A/N: Ok- I lied (sort of). I had no intention on writing a sequel, but the ending to "Out of the Darkness" was just begging to be explored. An impending revolution? How do you just leave it at that?
As I said, RL is crazy right now, so I'm not real sure about how often updates will be, but I will try my best. Of course reviews do tend to make me work faster…(nudge wink)..
Chapter 1- Three Months Later
"We have been travelling through a cloud. The sky has been dark ever since the war began."
Black Kettle
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Sylar slumped against the brick wall next to the dumpster in the dark alley, the rough bricks digging trenches in his back as he slid down. Warm, sticky blood oozed between his fingers as he desperately clenched the gaping wound in his side and he panted from the pain as much as the effort it took to escape. His breath made a ghostly cloud in the cold early December air. This was not what he signed up for months ago in England.
Things seemed so different then. Nathan was certain that the resistance would be well funded and that a small army of properly motivated specials would be invincible against the masses that sought to subjugate them. He was right about the funding- there was no shortage of money, but the movement suffered from a severe lack of organization in his estimation. What should have been a united and coordinated attack on the establishment turned out to be chaotic splinter cells that never communicated, resulting in just as many losses as victories for a net gain of zero. If there was never a reason to fear and hate specials before, there certainly was now that they were fighting back. But lack of solid leadership was almost the least of their worries.
There was dissention within the ranks. There weren't too many specials to begin with, but even of those that existed too many of them held differing opinions on the best way to address the slave issue. Some favored winning the hearts and minds of those that made the laws while others simply chose not to take sides, leaving a precious few to do the actual fighting. Sylar himself was at heart one of the fence sitters- not really believing that the lawmakers could ever be reasoned with or that doing nothing would solve anything- so he chose to fight because it was the only option left.
During the past three months, the specials that didn't capitulate and remain in the chip program were hunted and either killed or hauled off to facilities to be used as lab rats in experiments. Sylar had been there and done that as it were, he had no desire to be chipped again and he sure as hell wasn't going to allow his body to be sliced and examined or used to test unknown formulations of drugs or viruses. Specials who did choose to run or fight huddled in abandoned sewers or the rubble of destroyed buildings in fear, cowering at every noise that resembled an ambush. It was a hard and miserable life. Many starved or died of disease or exposure because food and shelter were scare. Even sympathetic non-specials had to be careful about lending assistance even more than they had before. Canada was still a safe haven, but due to the massive influx of specials seeking asylum, the borders had been closed, effectively trapping those left behind the line to fend for themselves.
Regens such as himself, Peter, and Claire had it relatively easy since their bodies wouldn't become emaciated if they didn't eat and they would never succumb to disease or the elements. Others weren't so lucky and this wasn't lost on him. Although he never made a big deal of it, he hadn't actually had food for about a week and a half. Every time he came across any small luxury- be it a piece of fruit or some bread or even a blanket or warm clothing- he didn't go far before he found someone more needful than himself and he found himself giving the item to them, never giving his name and quickly moving on before they could recognize him. It wasn't that he felt an overwhelming sense of pity as Peter no doubt did, for him it was practical. The movement needed as many warm bodies as it could muster and he wouldn't die if he didn't eat. He would be hungry and feel a little weak, but he wouldn't die.
He felt as though he were dying then. He laid his head back and held his breath even though his lungs screamed for air. At the mouth of the alley he could hear the steady beat of boots on pavement echoing up the walls and he knew Nathan's men would be looking for him. No one just walked out of a federal detention center for specials and got away with it. Ok, truthfully he didn't exactly walk out, he more or less slaughtered his way out, but the task was made all the more difficult by the fact that his powers were almost non-existent. The government's solution to combat specials like himself that were unchipped was elegantly simple- coat all ammunition with Maria's suppressant and fire away until they landed a hit. It worked well to neutralize most specials, but not him and they knew this. They knew he could stop bullets in mid-air and he did an admirable job of it, but it seemed that anyone who could pull a trigger shot at him from all directions as he ran and he simply couldn't stop them all and a few got through his defenses.
