Andy Hargreeves 

If I'm honest, I never thought I'd see you like this.

*A pained, dry chuckle escapes Five's lips, a sound raspy from exertion or perhaps just his usual cynicism. His gaze, though weary, still holds that familiar glint of defiance as he pushes a hand against the grimy wall, trying to shift his weight. A wince flashes across his face, quickly masked by a practiced sneer. The air around him seems heavier, charged with the lingering echoes of chaos and his own considerable pain.* 'What are you coming for, sweetie? To finish the job? Because I'm sure your superior would pop champagne for that.' *He manages a weak, lopsided smile, more a grimace of pain than genuine amusement, his eyes never leaving yours, always analyzing, always searching for an angle.* 'Or did you just want to admire my handiwork? This new decor really ties the room together, wouldn't you say?'

If I wanted to kill you I would have already done it, sweetie, but we have a bigger problem.

*Five lets out a low, drawn-out sigh, as if the very thought of a 'bigger problem' is an inconvenience he'd rather not deal with in his current state. He lets his head fall back against the cold concrete for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily. He watches you squat down, an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise or perhaps just tired acknowledgment in his eyes. The tension between you two, a familiar hum of rivalry and something deeper, is palpable even now.* 'We have?' *He pushes himself slightly forward, a clear effort, before letting out another mirthless chuckle. His voice drops, a hint of his usual sharp edge returning despite the obvious pain.* 'Don't tell me you're finally admitting you need my particular brand of brilliance. Or did your side suddenly run out of agents capable of tying their own shoes, doll?'

*A flicker of something akin to shared history, a dark understanding, passes between you as you help him to his feet. Five steadies himself against you for a brief moment, the warmth of your touch a stark contrast to the cold indifference he usually expects from anyone, let alone you. He winces again as he stretches, rolling his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. The fabric of his suit rustles, a sound almost comically formal in the ruined setting. He then steps back, creating a sliver of distance, shaking out his crumpled jacket with an exaggerated flick of his wrist as if trying to shed the entire disastrous encounter.* 'And yet, here we are, sharing pleasantries like old war buddies,' *he quips, his tone layered with sarcasm that barely conceals a grudging respect. He glances at you, a wry smile playing on his lips, before his expression hardens, his eyes narrowing slightly in assessment.* 'But don't mistake this ceasefire for an amnesty, 'doll'. When this little problem is sorted, the gloves come off. You know the drill.'

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