THE HORROR - A HORRIFIC TRAGEDY!
Last night, according to sources, the famed Horror of the local superhero team The Umbrella Academy has been killed.
Voted "Most Attractive Superhero" in our polls two years running, Ben Hargreeves was 23-years-old when he died at reportedly 3:10 AM Friday night.
So far, no more information regarding his death has been given.
The Umbrella Academy
Four Years Earlier
"You, Benjamin William Hargreeves," Klaus spoke up suddenly, words escaping through his teeth in the form of thin wisps of smoke, "Are a total prude."
Ben looked down from where he'd been staring at the dark night sky, counting the shining satellites and possible UFOs. "William?" He echoed dumbly.
"William."
"...My middle name isn't William. I don't have a middle name and neither do you. None of us do." He gently reminded his brother. Klaus was, once again, not in his right mind.
It was somewhere between 2 and 3 AM, and the family had just come back from a particular mission that none of them wanted to talk about. The two brothers weresprawled comfortably on the warm slanted roof of the mansion, tucked away by a chimney with bottles of Klaus's well-guarded vodka and bags of his weed. So far, Ben was content with leaning against the chimney and fiddling with an empty shot glass and keeping his face turned upwards, away from the foul-smelling smoke Klaus exhaled.
"I think William's a good middle name for you. Makes you sound like the prudish, stupid-looking rich boy you are." Klaus continued idly, putting down his smoke long enough to pour himself another glass. He'd had at least four or five so far, Ben wasn't really keeping count of anything but stars.
It was well known that insults were Klaus's own special way of showing love and affection, but Ben decided to take mild offense anyway. "I'm not stupid looking." Well, of course he wasn't about to deny that they were rich. Or that he was maybe a little bit prudish.
"You," Klaus stretched his long leg out to poke Ben in the ribs, and then to grab with his toes at the cape Ben had put on over his civilian clothing, "Are wearing your cape over your shirt." And then Klaus leaned backwards in order to push at Bens face with his heel. "And you're wearin' your mask. Whussamatta, pretty boy? Bad hair day?"
"It's cold up here, and your foot is disgusting." Ben whined, attempting to shove it away.
To his surprise, Klaus obliged, pulling his leg back to fold underneath him. The medium rolled over, flopping backwards into Ben's lap and staring up at him with bloodshot eyes. "How many?" He asked suddenly, startling Ben with the change of subject.
He blinked behind the mask. "How many what?"
"Stars, sweet brother of mine. How many are there?"
Ben turned to stare back up at the sky, "Well... they say that there are six thousand stars visible to the human eye from earth if the pollutants aren't too..."
Klaus shut up him with a hand over his mouth. "That number's too big. And I don't care what they say. How many did you count?" He took away his hand.
"...A lot. It's un... Unfathomable." Stuttering over his many-syllabled words once again.
"That's better." Klaus relaxed, settling down and seemingly comfortable with Ben's lap as a pillow. Ben was still staring up at the sky and didn't notice when Klaus started to drop off into sleep. "You know," He mumbled sleepily, before he was completely gone, "I bet Luther could tell us how many stars there are."
Down far below, Sir Reginald Hargreeves sat at his desk, engaged in a diplomatic phone call with one of his contacts in India. Or somewhere. Diego didn't really care, he wasn't here for that sort of shit. He was a man on a fucking mission. In about two minutes, Hargreeves would hang up, right on time, and go off to his private chambers, right on time. And it wasn't like Diego knew where his "father's" bedroom was anywa-
There was a harsh click and the scraping of a chair against wooden floors. Hargreeves must be turning in early. Or he heard... Diego would have sighed in relief if he had held the breath for it, as Hargreeves flicked off all the lights and exited his office.
Diego shimmed the window open and slipped in from the overhang outside. It was a common occurance. They would go on a mission, Hargreeves would tell them nothing of the importance of it, and Diego would break into the old coot's office to read through the files on it. The routine was memorized. Where exactly not to step to set off a creaky floorboard, which drawer of which cabinet the files were in... He pawed through the alphabetized folders with appalling ease, and with his eyes adjusting to the dark, located their most recent mission.
It hadn't been titled properly yet, was just a jumble of numbers. Assignment #610.
Drawing the compact camera out of his belt, Diego laid the files out neatly upon the floor and snapped two or three quick pictures of each. He swiftly piled them back into the folder and slid it back into it's place. And with no sign of having entered, the Kraken escaped into the night.