Author: Nils Bolle aka The Outlander

Disclaimer: Heroes was invented by Tim Kring and I do not own any of the copyrighted material he and his co-workers have produced since creating the concept. References to other franchises are purely for entertainment's sake, and I do not seek to profit from them, or to rob their creators from any profit.

Title: Anti-Heroes

Summary: A mighty new Hero rises, but does he want to save the world?

Chapter: Prologue - Mediocrity

Chapter Summary: Meet Lucas Terry

Timeline situation: A couple of days after 'How to stop an exploding man'

Introduction:

Life. We think of it as unique. But isn't life just a daily routine? One every single human being goes through every single day? Why is it that people think of it as unique? No one is unique.

Right? Or could there be people who rise above obscurity? People who escape from the menial routines laid upon us by a cruel fate? It's possible. Or so we hope. For what is life if we can not be ourselves? Could we live with the fact we are just simple dots in a pitch-black history? Can man motivate itself, living with the knowledge he is utterly dispensable?

But there are people who can. Special people. Those that will be remembered for all time. Those whose actions and words will live on long after their earthly bodies have perished. And even then, there will be those who do not perish. Those that live on as long as the earth itself.

This story is about those who have broken free of the chains that restrain their fate. Those who achieve greatness…

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Lucas opened his eyes. The whistling of the birds reached him through the open window, accompanied by a watery ray of light the morning sun shot forth. Spring was in the air, but Lucas couldn't care less about the world outside his bedroom. The seventeen-year-old reached for his glasses and the walls and posters around him lost their shady haze as he put them on his nose. His bedroom was painted blue, although it barely showed. Almost every inch of wall was covered with posters and portraits of his idols: Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bruce Wayne, Ryu Hayabusa,... They were all fictional characters, and that was exactly the way Lucas liked it. He never cared much for the real world, with its mundane people and menial course of action. These people that sprouted from someone else's mind however, fascinated him. He had always been a dreamer, and therefore he looked up to a person who could manipulate the Force, rather than admiring a man that could solve a political crisis. It was simply too earthly for his tastes. Yet, there was no escaping the cold, hard reality of planet Earth. He experienced it first-hand when his mother knocked on the door. µ

"Get up, or you're going to be late for school," she yelled. Lucas grumbled, reluctantly crawling from underneath his sheets. He walked towards the central window in his room, scratching his right buttock in the process. Some sort of morning ritual. It always itched, but he didn't know how or why. He did notice that his cheeks had gained quite a lot of volume over the past few weeks, almost resembling that of a healthy, firm woman. But so far, that was the only thing remarkable about Lucas: his ass. He peered through the window and looked upon the quiet, suburban streets of Manchester, England where he lived. They looked exactly the way they did the day before, and the day before that, and so on. Annoyed, he turned around and walked towards his closet, slowly starting to dress himself. He didn't bother brushing his teeth, combing his hair or anything like that. Those procedures were too repetitive. They reminded him too much of how mediocre he was. And, he was mediocre.

Lucas wasn't tall, neither was he small. He wasn't strong, fast, smart or athletic. His parents weren't rich, their house was a terraced house, he didn't have a brother or sister, wasn't good-looking or trendy, had pimples and he had never kissed a girl, let alone have a girlfriend. He wasn't popular, didn't have a lot of friends and he wasn't really talkative. The only thing he excelled at, was dreaming. Of another dimension, another world. Where people could manipulate the Force, slay fiends with giant scythes, fight evil clowns on top of skyscrapers,... But he snapped back to reality once he had finished putting his clothes on. He wore black jeans, and a red, brandless t-shirt. His shoulder length brown hair hung over his features, that could have been attractive should he actually have given a damn about looking good. He blew some hairs out of his mouth and scratched his right cheek again. He then rubbed his chin, his fingers noticing a small, tough teenage beard.

His mom knocked on the door again, and Lucas heard her going down the stairs. He opened the door and saw his father, a fat and balding middle-aged factory worker, descending the stairs as well. He followed him down, barely resisting the urge to kick the slow man down the stairs. The stairs met the front door, through which the morning newspaper stuck. Lucas' father bent over to grab it and his son quickly went by, not exactly enjoying the sight. He passed through the small living room and entered the kitchen, grabbing the bowl of cereals his mother had already prepared for him. He slowly ate it. It tasted like yesterday.

He was thinking about how much more cereal he'd have to eat before he died when suddenly the bell rang. Lucas knew who it was. It was John Mulrooney, his best, and probably only real friend. Just like Lucas, John was a dreamer. But John was much more social. They had known each other since they were babies, which was the only reason they still hung out with each other. John was much more popular, had a girlfriend and scored decent grades. He was a talented musician and he was probably the fastest swimmer in school. Still, he never stopped caring about Lucas. And Lucas knew John was the only reason he wasn't being bullied to death. And despite John's influence, the school's big, bad bullies often used Lucas for target practice or other 'fun games'. When Lucas opened the door, he saw his best pal standing in the doorway. John looked like a young, slim Johnny Cash. Clad in black without looking like a gothic, slick hair without looking like a douchebag, a curved smile etched on his face.

"How are you doing, Lucas?" John asked.

"Like always," Lucas sighed. He grabbed his bag, and they walked towards the nearest subway station.

Author's notes: Subtle hints at abilities here, but mainly just character building. The manifestation of an ability will be a more integral part later on in the story. Next chapter will likely contain some relationship-building between the main characters.