Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears: (A/N is starting to get so redundant. :D)

Anyway. Thanks to all my viewers/alerters/favoriters/reviewers, especially BlueDragon007, Cat Yuy, yaoiFan080, Kim, Ecrub, BloodySparrow, cookie-monster101, Tera Earth, Ace, amy-the-rat, Lindsey, Lottie Dot, Lara-Van, Vullina, Faithfulwriter, the white winged angel, Kathryn Shadow, RuByMoOn17, ame, Psychomech, rtwofan, JordieFan, azab, Hazgarn, evie, White-Tigers-of-Darkness, Maiqu, BreatheMeDeep, and dragonwitch250. You guys are awesome!

And a very special thank you to Cherryblu and BreatheMeDeep, for both wondering if I'm gonna get my lazy butt into gear! (well, it wasn't quite worded that way, but it did the job!) All your reviews helped me get my inspiration back!

Poll Note: Okay, I guess I must've worded it wrong, looking back. :D I actually meant
"I would prefer NO non-canon slash or cesty pairings." It took me forever to realize what you guys were talking about in the reviews, till I looked back at the last AN and realized I forgot one very small and important word lol. I do love Paire and slash, but honestly, I don't see it fitting into the plot of this version of Heroes. However, by popular demand, there might be slight Paire, seeing as how there's some kind of chemistry behind them in the show (ahem, the pregnancy scare) But I feel that putting any kind of romance in there that may be 'controversial' (at least in the noncanon sense…ahem, Claire) would just detract from the plot of the story, much like it would on the real show.

Sorry about that.

2/09/10: OMFG! I AM *SOOO* SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE THIS…I WAS LOOKING BACK OVER IT AND I SAW THAT I WISHED YOU GUYS A HAPPY GROUNDHOG DAY...A YEAR AGO! I'D GIVE YOU GUYS THE WHOLE STORY OF HOW I LOST THREE FLASH DRIVES, THE WRITTEN COPY AND HOW EVERYTHING WAS COMING UP CRAP…BUT I THINK YA'LL'D RATHER JUST READ ON.

Anyway. Here's the next chapter.

Sometimes questions are more powerful than answers.
How is this happening?
What are they?
Why them and not others?
What does it all mean?

...

Collision

...

Previously:

"We've got movement," the man with the horn-rimmed glasses stated, watching one video intently.

"Is it him?" asked Elle, her eyes widening with nervousness and anticipation.

"I can't tell," replied the man. "But whoever it is, we're too close to let them go. Wait here. I'll start the van."

As he stood up and climbed toward the front, Elle paused, looking at the screen.

She smiled, and it was anything but sweet.

"We've got Sylar."

...

OUTSIDE PETRELLI CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS – MANHATTAN

As the engine roared to life, Elle watched the man on the monitor. His features were blurred by his baseball cap and popped collar, and the rain distorted the rest.

She wasn't sure this man was the one, but he might be a start. After all, his appearance and general stature fit the description of Sylar.

She saw their own van inch into the surveillance camera that they had earlier placed on top of the streetlight, and the man was oblivious to either. Or at least she hoped he was.

She felt rather than heard the van's driver door close, and she knew that it was her partner. He wasn't going to wait for her, so Elle hurried out of the van as fast as she could, nearly slipping in her stilettos on the slippery metal threshold in the process.

Her heart began to race with anticipation. She knew that this man might not be 'the one', but The Company had spent so much time tracking Sylar that anything was better than nothing. And, if it was a dead end, she could at least have some fun with the man and unleash all her anger and frustration of this whole night on him through thousands of jolts of electricity.

Hurrying out in the dreadful rain, she walked as stealthily as she could to meet her partner, who was standing on the sidewalk. She knew that the rain would probably cover up whatever noise her heels made, but if this man was in fact Sylar she couldn't take any chances.

"Is it him?" she asked her partner, coming to a halt next to him.

Her partner gave a slow smirk, one that sent shivers down Elle's spine. "Let's find out, shall we?"

And with that, he took a few steps toward the man, and placed a hand on the man's shoulder to turn him around.

