Title: Ted's Journal
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. If I owned Heroes, do you think I'd be writing fanfiction?
Notes: The internet has failed me and my fandom has disappointed me. The complete and utter lack of Ted!love has inspired me to write, but instead of doing something serious and in honor of his memory, I... uh.. wrote crack.
Also... there is supposed to be a bigger space between the journal entries, but this site is being evil and won't save the edits I've been making. Oh well.
Dear Journal,
Have decided to keep a record of all the stuff that's been going on in my life. Not that it's interesting or anything, just depressing. Being radioactive and killing your wife sort of does that to you.
Dear Journal,
Have decided to live out in the middle of the desert. Maybe now no one will find me. And get radiation poisoning. And die.
Dear Journal,
I got found. Stupid internet girl. I was so ready to live out the rest of my life as a hermit, too.
Dear Journal,
Today I:
Nuked FBI agents
Nuked guards
Nuked scientists,
Nuked buildings
Nuked the flowers I was going to put on my wife's grave
Nuked all the grass and trees and most likely all the living creatures in the cemetery
My killcount must be so high at this point that it isn't funny.
Dear Journal,
Hana says it's time to nuke Bennet! Hurrah!
Dear Journal,
Didn't get to nuke Bennet. Got shot instead and was knocked out by a cheerleader. A cheerleader. That's just pathetic. And to make matters worse, it turns out Parkman had been siding with Bennet the entire time. Traitor.
At least I got to blow up the house.
Dear Journal,
Back at the Primatech Paper Company building. This fact upsets me to no end.
This wouldn't have happened if Parkman had just allowed me to nuke Bennet.
Dear Journal,
What does it take to get some donuts around here? Honestly.
Dear Journal,
I got a haircut and a shave. Very miffed. I mean, I didn't exactly like looking like a Geico caveman all the time, but they could have at least asked for my permission first.
Dear Journal,
Freedom!
Dear Journal,
Liberty has come at quite a cost. I now have to help Bennet. The only reason why I've agreed to work with him is because it turns out the company has a tracking system that can find me wherever I go.
Why would they want to find a man who can literally nuke the out of them? Seriously.
Dear Journal,
Bennet is nothing but a middle man! Ha!
I plan to rub that in his face at every opportunity.
Dear Journal,
Turns out the tracking system is in New York. Never been there before. This should be interesting.
Dear Journal,
Started a car today with my ability. It's very reassuring to know that I can do a little more than just kill people all the time, but it's slightly annoying how Bennet treats me like a glorified car battery charger.
Dear Journal,
Being locked in a car with Bennet is like going to hell in a hand basket. All he listens to is country music. Country music. How lame is that?
And he won't even let me change the station! He claims that I'll just melt the dial. Jerk. I have much better control than that, thank you very much.
I should just nuke the guy and let it all be done with.
Dear Journal,
He let Parkman change the radio station. This is so not fair. Parkman is such a suck-up.
Dear Journal,
Have taken to releasing small nuclear explosions in the back of the car to annoy Parkman and Bennet. Watching them get all edgy is very entertaining.
Dear Journal,
Bennet told me to stop. I reminded him that he's only middle management.
Dear Journal,
Who knew Bennet kept a tranquilizer gun in the glove compartment?
Dear Journal,
If Parkman listens to my thoughts one more time, I might have to hurt him. I know he can't help it sometimes, but he doesn't have to, you know, answer them. Out loud.
"Ted, we're not there yet."
"Ted, there's a rest stop up ahead, hold on."
"Ted, he's just kidding."
"Ted, calm down."
"Ted, don't nuke Bennet."
"Ted, he's helping us, remember?"
"Ted, don't make me – Bennet, where's the tranquilizer gun?"
Sycophant.
Dear Journal,
Parkman did it again. Must come up with an appropriate revenge.
Dear Journal,
Thought "It's a Small World" at Parkman the entire day. Feeling much better now.
Dear Journal,
Ate a "haystack" today. Southerners are crazy.
Dear Journal,
Northerners aren't much better.
Dear Journal,
We're lost.
I'm starting to hate my life.
Dear Journal,
Bennet refuses to ask for directions. He insists he knows exactly where we are.
Liar.
Dear Journal,
Parkman ended up having to read a local's thoughts to figure out where we are. This is just sad.
Dear Journal,
Reached New York City today. It's about damn time.
Dear Journal,
Met a guy who absorbed my ability. Cheerleader girl who knocked me out and whose house I blew up was there, too.
Why am I getting a feeling of impending doom?
Dear Journal,
Turns out New York is going to explode any day now. Not good. Heading towards a small town in Nebraska. The population is apparently only fifteen.
Fifteen. How do you just let a place go like that?
Dear Journal,
Who the heck is Sylar? Isn't that a watch company?
Dear Journal,
Turns out Sylar is a serial killer who rips your skull open, not just a watch company.
Hey! Anyone could have made that mistake.
Dear Journal,
FBI finally caught up with me. Totally was not expecting Agent Hanson to be there. Why does everyone think I'm a terrorist? I find the entire thing very insulting.
Dear Journal,
Riding in the FBI van. Told them I'd need a cement cell. I don't think they listened to me.
It's not my fault if they end up sterile.
Dear Journal,
Feeling of impending doom intensifying.
Dear Journal,
Van flipped over. Hanging upside down in a harness is a rather painful experience. Met a man who claimed he could help me. He ended up killing me instead.
I just can't catch a break, can I?