You Might Die Trying

by kandisi

Angela summons nine acquaintances to the Petrelli Mansion in order to discuss the events in Central Park, but then she is murdered. The blame is pointed upon Sylar, but *is* he truly the culprit, or *did* someone else have motive...? (Don't read the reviews if you want to be surprised!)

1. Act I: To Change the World

Title: You Might Die Trying
Characters/Pairings: Angela, Peter, Sylar, Noah, Matt, Mohinder, Hiro, Ando, Claire, Tracy, a little Peter/Sylar, implied Arthur/Angela and Kaito/Angela
Rating: M15 / somewhere between PG-13 and R.
Summary: Angela summons nine acquaintances to the Petrelli Mansion in order to discuss the events in Central Park, but then, she is murdered. The blame is pointed upon Sylar, but is he truly the culprit, or did someone else have motive?
Warnings: Dark themes, angst, character death, mild violence, mild language, long, some ill-timed humor, some alcohol use, and some SLASH of the Pylar variety and possible subtext elsewhere
Timeset: Post-season 4 with some random implications from the graphic novels.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes in any way shape or form, and do not make any money off writing this; it was just for fun and to pass free time.

A/N: A more appropriate title for this fic would probably be "Heroes Meets Clue", lol... though this fic is not quite as comedic as that film in most parts.

This was actually based on a dream I had way back in June, though it was much different since the dream sort of took place in an airport. But, yes... I decided to write another non-school related murder mystery, and I haven't done as such in fanfiction since 2003... I really do apologize if anything resembling this has been written in this particular fandom; I haven't had time for the internet in around half a year now, and thus haven't been reading much fanfic, though I do plan on catching up when I can.

I am sorry if Angela's tone and manner of thinking seem a little creepy in this. Also, while I did throw in the Pylar at the end, their relationship is not the primary focus of the fic.

I was going to leave Angela's murder in this a mystery, too, until after it took place, but my reinstated beta-reader insisted it was very obvious when I inquired about it, lol. She didn't catch the killer, but maybe one of you guys can. ;)

As this is so long, I'll post the three Acts as three separate chapters.

Well, read on if you'd like. :)

You Might Die Trying
ACT I
To Change the World

Angela Petrelli sighed most indifferently.

This was going to be another insufferably long night, wasn't it?

She sat behind a rosewood desk in the eerie upstairs study of the Petrelli Mansion, once more wondering why she had ever returned there. She had departed from the sacred mansion in favor of a local apartment on an occasion which felt to be so long ago now. She remembered she had once contemplated selling her valued estate, first after her late husband's supposed death, and then again after Nathan's. The mansion reminded her. It reminded her of the good times, and the bad. However, the bad memories were not the painful ones; the good ones were. Nothing was more painful than looking back on something one loved and once had, only to know they could never again possess nor experience its joys.

Angela knew a well-bred woman of sixty-four should not be thinking in such a way, but she did nevertheless.

She looked down upon the custom-carved desk; one which had been in the family for several generations, and as Angela looked down, she stared closely upon the list of calligraphically written names she had made out with a felt-tip pen as they read...

1. Peter Petrelli

2. Noah Bennet

3. Claire Bennet

4. Matt Parkman

5. Mohinder Suresh

6. Hiro Nakamura

7. Ando Masahashi

8. Tracy Strauss

9. Gabriel "Sylar" Gray

Oh, there were others Angela knew she could have included. Perhaps the girl at work Peter was interested in whom Sylar had later aided to. Perhaps the man from the diminished carnival whom Peter had once borrowed the lightening speed from. Perhaps other former members of Samuel Sullivan's failed human cavalcade, even.

But no. The ones on her list were the ones who had been there since the beginning, with the notable exception of Miss Strauss, but she had stepped into Niki's shoes long ago on the field in so many words; two of them being 'Nathan's bed'. Angela knew the time to mourn her eldest son's departure had come and gone a long time ago, but again, the memories. The good memories. The ones that hurt.

The bad memories only served to upset Angela; particularly the most devastating and perhaps obvious one of all. It being the recollection of having walked into that lavish hotel room against Parkman's protests to see Nathan in that chair. Throat slashed. Lifeless. Another of Sylar's many casualties, only he was the victim who was meant to have been Sylar's real rise into power. However, Sylar had finally become nothing more than his own victim that time around. Good. It had served him right.

Angela very well knew how it worked by now. Some of the worst things imaginable were done with the best intentions. That's just how it was, and how it would always be. All of The Company founders had known this, and as the original company's last remaining founder, she once again realized how this simple knowledge made her neutral in a world full of good people, and bad people.

Neutral people were always the most deadly of all.

The elder woman brushed a strand of dark, reddish brown hair away from her likewise dark eyes, and stared downwards upon the list again. They would all arrive soon enough. This was all the fault of her stubborn little granddaughter, anyhow. What had she been thinking? Jumping off of that Ferris Wheel in Central Park for chrissake. Heaven and hell alike had both been smiling that night. It was a neutral act the girl had performed; but a bad thing done with good intentions.

But now, in a matter of weeks, more weeks, things would be out of control. Evolved humans, first in the United States and then all around the world, were going to start revealing themselves to the public eye, and then, no one would be safe. It was going to be as Angela had dreamed. This gathering – it was also something Angela had foreseen. Parts of it, anyway. The dreams never revealed the exact occurrences of a future yet to come, but rather clips of a basic scenario clouded with mystery and hidden meanings. So yes, the others would arrive.

One. Peter. He would go on, on and on, about how he was going to try and fix the situation. Fix it while actually being 'able' to get out of his own way.

Two. Noah. He would go on, on and on, about what he was going to do protect his adoptive daughter. What he was going to do to keep her safe 'this' time.

Three. Claire. She would go on, on and on, about how what she had done had been her choice to make. How she shouldn't have to 'pretend' to be something she was not.

Four. Parkman. He would go on, on and on, about how he just wanted to be a happy family man with his wife and son. How he wanted to live a 'normal' life.

Five. Suresh. He would go on, on and on, about how he did not want to get involved in anything again. How he wanted to 'fade' back into the background and the heritage he had originated from.

Six. Hiro. He would go on, on and on, about what he could do to help without having to step on a butterfly. How he was going to 'save' the world again.

Seven. Ando. He would go on, on and on, about how Hiro had to remain strong. How he was going to help Hiro fulfill his 'destiny' yet to come.

Eight. Tracy. She would go on, on and on, about her already hectic life and how she did not have time for this all over again. How she couldn't 'deal' with the sheer lunacy.

Nine. Sylar. He would go on, on and on, about his transformation through redemption. How he was going to 'change' for the better in time.

Ten. Angela herself. She would not go on, on and on. She would not go on about an ever-changing future again. She would go on to the 'point', the 'point' being the present.

The doorbell rang.

Lovely. Who would it be?

There were no servants roaming about the halls on this evening. Angela had never quite liked the servants, not when her life required the sheer confidentiality anyone greater than God himself required. She didn't think like that anymore, not about God at least, but she did want to maintain her utmost privacy. Especially on a night like this. She was sophisticated, and not lazy, after all. She had come of age, but she could answer a simple door any time she wished. No servants for that.

Angela stood, wearing a proper white outfit with black buttons and fur outlining at the collar. It was summertime, but she was expecting company and had to remain of dignified appearance. She left the study, though not in a hurried manner, and treaded through the hall, down the stairs, and then to the doorway. The bell rang once more as it had several times prior, and Angela opened the front door.

She looked through the ebony grille door's intricate designs, to see exactly who she had expected to arrive first. It was the first one on her list, but why wouldn't he be?

Angela unlocked the second knob, and her remaining son entered the place he had once called home. He appeared ever so tired again, wearing the ever so worn paramedic's uniform of his. Surely Peter could have dressed more appropriately on such an important night.

"Hey, Mom. Sorry if I'm too early."

"Do not fret it, dear," replied Angela. "One of your upbringings should always know the true validity of punctuality."

Peter nodded, but he seemed a tad annoyed. Of course. Peter had never liked it when his mother had used those words: 'of your upbringings'. Peter had never valued money, wealth, fame. He had never liked his family's rich, snotty friends, sitting at the dinner table on the back porch with their fancy champagne and their pointless gossip relating to other snotty people. He valued simple security, and the bare necessities. He valued his own stubborn pride, the pride of making his own way to show he could get out of his own way.

"What exactly is this about?" Peter then asked, walking at his mother's side as they headed for the den. "I don't want to have to turn down an extra shift tonight. You know how much I need the money."