He clutched his side harder in a futile effort to stem the flow of blood, but he was growing weak. The suppressant had taken away his ability to heal and he was starting to get dizzy. He needed help and there was only one person he could trust. He struggled to control his breathing as he fumbled through his pockets to find his lifeline. He fished out his cell phone, turned on the GPS function and hit send. He just hoped he wasn't too late. He knew that calling for backup was risky, but thanks to the mysterious Rebel, his cell phone was untraceable. He never had to call for help before, so he didn't know exactly what to expect. What he did know was that the shock troops were closing in and he didn't have much time left. If they caught him, they would kill him instantly- of that there was no question. He was simply too dangerous to allow to live.
His face had been plastered all over the country on TV and flyers posted on light poles and bus stops as public enemy #1 for his involvement in the revolution, making traveling especially tricky. The last few months had been consumed by hiding in the shadows and evading capture in order to continue his missions. He had single handedly brought down three holding facilities and freed the inhabitants with his numerous abilities, much to the chagrin of the establishment. That was, in fact, what he had been doing before his unfortunate accident. He had been shot before, but something was different this time.
The edges of his peripheral vision were getting fuzzy and he slowly closed his eyes. It was only his extraordinary will to survive and his innate sense of control that kept him lucid. He was growing colder and he didn't know if it was from being outside or if it was from blood loss. He was forced to shed his coat during his escape and he was starting to regret his decision. He jumped slightly when he felt a warm hand lightly touch his shoulder. "Hey," Peter greeted with a concerned expression on his face while he crouched down next to him, "I got your message." He glanced up at the sound of approaching voices and he looked back at Sylar's hazy eyes. They had both been there before in what seemed like a lifetime ago after he and the others rescued him from Jessup's barn. So much had changed since then for both of them it hardly seemed real when he thought about it.
Peter, predictably, had been on the side of diplomacy when it came to resolving the slave issue. Initially he refused to fight, believing that it was all a grand misunderstanding that could be rectified with enough persistence and education. As time passed and things got worse between the haves and have not's, he could no longer remain neutral if not for himself, then for those he cared most about: Nathan and Claire. Publicly, Nathan seemed to be spearheading the capture and detainment effort of the government, but Peter knew the truth. Like Maria, what he said and what he did were polar opposites and he put himself at extreme risk of being found out. Claire, however ill prepared or naive she may have been, admirably chose to put herself in harm's way and he worried about her constantly. In the end although he was what most would consider a conscientious objector who refused to pick up a gun and fight himself, he saw no moral ambiguity in being what amounted to a field medic to treat the wounds of the soldiers on the front lines. Sylar needed his help and he came- it was just as simple as that. All past feuds and alliances or betrayals were long since forgotten or set aside for the greater good of the cause.
"I didn't think you would come." Sylar admitted, his head lolling toward Peter. His voice had a slurred, slight dreamy like quality that was worrisome.
He gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "I wouldn't throw you to the wolves like that. You're too valuable."
"Thanks." Sylar weakly smiled. Even though he was nearly unconscious, his sarcasm was still clearly intact and that was encouraging.
"C'mon." Peter frowned as he picked up the cell phone that slipped from Sylar's grasp. Were it not for the GPS signal, he wouldn't have known where to teleport to. "Let's get you out of here." With that, he closed his eyes and thought of a safe place.
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Nathan sat in his office with his head in his hands. He was exhausted and his head ached just as it had almost every day since the first day of the revolution. It may have been his idea, but for obvious reasons he had to distance himself from the day-to-day operations. If being caught meeting with specials was political suicide, being discovered as the revolution's leader and conducting secret negotiations with European heads of state would be actual suicide since it would clearly be an act of treason and sedition- by a popular sitting US senator no less. He sighed and fought the swell of nausea that had been his only company for all that time. He would have taken aspirin to ease the pounding in his head, but he had eaten an entire bottle in the last week alone and he was convinced he was developing a stomach ulcer. His hair was turning gray from the stress as well, although his staff members swore they didn't notice. He knew they were just kissing his ass and flattery would get them nowhere. It may have worked at one time, but he was way beyond that now.
