Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 2, around 44:20 (shortly before Klaus and Five return to Hotel Obsidian, on their return from Pennsylvania... while Luther is at Hargreeves Mansion with Sloane).

Suggested soundtrack: Apocalyptica/Metallica cover - One (And Justice for All) ; Carbon Based Lifeforms : Abiogenesis.

-

April 3 2019, 09h25 pm

'Before judging your brother, you must walk several moons in his moccasins'. This is one of the quotes from the little book of Lakota wisdom found in the White Buffalo suite, which has haunted me since I left April Showers late in the afternoon, to wander along the sidewalks and shops of The City.

I had a long conversation with Granny. Forgive me, I find it hard not to call her that. I was able to grasp how much having to raise me with Mom had prevented her from living the life she would have wanted, and the one she now has here. I got a better understanding of her life as a costume designer, whose talent I can easily imagine. She invited me to attend the performance of 'Chicago' tomorrow at the Celestial Theatre. I don't know if I'll be able to go, as it's my trial day at work, but I was moved by the offer.

I only alluded again briefly to the subject of that grandchild she was never able to get close to, just like the one who should have been his mother. Christopher. I'm really confused at the moment. Maybe because I saw that bastard electrocute Diego by converting energy. Yes, that must have something to do with it. Or maybe because I felt him try to instill fear into Klaus's nervous system - directly through the energy of his brain - the same way he speaks directly into people's heads, and only audibly emits buzzing sounds.

Do you know what I did as I stepped back onto Crescent Boulevard, heading towards 7th Avenue, while my gaze lingered on the tattoo now adorning my arm? I felt an overwhelming urge to reclaim my identity once again, beyond the fresh haircut from this morning. This version of me knows how to more or less coexist with its gender non-identity, even though I understand Christopher's journey. And now, more than anything, I want to assert my right to exist. Yes: I fucking do exist, even if this timeline already has another version of me.

I gritted my teeth a little when Granny slid a few dollars to me before I left, aware of the fact that I was broke. I hate being pitied - especially financially - it's one of those things that sends a long shiver down my spine. But she did it saying it might help me 'buy myself a sense of style,' and behind that sharp condescension, I caught a glimpse of how my own grandmother used to express affection through food or clothes. So I didn't turn it down, and I did exactly what she suggested.

I bought myself a T-shirt featuring 'And Justice for All', the fourth studio album by Metallica.

I found it in a small vintage thrift shop; the T-shirt was printed a year before I was born. A collector's item, in perfect condition, which the seller clearly had no idea was valuable. On the fabric, 'Lady Justice' is bound and breaking, just like her scales, manipulated by external forces or controlled by powerful interests. Themes that resonate with me even more today than they did in my teenage years. It's a bit big for me, okay, but I don't care: I feel good in it, a thousand times better than in my own skin, and I clearly don't give a shit about what anyone will think.

I put it on right away and continued to wander through Argyle Park and then around the city. I walked for a long time to think, but I wasn't really able to. I stopped at the waffle shack and ate one as dinner. I was sharing my meal with the pigeons when a new wave of energy swept over The City. Thudding, relentless, similar to the one I felt at Ink Empire last night. Perhaps even more powerful. Once again, I was the only one left speechless, causing me to wonder what was wrong with me. I shook off my stupor by gently tapping my cheeks. The pigeons, however, had already vanished.

I then spent a long time in the Conservatory until closing. After that, I made my way back to the avenue through the alleys, and now I've been walking under the neon signs for what feels like an eternity. Passing by numerous bars, convenience stores, and tobacco shops—heading finally toward the Hotel. Yet inside me, this urge remains, screaming at me to head to Hargreeves Mansion instead. Yes. I want to understand who Christopher has become. What has happened to him. To 'walk several moons in his moccasins'. How ironic: this cube doesn't even have feet. And I-

*Honk-honk!*

I startle and turn to see which vehicle just honked, and then I see it: the long loaner car from Hotel Obsidian, slowly pulling up in front of the façade of the Argyle Library. The one that Klaus and Five took in the early morning to head to Pennsylvania.

I smile and look inside.
Then I open the passenger door.

-

09:52 pm

"A Dopplegänger. It's always surprising even when you expect it."

In the dimly lit cabin, Five has just turned off the radio to focus better on the conversation. In the back seat, Klaus is sleeping without even a peep. I can guess that the day's emotions have shaken him up. But I look back at his brother as he turns on the blinker. Thankfully, the windows are tinted: otherwise, everyone would see that a kid who looks about thirteen is behind the wheel.

"It's a strange feeling", I concede. "But it relieves me that you understand I need to go meet him."
I was momentarily afraid that Five would throw a thousand paradoxes and time-space prohibitions at me, but he just shrugs.
"I just spent an entire day on the road taking Klaus to the depths of Amish country so he could realize that his own alter ego never existed. So dropping you off at Hargreeves Mansion won't make much of a difference now. It'll drive Viktor crazy, but it's your choice."

