Creedog VanDrey Productions

2009-09-12T23:53:00.001-04:00

The World Entire: Chapter 22: The Moments to Come

2009-08-24T20:00:00.001-04:00

According to the Mayan calendar, the thirteen bak’tun cycle will end somewhere between December 21 and 23 of the year 2012 C.E. Many religions and pseudo-religions have taken this date to be the moment of the end of the world. However, it should be noted that even the ancient Mesoamerican cultures did not consider this date to be the point of any apocalypse, merely a resetting of the cycle, and possibly a great cultural shift. They believed that life would go on. This harkens to the fact that even the Judeo-Christian End of Days is a misnomer. They believe that the Earth will survive another thousand years in Paradise. Every change in our life, every graduation, every job change, every marriage, every birth, it all signals not an end to things, but a continuation of them; a landmark on a journey with no final destination. What are we trying to escape from? And when will we learn to appreciate the moments to come?

: : :

“This is a GNN Special Report with Ngozi Badu and Alistair Coles.”

Badu began the report, “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Earlier today, in what some are calling an epidemic, the world’s entire Special population suddenly and inexplicably lost their extrahuman abilities. While reports are still coming in, this is almost certainly not a natural occurrence.”

Coles continued, “The sudden plague of ability lost began in New York City sometime before dawn today and quickly spread in all directions. The Chinese government claimed that another outbreak, apparently independent of the first, began in Hong Kong only a few hours later, at 17:30 local time. Other major cities, including Tokyo,Japan; Lisboa, Portugal; Cape Town, South Africa; St. Petersburg, Russia; Caracas, Venezuela; Los Angeles,California; and Mumbai, India have all made similar claims, leading some to conclude that this was a deliberate action on a global scale.”

A map showing the coastal cities appeared beside Coles.

Badu continued, “There were thousands of reports of sparrow-sized mechanical insects at the sites, and it is believed that they are somehow responsible for the epidemic. No government or group is taking credit for the robots.”

His tone sympathetic, Coles added, “While the casualties are still being counted, this outbreak has caused deaths numbering in at least the tens of thousands, mostly from fliers and runners, the two largest Special populations. Estimates of injuries have been quoted in the millions.”

Badu reported, “There was a particular outpouring of grief for the hundreds of Specials who lost their lives after using their abilities to try to repair the Earth’s crust. We would like to now show a video that was made by American film students Zachary Kline and Archie Kang in San Francisco, California, which shows a group of Specials who, for the past two days, have attempted to repair the San Andreas Fault in California.”

The film was cued up to the last word Zach said before a flying man plummeted to the ground in the background.“Archie, get this,” Zach proclaimed on screen. “I don’t know what’s happening here but it appears as if all the Special fliers are suddenly losing control of their abilities.” There was a distant buzzing and Zach pointed toward the noise. The camera jerked up just in time to see a speck in the distance. It zoomed toward the object, a steel-gray insect that could barely be made out. It flew inconsistently, jerking and gliding in an unpredictable manner. After losing some altitude, it suddenly zipped away quickly, out of the frame. The camera returned to Zach, who coughed before continuing, “I do not know what we just saw, but it appeared to be made out of metal, shaped like an insect or a small plane, about the size of a model airplane by my estimation. And cut.” Zach made a cutting motion toward the camera and the feed ended as he raced out toward the shore.

“In related news, the U.S. Geological Society today released its findings that had, up until now, only been shown to American President Nathan Petrelli. It explains that the damage to Earth’s crust is more extensive than previously thought. What we are about to show you contains frightening images…”

: : :

Mohinder Suresh
Boston, Massachusetts
September 11, 2011

Mohinder examined his arm. For the first time in three years, he could see his skin. His eyes, too, had reverted back to his normal brown. The only trait remaining that recalled his previous form was his still-bald head.

Peter teleported into the lab, his demeanor harried.

Unable to contain his excitement, Mohinder cried out, “Peter! It worked! Look at me!”

“It worked too well, Mohinder.” Peter turned on Mohinder’s television. It opened to a GNN news report talking about the recent epidemic of ability loss.

After watching a few moments, Mohinder noted, “Oh, God, the hormone… it was very dilute; it should have taken hours if not days to build up enough concentration to counteract the effects of the compound. But how do you still have your abilities?”

Peter stood away from Mohinder, “I teleported away before I could breathe in the Antidote. I won’t have them for long. Do you still have the Formula and the compound?”

Mohinder indicated the sheet of taped-together paper and the large glass jar with clear liquid. “Right here. But, I have to warn you, I discovered something else.”

“What?”

“I’ve been doing some tests. The Antidote clears the body of the compound that induces abilities. However, now that the Antidote is our systems, I don’t think we can reintroduce the modification compound without causing an adverse reaction. The two compounds neutralize one another, and because the body will continue producing both, the byproducts build up to toxic levels.”

“So, we can’t take the Formula compound?” Peter brushed back his hair.

“You can, actually. Your body is genetically predisposed to it. It occurs naturally in your body, so a shot of it will overpower the Antidote and your abilities will return.”

“Let’s do it.” Peter slipped off his jacket and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt.

As Mohinder carefully injected Peter with the compound, the latter questioned, “What about Nathan? He’s not a Natural.”

“Nathan’s an exception. He is genetically predisposed since the mutation runs in your family.”

“Interesting.” Peter looked up. “This is really bothering me.” He laid a hand on Mohinder’s head and hair quickly grew from the scalp.

Grinning, Mohinder said, “Oh, thank you.” He felt it; it was long and flowed down to his shoulder. “A little long, though?”

“Get a haircut,” Peter joked. He got up as Mohinder pulled out a bandage, only to find no wound.

“Well, it appears you’ve retained your regeneration.”

“I’ve got one more errand to do.”

Peter teleported out of the lab and returned a few seconds later with a silver pistol, which he shot Mohinder with. A small dart imbedded itself in his shoulder. Mohinder collapsed to the ground and Peter took the Formula and stuck it in his pocket.

: : :

Col. Donald Kendrick
Fort Irwin Military Base
Fort Irwin, California

In a small office, Kendrick surveyed the map of the West Coast of the United States on a bulletin board. On the adjacent wall were half a dozen blue prints for a strange structure. Kendrick’s phone rang and he answered it, “Let him in.” General Jacob Pradasa of the Special Legion entered with two soldiers behind him. One was Edward Pall and the other Piper Johanssen, both in red-and-khaki uniforms.

Kendrick greeted the man coolly, “General Pradasa, I’m very busy. What can I do for you?”

“I know the military is performing some group project that has to do with the Cataclysm. My men, the soldiers of the Special Legion, would like to offer their assistance.”

“Their abilities are gone.”

“They’re still trained. They want to serve their country.”

Kendrick nodded, “Very well. You’ll have to hear the short version. You see this?” He pointed to the blueprints on the wall.

“What is it?” Pall asked, looking over them.

“We’re calling it the Vice. The U.S. military employs… or ‘employed’, I should say… Specials with intelligence abilities. Because we feared the danger that earthquake generators could cause, we looked into ways to repair the damage. One of our smarties designed these. They are concrete-and-steel structures built over fault lines, bored deep into the crust. They dramatically slow the spread of the plates by counteracting the pressure beneath the earth and rerouting it sideways. Three designs: one for land, one for undersea, and one special one that attaches to levees. Think of them like little buckles.”

“Which one are we using?” Pradasa asked.

“All them, and many of each. We’ll start building twelve of them across the San Andreas Fault tomorrow. We’ve got posts set up at every major military base across the West Coast.”

“Have they ever been tested?” Pradasa asked.

“No. But, if one breaks down, we’ll just build two more to replace it.”

“Sounds expensive,” Piper commented.

“Very. But it’s decreed by the President of the United States. The American taxpayers will thank us whenAustralia doesn’t smash into the moon and cause little bits of it the size of ocean liners to turn the Midwest intoGomorrah.”

: : :

Claire Bennet
Boston, Massachusetts

Claire looked down at her arm, where a small trickle of blood still flowed from the arm she had stabbed, and a red stain began to grow on her polo. Huffing, she tore her left pant leg against the seam, groaning at the unfamiliar ache in her arm. Tearing off the pant leg at her thigh, she wrapped the strip of cloth around the wound. Her destination was several miles away, and she was in a hurry.

Moments later, Peter teleported behind her, grabbed her before she could sense his arrival, and transported her to the safe house. Once there, she noticed Mohinder Suresh’s body sprawled on the floor, no longer covered in scales like Pinehearst’s reports had reported.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I injected him with the Formula. Non-Naturals are intolerant of it, so maybe it hit him harder.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” she asked suspiciously.

“Don’t worry. He’s predisposed; his sister had abilities. He should be fine… Sorry, I’m still getting used to this ‘thinking ahead’ thing.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Ready for me to reinject you?” He pointed the gun at her. She immediately spin-kicked it out of his hand and grabbed a scrap of metal off the ground and swung it at him. A moment later, she relaxed her attack pose and noted sheepishly, “Sorry, training. Can we use a syringe instead?”

“Works for me,” he replied. Peter proceeded to carefully fill a syringe with a full dosage of the compound and injected into Claire’s non-damaged arm. Seeing her impromptu bandage, he asked, “That looks like one of your pant legs. What happened to the other?” He indicated her two bare legs.

“Do you think I was going to walk down Newbury Street with only one pant leg? I’ve got a little more pride than that.”

“I’ve got to get going.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to reinject Naturals and Predisposeds. Too many Specials may have doomed the world, but without any, we may not be able to save it. I’ve got the List.”

“Do you need me?”

He indicated four more syringes that he’d filled up, on the table beside where Mohinder was lying, groaning as he slowly became more awake. “I need you to give those to Matt, Daphne, Molly, and Micah when they return. I assume you know how to find a vein.”

Confidently, she noted, “I’ve given away about nineteen gallons of my blood in the last year. I think I’ll manage.”

: : :

Zach and Archie
Full Moon Bay Beach
San Francisco, California

Zach and Archie pulled the tall, black-haired youth out of the water. He spat out water on shore and slowly regained his breath.

“Hey, buddy,” Zach asked, “how are you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Alex replied, still coughing up water, “I had to swim about a mile to get back here.”

Zach looked impressed. Archie asked, “What happened?”

Sitting up, Alex responded, “I can breathe underwater. Or I at least used to be able to. I heard people crashing onto the surface when I was under, and when I went to check… I lost my abilities. Any idea what’s going on?”

Zach explained, “Someone sent out these robots bugs that take away people’s powers.”

Alex let out a chuckle. “I work at a comic book shop and I find that weird.” He shook out his hair.

: : :

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

Nathan strode down the hall with his wife by his side, their son wrapped in a towel in her arms. Nathan’s Secret Service escorts: Braham, Renfrass, Henry, and Sanders, surrounded him. His chief of staff, Marty Ceppo, too, stood by, taking instruction from the President.

“Marty, get my speechwriters on my speech for tonight. We just had the Epidemic and the Cataclysm report released. We’re going to have a lot of anxious citizens. I don’t want it at the Freedom Towers anymore. Put it out back. And make sure they include… you know what, Marty? You went to Harvard. You know what needs to be in my speech. Go!”

Marty ran off, still making notes in a notepad.

Nathan turned to his wife, “How’s Andrew?”

“Still a little shaken. He was in the pool when those darn things flew over.”

“Mommy,” Andrew said, poking his head out, “’Darn’ bad word.”

“Yes!” she replied, pushing his head back against her shoulder. She turned to her husband and noted, “Your Inauguration Present is too perceptive.”

Peter teleported in, facing the entourage. Nathan’s agents, practically in unison, drew their guns and aimed at Peter.

Laying a hand on Braham’s shoulder, Nathan calmed, “Hold fire.” He asked, “Hey, Pete, you’re gonna get yourself shot doing that. How do you still have your abilities by the way?”

Without saying a word, Peter froze time. He pulled out his dart pistol and fired at Nathan. The dart sailed a few feet before getting caught in the time stasis. He examined it for a moment, and fired twice more, at Tracy and Andrew. He read through the list and moved around, looking at the agents’ badges. He fired only at the female Agent Landers.

Peter returned to his spot and unfroze time. The darts sailed to their intended targets, causing Nathan and Tracy to faint. Flustered, the three other Secret Service Agents shot at Peter. The first round of bullets struck Peter, but he let the rest phase through him while his body healed.

Once their magazines were emptied, and Nathan and Tracy had regained consciousness, Peter noted, “You’re welcome. Now, finally to that errand.” He teleported away.

“Sir,” Henry mentioned to Nathan, “you’re floating.”

Nathan indeed was floating several inches off the ground. He descended and exchanged glances with his wife, who laid her hand against the wall; a patch of ice appeared.

“Someone lie to me,” Landers requested, yanking out the dart.

“I’m a convicted felon,” Braham stated.

“I played football in high school,” Henry added.

“I believe in vampires,” Renfrass thought up.

“Stop!” Lander screamed, holding up her hand, “I’m getting a headache.”

Nathan noted, “Miss Landers, I can understand why my brother would inject my wife and my son and I, but why you?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she replied, “that’s the first time I met him.” She didn’t shutter.

“She’s a Natural,” Tracy pointed out; “Renfrass, Henry, and Braham were Synthetics. Peter was holding a sheet of paper. It was the List.”

Nathan smiled, “Good thinking, Sweetheart.”

“I was a lobbyist for seven years. It takes a bit of brains for that.”

: : :

Matt, Daphne, Micah, and Molly
Coolidge Safe House
Boston, Massachusetts

Matt raced in with Daphne in his arms. Micah and Molly followed him. They found Claire Bennet holding Daniella and Mohinder sitting on a stood beside her.

“Claire,” Matt said, apprehensively, noting his daughter in Claire’s arms. His tightened his grip on his wife, who also eyed their daughter. Micah took a step in front of Molly, as did Matt. Molly moved away from the wall of protective male so she could watch the action.

“She’s with us,” Mohinder stated blandly.

Everyone, except the non-anxious Molly, relaxed. Molly noticed and complimented Mohinder’s new head of hair.

“Peter recruited you?” Matt questioned, still a bit wary.

“Yeah, Sylar sliced my head open and now things hurt. Including my past actions, if that’s not a total cliché,” she stated, sounding like the 21-year-old she was. She saw Matt’s wife. “Daphne, you’re awake. Your legs, is that from the explosion?”

“No, I was paraplegic before I got my powers. I healed fine because of your blood. I bet genetically we’re first cousins now.”

Claire smirked before asking, “Where did Arthur move you?”

“I don’t know; I woke up in the Pinehearst Hospital last Saturday.”

“Arthur lied,” Claire reasoned, rolling her eyes at her naïveté.

“I’d love to kick his ass,” Daphne seethed.

“Not a whole lotta point in it,” Claire explained, “Haitian wiped him.”

Matt commented, “Now that you’re not with Pinehearst, I guess you should know he’s Angela’s double agent.”

“You knew?”

“He let me read him in the hospital room. He was just trying to get close to Arthur. He let me escape.”

“He could have at least let you use the door.”

“I did use the door. You really think I’d jump out a window with a bag of regenerator blood? No, I put the whole show in your brains from outside Arthur’s office.”

“My former employer was a den of liars!” Claire exclaimed. She mentioned to Matt, with a tone of malice, “By the way, I hear you’re the one who brought Sylar back.”

“Sorry, but in my defense, he did blow up Costa Verde.”

“Well, thanks to you, he slaughtered thirty-three more people.”

“Everyone is so hard on me about this. I said I was sorry,” Matt whined to his wife.

Daphne, cradled in his arms, and lovingly patted him on the face, “Well, you have to admit, it wasn’t your brightest moment. Really, I’m supposed to be the impulsive one in this family.”

Matt, tiring of the abuse, asked, “Where’s Peter?”

“He’s going to inject some people with the Formula to return their abilities.”

Daphne twisted her head, “Isn’t that the problem we just solved, except for a few… missteps?” She indicated her limp legs.

“Not everyone,” Mohinder explained, “Just Naturals. They’re the only ones who can handle abilities. And those who are predisposed to them. Which Peter is very lucky includes me. Speaking of impulsive,” he tacked on.

“Are your powers back?” Molly asked.

“Strength, speed, agility, endurance, sight, hearing… all above average.”

“But no webbing?” Molly asked.

“Thankfully not. I was never partial to that one.”

“Me neither. I still haven’t gotten that jacket.”

“Molly,” Daphne chastised.

Sarcastically, Molly recited, “You’re not my real mom… Blah blah blah. We all watch enough TV to know how this conversation goes. I’ll be nice.”

Daphne mentioned, “I’m Natural. Any chance I can get in on that Formula injection thing? I like walking.”

: : :

Peter Petrelli
Burnt Toast Diner
Midland, Texas
October 9, 2006

Illusioning his scar away, Peter walked into the diner. He watched for a moment, noting the portion of the restaurant where the young redheaded waitress was serving and sat himself down in an empty booth in the middle of her section.

“Hiya,” she noted in a Texas drawl, holding an order pad and pen, “what can I get for ya?”

“An order of blueberry waffles and coffee, please.”

Not bothering to write it down, she replied, “Coming right up.” She slipped the empty pad into her apron.

Peter took out the Formula over and glanced at it. He then crumbled it up, and beneath the table, he used a ball of radioactive energy to reduce it to dust. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and started to doodle on the place mat.

Charlie returned with his breakfast, asking, “What’cha drawin’? Ooh, looks all science-y.”

Peter nodded, “Yeah, it is. Thank you, Charlie.” She seemed perplexed that he knew her name until she realized she was wearing a name tag.

“Just let me know when you’re ready to pay,” she replied, turning away to get out her bill pad out of the apron. She glanced at the clock. When she turned around to give him the bill, he was gone. His placemat was a small pile of charred scraps of paper, his pancakes reduced to a puddle of maple syrup, his coffee cup empty, and a ten-dollar bill was sitting on the edge of the table.

Lynette walked up to her. “Charlie, you’re daydreaming again. What’s up?”

“You’re right about city folk. They do need to slow down.” She picked up the money note and handled it to her boss. “This look counterfeit to you?”

Lynette surveyed it. “Nah. Just one of those newfangled tens the government’s sending out that won’t get to our banks for another six months.”

Snatching the bill back, Charlie pointed to the face of Nathan Petrelli on the back, next to the U.S. Treasury Building. “You recognize this guy?”

“No, but I can’t keep up with all them politicians. Probably the Secretary of the Treasury. Some guy who won’t matter in five years. And, you got a couple of Japanese guys in your section.”

