Heroes - Continued

Chapter 2 - "The Man with the Glowing Eyes"

Chapter 2

“The Man with the Glowing Eyes”

Mohinder, Elle, & Maya

Mendez Loft, Soho.

“I came as fast as I could,” said Bob walking into the high New York loft of his most promising scientist.

Mohinder looked up from the work he was finishing. Calmly and coolly he said, “Sylar’s back. He came for us.”

Bob looked shocked and concerned. “Are you all right?”

He slammed the papers in his hand down on the table top. “No I’m not alright. He got the only sample of the anti-virus. Which he will probably use to restore his powers and we don’t have anymore of Claire’s blood, to save Nikki, to save anyone suffering from the Shanti Virus.”

“You did what you had to,” said Bob, comforting the defeated man before him. “At least you where able to drive him away.”

“I didn’t do anything… “ started Suresh.

“…I did.” finished Elle walking in from the other room.

“She was the only one able to drive Sylar away, if I wasn’t for her we wouldn’t be here right now,”

“Drive him…? You didn’t kill him. When he was weakened, powerless, you still could dispose of the threat?!” Said Bob his voice rising as a displeased father angered at his daughter.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” stammered Elle. “He was gone, before I…”

“I don’t want to hear excuses!”

“Wait,” said Mohinder butting in to the argument. “She saves our lives and you scold her for it? You act as if what she accomplished doesn’t matter to you.” Maya and Molly came from the same room that produced Elle, concerned about the yelling that was occurring.

Bob looked sternly at his daughter, talking as if she wasn’t there in front of him. “She had a prime opportunity get rid of a dangerous man and failed. Because of that, we have two deadly people out there that we have to deal with instead of the one.”

“Two people? What are you talking about?” Questioned Mohinder.

“You can’t mean Z…” began Elle, but was cut off by Bob in a hurry.

“Yes! I do.” Elle’s look went to a fearful dread; the face of a 10 year old told that the boogieman was real and coming for her.

Bob took in a breath of air, reluctant to tell Mohinder about the additional problem that looms in their foreseeable future. Letting out the large breath he decided that Mohinder needed to know what was happening if he wanted his help. “We have a holding facility here in New York that we use to… detain individuals for a while before their taken away to a more permanent holding area, people who have abilities uncontrollable or those who misuse them for whatever reason. Some time ago we had a break out and though we have recaptured what few individuals that escaped, there’s the one who started it that hasn’t. He was able to overcome our sedatives and break himself out, going through a lot of people in order to do it. He’s been popping up in different places for days and each time he’s been able to escape. Operatives, others with abilities, it doesn’t matter; they always end up the same. He is very powerful, and I dare say, maybe more dangerous than Sylar.” Bob’s phone rang as he finished, leaving to answer it, he let the words of what he described sink into the group’s psyche. Molly came in close to Mohinder looking for protection and comfort from her hero.

“There’s another boogieman?” asked Molly.

Mohinder looked down at her, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to scare her but then again he didn’t want to lie to her either, so going down on one knee, he gave her the truth. “Yes Molly, it looks like there is. But don’t worry, I won’t yet either of them hurt you.”

Molly hugged him with all the love in her little heart. “I know you won’t.”

But Mohinder didn’t know how to keep that promise. So far, he hasn’t come any closer to ending the threat of Sylar anymore than the Company has. With the Virus destroyed (for the best he’d hoped) there was no way to get past his abilities or to shut them off, not that Sylar would have let him get close enough to inject the virus anyways. Ending his conversation, Bob unenthusiastically turned to the others.

“That individual we were talking about just attacked our facility in Odessa. Hundreds dead, one of the Company’s operatives had her eyes burned out. She’s never going to see anything again.” Mohinder looked up to Bob as he continued. “We have to deal with this man now while we still can. Sylar will probably stay under the radar awhile trying to get his powers back up to par, so that gives use a small window.”

“How do we do that?” asked Mohinder. “You don’t even know where he is. Molly didn’t even know about him so he apparently can’t be tracked down”

“We don’t need to; I know what he’s after. We’ll lure him out into the open and get him with his guard down.”