Elle's heart was racing and she couldn't help the anticipatory smile that spread across her face. Her fingertips tingled, either from nervousness or from the electricity coursing within her dying to unleash itself in all its glory.

The man turned around, and she took in his startled features.

Let the games begin.

...

He was on the rooftop again. He looked down, seeing his brothers staring up at him, as if they were waiting for him to come down.

He walked to the ledge, about to begin his descent, when he heard a telephone begin to ring.

He turned toward the noise, and spotted a payphone nearly a foot away from him, hanging on the concrete of the rooftop's wall. He was sure that it hadn't been there before, and why would it be ringing now, of all times?

He cast a glance back at his brothers, unsure of himself.

They were gone.

He turned his attention back to the ringing phone, and stepped away from the ledge. Hesitantly, he picked up the phone.

"H-hello?" he answered, his voice sounding distant and detached from his body.

"Peter?" Nathan's frantic voice was unmistakable. "Thank god. It's Gabe. He got locked up for stealing again. But…look. I can't fly down to bail him out. Not this time. He's your psychiatrist now."

"Nathan, what—what's going on?" Peter asked, trying to catch up with what his oldest brother was saying.

"He really wants to see you, Pete," Nathan responded, annunciating each syllable. "Can you go there?"

And suddenly, the scene around Peter changed. He was now standing in a brightly lit corridor of what looked like a hospital…the psych ward.

He wandered down the hall, looking at the doors on either side of him. They were small cells. Each had a plain-colored metal door, with a small thick rectangular window at the top.

In the first cell was Isaac and Simone. Isaac was painting the mural of the explosion while Simone was staring at Peter, though she looked as if she were in a trance.

Peter continued past, seeing a young blond teenage girl who wore a red and white shirt as she lie beneath the covers of the bed, reading a comic. She looked bored. She looked up, and upon noticing Peter, she brightened and gave him a friendly wave, as if she knew him.

He continued on, passing more people he didn't recognize, until he reached his destination. The cell at the end of the corridor.

He didn't know how he knew that Gabriel was inside; the cell was pitch black. But he just knew, and tentatively he turned toward the door and pushed it open.

The cell was not like the others; instead, Peter was now standing inside Gabriel's psychiatric office. Gabriel was sitting in his office chair, a notepad on his lap, and his thick black reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Peter," he smiled. "Come in. We've been expecting you."

"We?" Peter asked, looking around the room. Standing next to the grandfather clock was Arthur Petrelli, smiling coldly.

"Hello, son," his father greeted in his thick New York accent. "We've been waiting."

And in seconds, Arthur raised his arm, and Peter was sent flying across the room, pinned to the wall by an invisible force. Gabriel stood up, and began to walk slowly toward Peter. He smiled, and it was a smile that sent shivers down Peter's spine.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," Gabriel said, raising his hand up, his index and middle fingers pointing outward. "Brother."

A loud screaming noise deafened Peter's ears, and all at once his forehead felt on fire. As the blood began to pour down his face, he realized what was happening.

Gabriel was slicing off the top Peter's skull…without even touching it.

...

PETER PETRELLI
PETER'S APARTMENT – MANHATTAN

Peter woke up startled, sitting upright with a jolt. He was breathing heavily, and his entire body was in a cold sweat.

He began to replay his dream—or whatever he could remember, as most of it had already faded away—and the only bits that stuck out to him were the rooftop, something about cells, and…

Gabriel.

The evil smirk that Gabriel gave him was something that he could see with clear precision. He was sure that he would not be forgetting that any time soon.

He saw the sunlight filtering through the curtains, and glanced at the alarm clock resting on the nightstand. 10:47. He decided it was time to get up.

He climbed out of bed with a quick stretch and a yawn, and began to rifle through his drawers to find a decent outfit to wear. As he began to dress, he heard the door buzz.

Quickly, he hurried out to the living room. As he finished putting on his shirt, he looked through the peephole.

He rolled his eyes, the anger from last night coming back full force. He opened the door, seething. "Nathan."

"Peter."