Angela sighed. "Peter, you do not desire the money. You desire to save people, and you do know it. Money means absolutely nothing to you."

Once again, Peter appeared mildly irritated. "I may not be ridden with a desire for it, but I do have to pay the rent. I'm not a lawyer."

"I actually thank God for that now," Angela admitted, as she led Peter into the lavish living area's confines where he took a seat on one of two identical couches. Angela herself remained standing as she was. "Had you followed in your father's footsteps as he had wished, I fear you may have broken down into tears your very first case."

The bothered look on Peter's face was still persistent. "Why do our conversations always amount to this? Everything you say to me is either a reference to the past, or the future. What about now?"

"You're here now, just as I am, and I assure you, Peter, the present is all that will matter tonight..."

"I know you, Mom. Something's not right. You didn't just ask me here because you wanted to talk about my life as it is now. You've been dreaming again, and hiding things from me again. We've been through this many times before. If you give me even the smallest hint about something, I am going to find out the full story behind it whether you like it or not."

Angela nodded. "Yes, dear. That went ever so well for you last time. Tell me; was it a wonderful dream, Peter?"

"What?"

"Tell me. Was it good? The five years you spent with Sylar behind the wall. Was it satisfactory? To your liking? Did you enjoy it?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"No, do tell, Peter. Last time you went against my wishes and decided to find out the full story behind my smallest hint did you enjoy the consequences? Did you enjoy your dream with Sylar, dear?"

"I don't know what in the hell that is supposed to mean." Peter nearly leered. "Of course I didn't enjoy it. That wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare."

"Yes, Peter," Angela said, concurring with her son. "That's in all actuality my point. Dreams of the future are never dreams by definition – they are always nightmares in the end. It works the same way as life itself does. You can't get to a dream without going through a nightmare."

"I don't even understand that." Peter sighed, his head tilting back. He appeared exhausted, once again. "I get that no one's life is a perfect dream, but still..."

"Everyone has to go through hell to get to heaven, Peter."

"Oh," he replied, growing ever so tired of his mother's endless metaphors. Angela knew, however, that metaphors had always been the only way she could ever get Peter to understand anything she tried to explain in more than two sentences. It was a cruel thought, Angela knew, but Peter had never been a genius. If only the boy could learn to think with his head and not his heart for a change.

"That's a very nice way of looking at it." Peter added on, "I love the idea of watching people suffer endlessly for their entire lives just so it can mean something after they die."

"Enough squabbling," Angela insisted nonchalantly. "I can't remember the last time you and I had a normal conversation."

Peter shrugged. "I guess because we've never been normal."

Angela nearly rolled her eyes. "Oh Peter, you are the only family I really have now, and I am the only family you have. Don't bring Claire into this; you know what I mean. What are you going to do when I am gone?"

"Attend yet another damn funeral, I would guess."

"You watch your tone around me."

Peter huffed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I'm... sorry, Mom. Really, I am. I'm just so tired... I haven't slept in what feels like days, years even. It's like the nightmare, the one that was... real but not real... I didn't sleep for years then. When I... first entered Sylar's worst nightmare, and he told me it had been three years, I remembered what I had learned about dreams when I was a kid. You know, how you can have a dream that amounts to pages on paper when it really lasted for no more than a few seconds in your head."

"That is very true."

"All I do now is work..." Peter continued, averting his eyes to the wall behind Angela. That damn wall. "That's not what's tiring me, though. I don't think so, anyway. I'm never tired on the job. The real exhaustion sets in when I'm standing around in my apartment, doing nothing. I'll try to sleep, but I can't. I'll keep thinking about how someone out there could be dying for the reason that I was not there to save them..."

"How many times must we go over this? You cannot save everyone. It is not in your power."

"I know... Hesam tells me that every day. He asked me to go to this stupid bar again. Houlihan's. I told him no again, and he said he was finally ready to give up. He thinks I'm nuts, I know it. They all do. I'm sick of it, Mom..." Peter said, his words trailing a little. "I'm so sick of everyone thinking there's something wrong with me just because I don't want to waste my time. When I was a kid everyone thought I was weird, when I was a teenager they thought I was a freak, and when I became an adult I was suddenly mentally ill."

"You are just special, Peter."

Peter did roll his eyes upon hearing that. "Great, that's the perfect excuse. I'll tell everyone that I'm not nuts; I'm just 'special'. Then the new rumor flying around the hospitals won't be about how I staged accidents this time around, or how I'm shoplifting drugs from the dispensary. It'll be about how I rode the short bus to school."

Angela sighed once more. "Don't be so naïve. If you truly want your colleagues to think of you as a normal person, you are going to have to act like you are one. Being antisocial does have a textbook definition now. That said, you are more than likely portraying yourself to everyone outside of your little world as a sociopath."

Peter stood up. "That's it; I'm not listening to any more of this. God, I don't know why I even came here. Sociopath my... ugh. Tell you what, why don't you spend five years alone in silence listening to nothing and no one but an actual sociopath, and we'll see how far your social skills go afterwards?"

"You were no different before. Now sit, Peter," Angela said with a touch of maternal firmness in her voice. "You are here for a reason. Tonight we must discuss matters at hand."

Peter remained suspicious. "Like what exactly? Tell me. What have you seen this time? What aren't you telling me?"

Angela looked into her son's eyes, her expression warning. "Do it, Peter. Take my ability again if you feel you must. You won't have time to dream tonight's future. Perhaps, however, you will finally learn the lesson Sylar was forced to find out the hard way: that the next ability you take might just lead you into the very fires of hell."

"I'll just try to keep in mind I have to go through that hell in order to get to heaven."

"Always that smart mouth of yours... As a lawyer you would have definitely rocked the boat, so to speak."

"I wouldn't have had to rock the boat with all the waves crashing around me." Peter chuckled. "Like Nate said, if a guy had have been convicted when I thought he was innocent, I probably would have cried or something. Then Nathan would have had to sneak into dad's liquor cabinet again."

"Oh Peter..." Angela couldn't help but smile. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

The doorbell rang again.

Peter turned his head. "Who is that?"

"It's one of the others."

"Huh? Others? Again, who is that?"

"I think I shall go and see," remarked Angela, once again making her way to the front door. If the list – however random it had been – had been accurate, perhaps it would be Noah with his Claire. Angela came upon the wooden door, and opened it fully.

"Oh my..." Angela said, having sounded extremely disgruntled. "It appears the order has been invalidated already."

"Mom, what the heck is going on?" Peter asked, walking his way to his mother's side.

Angela wasn't so quick to open the grille door this time. "I must admit, I expected you of all people to arrive last."

"I didn't even know if I should bother coming here..."

"Wait a minute..." Peter muttered, then taking a few more steps forwards. Once he saw who he had alas expected to see, he was more than just a little displeased. "...What in the hell is he doing here? Mom, what the? I don't even... Just what the hell? You actually invited him to your house?"

"Calm down," Angela said, having directed her statement at Peter, "I don't want this abomination in my home any more than you wanted him in yours."

Outside, Sylar appeared none too thrilled himself. Wonderful. Angela hadn't told him Peter would be there. Great. Angela and Peter were going to give him some good ol' verbal bashing; Petrelli style. Joy. Maybe they would all sit down at the dinner table with another pumpkin pie, only this time, Sylar would be forced to endure their mockeries upon him, rather than the other way around. This time, however, Sylar would not keep them bound in their chairs with locked lips through telekinetic restraints; no, he would do nothing.

"You said you needed to talk to me..." Sylar spoke, resenting the weakness saturating his own voice. "You said you needed my help. I should have known better. You lured me over here with more of your lies, so Peter and I could have it out again? So you could witness my death another time? What, you have a nail gun in there or something? The Haitian? Is Parkman in there too waiting to play God with my so-called non-existent soul?"

"No," Angela replied in all honesty. "No one is here but Peter and me. I don't know why you vex so. You want to see Peter again, and you know it."

"Again, what the hell is this?" repeated Peter. "Let me see if I got this right... You invited me here without telling me Sylar was coming, and you invited Sylar here without telling him I was coming... and you told the both of us you needed our help. So... Sylar and me supposed to pull another dynamic Marvel team up? Two super-powered guys who hate each other going on another limited run? Am I getting close?" he asked, sounding angered. "Jeez, I can't wait. No, possibly I can. I am not getting involved in this sort of situation again. The last time I was with him I nearly lost my mind in his, and the last time the three of us were together I watched my brother transform into him before Sylar tried to kill you. This is... no, just... nah-ah, I am out this time."

Angela finally opened the other door. "It's going to rain, Sylar. Why don't you come in?"