“You mean ‘murder him’, don’t you.”

Bob sighed. “We’ve been down this road before, Dr. Suresh. He’s too dangerous to let live, it’s evident that nothing can keep him contained if we can’t. This is why we had the Virus, for situations like this, but since it’s gone we’ll have to find another way.”

Mohinder knew that it was a half truth but couldn’t help but feel some guilt. Withdrawing from Molly’s hold, save for her hand in his, he stood up and looking at the woman that Sylar had brought with him. “Maybe not.”

Maya looked at Mohinder with a nervous smile, eyes darting away from his and back again. “What?”


Underground sewers, Manhattan

Sylar has been painting for hours. Ever since his powers returned, ever since he came to his hideaway in the underground belly of Manhattan, stealing the materials, looking for the next step to take. From the beginning, he has been taking what the others never deserved, what they denied and deemed a curse, when in truth, it was a gift. Evolution’s next step from the genetic dead ends that overpopulated this little world and he was going use his gift to take from them what they squandered, rising to the top of all of them. After all, it was an evolutionary imperative. But there have been those who have blocked his way, stopping him from evolving further. The fat cop that reads minds, Dr Suresh and his son with there illusions and lies, the little Asian man that almost ended him, then there’s Peter Patrelli, the other side of the same coin, the polar opposite of him. They’ve all played a part in halting his progress; it disgusted him to think about it. But he has learned from his mistakes, if he was to continue, he had determined to rid himself of his problems, deciding to seek the answers to his by looking into the future for them. However, it has not been as enlightening as he had hoped. Random images of events that have to yet to occur stared back at him tauntingly. One painting showed him looking down an alley at a man in black shadow somewhere in the city. Another painting showed a cloaked figure, the face covered in black, unable to ascertain the person’s face, surrounded by things in the night. Another showed the back of a tall man in front of a trio of policeman, firing their guns to no affect as they just bounced off him. He was lost in trying to understand their meaning, was he to take their power? If so, how was he to find them? He had decided to try once more to get the answer he wanted, that was an hour ago. Sylar put the finishing touches on his latest masterpiece and stepped back, closing his lids over his white eyes. Opening his eyes again, showing their regular hue, he looked over his resent work for the first time. He pondered the work in front of him and turned his head to the others he had done, and the light inside his head went off.

A sinister grin streaked his lips. “I understand it now. It’s so clear.” Grapping the canvas off the easel, Sylar brought it under the light if the one hanging bulb in the damp, grungy, room. The painting showed him in front of a group, the only source of light coming from his own glowing radioactive hands, highlighting his features along with the others beside him. To his left was the man from the first painting, still covered in shadow despite the glow, his hands holding two curved swords like the teleporters’. To the right stood the cloaked figure, his light reflecting off the fabric, showing little of the face underneath the cowl. Others stood with them but there wasn’t enough light to show them all.

“You have you’re friends, Peter, so I’ll get some of my own.”

Micah & Monica

New Orleans Police Department, Louisiana

“Could you please identify the one who kidnapped you, Miss Dawson.”

Monica moved closer to the view window as the shutters parted, showing seven men in a room under 7 numbers. She pointed to the one she remembered vividly, “That one, number 5.”

“Are you sure?” as the detective at her side.

“Oh yeah,” breathed Monica. “I’m sure.”

The man signaled to the officers inside the room to take the men away. “Okay, we’ll take him in, finish the paperwork. We have both of your statements, not to mention that this kid has a record already, so he should be going away for a while.” The detective closed the blinds, and led Monica down the hall. “You’re grandmother should be here in a bit to take you and you’re cousin home.” He stalled at what he was going to say next. “I know he’s having a hard time, losing both parents in the same year, but… We haven’t found a body yet so she might still be alive out there. I know it’s a long shot it’s still possible, he shouldn’t give up.”

“It’s kinda hard not to,” answered Monica.

The man reached into his suit’s inner pocket and removed a card. “Here, it’s the number of a grief councilor should he need one, it’s the best I can do for him.”

