The World Entire: Chapter 12: What We Have Become

Latter-Day Saints, better known as Mormons, believe in a wondrous afterlife for the faithful, becoming godlike in the Celestial Kingdom. To achieve this, they set very strict rules of behavior for themselves, called “The Plan of Salvation.” Tobacco, alcohol, caffeine, and other drugs are strictly prohibited, as they are seen as pollutants to the mind and body. They follow strict paths of sexual morality, saving themselves for marriage, as they believe that marriage transcends even death. Mormon men, and women who desire to, are strongly encouraged to serve a proselytizing mission. Who we are and the actions we take define who we will be in the future. Will we seek perfection, knowing that life is too precious to waste, or do we accept who we are, avoiding the slippery slope of denying our true natures for some misguided ideal? One day, in this life or the next, we will stand to be judged, asking ourselves, “What have we become? How did we get here?”

: : :

Matt and Mohinder
Mohinder’s Lab
Lower Manhattan, New York
2011

Mohinder peered over a microscope, looking at blood samples, while Matt studied him. Mohinder looked up, asking, “Matt, are you looking around inside my head?”

Matt’s concentration broke. He apologized, “Sorry, man, but I’m getting this weird output. It kind of reminds me of how my turtle sounds.”

“You have a turtle?” Mohinder asked, ignoring the main question.

“Yeah,” Molly replied, “his name is Darwin Kgosi Leonardo Geochelone sulcata James Maurice Rémy Willie Walker-Millbrook-Parkman.”

Matter-of-factly, Matt noted, “I just call him Turtle. He’s my spirit guide. My totem, so to speak.”

Mohinder paused. “Matt, who on Earth let you get your hands on Carl Jung?”

Matt refused to be distracted, “Mohinder, something’s strange about your brain.”

“Maybe you should read some Freud, too. It’s called the id.”

Matt’s brow furrowed. “Like the comic strip?” Seeing Mohinder’s trick, he noted, “I don’t hear the Id in anyone else.”

Mohinder sighed. “It’s the transformation, all right? It’s evolving me. My enhanced senses and strength, they make me more animal. And my brain is compensating with a larger limbic system.”

Peter appeared before the conversation could end. In his hand, he held half the formula.

“Good job, Peter,” Mohinder congratulated, taking it. He noted the torn edge. “This is only half.” He traced where the rest of the chemical formula should be.

“I know. Hiro should be here with the other half soon. Can’t you start?”

“I can do a little. It’s the right side of the protein chain that I got wrong, but I’ll be able to conjecture about nucleotide bonding along this main chain of carbons…”

Matt’s cell phone rang while Mohinder continued to explain the importance of the formula, in increasingly denser biological terms. Matt chose to answer his phone. “Hello? What? No, she should still be there. She’s on the overnight program. What do mean my wife picked her up? My wife is in a coma!” Matt hung up. To Molly’s worried frown, he noted, “It’s Daniella.” He dialed the hospital. He handed the phone to Peter. “They can’t know it’s me. Say what I tell you.”

Peter repeated the words in Matt’s head. “This is Dr. Pickaname.” Matt scowled at him; Peter scowled back. “Yes, there seems to be a problem with a patient’s chart. There’s a… Excuse me.” He held the phone to his shoulder and commented to Matt, “You have no idea how a hospital works, do you? I’ll take it from here.” He got back on the phone, and continued speaking to the person on the other line knowledgeably, “Yes, there’re a few tests missing from a certain Parkman-comma-Daphne in Neurology. D-A-P-H-N-E. Yes, a CAT scan and an MRI. I see.” Peter held the phone to his should again. “They said… that Daphne checked herself out.”

“Dammit!” Matt exclaimed, “I knew I should have gone back sooner. I’m being blackmailed.” Calming down, he stated, “I’ll handle this. I’m the only one who gets to kidnap my own family.” He ran out, rejecting Molly’s cries for attention.

Peter turned to Molly. “Shouldn’t he have asked you to find them first?” He stared at Matt’s phone, still in his hands.

“We’ve been trying for years to get him to not jump into things without thinking them through. Mom says that’s her job.” Molly concentrates. “Uh-oh. He may be right. Something’s blocking my ability. I can find my mom or Daniella.”

They turned to Mohinder, who looked up from his microscope at the formula, still talking. “…a hydroxide on the anterior carbon chain is more common, but it might possibly be some sort of nitrogen-based ion. It all depends whether potassium or sodium is the catalyst for the glutamine codon…”

: : :

Charles and Angela
Manhattan, New York
1987

“You’re too kind, Charles,” Angela told her friend, “to let Peter come over and socialize with your daughter.”

“‘Socialize.’ You’re too much, Angie,” Charles laughed, “Peter’s welcome to play with my daughter anytime he likes. Carlos brings his boy around her all the time. Peter’s not got any playmates at home. It was a little cruel of you to put a twelve years between your boys.”

After a brief pause to let the elephant in the room pass by, Angela countered, “Yes, Nathan was too old to think of Peter as a playmate so much as something to protect. What about you, Charles? You know the cliché about only children.”

“Spoiled? I’m a millionaire, Angela; I already had my work cut out for me.”

“Well, one day, we’ll get together and write a nice parenting book.”

Charles laughed heartily again.

“Well, Charles,” Angela said, “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back soon to pick him up.”

In Charles’s daughter, Simone’s room, Peter stood shyly in the middle of the floor while Simone used a watercolors set to paint a landscape. Playing on a 13-inch TV sitting on top of her Barbie Dream House was The Joy of Painting.

“What’cha paintin’?” Peter finally asked.

“A happy tree,” Simone answered.

“It looks like a nuc’lar explosion.”

“It’s a happy tree,” Simone seethed, scowling at him. “Isaac paints good happy trees.”

Peter’s gut was filled with an unfamiliar discomfort that made him dislike Isaac rather suddenly, which was strange, because until then, he thought Isaac was an okay kid. He didn’t talk much. Peter was quiet, too, but he at least seemed to like people more than colored pencils.

Since Simone was content to paint blue exploding trees like the guy on TV whose hair was curlier than hers, Peter wandered back into living room, where Charles was resting in an easy chair. He looked over to Peter and smiled warmly, “Hey, Peter, what are you doing back in here? Is my Simone not playing nice?” He looked over at the clock. “Oh, it’s Joy of Painting time, isn’t it? She’ll be more social in about ten minutes.” He coughed heavily for almost a minute.

“Are you okay, Mr. Deveaux?”

“Why, yes, Dr. Petrelli, I am. I’m just getting a little old. My sinuses kill me every time the weather turns cold.”

