Chapter One: Eight Came Late, Like She Had The First Time.

On October 1st, 1989, as the clock struck the twelfth hour, forty-three women around the world gave birth. This was unusual because none of the women had been pregnant when the day began.

Sir Reginald Hargreaves, an eccentric billionaire, vowed to adopt and raise as many of these children as he could.

He got seven.

Then one found him.

Vanya: Number Seven.

Thirty Years Later.

It was strange being back. It felt like a life times ago that she had last been to the house and equally as if it had only been yesterday that she left for the last time.

It was still the same opulent but empty establishment she remembered, filled with expensive furnishings and artefacts from all around the world that her father had collected on his travels. The same familiar rich wood panelling and the familiar thick carpets, the same painted landscapes of the English countryside.

It was stranger to think she wouldn't find her father in his office behind his desk or at the dinning table taking breakfast and reading his newspaper. He wasn't going to be found anywhere. He was dead.

She was apprehensive about seeing her siblings again after all this time and she was still in two minds about coming even as she walked through the door with the Umbrella Academy insignia on the windowpanes.

Vanya hadn't seen any of them since before she had published her book. She had received an angry letter from Diego that had hurt. Quite alot. She could only hope he had cooled down. But she hadn't even heard that much from the rest.

She saw Mom in the sitting room and called out to her but she received no response. Mom just carried on staring into the fire she sat in front of.

Then she heard footsteps and turned to see Allison coming down the stairs looking as elegant as ever. Vanya had always felt especially short and awkward when standing next to her sister.

"Vanya, you're actually here." She greeted opening her arm for a hesitant hug.

"Hey Allison." She replied allowing herself to be pulled in to her sister's chest in a not quite warm hug.

"Hey Sis." She squeezed before letting go.

Their conversation was interrupted by Diego asking what she was doing there. Again she felt like she shouldn't have come. Even though he was her father too, maybe she should have just mourned private. Alone. Like she had done everything else most of her life.

But stay she did, at Allison's insistence, wandering the house. She found her book on the shelf, untouched as she had always thought it might be. Pogo tried to be reassuring as he always had but he wasn't very successful.

Looking up at the portrait of Five Eight had painted, she felt a pang. She missed her brother even after all the time had past as it had.

"How long has it been since Five's been gone?" She asked.

"Sixteen years, four months, fourteen days. Your father asked me to keep track." Pogo looked up at the portrait once again.

"You know something stupid." She admitted. "I always used to leave the lights on for him. I was scared that he would come back, it would be late and the house would be dark and he wouldn't be able to find us and would leave again. So every night I'd make a little snack and I'd leave the lights on."

"Oh I remember you're little snacks." Pogo reminisced with amusement in his voice. "I think I stepped in half of those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches."

He sighed and the faint humour left his face.

"Your father always believed that Five was still out there somewhere. He never lost hope."

Vanya could admit to herself that she had. She had let go of the pain his loss had cause her, just as she had gotten over Ben's death. Even if Five was alive she couldn't see why he would come back here. Especially now their father was gone.

Five had been her best friend. He'd listen to her practise her violin while he read or wrote or calculated whatever had caught his interest at that moment. Neither of them had been very close to their other siblings. Well, Five and Eight had got along.

"Is Eight here?" She asked instead.

Pogo shook his head.

That was okay. Eight had always been late.

Diego: Number Two.

Twenty Years Earlier.

It must have been one or two o'clock in the morning when there was a knock at the door. Two had only heard it because he himself had been out of bed. He'd fought with One again and he'd sat up to stew in the attic watching the rain. He'd known he wasn't supposed to be up, he was supposed to be in bed ages ago, so he slipped from shadow to shadow to make his way across the house and to his room.

The echo of the doorknocker sounding over the rain on the roof startled him and he had frozen. He stood behind a pillar on the landing overlooking the front hall. Peaking around, he saw the silhouette of someone standing on the other side. It took a moment for Pogo to enter the hall and open the door.