A mess of black hair came into view behind Nathan. "Gabriel?"

Gabriel walked up to the open door, taken aback by the scene. "Nathan?"

Nathan looked as equally confused. "Gabe?"

Gabriel looked between the two brothers, reading their tension. "Look, you guys are in the middle of something…I can come back."

"Stay, Gabriel," Peter ordered, not taking his eyes off Nathan. "What is it?"

"I'll wait inside, Pete," Gabriel told him awkwardly, assessing the situation. He walked past Peter, gently placing a hand on his shoulder as he walked inside.

Nathan sighed, and reluctantly continued when Gabriel was out of earshot. "You buddy Suresh came by my campaign office this morning. Made a big scene, talking about mind-reading and spontaneous regeneration."

"Chandra Suresh?" Peter asked, incredulity and indifference evident in his tone.

Nathan gave a slight glare, then nodded. He was extremely irritable, Peter could tell. "Yeah."

"How'd he find you?" Peter asked, anxious to end this conversation and talk to Gabriel.

Nathan shoved something into Peter's chest. He took the item from his older brother, looking at it. Activating Evolution. "You tell me."

Peter narrowed his eyes, offended. "What, you think I called him?"

Nathan's lip twitched into a slight smile, the equivalent of rolling his eyes. "Don't insult me. I've got trained professionals to do that."

Peter didn't crack a smile at Nathan's attempt of a joke. An awkward pause fell over them.

Not wanting to be kept any longer, Nathan reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out an envelope. "Look…here's some money, all right? Take it. You want answers, go find them. It's on me. I need you to disappear for a while, okay? You're a liability."

Peter looked from Nathan to envelope, disgusted. He turned his back on his oldest brother and shut the door in his face, leaving Nathan standing in the hallway.

Inside the apartment, Peter leaned against the door with a heavy sigh.

He didn't like fighting with Nathan like this; the three brothers had been inseparable for a long time. That was, until Nathan started to get so wrapped up in his political career. Peter didn't like the way Nathan was treating his family to further his political agenda, and he wasn't going to be Nathan's puppet and let Nathan walk all over him.

Peter turned around, looking through the peephole. Nathan was gone.

Pushing all thoughts of sibling rivalry with Nathan aside, Peter turned to his other brother, who was sitting on the couch, his white Mac laptop sitting neatly on the coffee table as he stared at it intently.

Gabriel looked up at Peter with mild concern, as he gently closed the Mac. "Everything okay?"

Peter smiled, trying to suppress the urge to roll his eyes as he thought over the conversation with Nathan. "Yeah, great. What's up?"

Gabriel stood up, slinging his black messenger bag over his opposite shoulder so that the strap ran across his chest. "Actually, I wanted to stop by before class, see if you were all right. I know everything that's been happening lately has been stressful, and last night probably didn't help at all."

Peter gave a sarcastic smile. "Worried I'm gonna jump off the Empire State?"

Gabriel's eyes narrowed, unamused. "That's not funny, Peter."

Seeing Gabriel's expression, Peter deflated. "Sorry. Guess Nathan didn't put me in a good mood."

Gabriel nodded understandingly. "Nathan seems to have that effect on a lot of people lately."

Gabriel started to approach Peter, and Peter immediately was reminded of a similar action. From his dream.

The evil look…

Peter involuntarily took a step back from Gabriel, which Gabriel caught. He stopped midway with a sigh, and Peter couldn't help but feel a little guilty. It was just a dream, after all…maybe if he just explained it to Gabriel, he could give some sort of explanation of what it meant.

However, as he opened his mouth to speak, his mind registered the book in his hands. Chandra Suresh. This man was the one who would know what was going on with them. And Gabriel would finally believe him.

Two days.

Gabriel's words from when he had visited Peter in the hospital echoed through his mind. That's today, Peter realized. This is my last chance to prove what really happened.

"Two days," Peter mumbled, looking down again at Suresh's book. Then, to Gabriel: "Hey, Gabe. Does your offer still stand?"

...

