Disclaimer: I don't own any heroes except Shannon.

The heroes have all moved in together into a large machine when someone new comes along. I have decided not to include Eden, Charlie or Clair's dad and Matt's wife doesn't live with them. Zack pops in every once in a while.

Mohinder's eyes closed lazily as he attempted to read his newspaper when his quiet world was interrupted by a knock at the door. His eyes sprang open and he nearly dropped the paper he was reading. It was early morning and he was one of only three heroes who were up.

"I'll get it," he clarified from the kitchen to Matt who was making coffee and Isaac who was painting the sunrise form the picture window in the sunroom.

Mohinder was surprised to find someone knocking this early in the morning, it was only 6:30 am on a Sunday, but was even more surprised to find a woman in her mid-twenties standing in raggedy cloths and a hood covering her bespeckled face.

"Can I help you," he asked, not knowing if he really wanted to.

"I hope so," said the woman, her light, red-brown hair falling over her green eyes. "I've been told you guys are, umm, special. You must be Mohinder."

He was a little taken aback by this and said, "Yes, how do you know me?"

"I read your father's book and at first I didn't think anything of it but then this stupid- … and all this stuff, and…" clearly upset she looked away in embarrassment and Mohinder thought he saw a tear trickle down her freckled cheek.

"Please, come in," Mohinder offered. She clunked her way in with army boots that looked to be about three sizes too big. Her face was girlish in appearance, a small button nose dotted with freckles framed by curly reddish bangs. She wore a dark hooded jacket and baggy jeans, her whole outfit looked far too big on her delicate frame.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name," Mohinder said, closing the door behind her.

"Shannon," she replied and managed to smile at him.

"It's nice to meet you," Mohinder held his hand out to shake hers.

Shannon looked at his hand as though he had a gun in it. "Please," she said, backing up, "you don't want me to do that."

As the words escaped her mouth, Peter padded his way down the stairs, his bare feet slapping softly on the off-white marble. He wore only his blue pajama pants.

"Who's here," both Peter and Isaac asked at the same time. Isaac had just entered the entry with a pink stripe of paint down his cheek, paintbrush still in hand.

"My name is Shannon and I need your help."