Project 0

Peter wanted to fly so bad. He wanted to be up in the air again, looking over the city. It was a particularly clear night, and New York was still. Everything was still and quiet. Except Peter. Peter was an Empath, and without his memories and emotions, his powers were useless. But some of those memories were too painful...

"Goodbye, Pete. I love you."

Wind, then darkness.

That fateful night was the last he had seen of his brother Nathan. His mother had spun some story to the press about an engine failure and a jet explosion, but Peter knew what that flash over New York was. Nathan was gone and Peter only had himself to face for it. Claire reminded him countless times that Nathan flew them up on his own accord, but that wasn't enough for him. Now, whenever he closed his eyes, there was the same image ingrained there. Nathan hovering above as Peter fell, and then a white flash.

His guilt wasn't the only thing keeping him up now. His apprehension over his former-enemy loomed over him too. Sylar had recently resurfaced from the sewer, somewhat of a changed man. After healing some, Sylar decided that living like a rat was no way to live for someone of his status. In the rocky recovery of normalcy, Sylar sat down with the-man-known-to-some-only as Bennett, working out a truce. There would only be an endless loop of mindless fighting if Sylar persisted in his quest for eternal dominance. Bennett had set up quite the crew to oppose any villain. Especially since they had Molly Walker to keep tabs.

Peter knew that if he were pushed to it, he would fight the good fight again. But right now, Peter needed to rest. The last thing he wanted to do was activate any of his abilities, for fear they could go haywire. So night-after-night Peter sat awake in the study his father and brother used to inhabited. The empty room, a museum to those-who-were-gone. Father and brother. Two strong men. Peter was always The Sensitive One. The Nurse. The One Who Cared. Not 'The Fighter' or 'The Warrior.' But Noah Bennett, on his occasional check-ins with Peter, would let it slip that his team could use someone like Peter. And every time, Peter had the same answer, "I've paid my dues. I don't want any more blood on my hands."

The team was more of a sleeper cell. A group of people waiting to protect; but they were by no means secret agents. None of them had any sort of special training. Only the heart and conviction to do what was right. They had recently come up with a name for themselves, 'The Company.' It wasn't original, but that wasn't the point. The point was to start over from bare basics. They eliminated the need to monitor and track; while swearing only to protect and guard. They only intervened when a person of special ability would become a menace to the normal order of things. In most instances, they offered their opponent a chance to join their ranks and become educated on the perks to fighting for the good guys. That's not to say that there weren't casualties along the way. But Bennett, their leader, knew losses were inevitable.

Peter had enough losses. He also had his fair share of terrible dreams. His guilt would sometimes manifest itself in his dreams. He wouldn't give himself that opportunity. Sleep was tempting for the main reason that perhaps Charles Deveaux would be there, to advise him. He hadn't seen the spectral Deveaux since the night of the explosion. He wanted so bad for someone to give him an answer. A map to show him of what to do next. Isaac Mendez' power was in him somewhere, dormant. Peter soon became uneasy with the idea that he could view the future. What he was uneasy about was that it would most likely get out of his hands, and he would overload again. It was hard living day-to-day as a former exploding man. Life wasn't easy for any of the Petrellis.

His mother had become made of stone. Her world had fallen apart all in a matter of a few months. So many people around her had died. Her husband; her son; Charles Deveaux; Linderman. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Her son was going to be President. It's no lie that a parent feels the pain when they outlive a child. But when that child was meant to be Leader of the Free World, the pain is that much greater. And all for the stupid reason of maintenance. That's how she saw it. Nathan could never get his mind around the importance of change; the big picture. If he had only known how much fighting she had done to get him into that power position, he would have been alive. If she had been more honest with her children, maybe Nathan would still be alive. If she had been open with them about their powers, maybe then they would play ball how their predecessors played ball. Angela Petrelli was stuck in a rut, thinking about If.