Charlie grinned and headed to the table.

Outside the diner, Peter glanced back inside once more. At a table near the window was a man dressed all in black with a trucker’s hat concealing his face and a broken analog watch on his wrist. After a moment of deliberation, Peter teleported away.

: : :

Nathan Petrelli
White House South Lawn
Washington, D.C.
September 11, 2011

Though it was only six o’clock in the evening, the sky was dark as night, as the nearer moon completely covered the sun, leaving no corona.

Nathan spoke majestically, “My fellow Americans, it is the ten year anniversary of the World Trade Centerattacks. On that day, early in the morning, thousands died, some helping others. Just like today. We were planning on a somber remembrance of those lost a decade ago, but we live in turbulent times and we have a new tragedy to mourn.

“Once again, it feels like the world is ending. We feel helpless. Powerless. But I’m calling you, not just my fellow Americans, but my fellow citizens of the world, to persevere. We survived a time before our abilities and we can do it again.”

“Many are fearful for the state of the world. The Earth is cracked and could potentially be rent apart. But I am here to tell you that we can stop it. Us normal human beings. General Donald Kendrick has undertaken a massive project with all the branches of military to create structures that will stop the Earth from reaching a point when it can be broken apart. It won’t be cheap. It won’t be easy. But we can save our world.

“As for our abilities, we may never get them back. As you probably have heard, the Pinehearst Company was destroyed yesterday, and the plans for the Evolution compound with it. All supplies and backups we can assume are lost.

“But we do not need our abilities. We have grown too used to them. It’s time we learned to use our minds and our hearts again. It’s time we remembered that there is no ‘next stage in evolution,’ just adapting to change. The world is in trouble; let us resolve within ourselves to evolve to that challenge. God bless.”

: : :

Flint and Meredith
Primatech Incarceration Facility
Hartsdale, New York
September 19, 2011

Flint bounced his one-and-a-half-year-old niece in his arms, eliciting squeaks of joy. “Purdy little thing. She takes after you,” he told his sister.

“Thanks, Flint,” Meredith noted flatly.

“Hey, Howie,” he addressed his brother-in-law, Howard Lemay, “how’s it hangin’ with you?”

“Quite well,” Howard replied, “I’ve got a daughter to keep me busy and a wife to keep me busy whenSavannah’s asleep. And a part-time online consulting job when I realize that free time is an illusion.”

Flint slipped off the tiny mittens on his niece’s tiny hands, telling her, “Show Uncle Flint what you can do.”

Savannah Rose shook her hands, creating small firework-like sparkles.

Howard snatched his daughter back and replaced her mittens.

Undaunted, Flint noted, “They fed us grilled chicken sandwiches the other night.”

“And?” Meredith baited.

“Darn good,” he replied, smiling.

Meredith let out a sigh of relief. “And your ability?”

“Eh, they ain’t gonna give it back to me until they figger I’m rehabilitated,” he pronounced the last word, adding, “And when the do,” he crossed his fingers, “I work for the Company for the rest of my life.”

“That’s good news, Flint,” Meredith pronounced. She checked her watch, “Hey, guys, I gotta go meet Angela. Some important conversation.” She leaned over to give her husband and daughter a kiss, “I’ll see you at the hotel. Flint, you behave yourself.”

Meredith made her way to the medical facility, where she found Angela with her family. She held back, letting the family have a moment.

The Petrelli clan was huddled outside Arthur Petrelli’s hospital room. Matriarch Angela stood before the door with her family surrounding her in three groups. Nathan and Tracy stood together, Andrew napping on his mother’s shoulder with a thumb in his mouth. Gabriel, with Noah perched on his shoulder, stood hand-in-hand with Elle. Peter and Claire stood close together, watching patiently.

“How’s Dad?” Nathan asked.

“Somewhere between a cucumber and a goldfish,” Angela noted callously.

“Ma,” Nathan chastised.

“I loved your father. I still do, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was dangerous. I don’t regret what I did. But that’s not why I called you together.” All ears perked up. “I will be stepping down from the Company effective immediately. Exposure to the Antidote has left me weakened.”

Peter took a step forward, “Ma, I…”

Angela shushed her son immediately, laying a hand on his face. “Peter, no, I’m an old woman and honestly I’ve grown weary after four years at the helm. I’m passing the reins to Nathan.”

“Are you a little busy, you know, being President?” Gabriel quipped.

“I’m annexing the Company under government control. Since I’ll be publicly abolishing the Department of Special Human Affairs, I’ll reroute funding to Primatech.”

“The Hartsdale Regional Director will be the Acting Head Director,” Angela added.

“I thought we didn’t have a Hartsdale Regional Director. You ran New York,” Elle pointed out.

“True,” Angela replied, turning down the hall where Meredith waited, “That’s why I asked you here, Miss Gordon.” Meredith emerged from the hallway. “You’re being promoted to Hartsdale Director.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Meredith replied, taken aback at her new responsibilities, “Um, Howard will be thrilled; he’d love to move back closer to his family.”

“I’ll still be involved in the Company, but mostly hands-off,” Nathan noted.

“I like hands-off,” Tracy admitted, eyeing Meredith. “Nathan should probably appoint a liaison,” she declared, as if she’d already thought her words through. She turned to her husband, “And now that Andrew’s walking, I could use a diversion.”

Nathan, blindsided, replied, “Sounds like a plan, Sweetie.”

Tracy and Meredith exchanged fake smiles.

“What about Barstow?” Meredith asked.

“Bess has been angling for a promotion for going on a year,” Angela noted as way of explanation.

“One more item of business,” Nathan interjected, “It concerns the Epidemic. The American people, and the rest of the world, are going to want answers soon.”

“Nathan, if you need to expose me…” Peter began.

“No, consider you and your team pardoned. Luckily, the Special Legion did retrieve the bodies of several of your former… comrades. We’ll be pinning the blame on them.”

Peter protested, “I’m not sure I feel right about that. I mean, I hurt a lot of people.”

“It was an accident, Pete, though… you’re not getting off scot-free. Consider yourself a permanent employee of the Company. You returned the abilities of people on the List, and should any of them want—or need—their abilities removed, you’re the only one with the power to do so now that Dad’s incapacitated. Plus, there’s no telling how long the Antidote will be effective.” He added, “Plus your medical background could be of use.”

“I want to work with Peter,” Claire declared.

Nathan replied, “Claire, you weren’t involved.”

“Yeah, but I joined up all the same. Plus, I hurt a lot of people too while working with Pinehearst, and I’ll like to do some good for once. I’m the only regenerator we know of, and you’ll need my blood to heal people. Plus, I’ve had some time to think. You know how good my G.E.D. scores were. I’m thinking of going into medicine. That kind of thing usually makes parents proud.”

“True,” Nathan replied, giving his daughter a kiss on the head, “And I know your folks would have been proud of you, too.”

He backed up to let Meredith embrace Claire.

“What about Matt and Mohinder?” Peter asked.

“I’ve already spoken with them, and they agreed to their terms of service,” Nathan replied.

* * *

The Parkman Residence
Brooklyn, New York

The Parkmans arrived at their apartment with Micah in tow. As they entered, Micah told Matt, “Thanks, Mr. Parkman, for letting me crash on your couch.”

As Micah wandered into the living room, Daphne pulled her husband aside. “I’m a little uncomfortable with him.”

“Daphne, I swear, he’s a standup kid.”

Her face twisted, she replied, “I think that’s why. I’ve never been crazy about standup guys.”

“Excuse me.”

Huffing, Daphne admitted, “Well, we’re married and share a bed and have a kid and are raising a teen, so I had to get over it.” She grabbed the lapels of Matt’s jacket and pulled him down for a kiss.

From across the room, Molly rolled her eyes and covered Daniella’s, whispering to her little sister, “Yeah, you’ll never get used that, Dani.” Molly then lurched away, groaning.

Matt, concerned, asked, “Molly?”

Rubbing her forehead, Molly explained, “Daniella’s manifesting. It’s mental, like yours, Dad. More emotional, though, I think.”

Micah returned to the room, noting, “My flight to New Orleans is tomorrow morning. Uncle Nathan’s sending a car.”

“Must be nice being related to the President.”

“Sometimes,” Micah admitted.

: : :

Monica Dawson
St. Barbara Cemetery
New Orleans, Louisiana

Monica, with two bouquets of flowers in her hand, knelt before two headstones. The first was for “Deborah Ashford Dawson; Loving Mother and Child of God; May 28, 1959-August 30, 2005” and the other for “Pauline Gramble Dawson; A Beacon of Freedom and Love; December 28, 1932-September 15, 2009”. With tears in her eyes, Monica mouthed a prayer for her mother and grandmother.

Meanwhile, in the Company sedan, Lyle sat in the passenger seat, looking at a family portrait in his wallet. He pulled out his cell and made a call. “Hey, Scrappy, I hear you’ve joined the family business. Yeah? How’s New York? No, Monica and I are still working together…”

: : :

Claire Bennet
Primatech Research Facility
Hartsdale, New York

Claire said into her phone, “Look, Runt-boy, I gotta go. Duty calls. Love you, too, Lyle.” She hung up.

“Hey, Peter, what’s on the schedule for today?”

“Just settling in,” Peter replied. Gravely, he said, “Hey, Claire, I need to talk to you about something.” He handed her a key. “That is a key to a safety deposit box at King’s National Bank on 49^th and Rockefeller. Harrison Campbell, our family lawyer, is in possession of the other key, and is instructed, in the event of my death, to provide you with it. Inside the box is the Formula diagram. The box is rigged to explode if it’s forcibly removed.”

“I thought you destroyed the Formula.”

“I memorized it and drew a copy. We have it should we ever need it, but now it can’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“I got it,” Claire slipped the key into her pocket.

There was a knock at the door and Echo DeMille walked in.

“Echo,” Claire greeted, surprised. She turned to Peter and directed, “DeMille, D-E-M-I-L-L-E.” Peter went to fetch a folder from the file cabinet

“Claire,” Echo replied apprehensively, “Um, Primatech promised me safety should I disappear. My ability has returned and I’d like it removed. I understand you can do that?”

Peter finished making a note in the folder. “Yes, we can.”

Meanwhile, down the hall, in the Biological Research Division office, Mohinder Suresh laid framed photographs of his parents and Shanti on his new desk. A beautiful Hispanic woman entered.

“Maya,” Mohinder greeted, flustered.

“Mohinder,” Maya replied, smiling, “they said that I should come by for a blood test?”

“Yes, I’m researching the effect of the Antidote. Did you powers disappear?”

“Temporarily, but unfortunately, they returned. I was yelling at Mila and… They said they have some way of taking them away, but they insisted I have tests first…”

“Before and after the procedure. To compare, yes,” Mohinder explained, as he pulled out a syringe kit. “Who’s Mila?”

“My daughter.”

“Congratulations,” Mohinder replied warmly.

Maya looked like she wanted to talk more about her daughter, but noting Mohinder’s clinical detachment, she let the matter drop.

Two floors down, Matt Parkman stood in front of a class of a dozen agents, including Daphne, Ryan Covington, Audrey Hanson and Sparrow Redhouse. He began his lesson on gun handling to an attentive class.

In the main hallway, there was a line of framed photographs. The first, labeled “1961”, feature four teenagers. The second was from 1975, featuring a group of thirteen adults in their thirties and forties. The third, from 1977, cut the number down to twelve. The next three, from 1989, 1995, and 2001, showed the aging group of twelve. The last photograph, labeled 2011, featured an entirely new set of people: Nathan Petrelli and his wife Tracy in the center; her twin Barbara, in a wheelchair, below them; on the right side were Gabriel and Elle Gray, and Matt Parkman on the end; and on the left, Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet, and Mohinder Suresh.

: : :

Fifteen months later…

Peter Petrelli
Primatech Hospital
Odessa, Texas
December 22, 2012

Dr. Adrianna Fillman handed Peter Petrelli his newborn daughter. Noticing she was emitting light, she commented, “Looks like she’s got bioluminescence.”

Peter’s face was that of intense trepidation, knowing that glow to be the same glow that overtook him in Kirby Square six years before. Clearing his mind, he froze time and began to formulate a plan. Another chill descended his spine as he felt the bundle wiggle in his arms. “You’re a copycat like your Daddy, aren’t you? Well, let’s get you somewhere safe then. On three: one… two…”

The Primatech Hospital exploded outward in a roaring explosion that drowned out all sound and light, taking out buildings and homes alike for almost a mile around the epicenter of the nuclear blast.

VOLUME TWO: “PROGENY”

: : :

Volume Two coming soon...

Director's Commentary: The environmentalist metaphor? Totally NBC's fault, I swear. No, I kid. It was just built into the world-breaking-apart storyline.

Peter's near deus-ex-machina saving-the-world actions to be are just fully utilizing his abilities. But it's not really him who saves the world; it's the common people who are patching up the cracks. And can you can Peter & Co. the heroes when they were really the unwitting, well-intentioned villains? Perhaps the idea was not as strongly presented as I would have liked, but I enjoyed it just the same. Frankly, I pulled some last minute revisions to make the ending a lot less dark. No one we know died; though really a lot of named characters did die, I just didn't show it. But most of the mains got a free pass. A lot won't be so lucky in the next volume, but that's a story for another time and place.

I want to thank the cast and crew for doing these series for next to nothing. Or at least a lot less than they normally would. What started as a shoestring budget operation really morphed into something bigger. Volume Two has been given a preemptive green light, so this won't be our last story, I'm happy to report. Again, you viewers are what make this possible.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Milo Ventimiglia ... Peter Petrelli

Greg Grunberg ... Matt Parkman

Hayden Panettiere ... Claire Bennet

Zachary Quinto ... Gabriel Gray

Kristen Bell ... Elle Gray

Cristine Rose ... Angela Petrelli

Sendhil Ramamurthy ... Mohinder Suresh

Adrian Pasdar ... Nathan Petrelli

Ali Larter ... Tracy Strauss Petrelli

Jessalyn Gilsig ... Meredith Gordon

Adair Tishler ... Molly Walker

Clea DuVall ... Audrey Hanson

Dana Davis ... Monica Dawson

Noah Gray-Cabey ... Micah Sanders

Randall Bentley ... Lyle Bennet

Blake Shields ... Flint Gordon

Chris Carmack ... Ryan Covington

Matt Dallas ... Edward Pall

Thomas Robinson ... Noah Gray

Brea Grant ... Daphne Parkman

Kiko Ellsworth ... Echo DeMille

Samuel Jones III ... Dalton Henry

Kirk Acevedo ... Victor Abano

Rachel Skarsten ... Piper Johanssen

Thomas Dekker ... Zach Kline

Julia Jones ... Sparrow Redhouse

Bailey Chase ... David Braham

J. August Richards ... Jaime Renfrass

Geno Monteiro ... Marty Ceppo

Elizabeth Ann Bennett ... Sue Landers

Brian Littrell ... Brian Lake

Ivan Shaw ... Archie Kang

Jayma Mays ... Charlie Andrews

Željko Ivanek ... Jacob Pradasa

Richard Brooks ... Donald Kendrick

Kimberly Arland ... Ngozi Badu

David Pitcher ... Alistair Coles

Henry Benjamin Robinson ... Andrew Petrelli

Dania Ramirez ... Maya Herrera

Mark Harilek ... Howard Lemay

Sally Chapman ... Lynette

Jacqueline Piñol ... Dr. Adrienne Fillman

The World Entire: Chapter 21: The Truth of the Moment

2009-08-24T19:16:00.003-04:00

One of the many tenants of the Jain religion is the understanding that all behaviors, physical and mental, have consequences in this life and beyond. Jainism emphasizes non-violence, honesty, celibacy, and non-possession for these reasons. This harkens to the butterfly effect, where every action causes ripples that will forever affect the universe. Yet regardless of our perceptions of these phenomena, the truth is that tragedies befall us on a daily basis. The seeds we sow may cause the downfalls of empires. But we cannot let the wind toss us about. We have to rise up, raise our swords, and face down the storms. That is where we will find the heart of a true hero.

: : :

Piper, Edward, Echo, and Flint
Pinehearst Company
Fort Lee, New Jersey
September 10, 2011

As the Pinehearts Company headquarters quickly burned irrevocably, Flint stated, “I know how this happened.”

Piper squeaked, “How?”

“A pyro did this,” he answered stoically.

Edward stared suspiciously at Flint, who answered to the unasked question, “It weren’t me. I burn a lot hotter and the outside woulda been scorched first. I think I know who did it, though.”

“Hi, Flint,” Meredith noted, revealing herself. She was leaning against a tree in the outer gardens behind the Pinehearst agents.

Edward commented, “How’d you disable the fire prevention system? You’d have to get inside.”

“We had help,” she replied plainly.

With that, Audrey Hanson emerged, pushing a wheelchair carrying Barbara Zimmerman. Both of Barbara’s hands and legs were in braces. Her skin, including her face, was marked with innumerable white lines, subtle scars from Synthetic regenerator’s blood-healed glass cuts. A bandage covered her left eye.

Echo, taking a step forward, asked with true sympathy, “How did you survive? You were put through a window and fell seven stories.”

“The window saved my life,” replied Barbara, hoarsely, “It kept me from flying too far out. I was able to catch the sixth story ledge with my left hand,” she held up the bound hand, and then continued, “and then the fourth story ledge with my right.” She held up her other hand, also bound with a brace. “My legs broke the fall. Since the only part of me that still worked were my thumbs, I was able to call Primatech on my cell; they saved my life. I thought payback was in order and since Arthur foolishly took the whole gang to Hartsdale…”

Piper lashed out, “Pinehearst wasn’t just an army; it was an office with pencil pushers; a school with children; a nursery with babies; a hospital with sick people!”

“All evacuated.” Audrey explained, a twinge of a smirk appearing as she added, “We pulled the fire alarm.”

Echo walked away from his colleagues and approached Meredith.

“What are you doing?” Edward threatened from behind.

“Arthur’s gone. Claire deserted us,” Echo noted to Edward before turning back to Meredith. He pleaded to her, “My wife, Gina; she’s pregnant. I swear, we will disappear and you will never hear from us again…”

Meredith held her hand up, “I’m a mother, too. We’re not putting you back into Level 5, Mr. DeMille. We’ll relocate you somewhere safe. Just don’t cause any trouble.”

Nodding his head, Echo threw his Pinehearst pin the ground. Barbara, with some effort, dug her own pin out of her pocket and threw it to the ground with his. Meredith and Audrey led them away.

And with that, the three remaining Pinehearst agents surveyed their situation.

