Plan B-
Prologue-
So it begins-
"Save the cheerleader, save the world"
"The brain man"
"My name is SYLAR!"
"Gabriel Gray."
"I can fly!"
"I bend space and time!"
"YATTA!"
"Help me, please..."
"I look in the mirror- and it's like there's someone else."
"No walls can hold me."
"I like to tinker."
"I'm doing what I have to- protect my family."
"How do you feel about paper?"
So much had happened to lead up to this moment.
"I'm the hero."
"NO!"
"Claire, you have to"
"The future isn't set in stone."
"You saved the cheerleader so we could save the world."
Brothers -
Kirby Plaza, New York-
The area was oddly bare of pedestrians as a battle had raged on just mere moments before. The sound of gun shots, the smoke and fury of an officer's gun, scared a few passersby away. Surely the sight of what was happening would seem something out of a dream, or a book- two wizards battling amongst the steel towers of New York. In retrospect, it was quite elementary why no one had intervened.
That's quite a small thought though, with the world at stake. However, it is pertinent because Peter Petrelli went through many thoughts then.
Nathan and Peter Petrelli shot up with a sonic boom from Kirby Plaza NY. Nathan's skin, resistant as it was to the effects of flight, began to flay, the pressures from ascending at such speeds pushing in on him, on his liver, sending up the regurgitation reflex that he bit down on his lip and swallowed to repress. On his heart, which seconds ago had been thundering against the walls of his chest in a combination of fear and happiness. Fear- that this would mean the end of mortal life. Happiness- that he would die doing something worthy, something to leave a legacy, even if no one would ever know. On his heart, feeling the strain and beginning to pull away from the walls of the chest it so recently had slammed upon, and collapse inside itself.
Peter had spontaneous tissue regeneration and Nathan's power, but the radiation began to eat away at his tissue, small bits of white skin, then the radiation began to cause cell death in the veins, which almost rotted away, until he became something of a macabre sight, skin barely hanging onto the bone and muscle frame that made up his body.
Peter thought of those who had died in the battle. Of Parkman.
Parkman. The cop, always with the eyes showing nothing but purpose to right whatever wrongs there may be, even if he was outmatched beyond imagination. The one who had assaulted the corridors Peter's mind that one day, some sort of telepathic interference.
Peter's mind blitzed through the opportunities, synapses firing in a fury of action- he was learning things with haste.
One might say like a certain waitress with a smile that could melt the strongest diamond, and a charming accent to boot...
Peter closed his mouth, as the radiation was working in towards his body and he still had a mouth, though his lips had begun to peel away and looked Nathan in the eyes. They were caught in a stare, linked together, always brothers. The expressions were telling- Nathan was almost blissful, finally a hero, Peter was concerned and contemplating as fast as one possibly could, then focusing, a furrowed brow showing his intent.
"Nate."
"Pete?"
"You hear me It's the cop. His power. I'm going to do something, and- and you have to understand why."
"Peter?"
"I love you."
Peter sent the message to Nathan, and let go, falling towards the Earth, taking a terminal velocity falcon dive towards terra firma. Nathan blasted off Godspeed away from the explosion, the contrail and sonic boom in his wake a display of his power.
Nathan considered what Peter had told him. It all made sense now. What had to be done.
Peter Petrelli was falling, the skin now almost fully gone, his screams would work had his vocal cords not simply corroded of cell death. He thought of Hiro Nakamura- office worker turned Samurai, killer of The Boogeyman.
This was his only hope.
Nevada.
The desert. Ted.
BOOM!
Plans-
Claire Petrelli watched the fireworks with Noah Bennet. Half crying, tears dripping down her face and sticking to her cheeks. That was her uncle and her father there...she had finally met her family, and they were gone in a hail of nuclear fire and death.
A few minutes later they talked. Claire's face was wrought with anxiety that would to any passerby make her appear to be older than her high school age, while Noah's face, the lines marking it, the small indents in the face, the bits of oily skin- showed the pain of the events that had taken place. Claire spoke first, the phlegm in her throat from crying making the first words difficult. Noah held her and gave a small and gentle pat on the back, and she cleared her throat, Claire speaking softly.
"You have a plan? Well, did we ever have a plan?"
"No. But-I've made some friends." Noah was a good father in some respects, and a poor one in others. However, he did have one thing in his favor- he was a planner at heart, and always looking out for his kin, he had plans.
"You have a place for us to stay? We can't go home, it's like Hiroshima there..."
"There's a hospital near by. A couple of mutual friends are hurt in hospital beds- or in the case of Officer Parkman, on the way." said Mohinder Suresh, joining Claire and Noah. Mohinder's shirt was visibly stained from the activity of the day, not fit for the rigorous action that such a small task as saving the world required, Mohinder was almost out of breath, the collar of his shirt turned dark with small beads of sweat.
"Do you have a plan, Mr. Suresh?"
"Yes, I do. We live our lives.." he paused and let out a sigh. As if they could do that. His life...his life was different now. A short while ago his life was teaching classes, lecturing to less than enthralled students merely taking his course for the credits that would be gained by merely passing. Merely.
"The best laid plans of mice and men." remarked Noah. He knew what that meant by experience- for a man of plans, to improvise is a blow to the heart, and he had been running on a dangerous and fragile combination of impulse and experience for the last few days.
"Indeed. But- and I know it is quite...unsympathetic to think of such things, however to be practical one must put away sympathy- the most powerful people in the world are now all in one place, and the Deveaux Building is empty."
"Are you suggesting we-"
"A man just tried to blow up New York City. In a bit of the cruel fates of powers higher than us, his folly came back to destroy him and he is dead now. His followers, subordinates- Mrs. Petrelli?"
"Time for cleanup. I happen to be good at that." said Noah, taking out his gun and cocking it.
Rats-
Sylar spat up sewer water, barely able to see his own feet trudging through the putrid liquid as the light escaped the tunnel. A small and yet oddly bulbous little mutant aberration of a rat scampered by, half of the fur on it's back torn away to reveal hideous boils from whatever chemicals filled the sewer.
Disgusting, filthy place! They would pay!
Then a sound. Nothing happens without a sound. Even trees falling in the forest... Sylar's ears perked up, his head spinning back and forth on the axis of his neck to locate the sound.
Sylar spoke in his usual haunting tone of voice with a slow drawl that would send shiver's up the most hardened man's spine-"I wondered why no one noticed me crawl down here."
"Super hearing. Oh, yeah. That. And you didn't crawl, you were unconscious-had to drag you. I even got my suit wet for you. Your welcome." Came a caustic and biting voice that attacked Sylar's honed ears with years of cynicism and pain.
"Your heartbeat." Sylar had located him as he had located many, the thud of the organ against the walls, the muscles expanding and contracting.
"Ah, perceptive, too." The voice was almost like a school teacher mocking a student.
The man who had helped Sylar escape the end of his mortal existence was cloaked in shadow, not a bit of him to be seen even by the eagle eyes of a watchmaker who spent his days looking at gears and switches.
Sylar quickly leapt to his feet, a splash of sewer water soiling his ankles.
"I feel... power again. Power...enough to kill you. To watch you kick against the air as your flesh sears away and you scream for your life, you beg. Be-"
"Maybe." The man covered in darkness sounded like a bookie who knew the exact odds- because he was the one who fixed the fight in the first place. The shadow man pulled out a tranquilizer gun from a waistband and put one into the neck of Gabriel Gray- the dart whipping through the air with the slight impact sound as it sunk into flesh. Going out of consciousness, Sylar caught a look at his savior and attacker.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Claude Rains, the invisible man. Now go to sleep."
Full Version: Plan B
Hospitality-
St. Lucious hospital in New York was a grand old building, heavily influenced by the look of the churches of the area, with high ceilings and winding halls, along with a shining white faux-marble exterior that glinted in the sun during the days but now, at nights, made it not much of a figure in the crowded skyline of the Big Apple. Through plate glass windows shined harsh fluorescent room lights and on the 23rd floor of the hospital shined a light that briefly flickered on and off.
"Oops." Came a small and innocent voice as the light went back on. The voice came from the young child, Micah, a fresh faced youth with a keen intelligence beyond his age visible in his eyes- if you looked, that is. To anyone else, he'd just be a normal kid. Micah's observant eyes came across the room and his usually bright smile faded quickly, and then became a frown. Childhood is supposed to be a time of innocence and happiness, and Micah was robbed of this by a bullet. He sat down in a hard hospital chair that pushed against his back, and a hand came over his, rubbing it.
"Cheer up. He'll be ok." Came the spritely and still cheery voice of a young girl. Her voice was usually downright bubbly, and it still had the sound of youth in it, but was deprived of the usual effervescent quality by the circumstances. Molly Walker eked out a smile at Micah, her dimples showing as usual. Micah nodded, the last few days- last few months being so hard on everyone, even the extraordinarily mature(for his age) Micah. Molly removed her hand from that of Micah and put her palm on the back of a nearby woman, lightly patting her on the back as light sobs sounded through the room. Molly stood up and took a few paces forward, moving her hand from the woman's back to her flowing golden locks and brushing them out of the way.
The woman turned her head for a moment to nod a thank you to the young Ms. Walker, and Micah could see the tears, the running mascara staining the woman's face.
Niki Sanders, a natural beauty if you ever saw one, her hair tussled and matted from days of personal neglect, wept heavy raindrops of tears into the chest of her husband, DL Hawkins, who had been shot trying to save her.
DL's arm came up from clutching his bandaged side, underneath fuzzy and scratchy hospital covers, and held his wife's hand, a firm grip. The attractive and athletic man, with muscles that conveyed such strength, was now confined to an uncomfortable hospital bed. However, he still had a firm grip. He'd always had that… DL grunted in pain from the mere exertion of tenderly squeezing his wife's hand and rasped out a rather unconvincing sentence to try and soothe Niki- "It'll be okay. I phased the vital organs out of the way."
Niki's mood lightened just ever-so-slightly, as it was true, but she'd read the doctor's reports, and Micah had explained what they meant underneath all the 5 dollar words and technical jargon. It wasn't good. She blinked her eyes, her vision clouded by tears and thoughts clouded by grief and regret. Wiping away a tear from her eye, she took on the tone of the days- concerned, worried, and most of all- filled with a renewed love.
"Honey- they're saying you might not walk again."
DL was able to crack a smile, and put both hands on the back of his bald head, feeling the little bit of shaved hair that remained. It was uncomfortable, but he knew they'd get a kick out of it. He announced simply- "I don't need to walk."
DL's body sunk into the hospital bed, becoming intangible and opaque as on the periphery of his skin the hospital bed warped and shrunk around him, he fell further until he was…inside the bed.
Molly smiled, watching her new Hero's trick. She got up from her chair and crouched slightly as
she took her usual small and cautious steps forward, to the hospital bed, then lightly brought her knuckles into the steel side and called cheerily-
"Hello, anyone in there?"
A gruff and manly voice came, emanating to a casual observer to be coming from an inanimate hospital bed- "Not by the hair of your chinny chin chin, Molly!"
Molly watched in astonishment as the bed began to change again, and a form emerged back out of the top of the bed, slowly turning back into a solid as DL phased through his hospital bed and then back up.
"Neat trick. Now go get the remote, hon." Said Niki, a smile on her face for a very welcome departure, even with mascara running down her cheekbones.
DL sighed, squirming a bit in the bed and grabbing the small white TV remote next to him and Micah let out a little laugh, as did Molly- the airy and spritelike laugh that charmed everyone around. It was the first time they'd laughed since…since Kirby Plaza.
A nurse, dressed in nurse scrubs with a ponytail of long blond hair and piercing blue eyes, with a bit pudgy of a frame walked in through the open door to the room and told the family-"You have visitors."
Niki flinched. This was rarely good, ever since the 2 million dollars, visitors were ill omens. She looked at the nurse as she'd learned to look at all people- with distrust, until they proved themselves. It was the only way to keep the family safe, after all. Finally she spoke.
"Who?" asked Niki, ready for Linderman thugs, or the remnants of the company. She'd met that shape shifter who called herself Candice- for all she knew that nurse was her, or maybe they would be sending someone more powerful the next time.
"They said they were friends of the family." The nurse explained and gestured for the family to follow her, the ponytail slightly shifting as she walked away.
Niki got out of her seat with a groan, sitting by DL's bedside had given her a bit of a posture problem already, she'd joke. The muscles in her back tensed. For someone with such great power and muscles…Niki Sanders was in desperate need of a day at the spa. A nice shiatsu maybe. But she'd never been well-kept enough to afford a spa, and even if they won the lottery, any chance of that happening was out of the picture with 2 kids and a sick husband. Niki wouldn't trade it for the world though. She had to protect them. And protect is what she did, as Molly walked out the door, but Niki came with a strong arm placed on her shoulder, slightly tugging her back- a non-verbal "Let mommy handle this, hon."
Niki looked to Micah, and then the door. If you're with your kid for so many years, sometimes talking is just an after thought. A glance at Micah, a glance at the door, a furtive glance at DL. Micah brought out his PSP and put in a game disk, shifting in his chair so that DL could see the bright colors and flashing actions on the screen. Micah stayed to keep his father company.
Niki held the hand of Molly as a mother would hold a daughter's hand crossing the sidewalk for the first time. Molly had been with the company for so long, minus The Boogeyman she'd talk about, she wasn't used to being under constant threat. Niki's perfume was drowned out to the olfactory senses by her sweat- sweat from days of nothing but constant vigilance with DL. That odor mixed with the sanitized lemon freshener used to keep the hallways of the hospital germ free in a rather pungent way. Niki and Molly slowly came down the hallway, and into a large waiting room full of foldable steel chairs with one or two purple couches for multiple people to sit on. One of the couches had the indent of a few figures recently having just stood up from it, and Niki's eyes went to them.
