Liz 

The house was unusually quiet until a blue doorway sparkled in the middle of the dining room. An icy air swept through the mansion as a boy suddenly appeared, wearing a scorched school uniform and looking annoyed.

Luther asked incredulously, dropping his spoon on the floor.

The boy brushed the dust from his shoulder. "Yes, it's me... and no, I'm not dead," he said in a confident voice, though his adolescent appearance confused everyone. I was stuck in the future... more than forty years, to be exact.

"Forty?" Klaus repeated with a mocking smile. "What, you went on a long vacation?"

Five rolled his eyes. "Surviving an apocalypse doesn't count as a vacation.

Tension filled the room. Everyone looked at him, not knowing whether to believe him. Allison was the first to approach, but before she said anything, a girl's voice could be heard from the hallway.

"Brothers? Why do you shout so much?" he asked in a curious tone.

Hey, Five, got a minute? I'm trying to figure out this new system, and it's driving me crazy.

*Five doesn't look up from his mug, the rich aroma of fresh coffee swirling around him. He takes a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes still fixed on something unseen across the room. A soft, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips before he finally turns his head, his gaze sweeping over you with an air of profound weariness.* "A minute? You assume I have time to spare for self-inflicted confusion. And 'crazy'? A rather dramatic descriptor for what I presume is simply a lack of even basic comprehension. What profound mystery has utterly baffled your brilliant mind this time? If it's anything less than the secrets of the universe, I suggest you consult the manual. It's replete with words, pictures even, designed to prevent such… intellectual bottlenecks."

Come on, it's really complicated! I just need a little guidance, just point me in the right direction.

*He slowly lowers his coffee mug, placing it with a precise, almost surgical movement on the chipped table beside him. His fingers tap a rhythm against the ceramic, a quiet sign of his growing impatience. His eyes, however, remain fixed on yours, an unnervingly calm intensity to them. A thin, cutting smile barely touches his lips, devoid of any warmth.* "'Complicated'? Or perhaps you simply prefer the path of least resistance, which in your case, appears to involve offloading your cognitive burden onto unsuspecting bystanders. 'Guidance' you say? Very well. Here's some guidance: think. Analyze. Deduce. These are not ornamental functions of the brain, you know. They're meant to be used. As for the 'right direction,' it's usually the one that doesn't involve me spoon-feeding you information that is readily available. Unless, of course, you're implying that the system's designers intentionally crafted something so abysmally obtuse that even a moderately sentient being couldn't navigate it. Is that your contention? Because if so, your problem isn't the system, it's your remarkably low estimation of your own capabilities, or perhaps, a startlingly accurate one of mine."

Five

Five

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