: : :

Claire Bennet and Peter Petrelli
Starry Sky Motel
Stony Point, New York
September 10, 2011

The water in the shower was turned up to the hottest setting. Steaming hot water attacked the mahogany-colored locks of hair, causing black rivulets to flow down her body. By the time she stepped out of the shower, her damp hair was the color of wheat and her skin the color of carnations. The pinkness faded as her skin healed itself. She wrapped a towel around her body and towel-dried her hair.

Peter was waiting when she got out of the bathroom, sitting on the bed. His normally slicked-back hair had begun to stray. He smiled and commented, “There’s the Claire I know and love.”

Claire smiled shyly and walked over to the bed, surveying her blood-stained black leather outfit with distaste.

“I figured as much,” he commented, holding up a shopping bag. “I got you something.”

Claire took the bag and pulled out a pair of a red-and-white ladies’ polo. “Red?”

Peter just nodded. Claire took the bag and stepped back into the bathroom to change.

When she came back out again, she commented, “Thanks. Much less… skanky.”

Silence filled the room. “I shot you,” she let out.

Peter shrugged and replied, “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Off Peter’s non-reaction, she continued, “I shot you. With a gun. I made you dead… ish.” She sighed, “I mean, who forgives someone for that?”

Peter smiled, “Your Uncle Gabe and Aunt Ellie got over that hump.”

“That comparison is creepy on multiple levels.”

Peter lowered his head self-deprecatingly, rubbing his scarred face. “It’s been a while since I forgave anyone. I’ve been in a pretty dark place recently.”

“Two years,” Claire said with a hint of anger.

“And how long have you been shooting people for Pinehearst?” Peter snapped back.

“I deserved that.” She grabbed the neck of her shirt and pressed her fist against the phantom ache in her chest.

“We both did. Look, Claire, you tried to save the world your way; I tried to do it mine. We were both wrong. I’ve… Matt Parker and Suresh and I; we’ve found a different way. No one should get hurt. If you want…”

Claire’s answer was to pick the Pinehearst pin off her leather vest, wipe the dried blood off, and toss it into the trash can. “Count me in.”

“Let’s get some sleep.”

: : :

Acapulco, Mexico
September 11, 2011

Luke Campbell pressed “Ignore” on his Palm Centro when “Mom” appeared on the screen. He was busy being held a hundred feet in the air by a flier over the Pacific Ocean just off the coast of Acapulco, Mexico.

“Ready?” Luke’s partner screamed.

“Yeah,” Luke screamed back, holding out his arms. Powerful microwaves assaulted the sea, flash-boiling the waters until the rocky ridge surrounding the fault-line crack in the Earth’s crust could be seen. Luke’s companion used his cell phone to alert others.

A few miles away, Echo DeMille, carried by another flier, let out a series of powerful screams, pushing away the waters near the red-hot canyon. His flier relayed a message that the others were successful in pushing back the water enough to locate the ridges.

Another set of flier-carried Specials arrived. They were earth-movers: terrakinetics and earthquake generators, who used their abilities to drag up large walls of rock from the bottom of the ocean, creating craggy walls to hold back the pounding oceans, preventing the water from sinking into the dangerous breaks in the Earth’s surface. Some of the terrakinetics continued their work, creating large land bridges across the ever-widen chasms, hoping to buckle the pieces together. But it wasn’t more than a few minutes before these land bridges began to crumble underneath the extreme heat and pressure below.

Fliers called on their radios for phase three. Speedsters raced near the edges of the walls across the water, spraying tall streams onto and over the levees, creating clouds of steam and cooling the bridges, tempering them.

Another wave arrived. Scott Baldwin was dropped by his flier, West. As Scott’s body hit the water, he pounded the sea with his fists, causing a massive splash to erupt into the air. Above, an older woman named Millie, seated in a lawn chair carried by two fliers sipped on a self-chilled martini. As the upsurge of water reached her altitude, she calmly reached out her hand and froze the entire mass into a giant ice cube. Across the chasm was comic book chain owner Sam, carried by best friend and flier Frack; Sam telekinetically floated the mini-glacier above one of the land bridges, tore it in half and dropped it into the pit. After the inevitable steam billow, the land bridge was covered in a thick layer of black, igneous rock.

Deep below the surface, Alex Woolsly tossed large sandbags into holes he discovered in the levee walls. The bag quickly broke apart against the heat of the rock and sand pour into the cracks, creating casts. He swam many laps, repairing the innumerable holes in the wall.

: : :

Mohinder Suresh
Lower Manhattan, New York
September 9, 2011

“Who’s there?” Mohinder cried at the sudden sound of the door opening.

The Haitian entered the room with a manila envelope in hand.

“Haitian,” Mohinder greeted. He took a step back, looking for something to charge the man with.

The Haitian just smiled and visibly removed his pin, slipping it in his pocket. He held out the envelope. Mohinder warily extended his hand to take it. As he approached the man, his scales retracted into his golden skin, and his eyes returned to their normal brown color.

Mohinder looked into the envelope, his eyes widening. He tried to ask a question but the Haitian was already turning to leave, putting his pin back on.

“But, where are you going?”

“To do my job,” he replied laconically.

: : :

Nathan Petrelli
The Pentagon
Arlington, Virginia
September 10, 2001

Nathan, surrounded by his bodyguards, strode into the office of the newly appointed General Jacob Pradasa. Pradasa was a slight, balding man, but with a menacing glare and air of jumpiness to him.

“Mr. President,” he noted, without an ounce of regard, “how might I be of service?”

“I’m just here to let you know there’s been a change in liaison. You’ll no longer be reporting to my father.”

“I understand,” Prasada replied, with a tone indicating he did not, “any reason for the change?”

“A horrible tragedy has befallen him, I’m sorry to say.”

“My condolences,” Pradasa jumped in, flatly. “Who am I reporting to now?”

“Me,” Nathan noted.

Nathan’s chief of staff, Marty Ceppo, handed the general a card. “That is a direct line to Marty here, who is with me 24/7.”

“I’m honored,” Pradasa replied, barely concealing his disdain.

“My first order of business is Titanhold. I have spoken with the U.N. and we’ll be extraditing any foreign prisoners back to their countries of origin effective immediately. Those who are American will be tried in military court for their crimes with the legal representation of their choice. I’m sure you’ll be able to arrange the proceedings by 0800 hours tomorrow?”

“With all due respect, Mr. President,” Prasada noted with no respect in his voice, “these Specials are a danger to the world. I do not believe it would be wise to let any of them out of their cells. Those whose abilities were neutralized by Arthur Petrelli I will gladly release, but I’m afraid my conscience will not allow me to follow these orders.”

“You seem to forget that I’m the Commander-in-Chief.”

“You seem to forget that the world a lot less dangerous that your cozy Oval Office.”

Without warning his bodyguards, Nathan leapt into the air, flew over Pradasa and landed behind him, quickly slamming him onto his desk. “Grunts. Never could fight in any direction other than forward.”

To Pradasa, he noted, “I was in Rwanda during the civil war. Now that may compare to the Yugoslav Wars, but know that the freedom my father allowed to you is gone. This branch was created to protect people, not enslave them, so get your act together, or I’ll give Kendrick your job.”

“I think you’ve made yourself abundantly clear,” Prasada seethed as he lay pinned to his desk, “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, that will be all.” Nathan released him, “Glad we could talk this through,” Nathan noted as his agents furiously tried to get him out of danger.

: : :

Angela and Elle
Primatech Research Facility
Hartsdale, New York
September 10, 2011

Elle found herself seated across the table from Angela and a black-haired female agent.

“Elle,” Angela commented mock-sweetly, “now that Gabriel is a telepath, I think it’s about time that you learned how to resist mental assaults. Telepaths can be very dangerous.” The agent beside her didn’t flinch. It was Elle who looked uncomfortable for her. Angela added, without looking at the agent beside her, “No offense.”

Equally unmoved, Agent Litao replied, “None taken, ma’am.”

“Look, Angela,” Elle commented, “Gabriel may be his son, but he’s not Arthur.”

“Elle, let’s be honest here, Gabriel is capable of much worse than my husband.”

“Hey! We’re talking about your son!”

“Elle, we are the ones who keep him sane. Just because I love my son doesn’t mean I turn a blind eye to his transgressions.” Angela spoke to her associate, “Now, Autumn, I want you to please write down my daughter-in-law’s ten deepest, darkest secrets.”

Litao began to scribble immediately, while Elle’s brow furrowed intensely in panic. Litao was already on the fourth item, which is something even Bob Bishop didn’t know about.

Angela walked out of the room, where she found her son watching through the one-way window.

“Ma, I know I’ve done bad things, but I’d never do that to Elle. I love her.”

“Your father has always loved me, and I him. It did not stop him from doing unspeakable acts to me. See for yourself.” Angela extended her hand.

“Ma…”

“Gabriel…”

Gabriel laid his hand on his mother’s. A thousand horrible memories assaulted his mind. Breathing heavily to purge the images, he stated, “I would never do anything like that to Elle.”

“Power corrupts, my son. All I’m saying is, ‘be careful.’”

As Angela walked away, Gabriel stated conjecturally, “You’re powerful.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re powerful, Ma. You run this Company with an iron fist.” His tone was not accusatory, just pensive.

“It’s true. And when I stand before my Maker on Judgment Day, I’ll have a lot to atone for.”

: : :

The Bennets
Odessa, Texas
1994

Noah opened the door and let his wife walk in, holding the small toddler in her arms. He called back to his daughter, “Claire, come on!”

“I forgot my Barbie!” the little voice called back. The small blond girl, her hair in pigtails, finally raced in, holding a Barbie doll in a pink cheerleader outfit with the head and left arm twisted backwards. She raced over to her mother and new brother.

“Can he talk yet?”

“A little. Can you say, ‘Mommy’?” The young boy burrowed deeper into Sandra’s arms. “He’s shy, Claire,” she explained, “this is new and maybe a little scary for him. Do you understand?”

“Uh-huh,” Claire replied, before racing back behind her mother’s chair, and telling the head of blond hair, “My name is Claire Elizabeth Bennet. Can you say that?”

“Caire,” came a muffled voice from Sandra’s shoulder.

Claire raced over to her father. “Daddy, I made him say my name.”

“That’s great, Claire,” Noah replied, unable to keep a grin off his face.

Claire raced back to her mother. “Can I play with him yet?”

“It may be a few days before he’s ready to play,” Sandra explained. “But when he is, you’ll have to be careful. He’s littler than you and can get hurt really easily. He’s not indestructible like you.”

Claire had three visible Band-Aids on her. Strawberry Shortcake decorated her right knee; a Care Bear surrounded her right index finger; and Big Bird covered her right elbow.

“Claire, it’s almost time for Alf,” Noah noted.

Claire, nearly panicked, raced out of the dining room into the living room.

Sandra took this opportunity to caress her son’s back; Lyle unclenched his hands enough to let his mother sit him in her lap. She kissed him on the forehead. She said to her husband, “At least you didn’t find this one in a storm drain.”

“It wasn’t a storm drain…” Noah answered in a droll tone.

Sandra got up from her chair and gave her husband a long, soft kiss. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me a Mommy. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“I know. I’m sorry I was so reluctant at first. But once I got that little push, there was no saying ‘no’ I suppose. Plus, you weren’t satisfied with my offer of a dog.”

“Speaking of dogs…”

“Sandra…” Noah warned.

“Shush you. One of the ladies in my book club, Judith; she has a breeding Pom. You know, maybe, one day, when the kids are in school, I’d like to get into it with her.”

“Oh,” Noah replied, “actually, I think you might enjoy that.”

The kitchen phone emitted a shrill ring. Noah immediately picked it up, “This is the Bennets, Noah speaking… Mr. Thompson, yes, what can I do for you? Now? Alright, I’ll be right in.”

“Noah,” Sandra seethed, “we’ve not been home twenty minutes with Lyle, and you’re already escaping to work. What kind of emergency could a darn paper company have?”

“Sandra, I’m sorry. Unfortunately, Primatech is not enlightened enough to understand the concept of ‘paternity leave.’ I bargained and bartered with all my colleagues to get these three days off. The caveat was that I’d have to be on-call. I’ll be gone at most a few hours. And, Sweetie?”

“Yes, Noah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Honey.”

: : :

Mohinder and Daphne
Coolidge Safe House
Boston, Massachusetts
September 10, 2011

Daphne stood beside Mohinder, tapping her foot rapidly, tuning the buzzing to middle-E.

“Daphne,” Mohinder prompted. Daphne zipped to other side of him. “Could you fetch me some more hydrogen peroxide and promicitamine-3?”

“Spell it.” She stated, after racing to the local drugstore and back for a pen and paper in less than a second. As Mohinder began to write, she nagged, “While I’m still young.”

Mohinder had barely torn off the paper than Daphne was off. Seconds later, she returned with a gallon-jug and a metal thermos.

“Thank you,” Mohinder noted calmly. “I’m going to need ten more gallons of deionized water.”

“That’s gonna take like five trips.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Oh, I fetched them while you were saying whatever it was you were saying.” She tilted her head toward the table across the room, where the ten water jugs sat neatly in a row.

“Well, then, we’re almost ready to proceed. Find your husband and Micah and let them know I’ll be ready to start filling the dragonflies by midnight tonight.”

“Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” Daphne studied the large pot of clear liquid on the ground.

“That is the original Formula, which I needed to make the Antidote. The Antidote can be synthesized in super-concentrated doses, which we’ll be diluting with the deionized water over there. It’s nothing more than a hormone that attaches to serotonin. Within minutes of inhalation, the body will start to produce it naturally, and it will spread like a virus.”

Daphne studied a small flask. “Wow, what makes it so blue?”

“Iodine; it’s left over from the dyeing phase. It’s naturally colorless.”

“Oh,” Daphne replied, disappointed, “makes sense. You know, we started coloring the Evolution shots. The average Joe Schmoe figured we were trying to sell them water.”

: : :

Peter and Claire
Boston, Massachusetts
September 11, 2011

“That’s brilliant,” Claire praised Peter’s idea. “Slowly de-power the Synthetics via mass diffusion. Stop the damage to the Earth before it goes too far.”

“Thanks, but without Mohinder and Micah, and frankly any of the team, this plan wouldn’t have gotten off the ground.”

“How can I help?”

“Not sure yet, but we’ll figure out something. Your connections or intel from Pinehearst maybe. I don’t know.”

“Whatever you need.”

Her offer was punctuated by a loud splat as a body hit the ground. Momentarily stunned, both Peter and Claire raced to the body: it was a female woman of Asian descent in a business skirt suit.

“I don’t have a syringe.”

“It’s okay,” Peter replied, pushing her back. He laid his hands on the woman and started to heal her.

A few feet away, there was another ominous splat, and then several more.

Eyeing the group of five bodies, Claire exclaimed, “Teleport and get me a syringe. Fast!”

Peter left the woman and teleported away. He returned with a syringe and Claire quickly began to draw her own blood.

Peter looked up into the sky. “It’s one of Micah’s robots.”

“I don’t see it. How did you…”

“Enhanced hearing from Gabriel. And sight from one of my… former associates.”

“The terrorists,” Claire questioned cuttingly.

“Yeah.”

Claire studied the group, “These guys were probably fliers. Are you sure that your Antidote doesn’t immediately remove abilities?”

“As far as I know, we haven’t tested it,” Peter muttered, staring at the bodies.

Claire put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, you didn’t know. Don’t worry, we’ll save them.” She injected an older Japanese man. After several moments, his body still had not begun to heal. Panicking, she asked, “Peter, shouldn’t this only remove Synthetic abilities?” She stared at her scratched-up hands.

“I’ll fix this,” Peter whispered as he laid a kiss on the back of Claire’s head and teleported away.

“Peter!” Claire screamed.

: : :

Chapter 22 coming soon...

Director's Commentary: So, with writing wrapping up on Volume 4, I had a cadre of actors who hear about how much fun it was to film my series from my regulars, so I basically let everyone make an appearance.

Also, according to the idiots in charge, Claire in leather was not enough fanservice, so I threw her in the shower, with cesty bonus of Peter/Claire ship teasing.

Oh, and fake resolutions are fun. Just as Pinehearst falls irrevokably, lots of people die from the Antidote. I'm bad like that. Anyway, it's the penultimate episode, so things are just winding down from here. Join us next week for the season finale.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Hayden Panettiere ... Claire Bishop

Milo Ventimiglia ... Peter Petrelli

Sendhil Ramamurthy ... Mohinder Suresh

Jessalyn Gilsig ... Meredith Gordon

Ali Larter ... Barbara Zimmerman

Kristen Bell ... Elle Gray

Zachary Quinto ... Gabriel Gray

Cristine Rose ... Angela Petrelli

Adrian Pasdar ... Nathan Petrelli

Jack Coleman ... Noah Bennet

Ashley Crow ... Sandra Bennet

Jimmy Jean-Louis ... The Haitian

Clea DuVall ... Audrey Hanson

Rachel Skarsten ... Piper Johanssen

Thomas Dekker ... Zach Kline

Ivan Shaw ... Archie Kang

J. August Richards ... Jaime Renfrass

Bailey Chase ... David Braham

Brian Littrell ... Brian Lake

Željko Ivanek ... Jacob Pradasa

Geno Monteiro ... Marty Ceppo

Justin Baldoni ... Alex Woolsly

Dan Byrd ... Luke Campbell

Swoozie Kurtz ... Millie Charlotte

Emy Coligado ... Autumn Litao

The World Entire: Chapter 20: The Moment of Conflict

2009-08-22T23:02:00.005-04:00

Truth is a commodity. Those that take claim of some metaphysical truth break away from a different truth. Buddhism forms out of Hinduism. Judaism forming out of Idolatry. Christianity out of Judaism. Catholicism from East Orthodox. Protestantism from Catholicism. A hundred denominations emerge. These thousands of schisms create conflict. The fight over truth. The righteous versus the damned. Law versus crime. Mountains are torn down. Forests are set ablaze. Blood saturates the ground. And out of this massacre, the truth will rise out of the ashes, shining a beacon to all. It illuminates the rumble that where majestic mountains once sat, the coals where proud trees once stood, the mud where human life was spilled over the dirt. But does this truth rejoice or weep?

: : :

Barbara Zimmerman
Pinehearst Company
Fort Lee, New Jersey
September 10, 2011

When Barbara stumbled into Arthur’s office, the entire Martial Division was standing around their boss.

Arthur warmly welcomed his associate, “Ah, Miss Zimmerman, so nice of you to join us. I assume you have the other half of the formula?”