Molly ran towards the figure she saw and came off from the ground, picked up by caring arms as she was wrapped in a warm embrace by the man who had saved her. Molly laid her head across his shoulder as Mohinder gave her a big hug and then gently placed her down with a quick kiss on the forehead. Mohinder straightened his back up and returned to his normal posture, slightly shifted forward in an inquisitive manner belying his profession of scientist. He gave the best friendly smile he could muster to the Hawkins-Sanders family, having only known them briefly, and cleared his throat to speak- "I guess now is the best time for proper introductions."
A few minutes and a hell of a story later, Noah Bennet, Claire Petrelli, Mohinder Suresh, DL Hawkins, Niki Sanders, Micah Sanders and Molly Walker sat in the waiting room- DL was in a wheelchair, something he'd grown accustomed to by now as his hands grasped the metal wheels and he did a bit of a 360 turn to the mild amusement of Micah, who thought his Dad a major goofball- but not in a bad way.
Niki looked at DL and Micah. He was always so good with him…for a time they'd thought about trying again, but money and life and…now that would never happen, it seemed. But then he completed the turn and she saw his face and it soothed her. Returning her husband's smile Niki turned to Mohinder, figuring him the doctor and best to say it to.
"He's healing fast." remarked Niki happily.
Mohinder nodded in agreement and thought about it for a few seconds. For all the tests, they still knew very little about how the powers worked. Sometimes they seemed more like gifts from above then strains of genetic material and base pairs from inside. Mohinder gave his best guess-
"It's quite possible that when he- Linderman's DNA reacted with his in some way as to speed his natural healing process. Or...maybe it is just being around those he loves." said Mohinder, showing a softer side. Molly, saving her, maybe that was what had made the change in him. Or maybe it was seeing the families around him now, and remembering back when his family was happy. Nostalgia makes one say the corniest things.
Noah Bennet adjusted his tie, and with the creak of slack fabric separating from the noisy plastic of the hospital chair, stood up. He put on his best business face, honed from years doing…rather unpleasant business, but business nonetheless. Striding across the room in his usual perfectly paced strides, befitting of the man walking them- ordered and neat, his polished black shoes hit against the floor in perfect rhythm as he walked up to the reception desk.
Putting on his best professional tone, the tone he had used when people would call Primatech about actual paper business, he spoke to the receptionist, a 20ish geeky glasses wearing intern-type with a scruffy shave." When can we see Officer Parkman?"
The receptionist groaned- having to actually work for once, and seemingly dead tired as the bags under his eyes indicated, and sifted through a mound of papers on his cold grey steel desk. Eventually he extracted a paper from the pile and read it. He shook his head with a practiced empathy that didn't fool Bennet.
"Family only at this point, sir."
Noah looked over to Molly Walker, and five minutes and an overdose of cute later they huddled into Parkman's hospital room, talking over a certain plan.
"It'll be like the Justice League." said Micah hopefully with pleading eyes, only half kidding as he met the new man who could read minds. Officer Parkman(as Molly called him) had the most peculiar reaction to Micah's brain, muttering something about an IBM and Stephen Hawking to Mohinder, who let out a hearty chuckle. An adult thing, Micah could only guess.
"Okay, I'm not wearing a cape though." joked Parkman, and Molly giggled. He gave her hair a tussle and patted Molly on the head.
Names-
A week later-
The Freeworld- they'd come up with a snazzy name for sure, gathered in the Deveaux building. Noah Bennet stood at the forefront of the expansive lobby where they had set up the meeting days before. He was in his usual attire- a suit with a perfectly done tie, and a sense of purpose on his face. A lot had happened over the years, on this roof. A lot of regrets…
What if he'd helped Peter instead of trying to shoot him? Maybe the Haitian didn't even know what Angela's true plan was…maybe. A lot of maybes. Years ago, when he had to go up a construction elevator to reach it, he'd been told he'd become a father- an unwilling one, but a father nonetheless. He met Hiro Nakamura, the man who would help save the world…as a geeky little kid, a long time ago on this roof. Noah ran his hand over one of the ornate decorations on the roof and tossed a bit of bread laying on the ground back to the pigeons, who rushed for the scrap. They had been fed at least…
Claude. He'd never found out who Claude was sheltering…why he'd put bullets into his friend. Then again, back during those days, did he even need a reason? They…that was his first doubt. That they had stood for something, and The Company was letting it slip away. Little did he know how right he was. Noah Bennet leaned a bit over the side of the ledge, and surveyed the New York skyline.
It was grand, majestic, all the things they'd write about in books. He'd been here a lot on "business trips" over the years, but it never failed to amaze him- steel monuments to humanity and the capitalist spirit. The wind was blowing, and roughing up his suit a bit. He took in a deep breath, smelling the Central Park West air. He'd joke when he got home to Sandra that one didn't need maps in New York, just a sniffer and a bit of know-how. They all smelled different. The factory towns almost smelled of the sweat dripping off blue collars, for example. He took in the breath and set off for the lobby, going back in through the maintenance exit to the rooftop and into the elevator. Depressing one of the glowing buttons- the one marked lobby, he waited and hummed a bit of a tune to himself. Willie Nelson. One of his favorites. The elevator stopped with a beep and the doors came open with a whoosh of air as Noah stepped out, looking ever the leader.
He surveyed his "troops", everyone from the hospital had made it here. He'd picked this place for a reason, after all. Too many important things had happened here not to. Too many mistakes he'd made. Time for something good to happen here. Noah looked over to Micah, dressed in a Uluru t-shirt. He'd read 9thwonders as a kid, back at the dime store in Texas, that wonderful spinning rack of comics. Like everyone else, he'd outgrown it by about age 15.
"Well, I guess this is the first meeting, unless any new members show up- we'll start." said Noah, looking over to Micah with a knowing smile.
Micah returned the smile and went through the small duffel bag he'd brought with him, pulling out a case. "I know someone who might be able to help." Micah put his laptop down on the table, and a few clicks of the mouse later on popped Skype to the screen, and Micah logged in, DL going over his shoulder.
"No peeking!" Micah said playfully and blew a raspberry as he entered his password. Bloop.
The messenger was on.
Up popped the first message.
"Wireless: Noah. What a fitting name."
Noah smiled, relieved. It was never good to have to sacrifice someone for a cause, no matter how worthy. And she was alive. The guilt still stayed with him, but at least she was alive.
"So umm…what are you now, Hana?" Noah asked the question on all minds. He found the powers interesting himself, one of the reasons he joined The Company.
"Wireless: I'm not quite sure. But I feel more alive than I ever was before."
Bennet set out quickly to work. Introductions and guidelines- the plan. Take down the vestiges of the Linderman organization and locate the missing Angela Petrelli. Trace evidence from the scene and lack of a body suggested Sylar on the loose. He finished his speech, the rapt attention of the others never wavering.
"The Haitian?" Parkman asked Noah, pacing around the room and thinking the plan over- also pacing just because now he could pace, instead of being in a hospital bed all the time. Parkman kept his interest in the other man who could go into your mind ever since they had first met with a hand over the head and missing hours of his life.
Noah hung his head, as this was not exactly the way he wished to start, but he would have to confront it already. In a somber tone, acknowledging what a threat the mysterious former partner of his could be, he told the group-"He's- gone missing."
Mexico.
The small diner was like…pretty much every other small diner. The door triggered a bell when opened, though it was left open during all hours that the Late Night Diner, named for a bad business strategy that ended with most customers coming during breakfast. The woman behind the service counter manipulated the coffee machine with precision and expertise, the benefit of decades of drinking the stuff. It was taking way too long for her tastes, as her furrowed brow showed. It was late, she was tired- she needed some damn caffeine. The woman took her mug out of the machine with an unhappy grunt. Not much good ever came from doing this, but it was just one little thing to make life easier…
The waitress firmly grasped the mug and focused, her hand slowly radiating warmth that spread through the mug until the coffee began to steam just barely, and then she let go, shaking her hand as the flame whipped against the air and dissipated. She grabbed her drink and sipped the coffee. The late night shift was awful. No customers at this hour, except for- hmm. A customer.
He carried himself with perfect posture, steps that did not hesitate the slightest, clean and efficient in his movements. And in his words…
"Meredith Gordon?" asked the tall, dark man.
Meredith smiled uneasily. She'd changed her name. But over the years she'd learned that you let them have one thing on you, then turn it around…"Yes. Why-"
The man nodded, almost as if he was fulfilling an object in a program. "Go to sleep." A hand went over her head and the Haitian caught her as she fell. He flipped open a cell phone and began to speak in French.
"Execute Orion Protocol." said the voice on the other line, Angela Petrelli.
The Haitian knew what it meant. He'd have to go deep.
Awakening-
Gabriel "Sylar" Gray woke to see figures standing above him in his holding cell, the ceiling the same as the last time he was here- the last time they had taken his freedom away, those insolent little pests! He struggled in vain, letting out a loud and primal growl of frustration as beads of sweat developed on his forehead. The Haitian stood across the room, wearing his necklace and a look that seemed to be a combination of boredom and of waiting for something.
"Yes, my friend has that effect on people." smirked Claude Raines, looking down at his newest acquisition for the Company.
Sylar's eyebrows tensed, his teeth clenched and he yelled- "I'll kill you. And eat your brains!"
Claude let out a wry laugh and circled around Sylar, who tried to follow him with a stare, only to find Claude had walked behind him and in restraints, out of his field of vision. Claude chuckled again-"Oh, come on- we're scientists- we know you don't eat them."
Sylar did not like his mystique shattered. Nor was he fond of scientists- the Suresh clan had instilled that in him. "No. I'll make an exception."
Claude smiled. In walked a slender and attractive woman, slightly bruised from a little fight before.
"Candice, dear. You know what to do. Make Gabe a good little boy."
The space around the petite woman, Candice Whilmer, rippled and quaked with a low sound and as it slowly returned to normal she was now in the form of an older woman, wrinkles under her eyes, short blonde hair down to around her ears, and a long and almost hookish nose. The resemblance was apparent. To take the form of Gabriel Gray's mother…
Candice leaned in and pressed her face up against that of Sylar's and spoke clearly, as if just stating the way things worked-"You're going to hell son, and there's only one way to stop it..."
Angela Petrelli watched on the satellite feed from her penthouse in Paris. All was going according to plan. Sure, it was plan B- no where near the masterpiece of Linderman's plan, but it would work.
The world was broken, and Angela Petrelli was going to heal it.
St. Lucious hospital in New York was a grand old building, heavily influenced by the look of the churches of the area, with high ceilings and winding halls, along with a shining white faux-marble exterior that glinted in the sun during the days but now, at nights, made it not much of a figure in the crowded skyline of the Big Apple. Through plate glass windows shined harsh fluorescent room lights and on the 23rd floor of the hospital shined a light that briefly flickered on and off.
"Oops." Came a small and innocent voice as the light went back on. The voice came from the young child, Micah, a fresh faced youth with a keen intelligence beyond his age visible in his eyes- if you looked, that is. To anyone else, he'd just be a normal kid. Micah's observant eyes came across the room and his usually bright smile faded quickly, and then became a frown. Childhood is supposed to be a time of innocence and happiness, and Micah was robbed of this by a bullet. He sat down in a hard hospital chair that pushed against his back, and a hand came over his, rubbing it.
"Cheer up. He'll be ok." Came the spritely and still cheery voice of a young girl. Her voice was usually downright bubbly, and it still had the sound of youth in it, but was deprived of the usual effervescent quality by the circumstances. Molly Walker eked out a smile at Micah, her dimples showing as usual. Micah nodded, the last few days- last few months being so hard on everyone, even the extraordinarily mature(for his age) Micah. Molly removed her hand from that of Micah and put her palm on the back of a nearby woman, lightly patting her on the back as light sobs sounded through the room. Molly stood up and took a few paces forward, moving her hand from the woman's back to her flowing golden locks and brushing them out of the way.
The woman turned her head for a moment to nod a thank you to the young Ms. Walker, and Micah could see the tears, the running mascara staining the woman's face.
Niki Sanders, a natural beauty if you ever saw one, her hair tussled and matted from days of personal neglect, wept heavy raindrops of tears into the chest of her husband, DL Hawkins, who had been shot trying to save her.
DL's arm came up from clutching his bandaged side, underneath fuzzy and scratchy hospital covers, and held his wife's hand, a firm grip. The attractive and athletic man, with muscles that conveyed such strength, was now confined to an uncomfortable hospital bed. However, he still had a firm grip. He'd always had that… DL grunted in pain from the mere exertion of tenderly squeezing his wife's hand and rasped out a rather unconvincing sentence to try and soothe Niki- "It'll be okay. I phased the vital organs out of the way."
Niki's mood lightened just ever-so-slightly, as it was true, but she'd read the doctor's reports, and Micah had explained what they meant underneath all the 5 dollar words and technical jargon. It wasn't good. She blinked her eyes, her vision clouded by tears and thoughts clouded by grief and regret. Wiping away a tear from her eye, she took on the tone of the days- concerned, worried, and most of all- filled with a renewed love.
"Honey- they're saying you might not walk again."
DL was able to crack a smile, and put both hands on the back of his bald head, feeling the little bit of shaved hair that remained. It was uncomfortable, but he knew they'd get a kick out of it. He announced simply- "I don't need to walk."
DL's body sunk into the hospital bed, becoming intangible and opaque as on the periphery of his skin the hospital bed warped and shrunk around him, he fell further until he was…inside the bed.
Molly smiled, watching her new Hero's trick. She got up from her chair and crouched slightly as
she took her usual small and cautious steps forward, to the hospital bed, then lightly brought her knuckles into the steel side and called cheerily-
"Hello, anyone in there?"
A gruff and manly voice came, emanating to a casual observer to be coming from an inanimate hospital bed- "Not by the hair of your chinny chin chin, Molly!"
Molly watched in astonishment as the bed began to change again, and a form emerged back out of the top of the bed, slowly turning back into a solid as DL phased through his hospital bed and then back up.
"Neat trick. Now go get the remote, hon." Said Niki, a smile on her face for a very welcome departure, even with mascara running down her cheekbones.
DL sighed, squirming a bit in the bed and grabbing the small white TV remote next to him and Micah let out a little laugh, as did Molly- the airy and spritelike laugh that charmed everyone around. It was the first time they'd laughed since…since Kirby Plaza.