"Is this the Umbrella Academy?" The woman's voice was hard to hear over the rain but he could just make it out.

"It is Miss. May I ask who's calling at such an hour?" Pogo answered.

The shift in body language was subtle but Diego recognized Pogo was readying for action. Their last field exercise (busting up a drug lab, destroying all the equipment, neutralizing the bad guys and leaving before the police arrived) had been a month ago and last week someone had broken in to get revenge on the them. He reached for one of his knives. Protecting his family was more important than getting caught out of bounds.

"I need to speak to Mr Hargreaves." She insisted.

Pogo took a step back and let her into the house. She was about five foot six and a bit on the curvy side without being fat. Her mousy brown hair fell straight, soaked with rain as it was, but loose strands were already beginning to curl around her temples as it dried. The blue of her cocktail dress stood out against her pale skin. Her feet were bare and she held matching high heels in one hand.

"May I ask what this is concerning?" Pogo questioned.

The woman visibly hesitated, shuffling from one foot to the other. "I'm...I'm pretty sure I'm one of those kids."

There was a pause.

"Excuse me for saying so Miss, but you are too old." Was Pogo's response.

Two watched the woman with wary eyes. They all knew the story of course, on the first of October 1989, forty three women had suddenly given birth even though they hadn't been pregnant the day before. His father had adopted seven of them. He was Number Two.

If she was telling the truth she'd be ten, which she clearly wasn't. So she was lying or delusional. Either could be a threat. He was pulling the knife his hand had been resting on out of it's sheath when the woman sighed.

"Yeah, about that..." Then she began to twist and shift and melt in places.

Shrinking down on herself, it took a moment but before his eyes she had changed. Where before there stood a woman now there stood a child. A girl who looked about his age with ginger hair beginning to roll into ringlets lay half way down her back. A splattering of freckles had erupted across her nose and cheeks and her eyes had gotten a little larger. Even if he was too far away to see the shade, he thought they had gotten darker in colour. The dress that had ended mid thigh now hung well below her knees and she had to hold up the front so it wouldn't slip off her shoulders as fall to the floor.

"...I am the right age." She said as she finished.

"I will fetch Sir Hargreaves immediately. Let me show you where to wait." Pogo extended an arm in the direction of his father's office and closed and locked the door behind her.

Two stayed put for ten minutes until he heard his father greet the girl and the door to his office close behind them. Part of him wanted to run up the stairs and wake up his brothers and sisters and tell them what he'd seen. But he knew that One would just try to tell him off for being out of bed and Three would take his side. Four would just make jokes about everything and Five would say something sarcastic to make them all feel dumb.

Instead he went to bed, deciding to see what Father had decided in the morning.

Five: Number Five

He knew straight away something was up.

He could say a lot about the old man, but one of the kindest was that he liked order. Everything ran on a schedule. They were woken up at six fifthteen and had forty five minutes to be ready for breakfast. There were only two bathrooms on that floor so Number One and Number Two always showered first, then Three and Four, then him and Six. Then it was supposed to be Seven but she didn't have time so had switched to showering before going to bed. Their father either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared. It was hard to tell with him but Five preferred to think he noticed but didn't care about all that stuff. It was better to assume he knew than to assume he didn't and get lazy in his covert actions, whatever they were at the time.

Breakfast was always served at seven with a bright smile from Mom. Father always sat in his chair and read the morning's newspaper in a silence nobody was allowed to break. Once breakfast was over, he would make any announcements or inform them of special training sessions that were outside of their normal daily lessons and training.

When they reached the dining room they were met by Mom at the door way.

"You're Father is running a little late today children. We must wait for him." She said with her usual smile.

Five couldn't remember that ever happening. He was always sitting in his chair at the head of the table waiting for them. They stood against the wall in the hall and waited. Four and Six were whispering to one side of him, Six was a good head shorter than the rest of them (two heads shorter than Number One,) so Four was leaning over to listen. Diego stood at the far end with Seven but neither of them were speaking, both just staring into the middle distance but Five thought Number Two looked particularly sulky.