His expression is somewhat dark, and I frown, trying to piece together the information in a coherent order.

"Wait, his alter ego never existed? And did I hear you correctly, or did you say 'Amish'?"
He turns onto Rigel Street toward Rainshade Square but deliberately drives slowly.
"Believe it or not, Klaus is as Amish as a rabbit skin scraper. Sometimes, the universe has a dark sense of humor, I guess. But that's not what I take away from this day most of all."

I glance at the crumpled map of Pennsylvania at my feet, on which roadside tourist attractions have been circled.

"So what do you take away from it? The world's biggest ball of twine, or the most inland lighthouse?"
He snorts ironically.
"If only. No. My retirement is already ruined. What was noteworthy is that hay fever is harsh in April, and that Klaus's mother - just like mine and all the assholes's waiting at the hotel - kicked the bucket before we were even born."

I freeze as the residential buildings of this neighborhood I used to frequent so much pass slowly outside.

"Excuse me. What?"
"Brain hemorrhages. Quick, efficient, spontaneous. Ordinary deaths, except for their improbable coincidence: all these women died at the same time and in the same way, across the globe."
"Shit."

I don't know what could have caused this. But it certainly isn't related to the fact that multiple versions of us can't exist at the same time, since Christopher and I clearly do. So I turn again to Five, who usually always has answers for everything.

"Why did it happen?" I ask before even daring to imagine the consequences. But—just as I feared deep down—he replies flatly:
"I don't know. What I do know is that we exist when we shouldn't."
I blink.
"Is that... bad?"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, YOU ONE-SIDED WORM-HOLE."

He flips off a driver who nervously passes us, judging that we're taking too long. And he responds, fuming more about the fate that's unleashed upon us than about the traffic situation itself:

"It's ~more~ than serious. It's... ~lethal~."
"For you?"
Suddenly, I turn and look at Klaus, who is sleeping relatively peacefully by his own standards. And Five replies, placing his hands back on the steering wheel:
"For everyone."

I don't like this feeling that washes over me, nor the ruthless form of affirmation I just sensed from him. He doesn't linger on my silence and tightens his grip on the steering wheel, trying to calm himself down a bit.

"Rin, this is a paradox, and the most terrible of them all. The one known as the 'Grandfather Paradox.' One that could lead to the self-destruction of this reality, as the universe seeks to spontaneously eradicate this anomaly."
"In what way?"

He narrows his eyes.

"By the progressive annihilation of matter - living, then inert - and finally by the destruction of the very fabric of space-time. The replacement of what is with Nothingness. And I fear it has already begun."
A long shiver of dread runs up my spine.
"Five... there are pulses of energy happening: I can feel them since yesterday, regularly, and they... they..."
"They're making the Amish cows disappear, I know."

I fall silent. I sense that Five has witnessed it too, all the way deep into Pennsylvania. And I understand. I understand that once again - though in a different way but no less terrible - the Apocalypse is upon us. What's crazy is that I don't even feel anxious about it anymore. It's like when I used to get up to go to work in the morning.

"You have a plan, right? A plan A, B, or C? An idea of what could stop this?"
"I don't know, Rin. I need some time to think. And I need a coffee."

I no longer sense anger from him now, but rather defeat -

perhaps even more for his frustration of not being free of any Apocalypse for more than a few hours than for his disappointment at having to run, run, and run again.

I already miss the pseudo-carefree last few days, when my biggest problem was refusing to sleep with Luther's farts. And I look back at Klaus.

"Did he understand it?"
Five shakes his head.
"I don't think so. He's mostly shocked to have run into his aunt and to have learned about his mother's death..."
He looks up at the ceiling of the dimly lit car and add:
"Even though she's nothing to him".

He seems to think it's ridiculous and absurd, but my eyebrows pinch a little painfully. Because I've sensed this new fixation building in Klaus, in his desperate struggle for connection, attention, and affection. I know he has placed an illusory hope in this quest for the one he called 'Rachel,' who was just a name until now, on that crumpled check stub.

"I'll talk to him tonight", I say to Five, as the closed lashes of the one who isn't even aware that I've temporarily gotten into this car tug at my heart.

Five pulls the car over to the clean sidewalk he used to cross so often as a kid. Above us, the front façade of Hargreeves Mansion looms, light streaming through the stained glass of the entrance door, adorned with the dark silhouette of the sparrow.

"Maybe Viktor is right and it's a mistake", I say to Five, pinching the fabric of my Metallica shirt a bit on my chest, and he shrugs, then finally looks me in the eyes and says:

"If we have a week left before this reality collapses, approaching your cubic self shouldn't be a game-changer."