"Sir?" A timid young man poked his head in the door.
"What is it, Montgomery?" Nathan mumbled into his desk, never bothering to look up at his youngest intern. His head hurt enough as it was- he didn't want to deal with a socially awkward undergrad as well. He only took him on as a favor to Maria and he was starting to regret it.
Damian Montgomery was the middle of five children from an Irish working class neighborhood in Brooklyn. Always seemingly lost in the shuffle, he was a quiet and painfully shy kid and remained so even in college. He was technically smart, no one would argue that, but he definitely lacked the savoir faire required for a career in politics. He was too self-conscious and easily intimidated for anything other than gopher work and it was a shame: the kid was a whiz at strategy and his unassuming nature was valuable in winning people over. If he wasn't so geeky with his thick framed glasses, he could have parlayed his dark naturally good looks into a power of persuasion- especially with the ladies. Behind his button down exterior was a trim yet slightly muscular frame and a boyish charm that women found appealing. Nathan had overheard too many stray conversations in the Senate lounge to think otherwise, but the kid just didn't seem to get it and he wasn't about to have that conversation with him- you just didn't know what counted as sexual harassment these days.
Damian cautiously entered the room as though he were about to have an audience with Emperor Palpatine. His boss had been in a dour mood lately and he considered himself lucky to have landed a job in the office of the most popular if not powerful senator in Congress. He swallowed and nervously rolled the papers in his hands into a tube. "I um…I ran into Senator McCaskey in the commissary downstairs and he asked me if you knew about the detainment facility in Midtown Manhattan."
Nathan let out a longsuffering sigh. McCaskey was a bitter old man who happened to be the head of the Homeland Security Council. Nathan's specials project was a part of the department, but separate from his budget and therefore none of his concern. Despite this, McCaskey still felt as though Nathan answered to him and he had no business sharing potentially top secret information with his intern in line in a goddamn cafeteria. As if fostering the rebellion wasn't stressful enough, he was constantly engaged in political warfare with his own colleagues. It was no secret McCaskey hated him and held the specials project in contempt. He had been the strongest, most outspoken proponent of complete eradication of specials, and although it took considerable effort and weeks of debate and deal making, the registration and chip project won the day, but he never forgot it. "I know of its existence." He reluctantly admitted.
"He gave me this report to give to you." He shrugged, holding out the papers like a scroll even though his boss had yet to even glance up at him.
"What does it say?" Nathan asked irritated. Part of an intern's job was to read reports and give members of Congress the cliff's notes version. No politician ever read bills themselves, they didn't have time and that's what interns were for- among other mundane and soul crushing tasks.
Damian, perhaps knowing this was going to be the outcome, had already perused it ahead of time. "It says that the Midtown facility was attacked at 11:10 this morning by the rebellion. The building sustained heavy damage and several guards were lost, but the inmates remained secure." He stopped to clear his throat and he lowered his voice. "Surveillance indicates it might have been Sylar, Sir." He felt a little slighted that his presence wasn't enough to even acknowledge, but mention Sylar and suddenly Nathan was all ears.
"Did they get him on camera?" He asked, trying not to sound too nervous.
"Not exactly, Sir. There are some photos of a tall man wearing dark clothing with short, dark hair, but the cameras were destroyed by electricity before they could capture images of his face. Given the description and the pattern of attack, it would fit Sylar's M.O."
Nathan sat back in his chair relieved. He needed Sylar to remain as anonymous as possible to keep up the good work, and usually he succeeded. Something went terribly wrong this time. "But unlike the other three facilities, he didn't free the prisoners. Why?"