A nurse, dressed in nurse scrubs with a ponytail of long blond hair and piercing blue eyes, with a bit pudgy of a frame walked in through the open door to the room and told the family-"You have visitors."
Niki flinched. This was rarely good, ever since the 2 million dollars, visitors were ill omens. She looked at the nurse as she'd learned to look at all people- with distrust, until they proved themselves. It was the only way to keep the family safe, after all. Finally she spoke.
"Who?" asked Niki, ready for Linderman thugs, or the remnants of the company. She'd met that shape shifter who called herself Candice- for all she knew that nurse was her, or maybe they would be sending someone more powerful the next time.
"They said they were friends of the family." The nurse explained and gestured for the family to follow her, the ponytail slightly shifting as she walked away.
Niki got out of her seat with a groan, sitting by DL's bedside had given her a bit of a posture problem already, she'd joke. The muscles in her back tensed. For someone with such great power and muscles…Niki Sanders was in desperate need of a day at the spa. A nice shiatsu maybe. But she'd never been well-kept enough to afford a spa, and even if they won the lottery, any chance of that happening was out of the picture with 2 kids and a sick husband. Niki wouldn't trade it for the world though. She had to protect them. And protect is what she did, as Molly walked out the door, but Niki came with a strong arm placed on her shoulder, slightly tugging her back- a non-verbal "Let mommy handle this, hon."
Niki looked to Micah, and then the door. If you're with your kid for so many years, sometimes talking is just an after thought. A glance at Micah, a glance at the door, a furtive glance at DL. Micah brought out his PSP and put in a game disk, shifting in his chair so that DL could see the bright colors and flashing actions on the screen. Micah stayed to keep his father company.
Niki held the hand of Molly as a mother would hold a daughter's hand crossing the sidewalk for the first time. Molly had been with the company for so long, minus The Boogeyman she'd talk about, she wasn't used to being under constant threat. Niki's perfume was drowned out to the olfactory senses by her sweat- sweat from days of nothing but constant vigilance with DL. That odor mixed with the sanitized lemon freshener used to keep the hallways of the hospital germ free in a rather pungent way. Niki and Molly slowly came down the hallway, and into a large waiting room full of foldable steel chairs with one or two purple couches for multiple people to sit on. One of the couches had the indent of a few figures recently having just stood up from it, and Niki's eyes went to them.
Molly ran towards the figure she saw and came off from the ground, picked up by caring arms as she was wrapped in a warm embrace by the man who had saved her. Molly laid her head across his shoulder as Mohinder gave her a big hug and then gently placed her down with a quick kiss on the forehead. Mohinder straightened his back up and returned to his normal posture, slightly shifted forward in an inquisitive manner belying his profession of scientist. He gave the best friendly smile he could muster to the Hawkins-Sanders family, having only known them briefly, and cleared his throat to speak- "I guess now is the best time for proper introductions."
A few minutes and a hell of a story later, Noah Bennet, Claire Petrelli, Mohinder Suresh, DL Hawkins, Niki Sanders, Micah Sanders and Molly Walker sat in the waiting room- DL was in a wheelchair, something he'd grown accustomed to by now as his hands grasped the metal wheels and he did a bit of a 360 turn to the mild amusement of Micah, who thought his Dad a major goofball- but not in a bad way.
Niki looked at DL and Micah. He was always so good with him…for a time they'd thought about trying again, but money and life and…now that would never happen, it seemed. But then he completed the turn and she saw his face and it soothed her. Returning her husband's smile Niki turned to Mohinder, figuring him the doctor and best to say it to.
"He's healing fast." remarked Niki happily.
Mohinder nodded in agreement and thought about it for a few seconds. For all the tests, they still knew very little about how the powers worked. Sometimes they seemed more like gifts from above then strains of genetic material and base pairs from inside. Mohinder gave his best guess-
"It's quite possible that when he- Linderman's DNA reacted with his in some way as to speed his natural healing process. Or...maybe it is just being around those he loves." said Mohinder, showing a softer side. Molly, saving her, maybe that was what had made the change in him. Or maybe it was seeing the families around him now, and remembering back when his family was happy. Nostalgia makes one say the corniest things.
Noah Bennet adjusted his tie, and with the creak of slack fabric separating from the noisy plastic of the hospital chair, stood up. He put on his best business face, honed from years doing…rather unpleasant business, but business nonetheless. Striding across the room in his usual perfectly paced strides, befitting of the man walking them- ordered and neat, his polished black shoes hit against the floor in perfect rhythm as he walked up to the reception desk.
Putting on his best professional tone, the tone he had used when people would call Primatech about actual paper business, he spoke to the receptionist, a 20ish geeky glasses wearing intern-type with a scruffy shave." When can we see Officer Parkman?"
The receptionist groaned- having to actually work for once, and seemingly dead tired as the bags under his eyes indicated, and sifted through a mound of papers on his cold grey steel desk. Eventually he extracted a paper from the pile and read it. He shook his head with a practiced empathy that didn't fool Bennet.
"Family only at this point, sir."
Noah looked over to Molly Walker, and five minutes and an overdose of cute later they huddled into Parkman's hospital room, talking over a certain plan.
"It'll be like the Justice League." said Micah hopefully with pleading eyes, only half kidding as he met the new man who could read minds. Officer Parkman(as Molly called him) had the most peculiar reaction to Micah's brain, muttering something about an IBM and Stephen Hawking to Mohinder, who let out a hearty chuckle. An adult thing, Micah could only guess.
"Okay, I'm not wearing a cape though." joked Parkman, and Molly giggled. He gave her hair a tussle and patted Molly on the head.
Names-
A week later-
The Freeworld- they'd come up with a snazzy name for sure, gathered in the Deveaux building. Noah Bennet stood at the forefront of the expansive lobby where they had set up the meeting days before. He was in his usual attire- a suit with a perfectly done tie, and a sense of purpose on his face. A lot had happened over the years, on this roof. A lot of regrets…
What if he'd helped Peter instead of trying to shoot him? Maybe the Haitian didn't even know what Angela's true plan was…maybe. A lot of maybes. Years ago, when he had to go up a construction elevator to reach it, he'd been told he'd become a father- an unwilling one, but a father nonetheless. He met Hiro Nakamura, the man who would help save the world…as a geeky little kid, a long time ago on this roof. Noah ran his hand over one of the ornate decorations on the roof and tossed a bit of bread laying on the ground back to the pigeons, who rushed for the scrap. They had been fed at least…
Claude. He'd never found out who Claude was sheltering…why he'd put bullets into his friend. Then again, back during those days, did he even need a reason? They…that was his first doubt. That they had stood for something, and The Company was letting it slip away. Little did he know how right he was. Noah Bennet leaned a bit over the side of the ledge, and surveyed the New York skyline.
It was grand, majestic, all the things they'd write about in books. He'd been here a lot on "business trips" over the years, but it never failed to amaze him- steel monuments to humanity and the capitalist spirit. The wind was blowing, and roughing up his suit a bit. He took in a deep breath, smelling the Central Park West air. He'd joke when he got home to Sandra that one didn't need maps in New York, just a sniffer and a bit of know-how. They all smelled different. The factory towns almost smelled of the sweat dripping off blue collars, for example. He took in the breath and set off for the lobby, going back in through the maintenance exit to the rooftop and into the elevator. Depressing one of the glowing buttons- the one marked lobby, he waited and hummed a bit of a tune to himself. Willie Nelson. One of his favorites. The elevator stopped with a beep and the doors came open with a whoosh of air as Noah stepped out, looking ever the leader.
He surveyed his "troops", everyone from the hospital had made it here. He'd picked this place for a reason, after all. Too many important things had happened here not to. Too many mistakes he'd made. Time for something good to happen here. Noah looked over to Micah, dressed in a Uluru t-shirt. He'd read 9thwonders as a kid, back at the dime store in Texas, that wonderful spinning rack of comics. Like everyone else, he'd outgrown it by about age 15.
"Well, I guess this is the first meeting, unless any new members show up- we'll start." said Noah, looking over to Micah with a knowing smile.
Micah returned the smile and went through the small duffel bag he'd brought with him, pulling out a case. "I know someone who might be able to help." Micah put his laptop down on the table, and a few clicks of the mouse later on popped Skype to the screen, and Micah logged in, DL going over his shoulder.
"No peeking!" Micah said playfully and blew a raspberry as he entered his password. Bloop.
The messenger was on.
Up popped the first message.
"Wireless: Noah. What a fitting name."
Noah smiled, relieved. It was never good to have to sacrifice someone for a cause, no matter how worthy. And she was alive. The guilt still stayed with him, but at least she was alive.
"So umm…what are you now, Hana?" Noah asked the question on all minds. He found the powers interesting himself, one of the reasons he joined The Company.
"Wireless: I'm not quite sure. But I feel more alive than I ever was before."
Bennet set out quickly to work. Introductions and guidelines- the plan. Take down the vestiges of the Linderman organization and locate the missing Angela Petrelli. Trace evidence from the scene and lack of a body suggested Sylar on the loose. He finished his speech, the rapt attention of the others never wavering.
"The Haitian?" Parkman asked Noah, pacing around the room and thinking the plan over- also pacing just because now he could pace, instead of being in a hospital bed all the time. Parkman kept his interest in the other man who could go into your mind ever since they had first met with a hand over the head and missing hours of his life.
Noah hung his head, as this was not exactly the way he wished to start, but he would have to confront it already. In a somber tone, acknowledging what a threat the mysterious former partner of his could be, he told the group-"He's- gone missing."
Mexico.
The small diner was like…pretty much every other small diner. The door triggered a bell when opened, though it was left open during all hours that the Late Night Diner, named for a bad business strategy that ended with most customers coming during breakfast. The woman behind the service counter manipulated the coffee machine with precision and expertise, the benefit of decades of drinking the stuff. It was taking way too long for her tastes, as her furrowed brow showed. It was late, she was tired- she needed some damn caffeine. The woman took her mug out of the machine with an unhappy grunt. Not much good ever came from doing this, but it was just one little thing to make life easier…
The waitress firmly grasped the mug and focused, her hand slowly radiating warmth that spread through the mug until the coffee began to steam just barely, and then she let go, shaking her hand as the flame whipped against the air and dissipated. She grabbed her drink and sipped the coffee. The late night shift was awful. No customers at this hour, except for- hmm. A customer.
He carried himself with perfect posture, steps that did not hesitate the slightest, clean and efficient in his movements. And in his words…
"Meredith Gordon?" asked the tall, dark man.
Meredith smiled uneasily. She'd changed her name. But over the years she'd learned that you let them have one thing on you, then turn it around…"Yes. Why-"
The man nodded, almost as if he was fulfilling an object in a program. "Go to sleep." A hand went over her head and the Haitian caught her as she fell. He flipped open a cell phone and began to speak in French.
"Execute Orion Protocol." said the voice on the other line, Angela Petrelli.
The Haitian knew what it meant. He'd have to go deep.
Awakening-
Gabriel "Sylar" Gray woke to see figures standing above him in his holding cell, the ceiling the same as the last time he was here- the last time they had taken his freedom away, those insolent little pests! He struggled in vain, letting out a loud and primal growl of frustration as beads of sweat developed on his forehead. The Haitian stood across the room, wearing his necklace and a look that seemed to be a combination of boredom and of waiting for something.
"Yes, my friend has that effect on people." smirked Claude Raines, looking down at his newest acquisition for the Company.
Sylar's eyebrows tensed, his teeth clenched and he yelled- "I'll kill you. And eat your brains!"
Claude let out a wry laugh and circled around Sylar, who tried to follow him with a stare, only to find Claude had walked behind him and in restraints, out of his field of vision. Claude chuckled again-"Oh, come on- we're scientists- we know you don't eat them."
Sylar did not like his mystique shattered. Nor was he fond of scientists- the Suresh clan had instilled that in him. "No. I'll make an exception."
Claude smiled. In walked a slender and attractive woman, slightly bruised from a little fight before.
"Candice, dear. You know what to do. Make Gabe a good little boy."
The space around the petite woman, Candice Whilmer, rippled and quaked with a low sound and as it slowly returned to normal she was now in the form of an older woman, wrinkles under her eyes, short blonde hair down to around her ears, and a long and almost hookish nose. The resemblance was apparent. To take the form of Gabriel Gray's mother…
Candice leaned in and pressed her face up against that of Sylar's and spoke clearly, as if just stating the way things worked-"You're going to hell son, and there's only one way to stop it..."
Angela Petrelli watched on the satellite feed from her penthouse in Paris. All was going according to plan. Sure, it was plan B- no where near the masterpiece of Linderman's plan, but it would work.
The world was broken, and Angela Petrelli was going to heal it.
Zachback-
Zach rushed through the halls of the highschool, hurriedly panting to get to his destination, pushing his body to the limits with a sprint that despite his reputation as less than athletic, was quite decent. Of course, one of the problems with a sprint is that you go fast, and hard at one point. This was demonstrated to young Zachary as he barely glimpsed the bulky frame of a varsity jacket clad jock, barreling into him at high speeds. It was like hitting a brick wall at 90 miles per hour. Zach's tucked down head slammed into the fat of the obese football player and impacted, then sprung back as Zach crumpled to the ground, a major headache and whiplash spreading from his neck down the spinal cord. The jock cared so little about him, even on the totem pole of the bullied, that he simply put that boot to the side of Zach's head and pushed, sending Zach for a face full of locker with a sickening thud. If he had been someone they liked to pick on more, Zach doubted he'd be in one piece…
The usual, sadly…
His nose bleeding, Zach stumbled into the nearby office of the nurse to get treatment, and minutes later, holding gauze and occulusive dressing along with a cold compress to his nose, which the nurse assured him was not broken, Zach meekly made his way to computer class. Past the chuckles of jocks and concerned looks from freaks who didn't dare voice said concerns, Zach walked and took a seat down at his usual computer.
He opened yahoo. Ah, Claire was on. Maybe this day was salvagable…
ClaireBear325:Hey Zachy-poo!
