It's been three years. Three long, frustrating, painful years. I remember when it all started. We all thought it was all going to go upwards from where we were. It would be a "brave new world." That's what I said. How wrong I was. Claire was admirably brave, that's certain, but her actions were rash. Then again, none of us could have predicted where her little jump would have gotten us. People with powers. We all thought that the regular humans, that they would admire us. See us as their saviours… God, we were mistaken. Yes, admittedly, we had all foreseen that there would be some fear in the beginning. But we didn't believe it would stretch as far as it has.
I sat alone behind my desk, a pen in my fingers, other hand resting on top of a much too thick stack of documents. The only light in my cubicle came from a pathetic forty-watt lamp that made a dangerous buzzing noise when I ventured to turn it on. Tick… tick… tick… The ticking of my watch distracted me from the words on the bleached white of the page. My eyes darted to the thin silvery hands. 9:34 PM. Closing my eyes briefly, I pinched the bridge of my nose with two fingers. I wanted to go home, but there was so much work left to be done. Not that it was worth it really. My fingers moved from my face down onto the red badge that was sewn onto my sweater. The round, crimson fabric told everyone what I was. I had them on all my clothing, it was required by law. There was a list of all of us Evolved Humans that belonged to the government. And we had to wear these badges, showing what we were. It was like a new Holocaust.
Everything was less for us. We were paid less for our work; there were fewer opportunities; different buildings even; less everything. Some countries were bold enough to have a separate, walled-in area of the city for those with powers. Here in New York, I considered myself lucky. Considering what I had done in the past, who I had been… If they had known, I would have been shipped off with the other "dangerous" Evolved to be dealt with. Many of them were "removed from civilization" for the better of society. That's the bull that they told the press, who in turn told the humans. Really, they were killed. We all knew it, all of us Evolved. We had seen what the government had done the first time around. That was kind and docile compared to the treatment we were getting now. The humans didn't trust us. They didn't understand that we were humans too, just a step ahead. They feared us. Looking around at some of the powers I had experienced, I could understand why.
Looking at who I once was. I understood fully.
Dropping the pen down onto my desk, I decided there was nothing more I could do here. I wouldn't be able to focus, not with these thoughts swirling around my head as they were. The cruel treatment of us Evolved was always an area of sensitivity for me. On a level, I knew that I deserved it; but there were many others who did not. I often imagined Claire trying to live a normal life. That's all she had wanted… But now she would never ever be able to have one. It was not always Claire that I thought of, though. It was her uncle. Peter. He had tried to blend into the background, content to be in the shadow of his family. To me, though, he had always been the most… fascinating. He was the black sheep of them. They all wanted individual power, they strived to be the best. Peter just wanted the world to be a better place.
Those years we had spent together, living in my nightmare, were the worst and the best of my life. Although Peter and I did not fully become best friends who would do each other's nails and gossip, there had been an understanding. Finally, someone managed to forgive some of the awful, disgusting things I had done, and had decided that perhaps I could be a better person. I didn't care at that moment if no one else did. As long as I had Peter's approval, I would be happy. I didn't understand that feeling, and I still didn't now. Perhaps it was because he was the epitome of heroism. To have a hero accept me as one of his kind, that was what mattered. Another part of me told me it was something deeper than that.
I hadn't seen Peter since that day at the Carnival. I had no idea where he had gone. He probably had a girlfriend and lived in a nice apartment or something along those lines. He was probably happy. That was good, I tried to tell myself. But I was jealous. He always had the potential to be content with his life. I would forever have a thirst for more. I no longer needed to viciously murder, but I was eternally looking for something other than what I had. And now, all I had was myself. No friends, no family, no nothing. I was Gabriel Gray; a nobody. Just another one of six and a half billion. Normal. When all I wanted was to be special.
A soft sigh escaped my lips as I stood up, picking up my jacket from the back of my chair. A desk job was what I was stuck with now. I was capable of so much more, I knew that, but laws and regulations kept me in line with all the other average people. My arms entered the arms of the jacket, and a hand reached to turn off the light. The darkness was refreshingly welcome against my headache. I slipped a few papers under my arm to take home, and I made my way out of my cubical, and into the streets of New York. The eyes of the people darted down to my badge before my face. Some people's expressions turned to disgust, some to fear, some just looked away. I watched them all with vague interest. This wasn't how it would have been three years ago. Back when they would have looked with indifference. At least, I was now different. Even if I was seen as a threat.