"I... don't think I will," replied Sylar. "Peter's... right. I... I really don't want to cause trouble..."

"Oh cut the act already," Peter groaned. "What? Oh—you've changed again, that's right... I guess you're not Sylar anymore, you're 'Gabriel', and because 'Gabriel' is a good guy, I should forgive 'Gabriel' for what Sylar did."

"Don't pay any attention to him," Angela insisted, moving out of the doorway so the new arrival could enter. "Doing the right thing for a greater good is always more important than any tension one may have between oneself and one's adversary."

"I never understood how you were always able to do that, Angela," replied Sylar, a small sigh following his words as he entered the mansion. "How you were always able to make everything make sense when I could not, through the mere use of only a few words."

"This is insane," Peter said, laughing even. "Just, God. I do not know what to say."

"Then say nothing," said Angela, shutting the wooden door upon Sylar's entry. "Sylar, can I get you anything? A glass of red wine, perhaps?"

Peter couldn't help it. He laughed again. "Oh, oh wow... I am loving this. Mom, you and 'Gabriel' go take a seat in the dining room. No, don't you two trouble yourselves. I'll go break out the boozes and we can have ourselves a little 'homecoming' party. In fact, why stop there? We can all go out to dinner! One of those fancy French restaurants where you have to order for me because I can't understand what's on the menu. After that, we'll all come back here, and 'Gabriel' can stay the night, in Nathan's old room. Does that sound good?"

"Peter..." began Sylar, "I have no intention of trying to take Nathan's place in your life. I've told you this before. I just didn't want you to feel so alone, that's all."

Peter laughed once more, before his laughter halted in a sudden instance. "Alright. You just get one thing straight. If you try anything funny, and I mean anything, be it cutting open heads to so much as thinking about pulling the little trick where you toss a few of my brother's stolen memories at me, I am going to make you wish I had left you in that hell of yours."

"You could take me to a torture chamber," Sylar said in response, "and I still wouldn't wish that."

Angela looked down at her watch, some old family heirloom of hers. It was less than an hour until 7:00 P.M. now; it wouldn't be long before the others began to arrive one after the other.

"Peter, show him into the dining room if you will. I'll make myself useful and fetch the good wine. I'd let you do it for yourself as you had suggested, but I am afraid I can't have you smashing one of my late husband's bottles of 1976 Charles Noellat Richebourg on Sylar's head. It would be a waste."

Peter groaned again, and then, looked back up at Sylar. "C'mon, let's go..."

Peter began ambling towards the dining room, with Sylar following closely behind him. He didn't like it. Even if he was always one step ahead, he didn't like the idea of Sylar relying on him to lead the way for another small eternity, for the lunatic had already bothered him a few times since the incident in Central Park. Calling him. Showing up. Just wanting to talk, as if Peter had yet to listen to his mouth run for years on end. Sylar had nothing left to say to Peter that hadn't already been said. Or did he? No, he did not. Peter had heard it all. A hundred times and more.

Peter had realized why so many psychiatrists had psychiatrists themselves.

When was Sylar going to realize talking to Peter was the utter equivalent of talking to a wall in their case? In fact, when Peter talked to Sylar, he felt like he was talking to a wall, too. They had both talked to a wall more than a few times.

Peter sat down at the end of the long dining table, and Sylar sat down to his right. It made Peter think horrible thoughts, the metaphorical sort his mother always used. Such as, Sylar was sitting at Peter's right-hand side, making Peter feel like he represented the devil and Sylar his right-hand, his advocate. Peter knew he was not the devil, though he knew Sylar really wasn't, either. Peter's father probably hadn't felt this way, however. Angela had always sat to Arthur's right. If the devil was not careful, his right-hand would always be the one to take him down.

"So Peter..." Sylar started off, attempting to start another one of their sorry attempts at a conversation in Peter's eyes, "how have you been?"

"Same as always."

"Can't you elaborate on that a little...? I was able to buy that response for the first couple years spent with you in my nightmare when I knew there was no present or future to talk about, but that's over now."

Peter sighed. "Fine. I got up around four this morning, was at work by six. There was another accident around nine and I watched two people die. After that, I had lunch in the ambulance with my partner Hesam. Then I had to escort a guy to a mental institution. Later, I helped a filling station robber who was shot by the cops. Then my mom called late-mid afternoon, and told me I had to come here. Thus, here I am. That's basically it."

Peter was hoping Sylar would just sit there and say nothing, but the younger man knew better by now.

"You escorted someone to a mental institution today, Peter?"

"Yes..." Peter sighed still more. "Ever since Claire's swan dive people have been jumping off of buildings and throwing themselves in front of cars trying to discover their powers. Since most of them don't have any powers, they end up on a seventy-two hour lockdown for suicidal behavior instead."

"I remember when you jumped off a building..." Sylar recalled, but then he regretted his words. Peter had warned Sylar about digging around in his brother's stolen memories. The killer-on-reform supposed he could just make sure he spoke in third person. "You weren't crazy though, Peter, or suicidal. The false rumor you went along with to cover up Nathan's indiscretions was noble but slanderous on your behalf."

"That so? Well what would you have done?"

"I would have let him take responsibility for his own actions."

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant would you have allowed yourself to be hurt in order to help someone you loved?"

Sylar looked away, and let out a single chuckle. "Once. All the times you've asked me that, and yet I still don't have a proper answer... Talking to you now is so strange. I figure it being because I know you are actually real now. When I look at you, I can finally look at you knowing it isn't any less real, even if it didn't feel any less real before."

"Sylar..." Peter wanted to groan again. He was past the point of exhaustion, though, and he was just as tired of repeating himself. Unfortunately, repeating himself was almost all there was left when it came to Sylar. "You've just... gotta stop this, okay? I can't deal with you anymore. My reaction to having had enough of you for one lifetime is very natural for anyone in my situation. I know how lonely you are, really, I do, and I also know you are afraid you are going to eventually kill someone again, but spending more time with me is not the answer to either of those problems."

Sylar thought back. "I... appreciate you putting up with me. Keeping me sane."

"Ugh..." Another groan. "We're not in a nightmare anymore, this is the real world, and in the real world, we don't like each other."

"I like you."

"Mom!" Peter called out, just wanting to end the damn conversation already. "Are you still in the cellar?"

"I'm coming," Angela called back, soon reappearing into sight with a bottle of red wine in her hands as well as a corkscrew. She sat the bottle and the instrument down upon the table, and then proceeded to gather several of her more expensive crystal glasses from a china cabinet. When this was achieved, Angela continued with the task at hand, uncorking the wine and pouring the glasses with a favorable portion of the beverage.

Peter pushed his glass aside just as soon as his mother had presented it to him. "I only drink when there's a cause for celebration. Drinking when you're not happy only turns you into a drunk. Dad knew that much."

"And so did Nathan, if you'll remember," Angela informed, causing Peter to turn his head. Sylar accepted his glass and took a small sip of its contents just for appearance's sake. Then Angela spoke up again. "Peter, please redirect yourself from your mother's seat."

"What?"

"Show the guests a little respect, dear."

Peter huffed, and stood. Unfortunately, he didn't understand his mother's use of the word 'guests' had indeed been plural.

He changed seats with his mother, yielding to sit to Angela's left, directly across from Sylar. Angela sat down, and took a sip of the rather expensive Richebourg. The three of them continued to sit in silence for a little while, as Sylar and Angela partook of their drinks while Peter sat and stared. He was staring at the wall behind Sylar. He'd rather look at the wall any day than at Sylar, or so he thought.

Then, the doorbell rang once more.

Angela took another sip of her wine, set the glass down, and stood. The next of her guests was here, after all, and she did not want to keep him or her or waiting. Bad manners, that was.

Both Peter, and Sylar, had matching facial expressions; painted over in confusion.

"Mom? Who is that? What's... what's going on? First me, then Sylar, and now someone else...?"

"Angela..." Sylar then said, "I'm with Peter. What is this really about?"

"I have to go answer the door, boys." So this was Angela's simple response. So vague, so evasive. Never a straight answer with her, she knew. Just a little hint. A single letter on the crossword puzzle to get everyone running around in circles trying to solve the true enigma of it all. Angela never gave more than a hint to anyone so long as it could be helped. People had to think for themselves. They had grown so lazy now, hadn't they?

Angela left her troubled son with his lost adversary, arriving at the door. When it opened, another name on the list was mentally crossed out for the lovely Mrs. Petrelli.

"Come in, Mohinder. You won't require that umbrella on this night."