She slowly took the card, keeping it in both of her hands. “Thank you,” said Monica looking up at the detective. He gave a nod of acceptance and left her to her thoughts as he went to make sure the man responsible was put away. She looked back down at the card he had given her, making her thoughts draw to Micah. She thought of the pain that he was going through reminding her of the feelings that emerged when she lost her parents in the hurricane. Things she never thought she’d feel, that she never wanted to feel, loss of a loved one, the unfairness of it taking them instead of her. The never ending sadness and struggle to survive, to be the support for what was left of their family, she had though that she would never be happy again as much as she had been before the disaster. Then Micah showed up, showing her that she was gifted, special, showed her that she could be a hero. Happiness began to rise again inside of her as Micah told her stories of others like her, with abilities, and confided to her about his own. They grew close, so when his dad’s medal was stolen she wanted to be the hero that Micah saw and return the memory of his father back to him. Some hero I turned out to be, she thought to herself. Not only did she fail to be a hero, it cost Micah his mother. When she looked back up from the card she found herself next to the room where Micah sat waiting, her feet carrying her to the place she needed to be but not to the person she wanted to face at the moment. She readied herself before entering the closed off office, hiding the card in a pocket, hoping that it wouldn’t be necessary.

Monica turned the door knob, poking her head inside. “Micah,” she said softly. He didn’t bother to look up. She went in and sat next to her distraught cousin.

It was a few moments before she got up the courage up to talk to him. “They… They’re going to lock up the guy who…,” she paused, not wanting to say anything. “I want to say that I’m sorry about what happened. If it wasn’t for me, she never would have gone inside that building.”

“Its okay, Monica,” said Micah looking up from the floor. “She’s not dead.”

Monica looked at her cousin, fearing that he was in denial about what happened. “How do you know that?”

“I know my mom, she’s still alive out there, and I have to find her.”

Nikki Sanders

Unknown location

“Where am I?” said a confused Nikki.

“You are among friends, Nikki,” said the man sitting next to her in front of the small fire burning in the large mantel fireplace.

“Who are you, why did you save me?”

“My name is Richard Maxwell, I help those… special people, who are in need of help. And you are a very special person indeed.”

“Sorry, I’m not special, I’m just a normal woman,” said Nikki trying her best to throw the man off as best she could.

“I’m sure Jessica would disagree, if she was still with us,” said the man bridging his fingers in front of his face. “But you’re mind merged with hers, so we won’t be seeing her anytime soon, will we. Now there’s Gina, not as dominate, but still able to take control when she needs to get out.”

Nikki looked at the blonde hired man staring at her, star struck and afraid. “How do you know about them?” He couldn’t, thought Nikki, could he?

“You think you’re the only special person in this room?” The man shook his head. “There are more out there than you think. I have helped some of them and I wish to help you as well.”

“Why? I’m no one to you,”

“But you’re someone to somebody, that’s enough, isn’t it?”

“Sorry,” said Nikki as she rose from the large comfortable chair. “I’ve had enough handouts that’ve lead to more trouble than there worth, causing nothing but suffering to me and my family. So whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

“Even if it meant that you’re family, you, would be taken care of for the rest of you’re life?’

“Been there before, and it’s been a lie every time.” She turned to leave.

The man, not getting up to stop her departure, tried another way. “What about peace, both physical and mental. I can help you get control of you’re mind again.”

“Went for that, too, and it got me a terminal virus and kept me from my son. Not to mention made me a thug again.”

“Ah, yes, the Company,” said the man. “…Ever present with their promises of the bettering mankind, all the while using us like weapons and making their virus, how would you like to be rid of it, re-attain your abilities again.”

Nikki looked the man straight in the eye in brief silence, save for the cold rain that tapped on the other side of the window. “Are you serious?”

The man pulled out a vial of red liquid from his blazer’s pocket. “It’s right here.”

“How did you get that?”

“I’m very resourceful.”

“And what will it cost me?”

“Nothing but the chance to help you.”

“I already have that waiting for me back home.”