-

10:07 pm

*Crack!*

I didn't use the door knocker. I think I'm no longer reasoning now: I'm only functioning on instinct. I teleported inside Hargreeves Mansion, into the hallway of rooms I often sneaked through to reach the tiled bathroom. So, hidden in my invisibility, in my intangibility, I searched for a trace of Christopher in the bedrooms that no longer resemble those I once knew.

The wall between Klaus's room and Viktor's old room has never been torn down to unify them, and I believe the latter now belongs to the unpleasant version of Ben who 'welcomed' us. My eyes lingered for a moment on his numerous and strange drawings, all accompanied by the name 'Jennifer' in a paradoxical and obscure melancholy. I also quickly turned on my heels as I approached the rooms at the end of the corridor: Luther was undoubtedly inside... and it annoys me to count him among the people whose moans of ecstasy I recognize. I swiftly turned on my heels. My purpose here is not to spy.

I easily sensed the Marigolds of the other Sparrows, most of them gathered in their futuristic lounge, perched on the roof and opening onto a beautiful Japanese garden. Yet, I did not find the one I was looking for. I once again delved into the depths of the House, allowing the energy to infiltrate every corner. And I found something unusual in the basement: at the end of a hallway I had never suspected existed, but which I had no difficulty reaching.

Would I have suspected that this building held a kind of bunker, similar to those bomb shelters that proliferated during the Cold War? This one, however, has a futuristic door made of technology unique to Reginald Hargreeves, which I have approached twice before. The first time was on that distant day at the end of our adolescence when Klaus clandestinely introduced me to the garage of the ship 'Minerva'. The second time - more heartbreaking for me - was when I stood beside Grace, gazing at the lifeless machinery on her arm.

I become tangible and visible again, in the blue light streaked with golden rays. The structure of the bunker prevents me from sensing the one inside, whom I can only see through the transparency of a porthole. In the middle of this confined space, Christopher is floating still, his cubic structure pulsing quietly in the dim light. I stare at his surface, as if trying to wake him. I try to stir the energy around him, but his alcove is perfectly insulated and impenetrable. And on the side of the porthole, the number seven is followed by the Greek letter Omega.

"Christopher," I say aloud, realizing immediately that the sound waves won't reach him either.

As anticipated by Five, my stomach twists, but I don't clearly feel any murderous impulse at the moment. However, I don't have time to analyze my insides further because - suddenly - a voice I should have expected responds to me, quickly followed by the sound of a door closing behind me:

"He's sleeping, just like you sometimes do."

I slowly turn around, my eyes downcast. There, in the hallway of raw metal, concrete, and bricks, Reginald Hargreeves is walking towards me. Even though I remain visible - as I often do in dangerous situations - my reflex is to turn intangible, with the exception of my vocal apparatus, so that I can speak. It's an ordinary reaction that I can't control.

"I know who he is," I say to him, probably quite harshly. "I spoke today to one of those you tore him away from."

Hargreeves walks past me, and checks a small vitals panel at the side of the bunker. He's composed, almost slow, and walks with a slight stoop. He makes an adjustment, then answers me as if it were a matter of course.

"I gave him a chance to realize his potential. He was entrusted to me with full knowledge of the situation."
I blink hard.
"Why? Why did you decide to adopt me this time?"

I just spoke about Christopher as if he were me, which unsettles me, but I don't know how else to phrase it. Hargreeves turns to me, his arms at his sides, no longer impressing me as he once did. He seems weary, tired, almost old and submissive, as if he doesn't even want to be here. And he replies to me:

"It's elementary, young lady. My first batch of offspring seemed more or less capable but dangerously chaotic and disunited. And you... you... made it very clear to me that you would never agree to cooperate."

I freeze because it's the truth. It's even the last thing I told him, under the driftwood ceilings of the Tiki Bar where he had invited us to a 'light supper'. On that day, he had clearly assessed us all, aiming to adjust his strategy for the future. Even then, it had seemed to me like a carefully planned feedback loop.

"You adopted me... in the hope that I would serve your interests more easily..."
I look back at Christopher.
"But you knew it wouldn't be trivial, clearly, otherwise you wouldn't have assigned him the number 7."

I remember what Luther told me a long time ago. He believed that the numbers that had long constituted their only 'names' were based not on how powerful they were - which were highly situational and hard to compare - but rather on whether or not they could be controlled. I'm not even sure he's listening to me. He's operating a piston while keeping his monocle fixed on the gauge, not even looking at me. But finally, he says:

"Don't make assumptions about what you know nothing of. But indeed, both of you come with a serious tendency to be headstrong."

I watch him for a moment, and I ask, telling myself that now I have very little left to lose.

"If he was born human, just as I was, then what happened to him?"

