Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 6, following the previous chapter, around 41:20 (shortly before the Kugelblitz pulse that sweeps Stan away).

Suggested soundtrack: Woodkid - Goliath ; Uzul - Octopus

Note: this chapter contains spoilers concerning the 'Jennifer Incident'. Before reading it, it may be interesting to (re)watch the scene to which this chapter refers, at the very beginning of episode 4 of Season 4. If you want to avoid spoilers, you can skip to the next chapter.

-

April 05 2019, 1:07 pm

Why are these collapses and fires happening, now occurring all over The City? As I stand on the roof of Hargreeves Mansion, contemplating the apocalyptic skyline, the answer is clear. The Kugelblitz has shamelessly begun absorbing inanimate matter in addition to devouring life. A few petals fall from the Somei Yoshino cherry tree, blooming despite the end of the world, in the little garden of the Sparrows's common room and training space. I glance at Chris, who vibrates with rage as he joins me.

"Stop calling Ben an asshole," I say. "It's insulting to that noble part of the human anatomy."

He eventually crackles with a forced laugh, calming down slightly. In a way, I'm grateful he stood up for me against his brother. Even though now my stomach churns worse than ever, and my jaw hurts. I grumble a little but manage a faint smile.

"At least you don't have to deal with all these bodily woes anymore."

I know the pain of the psyche is far worse. But at least he's free from physical pain, sickness, and injuries. From the feeling of being trapped in a body that didn't suit him, because now he has no body at all. Curled up on the concrete ledge beneath the tree, I watch him hover beside me, recalling the photo of him I saw in Reginald Hargreeves's office corridor.

"How old were you when it happened?"

I know little of his "accident," except for what Reginald Hargreeves once told me: that Chris experimented excessively with dematerialization, becoming pure energy to infiltrate others' nervous systems and possess them—until he lost control and could no longer return to his physical form. And his answer breaks my heart a little.

"Seventeen. You were literally just a kid."

I look again toward the collapses and fires. Beyond Argyle Park, the ever-present sirens of the fire station blare, as they've been doing since this morning. The firefighters are probably powerless and overwhelmed, as the catastrophe clearly spans everywhere.

Something pulls me from my grim thoughts: a signal from Chris, unlike anything before. It feels like a request for access, gentle rather than invasive. A gentle solicitation to enter my nervous system, both intriguing and frightening.

"What do you mean, you want to 'show me''?", I ask, repeating the words he just used.

But I understand. I understand that Chris, through the energy coursing through my synapses and axons, can show me images and memories in a way even more complex than what he did the other day at the Hotel Obsidian, to inform me of Harlan's terrible act against Jayme and Alphonso. I look at the bluish, non-hostile light flowing through his psykronic cube. And I narrow my eyes.

"You're not planning to replace my life energy inside my body and take over, are you, you cubic bastard?"

He laughs softly - with his unique crackling sound - and I smile. I know that if he wanted to, he would've done it already. And I know my body wouldn't suit him anyway. So, I decide to trust him.

"Okay."

I lean my back against the cherry tree trunk, I close my eyes.

And I let him in.

-

Hargreeves Mansion was looking much more like to the one I used to know, then: without the absurd futuristic extension on top, which disfigures the building quite a bit. When I reopen my eyes, I find myself on a more ordinary rooftop, overlooking The City in the mid-2000s. The tones are dull, faded, and not just because of the light snowfall. The blur at the edges of my vision reminds me that what I'm seeing is only a simulated nerve impulse.

I'm sharing Chris's memories, directly connected to him through energy. And I no longer feel any symptoms of the paradox caused by our proximity.

There he is, around seventeen years old, with the exact face I saw on Hargreeves's photo. The last body image he remembered for himself: the one he still visualizes, probably, just as someone missing an arm would experience a phantom-limp syndrom. He looks like me without being me. Like a little brother would have done, perhaps. He literally shares the same genetic makeup as me, simply imbued with different hormones and having had a different life.

It feels strange to look at each other this way, through mind. But I'm grateful he's giving me this chance, and I observe him in the Sparrows red uniform blazer jacket, whose sleeves he literally ripped off. I can interact with him in this memory. Yes. He's about to guide me through it and show me what's important.

