Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3.
- Part 1: episode 3, around 19:40 (while Klaus sneaks in dressed in wetsuit through the sewage and boiler room of Hargreeves Mansion).
- Part 2: episode 4, around 15:00 (after Christopher leaves Reginald's office on the pretext of following Fei, and while Five and Lila are at the Commission).

Suggested soundtrack: Jules Gaia - Wild Side ; David Guetta - The Alphabeat.

-

April 4 2019, 11:34 am

A bunch of gaskets for outdoor pipes, two dimmable halogen bulbs, a spirit level, and a bucket of parquet glue: that's the grand total of my morning so far since the shop opened at 9 a.m. It's a slow day, I can tell that much with my years of experience. But I'm pretty sure I know why…

I'm thrilled that Rodrigo gave me this trial day. I don't have a tag with my name on it yet, but it feels like I'm almost there. Walking back into this store where I worked for so many years feels amazing, with its familiar smell of wood glue and industrial plastic packaging: who knew I'd grow so attached to that scent? No, my boss doesn't know me in this reality. He was quite surprised that I knew exactly where everything was, like the back of my hand, for this little shop is laid out just like the one I used to know.

In just an hour, he trusted me enough to leave me running the store while he slipped into the little back office to do his accounting. I can hear his tiny radio broadcasting the news, and - yeah - I think I know why the customers are so scarce. It turns out that the people disappearances have now reached all the way to New York State and, apparently, beyond.

I still feel them, those relentless pulses of energy sweeping everything away: I can sense them down to my very bones. Terrifying. Apocalyptic. I feel sorry for those people who think they're safe, hiding away in their apartments. I know - unfortunately - that this won't protect them at all.

I don't know what we can do, but I've listened to Five, and I know that once again, we are the cause of this collapse of the world. Or - to be more precise - the paradox that some of us represent. As I pull a few packs of barbecue matches out of a cardboard box - that may never be used again - I think. If we are the cause of it... then we probably can't just sit back and watch the End unfold. Can we?

I place the matchboxes on the shelf with the flammables and sigh. Just as I turn around to fold the empty cardboard box, I hear the bell on the shop's front door jingle.
*Dingling, dingling!*
Another sound I had missed. I smile. Customers, at last.

"Good m-"

Just as I was about to step behind the counter, ready to serve these hardware store adventurers, brave enough to face the apocalypse for a few nuts and bolts, I freeze. As the door closes with another jingle, I stare at them, feeling a bit unsettled. There, on the speckled tile floor, Five and Lila are walking towards me, each carrying one of the briefcases that have historically brought us as much hope as trouble.

"Damn. What the hell are you guys doing here?"

That sentence slipped out before I could stop myself, and I quickly glance towards the office where Rodrigo is probably more asleep than actually doing his accounts. Lucky me. But on my very first day, when I need to prove myself, the last thing I needed is a new 'Hargreevism'. Five, on the other hand, seems to find it completely normal to barge in at my workplace, just like he did back in '63. And - even though I can tell he's in a hurry - he nonchalantly tosses his briefcase onto the counter in front of me.

"Rin, I need your machine-whispering powers", he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, while Lila sets her own briefcase on the floor and flashes a smile in my direction before wandering over to rummage through the candy jar meant for customers, by the register.

"This isn't a repair shop, Five. But I can sell you some royal azure-blue paint if you're planning to give your TARDIS a fresh coat."
He leans forward, smirking with that annoying sarcasm.
"Oh, hilarious. You too, are bigger on the inside".
"Shut up. You're not taller than me."

Nothing annoys me more than getting teased about my 'compromised verticality', and Five is definitely one of those people who should really keep quiet about it. But he just shrugs in his perfectly tailored suit.

"Whatever. These two briefcases are crucial to understand and stop the cyclic absorptions of matter and energy that are happening."
"The Poodlebits."
"It's Kugelblitz, Lila. A poetic name for… an assembly of black holes tied to terminal paradoxes."

With theatrical exasperation, Lila glances at me over her shoulder, her hands dangerously hovering near the cash register which - thankfully - won't open.

"You're planning to ask the Commission for help", I say, seriously doubting that would be of much use, or even safe. But at this point, we really don't have any lead, so I can understand why the two of them are considering it. Five knows I'll never have anything to do with that organization, but that's not what he's asking of me right now.

"Yep. We need at least one of these briefcases to work, and somehow, both of them decided to kick the bucket. I need you to figure out what the heck is wrong with them: because if anyone can poke around in these mysterious contraptions, it's you."