Peter seemed confused by the metaphor and Charles had to laugh at that. “So, tell me, Peter, what kind of movies to do you like?”

“I like the Superman movies.”

“You and every other boy. What do you like about Superman? Is the flying?”

“The flying’s cool,” Peter admitted, looking out the window.

“I like how fast he is. I ‘member in one of the movies where he saved Lex Luthor’s girlfriend because her aunt was about to be hit by a nuc’lar bomb. He saved everybody; not just the good guys.”

“You like people, don’t you, Peter?”

“Well, why not?” Peter asked, a little confused by the question, “I mean, some people aren’t nice, but you can’t not help people because of it.”

“I used to be like that. So did your mom and dad. We thought we were gonna save the world. Protect everybody, even the dangerous people. Turns out we could be dangerous.”

“You’re not dangerous, Mr. Deveaux.”

“Peter, I may be a decent fellow, but for a long time I was pretty naïve and sometimes the most good-doing people make mistakes and it still hurts a lot of people. I can go anywhere I want in my mind and I can see the effects of my action.”

“I can anywhere in my mind, too,” Peter commented.

“Really?” Charles replied, a bit surprised.

“Like my teacher says, you can go anywhere you want if you use your imagination. And reading books does that, too.”

Charles chuckled, “You got yourself some smart teachers. God gave you both a heart and brain for a reason.”

At this point, right as the grandfather clock in the room chimed the half-hour, Simone came wondering into the living room. “Peter! Come play Barbies with me!”

“I wanna play Superman instead.”

Simone rolled her eyes, “Boys. I gotta Superman doll in my toy chest. He can save my Barbies.”

Peter ran in after her, noting that it was Superman action figure, not a doll.

: : :

Ryan, Bess, Elle, and Gabriel
Primatech Research Facility
Barstow, California
2011

“We could have tracked down a bag of Natural blood, you know,” Gabriel commented to his partner as they walked down the halls of Primatech.

Ryan looked on with admiration at the scars on the back of his hand. Grinning, he replied, “Synthetic’s cheaper. Plus, what’s the fun of a good fight if you don’t have the scars to prove it?” Turning to Elle’s tall partner, he added, “And thank you so much for tending to my wounds in the field.”

“You’re welcome,” Bess replied coolly, allowing her Russian accent to come through to emphasize her point. He continued to smile at her with interest, causing her to turn around and confront him. “Let me make one thing clear, Covington. Back there, we did not have a moment. We do not have chemistry. And there are no sparks between us.”

Suddenly, there were sparks between them. Literally, as Elle stuck her hand between them and activated her power.

In one efficient motion, Bess pulled a latex glove from her pocket and used it to twist Elle’s wrist and shove it away. “I’ve doused you for less,” Bess pointed out.

Yanking her arm away, Elle pouted. “Ow. Excuse me for thinking you two are cute.”

“You’re delusional,” Bess commented. “Clinically,” she added.

Elle made contact with her husband, shrugging with agreement. He mirrored her gesture and they grinned like lunatics at each other.

As they made their way to Angela’s office, a new face appeared from around the corner. Audrey Hanson made eye contact with the group and immediately drew a pistol and fired twice. Both shots hit Gabriel square on the shoulder.

Bess and Ryan drew their guns. Elle wasn’t so restrained; she fired a stream of electricity down the hall, throwing Audrey into the wall. Bess and Ryan ran down the hall, guns raised, toward her. Elle knelt by her husband. “Baby…”

“I’ll be fine,” he groaned. “Roll me over.”

Elle struggled with the task, but rolled Gabriel on his side, allowing the bullets to fall out of his shoulder.

“I’m gonna need you to pop my shoulder,” Gabriel commented, his voice still pained.

Frowning, Elle whined, “I hate doing that.” All the same, she grabbed his arm and shoved it back into joint.

“Twist! Twist!” Gabriel screamed, in more agony that before.

Elle twisted and Gabriel sighed with relief. “Barf,” she noted.

“I thought you liked pain.”

“Electricity’s a clean hurt. All this shoving around bones and blood is all… ick.”

Audrey woke up to two pistols in her face. She saw Sylar with a blonde-haired woman approaching. To the agents with guns, she explained, “That man is a serial killer named Sylar. I was just trying to…”

“Lady,” Bess interrupted, “we know who he is. I’d gladly give you my gun to shoot him a few more times, but I’m actually protecting you from Blondie McBugzapper and Johnny Boy Scout.”

“Hey,” Ryan proclaimed, “I… haven’t been a Boy Scout in over ten years. I stopped at First Class.”

Audrey, her head pounded, noted absurdly, “Should’ve held out till Eagle. It puts you on the fast track in the FBI. Armed services and NASA, too.” Seeing Sylar in perfect health, she asked, “How’s your shoulder okay? I saw those bullets hit you.”

“Little trick I picked up from that cheerleader in Odessa.”

“The one who’s brains you spattered across the locker room walls?”

“No, the other one, I caught up with my real target a few months later. She survived.”

Elle annoyed, brought up, “And, moral of the story, is he stopped killing people. For brains, at least. Now’s he a loyal agent of the Company.”

“Forgive me for not trusting the woman who electrocuted me into a wall.” To Bess, the apparently sane one, she asked, “Who Psychobitch? His girlfriend?”

“Wife.”

“Lovely couple. Sorry I missed the wedding. Did you serve hor d’brains?”

“That’s a terrible pun,” Elle noted to Gabriel.

Gabriel replied lightly, “I wish people would stop assuming I snacked on them. They probably taste like calamari and cabbage.”

“He hates calamari and cabbage,” Elle felt the need to explain.

“I’ll tell the BAU to add that to his profile,” Audrey commented sarcastically.

“So, what are you doing here?” Ryan asked, with obvious intent to change the subject.

Angela, coming around the cornered, answered, “Miss Hanson is our newest recruit. I see you’ve all met.”

“She shot Gabriel,” Elle tattled.

“She hasn’t been through orientation yet, Dear,” Angela replied, “Miss Hanson, first rule is, we don’t shoot my son.”

“Son?! What the hell?”

“Oh, yes, I guess his childhood adoption record would have been sealed. Now that all these silly misunderstandings have been resolved, I’ll excuse you for the day, Miss Hanson. See you bright and early tomorrow morning.” At that, Angela promptly left.

Bess and Ryan finally pulled their guns away, and Audrey got up with the help of Bess. She approached Gabriel and pressed her finger into his chest. Elle created a ball of lightning and held it up threateningly.

“Sylar, or Gabriel, or whatever you’re calling yourself, I want you to know that you’re still a killer and no amount of ‘redemption’ will ever absolve you of your sins.”