"You've got a lot of tattoos…", I notice. "Your father allowed that?"
I smile at I study the ink covering his left arm, as if he tried to drown out the Sparrow tattoo circled above his wrist.
"He never managed to lock me up in that damn mansion."
Of course, he could come and go as he pleased, by intangibility or teleportation.

Hearing his voice align with the movement of his lips makes me smile, even though I know it's just images, projections of his consciousness sent to my brain. I sense that this Number Seven has always been rebellious, unmanageable even when he had a body, impossible to subdue. Even more so than me. In trying, Hargreeves literally drove him to the extremes of defiance.

"What did you used to do outside?"
He shrugs.
"I mixed. Music. For the electro scene. I didn't even need to touch the decks, and I could handle the sound system and the lights all at once."

This confession draws a wide smile from me. Now I see what Hargreeves meant when he implied Chris shared my obsession with machines. A very specific type of machines, tied to music, and I just love this fact.

"Granny never knew… otherwise, she would've come to see you."
Mom, meanwhile, was likely already too sick for that. And Chris shrugs his shoulders, barely broader than mine.
"Those raves were illegal. Secret. They took place in The City's sewers."
My mouth forms an 'oh' of understanding. Because the truth is, Klaus and I have already been to those.
"I can guess your father knew…"
"You think he could've stopped me?"

No. No, I don't think so. Nothing could have stopped Chris from dematerializing and sneaking out. He wasn't like the other children of The Monocle. Chris looks toward the service door leading to the 'red staircase', as if anticipating something imminent. Something is about to happen in his memory: I can sense it. But he adds:

"As long as I participated in his fucking missions, he gave me some freedom. It was a trade-off."

My brows knit in slight pain. Klaus suffered from those missions, even though he never talks about them, or only when he's drunk as a skunk. I know The City always had a special status in handling crime, bypassing the law of the Country to accommodate the Academy's operations.

Hargreeves had this obsession with training his children to act as heroes, selflessly, even if it meant they ended up in pieces in the mansion's medical wing at fourteen. To 'prepare' them for something, as he claims he's doing again with Klaus today. To make them capable and efficient. Not for The City's sake, no: for a larger plan, the outlines of which I'm only beginning to grasp now.

"Did he have you spy or sabotage? Infiltrate buildings or machines? Steal documents or objects?"
Chris smirks faintly because he can guess I've done all that too.
"Yes. But not just that."
My gaze turns questioning.
"He also had me enter people's heads. Plant ideas in their brain. Make them change their minds. Discredit themselves or act against their will. Make them suffer physically, too."
"You entered their brains?"
"I literally replaced them sometimes."

This time, my expression is dark and closed. Hargreeves said Chris caused his own downfall by infiltrating people's bodies and taking possession of them? I now realize it was Hargreeves himself who pushed him to do it.

"You could've… refused."
A silence falls before Chris admits:
"I liked it. You can't imagine how exhilarating it is. And addictive. To feel all those people's emotions from the inside. To understand everything they are, everything they want… and to bend their will as you want."

Initially a kind of empathy, that I can understand because I also love analyzing and understanding people. But taken to its most extreme form and used for harmful purposes. That's where my similarities with Chris end, and my willingness to understand him stops. He's clearly dangerous, and he lost himself. Because of Hargreeves.

"Until you couldn't come back…"
He tilts his head slightly, his longer hair with Cyberpunk influences framing his face. He sighs as the building's alarm suddenly goes off. That's what he's been waiting for all along. That's what he wants to show me.
"You'll see."

He gets up, heads to the service door, just as he did that October day in 2006 whose memory he's sharing with me. And I follow him down the 'red staircase', looking around as the alarm blares and flashes red, like in a fire station. That sound, all Academies have heard it countless times, at all hours of day or night, when a mission was launched.

"Step lively, children. We have a mission to do."

Down there, in the hallway of the rooms, I can sense everyone bustling about. And Reginald Hargreeves, moving between the more or less private quarters of his children, oversees the gathering operations while giving the impression of delegating this task.

"Number One, round up the children."

At the end of the hallway, I make out the silhouette of Ben: younger, just seventeen at the time. As I gathered from his irritated barking earlier, he was Number One back then. And in that role, he claps his hands to gather his brothers and sisters.