I stand frozen over the black leather case, almost intimidated, maybe even a little scared of what might happen if I so much as press the opening buttons. Especially if it's malfunctioning. That's how Klaus ended up in the middle of the A Shau Valley fights in 1968.

"No way I'm messing with this thing, Five. Especially not here. It's my freaking first day, Rodrigo would fire me on the spot if—"
"Your boss is napping, Rin. And the universe is collapsing in on its own gravitational anomalies, so your little trial day..."

I roll my eyes. Deep down, I know he's right. I stand there for a moment, staring at the black briefcase, while Lila sneaks a peek at the account book.

"Alright. But you're the one opening it."
"Brilliant."
*Click – click!*

Barely have I replied, Five - with a gesture he's repeated a thousand times - flicks the two latches on the briefcase. The top opens with a few blue crackles, like dying sparks that twitch pitifully instead of whisking us all away. Something's definitely off. I glance one last time to make sure Rodrigo's still napping, then finally place my hands on the black leather.

"Let's see."

I latch onto the energy radiating from the object, accessing its technology for the very first time in my life. It's a complicated mechanism, but it feels less exotic than what I experienced when facing Christopher's psykronium cube. In a funny way, it seems more handmade, like something cobbled together in the back of a garage. I weave myself into its circuits, its wiring, its resistors, all the way down to the core of its time converter. I feel oddly moved, as I find myself inside this device. As if it's recounting me someting about the Commission, and about Five himself.

Yes, the truth dawns on me: this briefcase is nothing more than a mechanical mimicry of Five's powers, and it was clearly designed by someone who knows him very well. I've learned to be highly suspicious of coincidences, and this one seems almost impossible to be just that.

"The power supply got fried by the Poodlebits waves."
"Kugleblitz. Fried?"
I nod.
"Like Granny's TV during that big lightning storm in 2018. The power supply kind of replaces the impulse you and I generate. Only, like, twice as strong. Right now, it's sputtering... but not kicking anything into gear".

The other components seem intact to me, but I can't guarantee it, given that none of them exactly match the technologies I've worked with in the different eras I've lived in. Some parts, along with the way they're assembled and soldered, seem straight out of the 1950s, while others are unfamiliar and clearly cutting-edge. It's a mix, as if pieces from various points along the same timeline were used. I shrug.

"Too bad. The time converter is intact".
Lila bursts out laughing.
"You mean that thing shaped like a chicken bone, like in Back to the Future? That movie is so full of paradoxes, Five, I bet it drives you nuts."
I purse my lips.
"Here, it's circular, but yeah, same idea. And it's connected to the destination setting device..."

A crutch for Five, really, who - just like me - is incapable of pinpointing his destination in time beyond two or three minutes. But, of course, he's not listening. He's already figured out that any other briefcase caught in the Kugelblitz's range would have met the same fate. It's not hard to guess that the one Lila was carrying is in the same condition.

"So, the ship's sinking, and all we've got are tiny spoons."
Lila giggle.
"Not even that", she corrects. "Tiny strainers. Made of rice paper."

Lila is practically doubled over with laughter, the mocking kind. She's clearly enjoying Five's frustration. It seems she's more eager to see him mess up than to actually stop the apocalypse that forces her to cooperate. Lila is chaotic neutral, at best. Five leans against the insecticide shelf, deep in thought, maybe even a little defeated, while I close the briefcase. At least this way, there's no chance of it accidentally whisking me away.

"Maybe it's still possible to trigger it", I tell him. "With a massive surge of electricity directly injected into the circuit, bypassing the power supply."
"It's like hot-wiring a car, I love it", says Lila, as Five raises his sharp little face.
"A massive surge? How massive?"
"I don't know. Like the kind from transformers or electrical substations. The distribution centers for neighborhoods or large buildings."
"Like the ones in a hotel?"

To be honest, I'm not even entirely sure it's the right approach, and there's a good chance it could just set the whole thing on fire.

"You can try, but it's risky - in the 'deadly' sense - you know? That's why they usually put up 'Do Not Enter' signs on places like electrical substations..."
Lila snickers.
"I'm sure he's going to mess it up. I can already smell the delightful scent of his singed hair gel from here."

She goes back to rummaging through the nuts, slipping one onto each finger like she's building a makeshift brass knuckles. From the back office, Rodrigo is thankfully snoring loud enough to hear. I let out a sigh.