Clearly, Christopher wasn't 'born a cube', I think I know it better than anyone. And I distinctly remember Granny mentioning an 'accident' over her glass of white port. Hargreeves finally turns to me, quite slowly. This time, it's clear: he's only waiting for one thing, to return to his chair once his checks are done.

"Number Seven took a different path than you in his exploration of the matter-energy couple. The same power, used differently... in addition to your shared inclination for machines."

It feels strange to face someone who knows me so well. But since Reginald Hargreeves's lost notebook in our version of 2019, and Pogo's revelations, I knew deep down that if anyone had answers, it was him.

"He also quickly learned to dematerialize himself and become pure energy. But it seems that - you - never had the idea of using it to infiltrate someone else's body and take possession of it, did you?"
My eyes widen in horror, immediately recalling that not-so-distant day when Klaus let Ben's ghost possess him.
"Shit, no, of course not..."

So I would have been capable of such a coercive takeover as well, in a less spectral way and based on the energy of the living? I nearly feel sick. Hargreeves, on the other hand, glances inside the bunker, as if he fears seeing Christopher wake up somehow. I don't comment, but - perhaps because he is, in a way, me - I have the feeling that he isn't sleeping anymore and is listening to this conversation.

"It was devilishly effective, that's a fact," Hargreeves tells me, "but terribly risky. He followed his own whims, I told you, and that's also my responsibility: I encouraged them all to fulfill themselves and reveal their true selves."
I blink.
"He couldn't return to his own materiality."

It's obvious to me, as I've recently experienced just how difficult it can be to come back, under particular circumstances. Hargreeves closes a control panel.

"How fortunate that this psykronium cube allowed me to channel him. I appreciate beautiful machinery myself in my spare time, you know?"

Once again, he could look like an innocuous grandpa, talking to me about the toy train hidden in his attic, but my gaze remains unyielding. And now that I face him, less paralyzed than the last time, I utter without fully realizing what I'm doing:

"So this time, you chose to include 'Omega' among your seven offspring."

He was about to turn back toward the hallway door that would take him back to the comfort of his quarters, but he finally halts his step. Looking me up and down, his blue gaze and monocle on my arm.

"My first sample is imperfect but usable", he tells me with a certain honesty, "and Number Five from the Umbrellas gave me the certainty that you would reappear sooner or later. I would have been quite foolish not to double my chances, and now you are all like a box of cookies: it's nice to have an abundance of choices."
"Choices for what?"

He begins to walk down the hallway, passing me with a soft laugh under his mustache. I wonder if he's deliberately trying to pique my curiosity.

"Ah! Truly, you are a fine specimen", he exclaims. "I admire my other self for taking the risk of putting you in the control group."
I catch up with him in the hallway to walk beside him, leaving Christopher to his psykronium dreams, whatever that word means.
"The control group? In opposition to what? A test group?"

I only went to high school, but I have the basics down about the experimental process. He puts on the air of one reconnecting with another of his old hobbies.

"Testing the robustness and efficiency of my educational strategies is definitely something I did, and would do. I needed a group raised-"
"... in the least altered environment possible."

Those were the words Pogo had spoken at the time. The day he admitted to me that I was part of Hargreeves's plans, shortly before the first apocalypse. Damn. So this is how it is: he indeed explored alternative 'parenting' strategies and completely readjusted his methods with the Sparrows. But if he just mentioned a ~control~ group...

"Are there others? Who weren't raised by you?"

He doesn't answer me, but my troubled and tired mind is already thinking of Lila, as if it were the most obvious thing. Although it probably didn't work out the way he'd hoped, either, for her. And I suspect there are possibly others. I become tangible again, perhaps a bit recklessly, to stop him by taking his arm.

"What does Omega mean? Why does Christopher also bear that damn letter?"
He suddenly takes on an air of immense fatigue, as if he's about to faint and needs to elevate his feet.
"In addition to infiltrating the Sparrow Academy - young lady - you are now assaulting an elderly person who needs some verbena tea and a blanket. However..."

His gaze settles again on my arm holding his: directly on the tattoo depicting the design I once glimpsed in his notebook. The one that hasn't fully healed yet and still tinges my skin with a slight sting. He adjusts his monocle with a faint smile, smooths his mustache, and finally adds, indicating that this will be his last word for the evening:

"I am pleased that you have reconsidered our collaboration."

-

Notes:

Once again, Rin is faced with Reginald's plans through this mirror of herself that is Christopher. Another Omega, this time included in Reginald's Academy. A panel of now thirteen offspring of Hargreeves, and two members of her 'control group', including Lila.

For what purpose? Rin still doesn't know, and this day has been tough for her. But tonight... she won't get anything more from the old man who is about to put on his slippers and turn on his television...

Rin will undoubtedly end up talking to Christopher.
In the meantime, any comments will make my day!