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"You have one new message; received yesterday at 7.22am"

"This is Theodore Hargreeves, please leave a message after the beep"

BEEP~!

"Teddy, this is your doro. Your vera has a surprise for you!

Meet us at the old Greenpoint Terminal Warehouse; Shed #5.

Oh, and Happy 13th Birthday—!"

"—Luther! Quit hitting replay!" Diego sniped, snatching the abandoned and slightly sparking phone from his brother's grip.

"But how else are we supposed to figure this all out?!" Luther retorted as they all stood huddled beneath the light of a bus stop a couple of streets over and listened to the voicemails on Theodore's seemingly abandoned phone. Which in of itself, was a worrying thing; what child in this day & age went anywhere without their cellular device? An unwilling one, that's who. But, if it hadn't been for Allison's eagle eyes and Klaus' clumsy footwork, they never would've of seen it to begin with and they would have of still been head towards the concert hall at the Icarus Theatre as planned.

"I already told you! This is Harold Jenkins—Theodore's father" Diego huffed as he gestured irritably with the phone, speaking to his brother as if he were a child. "And he's got Vanya—Theodore's mother—with him. And for some reason, they're all hiding in the Greenpoint Warehouses! What don't you understand?"

"Greenpoint? But isn't that in—?"

"—Brooklyn" Both Klaus & Ben replied in chorus.

"I'll bet you anything that Theodore figured this out before you and that's why he hasn't been responding!" Diego sneered, getting up in his brother's face as the sound of wailing sirens and thundering vehicles rumbled through the streets on the way to the Superstar Bowling Alley. It wouldn't be long now before they had spread out to search the surrounding vicinity for any traces of them.

BOOM…! BOOM…! BOOM…!

"…Was there s'posed to be a storm tonight?" Klaus mused, head tilted up towards the dark sky where the sound seemed to be coming from.

"That's not a storm" Diego shook his head as he recognised the echoing soundwaves floating back to them; just like they had when their nephew had fled with Allison clasped tight in his arms only days before. "That's him"

"Theodore?" Luther puzzled, brows furrowed in naive confusion.

"No, him Himalayas" Diego sassed as he sarcastically turned on his brother. "Yes, him, Theodore!"

"You don't have to be so snippy!" Luther pulled himself up to his full height, a pout on his lips.

"The world is ending! We are way behind the others and you're worried about manners?!"

"I'm just saying—!"

"—Yeah? Well, I'm just saying—!"

'WILL YOU BOTH SHUT IT!' Allison slapped her notebook, shoving it up between her two bickering brothers and into their faces with as much irritation as she could muster without being able to actually say anything.

"…He started it"

Theodore wasn't sure how long he was in the air for, only that when he landed in Brooklyn he thought that the Greenpoint Warehouses were an odd sort of place to hold such a sentimental value for his parents. On the other hand, he thought that it would be a good place for a secret party or to hide away from the eyes of the law as he tripped over some wayward litter. Skirting around the upturned petrol drums which must've housed more than just gasoline at some point because they stank of bonfires & birthday cakes, he made his way to Shed Number Seven.

Spotting his doro's car parked haphazardly in front of one of the warehouses, Theodore knew that he was in the right place, at least and with a deep breath to settle his nerves, he went inside. The door creaked on its squeaky hinges as he hesitantly pushed it open to find a scene that would forever be ingrained in his memory. A bonafide forest had sprung up around the warehouse of Shed Number Seven with flora of all kinds—both Earthen and Loric—sprouting out of the crags & crannies for as far as his eye could see. It was like a fantastical land that, in any other situation would have of made him irreparably happy, but on this day it barely even cracked a smile.

