The man was in what seemed to be an expensive apartment in the middle of the city. It had a great view in the man's opinion and was high up enough that no-one was likely to bother him. The apartment itself was set up to his liking: modern and comfortable. On the walls were pictures of a superhero team. Or an academy. Or a family. Depends on who's looking at them really.
The man himself was Alex Hargreeves, The Shield, and number 8. He was a teacher and a writer. He taught social studies and wrote Historical Fiction, and in his spare time he took up archery. This was his life. Nothing more. Nothing less.
On a table to the living room was what looked almost like a makeshift shrine. This was the Umbrella Family achievements. On it were almost a dozen books. All but one of these books were written by 'Alex Hargreeves'. The other being written by his sister, Vanya Hargreeves, number 7.
Alex…didn't like that book. In fact, the first time he read it he analysed the book, finding small mistakes and inaccuracies, and sent it to Vanya with passive aggressive notes attached. He never got a reply, but Alex still put the book up.
Family was Family after all.
There were DVD's as well. Movies and TV shows made by Alex's other sister, Allison Hargreeves, number 3, almost all of which had a positive rating. Alex had seen every movie in cinemas and had even seen a few at the premieres, though he wasn't able to make her newest due to the enquiry.
There were other things, of course. A ticket to Vanya's first concert. A newspaper clipping of Luther's space trip. Even the clips of the Umbrella Academy's heroic antics. Little things that added up to, what some would call, being obsessive. To Alex, however, he was just caring for his family.
If not for these pictures, books, and DVD's, one wouldn't know that Alex was part of the Umbrella Academy by looking at him; average height, average build, brown hair, blue eyes. Nothing really seemed special about him. And physically there wasn't.
Currently, Alex was reading a letter with a face that was uncommonly tense. His eyes scanned the page with an unrelenting glare, not even taking the time to drink the hot tea in his other hand.
Suddenly, he puts the tea down on the kitchen table and scrunches up the letter into a ball.
"Dangerous weapons in the classroom, my ass." He mutters to himself and proceeds to throw the ball into the air.
Something strange happens though. For when the ball falls back down, Alex has a baseball bat in his hand. Translucent and blue, the construct, for it was it was a construct made from his imagination, glowed with power. Alex takes this baseball bat construct and proceeds to hit the ball with all his strength, making the ball hit the television in the other side of the apartment.
"Home run!" He shouts in a fake announcer's voice.
He sighs and smiles sadly to himself, then walks over to pick the ball up, pushing the TV on at the same. He jumps on to the couch in a lying position, leaving the ball on the table, and starts to watch the news, as is his daily routine.
Perhaps it was the bad news that he had gotten that day, or perhaps even the Chinese from the night before, but Alex had a bad feeling. He was proven correct when he watches a segment on the death of the reclusive billionaire, Sir Reginald Hargreeves.
A segment on the death of his father…
"Poor Luther." he murmurs. Alex was sure that most people would be thinking about themselves at that moment, but considering Luther was the only one of them that had a 'close' relationship with their father, Alex was more worried about Luther than anybody else.
Alex stood up and started to pack; the funeral would be soon, knowing his father. Everything would come to a head at the funeral, he knew. All the backstabbing and bitterness from the Hargreeves family would show itself.
Alex just hoped they'd all leave alive…