Zachback:Hey Claire. How's the Big Apple?
Clairebear325:Well- it's okay. Dad and a couple of friends are setting up shop here.
Zachback:More "paper" buisness?
Clairebear325:NO, he's past that. We might do some good here.
Zachback:
Clairebear325:
Zachback: I'm so happy for you. I'm all cooped up here in TX. All the homophobes, my parents...
Clairebear325: *hugs*
Zachback:Thanks. I know you can't tell me much about the...people like you and your "new family", but how are things?
Clairebear325:Looking up. Sorry, have to go. Nice talking to you. Say hi to Hana.
Zach sighed as Claire logged out. They'd talk every now and then, but life was a lot less exciting since she left. At least she brought a little happiness into a rather awful day. Zach was ready to close yahoo, cursor over the small x, when the message popped up on screen.
"Wireless wants to add you to their friends list."
Zach sort of remembered the name from a forum he'd been on- 9th something and decided to feel this person out. He was bored, after all. If they were a creep, he'd gotten good enough with the computer to hack into theirs, and tell the police just enough…Zach stifled a chuckle.
Wireless:Hello Zach. My name is Hana Gitelman. Claire told me about you.
Zachback:You know Claire?
Wireless:Me and her father work/worked together. How would you like to help save the world?
Zachback:?
Wireless:Connect your mp3 player to the computer, and find out.
Zach exited computer class with his ipod headphones in his ears, and ran across the football field, cheering and jumping as his white sneakers slowly became tarnished with dirt and grass.
"I'm going to save the world!" He yelled.
When he got home, he, Hana, and Micah had a conference in yahoo.
When Zach went to bed, his last thought was-
"Holy ******, this is some big stuff going down."
Zach rushed through the halls of the highschool, hurriedly panting to get to his destination, pushing his body to the limits with a sprint that despite his reputation as less than athletic, was quite decent. Of course, one of the problems with a sprint is that you go fast, and hard at one point. This was demonstrated to young Zachary as he barely glimpsed the bulky frame of a varsity jacket clad jock, barreling into him at high speeds. It was like hitting a brick wall at 90 miles per hour. Zach's tucked down head slammed into the fat of the obese football player and impacted, then sprung back as Zach crumpled to the ground, a major headache and whiplash spreading from his neck down the spinal cord. The jock cared so little about him, even on the totem pole of the bullied, that he simply put that boot to the side of Zach's head and pushed, sending Zach for a face full of locker with a sickening thud. If he had been someone they liked to pick on more, Zach doubted he'd be in one piece…
The usual, sadly…
His nose bleeding, Zach stumbled into the nearby office of the nurse to get treatment, and minutes later, holding gauze and occulusive dressing along with a cold compress to his nose, which the nurse assured him was not broken, Zach meekly made his way to computer class. Past the chuckles of jocks and concerned looks from freaks who didn't dare voice said concerns, Zach walked and took a seat down at his usual computer.
He opened yahoo. Ah, Claire was on. Maybe this day was salvagable…
ClaireBear325:Hey Zachy-poo!
Zachback:Hey Claire. How's the Big Apple?
Clairebear325:Well- it's okay. Dad and a couple of friends are setting up shop here.
Zachback:More "paper" buisness?
Clairebear325:NO, he's past that. We might do some good here.
Zachback:
Clairebear325:
Zachback: I'm so happy for you. I'm all cooped up here in TX. All the homophobes, my parents...
Clairebear325: *hugs*
Zachback:Thanks. I know you can't tell me much about the...people like you and your "new family", but how are things?
Clairebear325:Looking up. Sorry, have to go. Nice talking to you. Say hi to Hana.
Zach sighed as Claire logged out. They'd talk every now and then, but life was a lot less exciting since she left. At least she brought a little happiness into a rather awful day. Zach was ready to close yahoo, cursor over the small x, when the message popped up on screen.
"Wireless wants to add you to their friends list."
Zach sort of remembered the name from a forum he'd been on- 9th something and decided to feel this person out. He was bored, after all. If they were a creep, he'd gotten good enough with the computer to hack into theirs, and tell the police just enough…Zach stifled a chuckle.
Wireless:Hello Zach. My name is Hana Gitelman. Claire told me about you.
Zachback:You know Claire?
Wireless:Me and her father work/worked together. How would you like to help save the world?
Zachback:?
Wireless:Connect your mp3 player to the computer, and find out.
Zach exited computer class with his ipod headphones in his ears, and ran across the football field, cheering and jumping as his white sneakers slowly became tarnished with dirt and grass.
"I'm going to save the world!" He yelled.
When he got home, he, Hana, and Micah had a conference in yahoo.
When Zach went to bed, his last thought was-
"Holy ******, this is some big stuff going down."
Holding Out For A Hiro-
Ando Masahashi hung his head low. The journey here- to this place, had been so long, only for him to go off on a foolish suicide mission. And now he had returned. Not as a victor- no, Hiro had saved him that time from The Boogeyman, Sylar- but as the bearer of bad news.
It was days after the events of Kirby Plaza- long enough to purchase a ticket on his meager salary money and fly to New York in a cramped coach seat. But he had a duty. Hiro knew much of duty, and as he was gone, Ando thought it best to take on his friend's admirable qualities such as that dedication he held.
The journey had been long and fraught with peril as Ando Masahashi walked into Jittesu Arms, carrying the Kensei sword with him. He entered the same way he had those days ago, through the front door that rang with a bell on opening, trekking past rows of sword holders and curious Asian antiques. As before, the warm yellow lighting from the New York day outside clashed with the haunting blue cast upon the shop, playing little dances of light across a great glass cabinet just as tall and wide as Ando himself, that held shining and shimmering swords of the greatest quality.
Ando passed what was to him, hearing the tales of Takezo Kensei in his youth, the most fascinating object in the shop- a dragon reared up on legs, mouth open as if ready to spew flame at a battle hardened warrior- Beowulf or Kensei, it mattered not- the stories were the same over cultures. From the ceiling hung once again a great white cloth, adorned with black ink in the form of the Symbol, where Ando had discovered what he thought to be its meaning. He brushed past it, taking small and cautious steps towards a stately and dignified man standing behind the counter where Claremont once stood.
Taking a final look at the Kensei sword, Ando appraised it again- a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, of art, the dark black hilt adorned with carved and reflecting gold in the shape of The Symbol, it felt excessively heavy in his hands for a blade he knew to be light. For Ando knew himself not a warrior, maybe Hiro could hold the sword with pride again one day…but for now, there was but one choice for the new keeper of the Kensei. Ando's suit crinkled as he bowed and outstretched his arms, the sword in them in the traditional pose, and it was taken from him lightly by Kaito Nakamura, who fixed him with a steel gaze.
Kaito's voice quaked slightly, as if almost knowing what had happened. "My son?"
Ando had spoken to the Freeworld, pieced together what had happened that night. How can one explain to a father that his only son may not outlive him? Ando's voice was full of fear- of the future, for Hiro, and most of all for Kaito Nakamura-"He teleported. I don't know where."
Kaito sighed and lowered his head, muttering a barely heard prayer of sorts, before looking back up at Ando with a purpose and conviction in his voice- "I think I do."
Kaito Nakamura urged Ando along to the basement of Jittesu Arms, passing under the almost haunting blue light, the dust visible in the air- this place was not oft visited, one would observe. Ando descended the stairs, his business shoes(to meet Kaito again in any but such formal attire would be an insult) slamming against the metal steps.
Ando and Kaito reached the bottom of the stairs, an expansive room decorated sparsely except for some racks of training weapons- bamboo swords showing not one blow of wear and tear sat in them. The same harsh blue lighting filled the room, creating an immediate sense of unease in Ando that quickly faded away when he saw a large wood table in the middle of the room, sitting at it a woman dressed in flowing white robes that wrapped around the chair she was in. Ando recognized the scent of Jasmine that overtook him as he walked up to the women, and even before the beautiful features of her- the long black hair that tapered off at her shoulders, the inquisitive and intelligent blue eyes, all of what Ando considered a gorgeous woman- came to his eyes, he recognized Kimiko Nakamura, daughter of Kaito, sister of Hiro.
Kaito looked at Ando and grunted, unsatisfied with the meager wage-slave's fawning over his precious daughter. He took his focus back to the goal- "Can you find him?" asked Kaito, business like and clear.
"With the Kensei, I may be able to." Ando bowed and handed it to Kimiko, letting her delicate hands brush up against his for a heavenly second as Kaito sighed at the thought of The Kensei being held by a woman. She walked into the bottom of the basement, a slightly sloping one as it was.
Looking around at the interconnected bits of paper, strung together by fragile and hastily done string, Ando recognized what it was.
String Theory.
Kaito closed her eyes and when they opened they were dark black, filled with hazy clouds of white and flashing images of all times, all things- things that had come, things coming, things that were happening, places of all conception and imagination. She took the sword and raised it above her head, the glint of the blade reflecting off her soft features attractively and came down with a swift cut as a small piece of the timeline came floating to the floor.
Ando picked up the piece of the timeline- which stretched from something that looked like primordial ooze to a futuristic landscape blown to pieces in the hellfire of nuclear devastation. He studied it, seeing a brave warrior holding an instantly recognizable sword, and a likewise recognizable foe it was pointed at. "Takezo Kensei and The Dragon." Ando whispered in reverence and fear.
"He's in feudal Japan." noted Kimiko, who handed the sword back to her father with a bow.
She ascended from the basement, and Ando enjoyed her walking away, but had to ask-
"Kimiko, how did you do that?"
"Runs in the family, I guess. A gift…not to be questioned, but to be used for the greater good."
Kimiko left with a bow to the two men, as Kaito looked Ando in the eyes- yet this was different. This stare held no anger, only the slightest bit of sadness and a look that Ando recognized many times from the face of Hiro Nakamura- a combination of duty and determination.
"Hiro is gone. The torch is passed to you." Kaito handed the sword to a stunned and bewildered Ando.
"Why?" Was the only thing Ando could ask.
"As I said to Hiro, I have been watching, observing the recent events. You have greater power than you could ever imagine, Ando Masahashi."
Ando Masahashi hung his head low. The journey here- to this place, had been so long, only for him to go off on a foolish suicide mission. And now he had returned. Not as a victor- no, Hiro had saved him that time from The Boogeyman, Sylar- but as the bearer of bad news.
It was days after the events of Kirby Plaza- long enough to purchase a ticket on his meager salary money and fly to New York in a cramped coach seat. But he had a duty. Hiro knew much of duty, and as he was gone, Ando thought it best to take on his friend's admirable qualities such as that dedication he held.
The journey had been long and fraught with peril as Ando Masahashi walked into Jittesu Arms, carrying the Kensei sword with him. He entered the same way he had those days ago, through the front door that rang with a bell on opening, trekking past rows of sword holders and curious Asian antiques. As before, the warm yellow lighting from the New York day outside clashed with the haunting blue cast upon the shop, playing little dances of light across a great glass cabinet just as tall and wide as Ando himself, that held shining and shimmering swords of the greatest quality.
Ando passed what was to him, hearing the tales of Takezo Kensei in his youth, the most fascinating object in the shop- a dragon reared up on legs, mouth open as if ready to spew flame at a battle hardened warrior- Beowulf or Kensei, it mattered not- the stories were the same over cultures. From the ceiling hung once again a great white cloth, adorned with black ink in the form of the Symbol, where Ando had discovered what he thought to be its meaning. He brushed past it, taking small and cautious steps towards a stately and dignified man standing behind the counter where Claremont once stood.
Taking a final look at the Kensei sword, Ando appraised it again- a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, of art, the dark black hilt adorned with carved and reflecting gold in the shape of The Symbol, it felt excessively heavy in his hands for a blade he knew to be light. For Ando knew himself not a warrior, maybe Hiro could hold the sword with pride again one day…but for now, there was but one choice for the new keeper of the Kensei. Ando's suit crinkled as he bowed and outstretched his arms, the sword in them in the traditional pose, and it was taken from him lightly by Kaito Nakamura, who fixed him with a steel gaze.
Kaito's voice quaked slightly, as if almost knowing what had happened. "My son?"
Ando had spoken to the Freeworld, pieced together what had happened that night. How can one explain to a father that his only son may not outlive him? Ando's voice was full of fear- of the future, for Hiro, and most of all for Kaito Nakamura-"He teleported. I don't know where."
Kaito sighed and lowered his head, muttering a barely heard prayer of sorts, before looking back up at Ando with a purpose and conviction in his voice- "I think I do."
Kaito Nakamura urged Ando along to the basement of Jittesu Arms, passing under the almost haunting blue light, the dust visible in the air- this place was not oft visited, one would observe. Ando descended the stairs, his business shoes(to meet Kaito again in any but such formal attire would be an insult) slamming against the metal steps.
Ando and Kaito reached the bottom of the stairs, an expansive room decorated sparsely except for some racks of training weapons- bamboo swords showing not one blow of wear and tear sat in them. The same harsh blue lighting filled the room, creating an immediate sense of unease in Ando that quickly faded away when he saw a large wood table in the middle of the room, sitting at it a woman dressed in flowing white robes that wrapped around the chair she was in. Ando recognized the scent of Jasmine that overtook him as he walked up to the women, and even before the beautiful features of her- the long black hair that tapered off at her shoulders, the inquisitive and intelligent blue eyes, all of what Ando considered a gorgeous woman- came to his eyes, he recognized Kimiko Nakamura, daughter of Kaito, sister of Hiro.
Kaito looked at Ando and grunted, unsatisfied with the meager wage-slave's fawning over his precious daughter. He took his focus back to the goal- "Can you find him?" asked Kaito, business like and clear.
"With the Kensei, I may be able to." Ando bowed and handed it to Kimiko, letting her delicate hands brush up against his for a heavenly second as Kaito sighed at the thought of The Kensei being held by a woman. She walked into the bottom of the basement, a slightly sloping one as it was.
Looking around at the interconnected bits of paper, strung together by fragile and hastily done string, Ando recognized what it was.
