Heroes: The Followers
Rating: teen? I'm not sure.
Anyway, this is my first fic for Heroes. Hope you guys enjoy. I'm actually planning on finishing this one. I already got the finale tucked away in my head. But I feel there are still a few things missing. If anyone wants to suggest any original characters for me to use it will be a big help. And I will try my best to do your character justice. I still need a comic relief guy for this story like Hiro, so if you have a character like that just post it on the reviews or PM me. Also, I need a few cool villains. This fic is also somewhat based on Doe-eyed-goddess' fic, so the characters in that story get referenced here. Please R&R. For the OC profiles, you just need:
Name, age, appearance, power, back-story, relation to any Heroes characters, and personality.
Caroline Ty, New York City, New York
There was a slight breeze, and she heard the howling of the wind and the small crackling of fire. She could barely see three feet in front of her. There was only the great dust storm in her dream. Yes, this was a dream; that's what her senses told her, but she didn't know whether or not to listen. She knew it was a dream, yet like many dreams that tattoo themselves into our memories, it felt so real.
She felt the strong wind whip against her face, the sand scratch her skin, and she heard the muffled sounds of people somewhere in the storm.
Then the storm parted. And she found herself in a small town in the middle of a desert. Texas, perhaps? She couldn't be certain.
The town was made up of 3 story white buildings and wooden walled houses, and she noticed how they were there one minute, then they would dissipate as a gust blew past them.
Slowly, the town that stood tall wasn't quite as strong as it had been. Now, only dust remained.
A child crawled towards her. His hand in extension as he reached for her hand.
"Please," the child began. "Please…" The child's voice trailed off in exhaustion.
Caroline knelt down to hold the child; his skin was rough against hers. His eyes were nothing more, but dry balls inside his skull. He struggled with every sound he made.
"Please," he said again.
Caroline tried to understand what he was trying to say. There were small droplets of tears that fell to the ground beneath her.
"Please, stop doing this to us"
Her eyes widened. The child slumped down, lifeless on her arm, and then she felt him fade away as the town did. Slowly at first, but then he exploded into a mess of white dust and vapors of blood in the air. And then he wasn't there any more.
And she was left all alone with the howling wind in that place, which she had killed.
She forced her eyes open. She breathed in a big breath, then released in relief.
"Only a dream. Only a dream..." she tried to tell herself.
But something lingered inside her. She could still feel the touch of the child's rough skin, and she could still remember his hopeless eyes, begging her to stop. She thought she heard the very same wind in her dream, and she was afraid that it meant something more.
--
Joseph Potian and Collin Simms, Hong Kong
Joseph Potian watched the world through blue-tinted glasses. And he had grown used to it through the years. He had to. It was not like it was a fashion statement. There was a reason he wore them. Although most days, he disliked going into details. I guess he liked to pretend they weren't there, that his eyes were free to look at things. And the more he pretended, the more they seemed a part of him. Some days, he'd even forget he was wearing them at all. Some days, not all.
On this particular day, he saw a porn shop with red neon lights, a man eating a box of noodles, a child sleeping on the wet pavement with only a coat barely big enough to cover his entire body, and an old apartment which housed around 20 people inside.
He was waiting for his coffee and something else. The something else could wait a few more hours, but he really needed his coffee badly. It was around 3 in the morning, after all.
"Hey, I got your coffee." A blonde haired man approached him from the store across the street with a brown paper bag in his hands.
"Thanks," Joseph responded, quickly grabbing the cup from his partner's hands. "Finally, coffee after forty-eight hours standing out here."
Collin took a spot right next to him, leaning against the black Mustang GT that Joseph drove. "Are we even sure he's still in there? I mean, forty-eight hours is a long time, especially when you've put yourself under house arrest."
Joseph took a sip of the warm drink in his hands. He felt its heat spread throughout his body. "We're assessing the situation. We can't just fucking go in there, guns blazing"
"Hey, I'm the one without the powers here. You can do whatever the hell you please if you wanted to."
Potian shrugged.
"All I'm saying is that we don't get paid enough for this job."
Joseph Potian let out a light laugh. "We don't get paid at all."
"Exactly" he took a sip of his coffee, as well.
Collin went to the backseat of the car. When he returned, he had with him a folder.
"Let's check his file, shall we?" he said, reading the collection of papers before him. "Spencer Cheng: arrested twice for organized crime charges and skin trade. Hasn't been caught at a scene of a crime, though in almost 3 years."
From the other street, a long black limousine pulled up in front of the old apartment they had been eyeing. Men in black suits and coats exited the vehicle. Collin and Joseph could tell most of them were armed.
"What's going on?" asked Collin.
Joseph watched them closely, took notice of the details of each man. Some had scars, and there were those with tattoos that showed from beneath their coats, long, winding, red dragons with flames jutting out from their mouths and set the back of the men's skulls on fire.
Joseph saw one of the men, he had jet-black hair and his eyes were the color of obsidian. He seemed to be their leader. He directed his forefinger to him. "There."
"That's him..but how? We've been out here, watching since yesterday. We didn't see him leave." Collin said as he tried to understand what was going on.