“No,” Barbara replied steely, and explained with gravity, “Peter has joined forces with Suresh. I was almost able to subdue both of them, but I was interrupted. Peter overpowered me and they’ve kept me in stasis for several days. I woke up outside the building. Peter has removed my ability.”

“It seems I’ve overestimated you, Miss Zimmerman.”

“I can finish the job, sir,” Barbara noted confidently, “I have more tricks up my sleeve than just my ability. I’ll just need some prep time.”

Arthur considered this development. “Miss Zimmerman, you seem to forget our hiring policy. You’re underqualified.” With a swipe of his fingers, Barbara was sent flying into his outside window.

The window cracked, but did not shatter. Barbara bounced back with a bloodied face and an arm broken in two places. Pathetic groans came from behind Arthur’s desk. Piper yelped.

“Just goes to show you,” Arthur noted, “that windows are a little thicker and stronger than you think.” Arthur mentally lifted Barbara and swung his arms forcefully, sending Barbara back into the window. For half a second, the window held as it distended outward before bursting open, sending a mangled Barbara to fall seven stories.

Piper spun around, covering her eyes. The rest tried to remain stoic against the messy scene. Arthur turned back and began to speak, “Where was I?”

“Are you kidding me?” Echo voiced loudly.

“Mr. DeMille, do you have something to add to the conversation?”

“Look, I’m well aware of Pinehearst’s severance policy, but you just shoved that woman through a plate-glass window. You’re a psychopath!”

“Mr. DeMille,” Arthur hissed coldly, “I’m going to have to have that window replaced. I’m sure I can get a two-for-one deal.” The adjacent, intact window groaned menacingly. “I would think, given your history, you’d want your son to grow up having met his father.”

Echo sighed and nodded. “I understand, sir. I apologize for the insubordination,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Duly noted,” Arthur replied, “now, onto the anniversary party.”

: : :

Nathan Petrelli
White House
Washington, D.C.
September 10, 2011

There was a stack of bright red folders half a foot high on his desk.

Agent Renfrass entered the room, Agent Landers behind him giving Nathan a nod.

“Jaime, what can I do for you?”

“Just wanted to give this to you, Mr. President. Colonel Kendrick said it was urgent.” Renfrass handed Nathan an envelope, which he opened and scanned.

“Thank you.”

Renfrass nodded and turned to leave.

“You know how many folders there are?” Nathan asked.

Renfrass looked at the pile. “I’d say ten, maybe fifteen.”

“You know what’s in these folders?”

“We all know what kind of dossier is in a red folder.”

“If I weren’t the President, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get my hands on these from Titanhold.”

“Sir?”

“I’m just talking. You’re excused.” Renfrass bowed his head and exited the room.

Nathan sat down at his desk and put his hands in his head. After a moment of contemplation, he picked up the phone.

: : :

Angela Petrelli
Primatech Research Facility
Hartsdale, New York
September 10, 2011

Angela strode through the hallways with Amy Carlson beside her. “Amy, are you people ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Amy replied obediently, and grabbed her mobile phone to call Monica and Lyle.

Meredith popped out of a holding room and caught up with her boss. “Mrs. Petrelli, we ready?”

“Yes.”

“You sure you don’t want me…?”

“I’ve got a building full of agents. I need you elsewhere.”

Meredith asked, “Won’t Arthur know...?”

“No, I’ve know that man forty-seven years and he’s never encountered a situation that he couldn’t be overconfident in. You want to how it all goes down?”

“If it were important, you’d tell me.”

“And how is our guest?” Angela inquired with odd sweetness.

“She’ll live. And she’s ready for the mission.”

: : :

Monica and Lyle
Primatech Research Facility
Hartsdale, New York

The first sign of the invasion was powerful flash of floodlights from the front of Primatech, briefly backlighting Lyle and Monica. Edward Pall, after passing a laser trip wire, was momentarily blinded and crashed into a tree.

Monica gave the thumbs-up to Lyle. Both of them wore heavy-duty sound-cancelling earbuds. Monica scanned the area and caught sight of Echo DeMille. She leapt up into a nearby tree and readied her firearm. Lyle spun behind a tree. He waited until white noise blared in his ear. Several windows shattered and his cover tree shook, its leaves falling, but he was no worse for wear. He spun and fired at the man running toward them in the distance. Rubbing bullets knocked him to the ground and Monica briskly made her way to him.

Lyle was soon confronted with a tall blonde woman who acrobatically landed before him. Recognizing her from her profile, Lyle knew she was an elastic, able to contort her body superhumanly. He fired a tranq dart at her shoulder. Piper easily shrugged off the dart and spun-kicked Lyle. Lyle leapt up and tried to tackle her. She twisted her arms until she had him in an arm-lock. Lyle thrust himself to the ground, dragging her with him and handcuffing her in one swift motion.

Monica effectively dodged all of Echo’s sound attacks. The earbuds protected her from his more clever uses of his ability: ultra-high notes and ultra-low notes. His attempted to switch to his limited martial arts abilities against the preternaturally gifted St. Joan left him facedown in the dirt.

Meanwhile, Piper relaxed her joints allowing her to slip out of both Lyle’s hands and the handcuffs. She made a sprint toward the building. Lyle tried to close the door on her, but her head was already in. Lyle twisted his arm, capturing hers, but her ability to pop her joins back and forth allowed her to eventually get out of Lyle’s grasp and inside, limb-by-limb. She made short work of the guards. The invasion had begun.

Arthur suddenly faded into sight not far from Monica, and walked toward Primatech without a care.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Petrelli,” Monica noted confidently, “I can let you in.”

Red lightning struck Monica, and Arthur took a hold of Echo and both disappeared in an aura of white light. They reappeared inside the building. Echo, massaging his sore muscles, asked, “Since when can you do that?”

Arthur didn’t answer, just disappeared and reappeared with the unconscious Edward, who he unceremoniously dropped on the ground. Arthur extended his hand and waves of heat struck Pall’s body. He convulsed and awoke.

“Heat emission,” Arthur noted plainly, “Come on, time to work. Capture them all. I need to go wish my wife a happy anniversary.”

Arthur took the stairs, leaving Echo and Edward to race down the hallway. They arrive at a door just in time to see a brunette head smashed against it, spreading blood.

“I thought this was a strictly capture-not-kill mission,” Echo remarked fearfully.

The bloodied head pulled away. And through the red haze, the petite figure ran back.

“That would be Claire,” Edward explained unnecessarily. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Echo screamed and the metal door flew off the hinges. Behind it, they saw Claire racing toward Bess, who craftily dodged the charge, grabbed Claire by the arm, and used her weight to slam into the nearby wall. Claire didn’t even groan as she scraped herself off the wall. A surge of electricity launched Claire down the hall before she could perform her next attack.

Claire found herself at the feet of her male teammate, staring blankly.

“Geez, guys,” she chastised as the burns on her face healed, “could you be more useless? Piper’s already made her way to the atrium.”

Echo screamed, sending a concussive sound blast down the hallway. Bess tackled Elle into the nearby supply closet. Edward raced after them, but was thrown backwards.

“Ain’t faster than lightning, are ya, Sweetie?” Elle taunted the unconscious Edward. Bess leapt out of the closet and threw a glass jar of clear liquid down the hall at Claire and Echo. Elle sent an arc of lightning after it, bursting it and lighting the flammable liquid. Claire shoved Echo away as the burning liquid covered her.

Echo took the opportunity to race by the distracted Elle and Bess and turned the corner. He burst into the atrium. Piper was currently facing off against Ryan Covington; the two of them were fighting over a pair of handcuffs, each trying to bind the other. Ryan showed remarkable determination and skill. It wasn’t until Gabriel came to his aid, chilling Piper enough that Ryan was able to handcuff her to a ramp railing after a well-placed knock to the face with the back of his head.

“She’s not going to stay like that,” Gabriel cautioned knowingly. He turned away from her, fighting his hunger. Echo took this opportunity to sound-strike the pair. Gabriel telekinetically shoved his partner out of the way, and took the force of the sonic boom. His ears began to bleed, but he rushed Echo, holding him against the doorway with one hand and a ball of radioactivity in his other.

“How’re you able to walk? That blast should have shattered your eardrums!”

“Feather hitting the ground, dump truck hitting the ground. All sounds the same to me. Your little tantrums aren’t doing anything against me.”

“Aren’t you married to the zappy blonde one? Left her with Claire.”

“Elle’s her aunt.”

“I seem to recall she shot her uncle.”

Gabriel’s face fell. He dropped Echo. “Karma’s a bitch,” he said, screaming the last word with enough force to launch Echo into the next room. “Hey, Ryan, deal with that one.” He raced off.

He found his wife and Bess fighting Claire. Claire shrugged off electrocutions and painful Systema attacks while handing out damage that did not immediately heal. Gabriel mentally slammed Claire into the wall. “Hey, Detskij, Covington could use your help. Elle and I have special plans for this one.”

Bess surveyed him suspiciously. Gabriel responded, as way of explanation, “She’s our niece.” Bess accepted this answer and ran off. Once she was gone, Gabriel told his wife, “Time for presents.”

A shot rang out and Gabriel, with a hole in his head, fell backwards. Elle turned and saw Claire, released from her telekinetic bind with a pistol in her hand. Elle sent muscle-debilitating-level lightning into Claire, with lecturing, “Who raised you?” while with her foot rolling over her husband.

: : :

Micah and Matt
C&C Scrap Metal Yard
South Brooklyn Harbor, New York
September 9, 2011

A dozen metal dragonflies swarmed the junkyard as Matt and Micah watched.

“Micah, we don’t have near enough.”

“We’ve got something called ‘exponential growth’ helping us.”

“Yeah, geometry was never my strong suit.”

Micah shook his head at the error. “What was your strong suit?”

“Not important,” Matt deflected.

“Think about it like this, Mr. Parkman. You know how when you have a boy bunny and a girl bunny, and pretty soon you’ve got hundreds of bunnies?”

“That’s just in the cartoons.”

“It’s an illustration.”

“Art’s not my strong suit either.”

Micah breathed calmly. “If you have two bunnies, soon you have four bunnies. But now that you have four bunnies, they have more baby bunnies faster. Same principle.”

Matt looked up and noticed that there were now twenty robots. “Huh,” he remarked.

“It takes my robots about two hours to create a duplicate. If I can find enough scrap yards to send them to, theoretically, we’ll have over three-hundred thousand within sixteen hours.”

“That should be more than enough.”

“I said theoretically. That’s not counting travel time. Material scarcity. We’ll be lucky to have a few thousand by tomorrow. The next day, we should have enough to go through with the plan. Especially if I can get swarms to India and China by tonight.”

“Well, that’s good.”

After a long silence, Micah asked thoughtfully, “Mr. Parkman. You used to be a cop, right?”

“Yeah. Plan to get back to it if the world doesn’t end.”

Micah took special care in choosing his words. “You probably have guns at home.”

Matt replied casually, “A couple, yeah. Why?”

“No reason,” Micah noted quickly. “And I get that you’re pretty protective of Molly… and the rest of your family,” he added hastily. “That with all the running around the country. Attacking serial killers. Maybe bring back up next time,” he chastised lightly.

“Point taken,” Matt replied uncomfortably. “Well, of course I’m protective of my family. I mean, Molly’s been in danger her whole life. I’d do anything to keep her safe. Wouldn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t I keep Molly safe?” Micah asked, sweating.

“I actually meant your family, though…”

Micah cut him off, “No, I would and I do. I keep close tabs on Monica and Damon. You know, protect them from computer stuff. Viruses. Identity theft. And I recruited a couple of trustworthy byte-talkers for my Uncle Nathan.” When Matt wasn’t looking, he surveyed the older man warily.

When Micah wasn’t looking, Matt surveyed the teenager. “You’re pretty smart, right?” Matt commented as offhandedly as he could.

“I, uh, yeah, I guess you could say that. Well, I’m not going to brag about my IQ or anything, but… school’s my thing. I like learning stuff… and knowing stuff. Do I sound nerdy?”

“Nerdy’s fine. I mean, dads like intelligent guys. I mean, intelligent and wisdom… and good choices are important,” Matt struggled, “I wasn’t too smart and I could tell my dad wished I were. Not so much ‘cause he in particular was. I mean, he was pretty mechanically inclined, like you. Though, not at all even in the same league. But it was more ‘cause he wanted me to make something of myself.”

Micah thought through his words, “So, you’d probably want Molly to date, you know, guys of some intellectual capacity.”

“Among other things,” Matt replied, “but, yeah, smartness would be a good quality in the kind of guys I’d like for her to date. Theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” Micah echoed.

Matt and Micah stared it opposite directions as their discomfort drained.

: : :

Angela and Arthur Petrelli
Angela Petrelli’s Office
Primatech Research Facility
Hartsdale, New York
September 10, 2011

Angela stood staring out the window. “Are you here to kill me, Darling?” she asked without turning around.

“No, Sweetheart. I still love you. We didn’t come to kill anyone. This is just business.”

“Just Business. Just to capture us and take away our abilities so we can’t stop you from injecting or executing the rest of the world.”

“Kidnapping. Illegal medical experimentation. Conspiracy. How exactly do our organizations differ?”

Angela turned to the monitors. “It’s quite a battle royale down there. I’m surprised you’re not part of the action.”

“I’m an old man, Angie.” He, too, looked down at the screens where their agents viciously fought. His eyes descending lower to her hands. “Still wearing your wedding ring, I see.”

“You’ve still got the same old scuffed-up trinket on your finger.”

“I told you that our marriage would be the stuff of legends.”

Arthur took his wife’s forearms and turned her toward him. He leaned in for a kiss, which Angela reciprocated. The monitors showed excessive destruction occurring to the atrium.

She slapped him after a second. “Didn’t think it was going to be that easy to get it, did you?”

“Can blame a man for resisting the urge to kiss his beautiful wife?”

“Peter,” Angela spoke, looking down at the monitor.

Arthur followed his wife’s eyes. “What’s he doing here? Did you call for him?”

“What good would that do me, Arthur? He’s a thorn in my side, too.”

“He doesn’t put bombs in your buildings.” With this, Arthur telepathically attacked Angela, who immediately fell to the ground with a bleeding nose. “That was easy,” Arthur commented, surprised.

: : :

Victor and Sparrow
Primatech Research Facility
Hartsdale, New York

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” Sparrow joked to her new partner as waves of blue flame erupted down the hall.

Hiding on the other corner, Victor laughed, “In this line of work, I get plenty of practice. Wanna see something funny?”

Sparrow shot him a challenging look as he pulled the fire alarm. The sprinklers came on and Flint’s distinctive Arkansan accent cursed a blue streak.

Sparrow leapt out of the corner, screaming, “Language!” as she pressed her hands against the ground.

As the hallway shook, Flint tumbled to the ground. A mix of flame and steam was shot back at the agents. Sparrow leapt away just in time, but screamed as she slammed her shoulder into the ground.

Flint turned the corner and was about to take his opportunity to subdue the woman went a blast of white smoke extinguished his hands. After the smoke disappeared, he collapsed to the ground, his face blue and gasping for air. Victor stood over him with a red fire extinguisher.

Before Sparrow could thank him, he was knocked to the ground by Piper on top of Flint’s passed out body. Victor quickly recovered, spinning out of the way as Piper’s foot came down on him. He kicked at her knee, but found the tactic ineffective as her rubbery knee popped back into place.

“Gonna have to try harder than that,” Piper taunted.

The same white smoke suddenly billowed against Piper’s body, and Victor kicked again, this time Piper was thrown backwards.

“Good thinking with the extinguisher,” Victor noted, “ice cold gas.”

“Oh, is that why she was brittle all of a sudden?” Sparrow questioned. “I just figured you needed the distraction. Thanks for the chemistry lesson, though.”

Victor and Sparrow locked Piper and Flint into cell. They raced back to the atrium, where they found Peter Petrelli, one hand aflame and the other cackling with electricity, stomping through the room, peering menacingly at the agents, who had ceased fighting.

“I don’t want any trouble. I just need to talk with my mother.”

“Your mother is indisposed, son,” Arthur stated, “however, if you need a parent, you can talk to your ol’ Dad.” He extended his arms welcoming; the effect was nullified by the surge of red lightning from his hand that shot out the nearest overhead light or the wave of heat warped the tile floor below him.

“We both know she has half of the Formula.”

This piqued Arthur’s interest, but before he could respond, the far wall crumbled down with a puff of black smoke and grey ash. Flint, followed by Piper, stepped out. Flint looked up at Arthur’s angry face and said, “Oh, sorry, boss, were you in the middle of one of your speeches? Go on.”

“There’s been a change of plans,” Arthur commanded, “The other half of the Formula is here. Find it.” He looked around, “And where’s Claire? I have another assignment for her.”

“This Claire?” Gabriel asked from the doorway. All eyes turned to him. He had Claire telekinetically held in the air. She struggled vigorously, dislocating joints and breaking bones. Elle stood on her other side, a hand brimming with electricity pointed at the back of Claire’s head.

“Gabriel,” Arthur warned, “that’s your niece you’ve got there.”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Gabriel replied, sending a small bolt of lightning at his father, surprising him with the new ability, “Well, actually, that’s a blatant lie.” He smiled at his wife, who shared in his glee.

Edward made a run towards his team lead, but was thrown back by the electricity surrounding the trio. “Everyone calm down,” Elle warned as the entire room stayed quiet.

Gabriel took his finger to Claire’s forehead, splitting it open with his telekinesis. A line of blood was drawn across her forehead, but she didn’t as much as flinch.

“You’ve already got it,” Claire noted.

“Yes, but I told you, I’m not here to take anything, just to give something.” In his mind, he felt the ticking noise, but he drowned it out with his thoughts. “The human body is quite remarkable,” he began to monologue, “Even normal humans, not Special like us, have amazing brains.” With this, he finished the full cut and pulled off the top of Claire’s skull, taking off large chunks of hair. “You see, the human brain has the ability to react to injury with pain, to let the body know it’s in… suboptimal conditions.” He started poking around Claire’s brain, causing her to twitch. “However… when the pain is so great that it’s debilitating to your survival, your brain will actually shut off its pain centers to keep you conscious and alert.” Claire managed to glare at her attacker. “Having your head split open is pretty painful, so when I did this the first time, your brain did just that—it turned off its pain centers to allow you to fight back.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “However, your body has only evolved to react to human dangers, not my telekinesis, which rendered you incapable of fighting back. My prediction,” he for once looked at her, to make sure she was paying attention, “is that your body never turned the pain centers back on, which is why you’ve been numb for the last four years.” Gabriel mentally grabbed Claire’s skullcap and popped it back onto her head like one would a sugar jar. Her skin sealed. “So, my present to you is this.”

