Gnosis

CHAPTER 10: THE WHITE VIOLIN II

Word Count: 4396

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The Handler, unfazed, took a leisurely step forward, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of amusement and malice. She moved with grace, her gaze flitting briefly over the spread of food laid out on a small table nearby. Without a word, she plucked a single fry from the plate, dipping it into a pool of ketchup as though she were a casual guest at a dinner party, not a woman holding a hostage. She brought the fry to her lips, savoring it slowly, deliberately, her actions designed to provoke, to show them just how much control she still wielded.

"There have been a lot of changes since you left the Commission," she mused between bites, her tone casual but with an undercurrent of bitterness. "You really did some damage."

Her eyes glinted as she licked the remnants of ketchup from her fingers. "The briefcases were all but destroyed," she continued, her voice dropping to a lower, more dangerous pitch. "To say nothing of the highly trained personnel you killed."

The Handler's lips curved into a smirk, that dangerous glint never leaving her eyes as she crossed her arms. "After all, what is an institution if not for —"

"What do you want?" Five interjected. His voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and direct. He had no time for her games, no interest in her long-winded diatribes.

The Handler's smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features before she quickly composed herself. She had always loved her speeches, loved dragging out, but Five was never one to indulge her.

"To be happy!" She flung her arms out as if she were delivering the final line of a stage play. "To have a simple... unfettered life," she added, her gaze hardening as she locked eyes with Five, then (Y/n), daring them to see the supposed complexities of her motives.

As she moved to sit down on the nearby couch, she kept her eyes on them, her expression shifting like a mask. There was a casualness to her movements, an attempt to seem unbothered, but underneath that, there was something far more dangerous. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Five and (Y/n), always watching, always calculating.

"To do the work my superiors require," she continued, her voice taking on a slightly more serious tone now, as though the pretense of her earlier mockery had faded. She leaned back, resting her arm along the couch. "But... your being here," she gestured lazily at them with her free hand, "well, it complicates all that."

(Y/n) stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she leaned over the table, hands planted firmly on the edge. "Billions of people are about to die tonight," she said, her voice low but insistent. "You can change that!"

The Handler met her daughter's intense gaze with a cool, almost amused smile, entirely unfazed by the desperation in (Y/n)'s plea. She popped a grape into her mouth, chewing slowly, as if savoring the moment. "Tonight, tomorrow," she finally replied with a casual shrug. "So little difference in the scheme of things."

Her tone was light, detached, as if the apocalypse were just a minor inconvenience. She reclined comfortably in her seat, brushing away the urgency with a wave of her hand. "Don't you remember the Commission's raison d'être?" she added, her voice taking on a mockingly wistful tone. "What's meant to be is meant to be, or as I like to say, que será, será. I taught you that, didn't I, (Y/n)? Ever since you were a little girl?"

(Y/n)'s jaw clenched, her hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. The casual cruelty of her mother's words, the indifference to the lives hanging in the balance, was infuriating. "It's bullshit in any language," she spat, the frustration and anger she'd been holding back boiling over in her voice.