Umbrella Academy Untold: Number Eight, Ragna Hargreeves / "The Shift"

The Early Life of Ragna Hargreeves (Project Iris)

All of her siblings doted on Ragna as if she were the decided youngest one, and each of them cared for her in their own way regardless of density. After all, Luther or Allison could never relate to her the way Five or Ben could, but that didn't mean they couldn't hoist her up on their shoulders and give her piggy-back rides when she wanted them to. They all wanted her limited time outside of the tank to be as pleasant as possible even with the awful breathing tube stuck up her nose.

Likewise, she often spent a considerable amount of time with Vanya due to the fact that Sir Hargreeves felt as though Ragna were a better accessory to central intelligence as opposed to violent affairs. Sure, she made her public appearances and was marked with the same dreadful wrist tattoo, but in addition to this Hargreeves was sure to also mark her with something even more alienating: a small iris flower right between the girl's collarbones.

-

As Ragna stood up to leave after receiving her ceremonial umbrella tattoo, already racked with tears, she was halted by the tattoo artist who branded her. "Hold on. You aren't finished yet."

"What?" Ragna said quietly, her eyes darting first to her brothers and sisters (who looked just as confused as she did) and then to her father, who sat across from them.

"Your world isn't only within the Umbrella Academy, Number Eight. You are Project Iris."

"Project wh-" She didn't have time to speak before being pushed back into her chair and strapped down. A worker approached her and undid the first few buttons of her shirt, the tattoo artist beginning to exchange his inks for new colors and switch out his needles.

"Dad, what's happening? Please stop! Dad, please!"

Ragna began to thrash in her chair, to which she was only met with the artist muttering, "If you move, it's only gonna hurt more. And it'll look ugly."

Her siblings all winced as they watched her get tattooed a second time around, this time in one of the most painful tattooing areas on the body.

Ben looked away the entire time, unable to watch his sister sob through such agony.

Vanya, for once, felt no twinges of jealousy towards the other children.

Klaus hissed at her. And when Ragna looked up through an ocean of dark water pooled in her eyes, he mouthed a gentle "you're going to be okay."

-

As adolescents, it was Klaus who taught Ragna to be less afraid of the world around her. They shared their first cigarettes together, their first joints together, and their first sips of Svedka together all while locked up under the same big poufy quilt. After dark, of course, when no sounds could be heard in the house besides the gentle creaking of the wooden floorboards as he crept to her room.

Ragna always waited on Klaus intently, curious as to what adventure he had in store for the two of them next. The only one of which she didn't partake in was the bottle of pills. During that one, she only stroked his hair while he got high, eventually falling asleep in the huge pile of nothing around them. It was a situation she later learned would frequently repeat throughout their next few years living together, but Ragna didn't care. They took care of each other. It's what they always did.

And Klaus' temperament never changed with her either way.

-

"Are you sure this is what you want, Rags? I mean, it's just a flower. It could mean...pff...so many things..."

"I'm sure, K."

Ragna twitched. Klaus paced. The energy in the room was cold and tense. For the past year, Ragna had confided in Klaus that she was willing to do whatever it took to have the ugly black iris expunged from her chest for good. She knew about the risks and about how much more unnerving it would look afterwards, a blank red crater between the two bones framing the base of her neck, but it didn't matter. She had decided, after seeing so much, that it was time to let Project Iris go. On her own terms. Not the terms of her father or the many brainwashed puppets that worked for him.

"...Rags, it's gonna hurt."

"You know I've been through so much worse. That's why I need to do this." Ragna's fingers nimbly slid past the hardwood floor and onto the top of Klaus' hand. She held it tightly and stared blankly ahead into the dark. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Hey..." Klaus started. He gripped her hand in return, shifting to look at her eyes, dark and sad as they always were. The green of his and the brown of hers was enough to house every one of Earth's creatures. "Fuck em, right? We're in this for the long haul, Rags. Forever. Here..." He moved away for a moment and took one of his pillows, handing it to her. "Scream into this as loud as you need to and don't take it off of your face until I say it's okay, okay?"

Ragna nodded briskly. "Okay."

She inhaled a deep breath, took off her shirt, and laid on the hard ground beneath her. The thick white pillow covered her face and she held it there tightly, her breathing picking up as she felt Klaus climb on top of her.

She heard the click of the lighter, the crackling flame, and knew he was preparing the knife. After a few minutes, she heard a quiet (almost afraid) "are you ready?"

"I'm ready, K." Her words were muffled behind the pillow. She was shaking. "Get it done."

On that night, at two-thirty-two in the morning, Klaus Hargreeves pressed a hot knife to Ragna's throat, cutting away and simultaneously cauterizing off the small iris imprinted on her skin. The two of them knew of the pain it would cause her long before they took any action to get rid of the ink, but when Klaus heard her ear-piercing bloody scream behind that pillow, he cried. For as long as she continued to scream and groan, Klaus couldn't stop crying. He flashed back to watching his father torture her in the water tank and for a moment almost felt likened with him.

It was something he never wanted to feel again in his entire life.

They didn't care about the rules that night. They didn't care about their father finding them sleeping in the same bedroom. They began that day as two playfully dysfunctional children and ended it as disturbed, neurotic young adults with nothing in the world besides the warm sleeping embrace of each other.