Number Eight - The Viper ┃ Five Hargreeves ┃1┃

I - A Rude Awakening

"What in God's name?" Number Eight grumbled to herself as she sat upright, her limbs heavy and her head thumping. The light of the room caused her eyes to squint, and her throat was painfully dry and scratchy. "My God."

"Number Eight." Said a quiet and polite voice from the corner of the room. Number Eight winced in pain as she turned her neck, feeling the muscles contract stiffly. She smiled as soon as she saw the familiar face. 

"Pogo. What's going on?" She asked as the sentient chimpanzee approached her with caution. He wore a three-piece, burgundy suit that covered a white shirt and tie, just as Number Eight had always remembered from her childhood. Now, the only difference was that Pogo seemed to rely on a walking stick to bear his weight upon. A small pair of wire-rimmed glasses rested upon his nose and his fur was greying more than Number Eight ever remembered.

"It seems that Sir Reginald finally found a successful cure." He said simply, a small smile pulling on his lips. Number Eight looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.  Her head was hazy and the more she tried to focus on her thoughts, the quicker she realised that she couldn't remember all too much. Her eyes flicked around the room, to which she recognised as a recovery room in the Medical Wing of the Academy. She had been here several times before when she was injured on missions, but she couldn't recall why she was here now.

"A cure, for what?" She finally asked, looking at Pogo. A look of worry flashed across his face as he prepared to explain the story to the young girl.

"Number Eight. You were critically injured on a mission. Shot in the chest. You have been in a coma ever since. Sir Reginald has been trying to find a cure for all of this time, and it looks like his final attempt was successful." Pogo explained, his features saddening as he spoke.

Number Eight tried to gather her thoughts together as he spoke, overwhelmed by the news. "A coma? Well, how long have I been out of it?" She asked, confusion laced throughout her voice. She couldn't feel any kind of pain or sensation on her chest, as though she had been shot.

Pogo sighed lowly and looking towards his feet, struggling to look at Number Eight in the eye. A tight-lipped, forced smile formed across his face as he nodded.

"Pogo. How long?" She asked, impatiently. Looking down at her torse, she realised that she was still wearing her Umbrella Academy uniform, though was surprised to see that it wasn't damaged or blood-stained. Her uniform was often in a bad way after her missions, so she immediately thought that this one couldn't have been egregious.

"Twelve years, Number Eight." Pogo said quietly.

Number Eight's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. She was frozen still in disbelief. "Twelve years?! I've been gone for 12 years?!" She exclaimed. Pogo simply looked at her, saddened, his shoulders dropping in defeat.

"Unfortunately so, Number Eight. We have a lot to catch up on. Come, I will make a cup of tea for you." Pogo suggested, beckoning Number Eight in his direction. She gulped heavily, pushing herself off of the recovery bed that she currently sat upon. Her mind was whirring with chaotic thoughts and her body still seemed to be lagging behind. She couldn't shake thoughts of disbelief from her head. Number Eight followed Pogo out of the recovery room and throughout the academy, her legs trudging heavily beneath her. She still felt slow and groggy, and had the worst body aches she had ever encountered.

"Jesus, what have I missed?" She mumbled to herself, sighing. She felt quiet and vulnerable, which was very unusual for Number Eight.

The unlikely pair soon approached the kitchen, where Pogo began to brew fresh tea for the young girl. Slumping in one of the dining room chairs, Number Eight attempted to stretch out her aching muscles and shake the pain that was pressing in the front of her head. Pogo placed the tray of tea down on the oak table, and took a seat opposite Number Eight.

"Okay Pogo, hit me, what's happened? How am I still 16?" Number Eight asked, trying to pull herself together and be rational. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst.

"Well, Number Eight, you were injured during the mission when you were 16. When you fell into the coma, it appears that your physical form didn't age, but your mind has. Technically, you're a 28-year-old in your teenage body. Unfortunately, Number Six then followed your footsteps when he was 17. He didn't make it." Pogo said sadly, breaking eye contact with Number Eight. The young girl's eyes started to fill.

"Ben? Ben's dead?" She whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. Number Eight was unable to focus on the fact that she was still in her teenage body; She was fairly close with Ben when they were younger. Number Eight knew that Ben hated using his powers on missions; he didn't like injuring people and absolutely despised killing people. "I wasn't there when he needed me."

Pogo sighed. "I'm sorry, Number Eight. After Five disappeared, you fell into the coma and Number Six died, the family fell apart. The children grew older, and one by one, they started to leave. You are the only one left at the Academy." He explained, taking a sip of tea from the porcelain cup that he held in his fur-coated hand.

Number Eight gasped lightly before frowning. "Five never came back?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. Number Eight lived for three years without Number Five, making it to 16-years-old without her best friend. They were the closest out of all the Hargreeves' siblings, causing Number Eight to fall into a depression when he disappeared. She always had hope that he would come back, that he wasn't lost or dead. "I used to leave the lights on at night, in case he came back. I didn't want him to be scared."

"Your father used to insist he could feel Number Five's presence. That he was still out there, somewhere. He never gave up hope." Pogo said wistfully. 

Number Eight scowled. "He used to insist? What, has he just given up now? Typical Reggie." She scoffed, rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest.

Pogo's stare intensified. "Number Eight, you have missed one other event whilst in your coma. Sir Reginald died, this morning."

"What?"