"What are you planning to do at the Commission anyway? Five, do you really think they can help?"
"If there's one place to find out how to counter a Grandfather Paradox, it's there. The whole Commission was established to prevent this kind of... inconvenience."
It's definitely the only lead we have, but...
"If they fight so fiercely to prevent these types of paradoxes... do you really think they have a solution for reversing them once they occur?"

I know I've asked a sensitive question: one that almost makes him angry, because Five hates dead ends. It's a question that Lila seems just as skeptical about as I am, and she's literally spent her whole life within the walls of that organization.

"Maybe not," Five mutters. "But the only answers that exist are over there."

-

03:25 pm

It feels so strange to be hired again by my own boss. I feel like I'm living through a glitch in the matrix, or some sort of 'Groundhog Day', destined to repeat over and over. And yet, I feel the same joy I did in my twenties, when Rodrigo first gave a chance to the little punk I was. Of course, I had no trouble proving myself: I know this shop better than he does. Although I did break into a cold sweat during that little 'unexpected visit' late in the morning.

Rodrigo never found out in the end. Five left after buying battery clamps as long as my forearm, with the intention of trying an electric shock directly on his briefcase in the electrical room of the Hotel Obsidian. I warned him about the risks: if he ends up fried, I take no responsibility, and I'll leave it to Lila to sweep up his ashes, assuming she isn't already dead from laughing. It really amuses me to see them 'collaborating'. I just hope they don't end up causing something worse than what's already happening.

I was able to go and pay Sebastian what I owed him for my tattoo, and he inspected it with a satisfied look. This time, he risked asking a question about what the design meant to me. I miserably stammered that it seemed to me like the answer to the ultimate question of the universe, just like the number 42. He got the reference and laughed. And I left, feeling unsettled by having given that response.

As I cross the forecourt of the Hotel Obsidian, I try to ignore the strange feeling that at any moment, a new wave of energy from what Lila called 'Poodlebits' could sweep everything away. It feels like every time I finally seem to find a more comfortable place in this world, a new Apocalypse threatens to wipe it all out. I don't even feel any resentment about it anymore. But deep down, I'm glad that Five hasn't given up.

My thoughts turn to Klaus. I'm worried that he didn't find what he was seeking from Reginald Hargreeves and that he put on his diving suit for nothing. Even if his father was responsible for his mother's death before he was even born, I'm certain he'd still find a way to manipulate him. I'm a little anxious about the state I'll find him in again: I just hope he hasn't already gotten himself drunk.

A ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds as I approach the revolving doors, and I stop in my tracks. My eye is drawn to a gleaming reflection: a small polished bronze plaque, the kind typically installed during inaugurations. I approach it, curiosity stirring, hands in my pockets, and then I freeze. There, in elegant lettering reminiscent of the early 20th century, the inscription reads:

'The Hotel Obsidian – 1918-1920.
Erected by architects John H. Weber and Takeshi Yamamoto, with financial, technical, and logistical support from the prestigious watchmaking companies Seiko 1881 and Omega 1848.'

The sunlight fades, leaving me blinking at the plaque, which would probably seem insignificant to anyone else. Anyone who didn't bear the same tattoo on their forearm, also found in one of the hotel rooms. Anyone who hadn't been tied to the Omega symbol in the notes of a megalomaniac old businessman. My stomach twists a bit, and I press my hand against it to ease the feeling.

I remember now the moment of unease I felt at the Tiki Bar in Dallas, when I caught a glimpse of Reginald Hargreeves's watch, an Omega. Perhaps this is just another coincidence, after all, Omega is one of the world's top watch brands, as is Seiko. During the construction of the Hotel Obsidian, between 1918 and 1920, these two companies were at the forefront of innovation - no less - paving the way for the rise of all 20th-century technologies, including computing.

Two partners with immense technological prowess, for the construction of a mere hotel: but to me, the Hotel Obsidian is clearly anything but ordinary. I was deeply unsettled last night when I took the elevator. I felt it, the extraordinary nature of the building, like I was walking inside a massive machine. Connected to it, as I once was to Priscilla, I could see its inner gears, resembling the mechanism of a giant clock, linked to the workings of the universe. To the Great Mystery, as Iggy would have called it. Now, I have confirmation, if I even needed it: this hotel is indeed a huge piece of machinery, designed and built using the most advanced technologies of its time.

My mind is racing with questions as I get ready to head back to the revolving doors, but I freeze once more. Inside my pockets, my hands reflexively grip my abdomen as a sharp, much stronger spasm twists through me, far more intense than the first.

This ache in my stomach. It's not something I ate.
No, it's not just nerves.
It's...