Three was telling One about some magazine article she'd read. It wasn't very interesting but Number One gave her his full, if somewhat limited, attention. Five took out his pocket watch, a present from Mom on their tenth birthday. Breakfast was almost ten minutes late.

It was then that the doors opened and Mom led them into the dining room.

They had assigned seats. Number One and Number Two sat on either side of the head of the table with Three next to One and Four next to Two. Seven usually sat at the opposite end to their father. Today, however, their was a new, slightly longer table of a similar design to the old one. And nine chairs.

At the head of the table sat their father, reading the newspaper as usual. Standing behind the seat at the other end next to his own stood an unfamiliar girl. A freckled face looked up from her empty plate and stared at them with dark, analysing eyes. Five paused, as did his siblings, and looked from the girl to their father. He ignored them and carried on reading his newspaper.

Five made his way around the table to stand behind his chair. The girl was wearing an Umbrella Academy uniform like the rest of them, he noticed immediately, except she's wearing shorts like him and his brothers and not a pleated skirt like Three and Seven.

"Sit." Came their Father's order and they all took their seats.

Mom served breakfast like she didn't notice the new girl among their number. Or more probably, the girl had already been introduced and Mom had gone straight to treating the interloper like she'd been there all along. Just another one of the children.

Because that was what the girl had to be. Another of them. The forty three children born suddenly on October first, 1989. Another sister.

They all ate in silence, all of them glancing up at the new girl. She looked over each of them in turn and Five couldn't help but feel like they were being assessed in some way. Eventually the meal was over and their father put his newspaper down.

They all looked towards him.

"This is Number Eight. I will be testing her abilities for the next two weeks. Some of you will be called on to assist." He folded up his newspaper and tucked it under his arm, leaving them behind for his office.

Practically as one, they turned to her. She flinched back almost inperceptively but Five watched her recover with supposed ease.

"I'm Number One." He piped up predictably, then went around pointing to each of them. "Number Two and Number Three. That's Number Four and Number Six. That's Number Five and Number Seven."

The girl side-eyed him, he frowned.

"So, erm..." Number One stalled and Three cut across him.

"So you're Number Eight now. Did you have a name before?"

"Kira." The girl to his right answered with a frown. "But I don't like it. I think Eight might be better."

Five decided then and there to never call her anything else.

Klaus: Number Four

Number Eight was kind of funny, in a quiet, deadpan kind of way. She wasn't exactly shy but she was reserved. He noticed she preferred to sit at the edge of the group and watch the others.

It was a bit difficult to tell at first, as she spent most of the first few days doing written tests to the side in their lessons and did her training in private with their Father. Her room had been placed in the corridor one over from the one the rest of them slept in and she spent most of her down time there as well.

It wasn't until she had been four days that they got to see her in action.

They'd seen her power before of course. She'd given a demonstration on her first day, changing herself into Five as she sat next to him. It was uncanny how identical they had become. She copied his frown as he looked back at his own face and then she'd switched to Five's wide fake smile before switching again to his real smug one.

"You have an interesting face. Expressive." She'd said before switching back to her own.

Father had called them call to the gym after lunch, dressed in their identical, black camisole top, shorts and plimsoles and had already had Pogo set up a square made of tape on the ground. Eight stood in the center of the square, taking steady breaths. They were told to line up outside the square, Seven standing next to Father with a stop-watch and a whistle.

"When the whistle is blown Number One will enter the field of combat," He said gesturing to the marked square. "Number Eight will have two minutes to subdue or evade Number One. Then the whistle will be blown again and Number Two will enter the fight and Number One will leave it and so on until Number Eight is defeated or she has subdued all her opponents. Everyone has use of their powers."

This was dear old dad's special flavour of unfair. They'd all had combat training since they were old enough to walk and make a fist. He knew literally nothing about where Eight had come from, she had avoided or deflected every time someone asked anything about her past, but Four knew other kids didn't learn to fight like they did. Although, other kids didn't have powers and they weren't going to 'save the world' one day.

