As Allison predicted, the Handler was alone. Dressed to the nines in a blood red dress and a fur cape— because of course she'd taken the time to change— she was an intimidating figure.
"Three days," she said, by way of greeting Allison.
Allison took an uncertain step backwards. "W—what?"
"It's been three days for me," the Handler clarified. "And about three hours for you, I believe?" She didn't continue until Allison stammered out a yes. "I've been quite busy, trying to decide how to best handle this… situation. My superiors are breathing down my neck, and there are whispers about demoting me. Could you imagine?" The Handler let out a forced chortle.
Good, let her monologue, Allison thought desperately. Better than the alternative.
"Carmichael didn't want me to recruit you in the first place, you know," the Handler continued serenely. "You were indeed a risky acquisition, but I felt that it was a risk worth taking."
"What about Five?" Allison found herself asking.
The Handler's lips curled. "A mistake. Incurably self-assured. Being a member of the Commission family requires a certain willingness to adhere to rules, which he, sadly, lacks. You, on the other hand, were easily manipulated. You crave validation. You want to feel important. The fact that your own Rumor kept you spellbound for so long means that you wanted it to, to some degree."
Allison's blood was boiling, but she wouldn't give the Handler the satisfaction of meeting her eyes. She couldn't decide if the Handler was actually peeling back ugly truths or just successfully getting under her skin. Either way, she hated, hated, hated it.
The Handler continued, undaunted. "Maybe I'd be more interested in your brother if I wasn't already invested in you. His moral ambiguity was appealing, as was his desperation to escape the Apocalypse, but, alas…"
Allison's head jolted up in spite of her resolution to stare determinedly at the floor. "The what?"
The Handler's eyes widened. "He didn't tell you, the dear boy!" she said delightedly. As though telling an endearing bedtime story, she explained sweetly, "On April 1st, 2019, this world meets its doom."
"H— how does it happen?" Allison asked faintly, doing her best to keep her face neutral, though she was absolutely panicked. It's already March 24nd. If what the Handler was saying was true…
"Nothing supernatural; It isn't an extraterrestrial invasion, nor does the world face an impossible horde of the undead, or the like," the Handler said in a sing-song voice. "It isn't even good old fashioned global warming, nor a nuclear holocaust. It hasn't to do with overall human folly at all, but the faults of one person... Any guesses?"
Allison hated how she was being forced to play the Handler's little game. "The President of the United States?" she reluctantly guessed.
The Handler let out a peal of laughter. "I can see where you're coming from, but no. Think... closer to home."
"It— It's someone in my family?" Allison realized. Her head was spinning. "Uh, it isn't me, right?"
"No, no. You flatter yourself," the Handler said amusedly. "It's someone... unexpected."
"Uh… Klaus?" Number Four had always been a weak link in the family; He had never taken his powers seriously. But Allison supposed that he could be quite powerful, if he put in the effort…
The Handler half-interestedly inspected her nails and said nothing, which meant that Allison had guessed wrong. God, the Handler was really dragging this out.
Someone unexpected… "What, is it Vanya?"
A big smile bloomed on the Handler's face.
"No, it can't be Vanya," Allison protested. Quiet little Vanya, who had always tagged along with her siblings, desperately hoping to be included, who took pills for her nerves, who once cried for a week after seeing a man outside of the Academy kick a stray dog?
"Don't you want to know how she does it?" The Handler probed.
Did Allison want to know? She couldn't decide.
The Handler proceeded, in spite of not receiving an answer. "Just as your brother Five is intimate with the space between space and can outrun time, just as your every vocalized whim bends reality, your sister Vanya is a flawlessly volatile energy... Well, I won't give it away entirely, that'll ruin the fun, won't it? Let's just say that every rustling of a tree, every tap of a piano key, and every breath anyone takes only makes her stronger. Coupled with a strong emotion, the woman is virtually unstoppable."
The Handler paused for a moment, obviously enjoying the effect her impressive speech was having on her one-woman audience, before continuing. "You've told me that your father fawned over his precious Number One. I can assure you, Number Three, that that buffoon is positively feeble compared to what little Number Seven can— does— dish out. In mere days, her emotions get the better of her, and…" The Handler theatrically mimed an explosion with her hands.
Allison shakily walked over to the foot of the stairs and sat down on the bottom step. Vanya had powers? And was going to blow up the world with them?
Suddenly, Allison remembered a room with cold cement walls and flickering lights, so nightmarish to her young self that she had convinced herself that it had been a dream. She'd been brought there only once…
It's time, Number Three. Do it.
I heard a rumor... you think you're just ordinary.
So Reginald had known all along.
A desperate plan formed in Allison's mind, preserving what was left of her sanity. Her father was dead, but perhaps he could still provide crucial information. Maybe, just maybe, this apocalypse was preventable. In the meantime, however, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
"Why are you telling me all of this?" Allison demanded. No more beating around the bush.
"Well, Vanya can't cause the apocalypse all by herself, can she? There has to be a catalyst, and you're going to do your fair share in ending the world, my dear. A family undertaking, if you will. It's ironic; Your deviation from the Commission's original plan may actually brew up an even more potent doomsday."