He and his siblings are stood at the funeral of their father, Reginald Hargreeves. After the ashes are poured, the rest of his siblings walk back into the estate. He stays outside, pink umbrella in hand. He leans over the ashes and whispers. “I bet you’re loving this, hmm? The team at its best. It’s just like old times. Best. Funeral. Ever.” His tone is bigger and filled with disdain, the resentment of his father present from his childhood. He stubs out his cigarette in the pile of ashes.