Mohinder Suresh, there he was; standing there in those black jeans and that black shirt of his. Everyone was wearing black, now. Angela had watched so many colorful people fade into black and white over the years. Alas, the white queen was far more dangerous than a dark knight.

"You say that as if you're expecting me to stay for a while..." Mohinder's words trailed a little. "What's going on? I was told this was urgent. I have a life to get back to in India; I really don't have time for this... insanity anymore."

"Last time you were at this doorstep you had my youngest son's dead body with you, so let me be the one to decide what is or isn't insane right now." Angela stepped out of the way so the young geneticist could enter. "Come, I'll show you to the dining room where the others are."

"Others? I thought you said you needed my help specifically?" Mohinder pondered the issue, following the ever-so mysterious Angela into the dining area.

When Mohinder saw both who, and what was there, he dropped the umbrella from his hand.

"What in the... You cannot be serious! You invited me here to have dinner with Sylar?" This was unacceptable. So he, Mohinder, had fallen for it once again. A trained reliant on a corrupt corporation's tattered name had reeled him in for another round at some ambiguous game. Why? Why ever had he fallen for it again? As Mohinder gazed upon Sylar's appearance, an appearance taken with likewise perplexity, he fought a mental battle of self-control to keep from charging forth into the white queen's lair in order to take down another of her pawns. Sylar was clueless, Mohinder figured, but if he was there, involved with The Company, he was most certainly a pawn again.

"Relax, Dr. Suresh, have a seat anywhere you wish." Angela extended her arm, giving Mohinder a polite gesture; indicating for him to take his seat at the chess table with the other participating pawns in her strategized game. She had laid down her king long and many ago; only the pawns were left now, black and white alike.

"This is insane," Mohinder stated in disbelief, mimicking words already said, "For I am not going to sit down and have drinks with the man who murdered my father, followed by countless others. By the man who led me into believing he was somebody else only to further tarnish my sanity. I'm finally making an effort to get my life back, and I am not going to throw it away again. I couldn't care less about this bastard's sorry second round into redemption, despite anything Matt has told me. Goodbye."

"I am afraid you are going to have to stay, doctor," Angela said in a calm voice, laced with the hint of inexplicable deceit her voice always seemed to bear under a masked surface. "You cannot leave, no matter how much you may desire to."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Mohinder questioned the heiress, the black widow.

"I am afraid my words alone speak very well for themselves, my friend. You leave, and they will come."

"What?" Peter asked from Angela's left. "Mom... what-what does that mean?" Oh, he could imagine. He could imagine what it meant all too well. Another government conspiracy she was involved in, perhaps. Had she yet to learn? She hadn't been able to hide from them before; her immunity in itself due to her inherited wealth and acquired power was always only a temporary pardon in the end.

"You are just going to have to take my word for it for now, Peter. All of you will," Angela said, her voice brushing over all three of her guests like the lightest ghost of a touch, making them shiver inwardly with concepts on the endless possibilities of her indefinite words. Angela had always had a theory she followed, those little sayings of hers. If one insisted on turning their life into a joke, then the joke was always on them. Everyone knew this – including Angela and her boys and the guest. Yes, she supposed Sylar was still her boy on a few levels.

"You had better tell all of us what this is about..." Peter said, his voice grinding, having left his mouth between teeth. "I am not dealing with this shit again."

"Don't you dare speak to your mother that way," scolded Angela. A Petrelli should never result to using slander that only slandered oneself. Kaito was the most honorable man she had ever met, and he had not been able to transform his honor into immortality through his son. Hiro wasn't more naïve than Peter; oh no, Peter would always win the hero's choice award for immaturity, but Hiro was a step down from Peter, and that alone spoke for itself.

"People are coming for us again, aren't they?" Peter continued without apology. He wasn't sorry. "I bet you invited even more of us into this obvious trap of lies. So what? You going to wait until everyone arrives, and then a few Dankos and their agents bust down the door to take us away and leave you in exchange? I don't think so..."

"Do have a seat, Mohinder," Angela suggested in an insisting manner once more. "A bottle of my late Arthur's more expensive wine is on the table, so please, do treat yourself."

Mohinder then laughed, much like Peter had when Sylar had appeared at the front door. "Of course. That's exactly what I am going to do. Sit down with my best-friend, the betrayer and her son, and have a glass of fine wine. It's not as if I had wanted to go to the airport on this particular night." He hadn't wanted to go to the airport on this particular night, but Mohinder felt his rudeness for the ruse was all too appropriate.

"Very good. All is well that ends well." Angela spoke prestige and ever so polished. "Do have a seat, and the explanation you seek will come all in due timing."

Mohinder sneered with utmost disdain. Again, why? Why had he allowed himself to fall for such an entrapment all over again? He felt as if he were some sort of an addict for deception experiencing a relapse in judgment. He felt like a fool.

Angela led Mohinder to the table following the pickup and the hanging of a dropped umbrella, where Mohinder took his seat next to Peter with a sheer lack of enthusiasm. Angela didn't think Mohinder was a fool, he was just a pawn. Perhaps a card, another hand in Angela's game. Be it may, all the cards had to come into play. Then, the full house could be thrown down and Angela would come back with her royal flush.

Mohinder's eyes met Sylar's very briefly, and Sylar looked away. He stared at Peter, but again, only briefly. Peter was not going to back him up, so instead, Sylar stared at the wall behind his savior and Mohinder. The wall's expressionless expressions were more tranquil than either set of eyes.

"You wait and see, Sylar..." Mohinder said, warning his arch enemy. "I had put you behind me in my thoughts, but now that you are right in front of me in my presence I am debating whether or not to jump right over this table, slam you into the floor, and rip you apart into pieces until your very blood itself floods the floor over in various shades of crimson."

Oh my, thought Angela, A little shade of color to splash upon the shades of Gray. Gray had always liked red, hadn't he?

Sylar said nothing. He was not afraid of Mohinder's threat in the slightest; rather afraid of his own doings, of facing the music as he had done so in Parkman's basement. The music hadn't been as Sylar had expected, some happy little tune playing the song of emancipation. No, it had been a dark stroke on the left-hand side of a piano, intermingled with the distant sound of a watch ticking and then fading away to signify the turning tables and his descent into hell. If Parkman could present Sylar with one form of damnation in the name of revenge, Mohinder could surely present him with another.

"I-I'm sorry, Mohinder..." Sylar attempted to apologize. "I wasn't... as I am now back then, okay? I am making an effort now."

"Oh really?" Mohinder's voice played the piano, that dark forte. "So what should I refer to you as now, Sylar? Zane Taylor? Isaac Mendez? Perhaps Nathan Petrelli? Surely not Gabriel Gray."

"What you choose to call me has always been up to you, Mohinder," replied Sylar. "Peter taught me that it's who I think I am that matters."

"Repulsive..." Mohinder said under his breath. Matt had informed him so of Sylar and Peter's little adventure in wonderland. It was a miracle Peter hadn't turned into the Mad Hatter after all of that continual time with a Cheshire Cat. Now, however, the Queen of Hearts was back in control, it seemed.

The doorbell.

"I knew it." The words had been sour upon Peter's tongue, for he was saying aloud what he had already been repeating in his mind for the past few minutes. "Who is it now, Mom? Matt? Hiro? Tracy? Or is that the agents? Oh, I guess not... Knowing you, the agents would only arrive while you were in the other room."

Angela stood from her chair once again. "By all means, Peter. Your father's gun is upstairs in the master bedroom. If it serves to comfort you in any way, go fetch and hold it to my head. I know you will not pull the trigger, and so did Nathan when he was in said situation."

"I'm sure Dad thought that, too..." Peter whispered to himself, although everyone at the table caught his words.

Angela stepped across the marble floor; her black heels clicking against the tile. Mohinder and Peter both heard the sound for what it was, but Sylar heard the clicking as a distant ticking. He needed to eradicate those thoughts from his mind now, or his seemingly sorry quest for salvation would be lost upon a woman who would gain a last glimmer of enjoyment from his own self-defeat.

That woman came upon the closed door, unlocking it and pulling it open. Another name on the list. Two names, in point of fact. Mentally, Angela drew a strike through the names of one's Hiro Nakamura and Ando Masahashi. Hopefully they would not strike out.

"Mrs. Petrelli?" Hiro said, and oh, Angela took in that god-awful accent. It was a lovely melody, so much like Kaito's.

"Greetings Hiro, Ando. Do come in and sit down. Have a glass of wine."

"Awesome." Ando had sounded rather excited when he had said this. Poor boy, thought Angela. There would be no drinking party at a strip club tonight for Ando and the dancers. Were the forsaken mansion a website, it wouldn't direct anyone to pleasure. It would just infect one's self with a virus ready to eat its unsuspecting visitor alive. Ando would pay for visiting the site, just not in yen.

