A/N: This is my version of Heroes, Volume Two: "Ready". I will update every Monday at nine, or do my best, because otherwise my onii (older brother, but not really) will kill me. I will do my best to make my OC's as not-perfect as possible. Each chapter will hopefully be ten to fifteen pages handwritten, which means up to five pages typed.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes… waaaaaaaah!!!
Warnings: blood… if you don't like that (what are you doing watching Heroes, anyway?), then skip the scene that starts out "For three days…"
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Volume Two: "Ready"
Chapter One: "Shiver"
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When the bomb went off, they all knew.
It only killed two: the bomb himself, and the one who died from the devastating levels of radiation that resulted from the blast. But they all felt it.
It was like a shiver running through their bones, through their blood, through their very DNA. And it affected all of them. Even those who didn't know felt it. Even those who had been suppressed felt it.
Even the triplets who thought and existed as one mind.
Even the "normal" woman whose only connection to them was the "special" child growing in her belly.
Even the Witch-boy who was sunk deep within himself, bending the blank slate in his mind into another advantage.
Even the FBI agent who screamed as her genes were pulled apart and altered, as complete strangers tore apart all the life she'd ever known.
Even the second-generation, the only living example of successful genetic suppression.
Even the once-dead man who never stirred as his body aged years in mere weeks.
Even the many-times zombie whose own power could never be measured or recorded or proven, yet still existed.
They all felt it.
And all of them—every one—knew what it meant.
The world has changed.
It is ready.
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He stared out over the water, wondering if the kid had landed somewhere out there. He'd been watching—the explosion had occurred at least five miles up. There was no telling where he'd landed.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and stood on end. He whirled to look behind him. Nothing "special" about this—he'd developed this skill without any help from his mutant DNA.
A man sat at a table in the café across the street. Even from here he could tell that the watcher's right eye had a red contact lens in it. Force of habit jerked his eyes to the man's right hand, with the fingers typing frantically on his palm. Morse code.
He didn't have to look to know what the man was typing. Code: 0114DX. Name: Joseph Crichton. Alias:
Claude stood, invisible, and melted into the crowd.
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For three days, Jenny waited and watched.
The man had been splattered across the pavement when she first arrived. Then, slowly, methodically, the blood spatters by Jenny's feet began to withdraw, melting into the man's arms. The entire pool of blood collected and slowly, slowly drew back into shredded veins.
Jenny jumped when the first bone reset with a snap. The sound was loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Jenny watched, and her sisters with her, but nothing more changed.
That was the beginning of the second day. At noon that day, Jenny stood and walked forward until she stood at the edge of the bloodstains, and watched.
Shards of bone began rearranging themselves, lining up to fix the break in the fibia—or was it the tibia? Jenny had never been good with the lower leg bones.
Threads of blood vessels began weaving back together now that all the blood had been recollected. The massive network of veins and arteries and capillaries collected and wrapped itself back around and in and through his body. It was all done slowly, carefully, so as not to cause further damage. Jenny understood this purpose. She stepped back to the curb and seated herself again.
At sunset that day, someone came.
Christina's sense alerted Jenny long before the person came into view. The girl raised a hand to her hair, biting her lip, worried. Who knew who this was?
When the person came into view, Jenny almost wished it had been Sylar. Almost wished it.
The blonde girl shrieked and ran toward the man on the ground. Jenny stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
"Move!" The girl's screams were furious. "I have to help him, I have to! Peter!" She lashed out at Jenny.
Jenny grabbed the blonde's wrist. Through Jenny's eyes and Sinead's DNA, the three sisters saw what had happened.
The suicide attempts.
Homecoming.
The Haitian.
Ted Sprague.
The gun.
The explosion.
They saw it all, and they understood it all. It was like the ripple from the explosion: a message, sent through their DNA, written in a language none of them knew but all of them understood.
Claire struck out again. This time, Jenny's hand lifted, blocking the cheerleader's attack. In the same movement her other hand came up, bent knees rising as she thrust her palm into Claire's chin, forcing the cheerleader's head back. Her leg moved around behind, trapping Claire's foot, and with the muscle memory of three, they walked away from the blonde, lowering her to the ground as she tripped and fell.