“I agree,” Gabriel replied seriously, “there’s more blood on my hands than I will ever be able to wash off. But, you’re going to have to learn very quickly, that the world needs my help right now a lot more than it needs for me to be punished for my crimes.” With this he walked away, Elle on his arm. Audrey curtly nodded and walked the other direction.

Bess, seeing Ryan preparing her ask her a question she didn’t want him to ask, walked away, too.

: : :

Arthur and Ando
Pinehearst Company
Fort Lee, New Jersey
2011

Ando Masahashi unceremoniously burst into Arthur’s office. He laid a piece of paper on his boss’s desk. Arthur, who was staring out the window, turned and looked at the paper. “This is very good, Mr. Masahashi, but it’s only half. Where’s the other part?”

“I don’t know. Hiro must have hidden it. He died when I took this from him. I killed him. I didn’t sign up for that. Consider this my resignation.”

Arthur, with an ominous tone of disappointment, replied, “Now, Mr. Masahashi, I think we both know that this is not an employment-at-will kind of position.”

Ando lit up his hands. “That’s too bad.”

“It is,” Arthur replied, walking around his desk and briskly taking a hold of Ando’s wrist. His hand burned, but began to heal instantly. Ando suddenly felt weak and began kneeling. Slowly, his hands began to dim and Arthur hands began to glow.

Ando screamed and lurched away, his right hand now a cauterized stump which he held to his chest and he writhed on the ground.

“Actually, Ando, I think I’ll be granting your retirement.” A quick flick of his wrist and Ando’s head was jerked abruptly to the side. He stopped writhing.

Flint, who was sitting on a comfortable chair across the room, walked forward. “Dude,” he commented, mildly impressed.

“Mr. Gordon, I have a task for you.”

“You wan’ me to track down the other half of this formula thingie you’re lookin’ for?”

“No, that’s much too delicate of a task for you. But I do need you to get rid off our recent retiree here.” He gestured toward Ando’s body.

Without another word, Flint created a massive flame and scorched Ando’s body until there was nothing left of him besides a large black circle. He looked up to Arthur for approval.

“I was hoping you would take him outside first so I wouldn’t need new carpet.” Flint looked downtrodden. Arthur added unaffectedly, “But I should have known to be more explicit with you.” Flint’s mind strained to figure out if he’d been insulted, but Arthur began talking before he could come to a conclusion. “I need you to welcome a guest I’m expecting.”

Flint grinned. “Just checkin’, do you mean my kinda welcome?”

“Yes, Mr. Gordon, your kind of welcome. He was recently fired.”

“And you want me to refire him?” Flint asked, grinning. Arthur did not. “Sorry ‘bout the joke.”

“No, it’s quite fine. Coming from you, it was quite clever.”

This put Flint back into good spirits and with a nod, he exited the office.

Arthur picked up the phone and dialed. “Miss Zimmerman, would you come in for a moment?”

A few moments later, Barbara sauntered in wearing a smoldering grin. “Mr. Petrelli, how might I be of service?” She added a suggestive raise of her eyebrows.

Arthur remained disaffected. “Hiro Nakamura would trust only one other person with the other half of the formula. I need you to track down Peter.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” she pointed out, not rejecting the offer.

“Luckily, you look like someone he trusts a little bit.”

Barbara removed her Pinehearst pin. “I’ll go put on my pearls. I never got a chance to thank you for them.”

Bordering on annoyed, Arthur replied, “They weren’t a gift. They were a business expense. You’ll need to purchase a pair of those gaudy sunglasses your sister seems to like, of course.”

“Got’cha, Tiger,” she answered, winking, before exiting the room.

: : :

Chapter 13 coming soon...

Director's Commentary: First of all, it was so tragic having to kill off Ando after just killing off Hiro (and possibly Kimiko). But I think it was a good send-off for the character. If Masi has some more free time, I may do a Hiro/Ando flashback to bring them together again.

I was quite honored to work with Richard Roundtree. He's such a talented actor; he does so much with so little.

It was fun starting of Clea's part with a bang. I hope she can stick around.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Christine Rose … Angela Petrelli

Greg Grunberg … Matt Parkman

Sendhil Ramamurthy … Mohinder Suresh

Milo Ventimiglia … Peter Petrelli

Kristen Bell … Elle Gray

Zachary Quinto … Gabriel Gray

Ali Larter … Barbara Zimmerman

Robert Forster … Arthur Petrelli

Adiar Tishler … Molly Walker

James Kyson Lee … Ando Masahashi

Clea DuVall … Audrey Hanson

Olga Sosnovska … Bess Detskij

Chris Carmack … Ryan Covington

Blake Shields … Flint Gordon

Richard Roundtree … Charles Deveaux

Trenton Rogers … 7-Year-Old Peter Petrelli

Na’Kia Bell Smith … 8-Year-Old Simone Deveaux

The World Entire: Chapter 11: Who We Are

To the outside world, the indigenous culture of the Mexican people might seem obsessed of death. The dichotomy between life and death is central to bull fights. Día de Los Muertos is an annual celebration of the dead. Skulls and skeletons become a ubiquitous motif across the country. While to the uninformed it may appear as if the Mexican people are celebrating something most cultures find sorrowful, the truth is that the Mexican are using the time to pray for and remember their beloved ancestors. The holiday is used in some areas to be a subversive means of criticizing a corrupt and unstable government through the use of sarcastic eulogies. In essence, they have an understanding of the deceased not completely different than the rest of the world: Death is an opportunity to remember the lives of those who are no longer living. What is their legacy? How many people did they touch? How many people did they hurt? Did they die doing what they loved or doing the right thing? Or, even more important, did they live doing the same?

: : :

Doug and Cris
Los Angeles, California

Doug woke up to a sharp prick to his face. As his senses returned to him, he looked around. It was the back seat of a town car. A gag limited his ability to speak and his hands were encased in a bulbous block of cement with a thin wire running through it. He looked up and saw two of the agents in the front seat. The dark-haired man was driving and the blonde was looking back at him with a rather creepy smile and a pointed finger near his cheek.

Looking at his awakened captive via the rearview mirror, Gabriel announced to Doug, “Welcome back, Dougie boy. Before you even consider about trying to escape, let me explain to you your predicament. What you’ve got around your hands is some of that cement you melted from the basketball course. Here’s a fun fact: the city of Los Angeles mixes iron particles into its cement to increase durability. Those wires sticking out the end? They’re attached to my wife’s body here.” Elle lifted up her shirt, showing the wires taped to her sides along the ribs. Noting that his wife’s bra was peeking through, he pushed down her hands. “That’s quite high enough, Sweetie.” He turned his attention back to Doug. “Were you to melt that cement, the iron particles would align and that block of cement would quickly begin to conduct electricity. On a normal day, my wife can power a small house without breaking a sweat. But, believe me when I tell you, she’s capable of much higher voltages. Now rationally, the last thing we want to do is expose you to lethal quantities of electricity. Unfortunately for you, my wife is not rational, and in fact quite sociopathic. And you just happened to have ruined one of her favorite pairs of pants. I would think twice before using your abilities.”

