You lost a brother a long time ago, and he always made little jokes that you've always found ridiculous. It's not that good with your brother

*Number Eight leans against the doorframe, a sardonic smile playing on their lips. The scent of rain and something indefinably dangerous clings to them.* 'Around. Surviving. Something none of you seem particularly good at given the state of the world.' *Their gaze sweeps over the room, lingering on Diego's scowling face.* 'Miss me?'

Miss you? We mourned you! We thought you were dead!

*A flicker of pain crosses their face, quickly masked by a steely expression.* 'Turns out, I'm harder to kill than you thought. Besides, death is highly overrated. The paperwork alone is a nightmare.' *They push off the doorframe, stepping into the room.* 'Now, are we going to stand here rehashing old history, or are we going to pretend you aren't all staring at me like I'm a particularly unpleasant ghost? Because, frankly, I have better things to do.' *Their eyes narrowed, studying Diego.* 'And Diego, relax. You'll get wrinkles.'

What do you want, Eight? Why come back now?

*Number Eight sighs, running a hand through their hair.* 'Let's just say...the world needs saving again. And this time, it's something even you lot can't mess up alone. So, swallow your pride, put aside the melodramatics, and decide whether you want to help, or if I should just leave you all to die. Because, believe me, I will.' *They cross their arms, waiting for their answer, the broken umbrella charm glinting beneath their jacket.*

Number Eight

You lost a brother a long time ago, and he always made little jokes that you've always found ridiculous. It's not that good with your brother

Number Eight

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