Five had already subtly pushed ahead of him to get a better view, so Four turned to look at Six. He thought his brother was thinking along the same thoughts as him but probably also worried about his upcoming fight. He didn't even know the girl, none of them really did, but he didn't want to hurt her.

Four wasn't sure how much shape-changing could help her in a fight. Like him, her powers seemed pretty useless for combat.

The whistle blew and One stepped forwards. And because he was One, he didn't hold back. He threw a fist at her that Four was sure would have broken her jaw had it hit her.

Eight was quick, quicker than he expected. She ducked the swing and was already moving around to one side, jabbing him in the ribs. But along with 'super' strength, his brother was somewhat reinforced. He'd had to be to survive jumping as high as he could or so as not to break his arm when he hit something with all his strength. He barely reacted at all, just began turning to try to hit her again.

But she was dancing away from him, getting all the distance she could while still staying in the square as instructed. He went after her again and again but Eight managed to avoid every hit. It was as Vanya blew the whistle that One landed a hit. They all heard the snap of her collar bone.

Even One froze for a moment. She staggered back but recovered her balance. Then another crack echoed in the silence the first had caused. Before their eyes the bone snapped back into place as Eight let out a grunt.

"Join the end of the line, Number One." Their Father called out, gesturing towards them to get a move on. "Number Two."

One took his place behind Six and looked over the top of them as Eight and Two began circling each other. His brother already had a knife in each hand, standing at the ready. They both took a few seconds, watching the other but it wasn't long before Two lunged.

Both of her hands reached out to grab his wrist, presumably to try to take his knife. Two countered that by bringing his other arm up and stabbing her in the shoulder. She grunted again and instantly put some distance between the two of them.

She reached up with her opposite hand, stretching further than Four thought should have been possible and pulled the blade out of her own shoulder. Blood dripped on the floor but Eight took no notice; instead focused on the battle that they fought on slightly more even ground now she was equally as armed. She tucks the bloody knife away in the waistband of her shorts as the whistle is blown again.

It wasn't long before it was it was Three's turn. Three smiled that conceding smile of hers as the two of them started.

"I heard a rumour..." But before she can finish Eight lashed out.

With an open palm she struck at Three's throat. The laugh burst out of his mouth before he could stifle it.

She stumbled, gasping of breath. Four felt One push past him but he didn't dare enter the square with their father watching on. Eight moved quick to knock Three's feet out from under her and pin her to the ground. The look on One's face told Four that Eight had definitely not just made a friend. She was fitting right in!

It was when it was his turn that he found out that she was funny. He didn't usually do as well as his siblings in combat exercises. Still, he found himself almost instinctively taking up a defensive position and waiting for the girl across from him to make a move.

"What do you do again?" She asked as she began to circle.

He gave a dramatic huff and a wide smile. One's super-strength and Two's knives were hard to miss. Five popped all over the place and Three couldn't go a few days without rumouring something. But him? He just looked crazy talking to people no one else could see. And he didn't do a whole lot of that in front of the others anymore.

"Moi? Oh, you don't have to worry about me, sweet sister. Just the ghost-y's for me."

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him. Then she was swinging and he was taking a step back and defecting the punch thrown at his ribs and ducking out from the one that was aiming for his head.

"I'm definitely not sweet." She enunciated each syllable, murdering it with an efficiency, not letting up on her relentless almost dance.

He giggled, but it was cut off by a fist landing in his gut, knocking the air out of him for a moment. Staying on his feet, he put distance between them as he straightened.

"Well, you don't seem sour enough. Or particularly bitter." He quipped as he tried to get a kick through her defences.

She jumped over his leg, hooking it with her foot as she regained her balance and knocking his balance out from under him. He landed on his back with an 'oomph' and she quickly followed him, trying to pin him to the ground.

Unfortunately for her he was skinny and squirmy and distinctively difficult to hold down. She hooked her legs over the tops of his thighs and squeezed them with her knees as he bucked to try to roll them both over. Their hands grasped at each other, twisting out of the others grip only to get caught again.