"Listen to us," Jenny snapped. "Peter? Right now? He's only subconsciously alive. Everything's running on automatic. If that had been a full-blown explosion, instead of just ridiculously strong radiation, it wouldn't be running at all. Now, because he's running on automatic, he will mimic anybody—and we mean anybody—who comes near. Look. You see how slow this is going? Do. You. See how slow this is going? He is healing more slowly than a mechanic fixes a TV. The human body is a complex thing, Claire, and this one is totaled. If you go near him—if he mimics your power—he will start to regenerate quickly. And if he does that, cheerleader, he will die. He needs to regenerate slowly. Understood?"
Claire looked over at Peter, tears welling up in her eyes, and nodded.
"Claire!" A prim woman stepped out of a black car which had apparently arrived while the triplets were ranting. "What is going on here?"
Jenny's eyes flicked over to the woman. Jenny's hands pulled away. Jenny's feet lifted the triplets from the ground. Christina pushed forward, exuding worry and overprotectiveness as Jenny moved to obscure the woman's view of Peter.
The woman obeyed Christina's command to her subconscious, grasping Claire's hand and pulling her to her feet without once looking Peter's way. "Claire, are you all right? My God, child, you shouldn't be fighting, something could go wrong, you could get hurt, you could die—again!" Still worrying over her granddaughter, she ushered her into the black car and drove away.
Christina and her influence faded. Suddenly tired and already feeling the reminder of Claire's panic attack, Jenny walked around the bloodstains to the bench and sat back down. They wanted to sleep…
But they would wait longer.
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Ted Sprague woke running a finger along his wrist.
More specifically, along a metal band that was wrapped around his wrist. When he saw that, he stared for a long moment before he looked at the room he was in.
It was a box. A concrete cell, with one window which looked out onto an observation room filled with scientists.
Ted was afraid. The last thing he remembered was reaching New York with Bennett and Parkman. How the hell had he gotten here? He was afraid.
So, he was angry.
So, he fired up.
He could feel the radiation flooding from his body. Alpha, beta, gamma. So much gamma… The cell wouldn't hold it all…
All this happened in the few seconds before shooting, screaming, splitting pain ran up his arm and the skin began to blacken and die.
The radiation died in a few seconds, and Ted fell back against the wall, gasping.
"He's awake," one of the scientists announced. Ted looked up from his dead arm as another scientist began speaking.
"Look, Mr. Sprague," she said coolly. "We don't particularly want to hurt you—" Ted was painfully aware of the modifier "—but all of us like our lives. We don't want to shorten them by being exposed to your radiation. Impressive, by the way. There was over five times as much gamma radiation as alpha and beta combined in that blast. Very efficient, as far as hurting and killing people goes." Ted's eyes narrowed and his good hand clenched into a fist. He didn't like killing, and he certainly didn't like some Asian chick reminding him of it.
"Now," she continued, "you've been out of it for a while, and I'm sure it would be good for you to get around. Besides, you must be hungry. So, I'm going to come in there, and you're going to come with me, quietly and without flaring up. Know how I know you'll do that?" When Ted didn't answer, she continued, "Because every time you start emitting higher levels of radiation than the average light bulb, that wristband will inject a serum that will kill every radioactive cell in your body. That's why your arm is all crispy, and why you're having trouble breathing. Don't worry, it'll heal. Not all the cells in your body can become radioactive, which we think is a sort of failsafe against just this eventuality. Now, if I see that happen, I'll leave you there and let you starve. Understand?" Ted still didn't answer. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' I'm coming in."
He wanted to flare up. He wanted to burn her. Ted didn't like killing, but for this girl he'd make an exception. Or he would have, if it wouldn't have killed him. Instead he stood, careful of his left hand, and followed her out of the room, through deserted hallways, around darkened corners, up to a set of high double doors. There was no lock or doorknob that Ted could see.
His escort laid a hand against a spot on the wall. It looked like every other spot on the wall until she touched it, but then a line of light ran down the point of contact. A panel opened beside it, revealing a number pad like those on a telephone. The woman began typing in a code that Ted didn't even bother trying to memorize.
The doors slid back noiselessly into the walls. Ted watched the woman questioningly until she nodded. Hesitantly, fighting back trepidation and the instinct to flare up, he walked into the room. His eyes widened.
"What the hell…?"
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Jenny's eyes flew open. She lifted her head slowly, listening, uncurling from the tight ball they'd been sleeping in and sitting up quietly.
Someone was coming. A wave of hatred struck Christina's sense, warning them of who it was…
-TBC-
A/N: Well, that's it. See you next Monday!