"Come," Angela said, walking towards the dining room's general direction. It was not a long walk.

"What is this about, Mrs. Petrelli?" Hiro inquired. "This better not be about time-travel. I am not stepping on a butterfly again."

"I assure you, you won't be," Angela guaranteed. "When the butterfly is dead, you will not step on it this time."

"Dead?" Ando questioned. "What do you mean by...'dead'...?"

"Here we are," continued Angela, gesturing to her other guests. Her other pawns. Oh, how lost they would be without their queen.

Five sets of eyes exchanged a varied set of glances.

Peter banged his fist against the table. So childish.

Sylar remained confined to himself. So lost.

Mohinder appeared angered. So futile.

Ando took a step back. So juvenile.

Hiro reached for the sword he did not have. So dim.

Angela remained composed and perfectly at ease. So perfect.

The party is going to get started soon, is it not?

"Come, let us all sit down and have the good wine I mentioned before," suggested Angela with that perfect ease. "It won't be long before the general discussion gets underway."

"I... I no understand," Hiro said, his English faltering notably due to his shock. "Sylar? Sylar is here? And Mohinder Suresh, Peter Petrelli... What is going on?"

"Uh, yeah," Ando added, his level of concern matching Hiro's own. "You wanted us to come here and have drinks with Sylar...? Are you mad?"

Of course. Angela was ever so crazy, she supposed. They all were. They all went a little mad sometimes.

"Of course I am not," said Angela nonetheless. "Now go have a seat whilst we wait for the others."

"Others...?" Ando proceeded to go on, "There are others coming?"

"I would suggest you both teleport out of here now." Peter smirked, having made another suggestion. "Others are coming, all right. Coming to try to capture and take us away, but this time, I am not turning my back on a family member who holds a knife in their hand."

Hiro said something in Japanese. A curse word, Angela knew.

"Peter..." Sylar said following more of his endless strands of thoughts. "I... really don't think Angela has anything like that planned. Even against fifty of them, the five of us would be more than enough to raise havoc."

Peter pondered Sylar's words. "...Well what if the 'fifty of them' has 'a few of us' with them?"

"Still," continued the former watchmaker, "I don't think she would be so sloppy. Even if she was, she wouldn't involve herself in the actual mess. She'd just... clean it up from afar."

That was Sylar, her boy, Angela reflected. Sylar had surely discussed her name a good many times with Peter during their experience in purgatory. Angela's hatred for Sylar far exceeded his callow admiration of her, though Sylar displayed the maturity far beyond his years whenever it came to accepting a truth he actually believed in. Angela had no choice; she had to respect that much. It was her nature.

Hiro furrowed his brow once more, for he did not know what to do. His reaction wouldn't really have been one of shock as it was, had it not been for the simple fact of Sylar's obvious presence. What was he to do now? Teleport back and forth as he had in that Odessa past in another timeline? Hiro did not know he had already taught Sylar the lesson that was Sylar's greatest fear. The opposite of thanatophobia itself; the fear of not dying. Hiro had no idea of how his little tale of Sylar's false death in the form of one James Martin had triggered into the very fear of loneliness leading up to Sylar's individual halfway house.

Hiro had obtained his true revenge with words, not a sword. He just didn't know it. Hiro was definitely smart enough to know something was very wrong, however. Everyone was.

"I hate to say it..." Mohinder said under his breath, "but I think... Sylar may have a point, Peter..."

"I just don't know," replied Peter, trying so hard to listen to his reason and not his emotion, "I really don't know. This is like the opposite of hunting us down. We're actually doing the 'round up' for ourselves. Doesn't it seem likely that something's up with that?"

"Of course there is," the geneticist said in agreement. "It's just... the sheer idea of Angela Petrelli inviting a bloodbath into very her home... something's 'up' with that, too."

Angela returned to the table, sitting down at the end once again, her back to the direction she had come from; her back to the door. Arthur's seat was hers now. Dallas was lost in action forever.

Hiro and Ando approached the dining table.

Ando leaned in to whisper something into his best-friend's right-ear. "I'm not sitting next to him... you go."

Hiro gulped, and nodded. He was going to sit next to Sylar and show off his factual bravery. Sylar was definitely a demon from his past, but the real one was dead. Adam Monroe wouldn't be taking him to trial ever again.

Hiro finally took a seat at Sylar's right, Ando to Hiro's, and then Angela poured them both a glass of 1976 Richebourg. Angela had married into an Italian family, but the French had still been known for their great taste in fine wines. France had always been Angela's extended version of heaven in a way.

Ando picked up his glass, taking a relatively large sip, until he saw Hiro sniffing of his own wine. Ando looked at Hiro questionably.

"...It could be poison," Hiro murmured, barely audible.

Ando dropped his glass, and it nearly spilt all over the table top. "I..."

His face paled a little, and Angela sighed before speaking. "It is not poisoned. I drank from the same bottle, and I am still alive."

"In all honesty you could have outlined the crystal's exterior with something like Flunitrazepam," gathered Sylar.

Peter couldn't help it, and rolled his eyes. "Yes, then we could all sing a Ramone's song. If my mother wanted to drop something into someone's soup, she would do it, literally, and that would be the end of it. She wouldn't sedate us. I tried explaining the fact that those medical textbooks you read came from my subconscious."

"You... speak of the nightmare land, Peter?" Hiro asked all too knowingly.

"Yes, Hiro," Peter answered. "It seems like every 'one of us' knows about my trip to the 'nightmare land' now."

"Why are we talking about this when we really do have more important things to worry about?" Mohinder protested, "Such as actual events currently at hand. I am not inexperienced in these matters. Now something bad is going to take place tonight and I know it."

"Well that's... sort of a 'duh' thing, Mohinder," replied Peter following his small shrug. "So yes, something's definitely going down on the side."

Angela shook her head out of disapproval. "What have I tried to tell you about talking in such a way, Peter? No one else in your family has ever resorted to using the hideously ridiculous slang tossed around in those terrible 21st century satires of yours. Honestly, what with the youth's general media-based, sheer mockery of the English language, I sometimes wonder if it shall ever survive. Every word on television and the radio alike these days is almost nothing more than some useless and mutated illiteracy meant to imply distasteful sexual terms."

Damn. Mohinder agreed. "You are right..."

"Uh-huh," Sylar then agreed as well.

Hiro nodded, and Ando sort of shrank in his chair a little trying to keep the 'guilty' stamp on his forehead from flashing too brightly in Angela's headlights.

Peter looked around the table, and then propped his arm atop it, chin in hand. "I really don't see how anything I just said implied my love life, but I guess it could have been interpreted as such by the right persons." Everyone knew Angela hadn't liked the sound of this.

Angela eyed her son with a stern expression; matching shades of brown eyes taking one another in.

"Peter, elbows off the table. Hands in your lap. Back straight."

Ando then removed his resting arm from the tabletop and sat up.

"Oh will you just stop it already?" Peter snapped like a branch with too much fruit to bear. "'A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality. Thus you are, noble woman.' Honestly, Mom, your sad devotion to that dead, sixteenth century culture is going to be the death of you if you're not careful..."

"I don't care," Angela replied strictly, "You are under my roof right now. When you go back to your catastrophe of an apartment you can eat at your table hunched over decaying Chinese takeout with a cheap beer at your side as you stare at the wall some more for all I care, but while you are here, you are going to show some manners at the table and to my guests."

Peter took his arms off the table, and straightened up in his seat. However, his mother still seemed yet to be pleased.

"What? If there was silverware on the table I'd have the salad fork on one end and the soup spoon on the other. God..."

"One's wineglass goes to the right, dear."

Peter appeared awfully affronted, before he gradually slid his glass over to the right with one hand. Sylar figured Peter had wanted to toss it along with the table. Peter did have a small impulse control problem, on the other hand, so if Peter had actually wanted to cause such a fuss he very well possibly may have tossed something instead of following through with his mother's seemingly incessant, correcting orders.

"So..." Sylar began, trying to redirect the subject back to yet another conversation focused on one between himself and Peter. "The textbooks specifying on particular Shakespearean Literature quotes originated from your thoughts? I had always wondered about that... I never could remember having read them for myself."

"You speak of the nightmare land again?" Hiro inquired, though not in a polite manner. This was Sylar, after all.

"Yes, actually," replied the former killer. "There were so many books, and albeit I lost count, the words are so vivid in my mind still somewhere. My own, stored thoughts to an endless library of literature were what finally led me into believing an illusion of an artificial world was authenticity in itself."