Her lips were pulled tight in concentration as she watched his arms with a slight frown appearing between her eyebrows. He managed to get a foot hold on the floor and pushed them over so he was on top but it only lasted a moment. Her left leg released him and bent backwards at an impossible angle and pushed them back over with a strength she really shouldn't have had.

Four's head hit the floor and for a moment he was dazed. He felt his arms get pushed against the vanished wood of the floor and vaguely heard Seven blow her whistle.

He blinked as the grip around him weakened. She leaned forwards and whispered in his ear.

"I'm ambrosia, baby." Pulling back with a smirk, Eight jumped up and held out a hand to help him off the floor.

He let out a loud mildly winded chuckle as she pulled him up. He took a seat next to Three who was still rubbing her throat and giving Eight dirty looks.

Five took a step into the square a small distance from Eight. Not that distance meant much to Five. Eight rolled her shoulders as she watched her new opponent.

Without warning Five took a step to the side and disappeared in a blue flash. Eight was already turning, spinning on her heel and bending her knees to duck under the punch aimed for where her head had been as Five appeared behind her.

A punch to the diaphragm sent Five back a few steps. He looked as shocked as the rest of them. Then he was jumping again. From place to place quicker than Four had seen him jump before.

Eight half crouched her head swinging back and forth as she tried to track his movements. Then he was in front of her, landing a punch to the face that sent her flying backwards. Her head made a loud cracking noise as she landed.

Eight pushed herself up on her feet, recovering almost as fast as the rest of them did and they had years of training to get their feet back under them to fall back on.

She blinked a bit but Five was already on the move and then so was she. Running erratically around the marked square. Leaping sideways seemingly at random and turning to run back the way she had just come.

When Five ended up jumping into range she launched a furious attack of limbs that Five was forced to pay attention to. He couldn't jump with her so close they were almost touching.

He seemed to decide to do so anyway. The flash of blue light seemed bigger than normal as they both disappeared and tumbled out a few foot away.

"What did you do?" Five asked incredulous as he shoved her off him.

"What did I do?" Eight snorted rolling to her feet. "That wasn't me. You jumped while I was holding on to your arm."

The fight went on till the whistle was blown again but both seemed weary of a repeat of their unexpected jump.

Six stepped forwards, clearly hesitant. He didn't use his powers against his siblings, the monster in his gut was just so much more powerful than any of them. Four leant forwards, worried about what was about to happen.

"Number Eight. You have not been fighting to your full potential." Their father called out in a stern voice.

She looked over at him with a frown.

"I'd kill them." She said simply.

Four felt a shiver run through him. It was the certainty in her voice.

"You needn't hold back with Number Six. Neither will you Number Six." He made a motion and Four and Three hurried to stand on the other side of the room by the wall with the others.

Their Father and Seven stepped back away as well.

Eight's focus shifted to Six. She kicked off one of her shoes and pulled off the other, throwing them at the far wall, all without letting her eyes leave Six. Poor little Six. He didn't want to hurt anyone and now their Father was setting him on the new girl.

Six let out a shaky sigh and began pulled up his shirt. As humongous tentacles filled the space, Four watched Eight.

Her eyes widened as she saw Six showcase his power for the first time. Then she was shifting. Her face seemed to elongate and her teeth grew with it sharpening at the tip until her mouth was full of razor-sharp teeth. Her hands became thicker as four inch long claws erupted. Her feet too, shifted as her big toe moved down her foot becoming something between and toe and a thumb.

And she growled. An actual inhuman growl that hinted to further changes that he couldn't pick out.

She leapt at Six and he swept a tentacle at her to bat her out of the air but he missed and she sailed over his head. She'd hardly landed before she was throwing herself back the way she came and on to Six's back. A tentacle wrapped around her mid-section and threw her across the room. She stumbled but landed on her animal-like feet and avoiding another blow that would have thrown her into the wall.