“How can you be sure? And how do you know it’s not a trick to keep you in there hands?”

“Suresh, he promised me he would get it to me. I trust him.”

“Willing to bet your life on that?” Nikki didn’t answer the man. “Here...,” said Richard pulling out Nikki’s cell phone from his other pocket, placing it on the stand next to his chair. “…Call him and see if he’s coming for you with the anti-virus.”

In an attempt to defy his argument, she aggressively went for the phone and called Mohinder Suresh. She waited on baited breath for the answer from Mohinder as Richard sat calmly by with the ant-virus in hand.

Todd Warren

LA, California

A man sat on the top of a wooden picnic table, hunched over his legs that rest on the long plank commonly used for sitting. He looked out over the surrounding environment of the local park as the people enjoyed they’re lives, couples walking together enjoying each other’s company, families taking advantage of the beautiful day. Even the animals that inhabited the park seemed to frolic in glee at the good nature of the day. It made his stomach churn in revulsion of all the “happy” that was around him.

“God, I’m board,” said the man in an under toned voice. A melody came to his ears, reflecting the mood at the time. The song that every child knows, the song of an ice-cream trunk coming around the corner, the man cringed at the annoying sound.

“Com’ on, com’ on daddy, lets get some,” came from the mouth of a ten year old girl close by with her mother and father at her heals. She tugged at the parents arms, leading to the truck that had stopped at the curb.

“Okay, okay, we’ll get some,” caved the dad as he smiled at his precious little girl.

The man on the table gave a smile of ill intent. “Good idea, kid,” said the man to himself as he trust his body off, landing on the concrete walkway. He followed the family of three as they went for their treats and left the truck behind, the man followed suit. Barely taking a lick of his chocolate cream, the father gave out a little “Ow” in protest to the pain that had struck the back of his hand.

“What is it, dear?” asked his wife.

“Nothing, I think I just got stung by something, that’s all,” said the father as he shook his hand, thinking the pain would be flung off it. But stayed with him, in fact, it started to get worse. He looked at the spot where he felt the sting and saw no swelling to speak of, no breaking of the skin to suggest a cut or any kind of injury. Yet he felt the pain grow stronger, what was a sting turned to a stabbing. It became enough for the man to wince and grit his teeth at, say to his wife that he should probably see a doctor. Unfortunately, as they moved to the direction of their car, the pain become more intense and started moving up his arm. The man staggered as he gave small yelps, worry came over the little girl’s face as her mother began to panic, calling for any doctor close by. The father was clutching his arm when an even more intense pain erupted in his leg on the opposite side of his body. He shouted as it shot into his shins, making him topple over, barely keeping himself upright. The wife was yelling at this point for anyone for help as a crowd of onlookers watched dumbfounded at the man with invisible injuries. One man came forward to try and discern what was happening but could find anyway to help the tortured man. The father was crying out for mercy as his body turned against him, every fiber burned, thousands of white hot needles impaled his flesh without ever being present. The man’s little girl cried for her dad to stop as she tugged on his shirt. His screams grew, echoing through the park with all that he felt, giving one last torturous, bloodcurdling howl before going silent. All in the park was stilled in silence for what seemed an eternity, the place that was full of joy and peace only moments ago was as dead as the man on the ground. The wife called out her husband’s name in tears, the people around her bowed their heads save for the man that walked by, whistling his own tune with a smile on his face, and an ice cream cone in his hand.

Peter & Nathan Patrelli

Montreal, Canada

Nathan was a little disoriented when he and his brother appeared in the large warehouse in Montreal.

“You okay,” asked Peter.

“Yeah, just a little unsettling, that’s all,” said Nathan.

His brother smiled. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Where are we?” said Nathan as he looked around at all that had been collected within the storage space.

“This was Adam’s stuff.” Peter’s mind flashed back to the conflict between him and his former friend and how they almost killed off the human race, he turned away from the thought in disgrace. “I don’t know what Hiro did with him, but I doubt that he’ll be back for a while to use any of it.” As he said it he remember the ‘disagreement ‘ he’d had with his friend and made a mental note to apologize to Hiro, if he ever saw him again. “You should be safe here till we get some answers.”