He wound back his arm and punched Claire in the face with such force that her jaw visibly cracked and her head cracked the cement block behind it. Elle discharged her hand and watched the scene play out. Claire screeched angrily from the ground, standing up holding her bruised, swollen jaw, which remained that way for all of five seconds. After a bewildered curse, she noted, “That… hurt.”

Smiling, Elle told her, “Welcome back, cheerleader.” She sent a spark to Claire’s ear, who jerked away.

Dazed, Claire stumbled down the stairs. She passed by Flint, Echo, Edward, and Piper, who gave her wide berth as she wordlessly ignored them. She made a straight line toward Peter, who eyed her apprehensively, as if expecting to be shot again at any moment. Instead, Claire wrapped her arms around him, and he quickly returned the embrace while remaining alert to the dozen people still in the room. Neither broke the hug for a long while.

Elle quipped, “Get a room.” Her husband glared at her. She nodded. “Oh, I just realized why that was inappropriate.”

Claire whispered in Peter’s ear, “Get me out of here.”

After a quick sweep of the room, Peter took her in his arms and flew out the shattered windows that he arrived in.

“Well, that was interesting,” Angela noted as she walked into the room, holding a compact as she finished cleaning the blood off her face. As she passed her son, she noted, “Quite creative of you, Gabriel, but I would ask that you fill me in next time you’re pulling a stunt like that. I thought you’d gone dark again and brought your wife with you. Arthur, I think we ending our last conversation on a bad note.”

“I knew you fell too easily,” Arthur noted. “But Primatech won’t be so lucky. Angie, you can’t win. I brought my entire Martial Division.”

“All of them? Does that strike you as a good idea, Arthur?”

Arthur mused on this for a second. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” Pall asked.

“You think you’re always two steps ahead, don’t you, Angie, with that passive ability of yours?” Arthur taunted.

“You’ve never given me enough credit, Sweetheart. I’m three, if you count my inside man.”

“Inside man?” Arthur bellowed, laughing, “If someone was sent by my wife to betray me, I have a hundred different abilities to punish you with. So if there is a traitor among you, would he please speak up?” He basked in the silence of the room. “See, Angela, not a word.”

“You don’t know how right you are, Arthur,” Angela replied.

Two hands grasped Arthur’s head from behind. He only smiled and attempted to activate one of his powers. They did not come. He then noticed the dark skin of the large hands around his head. “No,” he breathed meekly before convulsing in the Haitian’s hands.

When the Haitian finally released Arthur, he fell to the ground, his eyes vacant, his mouth drooling, and his muscle twitching randomly.

“Thank you,” Angela said.

“Ma’am,” the Haitian replied.

“Whoa,” Flint exclaimed, “You mean he could talk all along?”

Angela spoke up, “Agents of Pinehearst, you may have noticed you have become somewhat… understaffed. If you would like to return to your headquarters, I assure you that I will have my people stand down. We will not retaliate against this imprudent attack on our premises and personnel.”

After a few meaningful glances, Edward, Piper, Flint, and Echo all slowly backed up and fled out of the hole that Peter had created during his entrance.

: : :

Deveaux Building Rooftop
Manhattan, New York
January 8, 1975

In a fine-pressed charcoal suit, Charles Deveaux surveyed the city from his newest acquisition: the newly-christened Deveaux Building.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Arthur Petrelli noted as he walked toward Charles. His wife, Angela, stood faithfully by his side.

“Thank you. It wasn’t easy. How is Nathan?”

“He’s well,” Angela replied, “He’s with the sitter, watching Peter Pan for the hundredth time.”

“You’re only young once,” Charles noted.

Bob Bishop arrived and Charles greeted him. “And, what a lovely wedding you had. The missus is much too pretty for you.”

“And much too young,” Bob added, “And too blond.”

Paula and Carlos then arrived with two women and a man, all unfamiliar, in tow.

“Paula,” Arthur noted, “who have you found?”

“If we’re going to study people like us, we need someone in the medical field. I found three.”

“Well, don’t keep us waiting. Introduce our new friends,” Charles requested.

Paula herded the man forward first. “Harry?”

“My name is Harry Fletcher. I’m a pharmaceutical researcher with Franklin & Wilkins.”

“I have heard of this,” Kaito noted, “It gets funding from the Excelsior Group out of San Francisco. My company recently purchased a controlling interest.”

“Well, I thank you for your generous support,” Harry noted, “my latest project has been trying to activate dormant strains of DNA in… well, so far just bacteria, but once I get it right, the results should work on…”

“Humans,” Arthur finished.

“Quite possibly. Why the interest?”

“Call it a personal curiosity,” Arthur replied cryptically.

Paula moved on, “This is Victoria Pratt. Victoria’s a microbiologist of some repute.”

“She’ll be working on the Indian girl’s blood?”

“Yes,” Carlos replied.

“Finally, we have Susan Amman. Susan is an obstetrician. I think she would be a valuable addition to our group. She has studied the inheritance of abilities and we have asked her to continue her work.”

Carlos spoke, “I’d like to introduce you to our group. Arthur Petrelli represents our legal interests. His wife, Angela, is well-connected politically and socially within the city. Charles Deveaux is a prominent real estate mogul in these parts, and he’s responsible for all our properties. That handsome fellow over there is Bob Bishop; he’s responsible for all our finances. Kaito Nakamura represents our overseas business interests. Paula, of course, is our recruitment expert. And I am our historian.”

There was a knock at the door and Maury Parkman timidly walked in. “Sorry I’m late. I hope I…”

Arthur was quick to drag Maury into the group, “Everyone, I’d like you finally meet Maury Parkman. Maury is the telepath I’ve been telling you about.”

Carlos warmly greeted him.

Paula noted, “Where’s Daniel?”

“Right here,” Linderman noted, wearing his Army Service Uniform. “My sincerest apologies for my tardiness, but I have someone I’d like you all to meet.”

A blond man who appeared to be in his early thirties followed him in.

“I’d like to introduce you to Adam Monroe.”

“And what is Mr. Monroe’s special talent?” Arthur asked.

“It’s so monumental; I find it hard to put into words.”

“I heal,” Adam explained bluntly, “Gunshots. Burns. Stabbings. They all heal within instants. It’s a talent I’ve cultivated for the past four hundred years.”

After a stunned silence, Carlos joked, “Daniel, the last thing we need is another Brit.”

Adam surveyed the group with little regard, but did note, “So, you’re founding some sort of enterprise? For… highly-talented people shall we say?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered, “Mr. Monroe, if you don’t mind by me asking. You’re immortal. A god among men.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but I’m at most a demigod.”

“Why ally yourself with us?”

“I have taken down giants. Faced armies. Watched kingdoms rise and fall, and torn down a few myself. When the Earth crashes into the sun, I will probably be there. But I can’t stop it. I can’t stop a lot of things. I am but one man. You all, you can change the world. And if I am a part of it, you will succeed.”

: : :

Edward, Piper, Flint, and Echo
Pinehearst Company
Fort Lee, New Jersey
September 10, 2011

Before their eyes, the Pinehearst Company erupted in flames, engulfing the entire building in seconds.

“Dammit,” Edward commented, “how did it go up so fast?”

Flint grimaced, “I know how this happened.”

: : :

Chapter 21: The Truth of the Moment

Director's Commentary: Oh, boy, was this episode getting back into my element. Big fights, double-crosses, visual effects out the wazoo. I include most of the characters. I got to add little touches of humor. I've got Claire turning over a new leaf. I've got Arthur and Angela interacting... kissing while their loyal minion fight the death. Though, I don't think anyone died. That's because I'm too attached to my characters. I'll kill some later, I promise.

I particularly loved Barbara's firing scene. Her crashing to the window was so painful to film. This show breathes on silly tropes, and I loved showing was really happens when you try to throw someone through a window. I wanted to give Barbara a good send-off.

And then Arthur's completely humiliating demise? I wanted to have Pinehearst burn to the ground, literally and figuratively, in this episode, at the height of its strength, and boy did it.

And that lovely rooftop scene with the Company founders' first meeting? I know that it will be render non-canonical in the show, and probably violates some nitty gritty canon somewhere, but I don't care. Take the flashbacks as interpretive history if you will.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Cristine Rose ... Angela Petrelli

Hayden Panettiere ... Claire Bishop

Zachary Quinto ... Gabriel Gray

Kristen Bell ... Elle Gray

Milo Ventimiglia ... Peter Petrelli

Greg Grunberg ... Matt Parkman

Adrian Pasdar ... Nathan Petrelli

Jessalyn Gilsig ... Meredith Gordon

Ali Larter ... Barbara Zimmerman

Dana Davis ... Monica Dawson

Clea DuVall ... Audrey Hanson

Randall Bentley ... Lyle Bennet

Noah Gray-Cabey ... Micah Sanders

Blake Shields ... Flint Gordon

Kiko Ellsworth ... Echo DeMille

Brea Grant ... Daphne Millbrook Parkman

Robert Forster ... Arthur Petrelli

Olga Sosnovska ... Bess Detskij

Chris Carmack ... Ryan Covington

Matt Dallas ... Edward Pall

Jimmy Jean-Louis ... The Haitian

Kirk Acevedo ... Victor Abano

Rachel Skarsten ... Piper Johanssen

J. August Richards ... Jaime Renfrass

Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine ... Usutu

Marissa Jane Winokur ... Amy Carlson

Elizabeth Ann Bennett ... Sue Landers

Julia Jones ... Sparrow Redhouse

David Anders ... Adam Monroe

Roger R. Cross ... 70s Charles Deveaux

Ken Marino ... 70s Arthur Petrelli

Kali Rocha ... 70s Angela Petrelli

Eijiro Ozaki ... 70s Kaito Nakamura

Jim Rash ... 70s Bob Bishop

Natashia Williams ... 70s Paula Gramble

Randy Vasquez ... 70s Carlos Mendez

Scott Bakula ... 70s Harry Fletcher

Jaime Ray Newman ... 70s Victoria Pratt

Julie Benz ... 70s Susan Amman

Andy Buckley ... 70s Maury Parkman

Forbes March ... 70s Daniel Linderman

The World Entire: Chapter 19: Every Moment

2009-08-22T22:40:00.004-04:00

Animism is the belief that all things, everything, has a soul. People. Animals. Plants. Rocks. Thunder. Mountains. Rivers. Great philosophers from Plato to Aristotle to Aquinas espoused such beliefs. Many tribal religions incorporate animist beliefs. They respect the sacredness of all things. Every moment. Are they that far off? Do we dare ignore the significance that emerges from even the simplest and unprofound events? Perhaps if we were able to know the truth of every occurrence, we could then understand the truth of the universe.

: : :

The Wests
Pensacola, Florida
September 8, 2011

Dan and Katie West watched as their 3-year-old daughter raced toward the ocean across the sand-covered beach. As a wave splashed at her feet, she screeched happily and ran back to her both, her feet tossing sand right and left.

She asked to build a sand castle and her mother allowed her to do so. At first, she had difficulty, but after a tip from her father to use wet sand, she had a lumpy palace emerging from the sand.

“Sweetie,” Katie asked her husband, pointing toward the castle, “look at that wall, it kind of looks like a face.”

Dan laughed and agreed, at least until the sand-face’s brow lowered. The sand began to move of his own accord and started to take the shape of a man. The girl ran away, screaming.

“Katie, take Maggie and run,” Dan instructed, as his body faded from sight. The women raced away and Priv. Marc Stanley, finally reincorporated, chased after them, only to be thrust aside by the invisible man. He punched widely at the air, but could not make contact. Not wanting to risk another unseen attack, he dissolved back into his grainy second form and started to spin his body, sending waves of sand around. He could now make out Dan’s outline. He raced forward and tackled the man to the ground, handcuffing him.

On the other side of the beach, Kate and Maggie laid low, underneath a wooden deck. Stanley emerged from the ground behind them. He was not silent enough to escape Maggie’s ears, who screamed out to her mother. Kate grabbed the man’s still-sandy arm and yanked him forward into a wooden column. Still part-stone, Stanley crashed halfway through the wood without any injury and lunged at Kate, who kicked him again. The attack managed to throw Stanley into the adjacent column, but at the expense of tearing up the bottom of her bare foot. The heavy deck above, which in turned held the front beams of the decks of the beach’s many cliff-side cottages, began to whine under the weight. Stanley burst into action, grabbing both the wife and the daughter, and racing them away from the dock, which soon collapsed.

The chain reaction was quick. The two damaged columns split sideways, ramming into the columns next to them. The reinforced platform resisted warping, forcing the remaining columns to bear the accumulated weight of both the heavy-duty deck and the housing columns on top of them. Before long, half a dozen more beams buckled under the weight and splintered outwards. The platform walkway snapped in the middle, leaving the unsupported side to tumble into the beach. Meanwhile, four balconies were ripped away by gravity from the fronts of the houses. Brick and stone was torn from the outer walls and two bay windows shattered from the force.

Back on the beach, Stanley shielded Katie and Maggie from the rain of wood and sand, allowing him to handcuff them, too. He called on his radio for transport.

: : :

Charlie Andrews
Burnt Toast Diner
Midland, Texas
October 9, 2006

Charlie was puzzled. She had not two minutes ago—she remembered looking at the clock on the wall and she never forgot anything—she had left a plate of blueberry waffles and cup of coffee on Table #13 to a cute guy with dark hair, and now his plate was cleared, his cup empty, and he was gone. He’d left a ten on the table as payment. The bill featured a strange design, but the back of one of them featured an unfamiliar face beside the image of the U.S. Treasury: a man with black hair and a square jaw.

: : :

Yamagato International Sales Team
September 11, 2011

On their way back from Washington D.C., manager Kin Egami complimented his team. “You guys did real good back there. You’ll all be seeing that reflected in your bonuses.”

Not three feet overhead, a grey object sped by. “What the hell was that? A goose?” one of the salesmen asked.

“It was buzzing,” one of the saleswomen commented. She dropped out of the sky. After a moment to process her sudden descent, the team flew after her, only to find their abilities too disappearing.

They screamed.

: : :

Ray Lee Coulomb
Chicago, Illinois
September 8, 2011

Ray Coulomb glided effortlessly across the street, trying his best to escape the strange, khaki-uniformed man chasing him. The ground slid underneath him without hindering his progress, as did the air, which scarcely brushed his skin despite him moving at the speed of a champion runner.

The wind roared around him, even greater than a typical Chicago day. This annoyed Monroe Auster, who controlled the wind currents that didn’t seem to slow down his target. But as he watched the cloth banners rippling in the wind, an idea came to him. He sent an especially potent gust toward the John Hancock’s flag pole, ripping the American flag down and directing it toward Coulomb. The man became tangled. Though the fabric slid across his without friction, it impaired his balance, and he tumbled to the ground, gliding like he was on ice.

Auster’s intense back draft used the flag as a sail, pulling the victim back to him. Coulomb turned off his ability, causing the flag to fray across the asphalt street. Not to be outdone, Auster created a powerful under-draft that tossed the tangled man into the air only to fall at his feet. Unfortunately, this sudden gust toward him also shattered all the windows of the first five floors of the John Hancock behind him.

“We’re gonna have to burn that flag now, you know that? Some people have respect for the colors.”

: : :

Juana Gris
Monteverde, Costa Rica
September 8, 2011

Juana sent feelings of kindness and trust into the spider monkey, which despite the overwhelming fear it was emitting earlier, accepted. He climbed down to study the strange woman before him.

In truly awful Spanish, a man’s voice said to her what she assumed to mean, “You’re going to come with me.”

She noted the gringo in the sweat-stained khaki uniform bearing the American flag. She sneered at the man, telling him that he had no right to arrest her outside his own country.

Gris only spoke Spanish, so Wyatt Carey was at a loss to what she said. He replied to her, in English, “Listen, señorita, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He pulled out a pair of plastic handcuffs and sauntered over to her.

Suddenly, the monkey on her shoulder leapt toward him with intense fury. It was only because of Carey’s Army instincts that he was able to pull out a knife to block the attack. The monkey fell to the ground, bleeding, and Carey cursed.

“Lady, you’re making this difficult on yourself.”

Gris continued to stare down at him with the same fury that the monkey had. From behind her, the sounds of the rainforest became louder. Carey could easily pick out the sound of a troop of monkeys and the loud buzzing of some horrific oversized insect.

Carey lit his hands on fire and created a small ring of fire around him. He noted Juana straining as two dozen similar monkeys jumped and screeched with fear at the sight of his fire. A swarm of mosquitoes showed no such fear and dived toward him. Not one made it to him before he’d reduced the entire swarm to ash.

Juana was still defiant, so Carey sent a stream of fire up into the tree line. A single branch fell through the foliage and knocked Juana down, pinning her to the ground. He cuffed her and told her. “Hey, I gusto los monkeys también. Took mi chiquita to see them last week at el zoo. No make me set them on fuego.”

: : :

Claire Bennet
September 10, 2011

Claire struggled with all her might against the telekinetic forces. Her eyes looked out to her comrades, too fearful to help her. She felt the soft tingling sweep across her forehead. Had her nervous system been functioning, it would have hurt. Only the blood beginning to obscure her vision let her know that her head was indeed being split open.

: : :

Reid Cipris
Sedlec, Kutná Hora, Czech Republic
September 8, 2011

Reid Cipris carefully climbed up the worn ladder resting against the weathered metal water tower in the small Eastern European town. At almost sixty, his once shaggy brown hair was almost all gray. Below him, dozens were gathered, looking up hopefully. He eased open the rickety hatch and looked into the container. While more than three-thirds full of water, it was stagnant, algae-covered water He reached in and laid his hand against the surface of the water. Almost instantly, the water began to bubble and steam. Mineral precipitates sunk to the bottom and collected at the pointed base, below the output tube. Cipris held out his hand and a small net was handed to him. With a few scoops, he cleared out the tower of the offending contaminants.

Cipris descended the ladder, suddenly finding the crowd had dispersed outward, minus a single male figure. He was tall, built, and blond with gray-green eyes. He wore a red-trimmed khaki military uniform. On one shoulder was an American flag badge and on his left breast, a name badge declaring his surname “RICH.”

“Reid Cipris?” he asked, pronouncing the name better than Cipris would expect from an American.

Cipris reluctantly replied, “Ano,” in as affirmative of a tone as he could manage.

