𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖊𝖘||𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖔𝖘

0.1

Number Eight was unstable. At least that's what everyone told her. Her father was apprehensive about letting her around her siblings. She was scheduled to have breathing exercises with Pogo the chimpanzee every morning. It was honestly torture for the ADHD-ridden little girl.

And because of that, anywhere young Number Eight went brought chaos. Furniture abruptly burst into flames, and her siblings complained of creatures of the shadows going bump in the night. Eight was being trained to become completely in control of her emotions. And although she thought she did that extremely well, her father had something different to say. Chaos ensued whenever she was sad, angry, nervous, or even a little happy.

Which usually left most of her siblings concerned about being around her, no matter how hard she tried to be normal.

This is why a now sobbing Number Eight was locked in the basement for the tenth time this month, a guilty Pogo by her father's side.

"This is becoming displeasing Number Eight," Reginald scolded. "It is always two steps forward, five steps back with you."

"I didn't mean to Father," Eight responded, her body racking with sobs. "I-It was an accident."

"Accidents are unacceptable," Reginald snapped. "You hurt one of your teammates. You must learn to control your emotions!"

"But I -" Eight had started, but Reginald had already locked the door and walked out with Pogo, leaving a shuddering Eight with knees to her chest, shivering in the middle of the room.

Tears stained her sweater jacket as Number Eight continuously ran her fingers through her curly brown hair. She was sobbing, trying to calm herself down. If she lost control in the basement, her father would never let her out.

She hated this. She hated how normal her other siblings seemed to be. They mastered their powers perfectly. But her powers were complete and utter chaos. Like herself. Messy, unorganized, sloppy, and dangerous. Reginald had told her with one uncalculated sneeze, she could destroy the state of California. California? She didn't want that. Why would anyone want that? 

Well, Number One would. Number One would love this, loved to be the one to wield a power he couldn't comprehend.

Perfect little Number One, the teacher's pet. She hated his guts so much. With his perfect brown hair, and his very punchable teeth. And the very fact that he was terrified of her. Which meant any slip up no matter how small, would end up with him tattling to the one and only Reginald Hargreeves himself. He had wholeheartedly believed that Number Eight was a ticking time bomb, and she put him, and the rest of his siblings in danger. He didn't even see her as a sister. She was a teammate and nothing more. And this morning, she may or may not have burned his arm. It was an accident, of course.

She was drawing in her notebook, on her bed, in her room minding her business. Luther had stormed in, a furious look on his face, and demanded she come downstairs to train with the rest of her siblings. She had to admit she lost track of time, but it didn't give him the right to burst into her room. She scoffed and told him to get out, telling him she'd be right down, turning her attention back to her notebook. Luther's face immediately turned red, and he reached to grab the notebook. Eight caught his intent fast, and grabbed her notebook, trying to keep herself calm and collected. But Luther with his stupid superstrength had pulled the notebook away. A satisfied look on his face slowly turned into one of horror. He dropped the notebook, let out a high-pitched scream, and clutched his wrist. She had burned him. It was a small, 1st-degree burn on his wrist, but it didn't stop Eight from being wracked with guilt.

She immediately stood and tried to offer her ointment since she had burned herself plenty of times before. Luther backed away and let out a blood-curdling scream. Honestly, he was being extremely dramatic.