OUTSIDE PETRELLI HEADQUARTERS – MANHATTAN

"Hey, dude, what the hell?" cried the guy as Bennet shoved him against the wall, his hand wrapped tightly around the guy's throat.

Elle frowned. The man's voice seemed too…regular to be Sylar. Not deep, menacing, or even slightly charming as she had expected. In fact, this guy's voice seemed young, inexperienced. Weak.

"We know who you are," Bennet snarled through clenched teeth. "Sylar."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the man protested. "Here—here's my wallet, take everything!"

As he dug into his pockets, his baseball cap shifted upward and to the side. He had dull gray eyes, and dark bangs that poked out from beneath the cap. His nose was long and crooked, his lips thin.

Movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked down to see the man throwing the contents of his pockets to the ground. A wallet, some change…this guy thought they were mugging him!

She crouched down as much as she could as she was still wearing a dress—albeit one that was thoroughly ruined—and picked up the wallet, to see the man's identity.

And as she did, everything happened at once.

As explosion triggered, and she went deaf. Everything sounded as if it were underwater. She saw Bennet soar backward toward the street, his glasses falling in the opposite direction. She turned her head, seeing the guy fleeing down the street.

She knew she was going to pay for this later, but she had no other choice. Not when they didn't have a positive ID on the guy.

Concentrating with everything she had, she let the blue lightning free from her fingertips, unleashing the electricity at the man.

However, the rain was not letting up, and though she tried to fight it, the pain the water was causing her was unbearable, and she couldn't keep up. Her power was useless.

As she crumbled to the ground, she felt little sparks zapping her all over. She once again failed an assignment. The man was getting away. Now she would have to go back to being locked up again for God knew how every many years…

A loud gunshot caught her attention, and she turned and saw Bennet firing a black tranquilizer gun. Looking back at the fleeing man, she saw him fall to the ground, unconscious.

"Load him in while I pull the van up," Bennet told her coldly, picking up his glasses and putting them back on. "You can at least get that right."

Elle sighed, standing up. She hated letting them down; she wanted to prove that she was useful, and that she deserved to be out on the field more. She wanted freedom, and the only way out was by doing things right.

As she began to step toward the unconscious heap that might be Sylar or at least a lead, she silently hoped that this could be her lucky break.

...

GABRIEL & PETER PETRELLI
NEW YORK CITY

Gabriel groaned as the subway came to a stop, fixing the strap of his messenger bag which was sliding down for the umpteenth time. "Remind me why I'm missing class just to find a guy who may or may not be crazy."

Peter glanced over at the passengers who were getting off at this stop, spotting a pair of empty seats and gesturing to them. They had been standing for nearly an hour, and seats on the subway were a rarity in New York. The two quickly headed over to the seats as more people filed in.

"Because. He wrote this book, the book that explains everything. I think he knows the answers to…" He trailed off, looking around conspiratorially, then lowered his voice. "…to what happened on that building. And because I want to prove to you that I'm not crazy."

"Right," Gabriel muttered sarcastically. "Because my opinions these days are so important it seems. Why didn't you ask Nathan to meet this Suresh guy instead? If anyone needs reality to slap him in his right-wing face, it's him."

"Your opinion is important, Gabe," Peter told him. "And besides…Suresh visited Nathan this morning in front of everyone at his office. That was why he came by this morning."

"I get it," Gabriel rolled his eyes. "I'm just the second choice. Glad to know that you think of me first, Pete."

Peter gave him an odd look of incredulity. "What're you talking about, Gabriel? We shared an embryo for nine months. You can't get any closer than that."

Gabriel cracked a smile, wanting to avoid a potential fight. Where was a Starbucks when he needed one? "You're right, Peter. I'm just caffeine-deprived is all."

Peter playfully nudged him. "Truce?"

Gabriel nudged him back, something that they always used to do as kids. "Truce."

There was a long pause as Gabriel looked out the window. He was worried where everything was going right now. Something was happening, and he didn't know if it was for better or for worse. One thing he did know, they were getting in way over their heads.

"So," Peter began, breaking Gabriel out of his reverie. "What class are you missing?"

"Children psychology." Gabriel smirked, looking to his brother. "Sibling rivalry."

