Chapter 2: The Training Room Test
The years passed in a blur for Number Eight. For the others, the march of time was marked by missions, escalating arguments, and the growing chasm between them and their father. For Eight, it was a constant, frustrating struggle to exist at a normal pace. He would accidentally shatter teacups just by reaching for them, or cause a miniature sonic boom in the hallway when he got excited. Reginald's solution was the same as it was for all of them: more training.
One day, Reginald called all eight of them to the training room. The cavernous space, usually reserved for combat simulations and obstacle courses, was empty save for a single, unassuming red button on a pedestal.
"Today," Reginald announced, his voice echoing in the vast space, "we will test Number Eight's true limits. You will each attempt to subdue him. When you succeed, you will press this button. The objective is to contain him for a full ten seconds."
A collective murmur went through the siblings. They had sparred with Eight before, but never in a coordinated effort. They all knew it was almost impossible. He was a slippery, invincible blur.
The test began. Luther, with his immense strength, tried to corner him against a wall, but Eight simply ran up the wall, did a loop on the ceiling, and dropped down behind him. Diego threw his knives with perfect precision, but they bounced off Eight's speeding form like they were made of rubber. The knives clattered harmlessly to the floor. Allison tried to rumor him. "I heard a rumor you can't move for ten seconds."
For a moment, Eight slowed down, a tiny frown on his face. But then he began to vibrate, a low hum filling the room. The vibrations intensified, and with a pop like a champagne cork, he was back to full speed, the rumor seemingly having no lasting effect on his unique physiology. Klaus, ever the wild card, just stood back, cheering him on. Ben, with a spectral groan from his summoned tentacle, tried to grab him, but the incorporeal limb passed through the super-fast child like mist.
Five, however, watched with a calculative gaze. He blinked in and out of space, trying to predict Eight's patterns. It was a dizzying dance of anticipation, but Eight was too fast, too erratic. Just as Five blinked to a spot he was sure Eight was headed for, Eight was already there and gone, leaving a slight breeze in his wake.
Vanya, as always, was on the sidelines. She stood near the red button, her face a mask of quiet observation. She watched Eight not as an enemy, but as a sibling, her eyes following the streaks of light he created as he ran laps around the massive room.
Reginald watched impassively from a high balcony, his face giving away nothing. This wasn't just a test of Eight's abilities, it was a test of his team's inability to work together to solve a truly unique problem. They were all acting as individuals, trying to overpower a force of nature with their own individual strengths.
After several minutes of this frantic, fruitless chase, Vanya took a deep breath. She reached out her hand, not to attack Eight, but to the air around the button. The subtle, silent vibrations in the room intensified. They were not from Eight, but from her. A low, barely audible hum began to emanate from the ground.
Eight, mid-stride, stumbled. He looked down at the floor, confused. His feet felt strange, heavy. The humming intensified, resonating through the very floorboards. It was Vanya's power, not aimed at him, but at the very space he occupied. She was subtly, almost imperceptibly, vibrating the room's molecules. The friction of the air and the floor around him increased exponentially, creating a sort of invisible, kinetic sludge that he had to fight through.
He was still fast, but no longer a blur. He was just a very, very fast child, struggling against an unseen force. This gave Five the opening he needed. He blinked, not to Eight's location, but to the path he was going to take. He appeared right in front of the slowed-down Eight, a hand outstretched.
"Gotcha," Five said with a smirk.
Eight, unable to stop, ran straight into Five's hand. But Five, still holding onto his temporal displacement, had a plan. Instead of stopping him, he simply blinked again, taking Eight with him. They appeared instantly next to the pedestal. Five didn't let go, holding Eight's arm firmly.
Vanya, seeing the opportunity, slammed her hand down on the red button. The count began.
A loud buzzer sounded. "Ten seconds," Reginald's voice announced. The training room's lights came on.
Eight was still held in place by Five, a mix of surprise and confusion on his face. He wasn't angry, just… bewildered.
"I told you," Five said, releasing him. "We're not a bunch of individuals. We're a team."
Reginald finally descended from his perch, looking not at Five, or at Eight, or at the others, but at Vanya. He had seen the subtle, silent power she had used to create the opportunity. He made a new note in his journal, his expression unreadable.
"Number Seven," he wrote, "shows more promise than initially assessed. Potential for tactical support against kinetic targets."
The Umbrella Academy, it seemed, wasn't just seven. It was eight. And the dynamic, Reginald was beginning to realize, had just shifted in a way he had not fully accounted for.