Eight was quiet. Eight was funny. In that moment, Four realised Eight was also really dangerous.

Vanya: Number Seven

Present Day

"I guess we should get things started." Luther addressed them as they sat in the living room. "So I figured..."

But Klaus cut him off, making Luther huff.

"Don't you think we should wait until... I don't know, we're all here?"

"Has anyone heard from Eight?" She asked them all.

Luther and Allison shook their heads.

"Yeah," Diego answered. "She said she'd be out of town last month for work. She usually drops in when she gets back."

"Hmmm," Klaus made a noise of agreement. "She wasn't due back till the fifth of April. But she'd come back of this, wouldn't she?"

The familiar pang of loneliness and jealousy at being left out once more rose inside her before falling again. Luther and Allison hadn't known either. Eight and Klaus had gotten closer after Five disappeared and probably more so since Ben.

"We don't know if she's even coming. We should move on." Luther insisted. "So I was thinking we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad's favourite spot."

"Dad had a favourite spot?" Vanya thought that Diego said what they were all thinking.

"You know, under the Oak tree." Luther looked at their blank faces in turn with a confused one of his own. "We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?"

"No, our one-to-one times with Dear Old Dad didn't included lectures on Nietzsche and leadership out in the sunshine." Came the snide reply from the entrance hall.

Turning her head she saw a woman leant in the archway dressed in motorcycle leathers with a black helmet under one arm and a grey duffle bag hanging from the other. She had Olive skin, deep brown eyes and wavy short brown hair, but even before their eyes, her features began to shift and her skin lightened, her hair grew and curled and ran light auburn from root to tip. It was a much cleaner shift than she'd been capable of when they were children.

The outfit her sister was wearing shrunk the two dress sizes with her signalling that she was wearing the suit their Father had made her that shifted with her.

"Eight!" Vanya and Allison greeted almost simultaneously while Klaus leapt up from his lounging position beside her.

"My slippery shifting sister! Decided to join us mere mortals on this oh-so sad day, have you?" A huge smile was spread across his face and he threw his arms open to wrap her in a hug.

She smirked, dropping her bag and leaning over to balance her motorcycle helmet on top of it before moving into Klaus's arms.

"Yeah, I managed to wrap up early." She pulled back to take the rest of them in, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "Didn't start with out me, did yah?"

"Not Really." Klaus clasped her had and pulled her down to sit on the sofa between them but her sister didn't turn to greet her. "We were just deciding whether or not there would be refreshments. Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner."

"What? No we weren't." Luther scowled at losing control of the family meeting. "And put that out." He snapped pointing at the cigarette Klaus had just lit. "Dad didn't allow smoking in here."

Klaus huffed and unfolded his legs, folding them the other way and leaning slightly into Eight. The movement drew Allison's attention.

"Is that my skirt?" She demanded.

"What? Oh yeah, this?" Klaus stood up and posed a bit showing off his new faux leather knee length skirt. "I found it in your room. It's a little dated, I know, but it's very breathy on the bits." He gestured.

"Listen up." Luther commanded pulling attention back to him. "There's still some important things that we need to discuss, all right?"

"Like what?" Diego asked still avoiding looking at her.

She wished her brother wasn't so mad at her. She wished they could go back to when they were friends. Back when he used to stutter and struggle to get a sentence out and he'd get so frustrated and she would just give him a patient smile and wait for him to finish talking. He'd smile back at her and thank her for being a good listener. She didn't even really know when the two of them had grown so far apart. After the academy had fallen apart and they'd all left (apart from Luther), she'd built her semblance of life and so had he. She hadn't seen him for almost two years before she'd even published the book.

"Like the way he died." Luther went on.

"And here we go." Diego muttered loud enough for them all to hear.

"What do you mean?" Eight sat forward with a frown on her face.

"I thought they said it was a heart attack?" Klaus asked as he climbed over the back on the couch and began raiding the bar.

"Yeah, according to the coroner."

"Well, wouldn't they know?" She asked, not sure what Luther was getting at exactly.