I spin around sharply, scanning the forecourt and the row of bushes planted along its edge. I'm searching for a presence I already sense. My arms still crossed over my stomach, I abandon sight and reach out with my energy. The hotel's immense presence overwhelms and interferes with my sensitivity, yet I find ~him~ instantly.

"Oh fuck".
*Crack!*

A single teleportation is all it takes to propel me behind the thorny bushes, tumbling onto the damp earth, colliding with the nasty cube of the Sparrows: the one I unsuccessfully tried to meet last night.

"You damn shoebox, are you spying on me?", I snap, ignoring another spasm as he shifts from green to orange, narrowly avoiding smashing into a concrete post. Just like when we first arrived at Hargreeves Mansion, Christopher only emits expressive crackling sounds, but I understand him perfectly, and for one simple reason: he communicates through energy, directly into the electrical stimuli of people's brains.

"No, I wasn't spying on you last night. I wanted to see you, but I got… intercepted."

I find it hard to believe, in fact, that Reginald Hargreeves's little maintenance mission on Christopher's 'chamber' last night was purely coincidental. I watch him as his hues shift to blue-green, less angry now. He's not about to electrocute me or inflict pain directly into my nerves, no. Instead, he just lowers the temperature around me, making me shiver.

"Stop", I tell him, but he keeps going, lowering the temperature even further, his psykronic cube radiating a false innocence, if that's even possible.
"CHRIS, STOP, damn it! I don't mean you any harm, so don't take it out on me either."

He finally stops, and we both remain there among the bushes, in a way, 'looking' at each other. Through energy, of course, because he no longer has my eyes.

"You weren't really asleep last night. You heard everything somehow, didn't you?"

Even without a word in my head, just from the crackling he emits, I already have my answer. My stomach really hurts, and I can sense his discomfort too, in the way he trembles slightly. But my empathy twists inside me as I realize what he must have felt, understanding who I truly was.

"I hope you realize what a bastard your father is behind that monocle. What he did to you. What he did to me, and to all of us."

His reaction, both in my mind and in the energy around us, reassures me. I never thought a cube could be so expressive and downright crude, but in some way, Reginald Hargreeves has earned it. I slump down, sitting against the concrete wall, surrounded by thorny bushes, along with empty slushie cups and scattered trash. I clutch my stomach, and he lets out a low crackle, almost in sympathy.

"What do you mean, you 'drug' him to reduce his ability to cause harm?"

I frown, wondering if I've understood correctly. But there's no room for doubt: Christopher can project images directly into my neural networks. The ability to infiltrate people's memories and emotions like that is terrifying. He could drive anyone insane if he wanted to, maybe even learn everything about them by pushing empathy to its extreme, or even alter their nerve signals. He's certainly dangerous, far more dangerous than I ever was. But suddenly, it hits me how much I had underestimated the situation. The Sparrows are indeed drugging Reginald Hargreeves.

"This time, you're the ones controlling him..."

So that's why I had the strange feeling of a Reginald who seemed somehow less aggressive, maybe more submissive, what pushed Klaus not to be wary of him. The Sparrows have gained the upper hand over Reginald. He's lost control, and not just over Christopher.

Or... did he give it to them willingly? As always, I can't help but wonder if this wasn't somehow calculated. I know Hargreeves operates in terms of probabilities, not certainties. But despite that, I'm now convinced that - at times - unexpected grains of sand slip into his carefully crafted machinery. Like me. Like Christopher. Who knows what else.

In any case, the Sparrows are fully aware of how dangerous he is. At least some of them are. But suddenly, I see Christopher shift back to red, even to orange, a flare of anger with a raw impulsivity that took me years to control, more or less. My head spins under the weight of his accusations, which I can barely grasp, forcing me to release my aching stomach and grab my head with both hands.

"Stop! Stop… I didn't kill anyone! I was at work! I don't know what you're talking about, I wasn't even there..."

But I understand now. I realize there was an altercation inside the hotel, that the Sparrows and the Umbrellas 'clashed', and it didn't end well.

I never thought pure energy could be so violently angry and sad at the same time. Everything is swirling inside him, and when he finally gives up trying to take control of my pain center, I look at him with genuine sorrow. Today, Chris has lost two of his siblings, and another has disappeared, just like so many people. I can feel his immense grief, probing him in return. Chris is heartbroken. He's devastated, really. Even though their relationships were probably just as chaotic as the Umbrellas, I can sense that his siblings were everything to him too.