Ashen scars marred the walls and surrounding area in much the same manner as the remains of both the Umbrella Academy & Saint Gregory's Royal Academy had bared after Theodore, himself, had lost control of his lumen. A bundle of sleeping bags had been shoved off to the side (and it had taken Theodore a couple of seconds to realise that they were just positioned funny and that they were not, in fact, occupied), several childish etchings and other such graffiti shone out from behind the jungle-covered walls like neon lights. If it weren't for the big bright 'LANE HAVEN: PORT SEVEN' scrawled across the rafters overhead, Theodore would've of assumed that it was just another haven for the homeless. But that wasn't what had caught his attention.

There were only two other occupants in the warehouse; two bodies sprawled across the floor in varying poses of calm and calamity. To his right lay his doro with limbs all askew and bent at impossibly uncomfortable angles. Like something from a nightmare, breathless wheezes seemed to rattle painfully through his old bones as if each inhale hurt just as much as the last, and to be honest, it seemed like a miracle that he was even still hanging on. But as Theodore dared to shuffle closer, he found himself noting the mangled limbs bent at odd angles and the odd lack of clothing as his gaze roved over him. Doro looked older—more weathered—than the last time he had seen him (granted it was a while ago, but still) and Theodore found himself wondering if this was even the man who had raised him at all. Practically toeing his backward bent arm, Theodore wasn't quite sure if his doro was even aware of his surroundings any more, but one thing he knew for certain was that his heartbeat was getting steadily weaker. It wouldn't be long now.

And although he felt obligated to stay by his doro's side in these last few moments, there was still another person in the room. Someone who had not moved, had not blinked, had not twitched or even breathed as he had shuffled inside. Laying listless in the middle of the room on a bed of cardboard slats and dressed in a white sundress was a pale woman with a familiarly white violin clutched between her equally pale hands. On closer inspection, he realised that he recognised the woman in the pale sundress and he found himself blinking dumbly at what he saw and what Theodore saw terrified him to his core.

…She NEVER wears dresses…Theodore blinked dumbly down at the visage of his vera lain there on the cardboard slats as his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed to the ground at her side, mindless of the blood splattered around her like a stark crimson halo. His heart swelled at the sight of her and it broke just as quickly. Brows furrowed low in confusion the newly-minted thirteen year old reached out with shaky hands to touch her, to confirm that she was actually there and not a figment of his imagination—of his nightmares—and yet he somehow couldn't process the idea of his vera in a dress. Couldn't fathom why she would choose today of all days to do something so weird and act so scary; why she would dress in something so pretty, in a garment that she so loathed to wear…She shouldn't be wearing a dress…Vera HATES dresses!

"…V-Vera?" Theodore whispered, his scared voice cracking like thunder in the quiet warehouse as shaky hands reached out to touch her. Theodore sucked in a sharp breath as his hands landed on her arm, nails biting at the bare flesh as tears quickly began to gather in his eyes. Vera was cold and stiff to the touch. Her clothes, splattered with her own bloody waste, had long since congealed—particularly about her crown where a stained hammer lay only a pace or two away—and glass eyes stared up at the ceiling, unseeing and blank. Loralite had flooded her veins at some point and now remained bulging beneath her pale skin to the point that she almost looked translucent with the way they ebbed and flowed across her body in spidery patterns.

"Vera…? Vera, wake up! Vera—!" Theodore shook his vera's arm, hoping to wake her from this trance-like sleep she must've of fallen into. But no matter how furiously he tried to wake her or how openly he wept great big blubbering tears of distress, she did not move an inch and his stomach dropped even further as a bitterly sour taste hung out on the back of his tongue (In that moment, he couldn't care less about his doro who lay wheezing behind him). "No, no, no, no! Vera! Wake up! Wake up! Vera! Vera! Please! I'm sorry! Please! I'll be good! I promise! Please, Vera! Please! Wake up, Vera! VERA—!"

But Vera didn't so much as twitch and upon seeing thus, Theodore threw back his head & howled.