"Theoretically." Luther said darkly, clench his fists.

"Theoretically?" Allison repeated flatly.

"I'm just saying, at the very least, something happened. Last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange." Luther insisted.

Klaus gargled his drink and climbed back to throw himself back down next to Eight, who elbowed him. "Oh Quelle Surprise!"

"Strange how?" Allison asked from her standing position near the window.

"He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust."

"He said the same thing to me but he was always like that." Eight snorted before putting their father's voice. "You must be the Lion and the Fox, Number Eight. You must watch for the traps they lay and not just the wolves themselves."

Vanya felt the hairs on the back of her neck and her arms stand on edge. Klaus gave an exaggerated shudder.

"Don't do that! The ol' man's dead, I don't want to hear his voice again." He took a long gulp of his drink.

Luther shot Klaus a glare. "Look, I know you don't like doing it, but I need you to talk to Dad."

He scoffed into his drink before pulling it away and gesturing wildly. "I can't just call Dad in the afterlife and be like, 'Dad, could you just like... Stop playing golf with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?'"

Eight snorted next to her.

"Since when? That's you're thing." Luther asked standing up and shaking his head.

"Well, that just shows you how little you notice what's going on around you." Eight muttered besides her, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not in the right frame of mind." Klaus hedged.

"You're high!" Luther accused.

Vanya didn't find that as surprising as Luther seemed to find it. Most of the time, it seemed like Klaus had been high since they were fourteen and the older they got the worse his problem became.

Her brother just laughed.

"Yeah! Yeah, I mean, how can you not, listening to this nonsense?"

"Well sober up. This is important." Luther said raising his voice.

"Oh yeah. He's just going to do that." Eight snorted getting to her feet too. "Number One commands it so."

"And there's the issue of the missing monocle." Luther carried on, dismissing Eight.

Klaus huffed with a dramatic wave of his hands. "Who care about a stupid monocle?"

"Exactly." Luther charged on trying to convince them. "It's worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge."

Vanya frowned. Dr Terminal and the Eiffel Tower guy and all the other bad guys were either dead or... In jail? She didn't know. Dad had always handled the clean up without any the rest of them.

She looked to Eight and saw that the frown on her face had deepened, her eyes were sharp and the edge of her lips were beginning to tilt down in distaste. She was angry. Really angry.

"Where are you going with this?" Klaus asked.

"Oh, isn't it obvious, Klaus?" Diego jumped in obviously having come to whatever conclusions Eight had, and got in Luther's face. "He thinks one of us killed Dad."

Vanya drew in a shallow shocked breath, blinking at her brother. Luther subtly bit his bottom lip for a moment before raising his head slightly and pushing out his chest. How could Luther really think one of them had murdered their father?

The silence sat heavy between them for a long moment as everyone stared in disbelief.

"You do?" Klaus downed the last of his drink putting the glass down on the coffee table that sat between them.

"How could you think that?" Vanya shook her head.

"Great job Luther. Way to lead." Diego said giving one last dig.

"Fucking idiot." Eight bit out, baring her teeth at him before sweeping out of the room.

"That's not what I'm saying." Luther tried.

"You're crazy, man. Crazy." Klaus got up to follow Eight muttering to himself. "Crazy."

"I'm not finished." Luther called after them.

"Sorry, I'm just off to go murder Mom. Be right back." Klaus chirped, dropping his cigarette butt in the last dredges of his drink.

Vanya got up and followed him not wanting to look at Luther any longer.

"That's not what I'm saying." She heard him insist behind her. "Allison!"

Eight: Number Eight

Four Days Earlier,

Venice, Italy

The face she was wearing was that of Rochelle De La Cruz, nineteen year old heiress known for living it up on her yacht with Daddy's money and two hundred of her closest friends. Her face was well known enough that it got her into the casino floor of the club but not enough that people wondered how she could be in two places at once.