...

MOHINDER SURESH
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

"I feel like such an ass," Mohinder said as he began to hang up various clippings, recreating the map that he had found in Sylar's apartment. "I've never been so humiliated in my life."

The door shut as Eden entered, carrying the mail. "Well, what did you expect: him to invite you in for tea? Here. I picked this up on the way in."

He took a stack of envelopes, quickly filing through them.

Between two pieces of junk mail, a small thin envelope fell to the ground. Mohinder picked it up and examined it.

"What is it?" Eden asked, walking over to him.

"It's for me, but there's no return address," he observed, opening it carefully. He took out the contents: a CD or DVD in a jewel case with no label of any kind written on it, and a small ripped piece of paper. It was in his father's handwriting, through the letters were sharp and frantic.

FIND HIM.

There was a knock on the door. Both he and Eden looked at the door sharply.

"We're looking for Chandra Suresh," called a muffled male voice through the door.

"He doesn't live here anymore," Mohinder told the man, still alert for the fact that the man at the door might be one of the people coming after him.

But the guy persisted. "The guys at the Petrelli campaign office gave me this address. They said he came by this morning."

At the sound of the name, Mohinder walked hurriedly to the door, opening it. There stood two men, looking at him questioningly.

The one on the left had jet black hair, short and gelled in messy spikes, his arms crossed, wearing jeans and black t-shirt, a black messenger bag slung across his chest.

The other man was more lean than the first in build and also slightly shorter, with hair that wasn't quite so dark, longer in length with bangs that hung off to the side, with wide yet confident eyes.

"You Chandra Shuresh?" he asked Mohinder.

"No," he told them. "That is my father."

The first man—the one with the messenger bag—spoke up, looking to the other as if telling Mohinder to pardon the shorter one for his rudeness. "I'm Gabriel, and this is my brother Peter."

"Mohinder."

Peter didn't beat around the bush. "Look, your father wrote a book about people with abilities. And…I think I might be one of them."

...

UNKNOWN LOCATION

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!" shouted the man, pounding his fists on the glass window of the cell.

From the observation room, Bennet and Elle watched him. Elle turned toward Bennet. "You really think it's him?"

Bennet watched as the man curled his fists, then unleashed a powerful force at the window, with no luck. Those windows were specially made.

"We can't be sure of anything at this point," he told her in his usually cold voice. "But if anything, we at least got one of them."

Elle looked back toward the man. He didn't fit the part of Sylar, that much was pretty obvious. But then again, she read the file on Sylar. Manipulation, false identities. And if or when the victim realized who they were dealing with…well, they weren't called victims for no reason.

She turned back to Bennet. "He seems to be showing only one ability, though. Isn't Sylar supposed to have many?"

Bennet didn't look up from the paperwork he was signing. "It might be a trick, Elle. Don't be so gullible."

Bennet drove Elle nuts. He always talked to her as if she were a child. A part of her felt sorry for his daughter, who was supposedly around her age. He probably treated her the same way. Still…it was better than how her own childhood went.

A cell phone began to ring, and Bennet took it out of his pocket, flipping it open. "Bennet."

Elle continued to watch the man, who was frantically pounding on the walls, using his power in vain. Newcomers were so amusing.

"…he's a special…We don't have any confirmation yet. He seems unwilling to talk…should we try other methods?...you're sure?...I don't' think…I understand."

He flipped the cell phone shut. Elle turned around, curiously.

"You're up," he told her, and she could see that he didn't totally agree with this.

"What?" Elle asked him, wondering if she heard right.

"Extract what you can out of him. Use any methods necessary," he told her emotionlessly.

She couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips as she looked back at the man.

Without a word, she exited the room, and began to approach the man's cell.

Her fingers tingled with blue electricity.

Finally. She would get to have fun.

...

MOHINDER SURESH, EDEN MCCAIN, GABRIEL & PETER PETRELLI
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

"Either he's crap house rat, as in 'crazy as' or…he's one of them," Eden whispered to Mohinder as they stood in the hallway.

