same old story, same old song | the umbrella academy

October 1, 1999

On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began.

Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate as many of the children as possible. He adopted seven of them.

Maya, now legally Maya Portman, was not among those seven.

Although being one of the "special" children made it harder for her to leave the orphanage with a decent family, her dominican origin making her case even worse, ten years after having to share her room with four other children, she can finally wake up and be welcomed with a silent morning, inside her own personal room.

She is sure the Portman family was the best one she could've been adopted by. When she first looked at them, they made no noise. Her head was silent, too. They were the right ones.

And Maya's intuition is never wrong.

Today is her birthday. She needs to wake up and go to school, hang out with her friends, and come back to celebrate the day with her family. It's her first birthday as Maya Portman, and it feels great.

Beep, beep, beep, beep!

Maya quickly shuts off the alarm and jumps off the bed. Her school uniform is already waiting for her as she comes out of the shower, and her curly hair appears to be acting generous today. She smiles.

Downstairs her new parents are already sitting on the table. She sits on her place, saying her good mornings to them, and grabbing a loaf of bread from a bag.

—So our small party is by six and school ends by three... —her english is still a little broken, having been brought to the United States only a year ago, —I wanted to hang with the girls until five and half, if I can? —

As her mother replies, Maya starts cutting open her bread.

—Of course, Yaya. Just make sure to stay with them at all times and be careful when coming back. —

Maya doesn't have the heart to tell her "yaya" is used as "grandma" by spaniards. It's quite funny, she'll admit. —Thank you. —

Tick!

She suddenly remembers she's cutting the bread and stops the knife half a centimeter away from her own hand. Too close for her liking. Quietly, she thanks her intuition.

After breakfast, her father drives her to school. Most days she goes by herself on her bike, but since today's special, she sits as the copilot with her bike strapped to the back of the car.

School is great. She's decently popular and liked, she has many good friends, and her grades never fall under an A.

Tick!

She stops her walk before she bumps into one of the older kids. Thanks, intuition.

But school is repetitive, of course it is. It passes by slowly, only being interrupted by random ticks of intuition, that stop her from making dumb decisions or even dangerous ones.

Maya's very dependant on her intuition. It keeps her wondering if anything she's doing is a bad idea, waiting for a soft tick to tell her it is. She's a big fan of silence for that reason; in a loud environment, there's always a chance she won't notice the tick, and will proceed with a terrible action. She can't afford that. She needs to hear the ticks.

Now in the park in front of the school, surrounded with her closest friends, she cuts some cake they bought from the local bakery.

Tick!

She frowns at the first spoon of cake she was bringing into her mouth. After inspecting it, she confirms nothing is visibly wrong with it, and tries to eat it again,

Tick, tick!

—Huh. —she whispers, —Hey, what does the cake have? —

Her friend shrugs. —Nothing weird. It's gluten free and it has no almonds because I look embarrassing when having an allergy reaction. —the others laugh. —Why? —

Maya hesitates. —No reason... —

Tick, tick, tick!

—I will bring it home, I'm not hungry now. —

It's a great excuse not to eat it. She has to trust her intuition. Putting the plate down, she evades looking at the others eating their own cake, to not get too tempted. It's just a cake. It's not a big deal.

Tick, tick, tick, tick-

Now it's constant.

If it's not the cake, what is it, then? Making sure the others don't see her, Maya discreetly scans the park with her eyes, looking for any sign of danger. The ticks distract her, definitely, but there's no way to make them stop.

A man sitting on a bench grabs her attention. He is looking at the group of girls.

—I think we have to leave. —Maya mutters, but her friends don't pay too much attention. —There's a weird man seeing us. —

—Nothing's gonna happen here, May. My mom's sitting right there, —when her friend points at another bench, she, in fact, recognises Miss Lowie.

-tick, tick, tick, tick-

—Well, I think I will leave. —Maya quickly stands up, grabbing her bag, —Mom told me to stay until four. Sorry. —

It's a lie, but she's a good liar.

Her friends pout, but wave, —Okay, happy birthday, Maya! See you! —

She grabs her bike and immediately leaves the park. It works, because her intuition shuts up, and she's finally in silence except for the few cars that pass by.

The man must have been the danger. However, Maya now has no way to know if her intuition was right.

Tick!

—What now? —

Triink!

That's new.

When she turns her head around, the headlights of the car blind her momentarily.