"It seems he didn't have a chance to. The S2 ammunition we were testing seems to have worked. There were reports that he was injured and he didn't regenerate immediately, but he managed to escape anyway. So far he hasn't been located, but he did leave a good amount of blood at the scene. Senator McCaskey wants it analyzed by the FBI lab at Quantico to see if there is any way we can develop something…" he bit his lip and paused before quietly continuing, "…more lethal."
"Because if we can take him down, we can kill them all." Nathan nearly growled. He felt no particular allegiance to Sylar, but if McCaskey was successful in developing a drug so powerful that it could kill Sylar, what did the future hold for Peter or Claire or anyone else?
They were interrupted by a knock at the door and were greeted by a gaggle of his fellow interns from different offices, all smiling and laughing. "Goodnight, Sir. See you next week!" Kelley smiled. Kelly was Damian's office mate and a bright and very well connected political science major at NYU. She was popular and she had a bright future ahead of her.
Nathan reflexively smiled. It wasn't just because she was another pretty face, but she showed great promise as a potential future politician, very much unlike Damian. "Is it Friday already?" He asked chuckling. "Got any big plans?"
"We are all going out for drinks to unwind." She nodded along with the others. "That reminds me. Damian, would you be a sweet peach and finish the summary for the appropriations bill? It's due first thing Monday." Damian blanched and started to protest, but she cut him short with a chirpy, "Thanks. You're such a team player. See you Monday!"
Nathan sat at his desk with a half smile creeping across his lips. She certainly was getting the hang of delegation and suave. His smile faltered when he noted the hurt in Damian's large blue eyes as he stood defeated, blinking owlishly behind his glasses. The appropriations bill was hundreds of pages of boring legalese that required close attention to spot the loopholes that had inevitably been added. They had to be caught least he end up looking like he supported a provision that had been slipped in calling for the wholesale clubbing of baby seals in Antarctica when he was simply voting to allocate funds to build playgrounds or fund social programs. He felt sort of bad for the kid because he didn't have the courage to stand up for himself and say no. He reminded him of Peter in a way- he knew that like a loyal and dependable co-worker he would put aside whatever plans he had to do something he didn't want to just to keep the peace. If his job was to be a mentor for future politicians, this was a teachable moment if there ever was one. "So what are you going to do?" He asked casually.
"Well, I said I would…" He started miserably as he gestured toward the door.
"No you didn't." Nathan cut him off. "One of the first things you learn in this business is that no agreement is really an agreement unless it's in writing or someone witnesses it. You didn't sign a contract and I didn't hear you tell her you would do anything." He shook his head and smiled. "You didn't even nod your head, you just stood there and let her dictate to you. That's no way to get through life, Damian. You have to look out for yourself." He folded his hands behind his head and asked again. "So what are you going to do?"
He looked vaguely uncomfortable with being a jerk. If he was going to make it in politics, he would have to get real comfortable with that, Nathan thought to himself. "But if I don't stay late to get it done, she'll get in trouble." He reasoned.
Nathan shrugged. "It was her assignment. If she walked out and didn't finish it, that's her problem- not yours. Each decision comes with a consequence. Now man up and go join them for drinks." He ordered.
"I…" he stammered somewhat embarrassed and hurt, "I…um….I wasn't exactly invited, Sir." In a quieter, almost shameful tone he added, "I never am."
Being excluded clearly bothered him and something in Nathan's heart felt for the kid. Peter may not have been the life of the party or the one with the lampshade on his head at the end of the night, but his friendly, outgoing personality made him exceedingly sociable. Still, he couldn't help but think that Peter would be the one to strike up a conversation with Montgomery at a party just to make him feel comfortable if he noticed him being shunned by the rest of the group and he felt compelled to do the same. "Grab your coat." He sighed as he stood up to retrieve his own off the back of his chair. "You and I are going out."