"Very well spoken," Angela approved. Of course, Peter knew she would have to approve. What fool in their right mind had yet to be taken aback by Sylar's poetic flattery for the written word?

Mohinder made way to complain as he earlier had. "Can we not get back into that again?"

"Why does it bother you so, Mohinder?" Sylar asked, being frank enough.

"I'll tell you why," began a discontented Mohinder, "because if you want my opinion, you don't speak as if you are recalling a nightmare of hell. You speak as if you are recalling a dream of heaven. I have an idea as to why in my own subconscious, but I am not going there because that is one theory of mine I am not touching with a ten-foot-pole."

Ando wondered. "What theory do you speak of?"

"Again, the ten-foot-pole."

"Yes, and if that ten-foot-pole decides to explore that theory, it may become my several-inch-fist exploring someone's face if you go there," Peter warned. "I didn't like the sound of that."

Mohinder looked away from Peter, not wanting to get into an argument relating to something so superficially preposterous. No one else did, either.

"Nobody here liked the sound of your own words just now, Peter," scolded Angela. "You have to control your temper. 'Kicking ass' was always the pawn's job; the real power thou liest with the king and queen."

"If I remember correctly, the king is also the most vulnerable piece on the board," Peter said, countering his mother once more. "You've told me time and time again how life isn't a game, so why do you keep talking about it like it is one? I agree that life isn't a game, but your thoughts, your actions; they contradict your words."

The doorbell. Angela had been saved by the bell again. In her opinion, her answer to Peter's question would have taken too much time to fully explain in words bland enough to be understood by him; despite how well he had taken her by surprise with his dead-on statement.

Angela walked back to the front doorway with anticipation of yet another guest or guests, opening the door all over again to welcome another person's arrival.

"Come on in, Miss Strauss," said Angela, before Tracy stepped forth. "Let me get your coat for you, dear."

"I know it isn't cold outside," Tracy acknowledged, "but I can tell it is more than likely going to rain soon."

Angela nodded, taking the younger woman's coat for her. Tracy was wearing black slacks, and a likewise ebony vest, along with a white, button down shirt complete with a fitting, formal tie. Angela had foreseen it. Black and white yet again. Peter was currently the only one with any color, though be it not for his long hours on the job, Angela knew he would be dressed just as darkly as Sylar once again.

"Now what is it you needed to talk with me about?" Tracy asked, not wanting to waste any time. "You made it clear it was of importance, but you have yet to tell me how it actually concerns me. You've only told me it does."

"This way, Miss Strauss," Angela replied – another avoidance technique for the time being. "I've been expecting you, and I'm sure the others have as well."

"Wait. Others?"

Tracy was reasonably curious, and followed Angela into the dining room. When Tracy saw the five people seated at the table, she wondered if she might freeze in the literal sense.

Tracy continued to stare at the seated specials. "Angela... what exactly is the meaning of this? You didn't tell me they would be here. Is this some sort of dinner party? If so, what is Sylar doing here?"

Voluntarily, Sylar shot Tracy a considerably nasty look, even though he didn't have any sort of personal vendetta against her. In reality, he was growing sick of the initial reactions everyone seemed to be having to his general presence in Angela's household. In the past, Sylar would have thought he truly was the only thing they need worry about in this situation, but at the moment, Sylar knew for a fact that everyone had much bigger problems on their hands than his being there. He had no intent of hurting anyone... right...?

"Welcome to the nuthouse, Tracy."

Angela shook her head, even though Peter hadn't said this.

"I'm with you, Mohinder..." Peter had said this.

Angela turned her head, once again looking at Tracy. "Please, do take your seat with the others. I'll get a glass for you."

Tracy appeared somewhat disquieted by the situation in its entirety, but she took her seat nevertheless. To even the seating arrangements out, she opted to sit next to Mohinder. He was harmless enough, now. But Sylar... just what the hell? Tracy could actually visualize Angela having invited the others – just not for a mere wine and dine session. The dinner setting was more than likely only a disguise for whatever the real meaning behind the multiple invitations was.

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Hiro..." Ando whispered, following another sip of wine. He'd thankfully ridden the poison-scenario from his mind, at least.

Hiro whispered back, "Me either."

While Angela made another trip to the cabinets, Tracy looked around the table and said, "Does anyone here know what's going on?"

"Maybe it has to do with the Devil..." Hiro trailed.

"What?" Tracy asked, sounding a bit confused.

"I am not the Devil," Sylar said, staring Tracy in the eyes.

"Not you," Hiro corrected, side-glancing Sylar, "I mean Samuel Sullivan."

Mohinder begged to differ. "Samuel? I don't see how he could have anything to do with our being here."

Peter added, "Neither do I."

"Actually," Angela said as she came back to the table, "Hiro is on the right track, in a sense."

Sylar looked at Angela, and said, "If this truly is just about your solution to the events in Central Park, then why the intrigue?"

Peter's brow furrowed. "Sylar, how did you arrive at that?"

"He's closer than Hiro was," Angela hinted, pouring Tracy a glass of wine.

Sylar shrugged. "If I understand things correctly, that is the only reason that makes any sense right now until Angela gives us another."

"Evil butterfly man didn't escape, did he?" Hiro inquired.

Angela couldn't help it; she chuckled. However, everyone at the table found it a little inappropriate.

"No, the evil butterfly man is still very much behind bars, in a sense," Angela replied.

"You keep saying 'in a sense'," complained Peter, "which indicates you obviously aren't giving us anything close to the entire story. I really am tired of your 'hints', Mom. We all are."

The doorbell rang yet again.

"Somehow I am not surprised," Mohinder said following the sound of the doorbell. "I can take a few guesses already as to who that is at the door."

"I wonder if it's Parkman..." whispered Sylar, having sounded somewhat uncomfortable at the mere mentioning of Parkman's name.

Peter locked eyes with Sylar, and gave forth his opinion, saying, "If it is, I am only going to become more... unsettled about this than I already am. You and I both know he was in Los Angeles... and for him to actually travel all the way out here at my mother's request... or demand..."

Mohinder wanted to groan upon hearing Peter's words. He had to say something.

"He is here, Peter... Matt contacted me a couple of days ago and said he would be in the area, but I must admit I don't know the complete story behind it," Mohinder informed the others. "He only said he would be in the city long enough to visit with me before I left Brooklyn. I had meant to inquire him about the reason behind his trip to New York, but our conversation was cut short. I did know, however, that he would not fly all the way across the country just to pay me a last visit."

"I don't like the sound of that at all," replied Peter, who then sighed out of what had sounded like pure exasperation. "I can only imagine the 'complete story' had something to do with the new 'Company'."

Meanwhile, Angela was answering the door. She had heard enough of what the others had been talking about.

They had been right.

As soon as Angela had pulled the door back, she was greeted by the presence of none other than Matt Parkman.

"Good evening, Parkman. Do come in."

Matt nodded, and entered the Petrelli Mansion as soon as the outlining, grille door had been opened. However, he appeared less than thrilled to be there. Angela momentarily admired Matt's wardrobe; not in a traditional sense, she was admiring the fact that Matt was wearing a navy blue shirt with his black pants. Finally, a little more color, she thought.

The detective decided he didn't want to waste any time.

"All right, I'm here," he said, stating the obvious. "So what am I really needed for this time?"

Angela's facial expression remained one of nonchalance, as she studied Matt's own in turn. Angela didn't need his telepathy to know what he was thinking. It was obvious. Angela wasn't worried about the possibility of Matt digging around in her head; no, she knew Parkman was trying ever so hard to stick to his personal rules regarding the misuse of his abilities. Besides, Angela's strong-will coupled with her experience in such situations made it more difficult to push or pull thoughts on or from her, even if she had come to realize how Matt's power was starting to exceed even the level of his vanquished father's.

Be it may, it did not matter. Matt Parkman was merely just another pawn in Angela's game in the end. They all were.

"Everything will be explained within the coming hour," Angela said, continuing to further project forth her overall display of adamancy. "Now do follow me, and I shall take you to where the others are. They've been expecting you just as I have."

Reactively, Matt had almost wanted to begin raving upon hearing Angela's words. He hadn't liked the sound of them at all, or the... emotionless tone of the woman's voice. Mentally, Matt began preparing himself for another freak show of a situation yet to come.

After Matt had followed Angela into the dining room, however, he suddenly felt the situation was no longer yet to come... even though he did know it was going to get much worse.

