eyebrow.

"I—"

"Not time to argue now, guys," Luther said. "(Y/N), there is something wrong with Five."

"Yeah no shit!" I stifled a laugh after I saw seriousness in my brother's eyes. "Uh, what do you mean?"

Five chuckled to himself, still rummaging desperately under the bed.

My brother pointed to the wall above the bed. I noticed the circled name. Milton Green.

"He's just a gardener," Luther accentuated the last word exceptionally loud and clear. "Five made up a calculation that his death could stop the apocalypse."

"Wait, what?"

"I'm not making up anything," Five interjected, finally emerging from under the bed. He placed a huge, scoped rifle on the mattress. I took a step back. "It's a calculus of probabilities. I figured it all. This man's death could—"

"Where did you get that?"

Luther pointed to the huge rifle Five was unpacking from its holster at that moment.

"In dad's room," he replied carelessly and took it in his hands. "I think he used it to shoot rhinos. It's similar to the model I used at work."

"So uh, what are you going to do with it?" I mumbled even though I really knew the answer.

Five must have known that too, because he didn't even react.

"Highly reliable."

"But— But you can't!" Luther tried his luck. "This guy Milton is just an innocent man!"

Five let out a long sigh.

"It's basic math." Five rested the rifle on the ground. Its barrel was only three feet from my calf. "His death will potentially save billions! If I did nothing, he'd die in four days anyway. The apocalypse will not spare anyone."

I considered the boy's words for a few seconds. What if he's right? What if the risk pays off and we could actually save the world that easily? What does one death matter compared to the deaths of billions?