String Theory.
Kaito closed her eyes and when they opened they were dark black, filled with hazy clouds of white and flashing images of all times, all things- things that had come, things coming, things that were happening, places of all conception and imagination. She took the sword and raised it above her head, the glint of the blade reflecting off her soft features attractively and came down with a swift cut as a small piece of the timeline came floating to the floor.
Ando picked up the piece of the timeline- which stretched from something that looked like primordial ooze to a futuristic landscape blown to pieces in the hellfire of nuclear devastation. He studied it, seeing a brave warrior holding an instantly recognizable sword, and a likewise recognizable foe it was pointed at. "Takezo Kensei and The Dragon." Ando whispered in reverence and fear.
"He's in feudal Japan." noted Kimiko, who handed the sword back to her father with a bow.
She ascended from the basement, and Ando enjoyed her walking away, but had to ask-
"Kimiko, how did you do that?"
"Runs in the family, I guess. A gift…not to be questioned, but to be used for the greater good."
Kimiko left with a bow to the two men, as Kaito looked Ando in the eyes- yet this was different. This stare held no anger, only the slightest bit of sadness and a look that Ando recognized many times from the face of Hiro Nakamura- a combination of duty and determination.
"Hiro is gone. The torch is passed to you." Kaito handed the sword to a stunned and bewildered Ando.
"Why?" Was the only thing Ando could ask.
"As I said to Hiro, I have been watching, observing the recent events. You have greater power than you could ever imagine, Ando Masahashi."
Jacob-
The growls echoed around, ferocious in sound in the small cell that held Sylar. Slowly people began to depart- first it was the dapper man only known as Claude Raines, in a smart looking suit as the rest of the men of The Company. Despite having lived years as a vagrant, a homeless, one of the undesirables, Claude fit right back into the suit and tie world of The Company, as if he had never left. Like muscle memory, he had already begun to take his own brand of cynical humor to "evil"(as if they knew what true evil was, he thought…) use again. It felt…natural in a way, yet the very reasons for doing this, and the element of hunting his kin, brought a sickly feeling to his stomach that Claude fought to repress.
Then came the imposing and powerful figure of the man only known as The Haitian. Few thoughts came through his mind- not out of a lack of intelligence, for he possessed keen smarts matched by scant many. No, it was an a drive, a mission to fulfill, and any extraneous thoughts were just…distractions. A thought did come into his mind though- a memory of Thompson, the village, Guillame and a thought that did not bode with him- that the Company was the closest thing he had to a family. With penny loafers smacking on the steel floor, he exited the cell, leaving the door open for the final inhabitant not restrained.
Candice never was restrained, after all. She gave Claude a warm smile unbefitting of her image to most as a cold and callous individual, and looked at Sylar again. She had just begun, and now she was being taken away…tsk tsk. It saddened her for a moment, not being able to simply finish this mission already. But she would go where asked. Her heels clicked and clacked on the floor as she exited and with a sadistic smile flicked off the light switch on the wall, leaving Sylar and his furious roars in the darkness as the door slammed once again on him.
The three walked together, almost side by side, on the way to the destination, yet no words were exchanged. There were things to be said, but each would have to think of how to say them…the web of lies and loyalty, of betrayal, permeated all thoughts after this- a great collapse of a once might organization. Having traveled to the right spot, the Haitian turned and took from his suit pocket a small silver keycard, swiping it into a reader on a large metallic door that opened immediately as he stepped in. Claude gave a bow and a "ladies first" to Candice, who, knowing his game, strutted flirtatiously as she entered and Claude eyed her figure from behind. The room was one that any occupant would never forget. In the Company it was called the "Neon Lights" room, and for good reason. The fluorescent light bulbs gave a low and eerie hum as they poured out blue neon light over the room. This was where the testing was done. With the mutations in their DNA, each had spent time here- as test subject, and as one doing the test. The blue neon didn't make for the most conducive atmosphere to friendly chatting, and Claude cut to the chase.
In his gruff voice he queried-"You both got the phone call from McKenzie?" Candice and The Haitian nodded affirmatively.
Candice was still a bit befuddled by the situation and it showed in her voice, if not in the excellent precision she did her job with Sylar before- "Why would they take us back? I failed Linderman..." Candice trailed off.
Claude looked at her and gave a small nod in agreement, giving his own story, minus all the key details of course(he had learned to never tell anything they didn't pry out of you, from years on the run)"I left this place many a year ago, my self." Claude noted-
"And I betrayed them to a higher power." Haitian said, his expression contemplative and blank- if such a thing is possible at the same time, he wore such a face.
Claude's cynicism leapt to the surface with as little urging as it needed provided by the mere words "higher power"(Claude had stopped believing in such things long ago…)"Do you still believe in that higher power after her little boom-boom plan failed?" Claude asked him and the Haitian laughed. As with most things- it was odd and slightly unnerving- not a regular, jovial laugh, but instead a laugh of almost mocking recognition.
"Angela Petrelli is not the one I speak of." Cryptic, as always.
Claude cut to the chase, beginning to pace around the room as he thought it over.
"Linderman is dead. So is Thompson. We all know the hierarchy. That must mean-"
Into the door walked a ruggedly attractive older man with a streak of gray in his hair, who held himself confidently. To any observer who had met his kin, it would be obvious the relation, for besides a streak of gray in tussled hair, better posture and more British features, it was almost a direct match for an older version of his son.
"That must mean…new management. My name's Jacob Parkman. You may have met my son. Or…you may have met me."
Claude smiled and walked over to Parkman, embracing him over the shoulders in a bear hug that showed they knew each other, and spoke as he hugged Jacob.
"Nice to see ya, old buddy! Haven't seen you since our days with Mama Petrelli and Linderman."
Jacob's face took a somber look and his voice the appropriate tone-"Good times. But we all know how that ended."
Candice gave a knowing nod, while the Haitian stood in silence, unreadable as always. People who had worked with the Haitian gave him one more power than the one's he possessed- a great poker face. Jacob bowed down and kissed Candice on the hand delicately.
"The years haven't been kind to you, Jacob." she remarked.
"Hmm…years? More like decades, isn't it? I like to think of them as experience- growing older, wiser. And nor do I doubt they have had their- albeit undetectable, effect on you, Candice. Though I doubt those bruises are old age lines…"
"Fight with the Sanders mother. It did not end well."
"Yes. Again, years- after all these years of experience, Claude assuredly will be able to handle first-aid on a few cuts and bruises. All in all, I'm not one for glamours- special abilities or not. More of a right-to- business type." Jacob had turned to Haitian. Right to business he was.
His tone took that of Bennet at his peak, of Thompson- pure, cold, efficient. "Have you acquired Gordon?" a nod from the Haitian gave him his answer in short time.
Jacob adjusted his tie, preparing for his first real work since his transfer. "Good. I'll be doing the conditioning myself on Gordon myself."
Jacob Parkman walked out of the room, and then stopped at the door, holding onto the handle in an "oh, just to note" way, but he was calculated enough that he left nothing to that sort of chance.
"Your assignments- Candice. Continue with Plan B on the Gray son. I trust you to do your usual quality of work. Will not take long at this rate. Haitian- you're going on field duty. Claude- I have a special mission for you. Turns out someone we thought was dead...well, he isn't. And we have a meeting with Kaito and Angela."
They filed out of the room and went separate ways, Claude and Jacob going down the hallway in one direction together.
"So I have our dearly departed…friend Thompson's job now?" Claude asked.
"Pretty much, Claude. The hierarchy is set up for…untimely deaths."
"Claude? You know my name- why don't you-"
"Name's are meaningless. Just memories. Haitian understands that- gave up his name a long time ago. I don't…I don't know why I hang onto this façade of Jacob Parkman. He died a long time ago."
"Let me guess, as a man with a bit of experience in this area- when you authorized taking and experimenting on your son?"
"Matthew has a very important role in this, Rains. You're my number two man now, and the details of his role in things to come will be told to you first. As for now, we have a meeting with Angela and Kaito soon. But first, a certain Texan folly."
Jacob Parkman opened the door to Meredith Gordon's cell, to see stalking around the room, fuming. She kept whipping her hands against air, hoping for a spark, hoping for ignition of the flames that would cleanse this place of her abductors, but nothing. The Haitian made it so.
"You can do this on your own-" Claude started-
"Just so you know your old friend has learned a few new tricks."
Jacob Parkman approached Meredith Gordon, who looked into his eyes and began to slightly tremble.
Claude turned his back. He hated to watch it. First time he threw up. Second time he threw up. Third time he decided he'd look away from then on, and ever since he'd kept so.
Claude had seen the evils of humanity, seen it all. But Jacob's power still creeped him out.
Jacob, a minute or so later was done.
They walked out of the room, Meredith Gordon huddled in the fetal position on the cold floor.
"You got what you needed?" asked Claude.
"Yes. Plan B will work. The Bennet girl is perfect for it. Having her mother on our side won't hurt."
"Still the brain man, after all these years."
"Never liked that nickname. Just call me Hydra."
The growls echoed around, ferocious in sound in the small cell that held Sylar. Slowly people began to depart- first it was the dapper man only known as Claude Raines, in a smart looking suit as the rest of the men of The Company. Despite having lived years as a vagrant, a homeless, one of the undesirables, Claude fit right back into the suit and tie world of The Company, as if he had never left. Like muscle memory, he had already begun to take his own brand of cynical humor to "evil"(as if they knew what true evil was, he thought…) use again. It felt…natural in a way, yet the very reasons for doing this, and the element of hunting his kin, brought a sickly feeling to his stomach that Claude fought to repress.
Then came the imposing and powerful figure of the man only known as The Haitian. Few thoughts came through his mind- not out of a lack of intelligence, for he possessed keen smarts matched by scant many. No, it was an a drive, a mission to fulfill, and any extraneous thoughts were just…distractions. A thought did come into his mind though- a memory of Thompson, the village, Guillame and a thought that did not bode with him- that the Company was the closest thing he had to a family. With penny loafers smacking on the steel floor, he exited the cell, leaving the door open for the final inhabitant not restrained.
Candice never was restrained, after all. She gave Claude a warm smile unbefitting of her image to most as a cold and callous individual, and looked at Sylar again. She had just begun, and now she was being taken away…tsk tsk. It saddened her for a moment, not being able to simply finish this mission already. But she would go where asked. Her heels clicked and clacked on the floor as she exited and with a sadistic smile flicked off the light switch on the wall, leaving Sylar and his furious roars in the darkness as the door slammed once again on him.
The three walked together, almost side by side, on the way to the destination, yet no words were exchanged. There were things to be said, but each would have to think of how to say them…the web of lies and loyalty, of betrayal, permeated all thoughts after this- a great collapse of a once might organization. Having traveled to the right spot, the Haitian turned and took from his suit pocket a small silver keycard, swiping it into a reader on a large metallic door that opened immediately as he stepped in. Claude gave a bow and a "ladies first" to Candice, who, knowing his game, strutted flirtatiously as she entered and Claude eyed her figure from behind. The room was one that any occupant would never forget. In the Company it was called the "Neon Lights" room, and for good reason. The fluorescent light bulbs gave a low and eerie hum as they poured out blue neon light over the room. This was where the testing was done. With the mutations in their DNA, each had spent time here- as test subject, and as one doing the test. The blue neon didn't make for the most conducive atmosphere to friendly chatting, and Claude cut to the chase.
In his gruff voice he queried-"You both got the phone call from McKenzie?" Candice and The Haitian nodded affirmatively.
Candice was still a bit befuddled by the situation and it showed in her voice, if not in the excellent precision she did her job with Sylar before- "Why would they take us back? I failed Linderman..." Candice trailed off.
Claude looked at her and gave a small nod in agreement, giving his own story, minus all the key details of course(he had learned to never tell anything they didn't pry out of you, from years on the run)"I left this place many a year ago, my self." Claude noted-
"And I betrayed them to a higher power." Haitian said, his expression contemplative and blank- if such a thing is possible at the same time, he wore such a face.
Claude's cynicism leapt to the surface with as little urging as it needed provided by the mere words "higher power"(Claude had stopped believing in such things long ago…)"Do you still believe in that higher power after her little boom-boom plan failed?" Claude asked him and the Haitian laughed. As with most things- it was odd and slightly unnerving- not a regular, jovial laugh, but instead a laugh of almost mocking recognition.
"Angela Petrelli is not the one I speak of." Cryptic, as always.
Claude cut to the chase, beginning to pace around the room as he thought it over.
"Linderman is dead. So is Thompson. We all know the hierarchy. That must mean-"
Into the door walked a ruggedly attractive older man with a streak of gray in his hair, who held himself confidently. To any observer who had met his kin, it would be obvious the relation, for besides a streak of gray in tussled hair, better posture and more British features, it was almost a direct match for an older version of his son.
"That must mean…new management. My name's Jacob Parkman. You may have met my son. Or…you may have met me."
Claude smiled and walked over to Parkman, embracing him over the shoulders in a bear hug that showed they knew each other, and spoke as he hugged Jacob.
"Nice to see ya, old buddy! Haven't seen you since our days with Mama Petrelli and Linderman."
Jacob's face took a somber look and his voice the appropriate tone-"Good times. But we all know how that ended."
Candice gave a knowing nod, while the Haitian stood in silence, unreadable as always. People who had worked with the Haitian gave him one more power than the one's he possessed- a great poker face. Jacob bowed down and kissed Candice on the hand delicately.
"The years haven't been kind to you, Jacob." she remarked.
"Hmm…years? More like decades, isn't it? I like to think of them as experience- growing older, wiser. And nor do I doubt they have had their- albeit undetectable, effect on you, Candice. Though I doubt those bruises are old age lines…"
"Fight with the Sanders mother. It did not end well."
"Yes. Again, years- after all these years of experience, Claude assuredly will be able to handle first-aid on a few cuts and bruises. All in all, I'm not one for glamours- special abilities or not. More of a right-to- business type." Jacob had turned to Haitian. Right to business he was.