"What the...?" Matt mumbled, halting his footsteps. "Oh no, no. Hell no. If you think I am getting myself involved with Sylar, again, you are wrong. All I want now is a normal life. I am not doing you any more favors that involve... him. I'm not doing him any more favors, either, and I am also not going to work with him, or help him. Now, before I do leave, I would like to know how you got Mohinder, Hiro, Ando, and Tracy involved in this mess. I don't need any explanation for Peter."

Having overheard Matt all too clearly, Sylar appeared aggravated by just how redundant the 'first reactions' had indeed become. Peter didn't much fancy Matt's words any more than Sylar.

"As I said, the answers you seek will reveal themselves when I feel the time is appropriate," said Angela; "so if you will, please allow yourself to take a seat with the other guests."

"This is insane..." Matt muttered, solemnly walking over to the dining room table. "Completely and utterly insane."

"I don't know how you can say that," Tracy said, "after what we've all seen over the years. This just seems like more of the same thing to me."

After Matt had sat down at Tracy's left, he sighed, and said, "Exactly. That's the problem. In the beginning, I got myself involved in this 'world behind the world' because I wanted to. It was my decision. As time went by, that just wasn't the case anymore. Instead, I only began to feel obligated. A married man with a family should be concerned about living a routine lifestyle that involves going to work, and coming home to his wife and child. Not a routine lifestyle where that man is running around the country having to call his wife and say he can't come home because he has to take down the government."

"Or a routine lifestyle where that man feels obligated to keep living people trapped in his basement."

After Sylar had added his opinion, Matt looked across the table at him and smirked, saying "Again, exactly."

Angela returned to the table with another glass of red wine, which she presented to the new arrival.

"No, thank you," Matt replied, pushing his glass aside. "I know better than to accept drinks in a situation like this."

Ando shrugged, taking another sip from his crystal wineglass. "It's not poisoned."

After Angela had walked away from the table, Matt looked back at Ando, and made a response.

"It never is. Instead, you just wake up on a lab table somewhere."

"Or tied to a chair," added Peter.

"Speaking of that..." began Mohinder, "I wonder if Bennet's involved in this, too."

"I don't know, this seems like a private party so far," said Tracy, wondering. "I mean, for people like us. But... I can see your points. He always was one step ahead of us in these games."

"I'm going to try and save us all some time," Mohinder said, looking at Sylar. "Why don't all of us share the story Angela used to get us here?"

"Sounds good, Mohinder, why don't you go first?" Sylar suggested.

Mohinder glared at Sylar once more, but decided to share whatever story he had.

"I was preparing to leave the country and go back to my own," Mohinder explained, "when Angela called me out of nowhere and said I had to be here tonight. She informed me that my presence was required to discuss the scientific plans for the new Company. I initially said no, but then, she told me it was of great importance. That's pretty much it," he concluded. "Sylar, how about you?"

"Angela told me I needed to be here if I wanted to prove myself a real hero," replied Sylar. "That's basically it."

"I'm not buying that for one second," said Matt, "so don't force me to find out the real reason."

"You always did have a little trouble reading this mind of mine," Sylar said casually, "but I am going to save you the trouble. Angela also told me it concerned Peter."

"What?" Peter asked, wanting to know the full story. "What exactly did my mother say about me this time?"

Sylar shrugged one of his shoulders to a barely noticeable extent, before saying "She said you needed my help. That said... why are you here, Peter?"

"My mother told me she wanted to talk tonight," said Peter, "in person. That's really all there is, in my case. I know my own mother better than any of you, so I also know the consequences of turning my head when she has something she's willing to say. Usually getting the truth out of her is about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack."

"I was told the world was in danger again," Hiro added to the discussion. "Angela Petrelli told me bad thing would happen if I did not come."

Ando nodded, and said, "Yes, and I came to help Hiro." Upon hearing his best-friend's words, Hiro's appearance faltered a little, but he said nothing.

"Well, I was basically blackmailed," said Matt; "in my opinion, at least. Angela told me I had to come out here or it would be the death of me. Not in those exact words, but that's the way I understood it. Now, if I had been living somewhere on my own without a family again I would have refused without a doubt, but I can't risk agents showing up to collect my wife and son just to reel me in."

"I just wanted to get back to my life as a political advisor," Tracy explained, "as I tried the carnival life and it didn't work out so well for me, obviously... Angela assured me if I didn't meet with her tonight, that my life would never get back to what it had been before the madness set in."

"Oh dear, it sounds like you all feel you have been 'blackmailed' into coming here," said Angela upon her return to the table. She was holding a platter in her hands, which she set down to present to the others.

"Oh my God," complained Peter, before his voice turned sarcastic. "This is just what we all need. Some mini crabcakes to lighten the mood." Sylar couldn't help it, and started to laugh.

Like a couple of the other guests, Tracy looked at Sylar with disbelief. "You actually think this is funny?" she asked, appearing astonished.

"I can't help it." Sylar laughed. "Think about it. Seven of us are here with apparently no clue as to why, and yet we are being encouraged to socialize among ourselves like a typical group of best-friends over wine and now crabcakes."

Peter covered his mouth, trying to keep the others from hearing his chuckles, before Matt began laughing as well, but in a more sardonic manner.

"This really is great, isn't it Mohinder?" Matt asked, forcing himself to laugh.

"Of course it is," Mohinder replied with his very own detectable sarcasm. "In fact, I propose a toast."

Mohinder took the wineglass he had yet to touch into his right-hand, and raised it in the air, before he said, "Here's to all of us around the world, for we truly know what it means to be special. I would also like to say 'thank you' to our wonderful hostess, Mrs. Angela Petrelli, for showing us a wonderful evening which I feel has only just begun."

Mohinder then took a very small sip from his glass, while Matt, Sylar, and Ando did the same, followed by a reluctant Hiro. Tracy and Peter were not amused.

"I didn't appreciate the disparagement in your voice, Dr. Suresh, but I will drink to that nevertheless," said Angela; before she did exactly as she had said she would by partaking of her red wine.

Then, Sylar reached out and picked up a single crabcake; bringing it to his mouth. Sylar ate it in one bite, though he seemed to be mocking his situation and that of everyone else by doing this.

"Guys, you've got to try these," Sylar said with encouragement, "because these are the best crabcakes I've ever had."

Ando shrugged, and reached out to pick up one of the mini crabcakes for himself. Hiro was finally ready to snap. He banged his fist against the table, and said, "That's it, I demand to know the meaning of this right now!"

"Relax, Hiro," Angela said, "it won't be long now."

Sylar gathered another fresh crabcake, only through the use of telekinesis this time around. It floated into his left-hand, and he took a bite of it. "I wonder if Claire will be arriving soon..." Sylar said; then finishing up his snack before speaking again. "I imagine she's a part of this, too. It really is a brave new world..."

Peter shook his head a little. "It really does amaze me how you can transform your manner of speaking from hesitant to smug so quickly, Sylar. After all, when you first got here you had almost seemed... afraid."

Mohinder rubbed his forehead. "Don't. Please, don't start talking about 'nightmare land' again. Every conversation between you two always leads back to that."

"I'm with Mohinder," Matt said out of agreement. "I really don't want to get into that..."

"I actually don't want to, either," remarked Peter, "as I do agree we all have more important things to talk about." God, I really don't want to talk about that anymore, he contemplated to himself. That's between me and Sylar and it's nobody's business. All of you are gonna think we're companions, or worse. 'Sorry to break up the lovefest' said Eli. What the hell? Bunch of mother...

"Right..." Matt continued, "So let's get back to the important things." He looked at Angela. "Oh right, we can't. 'All in due timing', correct?"

Angela nodded with ease, taking another sip of wine. The pawns were starting to rebel against their queen. It was not anything Angela hadn't expected... she knew the real anarchy would begin later, anyhow... It was almost time to begin, in fact.

The doorbell.

"Who do you think it is?" Ando questioned the others. "The cheerleader... Claire Bennet?"

Peter made eye contact with Ando, and said, "I wouldn't be surprised if Sylar was actually right about that. I would also expect Noah to be with her if that's the case."

Hiro muttered something to himself in Japanese; before Angela assured Hiro he was wrong by saying "It is not Samuel Sullivan, Hiro. I would never invite that psychopath into my home."

"Well you did invite one psychopath..." whispered Matt.

Having already stood, Angela headed to the front door as she already had many times prior during the evening. An old, grandfather clock sounded from the halls, and Angela knew it was now 7:00 P.M.. Good. It was time, wasn't it?

Angela opened the front door, and presented forth a polite smile.

