ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ! ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴs self-harm. ᴘʟs, ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʀɪsᴋ. ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀғғᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ self-harm and/or sᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴀʟ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs ᴘʟs ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴜᴛғᴏʀ ʜᴇʟᴘ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴀɴʏ ʜᴏᴛʟɪɴᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇs ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ. Or tell someone you trust, like a doctor. Don't feel like you are alone and this is a work of fiction, so just because something doesn't help a fictional character doesn't mean it can't help in real life.

~ᑭᖇOᒪOᘜᑌᗴ~

On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual, only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible. He got 8 of them.

ᗷᗴᖴOᖇᗴ

Life of solitude. Life of not trusting others. That came with the ability to read minds. That's why Number 8 locked herself away after her brother's death; number 6.

Too many people said one thing but thought of another. No one was ever genuine with their words except for Ben, and maybe that's why she had felt the closest to him, out of all her siblings, even her twin. It hit her hard when he died. It did all of them.

However, shutting yourself off from the world came with depression and anxiety. Fearing what people thought about you, about each other, and the terrible things people thought about in the privacy of their minds. Though none of it was private for Number 8. She wanted it to be. She hated her power and herself for being frightened to face the world -to face the downsides of her power.

You'd think that knowing what people thought of you or when they were lying was a good thing, but it wasn't. It made you question every nice thing they did for you. It made you paranoid, and that's why she hid away. That's why she ended up here.

She looked at her bandaged-up wrist and sighed. "How many times has it been now? We can arrange for you to see a psychiatrist," the middle-aged Doctor said.

"I'm already trying that. Can I go?" She asked. Isolating herself from everyone and the world for years had taken a toll on her mind, one she couldn't break free from. That meant she would have to deal with her power and everything she heard. She was too afraid to do that, but she didn't want to keep hidden away in her apartment. Though she couldn't break the cycle.

"Not unless it's safe for you too," the man said.

"I'm not going to try killing myself, I promise," she responded.

"I'm sorry, but we can't let you go if you are a danger to yourself. I don't want you to kill yourself." That's what they always said, but she could hear their thoughts. They thought she was a lost cause. She had done various activities and therapies, even medication, but none helped. It's a wonder they hadn't given up on her already.

"Look, I'm fine. I will not do it again," she said, projecting happy thoughts on him. Ones she transmitted to people when they were concerned about her. She knew she needed the help, and she wanted it, but no one could help. Unless they could take away her power. Though that was impossible.

"Ok fine, you can go, but here is a list of contacts if you need to talk with someone," he said and handed over a leaflet that she took.

"Ok, thanks." She stood up.

Number 8 walked out of the emergency room ward towards the waiting area, stuffing the leaflet into her pocket. Then she popped on her headphones to let the music drown out the cacophony of thoughts of the people sitting there. Until when someone called her name and her arms stopped mid-air.

"Klara, is that you?" A familiar voice asked.

Great, just what I need, she thought and turned around to face them, lowering her arms so she was holding her headphones in front of her. A skinny man, the same age as herself smiled at her and waved with a hand that had the word hello written on the palm.

"Brother," she said, smiling back.

"I thought it was you. It's good to see you. Though not so much in a hospital," he said, lowering his hand and his cheerful expression twisted into a frown. "Are you still self-harming yourself?"

"You still poisoning yourself with drugs?" She shot back, not wanting to talk about why she was in the hospital and she, too, was concerned about him. Though she expected it by now.

"No, I stopped all that," he answered, lifting his hands and waving them in front of him, (so Klara could see the Goodbye written on his other palm) while shaking his head.

Liar, she thought. As if he expected her to believe that given her power. Plus, this was Klaus (no. 4). Her brother hadn't been sober since they were little kids. The same brother didn't care what drugs he put into himself.

"Sure and I grew an extra toe," she said and rolled her eyes.

"Right, your power. Lying never worked with you," he said. "I accidentally took an overdose."

Accidentally or didn't care? She thought.

"Don't need mind-reading powers to know you were lying," she said, mumbling to herself.

"Did you hear about dad?" He asked, changing the subject.

The news she had heard yesterday popped back into her mind. Their father had died if you could call him a father. He had never been affectionate towards any of them. He had only been interested in experimenting with their powers and training them. They could rarely do what kids should. Play was limited to Saturday evenings only. It was an understatement to say their childhood was rubbish. Often she wondered what life would have been like if their mothers hadn't given them up, but then she would have never met her siblings.

"Yep, good riddance," she declared with disdain.

"You're supposed to be more respectful of the dead." That was right and he would know, given his power. The ability to commune with the dead, who sometimes stuck around. Though, she doubted her father would even have the courtesy to pop back, to see how any of them were doing, from where ever he ended up in the afterlife.

"So?" She shrugged. "Aren't you glad he's dead?"

"Well yeah, he was such an asshole," he responded and then continued talking a few seconds later. "Anyway, let's go." He started walking past Klara.

"Where?" she asked.

"Out of here, or do you want to stay?" He looked back over his shoulder at her.

"Why would I want to stay in the hospital?" The hospital was the last place she wanted to be. All those depressing and tragic thoughts circled the air, and it made her want to bawl her eyes out.

"Great, then let's go," he said, clapping his hands and then carried on walking. Klara placed the headphones on her head to finally drown out the invasive voices and followed him out of the hospital.

Author's note: Hope you all liked the first chapter. Originally it was going to be longer but I thought it would be too long, so I split it. The next chapter will be the first episode and after that, it will take place after season 2 but with my ideas and with flashbacks to the seasons.

I'm not posting the rest yet. I'm working on my other fanfics first but it will come as soon as possible.