“Can I do the other one now?” Without waiting for permission, she shocked Cris’s nose.

He mumbled incoherently for a moment before taking stock of the situation. Both his hands were stuffed inside of a plastic bag filled with some viscous liquid and duct-taped together.

“Hello, Cris. I got your name from your driver’s license; I hope you don’t mind. Now, I just wanted to warn you. That liquid you’re had are emerged in? That would be silica gel. By itself, mostly harmless. It’s a deoxidizer. At worse causes a minor rash. However, if you were to try to crystallize it, you find it transformed into a most uncomfortable substance: millions of itty bitty little shards of glass. Not only would it be excruciatingly painful, but I have no doubt that you wouldn’t even have hands anymore if you tried to pull them out of those bags. Do the smart thing.” He winked into the mirror.

Together, both captives struggled around, screaming through their gags.

“I’m not going to be able to take twenty more minutes of this,” Elle commented, zapping both of them in the forehead, knocking them both unconscious.

Gabriel looked at her worriedly.

Incredulously, she replied to his unspoken question. “I didn’t kill them. The finger was set to stun. I’m saving up for tonight.” She grinned brazenly.

: : :

Hiro Nakamura
Yamagato Industries
Tokyo, Japan

The first place Hiro teleported was onto the roof of Yamagato Industries. It was a calm cool night, with only a few people walking around in the courtyard below. Peering over the side, he ignored the forty-story drop and checked the balcony outside his father’s—make that his sister’s—office. It was empty and Hiro teleported there.

The inside of the CEO’s office was empty, too. It was dark. He knew Kimiko sometimes like to work very late, but apparently tonight she did not. He teleported right in front of the safe. His handprint was accepted. With a poof of captured air escaping, the door clicked open. Inside sat the formula.

The room was suddenly lit by red light. Hiro cautiously froze time. To his left, alit by his own power, was Ando. His Pinehearst pin gleamed in the light. Hiro then noticed that he hadn’t completely frozen time. Ando’s energy blast was inching toward him. He reached behind the safe and pulled it down. Once he unfroze time, the tilted safe took the full brunt of the energy attack. For a split second, Hiro was able to see Ando through holes in the safe’s walls. Wisely, he teleported away immediately.

Ando pulled out a handheld GPS. On it, a bright blue dot blinked. “The fool,” Ando commented to himself, “he teleports one hundred meters away.” Ando sent another energy blast into the window, shattering it instantly. He grabbed the fire ladder and slid down, his power blazing to prevent abrasions.

Ando ran into Hiro halfway across a walking bridge.

“Ando, you traitor.”

Ando answered gravely, “Hiro, please, just give me the formula and no one will get hurt.”

“You even sound like a villain.”

“Villains don’t say ‘please,’” Ando pointed out.

“I will not.” Hiro pulled out the blade of Takezo Kensei.

Ando lit up his hand and held it out defensively. “Hiro, don’t do this. We can—” The energy ball shot from his hand.

It took Ando a moment to realize what had happened. There was still a bit of Kimiko’s pheromones in his body and his vision had been intermittently cloudy while he had waited for Hiro inside of Kimiko’s office.

The cobwebs in his mind cleared, Ando ran over to Hiro, finding the man stone-still. He took the formula from his friend’s hands, but the ground started to rumble before he could do anything else.

Fueled by adrenaline, Ando raced away as the ground began to shake ever more violently. He took cover under a large tree, gripping tight, praying that no branches would crush him. The rumbling stopped and only leaves had fallen.

As the dust cleared, Ando witnessed the destruction of the courtyard. The bridge he had been on not two minutes before was a crumpled heap of metal. He climbed around the debris as best he could, but he could not find Hiro’s body. He turned and was greeted with a more terrible sight. All the buildings, including Yamagato Industries, had collapsed to the ground. He thought of beautiful Kimiko, who he had left asleep on a couch inside her private chambers inside the building.

Filled with grief and fury, he began exploding the larger pieces of concrete that he could find. He felled the tree that he had sought shelter under, watching it crash to the ground in a burning heap.

He noted the formula in his hand. He wanted to set that aflame, too, but he knew better. The formula had to be returned to Pinehearst immediately. It could not be let loose into irresponsible hands, or catastrophes like this would continue.

He knew the earthquakes would close down the airports. Luckily, he would have a private jet waiting.

: : :

Lyle Bennet
Primatech Medical Facility
New Orleans, Louisiana
2011

Lyle Bennet slept soundly in his hospital bed, the regenerator blood filling his system and repairing the damage to his body. Meanwhile, a lone figure entered his room with a gun.

Small, nimble hands disconnected Lyle’s blood IV. A syringe was inserted into the open end of the plastic tube and dark red liquid injected in.

Lyle’s vital signs immediately crashed, setting off an alarm. He burst awake and grabbed the arm of his uninvited visitor. Pulling her into the light, he found himself staring at his sister.

“Claire?”

“This is the last time I save your ass.” With this, she yanked her arm away, fired a shot at the window, and leapt out through the partially shattered window, tearing up her body. Lyle watched her race off into the darkness. At first, she limped, but her ability run quickly returned.

Monica and several orderlies burst in to the room on Lyle’s other side, chasing a code blue. But, by then, Lyle’s vitals had returned to normal.

“What happened?” Monica screamed. She glanced at Lyle before examining the window and the outside. The outside was still.

Lyle commented, acting wearier than he felt, “I don’t know. Someone snuck in. I think the alarm scared her away.”

“Her? Did you see her face?”

Lyle paused, seemingly thinking, “No, but they were small. It could have been a guy, but there’s no telling. The lights were dim.” The last part sounded particular lame to Lyle, but Monica seemed too erratic to catch it.

She pulled down on the collar of Lyle’s gown, finding his gunshot wound healed and only a small, bullet-sized bump to show for it.

“Must have been a good batch,” he commented, indicating the blood bag that was no longer connected to his IV tube.

Monica surveyed the bloody window again. She deduced, “Might have been a regenerator. Any idea who?”

“We just killed a member of the Poulet gang. Could be revenge.”

“I’ll round up some suspects.”

: : :

Nathan and Tracy Petrelli
The White House
Washington, D.C.