October 2006... I'm not very good at piecing together our complex timeline, but I think I can place Ben's death around this moment in our version of events. The one I know nothing about beyond Klaus's rare and fragmentary mentions of the 'Jennifer Incident.'

"Let's go", he calls. "Get your asses in gear. My man, Marcus."

But the look his brother gives him is far from cordial. It is filled with frustration and competitiveness. He is clearly challenging his legitimacy to give orders and stands with his arms crossed against the hallway wall, already prepared.

"My ass is always on gear", he says, but Ben doesn't listen. He's already setting Fei, Alphonso, and Jayme in motion, while Sloane joins them, smoothing her hear and her impeccable red leather suit.

"Come on, guys. Come on!"

This interjection, this time, is directed at us, as we descend the stairs from the rooftop where we had been hiding. At us? At Chris, actually, with his hands in the pockets of his blazer, its sleeves ripped off, his tousled, spiky hair, and his gaze indifferent to the commotion around him.

"Why aren't you dressed?"
Ben's face is unyielding, but it's clear he's used to having to struggle with Chris on behalf of their father. And in front of me, he confirms his lack of enthusiasm for yet another mission:
"I'm not going."
"But we'll be one man down."

I can easily guess that sometimes Chris is nowhere to be found when the alarm goes off: off somewhere in the sewers of The City, immersing himself in electro music. He just shrugs.

"Relax. You're already lucky I'm here."
Ben doesn't try to argue and instead turns straight toward the hallway, seeking the authority of his father.
"Dad!"
"Narc."

Unflinching and rebellious, Chris walks past Ben and enters his room. High-ceilinged like all the others, it occupies the space where Viktor's used to sleep, before it was annexed to enlarge Klaus's room. On the plaster and brick walls, posters of music bands are pinned: punk, visual rock, metal, electro. Above his bed hangs a large Metallica poster. The very poster, whose absence in what had been my own room, somehow symbolized my erasure in this version of 2019, on the day of our arrival.

I follow Chris into the room, invisible to everyone else, and for good reason: I am in a memory, not a real situation. Chris feeds me the perceptions he had that day, and I must analyze it carefully, I know it: for this may not be an exact reflection of what truly happened. But at that moment, Reginald Hargreeves appears.

He only looks slightly younger, and I now understand why: like Iggy, his longevity is huge. His mustache curls upward in a meticulously groomed fashion beneath his monocle, which scrutinizes Chris with a critical gaze. Hargreeves knows he has no hold over this kid: he never had. But, as usual, he's going to try anyway.

"Number Seven. Why aren't you dressed?"
"He says he's not going".

Ben's impatience exceeds even Hargreeves's, fueled by his brother's defiance. Hargreeves stands motionless, his forehead deeply lined. The weight of this mission is palpable: something critical is at stake.

"This is not optional, Number Seven. You are part of the Sparrows, and you will immediately get into your suit."
"And what do I gain from this? Other than making you happy, which I literally don't give a shit about?"

I stifle a laugh, which Chris's memory notices, flashing me a slight grin. Honestly, I couldn't have answered better in my own teenage insolence. But Hargreeves isn't one to yield.

"This is a challenging mission, one that might require your particular abilities. And it would be a shame if the urban planning office of The City decided to fill in the abandoned sewer sector of West Argyle, where you indulge in your idle 'distractions'."

Chris grits his teeth. He knows his father would do it, pulling strings like he always does in nearly every aspect of The City. He grumbles, mutters a few impolite words under his breath, thankfully too low for Hargreeves to hear. Reluctantly, he opens his wardrobe and pulls out his suit, slipping it on with a visible lack of enthusiasm.

Suddenly, the memory warps, blurs, and soon I find myself in the living room of Hargreeves Mansion. The Sparrows are all lined up on the couch, facing Reginald Hargreeves, who is explaining the plan of action. All except Chris, who sits behind them on the bar, one leg swinging idly, his disinterest barely disguised. Hargreeves's face is tense and somber, and I climb up to sit on the bar beside my alter ego, eager not to miss a single moment of what unfolds around me.

"Your father seems to be taking this mission seriously", I whisper to him, nodding toward the scene.
Chris finally glances at his father and nods.
"He rarely briefed us with so much detail and caution. Something crucial was at stake."

Hargreeves taps his board, covered with maps and photographs.