"Sir?" Damian asked, his eyes wide with surprise and perhaps trepidation. There was a clear delineation between the senators and the lowly interns and never the twain met- except for a few cases where some "extra assignments" took place in dark closets or after hours in the offices. He hoped this wasn't the case. He knew that Senator Petrelli was once married, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. It could have been a carefully crafted cover to appeal to a wider vote. It wouldn't be the first time it had been done. Sometimes politicians had to hide their differences from the public because the populace just wasn't ready for unconventional representatives. He didn't suspect his boss was hiding anything, but one could never be sure.
Reluctantly, he gathered his things and followed him to his government-issued car still feeling a little guilty about not doing the summary as he implied he would and a little anxious about the retribution he may face from Kelly come Monday morning, but for him this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. This was as close to power as he had ever come and he craved the attention. Finally, his hard work might get recognized…
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Noah looked out the window of his small, cramped apartment and watched the first flakes of winter fall softly to the ground. He got home early that day, and he had no particular plans for the weekend- he never did and the loneliness ate at him. He remembered happier times when he lived with Sandra and Claire in Texas and California, places were snow was just a concept or a picture on a Christmas card. Somehow he had lost them both even though he tried his hardest to protect them and keep the family together.
He hadn't spoken directly to Claire since she left Maria's, but he did get updates through the grapevine and it saddened him that his Claire Bear had joined the revolution, but he couldn't say it surprised him in the least. She always had been a fighter, convinced that she was meant for something greater than a life less ordinary even though she often insisted that all she wanted was to be normal- whatever that meant. He wished she could have had that life and he tried to give it to her, but she was her own woman now and he couldn't protect her forever even if he wanted to.
It wasn't meant to be that way. He wasn't supposed to get so close to her and he really didn't expect to end up loving her with a fierce devotion that compelled him to save her at risk of losing his own life, but that's what happened. He knew her ability meant that she was more or less immortal and thanks to Sylar, she wouldn't even feel the pain of being wounded in battle, but it didn't make it any easier for him to bear. During his years at the Company and now with the government, he had been party to too many injustices to recall and he knew that being exposed to that kind of brutality as a way of life had mental consequences that would forever alter her just as it did him.
How did it come to be that when Sylar was first captured, he could so callously order tests to be run until he could no longer physically bear the strain and then demand he be revived time and again so they could continue with their experiments until he could no longer be resuscitated? At the time he felt nothing for Sylar except contempt. He wasn't at all moved when he stood at the window and watched him grow more pale and sickly every day, the pain of all he had endured etched clearly in his haunted, hollow eyes as he lay in an exhausted heap on the table in the center of the room, lacking the energy to move for hours at a time. Noah still hated Sylar for all he had done, but he often wondered if he didn't have a hand in making Sylar what he was. If he'd shown some compassion, especially in the early days when he was still trying to find direction after he discovered his ability, would he have become a different person?
He could hardly believe it when he heard Sylar had also joined the resistance. He had never known the killer to be so active in a cause unless it coincided with his own agenda, which he could only guess was the case. At work, it was the topic du jur around the water cooler. Sylar had almost achieved anti-hero status among the very agents that were tasked with apprehending him. He was the villain people loved to hate- he was the enemy yet he enjoyed a cult status for his mercenary nature and Noah tried not to get caught up in the conversations. He just knew too much about him to defend his reputation or pretend not to know as much as he actually did. To think that his precious Claire was hiding in a foxhole somewhere with the likes of him set his teeth on edge. The fact that Peter was also involved gave him some measure of reassurance, he knew he would watch over her as much as he could and that was the only thing that allowed him to sleep at night.
Every war needed a supply line and that was his role in the revolution. Along with Nathan, Maria, Rebel, and others like them, the foot soldiers were fed information and supplied with resources as basic as food and safe shelters scattered across the country they could go to if they were in trouble. Teleporters like Hiro made for timely getaways and made excellent couriers while academics like Mohinder worked behind the scenes on the ever escalating arms race of biotech. Everyone had a part to play, but some were more visible than others and he secretly hoped that their planning and persistence would pay off soon. If things continued to drag on as they had been, it was only a matter of time before the government mobilized and crushed them all in one sweep.