"I'm not really sure who Jayme is anymore… I can vaguely remember who Alphonso was. I… I'm sorry. No one deserves this, no one..."

It's hard for me to believe this could have happened. Viktor has a solid grasp on his power now. He wouldn't have slipped like that. I have no idea what actually happened, I've only seen the terrible result that he just 'showed' me. And yet, here I am apologizing for the Hargreeves, even though I'm not one of them.

"I know it won't bring them back", I tell him, seeing a reflection of myself, of what I could have become, of what I could have lost in this chaotic storm. "But we're all headed toward the end… and we'd be better off working together rather than trying to destroy each other."

It breaks me to think that the Hargreeves - my Hargreeves - could have done such a thing. But I know that Christopher can understand me on one point.

"You feel them too, don't you? The waves of energy sweeping everything away because of our arrival. Soon… soon, there will be nothing left."

He shifts his cubical form a little closer to me against the concrete, glowing resolutely blue now, as if deep in thought. I realize he knows where the source of the energy pulses is, and I also understand why I felt them so intensely, almost as if their source was right under my feet at Hargreves Mansion, yesterday. He just used the words 'complex gravitational and energy phenomenon in the basement', directly into my language cerebral cortex. And I sigh. Of course, the anomaly appeared where we first arrived...

"Our Number Five calls it a 'Kugelblitz'", I say, holding back the urge to use Lila's imagery.
"I don't know. I don't know what we can do. But if Five is right - which is often the case, unfortunately - then we only have a few days left before everything is swept away."

We both remain silent amidst the thorns and slushie gobelets, our respective guts and psykronic components somewhat traumatized by the paradoxes we represent for each other. And I let out a breath.

"Chris, if everything is going to disappear..."
I curl up, struggling to get the words out.
"You need to know..."

I can feel he's listening to me, and it's a strange feeling, because he's very different, at this moment, from the impulsive, obnoxious and threatening entity that greeted us.

"You need to know that there's an old costume maker on Crescent Boulevard named Hoàng Thị Liên, who in another timeline was my grandmother."

I know he will understand what this means. Christopher is far from stupid, even if his cubical personality is unbearable. He crackles, and I laugh, softly yet sadly.

"You're such a jerk. Have a little respect for your ancestors. But anyway, think what you want, but… you look a lot like her. Really a lot. Only worse."

He buzzes sarcastically, but for the first time, there's a hint of restrained modesty. I realize he's already been questioning things and has managed to uncover a few scant pieces of information on his end, including details about his mother's death, mirroring my own.

"Yes, that's right. They were brave to follow you this far."

These connections ache in my heart, the ones we painstakingly weave and unravel among each other in the fleeting moments that slither between Apocalypses within the fabric of time. These opportunities to bond are rare, and if Klaus has convinced me of anything, it's that we must seize them while we can.

And an idea crosses my mind.

"Come over tonight", I say, and my eyes light up.
"She invited me to go see Chicago at the Celestial Theatre."
He buzzes, like he's cracking up with sarcastic laughter in the bushes.
"You're wrong. It doesn't glorify criminals."
Damn, if Klaus heard that, his curls would straighten out in shock.
"It's a flamboyant social satire that exposes the corrupt judicial system."

And there I am, talking like him now. He's good, really good. But let's be honest: my offer is not really about Chicago in itself, and I stare at Chris's cube.

"I know the world's falling apart, but precisely: it's now or never."

For him to meet Granny, yeah, I'm ready to bring him along with Klaus and me. And to pop some charcoal pills and antispasmodics to manage my slight somatic paradox stress. If he's down, that is. And if he can refrain from being an obnoxious, violent asshole.

I watch him, flickering from blue to green, then from green to gold. He crackles, he vibrates, he's talking straight into my head again. And for the first time, I smile as I answer him:

"Yeah, you're right. I'd have preferred she became Metallica's manager too."

-

Notes:

At least this time, the apocalyptic threat hanging over this season is acknowledged, along with everyone's willingness to try to do something, or at least to attempt it.

You've possibly figured out I've always found Christopher to be an interesting and too much skimmed over character, both in the series and in the comics. His origin is never fully explored, so I'm allowing myself to propose a version of it here. It doesn't matter if the canon gets completed someday.

I realize I love the little challenge of writing him while he communicates directly in people's minds, emitting only audible crackles. Just like in the show, there's no need to hear him to grasp the general meaning of what he's saying.

The mystery surrounding the Omega letter gradually deepens... But not for much longer, rest assured.

Any comment will make my day!