"A Moldovan arms dealer has acquired a deadly new weapon. It is being held in a shipping container, awaiting a buyer. Your mission is to locate and destroy the weapon before the deal can be made. Number One will take point."
Ben nods, and Marcus immediately interjects, possibly just as Diego might have addressed Luther.
"What about me ? What should I do?"
"Stop asking questions."

Hargreeves's sharp response delights Ben, who almost puffs out his chest like a rooster: legitimized as being Number One without lifting a finger. But Hargreeves has more pressing matters to deal with than managing these petty squabbles.

"Now, children, whatever you do, it's imperative that you keep the weapon contained. Do not, under any circumstances, open the container. Is that understood?"

I narrow my eyes at this heavy insistence. Hargreeves is genuinely nervous, as if all his plans hinge on this very day. His children nod in agreement, even Chris, though silently. And with an unusual hint of emotion, their father declares:

"Very well. It's time, children".

Once again, the memory dissolves, objects and impressions blending together. I think I hear Pogo's voice, commanding from the helm of the Minerva, instructing the children to buckle up their seatbelts. The destination remains unclear to me: a port area, perhaps, with docks, maybe near a refinery. Warehouses, bathed in the shroud of night. Endless rows of crates and containers stretch out, as the Sparrows march single file through the darkness, illuminated only by the beams of their flashlights.

Ben leads the way. Alphonso is the lookout, a position Klaus often held. Even though I know I'm not truly present, every fiber of my being reacts instinctively, striving to become invisible and intangible: something Chris, on the other hand, hasn't bothered to do. He walks nonchalantly, slightly behind Fei. Still, everyone is cautious: on the other side of the warehouse, the indistinct chatter of guards can be heard.

A long shiver runs up my spine as we reach the container the Sparrows have been searching for, illuminated by their flashlights. It's dark, sleek, much smaller than I would have imagined, and can only be opened through a single hatch equipped with a wheel mechanism on top. Not that it matters, anyway. Reginald Hargreeves had been very clear about one thing: under no circumstances should it be opened.

"Yeah, this is the one", Ben whispers. Let's go".

With a speed clearly driven by experience in this kind of situation, Jayme opens a small case containing a row of devices I quickly identify as explosive mines, though their design is unfamiliar to me. They likely belong to one of the advanced technologies Hargreeves masters, and I can't discern their mechanics, being here only as an observer in a memory. So, I simply watch as the Sparrows begin skillfully installing them on their target. Until...

"Guys!"

Alphonso, on the lookout, sounds the alarm: the guards have discovered their break-in point. Everyone springs into action, ready to deal with the situation on-site. But Ben stays crouched over the case, which holds only one remaining mine: the one with the detonator that will activate the entire setup.

"Go, I got this!"
"Are you sure?"
Marcus has just made this request, but I can sense that, as Number Two, all he's really waiting for is the chance to take the lead over the rest of their squad.
"I got this!", Ben repeats.
"Okay. Alphonso, Jayme, Sloane, Fei, Chris, you're on me. Let's go".
Already, Marcus is leading his siblings between two rows of shipping crates.

I stay close on Chris's heels, as his memory pulls me along. Between the crates, a few steps behind the others, I already picture myself witnessing a classic brawl with the guards. But instead... a gloved hand intercepts him, yanking him into cover just before he can turn intangible to violently break free, only to freeze.

There, in the shadows, stands his father, supposedly still aboard the Minerva.

Reginald Hargreeves looks drawn as he watches Ben, and I understand that he wanted to supervise personally this part of the mission. As if he didn't trust what Ben was going to do. As if he knew Ben had already made a mistake in the past, or more accurately that this outcome was inevitable. I sense he's ready to act quickly, should the need arise, and Chris feels it too.

Ben is securing the last mine. But then muffled thumps emanate from inside the container. And immediately, Ben halts the detonator.

"Is someone in there?", he asks, and is answered by two blows, as if deliberate.
"What's really in there, Dad?" Chris asks, his eyebrows furrowed, but Hargreeves doesn't move.
Because by then, Ben is already climbing the ladder to the hatch.
"Holy shit, that moron is opening it."
"Unfortunately, he can't help himself", Hargreeves responds grimly, as if speaking to himself.