His tone took that of Bennet at his peak, of Thompson- pure, cold, efficient. "Have you acquired Gordon?" a nod from the Haitian gave him his answer in short time.
Jacob adjusted his tie, preparing for his first real work since his transfer. "Good. I'll be doing the conditioning myself on Gordon myself."
Jacob Parkman walked out of the room, and then stopped at the door, holding onto the handle in an "oh, just to note" way, but he was calculated enough that he left nothing to that sort of chance.
"Your assignments- Candice. Continue with Plan B on the Gray son. I trust you to do your usual quality of work. Will not take long at this rate. Haitian- you're going on field duty. Claude- I have a special mission for you. Turns out someone we thought was dead...well, he isn't. And we have a meeting with Kaito and Angela."
They filed out of the room and went separate ways, Claude and Jacob going down the hallway in one direction together.
"So I have our dearly departed…friend Thompson's job now?" Claude asked.
"Pretty much, Claude. The hierarchy is set up for…untimely deaths."
"Claude? You know my name- why don't you-"
"Name's are meaningless. Just memories. Haitian understands that- gave up his name a long time ago. I don't…I don't know why I hang onto this façade of Jacob Parkman. He died a long time ago."
"Let me guess, as a man with a bit of experience in this area- when you authorized taking and experimenting on your son?"
"Matthew has a very important role in this, Rains. You're my number two man now, and the details of his role in things to come will be told to you first. As for now, we have a meeting with Angela and Kaito soon. But first, a certain Texan folly."
Jacob Parkman opened the door to Meredith Gordon's cell, to see stalking around the room, fuming. She kept whipping her hands against air, hoping for a spark, hoping for ignition of the flames that would cleanse this place of her abductors, but nothing. The Haitian made it so.
"You can do this on your own-" Claude started-
"Just so you know your old friend has learned a few new tricks."
Jacob Parkman approached Meredith Gordon, who looked into his eyes and began to slightly tremble.
Claude turned his back. He hated to watch it. First time he threw up. Second time he threw up. Third time he decided he'd look away from then on, and ever since he'd kept so.
Claude had seen the evils of humanity, seen it all. But Jacob's power still creeped him out.
Jacob, a minute or so later was done.
They walked out of the room, Meredith Gordon huddled in the fetal position on the cold floor.
"You got what you needed?" asked Claude.
"Yes. Plan B will work. The Bennet girl is perfect for it. Having her mother on our side won't hurt."
"Still the brain man, after all these years."
"Never liked that nickname. Just call me Hydra."
Papercut-
Audrey Hanson sat in her office at the FBI, lazily shifting some paperwork on an old cold case that had somehow come to the top of the pile of papers on her desk. It might be a desk job, it might be paperwork, sure, she was in hot water from the Parkman affair, but capturing Sprague at least meant she was going to keep her job.
Audrey Hanson's job meant everything to her, and one could tell from her attire- her standard, a dark navy blue overcoat, under it a white(lavender in the light of the office, which flickered on and off annoyingly) blouse. While most females at the FBI would dress in skimpy outfits pushing the edge of the stringent(though not stringently enforced by the men tasked to do so) dress code, Audrey was all business. Then came a caustic and bitter voice from across the office, and she squinted(her office light, showing her standing in the FBI, was broken and provided little illumination) to make out the figure speaking to her-
"Happy you got your job still?" Came a male voice, slightly gruff.
"Yes, sir..." Audrey groaned to her annoying boss, McKenzie.
McKenzie then began to act strangely. If he was a suspect, Audrey would be ready to turn up the heat on questioning. His eyes darted around the office quickly and he took a few quick and long strides to the sides of the office, pulling down on the small hinge that controlled blinds, closing them. McKenzie then walked to Audrey's desk and turned 90 degrees in one spot, noting the small marking on the tiled floor below him and then looking up at the low hanging ceiling. Digging into the pocket of his slacks, McKenzie withdrew a small screwdriver and brought it up to the ceiling, working on and then dislodging a tile. A small and circular black instrument sat in the corner of the tile, and McKenzie grunted as he worked his arm into it, standing on a nearby chair precariously, and then with a smile of satisfaction and the ripping of electrical cord, down came what Audrey instantly identified as a bug- a listening device…in her office. McKenzie reattached the ceiling tile and grabbed Audrey's taser from her desk, sending a few thousand volts into the listening device, frying it as it cracked and steamed, overheated.
He looked at Audrey and asked her a simple question-
"Tell me, Audrey. Are you interested in paper?"
The Life Of Janice-
The Parkman Home, shortly after The Kirby Plaza Event-
Holding the white cordless Nokia phone in her hand, Janice spoke in a combination of happiness and worry, with some relief thrown in for good measure in the emotional overload. "Oh my god. I was worried he was dead. He-"
Janice Parkman began to pack her things frantically, usually a fastidious woman, she cared little for the routine of organizing piles and such of clothes by color and the like. This was not the time for such things, nor the place, she quickly decided. She abruptly stopped in the middle of the process, holding up a red skirt and cried, quickly turning her head so as not to soak the freshly packed clothes. She'd do it right this time! No affairs, no secrets, no lies. They'd been through so much now… She looked at her stomach, bulging as it was. A small kick reminded her even more, brought it right to the forefront of her thoughts. The beauty of new life.
Later that day she fell into the waiting arms of her husband and cried on his shoulder, staining his clothes without the careful placement of tears she reserved for her own. Then again, his clothes consisted of a hospital gown…
Tears in her eyes, Janice quickly wiped them away and spoke- "I worried-"
"I know." Matt said empathically, holding her tighter.
"Oh yeah, mind reader. Keep forgetting that."
She pulled back and out came a small chuckle. Matt had a habit of forgetting things too…
Matthew Parkman groaned as he shifted forward in the hospital bed, placing his hand over the new life in his wife's stomach and gently rubbing in a circular motion. He could swear he could feel a kick even! Matthew Parkman, having had a bullet through him just recently(that felt like years ago now), glowed with a smile.
Janice spoke, breathless, barely holding back the tears rushing to her eyes-"We've got something- something most don't get. A second chance, Matt."
She put a small and caring kiss on his cheek.
"But Matt- I know you have to do what you have to do. You're a cop. There are bad guys out there. That's the way it works." She said, resigned, but in some ways happy. This was how it was, after all. What she had learned from the newspapers in the last days(though they did not report anywhere near the full story) and then from Matt himself had convinced her that the world needed more good guys, more good cops.
Matt nodded. He hated doing this to his wife, but they both knew the reasons for the sacrifices they made. "I'll do it for our little gift from God- make the world- I don't know, safe for our kid to grow up in. Or something…stupid and naïve like that."
"That's a noble goal, Matt. And foolish- stupid and naive. Wouldn't…wouldn't have it any other way." Janice smiled a weak smile and hugged him again.
"That's the Matt I married, after all..." she kissed him on the cheek and walked into the waiting room and looked at the people- the people who were friends of her husband, were special like him.
"You know, Matt sometimes thinks I'm a ******. If ANYTHING happens to him, you'll learn the true definition of the word."
Janice sat down on the couch in the waiting room and struck up a conversation with Noah Bennet.
They talked for a while.
"He'll be okay, right?"
"I can't say that for sure."
"I didn't think so."
She held back a tear. Stay strong, she kept telling herself. One day a cop's wife, the next day she's thrown into this. The crazy life of Janice.
Fear Itself-
Brody Mitchum awoke in a cold sweat, sitting up in his bed and seeing his football helmet across the headboard. Admittedly, to be a sweating Brody Mitchum was not the worst thing in the world, and many girls in Odessa, Texas would consider a sweating Brody Mitchum to be one of the best things in the world. However, it was not just the sweat that dribbled down his forehead and tasted salty on his tongue. It was something else…
Brody had long since recovered since the mysterious car accident that took his memory. The physical therapy was long and grueling- nights on the bike, days at the therapists. After each session he would come home to a routine- hot packs on for 20 minutes, then a bag of ice- not even wrapped in a paper towel(a habit he'd picked up from football, showing off, paper towels were not needed) on whatever was hurting him after therapy- which most of them time happened to be every bone in his body, some of which he didn't even know he had.
There were whispers he'd hear about things he'd done, but never anything enough to figure it out. Though he came to take what had happened to him, what he went through to get back into shape, as some sort of penance(his father was quite religious, and maybe this helped stir that thought in Brody) for whatever it was he had had done. If it was really that awful he thought, how come no one had told him about it after he woke up minus years of life?
His spirits were better than ever, his friends would remark- a "whole new Brody" they would say. Not knowing the old Brody Mitchum himself, he did not take any stance against these proclamations of a new leaf being turned. He'd done well- even gotten back on the football team, first string again, after a petition signed by people attesting to Brody having abandoned his old ways(again, he knew not what these were) got him another try out.
It was hard adapting, but since then he'd become a regular model citizen.
But the dreams…
The dreams and the hunger. To ravage, to destroy, to rape. "They all ask for it", the little voice in his head whispered and growled during dark and lonely nights, the corners of his mind invaded by insidious and perverse, disgusting and murderous thoughts.
How could he even think these things? He was a good person! Heck, he'd just last week set a record at the canned food drive for the Odessa homeless shelter- a small blurb in the paper attested to that. Brody chuckled. He couldn't hurt a fly. Or could he…? The thoughts swirled around the mind of Brody Mitchum, eventually focusing into a little ball, tighter and tighter as his fist came the same way and then it exploded as his fist shot out through the hard football helmet, which was like nothing to his fist as it smashed with force in. Brody slowly retracted his hand from the helmet, observing the huge hole created in it. That was not normal…
Brody tossed himself back into bed and pulled the covers up, dedicating himself to this having never happened- just a flimsy old helmet(though it was not flimsy, it had taken a high hit by an angry pass rushing DB just last game…) and a flail of rage on awakening from a bad dream. And these thoughts…these thoughts were unthought-of, had never even been thought.
But they had been.
Holding the covers tight to his athletic and muscular body, Brody Mitchum muttered in a whisper-
"I scare myself…"
Brody Mitchum awoke in a cold sweat, sitting up in his bed and seeing his football helmet across the headboard. Admittedly, to be a sweating Brody Mitchum was not the worst thing in the world, and many girls in Odessa, Texas would consider a sweating Brody Mitchum to be one of the best things in the world. However, it was not just the sweat that dribbled down his forehead and tasted salty on his tongue. It was something else…
Brody had long since recovered since the mysterious car accident that took his memory. The physical therapy was long and grueling- nights on the bike, days at the therapists. After each session he would come home to a routine- hot packs on for 20 minutes, then a bag of ice- not even wrapped in a paper towel(a habit he'd picked up from football, showing off, paper towels were not needed) on whatever was hurting him after therapy- which most of them time happened to be every bone in his body, some of which he didn't even know he had.
There were whispers he'd hear about things he'd done, but never anything enough to figure it out. Though he came to take what had happened to him, what he went through to get back into shape, as some sort of penance(his father was quite religious, and maybe this helped stir that thought in Brody) for whatever it was he had had done. If it was really that awful he thought, how come no one had told him about it after he woke up minus years of life?
His spirits were better than ever, his friends would remark- a "whole new Brody" they would say. Not knowing the old Brody Mitchum himself, he did not take any stance against these proclamations of a new leaf being turned. He'd done well- even gotten back on the football team, first string again, after a petition signed by people attesting to Brody having abandoned his old ways(again, he knew not what these were) got him another try out.
It was hard adapting, but since then he'd become a regular model citizen.
But the dreams…
The dreams and the hunger. To ravage, to destroy, to rape. "They all ask for it", the little voice in his head whispered and growled during dark and lonely nights, the corners of his mind invaded by insidious and perverse, disgusting and murderous thoughts.
How could he even think these things? He was a good person! Heck, he'd just last week set a record at the canned food drive for the Odessa homeless shelter- a small blurb in the paper attested to that. Brody chuckled. He couldn't hurt a fly. Or could he…? The thoughts swirled around the mind of Brody Mitchum, eventually focusing into a little ball, tighter and tighter as his fist came the same way and then it exploded as his fist shot out through the hard football helmet, which was like nothing to his fist as it smashed with force in. Brody slowly retracted his hand from the helmet, observing the huge hole created in it. That was not normal…
Brody tossed himself back into bed and pulled the covers up, dedicating himself to this having never happened- just a flimsy old helmet(though it was not flimsy, it had taken a high hit by an angry pass rushing DB just last game…) and a flail of rage on awakening from a bad dream. And these thoughts…these thoughts were unthought-of, had never even been thought.
But they had been.
Holding the covers tight to his athletic and muscular body, Brody Mitchum muttered in a whisper-
"I scare myself…"
Moving Places -
"I'm sorry, Heidi." said Angela Petrelli, obviously not sorry, packing for Paris as she stuffed stockings into a case. "Now, let's talk about scarves."
Heidi Petrelli would have none of this dilly-dallying around the important issue and questioned tersely, the anger rising in her voice with each syllable-"He's alive, right?"
Nathan. Her son. Her failure of a son, both of them, thought Angela Petrelli. She was taken slightly off guard(for Heidi had not mentioned him in a time) and remembered the company line, which she improvised after November 8th. She stated plainly, as if it was just a fact of life(a skill all great liars posses)- "Look- we did the press conference. Islamic terrorists are holding him hostage."
Angela reminded herself to thank Candice for the good work on that one, to buy them some time. Time was of the essence with Plan B particularly. Heidi's voice began to reach fevered pitch-
"Look- he's my husband! I- I know all your little dirty secrets. The wife, the dotting little wife who listens but never speaks- I don't know how it was with you and your husband- from what Nathan said he was a good man, and from what you say he went a bit insane over the later years. I question his sanity not for your supposed suicide attempts- all your stories, of which doubt is cast upon merely by the fact that they come from your lips, but I question his sanity for marrying an absolute hag like you! I know all your little secrets. Like the small fact of my husband being able to fly. Peter was a nurse, remember? Maybe he once explained to you that traumatic experiences- like a car crash just to name one, amnesia is not permanent."
