YOU | Ben Hargreeves

Chapter 1

"Hey, do you mind giving this report to the secretary? She says she needs it." I handed a newly hired employee a thick pile of papers. She looked at me with big eyes, as if starstruck by something.

"Yo- yo- you're Aira Hart." She barely breathed out. I gave her an answer by giving a tight lipped smile then turned my back on her.

My heels were clacking on the floor as I walk towards my department, getting ready to go home as it's already getting quite late. I never liked going home late in the evening. 

Before I got to the destination that I'm headed to, I stopped by the bathroom to fix my medium length black hair that was fixed into a tight ponytail which was already giving me a fucking headache. My reflection gave off a vibe that radiates 'ready to die' energy.

For 5 years, I've been working my way up to this company just to distract myself of the past that I so want to forget. My ID pinned on the left side of my shirt, hangs proudly. 

Aira Hart

Operations Manager

Aira Hart. The name many people know. A name that used to go by the alias, Number Zero. One of the superheroes that used to save mankind from danger. Now working in a company that doesn't even pay the employees the minimum wage.

"I don't even know why I'm still here." I whispered to nobody in particular.

Once I finished my business, I went to my department and to gather my things. Once I entered, everyone inside went quiet. No one uttered a single word. I raised my eyebrows at them because of their sudden silence.

"Is there a problem?" I asked them, genuinely curious. No one answered.

The only sound in the room was the news on the television.

"Is this because of the loss of profit we encountered last month, I told you guys already that it was just a miscalculation on my pa-"

"...the death of the most eccentric and reclusive billionaire, Reginald Hargreeves. He was known to be the fathe-"

My head turned so fast to the direction of the TV.

"What the fuck?" I blurted out, not caring that I'm supposed to be in a professional environment. I gathered my things quickly and left the building without saying anything else.

The person that raised me along with the others is now dead. Mixed feelings are in my heart right now. Although I am very much thankful that he let me in, he was still a bastard down to the bone. He was never a good example of a role model, let alone a father. All he wanted was publicity and money that he got from us. We were risking our lives at a young age. And in the end, someone did lose their life. An event that still haunts me until now.

I hailed a cab to get home and think things through. The fact given that he is now dead, I would have to eventually pay my respect. Well, the little amount I have, at least.

Every shop that the cab I'm in drives by, there are displays the news of the death of dear old Reggie which makes me frown more. Why are people are grieving his death. Why? They don't know him. They have no idea what kind of man he was.

I didn't notice that I was already home and that the cab had stopped. I grumbled incoherent words as I got out.

"My condolences, Ms. Hart. He must've been very special to you." the driver said solemnly before I could close the door.

I laughed sarcastically, "Oh you have no idea, mister."

I went inside my house and plopped on the sofa with a deep sigh. 

"Can't believe the old hog is really dead." I uttered to myself, reaching towards the telephone to check if I have any messages.

"Hey Aira. It's me, Allison. I was going to ask if you're coming to Dad's funeral? If you are, I hope to see you there. I've already booked a flight there. I miss you. Talk to you soon."

The message ended with a loud beep

"Allison, huh. It's been a while since we've talked."

"Aira, have you heard the news? He's dead. Just wanted to tell you incase you haven't had any idea or clue yet since you've become such a workaholic."

Another beep resonated as the message ended.

"Workaholic my ass, Diego. Fucking lunatic, always thinking that I'm drowning myself in sadness." I ranted, shaking my head and heading to my bedroom to get changed.

Then again, I'm pretty sure Diego's going to go back to the house just to rub it in everyone's faces how much of a terrible father Reginald has been to which I am agreeing to.

But the memories in that house haunts me still. The terror of every training. The blood splattered whenever fights happen. Crazy aftermath of every mission. Injuries. Trauma. 

Disappearance.

Death.