I understand that - despite his status as Number One and his desire to follow orders - Ben is drawn to what's inside the container like a moth to a flame. In this timeline, likely as in all the others. Inexorably.

"Number Seven, you will take control of Number One's nervous system and make him complete his mission", Hargreeves orders, placing his gloved hand back on Chris's shoulder - now tangible again - who looks at him with wide eyes rimmed with eyeliner.

"What? You've got to be kidding. This is about Ben, not—"
"Do as I say. He must not come into contact with what's inside, and destroy it."
"But-"
"Now."

Hargreeves's tone is razor-sharp. The urgency, almost fear, in his voice is obvious. It's clear that far more than his own plans hinges on these events. As though something irreversible and terrible might yet happen. Ben, though I can't make out his words, is speaking to whatever - or whoever - is inside the container.

Chris hesitates, taking a step forward, reluctant to carry out the violent and invasive act his father has ordered him to perform on his brother.

"NOW!"

I didn't know it was possible to shout and whisper at the same time. But then *Crack!* A blink of an eye, and I find myself with Chris behind Ben atop the container, as Ben utters: "It's okay. I'm here to help. What's your name?"

"This weapon, what was it?" I ask Chris through the memory, and he looks at me one last time.
"I don't know. We never knew. All I ever heard was that it was called-"
"Jennifer."

What follows in the memory is extremely confusing, as I only see it through Chris's recollection, through the pure energy he has become. He infiltrated Ben's nervous system, forcing him to step back and nearly crash at the base of the container, close to the detonator he triggered without hesitation.

The rest is lost in senseless chaos, through which I can feel an impossible amount of energy being set in motion: not just for the explosive charges that destroyed the container and whatever was inside it.

That day, something returned to Ben: something I might have likened to Marigolds, if not for their entirely different resonance in the energy. For a brief moment, through Chris's senses, I felt Ben becoming whole again, complete, the instant the entity called Jennifer was destroyed.

But I also understood that - under the backlash of the brief but tremendous energy blast - Chris, who was inside Ben at that moment, lost all possibility of ever returning to material form.

"Klaus once used the term 'snippets of memory' to describe these haunting recollections. Chris's final 'snippet of memory' is the pain Ben felt when Hargreeves's gun butt struck him from behind, replacing the radiant energy with darkness."

Neither Ben nor Chris truly remembers what happened, I know that. The Sparrows simply assume that Reginald must have completed the mission himself because Ben failed, earning him a portrait above the 'mantelpiece of shame.' Marcus's rise to Number One followed soon after, and a closely guarded secret still surrounds this mission to this day.

As the memory fades, I reopen my eyes to the petals of the Somei Yoshino, and the fiery collapses caused by the Kugelblitz, marking the end of the world and The City.

"He would have killed Ben if he had failed. He would have killed both of you."
Before me, the cube that Chris has become crackles faintly in agreement, and I echo his words:
"You're right. We're nothing more than disposable pawns in his plans."

The first thought that comes to me is relief that Klaus isn't truly at risk of dying at Hargreeves's hands. I'm not even thinking about myself, no, in reality, I don't care.

Hargreeves regained some physical control over Chris after that, as Chris could no longer turn himself intangible or teleport. He became dependent on him, technologically speaking. And I understand that Hargreeves had no qualms about acting when Pogo rebelled, on the day they collectively decided to start drugging their father. Oh, the Sparrows are no angels. But they've suffered and continue to suffer, just like the Umbrellas.

In our timeline, did Ben go even further and come into contact with the one Sparrow-Ben now draws obsessively? Did it cost him his life? I don't know.

Chris and I remain silent: a new wave of Kugelblitz approaches, and we can feel it deep within the energy. I stay close to him, as if still connected to him. And before the impulse strikes us, speaking literally to myself, I murmur:

"Thank you for showing me all this."

-

Notes:

The 'Jennifer Incident', as experienced in the Sparrows timeline, is never shown on screen, not even in Season 4. We only witness it in the Umbrella timeline, and partially in the Phoenix. I wanted to fill this gap, intertwining it here with Christopher's fate.

I hope I've managed to give this wtf character a bit of the backstory he deserved. honestly, I think I've grown attached to him.

In any case, since the beginning of this season, I've associated an electro soundtrack with Chris's chapters. Now, perhaps, you understand why!

Any comments will make my day!