Heidi was finally able to stand up to her mother-in-law, and took on a bit of a victorious smile and demanded in the form of a question-
"Now where is my husband?"
Angela's nervousness, at even one tiny part of her plan in danger, was apparent as she shakily made her way through her sentences- "He's okay. He's- everything is fine."
Heidi reached over and slammed Angela's briefcase closed before she finished packing, almost taking off Angela's finger. She meant business and spoke so-"No. We're not going to Milan or Paris or wherever until you answer where my husband and his brother are! And- and your Haitian friend told me about his little folly in Texas, as you said. You little ******. You knew I'd love him no matter what, and you still did that. I have half a mind to-"
Monty Petrelli, one of Heidi and Nathan's sons walked into the room. Heidi quickly took on a motherly tone, shooing him away.
"Nothing, honey." Heidi assured him, and Monty gave a "yeah right" look, used to weird things in the Petrelli house, and moved on.
"Now, where is my husband?"
Angela was calm, for on this she had a decent story that was at least partially the truth(which makes all lies easier)- "Our satellites picked up the explosion- and a sonic boom leading away from it on our radar. We have reason to believe he crash landed. Where- we're not sure."
Heidi let out a small gasp of relief- "Thank God he's alive. Now, how are you going to find him?"
Angela Petrelli tsk tsked Heidi Petrelli- "Oh, Heidi. Always worrying- it's okay- we have a tracking system." Angela Petrelli continued to pack and smiled. When Heidi exited the room, huffing and puffing but nonetheless relieved at this exciting news of her husband's seemingly happy and safe fate, Angela opened her cell phone and called Jacob Parkman.
"Do we have the strike team ready yet?"
"Yes. Gordon will be leading, Haitian will back her up. Both have good enough pasts to make it near the Walker child. Extraction, the bag and tag, will be harder, but there's a reason we brought Claude back into the fold."
"Good. Proceed."
Angela dialed another number. Despite being an old woman, she'd learned these cell phone things quite quickly, it was needed in her particular line of work-
"Kaito? News on Hiro Nakamura?"
"He is…exactly where we need him- out of sight, out of mind. My son won't be interfering with the plan anymore."
"Kimiko?"
"Progressing well. With my training she'll replace the Walker system soon."
"Hopefully it doesn't come to that. Masahashi?"
"He'll be ready for Hydra conditioning within the week."
Godsent-
Peter Petrelli exploded in a brilliant barrage of nuclear fireworks and spectacle, something that might be considered beautiful if not so deadly and horrible..
Then he crashed to Earth.
Of course, it took him some time, as he had teleported quite far above the ground. Feeling the wind whip against him as he took into a dive, Peter could at least take in several panicked and short breaths of the air(going past him as it was, at least it was not like in NY, where the air thinned to the point of suffocation) as he hurtled towards terra firma. Exploding, surprisingly enough, is painful. Peter screamed the way down, his vocal cords having thankfully healed enough to be absolutely exhausted by the sounds of his anguish. The wind in his eyes, they began to tear, but as he took towards the ground, Peter smiled.
Sand.
SAND!
Peter Petrelli crashed to Earth, the sand he landed in taking a fraction of the incredible forces of the landing, the rest put right upon his body. Spitting up sand, he got back up and looked around. His skin slowly healed from the beating it took, stitching back together and clotting with amazing speed, platelets working overtime to heal the cuts, bones shifting back into place with horrifying cracks as he got to his feet slowly. The emotional wounds would take longer...was this truly the right thing to do, he wondered…
Then Peter Petrelli noticed where he was.
Nevada.
The desert. It couldn't be anywhere else, or at least he hoped so- this was the first time he'd used Nakamura's power after all, but he had thought of the Nevada Desert where Ted had been, and he was in a desert, after all.
Location did matter much though, as Peter looked down at his body. He was alive, and a quick pinch into the skin, his arm fat, confirmed so. It worked. He looked around trying to determine an exact or even relative location, and felt something weird.
Buzzing.
Buzzing, in his ears, vibration spreading up and down his body and pulsing like waves through the surroundings, then coming back to him ten fold, almost rocking him off his feet at first before it became more manageable. He focused.
A lot of little buzzes and a big buzz.
The first thing that came to his minds eye as he closed his body's eyes to focus was a globe, covered in darkness, with points of illumination spread out. He focused on New York, and zoomed in. Claire Bennet, he could see her silhouette as she stood in a building with several others. Who they were he couldn't be sure- this was all new and terribly overwhelming, after all…but she was safe. He sighed happily.
He didn't know how he was doing it, but he was. That alone provided solace to a man who had almost died multiple times in the last few days. That one of the few people he loved was safe, and he could know whether or not that was so…even if how he was doing it was a complete mystery. Then a thought came to him, as he quickly surmised the ramifications of his new talent.
"If I can find Claire..."He thought.
Peter smiled like the cat that got the canary, and resisted a lame fist pump into the air. Nathan got the message, that message, that plan transmitted over brain waves when two brothers thought they would die, together. Peter Petrelli's knees bent, crouched and pushed against the sand, which shifted under his feet as he jumped.
BOOM!
Peter felt himself soaring again, up. The feeling was wonderful after so much plummeting. A second sound after his departure from the ground-
BAM!
Sonic boom. He was going over the sound limit. This would make things easier, quicker at least. Peter's head swiveled, his hair flying in the breeze as he watched the contrail of displaced air currents behind him as he departed for the meeting place they had agreed on.
______
Status Update:
I'm kind of surprised at how quickly I've been doing these, as each are at least double the size of the original DDS2 files, on average I think thrice to times in length. It's already about 7-8k words longer than the original files I salvaged on my computer. Still got about 25k words to do the Directors Cut on, though many chapters I'm thinking of scrapping as they don't fit with my vision of the story now...I don't know yet.
Toodles, off to write more!
"I'm sorry, Heidi." said Angela Petrelli, obviously not sorry, packing for Paris as she stuffed stockings into a case. "Now, let's talk about scarves."
Heidi Petrelli would have none of this dilly-dallying around the important issue and questioned tersely, the anger rising in her voice with each syllable-"He's alive, right?"
Nathan. Her son. Her failure of a son, both of them, thought Angela Petrelli. She was taken slightly off guard(for Heidi had not mentioned him in a time) and remembered the company line, which she improvised after November 8th. She stated plainly, as if it was just a fact of life(a skill all great liars posses)- "Look- we did the press conference. Islamic terrorists are holding him hostage."
Angela reminded herself to thank Candice for the good work on that one, to buy them some time. Time was of the essence with Plan B particularly. Heidi's voice began to reach fevered pitch-
"Look- he's my husband! I- I know all your little dirty secrets. The wife, the dotting little wife who listens but never speaks- I don't know how it was with you and your husband- from what Nathan said he was a good man, and from what you say he went a bit insane over the later years. I question his sanity not for your supposed suicide attempts- all your stories, of which doubt is cast upon merely by the fact that they come from your lips, but I question his sanity for marrying an absolute hag like you! I know all your little secrets. Like the small fact of my husband being able to fly. Peter was a nurse, remember? Maybe he once explained to you that traumatic experiences- like a car crash just to name one, amnesia is not permanent."
Heidi was finally able to stand up to her mother-in-law, and took on a bit of a victorious smile and demanded in the form of a question-
"Now where is my husband?"
Angela's nervousness, at even one tiny part of her plan in danger, was apparent as she shakily made her way through her sentences- "He's okay. He's- everything is fine."
Heidi reached over and slammed Angela's briefcase closed before she finished packing, almost taking off Angela's finger. She meant business and spoke so-"No. We're not going to Milan or Paris or wherever until you answer where my husband and his brother are! And- and your Haitian friend told me about his little folly in Texas, as you said. You little ******. You knew I'd love him no matter what, and you still did that. I have half a mind to-"
Monty Petrelli, one of Heidi and Nathan's sons walked into the room. Heidi quickly took on a motherly tone, shooing him away.
"Nothing, honey." Heidi assured him, and Monty gave a "yeah right" look, used to weird things in the Petrelli house, and moved on.
"Now, where is my husband?"
Angela was calm, for on this she had a decent story that was at least partially the truth(which makes all lies easier)- "Our satellites picked up the explosion- and a sonic boom leading away from it on our radar. We have reason to believe he crash landed. Where- we're not sure."
Heidi let out a small gasp of relief- "Thank God he's alive. Now, how are you going to find him?"
Angela Petrelli tsk tsked Heidi Petrelli- "Oh, Heidi. Always worrying- it's okay- we have a tracking system." Angela Petrelli continued to pack and smiled. When Heidi exited the room, huffing and puffing but nonetheless relieved at this exciting news of her husband's seemingly happy and safe fate, Angela opened her cell phone and called Jacob Parkman.
"Do we have the strike team ready yet?"
"Yes. Gordon will be leading, Haitian will back her up. Both have good enough pasts to make it near the Walker child. Extraction, the bag and tag, will be harder, but there's a reason we brought Claude back into the fold."
"Good. Proceed."
Angela dialed another number. Despite being an old woman, she'd learned these cell phone things quite quickly, it was needed in her particular line of work-
"Kaito? News on Hiro Nakamura?"
"He is…exactly where we need him- out of sight, out of mind. My son won't be interfering with the plan anymore."
"Kimiko?"
"Progressing well. With my training she'll replace the Walker system soon."
"Hopefully it doesn't come to that. Masahashi?"
"He'll be ready for Hydra conditioning within the week."
Godsent-
Peter Petrelli exploded in a brilliant barrage of nuclear fireworks and spectacle, something that might be considered beautiful if not so deadly and horrible..
Then he crashed to Earth.
Of course, it took him some time, as he had teleported quite far above the ground. Feeling the wind whip against him as he took into a dive, Peter could at least take in several panicked and short breaths of the air(going past him as it was, at least it was not like in NY, where the air thinned to the point of suffocation) as he hurtled towards terra firma. Exploding, surprisingly enough, is painful. Peter screamed the way down, his vocal cords having thankfully healed enough to be absolutely exhausted by the sounds of his anguish. The wind in his eyes, they began to tear, but as he took towards the ground, Peter smiled.
Sand.
SAND!
Peter Petrelli crashed to Earth, the sand he landed in taking a fraction of the incredible forces of the landing, the rest put right upon his body. Spitting up sand, he got back up and looked around. His skin slowly healed from the beating it took, stitching back together and clotting with amazing speed, platelets working overtime to heal the cuts, bones shifting back into place with horrifying cracks as he got to his feet slowly. The emotional wounds would take longer...was this truly the right thing to do, he wondered…
Then Peter Petrelli noticed where he was.
Nevada.
The desert. It couldn't be anywhere else, or at least he hoped so- this was the first time he'd used Nakamura's power after all, but he had thought of the Nevada Desert where Ted had been, and he was in a desert, after all.
Location did matter much though, as Peter looked down at his body. He was alive, and a quick pinch into the skin, his arm fat, confirmed so. It worked. He looked around trying to determine an exact or even relative location, and felt something weird.
Buzzing.
Buzzing, in his ears, vibration spreading up and down his body and pulsing like waves through the surroundings, then coming back to him ten fold, almost rocking him off his feet at first before it became more manageable. He focused.
A lot of little buzzes and a big buzz.
The first thing that came to his minds eye as he closed his body's eyes to focus was a globe, covered in darkness, with points of illumination spread out. He focused on New York, and zoomed in. Claire Bennet, he could see her silhouette as she stood in a building with several others. Who they were he couldn't be sure- this was all new and terribly overwhelming, after all…but she was safe. He sighed happily.
He didn't know how he was doing it, but he was. That alone provided solace to a man who had almost died multiple times in the last few days. That one of the few people he loved was safe, and he could know whether or not that was so…even if how he was doing it was a complete mystery. Then a thought came to him, as he quickly surmised the ramifications of his new talent.
"If I can find Claire..."He thought.
Peter smiled like the cat that got the canary, and resisted a lame fist pump into the air. Nathan got the message, that message, that plan transmitted over brain waves when two brothers thought they would die, together. Peter Petrelli's knees bent, crouched and pushed against the sand, which shifted under his feet as he jumped.
BOOM!
Peter felt himself soaring again, up. The feeling was wonderful after so much plummeting. A second sound after his departure from the ground-
BAM!
Sonic boom. He was going over the sound limit. This would make things easier, quicker at least. Peter's head swiveled, his hair flying in the breeze as he watched the contrail of displaced air currents behind him as he departed for the meeting place they had agreed on.
______
Status Update:
I'm kind of surprised at how quickly I've been doing these, as each are at least double the size of the original DDS2 files, on average I think thrice to times in length. It's already about 7-8k words longer than the original files I salvaged on my computer. Still got about 25k words to do the Directors Cut on, though many chapters I'm thinking of scrapping as they don't fit with my vision of the story now...I don't know yet.
Toodles, off to write more!
Freeworld-
The Deveaux Building-
"So we have assignments?" Noah checked, looking over the room.
Noah put on his business face and looked over his files- "Okay. One more time. Parkman, you will work with Molly on finding Sylar and the rest of the missing will have to wait for later. Molly will locate, Parkman will get the scan, then we will regroup and plan our attack on Sylar. Micah, Zachary and Hana- you will crawl the web in search of any communication left within the company I used to work for. Track it back to the source- Odessa was only one of many places they operated out of, and now they've most likely spread out. Destroy any infrastructure you can find and report back. Mohinder- you will work on continuing your father's research. The samples each of us- well, each of the specials among us, has given will undoubtedly be helpful.
Now, field missions. DL and Niki, you're with me and you'll-"
In walked two old friends, and another hidden from site.
"Mom." Claire said and hugged Meredith Gordon, who warmed her up in the embrace as her blonde hair fell over Claire like a veil, quickly brushed away. Meredith showed little emotion in the embrace, nor that her daughter had forgiven her- the past sins and transgressions washed away in the bliss of family reunion. Meredith looked unusually gaunt and haggard, but no one paid quite the close enough attention needed, for there was another one with her.
