A bend in space-time (Season 3) - The Umbrella Academy

Chapter 13: The fall of Makha Zuheca

Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 4, around 20:50 (while Klaus and Stan "clean" the rooms).

Suggested soundtrack: The flashbulb - Good luck out there ; Stellardrone - Breath in the light

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April 4 2019, 04:02 pm

The Lakota people have a saying that 'Reality is an illusion we all share'. Reading this proverb in the little book I found in the White Bufallo suite, I appreciated its profound meaning, and I wondered if – truly – we all share the same illusion, or if we each approach it with different personal distortions. At this moment, however, the very notion of 'reality' shakes all my ability to philosophize. Is what I just saw real, or is it once again a product of my weary mind?

In front of me, the only door on the top floor of the Hotel Obsidian just closed behind Iggy, whom I watched pass by, hidden in my invisibility and immateriality. No. I'm certain my eyes didn't deceive me: I just saw him lift the back of his scalp and begin to remove his skin. I couldn't precisely tell what I saw beneath, but I am almost sure it was scales, matte and dull green, with a hint of yellow around the edges.

Iggy isn't human.
I couldn't even say what he is.

Suddenly, I look around me again, as if the Hotel Obsidian - this immense machine whose nature I have come to understand and which has sheltered me for several days now - might have an answer for me. This place was built in the 1910s-1920s, incorporating the cutting-edge technology of its time: the techniques of Seiko and Omega. But to shelter whom? To conceal what?

Part of the answer... lies beyond the door that just closed. Iggy. Whatever he is. He has answers for me.

*Crack!*

As I reappear on the black hexagonal tiles of the hallway where I was never meant to be, I see him ahead, walking away, his back illuminated only by the same blue lights as on the landing. His arms, his hands, are muscular and long, ending in claw-like nails. His scaly back is marked with what I can only describe as ridges or spines, perhaps both. His head is bald. He has no ears, but he heard very well that I had just arrived.

I stand where I appeared: fully visible, entirely tangible, facing him as he turns, holding the upper portion of what was previously his skin, now folded over his arm as if it were a coat. His indescribable face - a blend of human and reptilian - stares at me with the transparency of yellow eyes marked by surprise.

I was never meant to witness what I am now seeing. And he begins to hurry toward me as I - frozen - just look around me.

For a fleeting moment, my gaze slips inside one of the sliding doors left slightly ajar. To my right, within what appears to be a dimly lit lounge surrounded by booths, the 'Furry Ladies' are petting their cats, their faces now bearing reptilian features like Iggy's, while chatting with a figure placing his pipe away with scaly hands, whom I can only guess is Hemingway. On their left, seated with their backs to me on tall, silver bar stools, those I recognize as the Film noir couple now appear as two slender tailless lizard-like figures. Yet they are still served a cocktail by the one I once called Waler, the 'Australian soldier'.

There are more of them. I can hear sounds coming from behind some of the other doors. My breathing quickens, though none of them have seen me. But already, Iggy is upon me, grabbing and pulling me by the arm with a strength and agility I never would have believed he possessed. I don't try to resist or even make myself intangible again: I'm far too stunned for that. I simply let myself be led wherever he's taking me, watching the knotted lines of his reptilian neck ripple with each step.

He carries that sharp scent I noticed when passing through the landing: a scent from skin unlike any in this world, covered in a thin mucous layer that likely allows him to fuse seamlessly with the human skin he wears. I know nothing of what he truly is: even the sound emerging from the choanae that serve as his nostrils should chill me to the bone. And yet, I trust him. Through the strange energy coursing through his otherworldly physiology, I feel no, truly no, hostility.