Tracy, sitting in a lawn chair, wearing a bikini that was as modest as bikinis could get, held her breath, looking worried as she watched the surface of the large pool before her.

Suddenly, a small head popped out. Startled, Tracy let out her breath. A two-year-old boy smiled and waved at Tracy. “Hi, Mommy!”

Tracy smiled, “Hey, Sweetie. You were under a long time.”

“Okay,” the toddler replied before sinking back down. His wake zipped across the long pool in seconds.

Nathan Petrelli, sitting in his own chair, surveyed his wife, “Twenty-four minutes and fifteen seconds. That’s a new record.”

“Well, our son’s very good at holding his breath.”

“I was talking about you.”

Tracy sneered at her husband, “Funny. It’s just my luck I’d end up married to a bird and giving birth to a fish.”

“What does that make you? A penguin?”

“Keep it up, Mister, and you’ll be staring down a polar bear.”

Nathan laughed.

Tracy studied her stomach. Her abs were still flat but now on the soft side. “…or a sea cow.”

Nathan contradicted her immediately, “Honey, you are extravagantly beautiful. Not many First Ladies make it into Maxim’s Hot 100 List.”

“That was before Andrew,” Tracy pointed out lamely.

With injected confidence, Nathan replied, “I have no doubt you could make it again. Niki had a kid and she made big money as an online stripper.”

“Niki had her son when she was 21. She had the bulk of her twenties to get back into shape.”

“If it makes you feel better, if you were to start an online stripping site, I would visit it everyday. Though, please, please, please don’t. I want to go down in the history books but not like that.”

“What? Having the highest approval ratings of any President?”

“Hardy-har-har.” He leaned over to kiss his wife.

Nathan was tapped on the shoulder by a man in a suit.

“Marty, what can I do for you?” Nathan asked, removing his sunglasses.

Marty knelt down. “Sir, my apologies for interrupting you, but there’s something extremely urgent that needs your attention. Twelve minutes ago, several earthquakes caused extensive damage in one of the major business districts of Tokyo. Their scientists are saying it couldn’t have been natural. It was a special.”

“Set up a press conference.”

“Sir, it’s not just that. Our people at USGS sent you this rather disturbing simulation.”

“What?” Nathan sat up, worriedly. Tracy followed suit.

Marty laid a DVD player in Nathan’s lap. “The scientists stated that a couple more of these artificial earthquakes would weaken the crust along the Pacific Ring of Fire. If this were to happen, the Earth’s rotation would start to accelerate the drifting of the plate away from one another. Ocean water would seep in and the problem will compound.” On screen, the Earth visibly flattened at the poles. “Scientists in California have found the same damage along the San Andreas Fault because of the Costa Verde Disaster. They say it’s almost as if the Earth is beginning to crack down the middle.” Bright orange lines marked the cracks in the Earth, eerily similar to the popular graffiti image. Then, quite suddenly, one half of the earth jerked away with the gravity of the moon. The two mangled halves started to crumble in on themselves. The moon crashed into one of the parts.

“Oh, Dear Lord in Heaven. Assemble the Cabinet. Now. Drag them out of their homes. Out of the bars. Out of their mistresses’ apartments. Get me everybody.”

: : :

Harry Fletcher
Franklin & Wilkins Pharmaceuticals
Odessa, Texas
1982

Harry Fletcher scowled through the microscope. Once again, his enhanced Treponema pallidumbacteria broke down their defenses. Masquerading as cancer research, Fletcher had begun manipulating common bacteria. He was able to give the bacteria a number of advances, including spiny quills, a tough outer cell membrane, or the ability to “birth” a copy of itself upon dying. But his tests over the years hadn’t come to a permanent solution. Over time, the bacteria would simply shed it quills, or the robust exterior would wear away, or the internal copy would be destroyed for materials.

One of his lab techs entered the room, knocking. “Dr. Fletcher. You have a package.”

Fletcher took the brown paper-covered parcel and smiled as he read the return address. He picked up his phone immediately and began opening the package with a red-hot beam of light emitted from his finger.

“Vicky, it’s Harry. I just got a package from you. Is this what I think it is?”

On the other end of the line, Victoria Pratt responded, “Yes, it took quite a bit of fiddling, but I was able to make it so it would integrate itself in the junk DNA. You’ll have to let me know how it works.”

“So, you’ve already notified our subjects?”

“They’re on their way.”

Thirty thousand feet over New Mexico, 11-year-old Jessica Sanders giddily looked out the window. “That’s where the aliens landed!” she told her 7-year-old sister.

Niki craned her neck. “I can’t see!” she exclaimed.

Their father gruffly ordered, “Niki, be quiet. You’re disturbing the other passengers.” In actuality, the other passengers were quite amused by the sudden outburst. It was the first time the young girl had made a peep the entire flight and as long as she didn’t suddenly make a habit of it, they were quite content.

Jessica unlatched her sister’s seat belt. Niki scrambled from her seat into her sister’s lap and looked out the window. “Aliens? Really?”

“No,” Hal answered, “Girl, get in your seat.” Niki knew that voice. That was the voice that came before her dad unbuckled his belt and she would black out and wake up with a sore rear end. So, she slipped back into her seat and pulled out a coloring book and started coloring Sleeping Beauty’s dress lime green.

“There really were aliens,” Jessica whispered, “The government just didn’t want anyone to know.” Niki giggled but didn’t reply. Their father didn’t seem to have heard her.

“You know,” Jessica noted, “you’re really lucky that you have Muscular Dystrophy. You get to go to Texas every year with all the cowboys. This is the first time I’ve ever been. I’m glad Mrs. Sears got pneumonia.”

Niki actually was never impressed with the cowboys. They wore cowboy hats and boots like they did in the movies, and some of them carried guns, but they were boring-looking guns like policemen and casino guards carried, not fun spinning six-shooters. And the cowboys never seemed to shoot the bad guys, even though Niki counted at least three men with black hats and mustaches last time she’d come. These cowboys also never lassoed any cows. In fact, she’d never seen any cows to lasso. Except for their hats and guns, these cowboys just lived normal people lives in normal people cities (normal except for lack of pretty casinos with neon lights and waterfalls).

Meanwhile, Arthur Petrelli and his 14-year-old son Nathan flew in a private jet. Arthur watched his son with a great sense of pride. Nathan had his eyes glued to the window.

“Everything good, son?” Arthur tried. Nathan was a good kid—make that a great kid—but his head was often in the clouds. He gets that from his mother.

“Yeah, Dad, just enjoying the view.”

“Maybe you ought to reconsider going into the Navy. I’d be just as proud if you went into the Air Force. You might talk to the copilot. I think he did a few years in the service.”