Her blonde hair was up in an elaborate style kept in place by a diamond tiara and a sapphire butterfly hair clip. Her evening dress, which wasn't an actual dress but a specially designed nanotech-fibre suit that responded to a marginally telepathic sensor her father had implanted sub-dermally behind her left ear, matched the sapphires in colour.

She sipped a dry martini as she subtly watched the floor behind her using the refection from the mirrored wall behind the bar she sat at. Her target sat in a booth on the opposite side of the club having just sat down after losing three grand at Blackjack. Not that that was slowing him down.

He ordered another bottle of champagne that his 'girlfriends' had finished while he was gambling. He then took a bump of cocaine off the table that Bimbo One had set out for him.

She'd been following her target for over three weeks. Followed him from the house he shared with his wife and kids to each of his shady business deals. He was mafia but that wasn't really the problem. There were always going to be bad people in the world, she didn't follow all of them.

But this guy. His guy had recently decided to break out from his Familia and right into bioweaponry. That was what had pinged him on Hargreaves' radar.

In the briefcase left almost carelessly on the floor under his table were three vials of pathogen 3.64-NZV. It was nasty. She'd broken in to the lab it had been stolen from and read the file. If the case leaked everyone in the room was going to start crying blood and then about twenty minutes later, enough time for everyone to panic, they'd start having breathing problems that would turn into choking to death on their own liquefied lungs.

She didn't just want the briefcase though. Because from what she could tell, this guy was about to make a whole lot of money and then turn around and use it to fund another break in at another lab. Because he was both Greedy and Stupid. He needed to be removed from the situation.

Her target downed another flute of champagne and began to get up. He gestured towards the toilets. She was going to wait for him to come back, eventually leave and follow him to the meet but it was then that her attention was drawn to the small television set that hung in one corner of the bar.

Reclusive and Eccentric Billionaire, Sir Reginald Hargreaves, found dead in his mansion. Founder of the Umbrella Academy dies of a Heart-attack at Sixty-Four. The newsreel read in Italian.

That changed things.

Standing up, she wavered as if trying to find her balance. She made her way to the loos, stumbling into the one marked male.

"Opps." She gave an intoxicated giggle.

Her target stood up against the urinal, reliving himself. She stumbled again giggling some more, leaning back against the door and subtly locking it behind her back.

He turned around as he zipped up. He frowned momentarily before turning on the charm and giving her a smile. She wobbled forwards to get a better angle on the stalls. They were empty. They were alone.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" He asked as he stepped into her personal space.

She batted her eyes lids, slightly too slowly, subtly shifting so her eyes looked dazed and sluggish without actually effecting her sight. "You think I'm pretty? I think you're pretty too."

She pressed into his chest, running a finger down the buttons on his shirt.

"Do you want to show me how pretty I am?" She asked.

She didn't need subtle with him, he was high as hell and convinced he was gods gift, invincible. Of course every woman wanted to fuck him in bathroom stalls.

He nodded as she pushed him back into the disabled stall. He was already reaching down to undo his belt. As he looked down, she elongated the nail on her right finger, making it hard as bone and sharp enough to pierce. In a single lightening quick movement she had plunged her nail into his ear drum and through to his brain.

His eyes rolled back into his head. As he slumped, she caught him and pushed him back so he sat on the toilet. There was only a trickle of blood that dripped out his ear and down the side of his neck. Unless the coroner looked really hard it would look like a brain aneurysm. Clean, efficient.

She shifted into her targets appearance before closing the door and stretching her arm over the top to lock it with the man's own hand. She washed her hands, checking her appearance in the mirror.

Her dress was now a suit. Her female body now male. She plucked the tiara and clip off her head and put them in her pocket.

She unlocked the door and made her way over to her ex-targets table.

"Sorry ladies." She mimed a phone with one hand, speaking with his exact voice. "I've got to be going. Enjoy the bottle. Ciao"

She picked up the briefcase and left the club without a backwards glance. She'd change appearances in an alley or side street as soon as she could before making her way back to her hotel. She had to move her flight. She had a funeral to go to.