"Exactly" responded Joseph as he watched the men enter the apartment with blue-tinted eyes.
--
Tristel Lim, Manila, Philippines
Tris stared blankly at her lap.
In the air, she could smell incense and embalming fluid. It was not a good mix.
She had been sitting there in that position for some time. And she had wondered if she would still have the strength to force herself and go over to her uncle's coffin once more. She doubted it greatly.
She overheard women talking, one of her late uncle's friends. They were a disgusting bunch if you asked her. Always muttering and talking about something not entirely true, and yet, they would speak of it like it was a passage from the bible. Plastics, she had thought. She always thought that, and she had always hated these women, even when her uncle was still alive.
"How exactly did he die?" she heard one of them ask.
"They say there was some sort of accident at home with the electric wiring, but if you ask me, I don't completely buy it. It seems like they're hiding something from us."
"Maybe there was foul play" whispered another.
"I heard," said the one who looked like their ring leader "that their son had something to do with his death."
Tris imagined herself standing up and walking over. And she would've said something along the lines, "Can you please—for just one damn second—keep your mouth shut and respect my uncle. I mean, he just died. Please! Could you just do that for me?"
But she didn't stand. Maybe it was because she was too tired to do so since she had been awake for three days straight just mourning. Or maybe, it was because of the fact that deep down in her heart, she knew it was true. Her cousin, Kevin had, in fact, something to do with her uncle's death.
It wasn't his fault, but he was responsible.
She could still remember the blue flashes of light, the flicker of living electricity bouncing around in that room, her uncle falling in the path of the anomaly. She could remember the moments after. His charred flesh just laying there. And the smell, it was indescribable.
There was a man at the back of the room, a tall Spanish man with a mustache and dressed in a light blue polo and slacks.
She walked over to him. He greeted her with a small nod.
"Ms. Lim" he thrust his hand forward. She accepted. They shook hands.
"How is he?" she asked with the obvious sliver of concern.
"He's stable and under control. I think we're going to be able to help him." He smiled at her, reassuringly.
"I want to see him. I want to talk to him."
"I'm sorry" he bowed his head down to her. "but that won't be possible right now."
"He needs the help of family."
"What he needs, Ms. Lim," he rested his hand on her shoulder, looked her in the eyes, and without saying a word, told her to listen intently. "is time no heal. To recover. You'll get a chance to see him when he's better."
She looked back at the coffin of her late uncle. In the bench in the front row, the gossip girls were still at it. They had moved on to some girl and whoever she was dating at the moment.
"I just don't want to sit here and do nothing. I want to know I'm doing something right. I know, it's your job to come here and tell me everything will be ok, but still…" her voice trailed off to a sigh.
"You mistake me, Ms Lim. I'm not here to tell you to simply stay put and wait for us to get to you. I'm here to offer you a job."
--
Ray Apacible, Los Angeles, California
It was in the late afternoons when a blue van pulled up in front of Joshua and Raquel's suburban home. Inside there were, six people: four adults and two teenagers. And they sat there, waiting for someone for a good few minutes.
"Knox," said the bald man in the back seat. "Why are we here? We've got things to do."
The man in the driver's seat looked back at him and said, "We need to lay low from those Company guys for awhile." And he left it at that.
They waited for a few moments more, but there was no one there. It seemed that the house was empty.
There was a knock on the driver's side window. Knox turned to fund a man in his mid twenty's standing outside with his arms crossed.
Knox rolled down the window. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off.
"What are you doing here? I told you I didn't want anything to do with you sons of bitches and here you are on my doorstep. I told you to stay away from me and my life. I don't want you endangering my cousin and her husband."
"Ray," he tried to reason. "We just need a few days to lay low. We won't be long, three days at most."
Ray held the top of the car with his left hand, and as he did, the car died. Even when Knox had tried to turn the keys, had it moved or even budged.
"You stay the fuck away from me, you stay the fuck away from my cousin, and I swear if you drag those company mother fuckers here, I will bury you in the same grave as them."
Knox got out of the car, anger grew inside him, but he felt no fear in the man he faced, so he stayed back. But he was not the type to back down.
"I helped you when you needed help, you ungrateful bitch." He held his index finger in front of Ray's face as he spoke. "You wouldn't have been able to escape from level five all those years ago if you it wasn't for me. So I suggest you take a step back to reconsider your decision."
The two men faced off. They were nose to nose now, and neither man seemed to be backing down. But then, Ray backed away.
He reached into his pocket, and he produced his wallet, opened it, and put all the money found inside in Knox's hand.
"You take the money, and you go. Far away. I don't care where to; just make sure it's far away from me and my family, you understand? I don't care who you hurt, I don't care who you kill, you just make sure it has nothing to do with me."
He touched the car again, and it came to life once more.
He closed Knox's hand around the roll of money, then he strolled down the front lawn of his cousin's house. He looked back once at them, watched each of them in the car. He recognized three of the men. The German, Flint, and Jesse, and in that moment, he had no doubt he didn't want them in his life.