The brief subway ride (filled with awkward silences and curious stares from the other late-night patrons) to Brooklyn would likely have been spent scheming of ways to take down whomever was responsible for the apocalypse or under intense fire for 'losing' both Theodore and Five in such a short window of time. As it was, Allison found herself seated a particularly grimy plastic seat (which she tried not to ruminate on why it was so sticky) whilst the scruffy drunk a few seats down leered ever-so-subtly over the rim of his paper bag-bound bottle. In front of them stood Diego & Luther, blocking both Number Four & Number Three from the egregious stares from those bare few around them.

Next to her, Klaus seemed almost withdrawn and mournful with every mile that brought them closer & closer to Brooklyn. Of course, this may have had something to do with the boys' only and current plot to kill their youngest sister (she wasn't particularly keen with the idea, herself, but she didn't know how to combat that plan or fix the situation else wise). Allison was pretty sure that the stricken expression painted across his face had been permanently engraved upon his flesh as they rolled through the stops to Brooklyn.

Eventually the Hargreeves siblings slid from their subway seats and trotted up the stairs, out on to the street. After spending countless hours combing these streets as an inebriated teenager (Klaus) and a vigilante with a hero complex (Diego), her brothers easily led the way through the twisting streets of Brooklyn, despite the fact that they all looked more or less the same to the starlet. Slipping around the corner as they made their way out towards the old tobacco warehouses, the Hargreeves siblings soon found themselves at their desired location: the Greenpoint Terminal Warehouses. But when they got there, it was to a sight that none of them expected.

Wracked by both fear & shock, the Hargreeves could only stand and stare as the terminal went up in flames; bathed in blues & whites so bright that they hurt to even look at. As they stood & watched, a pulse of light—almost like a heartbeat—rippled outwards from the warehouse, climbing over everything and anything in its path. And then again, another replaced it spreading even further than the last until it fizzled out to nothing. That of which that didn't catch alight on the first ignition, quickly fell prey to nearby fires and soon they found themselves consumed by the ever-hungry flames.

Allison bit her lip as she winced at the heat emanating from one of the warehouses—Shed Number Seven—and the scent of burning something that accompanied it. But it was the sound of the gut-wrenching wails that came from within that pulled at her heartstrings and that almost played like the sombre melody of a death march against the backdrop of this terrible, horrible night. Whatever was going on in there, it didn't sound good.

"Schiesse!" Klaus breathed, taking in the sight of the burning terminal with wide eyes and a pale parlour.

"…W-we gotta go in there" Diego added, setting his shoulders in determination despite the stammer which made itself known in his fear.

"Right" Luther nodded in agreement, looking for-all-the-world like the (child) hero he had always been.

'I NEED TO GO ALONE' Skirting a burning tire before the boys could walk head-first into the burning building, Allison quickly made her way to the front of the group where she shoved her notepad into Luther's face, full-well knowing that he would be both the easiest and the hardest to persuade.

"Wha—?" Luther puzzled as he found himself stopped by the hand to his chest pushing him back, and the little yellow notebook shoved into his face. It only took him a quick moment or two to read over the words written there and when he did, he drew himself up in indignation. "Allison! I can't let you do that, all right? They're beyond reasoning!"

"You guys see the fire, right?" Diego sassed, pausing where he had stopped just a few steps in front of them. "It's started!"

"Do you honestly think that they're gonna listen?" Luther spared a quick glance towards his brother before turning back to Allison, trying to convince her that this was the only way. "After everything that's happened? After everything we—?"

"—We don't have time for this!" Klaus hissed in the background as Luther cut himself off.

"…Okay" Whatever was swirling around in that big apish head of his, seemed to come to some sort of conclusion as an intelligent calculation swam in his gaze—one usually not seen outside of missions—as he huffed a quiet sigh and acquiesced to Allison's request.

That was all Allison needed to hear. Nodding once, she pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose to prevent as much smoke inhalation as possible and left her brothers to wait on the front steps of the burning port; departing with a small and emotionless smile that barely twitched her lips upwards. And then Number Three disappeared into the hungry flames with shoulders set and heart already weeping. It was time to save the world—to save her family—and she would have to do so without her Rumour. Oh boy.