Still, no one's heart felt heavier than Peter's. He would sometimes smile about how this was just like coming home after college, before he ever considered medical school. He had come back, only to do a lot of nothing. He took an odd job here and there; working different menial task to get paid. Nathan was behind getting him most of those. Goddammit! Does everything get back to Nathan?, Peter thought. Peter wanted peace from his demons. The only way to alleviate problem is to get your mind off of them. So he decided that he was going to start over. Those odd jobs were still out there. He knew he was more prepared than ever to adapt to different skills. He had to do something to get his mind off the pain. He rushed upstairs. Somewhere in Nathan's room was his address book. Peter would call an old employer, any old employer, to save him from this endless mess. He stormed up the stairs, quickly trying to resolve an issue that had been staring him in the face for a year now. He grabbed the handle of the door and threw it open quickly. So quickly that it almost clipped Sylar in the nose.

"Hey Pete. Long time no see"

Peter hadn't used his powers in over a year. But it was only instinct when his Telekinesis launched Sylar up and back. But Sylar was still one for speed. He turned the flight back into a back flip and landed safely on his feet. The dark figure laughed heartily, "Why would you do that? You know we have a peace." Peter still gasping for air from the fright, asked, "What are you doing in my brother's room?" Sylar only smirked and lifted his eyebrows, "Thing about seeing the future is, you know where and when to expect a person. Your mother doesn't have any sort of video surveillance on the second floor. I need to talk to you; just you. She spooks me out."

"I...I can't believe you are here. Why have you broken into my family's home? After all you have put me through, what you've put US ALL through? How dare you..." Sylar could see a little spark in Peter's eyes. "Calm down, hero. I mean you no harm. Remember, all those days are behind me. I've paid my dues." Peter was taken aback, "You should be locked up. You should be cast out. Exiled, forbidden to come near another living soul. You left a trail of dead bodies for personal gain. Those 'dues' you've paid, seem pretty light compared to the toll your destruction has brought." Sylar took a seat on the bed. "Peter, you know that no prison can hold me. Not even ones made by Bennett and your mother's closed down 'testing facility.' I'm too powerful to imprison or kill, but too dangerous to be left unmonitored. Cutie-Pie Walker has her omniscient gaze on me at all times. I can't take a leak without thinking about her snickering somewhere."

"Yeah, well I can imagine how hard it is being you. Now get the hell out of here." Sylar looked up to Peter. Solemnly he looked him in the eye. Peter had no idea what the madman's next move would be. Peter had heard stories through the grapevine that Sylar was reformed. As the young man stood on edge, he decided to give Sylar a chance. "Tell me why you're here." Sylar stood, detecting the subtle fear in Peter. "Why don't you read my mind? That way you can know I'm telling the truth."

"First off, I don't use my powers anymore; second, that doesn't always work. Tell me why you're here."

"Sad to hear that you don't use your powers. That would be the reason I am here. I need your help. Someone has stolen from me, and I need you at my side to go get retribution."

"You're joking right."

"Not about this."

"Who stole what?"

"This isn't a case of petty theft, Peter. This is straight out kidnapping. I am most certain it's a trap, but right now all I care about is getting her back..."

Peter smiled as Sylar paused. He didn't want it to slip it was about a girl. But it had to come out sooner or later. Sylar looked at Peter coldly. Before Peter could fully open his mouth the make a quip, Sylar interjected, "Before you get all schoolyard on me with the insults, know this: She is the balance I have needed. The only reason I don't go crazy on this whole city is because of the pure joy she fills me with. She is my light, my GUIDING light." Peter overpowering the lovestruck Sylar, took a seat on the dresser.

"No, no Sylar. I understand. It sounds like the Great American Love of the Century. So someone you wronged, which last I remembered, was a pretty extensive list, has come along and wronged you. Now you want us to powerhouse this offender into oblivion? Maybe slice his body parts off, or freeze him into an iceberg?" Sylar shook his head. "So ready to judge..tsk tsk...As appealing as that all sounds, I need you for a few more subtler powers. Plus your diplomacy." Peter had held his laughter before all this, hoping not to wake his mother, but this was too much. He chuckled as Sylar ran over to him, shushing him. "Keep it down. Every time I see your mother's face, I feel the cold table they threw me on. Ugh, even now I can feel the straps tightening around my wrists. I need you to talk to this worm, bring him to what ever senses he has left." Peter mocking the low whisper Sylar was using asked, "And what makes you think he'll listen to me?" Sylar stood tall and straight.

"Well, you and this particular worm have worked together before. What if I told you the kidnapper was Hiro Nakamura?"