In recent days, a seemingly random group of individuals has emerged with what can only be described as "special" abilities.
Although unaware of it now, these individuals will not only save the world, but change it forever. This transformation from ordinary to extraordinary will not occur overnight.
Every story has a beginning.
Volume One of their epic tale begins here…
Where does it come from? This quest, this need to solve life's mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered. Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we'd be better off not looking at all. Not doubting, not yearning. That's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here.
Peter stands still, his eyes seeing nothing before him, as he breathes deeply. His brown hair flutters as gusts of wind brush past. His eyes hold innocence, the fainest traces of a mustache and goatee surrounding his expressionless mouth. He looks around him, taking in the view from where he stands, at the edge of a roof top. He slowly brings his arms up, stretching his hands to the heavens. Calmly, he looks around one last time from the top of the eightfloor building. This is it. This was what he was destined for. Calmly, he steps of the building, his body tipping so that he is falling head first. Then, the most glorious sensation. Buildings race past, some close enough that he can touch. He flies down the street, wind rustling past.
A door opens, waking Peter from his dream. "How's he doing?" a woman's voice asks as she enters, bringing Peter back to the present. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?" her voice has a small laugh in it.
Peter sits up, fully awake and aware of the room he is in, an apartment suite in New York city. He leans forward and grabs the newpaper from the bed he is sitting beside, "No," he says qietly, "No, I just, uh, I keep having these amazing dreams every time I close my eyes, and… never mind, um… He likes me to read him the stock page." He finishes as the young black woman draws close to her bedridden father.
"Has he been conscious at all?" she asks.
Peter tucks some stray hair behind his ear, "No. Been a week now, I think he's close. A couple more days maybe."
She nods, a tear beginning to form in her eyes as she looks at her unconscious father, a feeder tube in his nostrils to provide himw with oxygen. In the background, a heart monitor beats out a steady pulse. She forces a smile as Peter comes close to make a few adjustments, "you know, I don't know what he'd do without you. You got a real gift."
"Just doing my job, " Peter says uncomfortably as he swings his stethoscope back over his neck.
"No," she protests quietly, "You're like a son to him."
"well, then, that would make us like brother and sister. Might be a little awkward if I ever wanted to ask you out." He jokes.
She shoots him a glance. Peter heaves a small sigh as he notcies her expression, "I'm sorry." She smiles. "that was, uh, that was inappropriate."
She gives a small laugh, "No, it—it's sweet. It's uh, I'm dating somebody and…"
"Yeah, no, really. It's okay." Wow this was getting awkward fast. While she's not looking, Peter bites his lip- so much for that dream.
There is an awkward pause. Peter holds up a bag, "I need to change his IV." He gives her a small smile.
Simone turns and looks at him, "I'm sorry."
"No" peter says, indicating it's alright.
"Of course." Simone backs up and watches as peter replaces the IV, then walks out of the room, unable to see her father in such a weakened state any longer.
Madras, india
3 days ago
"man is a narcissistic species by nature." Mohinder Suressh says, staring at the map of the world, "We have colonized the four corners of our tiny planet. But we are not the pinnacle of so-called evolution" he continues as he turns to face his class, "That honor belongs to the lowly coakroach. Capable of living for months without food. Remaining alive for weeks at a time. Resistant to radiation. If God has indeed created himself in his own image, then I submit to you that God is a cockroach." Some students chuckle at this ludicrous blasmphemy.
Mohinder tries to regain the attention of before, " they say that man uses only a tenth of his brain power. Another percent and we might actually be worthy of God's image. Unless, of course, that day has already arrived," Mohinder began to delve into the subject that had begun to fascinate him recently, "The Human Genome Project has discovered that tiny variations in man's genetic code are taking place at increasingly rapid rates." Some of the Hindi students roll their eyes, "Teleportation, levitation, tissue regeneration. Is this outside the realm of possibility? or is man entering a new gateway to evolution?"
An indian man dressed in a yellow suit enters and leans in the doorframe as Mohinder continues, " Is he finally standing at the threshold to true human potential?" Mohinder looks around at the expressions of his students, only a few are interested. He then notices his collegue standing in the doorway, "I'm sorry, I'm out of time." He gives the class a nod and they immeadiately stand up from their desks, gather their books, and leave, the professor in the doorway stepping to the side to let them past.
Mohinder doesn't wait until all the students are gone, "I know, I know. I'm beginning to sound like my father." He says as he walks towards the other professor with a file in hand, "I can't help it. You know, they can fire me too, if they like." He crosses over to his desk standing by the world map, " But there is something to it, Nirad. As crazy as it sounds." Nirad looks down at his shoes before looking back a t Mohinder. "what is it?" Mohinder asks.
"It's… your father." He hesitates, "he's dead."
Shocked silence. Mohinder stares at him, hardly daring to believe his ears. Dead? His father, Chandra Suresh, dead? "How?" he finally manages to croak.
"driving a taxi in New York City is a very dangerous job," Nirad protests as they walk down the small street in the rain, after Mohinder had packed his notes away, "The wrong fare, the wrong time. We may never know what really happened."
"No I spoke to him two days ago. He was convinced someone was following him," Mohinder protests, "trying to steal his research. He died because of his theories."
"That's crazy."
"Is it?" Mohinder asks as he stops in the middle of the street.
"the man left his family, discredited his career to chase wild theories halfway around the world!" Mohinder walks away from Nirad, "Where are you going?" Nirad chases after him.
"To his apartment, to get his papers, his research. He was this close to finding the first of them." He holds up a hand over his shoulder, indicating a gap of about a centimeter or so as he continues to walk rapidly through the streets, past others also carrying umbrellas, "His patient zero." He climbs up some stairs to a second floor flat, Nirad close behind him. Mohinder closes his umbrella as he nears the door, " He tracked him to Queens, New York."
"Mohinder, listen to me," irad tries, afraid of what Mohinder might do. Mohinder turns around to face him, "Your father was my colleague and my friend. A respected professor, a brilliant geneticist. But he had clearly lost touch with reality."
"I followed in his footsteps," Mohinder snarled, "My thesis is based on his research! "
"yes, you always wanted his approval!"
"And now you're telling me that it was all for nothing."
"I'm telling you to let go," Nirad protests.
Mohinder shakes his head, "I need to know why he died. I NEED to know that is wasn't all for nothing." Nirad stares at him, his hopes failing, "And then I need to finish what he started." Mohinder turns away from Nirad, takes the last couple of steps, and opens the door. A procession for one of the gods is walking past in the streets, and he hears the tinkle of tambourines. Why would people be celebrating on a day like this, Mohinder wonders as thunder sounds in the distance. Had his father truly been the victim of a freak mishap? He needed to know. Something deep inside told him it was his father's research. He had to know.
Mohinder enters the apartment his father had used as an office while he was stil in India. The place is a mess. Books everywhere, candles, a few lamps, one f which was on. Along the whole one wall was another world map, like the one in Mohinder's classroom. Mohinder takes his bag off and places it on his father's arm chair as he starts to dig through his father's belongings. Mohinder feels a little guilty about this, as if his father was going to walk through the door any minute and