“Roomy,” said his brother sarcastically.

“I know it’s not what you’re used to…”

“Its okay, Peter, I have gotten used to a lot of things worse than this before. I’ll manage.” It was then that he saw his younger brother smirking at him with that corner-slanted smile of his. “What are grinning at?”

“Nothing,” said Peter his body gesturing. “It’s… You’ve changed, grown, into the good man I always saw in you.”

“And it only took my brother going nuclear and near death, twice, to get there.”

“Hey, I’m trying to say I’m proud of you and you’re cracking jokes. That’s supposed to be me,” said Peter returning fire.

Nathan chuckled softly as he put his hand on his brother’s shoulder like he had done countless times. “I know. I’m proud of you too.”

“Thanks,” said Peter as he took hold of Nathan’s arm with one of his hands, returning the manly gesture of love that only men share. “Com’on, let’s see if we can find something to sleep on in here.”

They left each other in search for something, anything resembling a bed, Peter going to the pathway to the left and Nathan the right. Only a few feet into the path his eyes caught on something around the corner, color morphed and shapes swirled.

“Peter? Find anything yet?” called out Nathan. “Peter, are you okay?”

The silent response drove him in alert mode, making him backtrack to the spot where they appeared and travel down the path that his brother had ventured. He came to find Peter standing in front of roll of canvas that had been somehow unraveled, not moving an inch as his eyes stared frozen at the material. Nathan grabbed hold of his shoulder, trying to shake Peter out of his spell, hoping that it wasn’t another attack like the ones he’s had before, but everything seemed fine, until Nathan saw his brother’s eyes glazed over in white. He didn’t seem to notice anything at first, but shot to life as he went for graphite stick that rested an arm’s reach away, franticly scratching away at the blank space. Nathan was at a loss for what to do. He tried to wake his brother from the trance again, but was paid no mind, as if Peter couldn’t hear him at all. At a loss for what was happening he stepped back, seeming to be in no danger at the moment, and let him work awaiting the results of his frenzied work.

Forty five minutes pass as Peter stroked and slashed with a possessed passion of a crazy artist, stopping after his last stroke of the stick, Peter’s eyes clasped down and returned to normal, looking at the drawing for the first time. Nathan, who was watching patiently in a chair behind his brother, got up and went to him cautiously.

“Peter?” He turned his head, acknowledging to his name again. “What just happened to you? You eyes were all white and…”

Peter interrupted, “I was painting the future.” He looked back down at what he drew.

“So that’s how it works.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Nathan looked down at the freshly painted piece of art. “So what’s this?”

Peter shook his head at first in confusion, and then it hit him. “This…,” he pointed a paint smeared finger at the covered canvas. “…This is the guy Matt was talking about, it has to be.”

The scene depicted a man walking to the viewer inside some sort of vacant building, the window behind him portraying a rather nasty storm brewing outside. The man’s front side was blanketed in shadow do to the blinding lighting fingering down from the heavens, making it impossible to determine who the man was, but the right hand that sparked with furious lighting similar to the powerful bolts of the electrical storm determined that this was not the man to anger. The eyes that showed over the sunglasses he wore burned brightly with a fire that reflected a fury within him.

“What guy?”

“While you were in the hospital and I was off getting Claire, Matt said that someone had come to your room. He said that the guy’s eyes were glowing. This must be him.”

“Did Matt recognize him?”

“He said he never got a chance to see his face, he was doing something to the lights that caused them to go out when he was near. When he tried to read him there was some sort of static that was blocking his mind, at first he thought it was the Company sending someone to finish you off, but he let Matt read something from his mind. He said that you’re light was fading.”

“He meant that I was dying?” asked Nathan.

“I think so,” answered Peter. “It makes sense.”

Nathan stared intently at the man with a puzzled look on his face. “The Man with the Glowing Eyes. So the next question to answer is whether he’s a friend…”

“Or an enemy,” finished Peter.

…To be continued.

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