"All he's telling me is that he really can't do anything," Mohinder told her frustrated.

"His brother seems to be putting a lot of faith in him, though," Eden reminded. "He even claims to have seen something. And he's a licensed psychiatrist."

"And that's about all he's said," Mohinder snapped. "Something tells me he wouldn't be willing to risk his license on this claim. Which could mean either he values his job more, or—"

"He's only playing along for his brother's sake," Eden finished. "But even if that is the case…don't you want to follow the smoke and see if there's a fire?"

They headed back out to the living room, where the two brothers were waiting on the couch. Gabriel was typing on his white laptop, and Peter was looking around the room with his arms crossed expectantly. When Peter saw the two walk in, he stood up.

Eden stuck out her hand, which he shook. "It was a pleasure to meet you both."

"Yeah," Peter replied.

"You too," Gabriel replied politely as she shook his hand as well. "Thanks."

"Good luck with the whole flying thing," she told Peter as she turned around to leave.

"Thanks," he replied.

Eden placed a hand on Mohinder's shoulder before she left as if a sign of good luck, then exited the apartment.

Mohinder sat down in a chair, and the two followed suit, resuming their previous seats. "So, when you're with your oldest brother, you can fly and when you're with the artist…"

"Isaac, yeah," Peter said. "I only met him once, but after…I drew the future."

"And now you can't do either," Mohinder said simply, frustration and fatigue edging in his voice.

Gabriel spoke up sharply, detecting the negative and cynical tone. "I saw it happen with my own eyes," he said defensively, which elicited a surprised look from Peter. "my brother's not crazy."

Peter shot another quick glance at his brother, before turning his attention back to Mohinder. "Maybe I can only do things with people who can…do things." He paused. "Did that sound as lame as I think it did?"

Mohinder sighed. "It sounds like you should be talking to my father."

Peter leaned forward. "Well, where is he? How do I get a hold of him?"

Mohinder gave a wry smile. "I'd like to know that myself. He's missing."

"I'm sorry," both Gabriel and Peter said in unison, in the same sympathetic tone.

"But…" Peter continued, pointing to Chandra's book that he was holding. "You believe that this is possible. You have to. I mean, you believed it this morning."

Mohinder sighed. Did he really believe in all that stuff he had told Nathan Petrelli? He wasn't sure. But he remembered the photograph and knew that someone out there believed in it. Whether or not it was true, Mr. Petrelli was still a target, and the danger seemed as real as any. However, looking back, it all seemed to be all just folly on Mohinder's part.

"Look, what if I prove it to you?" Peter persisted.

"Then prove it," Mohinder replied, on the edge of snapping at the man.

"We'll go see Nathan. When I'm around him, I can fly. I've done it before. Twice."

"Fine, let's go see your brother." He was definitely not looking forward to this.

"Peter," Gabriel reminded him. "He's in Vegas."

And the other shoe dropped. "Of course he is."

"Fine then…we'll go to Isaac's. But it's…it's complicated."

Mohinder heard Gabriel give a sigh, one that was not unlike his own. He turned to look at Peter. Apparently, there was a third shoe that would be dropping. "Complicated how?"

...

ISAAC MENDEZ & SIMONE DEVAUX
ISAAC'S STUDIO – LOWER MANHATTAN

Simone entered the loft, looking for Isaac. She knew he was in here, but she still tried to prepare herself for whatever mood he would be in now.

"Isaac."

Crossing the room, she found him at his desk, his sketchbook in front of him. But he wasn't using that at the moment. In fact, it looked like what he had been using was being rolled up. Figured.

She bit her lip, trying to steel herself from the sight. Begging and pleading only got her so far. Now, it seemed tough love was the only way to help them both.

He took the long band that he used when he…used, and tied it around his head, not looking up at her. "Paintings are by the door."

She hated seeing him like this, but there was nothing she could do anymore. She was beginning to reach the end of her rope. She turned around and made her way back toward the door, seeing a few paintings. She looked through them. All familiar, made months before. The ones he discarded.

"I thought I was buying the new pieces."

He looked back at her as he stood up. "I need the new pieces."

