I do Not own, Heroes, or The X-Men. Though I wished to hell I did!
Mimic: Prologue.
How he hated this world, with all it's bigotry. In the two years since he was unceremoniously thrown into this dimension, the hatred for his kind had only got worse. His kind, hm. In his world they were know as Evolved Humans, or simply as Specials. In this world they called them Mutants. He despised that word, Mutant. Might as well call them freaks with a name like that.
Still at least he could pass for human, unlike some of the other poor souls in this dimension. Asides from the scar that ran diagonally across his face, appearance wise there was nothing really special about him. Though he supposed their were woman out there who would disagree. He was tall at 6.1 and had a muscular frame, not bulky, but by no means scrawny.
But when you have the power to change your appearance at will, it becomes hard to tell what is really you. And what is just how you want yourself to look. In fact the only reason he still had the scar, was as a reminder not to be overly dependent on his healing ability, or any ability for that matter.
Peter Petrelli sighed as he looked at the painting he had just finished. It showed a huge Mansion engulfed in flames in the back ground, surrounded by large robots of some kind. The most prominent thing in the painting was a gate with a sign that read 'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters'.
He took a moment to look at the other paintings that filled his loft. Each one showed a different scene, but all had the same theme... Death! Death and destruction, there was a war coming and coming soon. He knew he had to try and stop this, and something told him it would start with this school. So to that school he would go.
How he hated this world.
(A.N) Going through, my Documants. I found a lot of story Ideas that I started but never posted for one reason or another. This is one of them. If it is well liked, I will continue it.
Sincerely: Reddog24485.