“Maybe,” the teen replied mechanically. Nathan had wanted to be in the Navy since his Peter Pan phase, wanting to “fight pirates.” Arthur remembered joking to his wife they named the wrong kid “Peter.” It was meant to be ironic; Arthur was insistent on the name Nathan for his first heir. Like the Nathan of the Bible, Arthur wanted a son who would stand in the presence of kings and challenge them.

“Hey, Dad, I think there’s a fire down there.”

Arthur got up to sit by his son. They were a mere half hour from Odessa-Schlemeyer Airport, and were lower to the ground. Arthur could definitely make out the small smoking dot on the landscape. He gave a semi-interested hmm.

A hundred and fifty miles behind them, a large 747 roared towards Midland International Airport. In first class, 7-year-old Tracy Strauss sat quietly with her stepmother. The latter was reading Newsweek; the former Highlights. Mrs. Strauss wore a khaki pant suit, heavily shouldered and with a matching burnt umber scarf. Young Tracy wore a periwinkle, ankle-length skirt over a frilly white blouse.

“Your father is in Newsweek again. He got another medical research bill through Congress.”

Tracy looked over. “It’s a good picture,” she commented, “he looks very handsome.”

“He does,” the woman agreed, “Are you excited about your last injection?”

“No. Shots aren’t very much fun. Plus, it’s hot in D.C. now. I have a bunch of pretty blouses with short sleeves that I wanted to wear without an ugly Band-Aid on my arm. Malignicant hyperthermia is a pain.”

A day later, in Resada, California, Dr. Zimmerman returned home well past ten o’clock. He found his 7-year-old daughter, Barbara, sitting in an easy chair in the entrance hallway, her eyes barely open. Upon seeing him, she leapt up and ran to hug him around the legs.

“Barbara,” he commented paternally, “you should ‘ave been in bed hours ago. You ‘ave school tomorrow.”

“I wanted to welcome you home.”

Zimmerman ruffled his daughter’s head. “All right, I’m welcomed. Time for bed.”

As they walked up the stairs hand-in-hand, Barbara turned to her father and asked, “What were you doing in Texas?”

“I was giving some little girls and boys the special shot.”

“Like the one you gave me before you went away?”

“Ja. The same one.”

Barbara proudly displayed her Care Bear Band-Aid. “It’s gonna make me big and strong and fast and smart.”

Zimmerman chuckled jollily, “Ja.”

As he tucked her into bed, she said, “Ich liebe dich, Vati.” I love you, Daddy.

“Ich liebe dich auch, mein spezielles Mädchen.” I love you, too, my special girl. He kissed her on the head and turned out the light, smiling.

: : :

Episode 12: What We Have Become

Director's Commentary: The cast keeps coming up to me to tell me they want a show called Lil Heroes, which is about their characters as little tykes. I told them that was violating several rules of TV: Never work with kids; Never do a shifting period drama; Never work with animals (I refuse to do it without Puppy Muggles). Granted, I violated all these rule in this very episode.

This was Masi's last episode with me. It's very tragic.

Probably the biggest stir I caused was inviting Scott Bakula (Enterprise Capt. Archer) to play Harry Fletcher. I had the honor of casting the last four Founders and Mr. Bakula was my final one. I also want to give props to Ellery Sprayberry. Not only did she play all three parts (Niki, Tracy, and Barbara), but she did most of it with very few takes, even the scene where we had her speaking German.

The next episode marks another break in my series. I was hired for another six episodes, bringing the total to 18, and have requested a few weeks off to plan. Stick around!

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Zachary Quinto … Gabriel Gray

Kristen Bell … Elle Gray

Adrian Pasdar … Nathan Petrelli

Ali Larter … Tracy Petrelli

Dana Davis … Monica Dawson/St. Joan

Randall Bentley … Lyle Bennet

Robert Forster … Arthur Petrelli

Masi Oka … Hiro Nakamura

James Kyson Lee … Ando Masahashi

Jonathan Chase … Doug

Jesse Boyd … Cris

Ronald Guttman … Dr. Zimmerman

Graham Beckel … Hal Sanders

Scott Bakula … Harry Fletcher

Joanne Nelly … Zimmerman’s Lab Tech

Geno Menteiro … Presidential Aide Marty

Lorenzo James Henrie … 14-Year-Old Nathan

Ellery Sprayberry … 7-Year-Old Niki Sanders/Tracy Strauss/Barbara Zimmerman

Laurie Holden … Tracy’s Stepmother

Chloe Moretz … 11-Year-Old Jessica Sanders

Henry Benjamin Robinson … Andrew Petrelli

The World Entire: Chapter 10: The First Step

War and religion have always been bedfellows. The Greeks and the Romans prayed to their gods for favor during wars. The God of the Old Testament was a Warrior God, smiting the unrighteous. Middle Age knights were warriors of the Church, crusading against Moslems and pagans. Of the Four Horsemen the Apocalypse, one is a Conqueror and the second the embodiment of War. Every species fights for land, for resources. It is the very foundation of evolution: persevere or perish. When the lines are drawn, will we have it in us to slaughter our fellow man? Will we join hands with our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers, our sons and daughters, our husbands and wives? And when the last enemy is slain, who will be left standing? The righteous? The mighty? The lucky? And will it be worth it? God save our souls, for we cannot.

: : :

Cris and Doug
Downtown Los Angeles, California

Doug and Cris stood side by side on the outdoor basketball court, watching the four agents exit their car. Two of them, a tall blonde guy and a tall brunette woman hid behind the doors and pulled out their guns like police officers. The other two, a tall, dark-haired man and a petite blonde woman, boldly walked toward them.

Doug, being closer to the blonde, knelt down and pressed his hands into the concrete. The surface began to ripple. Elle suddenly lost her footing and began to sink into liquefied concrete. She didn’t let this stop her from sending a burst of lightning to knock over her attacker. He recovered quickly, now ready for a fair fight.

Cris stared down the dark-haired man. He had the most annoying grin on his face. Gabriel raised his hand and Cris was airborne. He jerked his arms to the right and Cris went flying into a chain link fence. Gabriel wasn’t expecting him to burst right through as the links shattered like ice crystals.

Behind their partners, Ryan and Bess started firing. The bullet did make holes in their clothing, but were nonetheless ineffective against their skin. Bess’s bullets popped like paintballs against Doug and Ryan’s shattered like glass against Cris.

The angered Doug melted more of the concrete and the two agents found themselves sinking as well. Ryan used his door to climb onto the roof. Bess began the same process, with Ryan dragging her onto the roof with him.