She turned around to face him, her look cold. "Because they tell you what's gonna happen in the future?"

No matter what she had told Peter, or what she really thought of his paintings, there was no way she would tell him that there was a possibility that she believed him. If she did, he would only keep shooting up, and things would only get worse. She couldn't allow that to happen.

"How much for the old paintings?" he asked, an edge in his voice.

She kept her voice firm. "To tell you the truth, Isaac, I don't know if I could sell those."

He laughed at the irony. "So you only like the ones I painted when I was high. Interesting."

She snorted, seeing what he was trying to do. He was trying to pick a fight. Again.

"You won't give me an advance?" he asked her.

"That depends," she told him. "What're you gonna do with the money?"

"I need painting supplies," he told her, and her anger once again bubbled to the surface.

"I take it you're not talking about oils and canvas."

He turned around, toward where he had been 'working,' ending the conversation.

She looked around the studio, shaking her head in disgust and regret. She could remember the times when they first were together and he was an aspiring graphic novelist. Money was always tight, as he politely refused to take the money her father offered. Sometimes it was tough, but they were always happy together. Before the drugs.

As she scanned the room, her eyes caught sight of a painting. Rain in the background, at night time. A small crowd of people, all dressed up, and all shocked. Two men in the center, one angrily in the middle of throwing a punch at the other.

She recognized the scene immediately, because she herself had been in that small crowd last night, as a friend of the family.

The painting was of Peter slugging Nathan.

"What's this?" she asked him accusingly. "You followed me?"

Isaac turned around, following her gaze. "I drew this seven weeks ago. I drew him there—" He pointed to another painting, one of a man who looked like Peter falling off a building, his coat flapping behind him. "—and here before I ever met the guy."

She was shocked at his words, but it was still a lot to take in. "You can't keep doing this, Isaac. Following people around like this. It's insanity. You need help."

"Help." He gave a hollow laugh. "You're over here, worried about me needing help and this entire city's gonna go—"

He made a deep rumbling noise, mimicking the explosion in his mural.

She wasn't amused at this at all.

He continued. "—unless I stop it."

"You think you can save us all by shooting up?" she asked him, disgust evident in her voice.

He looked at her sincerely. "I can save everybody."

She was done hearing this. She turned and walked away, picking up her bag and nothing else before she left.

Isaac looked down at the mural on the floor. The city was in ruins, the mushroom cloud from the explosion flaring in deep orange and red. He gave a smile, knowing he was the only one who could stop it.

He would be able to save lives, and finally make up for that girl who died at his art exhibit.

"I'm going to be a hero."

...

MOHINDER SURESH, PETER & GABRIEL PETRELLI
NEW YORK

Peter, Mohinder and Gabriel were all riding the subway, standing.

"I've only met him the once," Peter explained. "But…maybe I ought to do the talking to start with. He's…heh, kind of a heroin addict."

And there was the third shoe. "Heroin addict? You neglected to mention that."

"You've been nothing but skeptical since we knocked on your door, Mohinder," Gabriel defended his brother. "You can at least hold off until you meet him."

"The default scientific position is skepticism," Mohinder retorted. "As a licensed psychiatrist, you of all people should know that."

At the familiar glare in Gabriel's eyes, Peter broke in. "Your father managed to get around it. I don't know, he took a pretty big leap. Gotta respect that."

Mohinder relaxed a little. Or, at least, he and Gabriel unlocked their mutual glares. Something about that man sent off signals in his mind. He didn't like it. "I did more than respect it. I believed him. I had to. I was his son."

"Can't be the only reason why you believed him," Peter said.

"Look at what's happening to our planet: overpopulation, global warming, drought, famine, terrorism," Mohinder started, and for once he felt slightly relaxed, as this topic reminded him of his home back in Madras, before all of this started. "Deep down, we all sense something's not right. My father always talked about how an entire species will go extinct while others, no more unique or complex, will change and adapt in extraordinary ways. He had a romantic take on evolution."

"What about you?" Gabriel asked Mohinder. "You're a geneticist, too."

