Destiny… how does that prepare us for what's to come?

The world is falling apart. How does the human mind react to such calamity? How do our instincts operate – do we run? Do we hide? Do we call for help? Do we run through fire, dive into the sea? Or do we simply watch as everything in our midst falls apart? Destiny… is a funny thing. Because even though tragedy is imminent, there will always be a sliver of hope that will bring upon the saviours the world is counting on – hoping on and wishing for.

It was dusk and the lights all over Brooklyn and the city were luminous as the unseeable stars in the sky. Traffic sounded and the usual drunk-people cries nearby echoed throughout the streets. New York was a magical place, and it was a city where people would come together as one. But not always. Because underneath all the ordinary activities that go by daily, there is something hidden beneath the individuals that roam seamlessly normal lives although possesses something unexplainable, something that transcends any laws of science and physics. People that were special. People who could do extraordinary things… people that can accomplish so much and change the world forever.

Peter stood just by the window in his near-empty loft, watching the streets… contemplating everything that ran through his mind. The death of his most beloved brother, the brother whom he had worshipped, adored… looked up to, gone. His niece who had attempted to expose her true identity… luckily that has been solved, thanks to the Haitian and some awesome excuse for the television viewers to believe. What else was left? Go back to being a paramedic and save lives? He always had a thrill when saving a life, saving a soul. But he wanted to change the world. Make a difference.

He raked his hands through his dark hair that seemed a little longer since that night at the carnival and sighed deeply. He fisted his hands on the frame of the window, wondering how everything came to this point. But then a hard, loud rap on the door interrupted his train of thought. He turned his head in confusion and furrowed his eyebrows. Who would come here so late at night?

He took a few steady steps toward his door and opened it to reveal a sweating Matt Parkman, Noah and his horn-rimmed glasses, and Mohinder with his gaunt expression and his dark, shadowy eyes. They didn't look happy. In fact, they had one of those fear look in their eyes, though determined. Peter hadn't seen them since that night in the carnival – and the day after that. He was perplexed to see them here out of the blue.

"What's going on?" Peter asked sternly, though curious to their arrival. They all pushed past him and Peter shut the door reluctantly and turned toward them. "Seriously? What's up?"

Matt was holding two canvas paintings, one looked recent and still wet and the other seemed dry enough. He held up the dried one, "Trouble is coming. It's happening again."

Noah paced around the room muttering incoherently, he didn't usually look on edge often, and it wasn't a good look. Peter was used to him all stoic and straight to business. Mohinder was biting his nails and eyeing the painting in distaste, tapping his fingers subconsciously on his thigh as he sat in the chair by the door.

Peter looked at the painting. The sky was crimson, featuring a wave in the middle of the portrait; it looked like a tsunami and it made Peter involuntarily shudder. In the background it looked like a city was in ruins, burning and smouldering with black ashes simmering in the sky. But what really unsettled Peter was the girl with her back facing the frame; her brown hair flew in the wind. She was standing in front of the wave, her hands stretched out as if to hug the world. Around her a hue of bright yellow surrounded her, like an aura. Then Peter noticed a silhouette of a man standing directly behind her, watching.

"You painted this?" Peter asked cautiously. He was eyeing the other canvas that was wet, and he realised that Matt was trying to obscure it from Peters view.

Matt nodded solemnly. "The other one… I don't think you want to see it." Matt and Noah exchanged glances.

Noah stopped pacing and stood beside Matt, Mohinder was still chewing on his nails, watching Peter carefully. Mohinder was more on edge than ever, something was bothering him and Peter had a feeling it wasn't of the paintings… but something else but he didn't want to dwell on that further.

"Peter…" Noah warned, but Peter snatched it from Matt's hands, not caring that the paint smeared on his fingers.

The painting was different. Not as dark as the other… but even more gruesome. Peter walked to the window, still holding on the canvas as he stared at it, unblinking. There was an eclipse featured through a night-sky view window at the corner of the canvas, and a body drenched in red ichor lay on the other side of the canvas, holding a cello. He knew who it was before giving it a second glance. A figure was standing above the body, casting shadows upon the woman with blonde hair; her eyes were wide with shock.

Peter glanced up, looking through his window but not really looking at it. He's grown fond of Emma ever since helping her adjust to her powers. He felt like he needed to protect her, like a brother would to a sister. She was innocent, she didn't deserve to die let alone be brought into this madness. She deserved to live a full and happy life even with her abilities. It was possible… He closed his eyes, opened them slowly and turned around. Shooting a long glance at all the men before him. He tapped on the dried canvas, "When did you paint this?"

Matt sighed, "Last night,"

Mohinder sat up from the chair, "Do you think it's possible that it's Sylar again? We already know what he's capable of…"

"It can't be him," Noah said clearly. Peter was surprised that Noah would come to Sylar's defences, knowing their messy history. "He's changed…" he shook his head. "There's a woman – a girl, we don't know who she is. It can be anyone… It's possible that the carnival residents have something to do with this."

There was a stretched silence before Matt spoke. "All we could glean from this is the solar eclipse from the second painting… That's two months from now."

"I can't let Emma die," Peter said. "She doesn't deserve it."

"Most people don't," Noah agreed.

Mohinder sprang to his feet. "Hiro… we need him… to go into the future. Just a peak won't hurt."

"We hardly know anything yet and besides he has trouble going through time as it is," Matt argued. He scratched his head, thinking hard. Then he sighed when his detective intercom device sounded with a voice announcing an address number to some street. "I've gotta go, I'm on duty." He nodded at the canvases. "Hold on to those, will ya?"

Peter gave a perfunctory nod and took the canvases, laying them against the wall. Mohinder and Noah announced their goodbyes, saving they had to go home. Noah put a hand on Peters shoulder, looking at him with some sort of sympathy, then he left and Peter was all alone.

He looked at the paintings again. At the girl with the golden aura and Emma's body covered in blood. An eclipse… and a burning sky. This is it. To save the world again. Isn't that what Peter wanted? But all he felt was a sense of dread. He would do anything to make the world a better place. But would it ever heal? Would the world ever mend itself, would people ever truly live in peace? Would they? Them? The special people. Would they ever earn that rightful freedom they all secretly desired… to live free. To make the world a better place. But there was always the darker side of a group. The people who would tear down bridges to get what they wanted. The hunger that grew inside them each day in search for power.

Peter wanted to save the world. But did he really? Was this all to distract the pain he felt inside from all the loss he endured?