Gnosis

CHAPTER 5: NUMBER FIVE I

Word Count: 4161

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"Where is Number Five?"

(Y/n) blinked, her vision swimming in a blur of distorted colors and shifting shapes. She tried to focus on the clock hanging on the wall, but the numbers wavered and danced, refusing to stay still. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, making it hard to tell if she was moving or if the room was spinning.

She tried to speak, but the words that tumbled from her lips felt foreign, as if spoken by someone else. "I... I don't feel right," she mumbled, her voice weak and slurred. The effort of forming the sentence left her more exhausted than she thought possible.

"Focus, (Y/n). Where is Number Five?"

Fingers snapped in front of her face, forcing her to blink and shift her attention to the blurry figures looming around her. They were indistinct, like shadows, their features smudged and unrecognizable. Were they friend? strangers? or figments of her imagination? It was impossible to tell.

She tried to move, but panicked when she realized she was tied to a chair. The rope bit into her skin, holding her in place.

"Where is Number Five?" the voice repeated, more insistent this time.

"I don't know," she grumbled. The room was slowly coming into focus, the fog in her mind lifting just enough to make out the surrounding.

The figure stepped closer, and she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm but not painful. She looked up, squinting to bring the person into focus. Her breath hitched as she recognized her mother — the Handler. Beside her stood two commissioners and two others dressed in white robes.

"Think, (Y/n)," the Handler said. "This is important. Where is Number Five?"

"I don't know..." she whispered, her throat dry. A dull ache throbbed in her head, and she wondered if she had been drugged. Everything felt wrong, like she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.

"You're lying, dear," the Handler said, her tone devoid of warmth. "I know you were with him. Where is he now?"

"I don't know!" (Y/n) cried out. She tried to recall anything to make sense of the situation, but her thoughts were scattered. "Please, just let me go. I don't even know who Number Five is."

The Handler leaned in close, her breath hot against (Y/n)'s ear. "You do, (Y/n). Use your visions. Your power exists for a reason. Give me what I want or there will be consequences."

The sharpness in her tone left no room for doubt — defiance would lead to something far worse than her current situation. She closed her eyes, trying to center herself, to summon her ability. But it wasn't something she could just conjure out of thin air; it required concentration and physical contact.

But she was dizzy, disoriented, and her thoughts kept slipping through her fingers. She doesn't have anything, no object, no person. They were asking her something that she couldn't conjure out of thin air.

"Focus, (Y/n)," The Handler's voice cut through the fog in her mind. "Focus."

(Y/n) swallowed hard, her throat dry and scratchy. She closed her eyes again, trying to steady her breathing.

As her heartbeat slowed, an unnatural warmth spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Her eyes snapped open, and they were glowing. The world around her transformed, and everything was outlined in a thin ribbon of light, flickering as if fading away with each passing second.

"What do you see?"

(Y/n)'s head throbbed with the effort of maintaining the vision and she forced herself to concentrate. The pressure weighed down on her like a heavy shroud, but the images remained elusive. She whimpered, sensing the growing frustration around her.