Mohinder gave an ironic smile. "That is also evolution. We're all just variations of the last model."

Peter and Gabriel shared a look, and, as they both gave an identical smile, shared a thought as well.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Cheap knockoffs of our fathers."

...

ISAAC'S STUDIO – LOWER MANHATTAN

Isaac knew he had to do it. It was the only way he could save himself, save the city. When they were saved, he would get clean. But first, he had a mission.

He hurried to a blank canvas and rested it on the easel, then brought over the tray of oils toward him.

Next, he hurried over to the small pile of cloth, unraveling it. Doing the necessary steps, he took the heroine-filled needle and injected it into himself.

He blacked out.

...

Isaac was on standing on the rooftop, watching the scene below. It was nighttime, the air warm.

A scream came from his right, and he turned to see a corridor, with a red banner that read HOMECOMING hanging over it. The scream sounded again, and a young blonde cheerleader raced out of the corridor, into the empty room below, looking behind in fear.

She ran toward the steps of the auditorium, but tripped on the second, falling over in a heap. She struggled to get up, as a shadow loomed over her…

...

MOHINDER SURESH, PETER & GABRIEL PETRELLI
NEW YORK

Isaac's was a bust. Peter had called and knocked, but it didn't seem like he was there. Either that or…

"What if we went back tomorrow?" Peter asked Mohinder, who still looked on-edge.

Mohinder sighed, looking over to Gabriel. He seemed just as put out by the outcome as he was. "Look, I'm not trying to discount your experience. It's just a week ago I was in my own country, a respected professor. Now you want me to stalk a heroin addict who allegedly…paints…the…future…"

The train went dark, a total blackout. And, not only that, but Mohinder seemed to freeze, as if he were stuck…

"Mohinder?" Peter asked, waving a hand in front of Mohinder's face. He then turned toward his brother. "Gabriel?"

Everything seemed to stop on the train, even the train itself. The passengers' faces were frozen in place, and there was no sound. It seemed like something out of The Twilight Zone.

"Gabriel!" He called, tapping his brother's shoulder lightly. No budge.

He frantically began to walk to the end of the train, looking for a way out. Whatever the answer was, it didn't seem to be in here.

He tried prying open the door. No luck. He gave a frustrated groan as he couldn't figure out what was happening to him.

As he began to make his way back to Gabriel and Mohinder, a noise startled him. It was a loud bang that seemed to come from above the car.

Peter hurried back to the two, and it seemed as if the noises followed him as well. Footsteps.

He something behind him, a presence. He slowly turned around, and his heart sank in alarm.

Behind him, stood a Japanese man dressed in black, a sword behind his back. And he was definitely moving.

"Peter Petrelli," the man said, his voice lacking an accent.

Peter recoiled from the man, taking a step backward in fear. Whoever this man was, he seemed to be powerful. And, not to mention, he knew Peter's name.

"How is this happening?"

The man gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry if I scared you. You look different without your scar."

Scar? Peter was beyond scared now. This man was talking crazy…and who the hell was he anyway? "I don't know you, buddy."

"Not yet," the man said. "My name is Hiro Nakamura. I'm from the future."

Future?

"I have message for you."

...

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: Once again, I am SOO sorry for the long update! I promise I will start working on the next chapter as soon as possible! It's very hard because I am trying so hard to keep it to the script. Which means I have to copy the script (I watch it and type it as I watch it), edit it, AND come up with ways to change it to fit the plot, as well as writing the chapter.

It's pretty tough work.

Anyway. I hope you guys haven't given up on me! More to come!

POLL: Is there anyone, Hero, Villain, or Other that you would like to see me kill off or not kill off?

Assuming I have every single character who was ever on Heroes in this fic (I probably won't but I don't want to give away any plot) Any season, it doesn't matter. Just trying to get a feel of people's likes and dislikes.

For example, if you want me to kill off Angela, keep Adam, or even keep someone annoying and slight like Jackie the Cheerleader and kill off someone like Claire. It doesn't matter how big of a role they play, I'm just wondering for plot's sake.

Please review!

Predictions as always are welcome! 3