“Thank you,” she said curtly. She raised her gun again and shot Melty in the eye. The bullet melted again, but liquid lead distracted him long enough for Elle, currently knee deep in liquid concrete to stun him with another surge.

Meanwhile, Gabriel was using his telekinesis to launch Kris into any surface he could find: the ground, a nearby building, the basketball hoops. None proved durable enough to cause any sort of damage. Inspired, Ryan leapt off the car and dashed over to his partner, whispering something in his ear that made him smile.

Kris soon found himself jetting straight up into the air.

“Let’s see what happens when he tries to crystallize air.” Gabriel ceased using his arms to hold Kris up and lifted his wife out of the puddle.

He didn’t get very far when a number of thick icicles rained down upon him, one impaling his head.

Ryan and Bess ran to the car. Ryan surveyed the predicament, but Elle was already racing over to her husband, covering her head. She began yanking blood-covered icicles from his head. Gabriel began to heal immediately, but not before Elle found herself sinking into the cement again.

“Don’t you give up?!” she screamed at newly awakened Doug. She shot several bolts of lightning, making Doug dance.

“Missed!” he taunted.

Elle fired again, shocking him in the ankle and causing him to fall onto the soft concrete. Halfway through rolling himself out, he found the surfact concrete re-hardened. And ice cold. Gabriel stood by with a hand hovering above the puddle and a grin on his face. His smile fell when Elle stuck both hands into the concrete.

Noticing the telltale furrow of her brow, he exclaimed, “Elle, don’t!”

But blue sparks lit up the pond and both parties were rendered unconscious.

A crinkling noise in the background alerted the agents to the return of Kris. There was now a deep hole in the middle of the court. Cris climbed out, unharmed, brushing off the bits of concrete stuck to his clothes.

Seeing Gabriel too distracted by his wife, Ryan raced toward the criminal. He fired a few shots into his shoulder, which of course shattered. Once close enough, he punched the man in the jaw, causing Ryan’s knuckles and several layers of skin to shatter on impact. He screamed out, stumbling back. Bess caught him and laid him down gently. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath. Cris looked menacing at her, but she briskly stomped on the side of his knee, which made a painful breaking sound. “See, shattering’s no fun when it’s you.

“Bess, I’d move,” Gabriel’s voice came. His hand was aglow with radiation.

Bess pulled her gun on him. “The last thing we need is another Costa Verde. California is going to start looking like a pot-marked teenager.”

“Fun science fact,” Gabriel stated, oblivious to her comments, “plasma isn’t very easily crystallized.” He punched Cris hard across the face. It was a glancing blow, knocking him out but causing only bright red first-degree burns on his face.

Gabriel’s fist faded. He walked back over to his wife. Using his abilities, he remelted the concrete and floated her out. Holding her in his arms, he patted her face until her cheek sent a shock back. She opened her eyes, smiling. “We make a good team.”

Bess cleared her throat and Ryan tried not to look slighted.

“It was a very inclusive ‘we.’ Geez.” She sighed, looking up at her husband’s face. Her eyes then turned downward to her own body. “Bastard got goo-ified cement all over my new pants. He’s going to pay for that.”

Her teammates just nodded in agreement.

: : :

Peter and Molly
Mohinder’s Lab
Brooklyn, New York

“Can you find him?” Peter remarked to Molly, pointing to the computer screen.

“Get me a map. A world map,” Molly replied.

Mohinder noted, “There’s a world atlas…” He ran to the bookshelves, his spiny hand brushing against the spines. He pulled out the needed book.

Molly flipped through pages and stopped on one. She pointed. “He’s here.”

Peter took a quick look over her shoulder. “Okay. Wish me luck.” And he was gone.

“Luck,” Molly offered. After a few moments of awkward silence, she added, “So, it’s a bit of a family reunion.”

Mohinder, trying to loose as un-menacing as possible in his current state, stated, “I heard you got married, Matt. Congrats. And a baby. Badhae.”

Again, there was a lull in conversation.

“I’m fourteen now,” Molly commented to Mohinder.

“Wow,” Mohinder said, “they grow up so fast.”

Matt just nodded.

Another silence filled the room. Matt studied Mohinder and noted, “Dude, you really screwed it up the formula, didn’t you?”

Examining his hand, he agreed self-deprecatingly, “Quite.”

: : :

Hiro and Peter
Kirishitan Cathedral
Ikitsuki, Japan

Peter Petrelli teleported inside of the antechamber of an empty church. The first thing he noticed was that the walls were covered in diagrams hand-drawn onto newspaper and miles of colored string attached to the wall.

“This must be the place,” Peter commented to himself.

He suddenly found himself face to face with the tip of Hiro’s blade.

After a moment of recognition from both parties, Peter asked, “Could you slice my face along the other diagonal? It’d be nice to be symmetrical again.”

“Peter Petrelli,” Hiro greeted, his Japanese accent all but gone. “How did you find me?”

“Molly.”

Hiro appeared pensive for a moment. “Wait here.” He disappeared and reappeared almost instantly, holding a manila folder. “Sorry for the wait. Molly Walker? She is a clairvoyant, able to find anyone just by thinking of them.” He showed Peter a printout of a Primatech profile. He held up a copy of an adoption record. “She was adopted by Mr. Matthew Parkman and a Mrs. Daphne Millbrook Parkman.” Hiro’s eyes widen as he commented, his Japanese inflection returning, “Nemesis!”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. Send Daphne my regards.”

Peter looked around, “You’ve been trying to map it all. All of it.”

“Yes. But it’s impossible. There’s too much information.”

“Hiro, I’ve been trying to avert the catastrophe, too. Is there any chance that we’ve been stepping on each other butterflies?”

“It’s been five years and I still haven’t figured out these powers.”

“Listen, I’ve come into contact with Suresh. He thinks that he can create an antidote, but he’ll need the formula. Can you steal it from Primatech?”

“Already ahead of you. I stole both parts from Pinehearst few months ago. I’ve hidden one half here and the other half back in the vault at Yamagato.”

“Is that safe?”

“The half here is tucked where only a teleporter can find it: inside of a dead area between the walls.” Hiro again disappeared and reappeared instantly, this time with the left half of the formula. “The other is inside a biometrically-locked safe. Only I can open it.”

“Get it.”

Hiro nodded. He grinned. “It’s always us, isn’t it, Peter Petrelli? Saving the world?”

“Yeah.”

Hiro handed him half the formula. “Here, take this to Prof. Suresh. I will be back with the other half soon.”

“I’ll meet you back here,” Peter answered.

“Why here?”

Peter followed a few strands of yarn, finding the web extended and expanded into the cavernous sanctuary. “It looks like I have some studying to do.”

“Maybe we’re lucky. Maybe we can beat it.”