The Haitian. His arrival was as usual, whisper quiet and yet announcing himself to all. Most of the room turned eyes to him, the X factor in all of this. They had heard, pieced together at some points, the story of his ever-shifting allegiances. Suspicious eyes and devious stares cast in his direction did not phase the ever resolute Haitian.
Noah walked face to face with his former colleague, looking him right in the eye. One could feel the tension, the hot breath almost reaching the other man. After all that had happened, one could not be surprised to see a gun pulled and shots fired, a carcass on the floor in the next chaotic seconds. Yet Noah kept his cool and simply asked, with a hint of disdain in his voice-
"Who do you work for now? Your higher power?"
Parkman sat next to Molly, doodling along with her(he was never an artiste, to say the least) as Molly was lost in the world of her drawings. Then he saw the new entries and his eyes locked immediately on the man who had taken his memories once before. The Haitian. He stared into those eyes, those abyss eyes that haunted some of his dreams, and focused. Around the room thoughts whirred and whizzed by, and one by one he cut out each person until only his target remained. Feedback. A loud, hissing sound and scratching- scratching on the inside of his head, his thinking parts, as he tried to read the Haitian, and Parkman got nothing but a blistering headache as he turned away and thankfully spared Molly's young ears by only grunting and saying "ow, dang, that hurt." However, that was usual. Then he plucked away thought after thought, discarding them into the waste bin of the mind, until only Gordon's remained. Wait. This was…he intercepted the thoughts of Meredith Gordon and pulled out his gun, bringing it out of the leg holster like a true cop. Something was off. Really off.
It was too late, as Molly Walker's scream proved. Her cute pink outfit faded into nothingness as the space around it rippled and shined before falling into complete invisibility, Molly quickly dragged with the jerk of a barely visible forearm into the non-visible range to human eyes, taken off her feet in the span of an instant as her feet dug into the floor in a futile resistance to being dragged away.
Meredith Gordon blasted a fireball which disintegrated Parkman's gun before putting up a wall of fire in her wake.
Meredith Gordon, still holding Claire Bennet, scowled and shoved her daughter carelessly out of the way, sending her right through a nearby glass table with a horrible shatter as the glass rained down on Claire. Parkman's gun was drawn, but that was no weapon compared to what Meredith was wielding- the power of the elements. Meredith merely lifted up her hand and out shot a stream of flame, coiling around in the air it heated up as it went right into Parkman's gun. The sheer metal that made up the gun's frame and components, painted black as it was, provided little protection against the fire as the metal quickly peeled and melted away- disintegrating in the hands of Matt. The fire spreading through the now melted metal and into his hands, Matt screamed in pain and dropped his gun, which landed with a liquidy plop on the ground, now simply a pool of liquid metal.
The Haitian's coat moved to reveal something that glinted in the sun pouring through the Deveaux Building's windows, something metallic. The round- maybe spherical object was held precariously against his chest and easily tumbled out of the coat, rolling across the ground with a few thunks.
In tandem, the three Company agents put on infrared goggles, which looked the oddest on the pretty face of Meredith, but only made the Haitian even spookier to the terrified little Molly Walker. Noah felt something whip through the air next to his face- a fist that soon came right into his eye, taking Noah off his feet and to all fours, yelling in pain.
"That's for shooting me, you git." Thought Claude Raines.
The metallic object had begun ticking, and the sound accelerated in pace until…BOOM!
"******! FLASHBANG!" yelled Noah. The room filled with a luminescent substance that blinded all within at least 50 square feet- meaning the room and the adjoining corridors at least.
In the chaos, the sounds of feet rushing away- three pairs of shoes to be exact.
The flash bang's effect slowly dissipated, eyes blinked rapidly and adjusted as one would to suddenly being plunged into darkness and eventually the room could see again.
"My God. They got Molly." said Mohinder, breathless, having tried to run and get Molly in the chaos, only to have stumbled over his own equipment and bruised his knee on the way down.
Noah thought for a second and both he and Parkman in synchronization, almost, cocked their guns.
"Then we get her back." said Noah Bennet, bruised but intense.
Insert same post as Cute Dress
Dreamers-
Nathan Petrelli blasted off into the distance, feeling the pain rip through his body and mind from the radiation exposure and then…
BOOM!
Nathan twisted in the air, as it shifted and fought against his momentum he turned around and saw it. A giant yellow-red mushroom cloud, illuminating the night's sky, the light overcoming the glinting stars in the sky. During his training, he'd sat in cramped quarters on hard green chairs and watched old reels of nuclear explosions. They were nothing like the real thing. He blast overloaded his optic senses, a grunt of pain as the lights went out in his eyes. Well, not so much the lights going out, but a blanket of burning, searing white going over his eyes and then slowly unfurling out as the shockwave dissipated. He was far away, traveling at high speeds, but could feel the air around him ripple and push against him as the end of the blast radius caught him, feeling the intense heat spread over his body again. Nathan put his feet down and skidded against an air current, slowing like someone breaking with their foot on a bike until he was merely floating with little momentum beyond to keep him airborne. His eyes slowly adjusted, but he could not see quite right, for clear droplets of tears came over his iris and clouded his vision.
Having regained some of the use of his eyes, the effects hopefully temporary, Nathan turned and twisted in the air, pushing off against a solid current behind him as a swimmer would kick off the starting board at the end of a pool and rocketing in flight away. Nathan Petrelli soared in the skies, thinking about what Peter had told him in those desperate and he thought at the time- final moments.
About the meeting so long ago.
About the 9.
About Charles Deveaux, his mother, Linderman. About Gabriel Gray and his father.
About the people who tried to blow up New York. About Plan B.
He flew and thought. Thought of all the people he saved. Nathan remembered what Linderman said about a man being forced to wallow in the past, and he had done his fair share of that- his mistakes at times seemed to far outnumber his triumphs. Until today. Today…he was a hero. He had saved millions of people, even if it had taken so long for him to see the error of his ways. Slowly a smile came upon the face of Nathan Petrelli, a smile of content. Of bliss. In bliss, he flew up towards the sun. Nathan Petrelli soared in the heavens, danced with the angels and played with the cherubim and seraphim in delight.
Then-
BOOM!
Nathan saw it barely in the outside of his vision, before the object came hurtling at insane speed into him, a crack of the ribs unheard over the sheer force of the ripping winds and collision with the object. Speeding towards the ground, he tried to slow his fall from terminal velocity to something more manageable. He saw below him desert, once again. In his euphoria over his triumph, he had lost track of his destination. Was he over Nevada again? Ready to land once again at that diner, to see a squat Japanese tourist shout "FLYING MAN-U!"? He chuckled at the thought and attempted to pull out of his dive, craning his neck up, yet for a man who had mastered gravity, this was too much. In a blur of rapidly approaching features, he was able to make out buildings- a city, at least they wouldn't have to search long for his body…he closed his eyes and braced for mortal impact.
WOOSH.
About three inches from splatting into a million on the ground, Nathan Petrelli stopped. In the middle of a crowded street in India, children suddenly stopping a franticly paced soccer game to watch the astounding sight of a man from the heavens descending to Earth. To the religiously inclined, who knows what Nathan may have seemed? The street became abuzz with chatter in all sorts of various tongue twisting dialects.
People shouted in foreign languages, and Nathan hit the ground, a thin layer of dust on the street quickly upturned with his fall. Groaning in pain, darkness slowly coming over his eyes, Nathan pushed off against the ground- having broken the fall with his hands, he could see the bruises and cuts that spread along them, marks of his survival. He made his way to one knee before groaning and keeling over, head hitting the street.
When Nathan awoke, he hastily judged his surroundings. Light was pouring in from above, giving him some sort of escape route- though his mind wasn't exactly thinking coherently at this point. Across the room's floor spread piles of books and papers, disheveled and unorganized, a complete mess. He knew the look. University all over again…
Hearing voices before he could see their origins, Nathan rasped out a painful "Who?-"
A small and nebbish man hastily made his way to Nathan, grabbing his hand and shaking vigorously, speaking in an excited and happy tone also Godspeed- "My name is Nirand. This is Mrs. Suresh. And this boy here- he's Sanjog Iyer. And this is my colleague, Mira Shenoy."
Too much information for a brain so recently racked inside itself with a collision to the ground, Nathan was limited to just one word sentences as his faculties restored-"Where?"
Nirand smiled a know-it-all smile, one that Nathan did not take well to-"The universe, milky way galaxy, Earth, India, Madras, Chennai University, the office of the late Chandra Suresh."
"What happened?"
"You landed on our doorstep, Mr. Petrelli." said Mira Shenoy, taking some blood with a long needle that came into Nathan's arm without warning, then quickly retracted before the point of entry had a piece of gauze slapped on and then taped with a satisfying Velcro sound and Mira gave a smile to her patient, bringing the needle full of blood to a rack of similar needles and placing it in a sterile jar. Nathan winced a bit, the pain of a sudden needle into his arm helping him back into semi-right thinking-
"You guys aren't with-"
Mrs. Suresh chuckled.
"The company? No."
Nathan needed answers, and even in this…less than perfect state, he was forceful and inquisitive-
"You know about?"
Sanjog Iyer smiled, his young face growing bright and happy at the new arrival.
"We know a great many things. Welcome to The Dreamers."
Mira Shenoy walked to the container of needles, slowly extracting another one and putting it into a solution, pulling until it was filled with a purplish look, then took a few strides towards Nathan as a drop of the liquid came off the top of the needle and she jabbed it into Nathan's neck.
"Now...go to sleep." Mira said, and the last thing Nathan saw was the attractive and charming Indian woman's smile.
Tracks-
Noah Bennet's eyes were still adjusting from the flashbang, a splitting headache wracking his mind, right eye slowly turning purple red, soon to be black blue. He grunted in pain and kicked over a light steel chair in the middle of the room, knocking it over, skidding across the floor with a clatter. Huffing in anger, out of breath, face turning red with rage yelled "******! They got Molly!" as DL covered Micah's ears.
Micah shrugged him off, ducking around his quickly maneuvering hands and looking back at his father.
"I'm old enough to know what ****** means, Dad."
DL gave a wary smile and his opinion of the situation in one take- "Then, son, this ****** sucks." Niki shot him a look, then ceased when she considered the hypocrisy of what she had once done fro a living and a curse of anger out of losing a family member being frowned upon…
Noah snapped right back into leader mode, maybe not seeing his team correctly, but seeing what he had to do crystal. Trying to ignore the headache while promising himself an aspirin and a good night's rest, he put his hand over his eye and pushed slightly into the bone, making sure it was not broken. Then he set about business- "Hana, Micah, Zach. Monitor all transmissions you can."
Zach sat at home in Texas, his boyfriend sitting on his bed, bored.
"Come on. What could possibly be so important?"
"I need to get my post count up, honey!" Zach lied, chuckling. He tracked a cell phone signal, bit of a tricky one sent through a few layers of encryption, but he got it.
Zachback:They're going into the sewers, Mr.Bennet.
Parkman got thinking. He'd be useful, but more than that, Parkman owed it to Molly. "Noah. Take me with you. I can track them."
Noah turned to him, amongst all the chaos he'd forgotten a valuable asset. "You got the Haitian and the Gordon woman's thoughts, right?"
Parkman shook his head, dejected. "Just the Gordon woman. A lot of Biblical nonsense about God loving Jacob and hating Esau. No clue what it could have to do with this. She's a zealot though."
Bennet's face turned grim, as a bit of understanding came over it. "Only one man can convert someone that fast..." Bennet realized. He'd have to talk to Parkman later. And it wouldn't be polite conversation, but it had to be done. Bennet paced up and down the room, trying to think of other ways to find the Company operatives, without their precious people finder. Parkman helpfully chimed in-
"But...I got someone else. Only a whisper."
"What was it, Parkman?" asked Mohinder, concerned about the girl he'd taken responsibility for, leaning over his work bench in interest, he quickly caught a falling pen he had knocked over.
"Just a whisper. A man. Never heard the voice before, but maybe you can get a lead. He said…"Don't worry, little girl- I'm Claude Rains, the invisible man."
Noah kicked over a table, absolutely consumed with rage and guilt.
Claire had heard from Peter at the Petrelli house in New York, one of their conversations in between the ones about saving each other's lives and destiny- about Claude. About how Peter had learned to control his ability, and Peter even suggested at one point that they seek him out after this was all over, try to learn Claire's limits. None of that really mattered though, because of the things Peter had mentioned- the name and power of the mysterious homeless man. And Claire wasn't happy.
"So we're chasing a power killing mind sweeper, my fire tossing mom and a man no one can see through the sewers?"
Noah assessed the situation. Claire stated things plainly and with the naiveté expected of her age, but her words carried a point. This would be a difficult rescue mission with the Company's resources at their height, and with an organization just formed like this…
"Parkman, Hawkins, Sanders- you're with me. Everyone else- you have your missions. Let's get Molly back."
Noah walked over to DL, now fully recovered and standing, waved goodbye to his Clairebear- "Back home in time for dinner" as he held onto DL Hawkins shoulder and they phased through the NY street and into the sewers.
I love this fic and I hate the 9thW mods who removed DDS2 from the boards.
About the mods, let me quote myself in "Leech", my new fic at 9th-
"I'm still mourning over the 100k+ of DDS2 unsaved to my computer because I just wrote it in the reply box and posted it, though after long talks with some of the people involved, I get why it was done."
Speaking of that, I won't be bringing the stuff that got it deleted over here. That will stay at 101st, where I know only friends are reading, and where it belongs.
"I'm still mourning over the 100k+ of DDS2 unsaved to my computer because I just wrote it in the reply box and posted it, though after long talks with some of the people involved, I get why it was done."
Speaking of that, I won't be bringing the stuff that got it deleted over here. That will stay at 101st, where I know only friends are reading, and where it belongs.
Note:Edited post 11 to include a new chapter. Toodles, have to work on a secret project now! (Any writers who wouldn't mind doing say...700 words a week with pretty much full autonomy, with full credit, and being part of a huge, 100% rocketsauce awesome project- do pm me.)
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