Private Rich stated, slowly, in passable German, “Gekommen mit mir. Bitte.” Come with me, please.

Cipris took a step back and most of the townspeople took several steps forward, crowding Rich.

“Everyone stay back,” he warned in a harsh tone, harkening every away. He held up his hand and the water tower shuttered, rattling on its metal legs.

The crowd did not back up, so Rich send another wave of vibrations at a middle-aged man holding a staff unthreateningly. The stick shook in his hand and he dropped it. Rich again spoke to Cipris. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” he lied, “I just need you to register your ability.”

The crowd screamed menacingly. Rich huffed and sent a concentrated vibration wave at Cipris’s shoulder, knowing it would cause only muscle spasms, temporarily incapacitating him. He then sent a broad wave at the crowd; they fell backwards like bowling pins. Rich’s ability could easily kill a person by vibrating their brain tissue, causing seizures, or their heart muscles, causing heart attacks. A broad wave like the one he’d just used would cause minimal damage: a lot of sprains, maybe a few broken bones, and no deaths, unless someone was especially frail, which, unfortunately a few of the elderly townspeople were. Rich could do damage control later.

He pulled out his com unit and called in his transportation, “Hey, it’s Terry, I’ve got him. Bring the chopper around.”

: : :

Zach
San Diego, California
September 11, 2011

Zach braced himself for the quake that struck suddenly. He looked out at the ocean and his eyes widened. Not a hundred yards out, a wall of steam began to rise. He raced away from the water, climbing the sandy hill. He tripped on the thick grass and fell backwards, landing on his ass, looking back out at the sea, now noting that the ocean water seemed to be sinking where the steam rising, like water draining from a tub.

: : :

Xun Narada
Surabaya, Indonesia
September 8, 2011

In a flash of blue light, Xun appeared on the docks of Surabaya, on the coast of the island of Java. After several teleportations, he was finally outside the city. He looked around, seeing much fewer people than inside the city, just a few fisherman in their small wooden boats.

He looked back, hoping that the five-block leap put enough distance between him and the two khaki-clad American soldiers. He looked down at the boats, none of which belonged to him. Xun’s father was a fisherman but saved enough to send Xun to vocational school, allowing him to become an accountant’s aide.

A semitransparent dome of orange surrounded Xun. The dock gave out from under him. The soldier’s—Rothschild was his name—ability tended to slice up whatever object it came into contact with, starting with Xun’s desk. Xun teleported out to the nearest boat he could see. It’s times like this when Xun wished he traveled more so that he could find further places to teleport away to.

The soldiers were in eyeshot again. Xun started the motor in his little [dingy] and boated off, hoping to lead them as far as he could before…

The boat splintered from the bottom up. The other soldier could create small explosions. Rothschild dove into the water and a sphere of orange surrounded him and Xun. “Don’t try that again, smart guy.”

“Foog you,” Xun noted, allowing himself to be dragged back toward shore. At least until they reached the dock. A firm shoulder to the jaw gave Xun his freedom. He took a deep breath and teleported to the first place he could think of.

He found himself about ten feet underwater. A couple colorful fishes welcomed him to a favorite snorkeling spot from his younger years. So did painful yank of his head. Xun spun around and found a very panicked soldier behind him, “NOBEL” on his name tag. Having teleported with Xun sideways, perhaps because he was mid-leap, he was disoriented and began to swim in a slightly downward angle. Xun tried to point toward the sun and the rise of the bubbles, but the water confused Nobel’s sense of direction.

Xun swam up to get another breath of air as to save the soldier. But as he put his face back into the water, he heard a terrible rumbling and a bright yellow light.

The resultant earthquakes could be felt across the Java Sea and Indian Ocean. While the damage was minor on land, Philippine geologists reported that the strange explosion had aggravated the Java Trench Fault.

: : :

October 9, 2006

The two halves of the Genetic Modification Formula, now taped together, slowly burned to ash.

: : :

Father Tafari St. Pierre
Tulear, Madagascar
September 8, 2011

The Saint Maurice Catholic Church was a small building on the southwestern border of Madagascar. The front of the church featured a prominent crucifix with a dark-skinned Jesus. Several statuettes of traditional Vazimba demigods labeled with both the Madagasy names and their angelic counterparts. It was late in the night, just in time for the moon to shine through a skylight in the roof of the small but well-built chapel.

It was their annual Sea of Galilee service. The reverend called out to his congregation, in his native Malagasy, “Praise the Lord!”

His congregation echoed him.

“Praise the Son!”

“Praise the Ghost!”

During the prayer, St. Pierre felt the emotions of all his congregants and they all felt one another, too. A dear friend several months ago had given him what he’d called “American holy water” in a syringe, proclaiming it granted miraculous powers. He showed St. Pierre his ability to quickly heal from any cut, leaving only a faint white scar. “And that’s not all. I gave an injection of my blood to a friend suffering from the disease of our generation and he remained without symptoms for a full week.

St. Pierre had taken the injection and he too could perform miracles. During his prayers, the whole of his congregation had their minds open to one another, and as the Holy Ghost descended upon them, their warmth was multiplied among them.

St. Pierre looked up when the doors were kicked open and a group of five men in khaki military uniforms with guns raced in. While this was not uncommon in his country, St. Pierre had tried to make no political enemies, but if word of his miracles had gotten out, no doubt the next president of his country would want his “support.” But these men’s uniforms sported the flag of the United States.

The leader of the group, Sgt. Isaac Whitehead, spoke to him, in European French, “Mr. Sainte Pierre,” he began, mispronouncing his name and improperly addressing his reverend status, “we need you to come with us.”

St. Pierre called out to his congregation, “There are devils among us!” It was an exaggeration and a metaphor, but it got the job done. His congregation, feeding off the fear and anger of one another, stood at once and faced down the soldiers. A few foolhardy youths leapt out and received non-fatal bullet wounds for their trouble. In unison, St. Pierre chastised the boys and the Sgt. Whitehead told his men to stand down.

But it was too late, the back four rows, having identified Whitehead as the leader of the intruders, grabbed at him. Whitehead calmly amplified the gravity of his body, making him prohibitively heavy. Then, he caused the congregation to be attracted to the far walls.

He ears burned as he suddenly heard all of their terrified thoughts. This distracted him enough for the congregation to again charge him, slamming him down on the altar above the skylight, where moonlight crept in. He watched the moon, and through the daze that struck him against the hard wooden platform, as it grew larger, as if descending toward Earth.

: : :

Berlin, Germany
September 11, 2011

Eager scientists watched the eclipse, surprised to see that the normal corona of the sun was not present, as the moon seemed twice as large against the back ground of the sky. This created an intense darkness which lasted several hours and covered the majority of the continent.

: : :

International Space Station

“Houston, what the hell’s going on down there? There’s big damn red cracks all across the oceans.”

: : :

Chapter 20: The Moment of Conflict
Director's Commentary: This was an experiment of sorts. Most of the cast was off doing promotions for the show, so I decided to show the devolution of things via one-shot characters. It was a lot of fun, though I don't think I got the idea down. I felt like it was the wrong time to do something like this, which really just slowed down the tention I was building. Unfortunately, this was the only time this could occur. Anyway, it was a learning experiment and all your favorite characters will be back next week.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Hayden Panettiere ... Claire Bennet

Jayma Mays ... Charlie Andrews

Thomas Dekker ... Zach

Tohoru Masamune ... Kin Egami

Carmine Giovinazzo ... Dan West

Lisa Sheradin ... Katie West

Shawn Woods ... Marc Stanley

Matthew Settle ... Ray Lee Coulomb

David Ogden Spiers ... Monroe Auster

Marisol Nichols ... Juana Gris

Armin Shimerman ... Wyatt Carey

Adrian Zmed ... Reid Cipris

Chris Bauer ... Terry Rich

Johnny Tri Nguyen ... Xun Narada

Harry Groener ... Gunther Rothschild

Eric Balfour ... J. Robert Nobel

Avery Brooks ... Rev. Tafari St. Pierre

Michael Fairman ... Isaac Whitehead

Ian Anthony Dale ... Yamagato businessman

Lily Mariye ... Yamagato businesswoman

The World Entire: Chapter 18: Beckoning Titans

2009-06-03T22:54:00.003-04:00

Storms. Fires. Droughts. Famines. Conquerors. Death. These are the things that led the cultures of antiquity to believe that they worshiped proud and demanding gods. So, to gain favor, they sent gifts… sacrifices. The Israelites burned crops and slaughtered livestock. The Greeks did the same for their pantheon. The Aztecs practiced human sacrifice. Even today we are not exempt from holy duties. Muslims make pilgrimages to Mecca. Jehovah’s Witnesses proselyte from door-to-door. Latter-Day Saints do as well, and take missions of good works. Many Christians become missionaries, spending years helping the poor, sick, and broken-hearted. Some become monks or nuns. Buddhists become ascetics like founder, Gautama, did. True as it is that we have free will, there is no denying that we live our lives by codes. We are bound to obey the laws of our country. We follow the rules, spoken and unspoken, of our jobs and our families and ourselves. Do we dare deny the wisdom our forefathers? Can we submit ourselves to the duties we cannot defy? Or else, face the consequences. The storms of chaos. The fires of punishment. The famines of love.

: : :

Sylar, Elle, and Noah Gray
Primatech Research Facility
Barstow, California
2011

The struggling 4-year-old writhed violently as Sylar held his progeny against the cement wall. In his mind, Sylar could see all the little parts of his son. Every cell of his body stood ready to catalog any damage and to prepare to erect new barriers against harm. Like his grandfather, his father, and his uncle, Noah’s DNA was ready to activate new code.

Sylar’s first attempt to slice open his son’s head proved fruitless. His extra-durable skin had a harder composition and an interlaced cellular configuration that made the effort of breaking apart the cells too extensive even for Sylar’s telekinesis. But a quick mental analysis told Sylar the weakness. This time, he cut the skin inside to outside. It still took extreme effort, but a small slit began on to form on Noah’s head.

Feeling major pain for the first time in a week, Noah screamed in agony.

And suddenly he wasn’t Noah anymore. He was Elle with a line of blood across her forehead. He was Claire, the cap of her skull gone, blood staining her blond hair. He was Brian Davis, his face mangled beyond recognition. He was Trevor Zietlan and Zane Taylor and Ted Sprague and Bridgette Bailey and Charlie Andrews and the two dozen nameless inmates and five unknown soldiers, their eyes lifeless.

When Gabriel became aware of himself again, he was shivering on the floor of his son’s cell. He watched Elle discharging a massive ball of electricity and raced over to hold her son.

The young boy wrapped his arms around her leg, causing Elle to wince. She wrapped her hands around his head and kissed it. “It’s going to be okay, Sweetie.” She turned her head to scowl viciously at her husband.

Noah peaked around her leg. “Why is Daddy crying, Mommy?” he asked.

Elle, not taking her hands away from Noah, replied, “Because Daddy was a bad boy and got into trouble and…” she finished poisonously, “Mommy’s going to throw him in time-out now.”

She turned back to her son, noting the cut on his forehead was already scabbing over. She kissed it, leaving her lips raw. Noah disentangled himself from her leg, leaving her pant leg in tatters and her leg covered in small cuts. Noting the damage, he started to apologize profusely. Elle sweetly stopped his plea, telling him, “It’s okay. You were scared. I can get new pants and I’ll just tell people I cut myself shaving. A dozen times. It was dull razor.”

A relieved Noah went back to practicing holding drinking glasses.

Elle turned back to the crumpled heap of husband on the floor and extended two electricity-filled fingers toward her husband.

His voice weak and speech broken, he asked, “How could you… let me… I almost… do that… our son?”

Elle’s face softened and she dropped the outstretched hand. She crumpled over and knelt down to kiss her husband on the forehead.

: : :

Mohinder, Molly, Micah, and Peter
Suresh’s Lab
Lower Manhattan, New York
2011

Micah sat at a table against the wall, repairing his dragonfly robot. He was meticulously scraping off the spiderweb-like substance on the metal wings. Behind him sat Molly at the center table, reading through a thick folder full of dossiers written in Japanese. She stared at the picture, concentrated, and then wrote down the name and location on a yellow legal pad. Beside her was Mohinder, spraying aerosol cans on microscope slides and looking at the results.

Peter was scribbling on the chalkboard, occasionally teleporting in and out with more files from the abandoned church on a remote Japanese island.

There was a gust of wind as a petite blond woman appeared apparently out of nowhere. In her arms was a sleeping infant. She eyed a speechless Molly, now too stunned to speak. Daphne’s eyes scanned the room, seeing a teenage boy building some sort of insect-like robot, a humanoid creature covered in scales, and the terrorist Peter Petrelli with the infamous diagonal scar marring his face.

As Peter took a step forward, Daphne prayed, “I have a baby. Please.”

Peter telekinetically yanked the baby from her arms and placed it in Molly’s. “Don’t do anything rash,” Peter commanded.

Daphne rushed forward toward Peter. Peter, however, felt time slow down around him, almost like Hiro’s ability, and he was easy able to jump away from Daphne, who leapt up onto the chalkboard and thrust herself forward along the back wall. Peter began to follow, blocking her from attacking Mohinder.

“How are you doing this?” Daphne asked, still in super-speed.

“Mimicry. I copied your ability the moment you stepped into the room.”

“Well, let’s see how good your copying skills are.”

Daphne raced out of the room at an inhuman speed, even at Peter’s accelerated perception. He chased after her through the streets of New York. She was familiar enough with the maze of the Manhattan to quickly lose Peter, but not for long, as Peter was capable of flying. Daphne wondered if he had absorbed some ability that allowed him to track her as well. With another burst of speed, he lost her again.

He finally caught up with her in Southern Michigan, then again in Bellefleur, Oregon. She tried every tactic to shake him. He plowed through snow mounds that Daphne glided over on the Northern tip of the Yukon. He was immune to the smoggy air of Mexico City. She took a detour to the Dominican Republic, and even though he apparently didn’t know the trick for skimming across water, he somehow found her again in Brazil as she was admiring the Carnival festival.

“Strange. It’s not even close to Mardi Gras,” she heard him whisper in her ear.

“Tourist trap,” she responds calmly, showing Peter a souvenir Carnival mask. No sooner were his hands on the item than was she gone.

As she navigated herself through a colony of penguins in Argentina, she heard him call out to her. She began to run backwards, seeing penguins being tossed aside telekinetically as he raced toward her. The penguins landed on their feet and began to waddle back unaffectedly toward their mates.

“I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I’m working with your husband,” he called out.

“Matt?” The surprised caused her to trip over backwards.

But when Peter approached her, she disappeared again. He chased her until he found her at the Ventimilla Summit of Mount Chimborazo in the Andes Mountains. They met up again at the Port Reyes Prison in San Diego, but fled when they noticed several sedans approaching. Peter found her again at the Alamo; then again at the Indianapolis Speedway; then again at the U.S. Department of the Treasury; and finally again back at Mohinder’s lab.

Before his eyes, Mohinder found Peter and the disappearing blond woman panting their lungs out.

“Apparently I got the wrong impression,” mentioned Daphne as Molly raced over with her baby sister.

“I explained it all to her,” noted Peter.

“Explained it all?” Mohinder remarked with confusion, “This woman appeared here not fifteen seconds ago. How on earth could you explain the intricately complicated situation that we find ourselves in?”

“My mom’s really fast,” explained Molly.

“Mom? Wait, are you Matt’s wife?” Mohinder smiled, “Daphne? He’s told me so much about you. I’m Mohinder Suresh.” He extended his hand, which Daphne eyes warily. He revoked it, remarking, “Actually, most people wouldn’t want to do that.”

“You’re Mohinder? You don’t look anything like your picture.”

Mohinder smiled, “I’m afraid not. This is what happens when you don’t get the Formula right.”

: : :

Gabriel and Elle
Primatech Research Facility
Barstow, California
2011

Gabriel was shivering on the bed, his head in his wife’s lap, as she stroked his hair methodically. He finally worked up the courage to speak, “Elle, how could you do that? Save yourself and point me toward our son. I could have…”

“Gabriel, what’s the worse that could happen? That our son dies?” She remarked flippantly. “Gabriel, I had to save myself. Someone had to protect our son.” Her hand stopped stroking his head and she grabbed handful of hair.

“But my abilities…”

She sent a stronger-than-usual spark through Gabriel’s head. “Trust me. I would have found enough electricity in me to reduce you to a pile of ashes. Regeneration or no regeneration. And if that didn’t work…” She pulled out a pistol from the back of her jeans. “Bullet to the back of the head.” She sent another spark in the spot where she would have shot him. “You wouldn’t have time to stop me; I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. And since the cartridge is full, I would have followed it up with sixteen more, equally spaced around your head.” She illustrated with more sparks around his crown, and finished by taking a hold of the hair on the back of his head. “If your skull didn’t fall off, I’d bash your head against the wall until it did. And if your brain wasn’t in enough pieces for my liking; we have a woefully underused blender.” She fired a streak of lightning into the kitchen. The sound of the indicated blender permeated into the room briefly. “Nobody hurts my son.” She laid her hand on his forehead so that he’d look into his eyes, smiling.

“There’s a reason I married you.” Gabriel took hold of her face and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss lingered, and, feeling her hands beginning to untuck his shirt, he pulled away. “Ten seconds ago, you were plotting my horrific death. You sure change moods fast.”

Toying with the clasp on his pants, she replied, “And this is news to you?”

“I guess not,” he replied, rising to a kneel, grabbing his wife by the shoulders, and roughly shoving her flat onto the bed.

Well over an hour later, an unclothed Elle sat on top of her exhausted husband and she amused herself by causing the muscles in Gabriel’s hands to twitch with her power.

“So, you got a host of new abilities then?” she finally asked.

Sleepily, he replied, “I did. Without the hunger suppressing my emotions, I’m not going to be able to call on them until I internalize the guilt.” He pushed away her tormenting hand and flicked his wrist as if to activate pyrokinesis, but only managed to cause a spark to travel to Elle’s outstretched hand.

She flinched. “You feel bad about killing a zapper already?”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “There weren’t any. None of the inmates or Legionnaires had electrical generation.” He again made his hand spark.

“You sure?”

“I have enhanced memory. I’d recall.”

Elle slithered on top of him. “Is that why you were in top form today? You set the bar pretty high for future… missions.”

“Well, with you yammering instructions the whole time…”

She cut him off, “Excuse me? Don’t get a big head, but I wasn’t exactly coherent back there. I wasn’t giving you instructions.” Gabriel’s brow furrowed and Elle commented half-annoyed, “I know that look. What’re you figuring out?”