They tried to make us the same, yet they made sure it was known that we were different. We evolved got mixed messages, as one normally would from a government. As I walked along the artificially lit street, I remembered my days in office. In the body of Nathan Petrelli. Yes, there were lies. Those days, I was entirely a lie. I wasn't a real person, I was dead, yet alive. It was wrong, not human. But then again, I was more than human, I was special, I was different. I had never been one of them. I was so much more than every John and Jane and Sally and Richard on the street. I was Sylar.
I shook my head, trying to clear those thoughts away. This was what I had been trying to avoid, I was no longer Sylar. No, I was Gabriel Gray. Sylar was a psychotic murderer. I was no longer that person. I was different. I was still special, yes, I was still much more capable than anyone else, I was still the most powerful, besides perhaps Peter, but I was not Sylar. I ran a hand through my hair, and glanced around at my surroundings. I wasn't ready to go back to my small apartment just yet, I felt restless. The smell of bread and coffee spilled out onto the street from a small hole-in-the-wall bakery and café beside me. I looked in the window, and noticed it was almost empty. It was just what I needed; a distraction that wouldn't involve me doing something difficult. I changed my direction of walking, and stepped into the warm glow of the incandescent light.
A few minutes later, I was sitting at a table by the window, sipping on a steaming hot cup of coffee. It burned my throat as it went down, a welcome distraction from the headache that was still pulsing inside of my skull. I rested a hand loosely on the wooden table top, head tilted to the side, eyes unfocused. All thoughts seemed to spill out of my head, leaving me with nothing.
"Gabriel?" I wasn't a jumpy person, but that voice… it was too familiar, and I couldn't help but look up quickly, neck cracking in the process. I had to blink a few times, telling myself what I was seeing was real. My eyes darted from those familiar chocolate ones down to the slightly lopsided mouth, to the hands in that jacket I had seen so many times, then back up to his face. I took it all in, analyzed it all as was habit. He looked normal, as he had before. The three years that had passed showed no sign of changing him, besides a few lines on his forehead I didn't recognize.
"Peter?" my voice was soft, softer than intended. I was still vaguely shocked to see him here, of all places. He made his way over to my table, and pulled the chair out, sitting down, a friendly smile on his face. I couldn't say the same for myself. I honestly had no idea what look was on my lips, as I was too focused on him. Perhaps it was a smile. But I doubted that. It was probably the same look of surprise that had been there since I set my eyes upon him.
"What are you doing here?" Peter's tone was light, incredulous. Perhaps this was a usual haunt of his. Perhaps he was closer than I had first expected. If he was, then maybe we had passed a million times, but not recognized each other. It occurred to me that I should answer him, and I nodded.
"I simply came for coffee." I quirked an eyebrow at him, giving him a calculating look. "And yourself?" I raised the cup to my lips, and took another sip. It wasn't as blisteringly hot as it had been when I first bought it, I discovered. I didn't mind that entirely though. Now I could actually taste the drink. I kept my eyes on Peter the whole time, and his seemed to be on mine as well. I noted on his jacket the same red badge that was on mine.
"I work here," Peter said, breaking eye contact to motion to the back area of the bakery. "I just got off my shift. I work the cash." His tone was casual through our small talk. But I knew the question that was on his lips. 'What happened to you?' It was the same question that I wanted to ask him. I had made many a prediction, but I didn't know if they were correct or not. I had a feeling that they were not, though.
"Work here?" I took another sip of my coffee, eyes narrowing imperceptibly. I had imagined Peter doing more than this. "Were you not trained in the medical field?" I thought he would be out helping humanity. That was much more fitting. Not a cashier. It didn't fit together.
"I was, yeah, but they consider me 'too dangerous' to be helping people." Peter's tone was slightly bitter, and I noted this. Peter didn't want this job, that was obvious. His strong hero complex was telling him to do something more, something greater. As it was with me, in perhaps a slightly different way. My motivation was much more self-serving. "So I'm stuck with this job, until I find another one."
"I see." All my predictions were turning out to be wrong. I had not foreseen any reasons that Peter could not fulfill his potential as an Evolved. Peter nodded and looked down. I slowly placed my cup back down on the table, not taking my eyes off of him for a second. I knew what he was thinking. It was what we all were thinking.
Claire made a mistake. The worst mistake that ever could have been made.