He saw the other two. He felt somewhat sorry for them. So young and they got in with those guys. He pitied them as he imagined what kind of monsters they would become, just as sick and twisted as the those four they shared the van with. Maybe, they would even be worse.
Yes, he pitied them, and he said nothing. He just turned and closed front door behind him.
--
Joseph Potian and Collin Simms, Hong Kong
Fu Zhou Yu was jumpy that night. He didn't exactly know why. He just was. He felt this thing constantly gnawing the back of his skull and his spine. It was an uneasiness that gurgled in his gut like a bad tuna sandwich, and he found himself saying to no one in particular how he had intended to not go to work that night.
That night was so frightening, he swore. The shadows around him seemed a bit longer and much, much darker. And the sounds which came from the streets mixed together to make a spine-tingling hum.
The shadows moved from where he stood. At first, they were simply on the ground, and then, they moved forward towards him. His voice cracked as he shouted into the darkness, "Who's there?"
No answer.
The shadows were closer now, almost upon him. Their black limbs reached out for him. Without him noticing, he took three steps back into the light.
The shadows formed in the distance. They became more concrete. Real. They had eyes and ears and noses. They were now more than just shapes, but real things that walked on two legs.
One of the shadows was a young looking man with dark hair, and he wore blue-tinted glasses. The other was a blonde man. He was pale like snow and his hair was that of ash.(at least, from where Fu Zhou Yu stood)
"Stay where you are!" he shouted, aiming his pistol at them. He held it with shaking hands. They drew closer. With each step, his courage left him. Why was he staying there? This job was not worth losing his soul over.
"If I were you," said the shadow with the blue eyes. "I'd run like hell to whoever raised you during your miserable childhood."
Zhuo Yu couldn't take it anymore. He ran as fast as he could. Where to? He didn't know.
He just needed to get away from the shadows.
"Told you, you could do whatever the hell you pleased" said Collin to his partner.
"I wouldn't get to comfortable with it," said Joseph who was now commencing on lock-picking the back door of the apartment. "People are meant to overcome their fears. For all you know, the next guy you use this power on could be that one guy who's gonna fucking get over whatever he's afraid off, and by the time you realize it, it's too late. He's already cut your head clean off, and you ask yourself, 'why did I rely too much on this goddamn power?'"
"Alright" is all Collin said. "If you say so."
Click. The door unlocked. It swung open slowly with a gentle push from Joseph. They both entered silently like wraiths in the night, like they had been trained to do this, as if they had broken into houses before.
They tip-toed around each corner and made sure no one was awake to see them coming, then they climbed up the steps which led them to the second floor. It creaked terrible, and each step, they felt like they were going to wake up the entire neighborhood.
Finally, they were in front of Spencer Cheng's room. Joseph worked on the locks again, and after a few seconds and a forced rattling of the knob, they were able to enter.
Like church mice, they crept around the apartment.
When they got to the bedroom, they found him there sleeping.
The word "Go" could be heard in the darkness, and Collin aimed his taser gun at the sleeping triad leader. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. It flew through the air, and in a blur, it hit nothing but mattress.
"Fuck" said Joseph. There was a floomp somewhere around them. The man appeared out of the shadows and he kicked Collin's gun out his hands.
"Collin! He's a teleporter!"
Collin grabbed an arm instinctively as he tried to block Spencer's on coming attacks.
"I kno--" Another whoomp. "--ww!"
Collin was on the street outside the apartment. His assailant still continuing his assault. "Fuck!" Collin exclaimed. "I hate teleporters."
The words were gone and so was the man who had said them. Joseph found himself alone in that apartment. Almost as if he was the only one there all along.
There was a thundering in the corridor outside. Footsteps. Around 6 of them, Joseph thought.
They broke into the room, guns pointed in all directions, shouting for Spencer to say if he was ok.
"Holy son of a racist fuck" Joseph had said. He un-holstered his 9mm pistol, then shot two times at the roof.
The sound of the gunfire reverberated in the men's minds, and one by one, they all fled. All except for one, who stood his ground. He was shaken up, but he stayed unlike the others. He pointed his Submachine gun at Joseph. His finger twitched.
"Fuck"
--
Raymond Apacible, Los Angeles, California
He took a few folds of clothes from his cabinet. Then he went down to the kitchen, made a sandwich, ate it, packed a few more.
"Are you going somewhere?"
Raquel stood in the doorframe of the kitchen. Her long, black hair flowed over her right shoulder.
"Yeah, I'll just be out for a few days."
"Doing what?" she asked, titled her head to one side.
"Averting a catastrophe. I made a mistake today. I shoud've done something when I didn't. I'm going to make things right."
She approached him, and then, she hugged him tightly like she had no intention of ever letting go. "You just go do whatever you have to do. No matter what mistake you make, just always know that you have family with us here."
"I know," he replied. "That's what I've been trying to make sure."
--
Caroline Ty, New York City, New York
The security guards tried to break into he room when they heard the sound of her struggling inside. There was thrashing and screaming and crying, and no one was quite sure what was happening to her. The guards panicked to get the door open with the master key. For all they knew, she was already dying in there.
They all rushed in as the door slammed open. And they found her on her bed…having a nightmare.