“I have telepathy.” Elle just shrugged. He continued, narrating mostly to himself, “I think when Parkman attacked me, I was able to get into his head, too. My ability is all about the mind, so maybe I was able to get to it just by being inside his head.” Elle twisted her lips and nodded overdramatically. He proudly announced his conclusion, “Maybe that’s how I was able to access your ability. Mental intercourse.”

“Now you’re just getting me excited all over again.”

“I may not survive the day.”

“Oh, come on; you knew this is how you were gonna go.”

: : :

Claude Rains
Odessa, Texas
1999

As he descended in free fall off the bridge, Claude’s only thought was that the bullets were too shallowly embedded in his skin. Bullets shot from a pistol at ten feet should have been through-and-through’s. After a few seconds, he crashed through something. It felt like a plate-glass window.

Except that was impossible in the forest. Then it happened again.

It can’t be real glass, Clause thought, real glass is harder. Claude had been put through three windows in his time. The first two he survived merely because he had been able to shoot through them to soften the blow, along with wrapping himself in a coat to protect him from the shards. The third was California safety glass, which didn’t break into sharp pieces, meaning he suffered painful gashes instead of his skin being turned to linguine.

He fell through the strange barriers four more times, suffering whiplash each time, before gravity finally put him on the soft earth below, which was not near as soft as Claude would have liked. He was content to wallow in his pain for a while, but someone came and helped him to his feet. Standing was the very position he wasn’t in the mood for, given the bullets and the whiplash and the bruises, but the Good Samaritan eased him under the bridge and laid him against the incline.

Before him was a teenage girl with black hair. He called out to her, “Abby, what’re doing here? Bennet…”

“Bennet thinks you’re dead and doesn’t know of my existence.”

“So I suppose I’ve got you to thank for that magical ride down?”

“My fields aren’t at 100% yet,” she apologized as she began to unbutton his shirt. She noted the two bullets embedded just below his skin. Without another word, she held her hand above him. The edges of the bullets began to shimmer with a bluish tinge and were soon forced out.

“Bloody hell!” Claude screamed at the sudden onslaught of pain.

Abigail simply wrapped her jacket tightly around Claude’s torso and held pressure on his wounds.

Breathing heavily, Claude managed to cough out, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be protecting you.”

“Sorry for the role reversal,” Abigail quipped, “At least we’re free.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Your file. It wasn’t at Primatech. Arthur has Bob looking after it in Hartsdale. We’ll need to head to New York.”

“Claude,” Abigail pleaded.

“What?”

She embraced him in a tight hug, “Thanks… for protecting me.”

Groaning, Claude returned the embrace. “I promised your mum I would. I like to keep my promises.”

“And we’ll go back to London?”

Claude nodded. “Soon. First, Hartsdale.”

“Actually, first, doctor.”

“I’ve had enough doctors for one lifetime.”

: : :

Matt Parkman
Lower Manhattan, New York
2011

Matt stumbled into Mohinder’s laboratory, finding only his daughter holding a checklist and a red pen, and Micah studying a rougher-looking version of his dragonfly robot and sneaking glances at Molly.

Molly raced to hug her father. “Dad! Where’d you go?”

“California. I had to take care of something,” he noted gravely.

Molly ignored his tone. “How’d you get there and back so fast?”

“Airplanes. I was able to convince flight attendants that I belonged on the flight. And that it was going back to New York instead of, Albuquerque or wherever.”

Molly eyes lit up. “Dad, you’re not gonna believe it!”

Before she had a chance to respond, Daphne appeared in the room, “No-go on Byron Bevington. His house was broken into and he’s missing…” She looked up and muttered off at the sight of her husband. She soon found herself in a crushing, spinning hug. They began to kiss passionately, but were interrupted by Molly clearing her throat.

“Sorry,” Daphne muttered insincerely to her daughter.

“But, you were in a coma,” Matt mentioned.

“Well, you know how some people spend like twenty years in a coma? Well, I pulled it off in two days. What up?”

“How did you find us?”

“Well, first thing I had to do was find clothes, because my hospital robe came untied…” Matt grinned lecherously and Daphne chided him coyly with a head tilt toward Molly, “Anyway, it takes a little while to find something in my size. So then I started searching you out. Checked at home. Checked at work. Checked our hangouts. Checked our safe houses. Finally figured maybe you’d sought out your old life partner.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Matt noted uncomfortably. “Where Daniella?”

“Uh, Peter should have him.”

“He’s on our side, you know.”

Daphne nodded knowingly, “Yeah, we had a track meet across the continent where we worked that out.”

“Is that where the tequila bottle came from?” Matt picked up the glass vial of amber liquid off a table full of strange rectangular holes.

“Yeah, picked it up in Guadalajara.”

“You had pesos on you?” Off Daphne’s non-response, he glowered.

“I’ll return it. Or pay for it.” Matt’s scowl didn’t disappear. “Look, old habits die hard.” Matt continued to look disappointed. “See, this is why cops don’t marry thieves.”

Matt nodded. He called out to the back, “Hey, Pete, you got my daughter?”

Mohinder emerged with the toddler. “Peter had to run an errand. I’ve got her.” Daniella was giggling in his arms, grabbing his scaly nose. “She doesn’t seem to mind my appearance. In fact, she seems to rather enjoy pulling out my scales and trying to put them in her mouth.” Off the panicked looks of the parents, Mohinder clarified, “I said ‘trying.’” He quickly seized another crispy scale from her tiny fist and tossed it away. Daniella, unfazed, reached toward his ear.

Matt asked, “We tried to get Molly to find you. She couldn’t.”

Daphne shrugged, “I can’t explain that.”

Micah, carrying his robot, approached the couple, “Not to rush this beautiful family reunion,” he noted without sarcasm, “but a lot has happened since you left, Matt. We’ve got a new plan of action.”

: : :

Nathan Petrelli
The White House
2011

Nathan stood alone in his office, only the light of his desk lamp and the glow of the large television tuned to GNI Network News. His face was marked with deep creases as he watched the news solemnly.

Ngozi Badu, the beautiful Nigerian anchor, reported, “Only nine days after the Costa Verde disaster, a series of terrorist attacks by suspected Specials occurred today in the United States. A Pensacola, Florida man has been arrested by the newly formed Powered Legion after destroying several beach-front homes. Also, a man in Chicago, Illinois was captured for attacking the front of the John Hancock Building. No one was injured, but damages were in the hundreds of thousands of US dollars.”

Alistair Coles, the blond Scottish co-anchor, followed, “Abroad, Costa Rica experienced massive forest fires, losing almost twenty square kilometers of rain forest land. No word yet whether a Special was involved, though Costa Rican investigators have teamed up with the United States’ Powered Legion to examine this possibility.”

“A Special in the Czech Republic is responsible for at least five deaths and more than a hundred injuries to the population of his small town. Details are forthcoming. A massive explosion struck the Eastern coast of Indonesia today, causing tsunamis, flooding, and thousands of deaths. No trace of explosives was found, and an unnamed Special is suspected.”

“Scientists with NASA and CERN were baffled today when the Moon appeared to drift down several thousand kilometers toward the Earth. It quickly fell into a shorter but stable orbit, but they caution that a moderate increase in tides will occur. Many coastal countries, including coastal US states, have declared a state of emergency. U.S. Senator Daniel Doyle criticized the President for being, and I quote, ‘soft on Special criminals’ but added his praise for the newly created Powered Legion and their early, divisive action.”

Tracy entered the room without knocking. “Nathan, baby, Marty’s looking for you. He wants to get in a press conference tonight.”

Nathan recited to her, “The Malden Bill authorized the building of a prison for the Specials, built by Pinehearst, called Titanhold. In the event that a Special is deemed too dangerous, divisive action can be taken, including bondage, depoweration, or execution.” After a long grave silence, he asked, “You see the problem with locking the Specials with the most dangerous abilities in the world in one prison controlled by my father, who now has authorization to absorb their abilities if he sees fit?”

“You don’t think he would…?”

“You don’t think he wouldn’t?” Nathan snapped back immediately.

Tracy replied with silence.

There was a knock from the door, and Marty let himself in, flocked by Usutu and four Secret Service Agents. He asked, “Mr. President, are you ready?”

“Yes, Marty,” he replied.

Agent Landers shuttered but made no comment.

“Let’s do this,” Nathan declared. At once, Marty left the room to retrieve the camera crew. Nathan took a seat at his desk. Tracy knelt beside him and adjusted his tie. Agent Renfrass, tall, dark, and astute, stood by the entrance, while the willowy bespectacled Agent Landers took her place in front of it, ready to question the entering camera crew members. The beefy Agent Braham stood to one side of Nathan’s desk, pumping his fist. Agent Lake stood on the other, breathing deeply. Usutu took a seat at the far end of the room.

The overlarge moon hung low in the night sky behind Nathan in the window.

Displaying none of his typical charisma, Nathan began speaking into the television camera, “My fellow Americans, no doubt you have heard about the tragedies occurring today…”

: : :

Pinehearst Company
Fort Lee, New Jersey
2011

Arthur admired the moon from his office window. He turned to his assembled associates.

Flint stood wide-legged with flame bursting alternately from each hand. The Haitian stared at him from across the room, clearly debating whether to disable his ability. Claire, with her arms crossed, showed no emotion. Her team hung behind her, towering above her but exuding much less power. Echo DeMille remained aloof as he fiddled with the ring on his finger. Edward Pall tapped his foot and twirled a quarter between his fingers; both actions were done with such speed that they were a blur. Piper Johanssen tried to pop her fingers, but they of course bent backwards.

Arthur finally spoke, unable to keep a grin off his face, “Congratulations. Our army is performing admirably. Some of the most dangerous Specials on our planet have been captured and incarcerated in Tartarus. So their… intriguing… abilities are no longer a threat to the world.

“And you all have done exceptional work. You handled the Port Reyes incident and kept it under wraps.

His tone changed to melancholy. “But all is not well. Miss Zimmerman has yet to check in with her progress on retrieving the second half of the Formula. We are down to only a handful of injections, which has brought a halt to our income. Our tenuous alliance with the Presidency has final broken, though we do retain the upper hand for now. In addition, we’ve also lost several quality agents in the past week.

“But no worries. We will be on the winning side of this war. It’s a biological imperative.”

: : :

Primatech Research Facility
Barstow, California
2011

At the front entrance of the Primatech facility, Angela extended her hand to her guests. “Miss Carlson, so nice of you and your agents to join us.”

Amy Carlson nodded, “It’s my honor, Mrs. Petrelli. Given the day's events, I thought it was a most prudent idea. I brought my premiere team. This is Monica Dawson and Lyle Bennet.” She gestured back to the agents.

“I’m familiar with them both.”

“Hey, Scrappy,” Elle catcalled to Lyle, “nice threads.”

“Sparkles. Nice serial killer,” Lyle replied in the same tone of voice.

Elle took the remark in stride and, as if she were describing a new purse, she held her husband’s arm and mentioned, “It’s he the cutest? I even got him on sale.”

Bess rolled her eyes. Ryan grinned at the strange endearment between the two.

Angela turned to her returning agent and welcomed him. “Vic, welcome back. I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve shuffled some people around. I’m partnering you with Miss Redhouse. She’s still a little green and she could use some training.”

Victor surveyed the attractive Hopi woman and nodded appreciatively. “I don’t mind at all. What happened?” he asked, indicating the sling on her arm.

“Oh, you know, tree fell through my shoulder. It’s still a little stiff.”

“I know the feeling. My right knee’s never been the same since a telekinetic threw me into a Nissan Titan.”

Audrey whispered to Meredith, “Your old partner’s kind of a flirt, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t flirt with me. He knows my husband could kick his ass.”

Lyle noted Monica had separated herself from the group and was starting at the moon.

“Monica…”

“New Orleans is gonna flood, you know,” she commented without turning to face him.

“You heard what Thayer said. Minimal flood damage. They’ll fix the levees and erect walls along the lower beaches…”

“I’m just tired of my home being beaten down by God.”

Lyle chuckled. “It takes more than a little water to defeat The Big Easy.”

“We’re in for the fight of our lives her, Bennet. How can you stay so optimistic?”

“My dad saved the world a hundred times and he still made it home for dinner most nights. He died doing the same. I’m not letting the world fall on my watch.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re a hell of a partner?”

“No,” Lyle remarked plainly.

“Well, there’s a reason for that,” she remarked sarcastically.

: : :

Mohinder’s Laboratory
Lower Manhattan, New York
2011

“It’s not going to be safe here much longer,” Matt reiterated.

Daphne fed her daughter with a bottle, nodding. “Micah, you sure about this?”

“Aunt Tracy thinks I’m using the safe house for a LAN party.”

“What’s that?” Molly asked.

“Hook up a bunch of computers together and play games.”

“Shoulda figured,” Molly commented before Micah could go on. She took hold of a small plastic terrarium containing Little Mohinder.

Mohinder entered from the other room, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and carrying a bag. As all stared at him, he noted, “While it’s refreshing that you’re so used to my looks that you don’t think I need to hide myself.”

“Actually, we, or at least I was, were thinking you should put on gloves.”

Mohinder produced a pair from the front pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Glad to see we’re on the same page.”

As they stepped out, they marveled at the visible increase in moonlight, especially over the brightness of the City.

: : :

Pinehearst Company
2011

Peter deposited the unconscious Barbara on the ground near a dumpster outside the Pinehearst Building. As she began to stir, Peter laid a hand on her throat.

She began to glow with an ethereal white light, which drained from her body into Peter. Groaning, she promptly fainted again. Peter leapt up into the sky and flew off to meet with the Parkmans and Mohinder.

: : :

A long line of cloud stretched across almost the entire height of the Earth through the Pacific Ocean, lit by an ominous orange glow.

: : :

Chapter 19: Every Moment

Director's Commentary: This a really exciting chapter. It's the start of what I would consider the climax of the series. The Gabriel/Elle story hits a high note. Daphne finally returns. It harkens to very state the world is in. Pinehearst and Primatech throw down gauntlets and prepare for a battle.

The high point consists of getting Christopher Eccleston to reprise his role as Claude. A special welcome to Alia Shawkat, playing 17-year-old Abigail.

Anyway, after a brief hiatus, you'll get a brand-new episode where I'll be trying something new and giving most of the cast a break. Hope to see you after the break!

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Zachary Quinto ... Sylar/Gabriel Gray

Kristen Bell ... Elle Gray

Greg Grunberg ... Matt Parkman

Hayden Panettiere ... Claire Bennet

Milo Ventimiglia ... Peter Petrelli

Sendhil Ramamurthy ... Mohinder Suresh

Cristine Rose ... Angela Petrelli

Ali Larter ... Tracy Petrelli/Barbara Zimmerman

Adrian Pasdar ... Nathan Petrelli

Jessalyn Gilsig ... Meredith Gordon

Adair Tishler ... Molly Walker

Clea DuVall ... Audrey Hanson

Dana Davis ... Monica Dawson

Randall Bentley ... Lyle Bennet

Noah-Gray Cabey ... Micah Sanders

Thomas Robinson ... Noah Gray

Blake Shields ... Flint Gordon

Matt Dallas ... Edward Pall

Chris Carmack ... Ryan Covington

Robert Forster ... Arthur Petrelli

Brea Grant ... Daphne Parkman

Kiko Ellsworth ... Echo DeMille

Samuel Jones III ... Dalton Henry

Olga Sosnovska ... Bess Detskij

Kirk Acevedo ... Victor Abano

Jimmy Jean-Louis .. The Haitian

Rachel Skarsten ... Piper Johanssen

Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine ... Usutu

Christopher Eccleston ... Claude Rains

Geno Monteiro ... Marty

J. August Richards ... SSA Jaime Renfrass

Bailey Chase ... SSA David Braham

Brian Littrell ... SSA Brian Lake

Elizabeth Ann Bennett ... SSA Sue Landers

Julia Jones ... Sparrow Redhouse

Alia Shawkat ... Abigail

David Pitcher ... Alistair Coles

Kimberly Arland ... Ngozi Badu

Marissa Janet Winokur ... Amy Carlson

The World Entire: Chapter 17: Returning Ghosts

2009-06-02T22:30:00.005-04:00

The Chinese culture has a respect for the past. Part of their religion is the reverence of their ancestors. It was Confucius who said “Study the past if you would define the future.” Perhaps for us, it is a lesson not to live solely in the present. Each of us has something to learn from the experiences that made us who we are today. It could be a defining moment. It could be an old friend that reminds us of a better time. It could be an ancestor who taught us something, even if it was something to avoid. It could even be the face in the mirror, whose past actions still haunt us. Regardless of which ghost of the past we face, can we really risk not heeding their advice?

: : :

Sylar
Port Reyes Prison
San Diego, California
2011

The ground of the Port Reyes Prison yard was bathed in red, both from blood and the rays of the setting sun. A lone figure stood among dozens of still, sprawled bodies, each one missing the top of the head and brain. Four of the bodies wore the red-and-khaki uniforms of the Powered Legion; the rest wore bright orange.

Brilliant orange flames flared around Sylar’s hands. He smiled evilly, “I’ve been waiting for that one for a while. And this one.” He leapt into the air, gliding to the north. On his way up, he passed Private George Palladino’s scalped body skewered on the prison’s barbed wire fence railing.

: : :

Nathan and Tracy Petrelli
The Oval Office
Washington, D.C.
2011

Tracy rubbed her husband’s shoulders. “Nathan, Baby, you’re being grouchy.”

“I’m the President. It’s a very stressful job, you know.”

Tracy hummed in sarcastic agreement. “You’ve been President for over two years. What’s really going on?”

“I turned our kind into soldiers,” he admitted gravely.

“Nathan, they already were soldiers.”

“Can you keep a state secret?”

“It was part of the orientation,” Tracy replied flippantly.

“The NSA has evidence that Dad has assembled a group of 109 military personnel, mostly Marines, and injected them all, in secret, with the Formula.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s his army, Trace. There are three and half billion people out there without abilities, and he intends to remedy that.”

“He’s going to have a hard time. With the formula missing, there are—what?—a few thousand shots left?”

“That and most of the remaining don’t want abilities. That’s what the army’s for.”

Steeling herself against the conclusion, she argued, “You don’t think he’d…”

“I don’t know what he’d do. It does beg the question, though, about why he needs an army.”

Tracy rubbed her husband’s head. “Don’t borrow worry.” She changed the subject, “I noticed you replaced Agent Renfrass.”

