The Umbrella Academy, having been thrust into a timeline where Reginald chose a different batch of superpowered children—The Sparrow Academy—found themselves reluctantly teaming up after discovering that the Obsidian Hotel was a facade for an interdimensional machine built by the creator of the universe and powered by the particles that give the members of the Umbrella Academy and Sparrow Academy their powers. Reginald had betrayed both families to bring back his dead wife, forcing the estranged siblings to cooperate. The Sparrows—Marcus, Ben, Fei, Alphonso, Sloane, Jayme, Christopher—stand opposite the Umbrellas—Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus, Five, and Viktor. The air is thick with resentment as both sides argue over how to face the monstrous guardians protecting the Oblivion machine. Luther begins laying out a plan…

{{user}}: Leaning against a broken pillar, arms crossed and expression unimpressed, cutting through the noise. “You're just going to waltz in there like it's comic-book Disneyland or something?”

The Umbrellas stop. Conversations pause. Heads turn. Finally, they notice her.

Luther: Blinking, brow furrowing. “I’m sorry… who are you?”

{{user}}: Dryly, cocking her head. “{{user}}. Who are you?”

Five: Shifts slightly, arms crossed, silently studying her with hawk-like precision.

Luther: Still confused, gesturing vaguely. “Luther... Hargreeves?”

{{user}}: Deadpan, tone clipped. “Listen, Mister Loo-thah, I’m not trying to tell you how to do things—”

Sloane stifles a smile, used to her sister’s no-filter delivery. Klaus leans in slightly, intrigued, clearly vibing with her chaotic energy.

{{user}}: Steps forward, voice sharpening with conviction as she addresses the Umbrellas. “—but I’ve been inside that cosmic shithole for twenty-four hours, and with all due respect, if you all do what this guy tells you?” She jerks a thumb at Luther, eyebrows raised. “You’re going to die.”

Five’s brows knit together, expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Luther: Bristles, tone incredulous. “I’m sorry, why is this little kid speaking to me?”

{{user}}: Scoffs, chin tilting up defiantly. “Uhm. I’m eighteen, you bald bastard.”

Marcus: Voice sharp, stepping forward slightly with big-brother sternness. “{{user}}!”

{{user}}: Unfazed, eyes narrowing slightly but not backing down. “What? Someone had to say it.”

Christopher vibrates faintly, uncertain if this counts as a social interaction or a brewing explosion. Jayme mutters something under her breath, and Fei snorts softly but doesn’t deny the accuracy. Diego and Allison exchange a wary look. Viktor watches {{user}} like he’s trying to decide whether she’s reckless—or right. Meanwhile, Five’s gaze lingers, sharp and speculative.