“Let’s hope.”

“Alright, Peter Petrelli, wish me luck.” He held out a fist, which Peter gladly tapped. And then Hiro was gone.

: : :

Micah Sanders
MIT
Cambridge, Massachusetts

Micah began filling an empty fish tank with smoke. He dropped the dragonfly robot inside. It began to buzz around erratically. Micah cut of the smoke. The more the dragonfly flew, the clearer the smoke got until it finally sputtered out and crashed into the glass, leaving the air in the tank hazy but translucent.

Micah nodded appreciatively and held the dragonfly in his hand.

: : :

Paula Gramble
The Corinthian Hotel & Casino
Las Vegas, Nevada
1993

Angela was right, Paula Gramble thought, as she found the white-haired and -bearded man, in the kitchen. He was pulling out a tray of pot pies.

“I’m starting to worry about you, old man.”

Linderman gregariously approached the woman. “Paula, a pleasure to see you.” He held her face and kissed her on the cheek. “Please, you must come and smell this.”

She quickly sniffed the pot pie. “They smell like chicken pot pies, Daniel.”

Insulted, he replied, “You didn’t smell. Smell them again.”

Gramble inhaled deeply. “Turkey pot pie,” she admitted, “Very strong, so you must have used mostly dark meat.” Linderman smiled, watching her but not saying anything, his eyes challenging her to continue. She inhaled again. “Carrots, of course. Peas. Nice touch.” She sniffed a couple of more times. “Squash. Butternut. That’s risky.” She smiled; Daniel nodded appreciatively. “And that cheese you put on top? Too white. Certainly not romano. Swiss?”

“Asagio.”

“Excellent choice. Since it’s what you want to hear, it’s a culinary masterpiece.”

“I always knew you’d appreciate good food.”

“My mother was a very talented cook.”

Daniel studied his colleague suspiciously, “You won’t flatter me if you didn’t want something.”

Gramble’s tone turned business-like, “Daniel, I was hoping you could look at a picture.” She showed the man a photograph. It was the face of an attractive blond woman.

“I certainly hope you’re not accusing me of anything. I swear I don’t recognize her.”

“She’s one of your blackjack dealers. Her names Nicole Sanders and she’s 19.”

“All right.”

“She’s one of Susan’s girls.”

“Ah. Quite a coincidence, her happening to work for me.”

“Daniel, you know nothing’s a coincidence when I’m involved.” She held out another photograph.

“Yes, I know this one. He’s one of my construction workers.”

“D.L. Hawkins. A subcontractor. Strange that you recognize him and not the girl?”

“Well, I might have hired him and a few of his buddies to perform a… delicate task for me. He usually appears a bit reluctant.”

“He’s my nephew.”

“My apologies. I didn’t know.”

Paula shrugged apathetically. “It’s none of my concern. He’s Paulette’s boy. I’d expect nothing less.”

“Ah. The plot thickens.”

“I think that Nicole and D.L. would be good together.”

“And, what, you want to play matchmaker? How sweet.” Linderman poked his fork into his pot pie, biting into a too-hot bite. “You know, that’s the single dreadful thing about these things. They’re just too hot fresh out of the oven. Wouldn’t you like one?”

Gramble courteously took one, breaking open the crust and allowing the steam to escape. “Thank you. And, no, I want you to play matchmaker.”

“I’m a very busy man, Paula.”

“Angela is actually the one who brought this to my attention. She believes that their coupling would be essential to the New York Plan.”

Linderman froze. “Really? I can’t imagine why.”

“I got the impression from my conversations with her that it might involve a child.”

Daniel set down his pot pie and looked at the two photos. “It could work. They’re attractive people. Hopefully open-minded. Did Angela happen to mention how their hypothetical child would be useful?”

“No, but being married to Arthur for so long, it makes a woman hold on to her secrets.”

Linderman agreed gravely, “You’re quite right. Sometimes I worry about him. Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

“Daniel,” Gramble called after him. He turned. “It’s good,” she said, indicating her pot pie. “But it needs pepper.”

Linderman smiled and gave her an appreciative hand gesture.

: : :

Angela Petrelli
Primatech Research Facility
Barstow, California

“Well, I must say this is a very impressive résumé. How did you come to hear about us, Miss… Hanson?”

Former FBI Special Agent Audrey Hanson sat back in her chair. “Back in 2006, I was put on the Sylar case. I was working with a man named Matt Parkman. He could read minds.”

“I know of Mr. Parkman. His father was an old friend.”

“Small world,” Audrey commented. She continued, “Well, at one point, we tried to raid a Primatech Paper Plant in Odessa, Texas, suspecting them of kidnapping people with special abilities. My boss at the time of course thought I was crazy. When those Evolution shot came out, I put the pieces together. Look, I know the government is trying to fight this outbreak of super-powered criminals. But no one wants to face the fact that the Presidency is in bed with Pinehearst, who makes those shots. Their solution for this outbreak is to inject more people. I figured that if anyone would be able to do real good, it’d be this place.”

Angela surveyed Hanson for the longest time. “You’re quite right, Miss Hanson. Understand, of course, that we do employ people with abilities. Most of them are Naturals. And we pair our agents up ‘one of us, one of them.’ This is not a war against specials, Miss Hanson. This is a war against things going out of control.”

“I’m on board with that.”

“Then, my dear, welcome to the Company.”

: : :

Chapter 11: Who We Are

Director's Commentary: I have to give credit to Zach, Kristen, Sendhil, Milo, Greg, Christine, Adair, Olga, and Chris. None of us knew we’d be going at it for this long and since these people are the backbone of this series, they’ve increased their workload by about a third and getting paid minimally for it. Yet every day, they bring their A game.

It amazing to have Masi Oka again. He’s only able to squeeze in a few episodes, and we’re making the most of his time.

Also, I'm ecstatic that we were able to bring back Clea DuVall and Malcolm McDowell in the same episode. It was nothing short of a miracle that they're schedules opened up at the same time.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Zachary Quinto … Gabriel Gray

Kristen Bell … Elle Gray

Sendhil Ramamurthy … Mohinder Suresh

Milo Ventimiglia … Peter Petrelli

Greg Grunberg … Matt Parkman

Christine Rose … Angela Petrelli

Adair Tishler … Molly Walker

Noah Gray-Cabey … Micah Sanders

Masi Oka … Hiro Nakamura

Olga Sosnovska … Bess Detskij

Chris Carmack … Ryan Covington

Clea Duvall … Audrey Hanson

Malcolm McDowell … Daniel Linderman

Gina Ravera … Paula Gramble

Jesse Boyd … Doug

Jonathan Chase … Cris