Half-grinning, half-scowling, he explained cryptically, “He proved too… gullible. Agent Landers is a lie detector. Much more effective.”

Marty, Nathan’s chief of staff, entered briskly. “Sir, we have Private Dalton Henry of the Powered Legion here. It sounds important.”

Nathan stood up at his desk, “Let him in.”

Nathan saluted, but Dalton flatly ignored the gesture. “Mr. President,” he addressed, almost incapable of saying it, “Sylar is back.”

: : :

Monica and Lyle
New Orleans, Louisiana
2011

A truly spectacular ball of light below the surface of the bay caused the water to groan. All at once, a wall of water charged toward the bay.

“It’s happening again,” Monica said, her voice distant and full of dread.

Lyle grabbed his partner by the arm and started to pull her back. “Monica, come on.”

The wave of water knocked them off their feet. The wall of water soaked them, but otherwise caused no damage to them or the surrounding pier. Monica’s eyes, however, glazed over as she chanted to herself, “The levees’ll break.”

Lyle surveyed his drenched suit and told Monica, “It was one wave. The levees are fine. We need to find that guy and see if he’s okay.”

“The levees’ll break; they surely will,” Monica commented, her Louisiana accent becoming thicker.

Lyle sighed and looked out into the bay. He didn’t see anyone struggling, but he did notice the water’s strange steaming. “Monica…”

“Gov’ment ain’t gonna do nothing to help us. Our houses’ll fall down.”

Lyle surveyed the bay again. “Monica, we just had an IR explode underwater. He could have irradiated the water. We need to process the scene.”

“…doesn’t care about black folk.”

Screaming, Lyle related, “Monica, there was no hurricane. Katrina was six years ago. And, for the record, the President does care. He put you through college.”

“I gotta make sure Damon’s okay,” Monica told no one in particular, talking as if in a dream.

Lyle regardless picked up his phone, “Carlson? This is Bennet. We just had the IR we were chasing blow underwater. I need you to send a water specialist. And perhaps a psychiatrist.” He paused while Amy asked the inevitable question. “It’s for Monica.”

Removing his jacket and tie, Lyle dove into the gulf, hoping against all odds they hadn’t lost another target.

: : :

Claire Bennet
Port Reyes Prison
San Diego, California
2011

Claire watched as the bodies were carried off. Agent Pall super-sped back and forth, loading the bodies in bags and dragging them off. Flint stood to the side, impatiently causing bright blue flares.

Echo DeMille approached her. “We found the tops of the heads, Miss Bennet. Still no sign of the brains. Maybe he really does eat them.” He gave her a half grin.

“He doesn’t eat them,” Claire replied firmly, not returning his smile. She continued to stoically survey the yard.

DeMille continued, “Look, ma’am, I just got a call from Gina. She’s got another appointment…”

“Go. Pall can take the rest.”

Pall stopped dead, “Hey, what?”

“Finish the job, Pall. It took four pints to heal you and I’m getting my blood’s worth. You’re lucky I didn’t make you pay for the twelve-course meal I had to inhale to recover.”

Pall scowled and continued moving bodies. DeMille tilted his head to the hole in the wall again. “Miss Bennet, we got media.”

Claire cursed under her breath and stomped her way over, where she saw two men in their twenties, one with a camera and the other talking into a microphone. “We’re here at the Port Reyes Prison just outside of San Diego, where there was allegedly an outbreak of prisoners with abilities. Witnesses claim they saw an unmarked military helicopter approaching this very area. Let’s see if we can—”

“Hey!” exclaimed Claire to the duo. “This area is off-limits to the media.”

“And just who are you?” The man with the microphone turned around. He found himself face-to-face with his old friend. “Claire?”

“Zach?”

“What’re you doing here? And barking orders?” Zach looked her up and down; and turned to his scowling cameraman to give him the “cut” sign.

“I could ask you the same question,” Claire automatically responded. She paused for a moment, shaking her head, and added, “I work for Pinehearst. Are you a reporter now?”

Zach looked down at himself, demonstrating his black jeans and a rock concert tee-shirt. “No, doing a documentary on Specials. Film project for school.”

Briskly herding them away, Claire commented, “Well, this is a restricted area by orders of the President. If you give me your card, I’d be glad to set up an interview…”

Zach spun around and with an accusing look, “Are you seriously brushing me off, Claire?”

Claire stood resolute, “Look, it’s been great to see you again, Zach, but a lot’s changed and I have a job to do.” She noticed Zach wasn’t paying attention. “Uh, Zach.”

“What the hell happened here?” Zach asked, looking past Claire at Flint dragged one of the khaki-clad corpses out of the prison yard. “I just came to see if the rumors of a Special army were true. That guy doesn’t have half his head. Does the Sylar Killer have anything to do with this?” Behind him, Zach’s cameraman threw up.

“Zach, you don’t know what you’re getting into. Look, for your safety…”

Huffing, Zach spat, “Don’t bother with the bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo. It’s weird coming from you. Nice hair by the way.”

“Zach,” Claire pleaded.

Pall zipped behind her. “Ex-boyfriend?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing work? I’m seriously regretting giving you that last pint.”

Pall shrugged and zipped away.

The prison yard was suddenly lit with bright blue flames as Flint grinned for no reason.

: : :

Matt Parkman
2011

Matt watched as Sylar approached another house. It was nice two-story in a beautiful suburban neighborhood. The sun was lemon-yellow, the trees spherical balls of green on brown tubes. Sylar knelt down beside the over-large doorknob to study it. He wiggled his fingers at it and an elaborate set of gears and pulleys disengaged the lock. Making sure to enter without making a sound, he entered, Matt following against his will like a ghost on a string. An unseen radio was playing “Lean on Me” by Bill Withers. A forty-ish man was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal featuring a smiling sun on the box and reading the comics in the Los Angeles Times. With Matt facing the man, Sylar removed the top of the man’s head with a quick wave of his hand; the skull cap bounced into the wall. Matt didn’t even wince when the spray of blood struck him, Garfield, and Charlie Brown. Sylar continued to hold one hand out, keeping the body still, as he carefully removed the brain with his other hand. It made a popping sound as it exited the skull. He surveyed it as one might an antique vase.

Sylar used the outstretched hand to touch the man’s body, covering it in a thin sheet of ice.

“James, Sweetie,” a woman’s voice suddenly came from the kitchen. “When you’re finished with breakfast, can you go check on…?” The woman entered the dining room, where she laid eyes on her scalped, popsicled husband. She turned her eyes to the black-clad Sylar and screamed, who with the wave of his wrist slammed her telekinetically against the stairs. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. He walked to face the terrified woman. “Are you Molly?”

After a pause, the woman nodded furiously. Sylar peered around the hallway and telekinetically yanked a framed certificate from the wall. He remarked icily, “So, either you let your husband keep a framed marriage certificate from a previous marriage on the wall,” Sylar challenged her, “or you’re lying to me and in actuality…” A framed picture of a 4-year-old girl flew from the wall. “…this is Molly.”

With tears in her eyes, the woman pleaded with a pathetic “Please,” before blanching. Matt noticed a spatula embedded in her stomach.

“It hurts,” the woman cried.

“It won’t hurt much longer.” He tilted his head.

She turned her eyes toward the dining room again and creaked out a groan. Matt followed her eyes and noticed the dozens of knifes and other kitchen implements hanging in the air. One by one, they lunged forward, claiming a portion of Mrs. Walker’s body.

While the implements were still piercing holes in the woman, Sylar began to ascend the stairs. Moments later, a young girl tiptoed back down, her face filled with intense concentration. Quietly, she opened a door underneath the stairs and slipped in, only inches from her slain mother, who she didn’t seem to even notice.

She then turned her head to look straight at Matt. For the last few hours, no one in the nightmare had taken notice of Matt. But Molly looked straight at him and he heard her voice in his head. “Help me.”

They heard Sylar coming back down the stairs and Molly shut the door silently. Sylar took a brief glance at Matt before continuing his search. Matt, determined, broke into a run and slammed Sylar into the wall, inches from Mrs. Walker.

“You won’t get her,” Matt promised as he laid a punch on Sylar’s face.

Unaffected by the blow, Sylar replied, “Oh, I will, Parkman. And when I do, I will take her ability.” He voice grew to a roar. “And I will tear this house apart until I do.” Sylar flailed his arms and the entire house came apart at the seams.

Matt found himself alone in a field, kneeling and agitated. He was no longer in Los Angeles, but San Diego, a few hundred feet from the Port Reyes prison.

Resolutely, he walked down to the prison yard.

: : :

Adam Monroe
Primatech Research Facility
Hartsdale, New York
2000

When the door opened to his cell, Adam’s first thought was that Elle had come early. Adam lost his sense of time long ago, but his internal clock still told him it was too early for his daily Session o’ Pills ‘n’ Pain.

But his visitor was not Bob’s unbalanced, flirtatious teenage daughter but the austere, white-haired Daniel Linderman.

“Daniel, what brings you to my home sweet cell?”

“You’ve been in this cell for 8,409 days. It’s the fourth of September, 2000 and…” with a cursory glance at his watch, he finished, “2:08 in the afternoon.”

Adam absorbed this information and smiled, “Thank you. You’ve saved my sanity for a while.”

“Your time will come, my friend.”

“Or you could let me walk out,” Adam challenged.

Briskly, Daniel corrected him, “You’ll be recaptured, only with one less friend to visit you and one additional neighbor.”

“Why waste your time on me?”

“I’d like to think I might drop in on mates every once in a while.”

“You put me in here.”

Slighted, Linderman corrected, “Arthur put you in here. Bob keeps you in here. That’s a lot to go up against. You’ll be easier to free from the outside than the inside.”

“Why waste your time? I hear things are smashing in Vegas.”

“They are. But you’re important to me, Adam. I believe in you. You’re my captain. And I protect those close to me.”

Adam put a sarcastic hand over his heart, “That’s touching. How are the others?”

“Kaito is well. Haven’t heard from Victoria in a while. Charles’s health is still deteriorating. He’ll be lucky to see the end of the decade. Arthur is as megalomaniacal as always. I’m worried about Angela. Arthur continues to manipulate her.”

“Always did fancy her a bit.”

“Once upon a time, you had quite the crush on her, too.”

“I’ve been married ten times. I’ve outgrown love.”

“Yet you say you’ll marry the woman who saves you.”

“It’s the least I can do. What woman wouldn’t want to marry a man fifteen times her age and die looking a third of his?” Adam sat back on his bunk, still appearing to be on the good side of thirty.

“Bob’s daughter seems to have a bit of a thing for you.”

“She gets me out, and I’ll make her my bride. Shag her then kill her ‘cause the broad’s a bit too mad for me.” He made the obligatory crazy gesture.

“I’m thinking about implementing the New York Plan.”

Adam sat up with an approving look. “You always were my favorite, but you’re not in charge. Arthur, correct me if I’m wrong, seems to favor the Dandelion Plan.”

Linderman scoffed, “It’s such an American idea. That anyone in the kingdom can have the treasure, not just the king.”

“Hey, I fought in the American War of Independence.”

“Support the home country?”

“Support the pocketbook.”

His voice haughty and accent thick, Linderman replied, “You scoundrel. I hold you in a level of contempt equal to Irishman.”

Adam laughed, “Says the ex-pat who’s spent more time in the States than the Mother Country.”

Linderman dropped his airs. “I support her. I am fiercely devoted to advancing the perception that Britons are intelligent and cultured.”

“You live in bloody Las Vegas, catering to vices.”

“Which is filled with Americans.” He then added, “And Japanese.”

“Don’t knock the Japanese. I’ve found them to be quite a good lay. Even English whores are a lot of work. I bedded a married noblewoman with less work.”

“I do wish you’d shut your gob.”

“Afraid it was one of your glorious ancestors?”

“I dread the day I realize my great-great-great-grandfather was your bastard child.”

“Perhaps we are closer. Did you bring a picture of your mother like I asked? Just in case?” Linderman remained stoic, and Adam abandoned his charade. “Daniel,” Adam asked sincerely, “…my sword.”

Gravely, Daniel noted, “I’m defending it with my life. From Kaito. From Arthur. From them all.”

: : :

Micah and Mohinder
Suresh’s Lab
Lower Manhattan, New York
2011

Mohinder finished covering Barbara in webbing.

“That’s really creepy, Mohinder,” Molly related. “She’s not…?”

“Dead?” Mohinder cut off, “Absolutely not. I can secrete a toxin which puts her in a temporary stasis. It’s only until we figure out what do to with her. Once Peter returns, he’s thinking of stranding somewhere deserted.”

Mohinder looked down at the remains of Micah’s robot. “That’s quite an interesting device you have there.”

“Thanks,” Micah related humbly, “it’s apparently not very durable.”

“You’d be surprised. Scientists have been studying spider-webbing to built better bullet-proof vests. It cut through mine quite effectively.”

“I know,” Micah noted.

“I can see the gears turning,” Molly stated to Mohinder.

“Crop-dusting.”

“Huh, random, I was expecting obscure,” Molly noted.

“The Formula, it’s a biological compound. It could be imbedded into some sort of airborne pathogen. Now, airplanes will be tightly controlled, but…”

“Small robots could fly under the radar. You want to use the dragonfly as a distribution system.”

Mohinder began to pace, “How long would it take you to build more?”

Micah’s answered honestly, “It took me months to build this guy.” Mohinder visibly frowned. “But,” Micah added, “I did give him some interesting skills.”

Micah took the wingless robot over to a damaged metal table and touched his creation. Immediately, it began to crawl along the table; a small tube emerged from below and a barely perceptible beam of light struck the table, causing it to smoke. After crab-walking a full loop, the robot lifted out the small rectangular scrap of metal and place it aside.

“I don’t understand,” Mohinder questioned.

Micah explained, proudly, “That would be the piece for the bug’s left side.”

“Are you telling me that your robot can…?”

“Self-replicate? Given sufficient scrap metal and computer leftovers, yes.”

: : :

Elle Gray
Level 5
Primatech Research Facility
Barstow, California
2011

Elle briskly charged through Level 5 on the last leg of her monitor duty. In one hand she held her cell phone and the other she kept held up toward the windows. As she passed each room she would check to make sure each cell was appropriately occupied. Before any of them got a chance to make a lecherous comment at her, she fired a burst of electricity at the window which startled them enough for her to get by.

“Gabriel!” she seethed into the phone. “This is your wife! Message number twenty-four. I don’t know where the hell you are, but when I find you, I will kill you. And if you’re already dead, I’ll unkill you just so I can kill you! You know that’s possible!”

As Elle turned the corner, she encountered the source of her aggravation. Immediately, her anger melted as she raced to embrace her husband. “Babe, I was so worried. You know what I’m like when I’m angry.”

Danny Pine, from his corner cell, screamed out, “You f***ing bitch!”

“Gabriel, where’s your phone? And did Nathan’s little Boy Scout troop round up the bad guys? What the hell’s—”

Elle was shut up as her husband, now dressed in all black, telekinetically threw her into the far wall. Sylar grinned as he approached his wife.

“I can taste your power already.”

Elle discharged a massive burst of energy into Sylar. After a graceless landing, she commented dryly, “You always were a glutton for punishment.”

Sylar rolled and extended his hand again, but Elle was ready with another electrocution to his arm.

“Babe, don’t you realize what you’re doing? The consequences of your actions.” Intensely she told him, “If you kill me, you will never get laid again.”

Sylar just surveyed Elle with a perplexed expression.

Shaking her head with frustration, she picked up Gabriel by his not-yet-healed arm and dragged him down the hallway she had just exited. “You are in Level 5, where the world’s most dangerous Specials are kept in cages, and you go after my silly sparks? Look at this guy,” she gestured toward Danny Pine, who had formed two metallic arms with he strained to hold up threateningly as he inched backwards. Elle moved him forward to Eric Doyle. “And this one, he can make anyone do whatever he wants. I know a couple of times when you’ve probably wanted that.” He frowned at her. “Bad time for naughty jokes? Sorry. Or…” she dragged him to the end of the hall. “I know you’re a little death-phobic. I bet you couldn’t wait for this one.” She whispered in his ear enticingly as she laid her head over his shoulder.

Sylar’s evil grin returned as he looked into his son’s playpen.

Elle escorted her husband into the room. Noah tossed aside the saw blades he was folding and ran toward his parents, screaming with joy, “Mommy! Daddy!”

Before he could reach them, Sylar mentally threw his son into the far wall. The boy landed spread eagle, cracking the cement wall behind him, giggling. “That was fun, Daddy!”

“Then you’re gonna love this,” Sylar whispered to himself and he raised his hand with his finger pointed toward his son.

: : :

Chapter 18: Beckoning Titans

Director’s Commentary: After the exciting headache that was last chapter, it was nice to slow things down for a drama-heavy episode. As always, random people wandered on to my set, so they got acting gigs. No, really, I have my casting department Alexa working her tail off to invite probably every speaking part ever on Heroes down here for a juicy scene. David Anders, who you would think have much better things to do, carved out some time to reprise his role as Adam Monroe, which we can all agree ended too soon. Malcolm McDowell, who I know has better things to do, showed up, too, to give us a glimpse in the friendship we never knew. And just because I didn’t think we had enough female fans screaming at the top of their lungs, I also invited back Thomas Dekker, freshly off the set of Sarah Connor Chronicles, to play Zach so that I will stop getting a hundred e-mails a day all requesting “Bring Back Zach!” There’s no way this wasn’t an organized fan campaign. Or conspiracy. Same difference.

Zach Q. got to delve into Sylar once again. I think he enjoys it a little too much. And Dana Davis returns, because frankly I like doing all the things that the fans want Tim Kring to do. And Randall is so polite: “Thanks for letting me do something besides be the annoying little brother.” My pleasure, Randall, my pleasure.

Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey

Sendhil Ramamurthy ... Mohinder Suresh

Zachary Quinto ... Gabriel Gray/Sylar

Greg Grunberg ... Matt Parkman

Hayden Panettiere ... Claire Bennet

Kristen Bell ... Elle Gray

Adrian Pasdar ... Nathan Petrelli

Ali Larter ... Tracy Petrelli

Noah Gray-Cabey ... Micah Sanders

Blake Thomas ... Flint Gordon

Thomas Robinson ... Noah Gray

Kiko Ellworth ... Echo DeMille

Matt Dallas ... Edward Pall

Samuel Jones III ... Pvt. Dalton Henry

Thomas Dekker ... Zach

Ivan Shaw ... Archie the Cameraman

John Allen Nelson ... James Walker

Annabeth Gish ... Susan Walker