Chapter 1: How Much?

[Third Person's PoV] 

Date: October 1st 1989 

Location: Arizona, Phoenix 

A girl, no older than 18, with fiery red hair walked hand in hand with a boy into the theater, her warm smile lighting up the room. The boy mirrored her smile as they made their way to the front seats. As the movie began, he gently kissed her hand, both of them beaming with genuine happiness.

But the mood shifted abruptly. The girl's expression twisted in horror as she looked down at her rapidly swelling belly. Panic set in, and she screamed in both fear and agony, collapsing to the floor as blood began to pool around her. The boy could only watch in shock as chaos erupted around them. People gathered, horrified, but determined to help the girl through the impossible situation. Her screams filled the theater until, with a final push, the wails of a newborn echoed through the room.

The shrill cries of a Phoenix reverberated across the entire country, the temperature surging as if the world itself responded to the birth. Amidst the confusion, the baby thought, *'WHERE THE HELL AM I? AND WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?'*

On the 12th hour of October 1st, 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth under the most extraordinary circumstances, despite not being pregnant when the day began. 

One of those children was born to a woman with fiery red hair. As she held the baby boy in her arms, breastfeeding him, a man with a monocle and a beard approached. The baby, struggling to adjust to his new existence, thought, *'Who the hell is he? I'm still getting used to this reincarnation thing. I can't even see properly.'*

"Extraordinary…" the man murmured, looking at the boy and then the mother. "How much do you want for him?"

*'Wha—'* the boy thought, bewildered.

In the end, Sir Reginald Hargreaves, the eccentric billionaire and adventurer, managed to locate and adopt eight of these miraculous children.

---

**10 Years Later...**

"Come along now, children, you all have a mission. Pogo, ring the bell," Reginald Hargreaves ordered, standing beside a chimpanzee in a suit. "Grace, make sure they're all up and dressed."

Grace, an elegant woman, moved gracefully through the house. A loud shout rang out, disrupting the morning quiet.

"FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, OLD MAN, IT'S 5 IN THE MORNING!!!"

"NUMBER 8, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TALKING TO OUR FATHER LIKE THAT?" another voice scolded.

"OH, SHUT IT, NUMBER 1! YOU TEACHER'S PET. BE A GOOD BOY AND MAYBE DADDY WILL GIVE YOU A GOLD STAR!"

Reginald sighed, covering his face, while Pogo couldn't help but smile at the familiar bickering. One by one, ten-year-old children began to appear.

Number 1 stood confidently at attention in front of Reginald. Number 2 followed, flipping a knife in his hands with practiced ease. Number 3 adjusted her hair as she took her place. Number 4 shuffled in with his head down, avoiding eye contact. Number 5 blinked into existence beside him, and Number 6 jogged in to stand next to Number 5. Number 7 awkwardly joined the group, her eyes cast downward.

Finally, Number 8 floated down, a fiery aura surrounding him, his wavy red hair billowing as if caught in an invisible breeze. He landed beside Number 7 with a sigh of exhaustion.

All of them wore matching outfits: eye masks with whitened lenses, black vests over white shirts, ties, and black shorts that reached their knees.

"Reporting for duty, Fath— sir monocle," Number 1 began, standing straight.

"I'm sorry, old man, but you really need to get a fashion designer in here," Number 8 interjected with a teasing smirk, glancing down at his shorts. "You're a billionaire; you should be able to do it. These shorts aren't it."

Reginald ignored Number 8's remark, his attention instead focusing on Number 7. "Number 7, what do you think you're wearing on your face?"

Number 7 sheepishly looked up. "The Mask… I'm ready to join the mission, Father! I want to be a part of the team!" she exclaimed, her confidence growing as she spoke.

"Take that off; you look absolutely ridiculous!" Reginald snapped.

*'I think you look great, Number 7. Don't listen to this cranky old man; he's just jealous of our youth and is taking it out on you,'* Number 8's voice echoed in Number 7's mind, offering comfort. She smiled slightly but still removed the mask with a sad expression.

"Anyway, come along, children. There's been an attack on the Bank. We best hurry and be on our way," Reginald ordered, moving to lead the way.

As the group settled into their seats aboard the car, Number 8 couldn't help but ask, "Father, can I follow along outside?"

"No," came the stern reply, leaving no room for argument. Number 8 clicked his tongue in frustration and took his seat, earning a disapproving look from Number 5.

"Why ask when you know he's going to say no?" Number 5 asked, incredulous at his persistence.

Number 8 shrugged nonchalantly. "You never know; he might change his mind one day. He's stubborn, but I'm relentless. He'll say yes someday."

"You should stop bothering our father, Number 8," Number 1 warned, his tone firm.

"Listen here," Number 8 shot back, irritation clear in his voice. "Just because our dad made you the leader doesn't mean I acknowledge you as such, so tone it down with the orders."

"Do you think you'd make a better leader?" Number 3 scoffed. "Number 1 has been doing just fine."

"I never said he hasn't," Number 8 retorted. "I just don't like being bossed around. He acts like he has to be in charge of everything I do. It's annoying."

"I'm just looking out for you, and what's best for you," Number 1 said, his eyes narrowing.

"Whatever," Number 8 dismissed, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to meditate. Wake me up when we get there."

He sat cross-legged on his seat, closing his eyes as a pink aura began to surround him, slowly transitioning into fiery tones. As he focused inward, a teasing female voice echoed in his mind.

'Really, getting mad at a little kid? Did I do the right thing by making you my host?'

'How would you feel if a little kid suddenly started telling you how to do everything? Especially with someone of your power, eh Phoenix?' he mentally replied.

'Hmm, but you snap way too quickly at them, boy. Someone who possesses the Phoenix Force needs to have compassion,' the voice teased.

'My compassion is as hot as your flames. I have no idea what you mean.'

'So is your ego, you twerp.'

'I went inside my own head for some peace and quiet. I don't need your screeching here too, you know. Plus, if you don't like me, you can just up and go.'

The voice scoffed. 'You know, you might act all annoyed and irritated with them, but you secretly love them dearly. We're connected, you know. I can feel it. It's one of the reasons I haven't chosen another host. Just yet.'

'Just say you love me and be done with it. There's no need to keep teasing me.'

'You wish—'

"We've arrived. Get ready, everyone," Reginald's voice cut through the telepathic banter, snapping Number 8 back to the present.