All the chess pieces were here, now. All they need do was take their designated places on the board. Apart from herself, Angela knew everyone was still merely a pawn. Later, however, different participants in the game would be forced to rise and to transform themselves; into rooks, knights, perhaps even queens or kings.

And as Angela gazed upon the man behind the grille, she wondered – as she had a few times before – if Noah Bennet had the true potential to promote himself for another coming occasion.

"Hello, Angela." Noah was always so polite. "Are you going to leave us out here all evening?"

From behind Noah, Claire Bennet stepped into Angela's view. Claire's arms were folded, and she had a look of impatience on her face showing just how much she already wanted to leave, as if her being back at the Petrelli Mansion for another round at whatever game was a mere waste of her valued time. Claire reminded Angela so much of herself at that age, for a good many reasons. It was both admirable, and pitiful to Angela.

"Of course not, Noah," said Angela, following her brief state of contemplation. "You and Claire are always welcome here."

After Angela had spoken, Noah stepped inside. He continued to look at his acquaintance, and somewhat comically, said, "You mean we are always welcome here whenever you say we are."

"Lovely way of putting it," remarked Angela, though she seemed far from amused. "Now, let us gather the others from the dining table, and then, we can relocate to a more restful atmosphere."

Claire murmured, "Others..." She looked up at her father. "Dad, what does Angela mean by that?"

Noah's eyes remained on Angela, as he said, "Don't worry, Claire-Bear, we won't be staying long."

With Noah and Claire Bennet both behind her, Angela re-entered the dining room, and in a loud voice, spoke, proceeded to gather everyone's attention. "Everyone, please rise from your seats and join the rest of us in the lounge. Feel free to bring your drinks with you."

Claire couldn't help it, and groaned, before is a barely audible whisper, she said, "Shit..."

Noah put his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Like I said, Claire, we will not be staying long."

"Tell that to Peter and me..." muttered Mohinder as he stood. He pushed his chair under the table, and then, began heading towards the lounge.

A few of the guests decided to gather their wineglass, though Peter was an obvious exception. As Peter walked through the dining room, it didn't take long for him to notice Sylar at his side.

"What are you thinking?"

Without even looking at Sylar, Peter said, "I'm trying to figure out who's who in the game..."

"What?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing, okay? Just leave me alone."

Hiro whispered something to Ando about how he should have brought his sword, while Matt said something to Mohinder which translated to nothing more than 'Here we go again...'. In an understandable hurry to leave, Tracy was already in the lounge while the others who had been seated at the dining table were still pacing behind her.

When all of the guests had entered the lounge, Angela remained standing as she directed everyone to take a seat and make themselves comfortable.

Peter took a seat in what had been his father's armchair, while Sylar, Hiro and Ando took a seat upon the neighboring couch. On the other couch, Matt, Mohinder, and Tracy had already taken a seat, whereas Noah and Claire had in two other armchairs. This left one armchair for Angela herself, but still, she remained standing.

Everyone could tell Angela had planned this. In fact, having been in the lounge prior to the arrival of so many people... Peter felt somewhat idiotic for having not noticed the way all the furniture had been moved around to signify the imminent arrival of at least several visitors; more, in this case.

"Now," began Angela, all eyes on her, "I shall do my best to get around to the general point of our little gathering. First off, the incident in Central Park..."

"I knew it," said Claire. "You all want to put me into some sort of Witness Protection Plan sort of thing. Have me change my identity and move across the country, is that it?"

Angela shook her head once more. "No, Claire. May I remind you that not everything is about you? To put it simple... the new Company is in need of a leader to help us and those like us throughout the upcoming desperate times we will be facing. We are here to find that leader."

"Another one of your tests?" Peter asked. "Great. I can't wait. I'm sure no one else here can, either."

Tracy agreed. "Right there with you, Peter." She flicked a hand back through her long, blond hair, and said, "Well, if this is basically it, I think I'll be leaving now." She began to stand.

"Sit." Angela's voice was cold and stern; causing all of her guests to freeze, Tracy included. "One of us, I'm afraid... is going to die tonight."

And at this moment, everyone went silent.

"Die...?" whispered Ando, breaking the silence. He spoke again in a louder tone, "Die? What do you mean 'die', Mrs. Petrelli?"

"...O—Kay..." said Noah under his breath, "I do believe Claire and I have heard quite enough."

"If you leave; if any of you leave, I can assure you there will be serious consequences," Angela guaranteed.

"Consequences more serious than dying?" Matt forced himself to laugh once again. "That's a riot."

Sylar looked at Matt, and said, "You should listen to her. All of you should."

"Right..." mumbled Mohinder, before he looked back across the room at Sylar. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have to worry about dying like us 'mere mortals' do, so Angela's threat doesn't even apply to you."

"Actually, it does." Sylar seemed as if he actually believed his words. "I'm just as much in the dark about all of this as you are, Mohinder. As all of you are. There are ways to kill me, ways I'm sure I'm not even aware of, and considering I am the obvious favorite among you all concerning dear Angela's threat, how do I know that several or more of you haven't allied to put my head on a chopping block on this night?"

Peter sat up in his father's chair. "That's it. I mean it. That is it. I suggest anyone here with a brain follow me right on out the front door before somebody actually does die."

"No, Peter," argued Angela. "This concerns you, very much. This concerns all of you. Someone is going to die on this night..."

Peter made a 'hmp' noise, and then, looked at Sylar. "Do it. See if she's telling the truth."

"I... don't know, Peter..."

Peter put forth a more stern expression. "I mean it, Sylar. Don't make me replicate the ability for myself."

Sylar sighed, and looked at Angela. "Are you sure someone present here is really going to die tonight?"

Angela nodded. "Yes."

Sylar looked at Angela awhile longer, before saying "She's telling the truth..."

"Ask her another one." Peter's voice had taken on a relatively demanding tone. "Ask her if she knows which one of us it is."

Sylar sighed still more, and followed through with Peter's secondary request. "Angela, do you know who among us is going to die?"

Momentarily, Angela said nothing... but after a few more agonizing seconds obtained to pass, she finally admitted, "Yes, I do..."

Everyone, once again, looked back to Sylar. Eyes locked with Angela's, Sylar revealed his knowledge when he said, "She is telling the truth..."

"Then who?" barked Peter.

"I am afraid I cannot answer that for you, Peter."

This time, Peter looked over at Parkman. "Matt, read her mind. Now."

Matt looked at Angela, putting everything he had into getting the name – any name – out.

Angela just... stood there, perfectly at ease; even as the blood began to drip from her nose.

Finally, Matt's head jerked to the side. "I can't—I can't get it... All I could get was something in French, I think..."

"You will all have to trust me, for now." Angela removed a tissue from her formal coat pocket so she could wipe the crimson out from under her nose. "I assure you... should any of you leave, things will change for the worst."

"Okay..." whispered Ando, "so what now?"

"I require a little one-on-one with the nine of you, right now," stated Angela. "Noah, you first."

Noah appeared as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Excuse me? You expect me to go off into some room with you while I leave my daughter all alone here with paranoid sociopaths like Sylar? Not to mention all the other unstable people here."

Claire sighed. "Really, Dad; I'll be fine."

"Good," said Angela. "Noah, lets you and I go upstairs into my office."

"I'll watch Claire for you, Noah," Peter said confidently. "Trust me; no one is dying under this roof tonight, or out from under it. Not as long as I'm around."

"Then it's settled." Angela actually smiled. "The rest of you, feel free to look about. As for you, Noah, you may follow me, now."

Noah tried to bite back a groan, but he followed Angela Petrelli nonetheless. The two exited the lounge, entered the nearby hall, and were soon making their ways up the flight of stairs.

Once Angela and Noah had made their departures, Tracy looked around at the remaining guests.

"I still think we all should leave, right now. Who's with me?

"Are you kidding?" Mohinder inquired, flopping back against the couch's cushioning. "Don't you get it? If any of us should leave, a dead body could appear and it'll be whoever's not here who gets the blame for it."

"I'm much more interested in what Mom's talking to Noah about..." muttered Peter. "Say Hiro, do you think you could... you know, teleport up there and find out?"

"I... don't know..." admitted Hiro. "I merely teleport; I'm not an invisible man. And this is Angela Petrelli and Noah Bennet we speak of. They'd know."

Peter slammed his head back against the armchair. "Damnit. I hate it when I start thinking like this. After all, I could be the invisible man weren't it for... hell, I'm not getting into that again, or I may never move on."

"Well screw this," stated Claire, "I'm not sitting back when Angela has made it clear that someone among us is going to die. You can all do whatever you want to, but I am not staying here."

With that said, Claire up and left – heading for the stairs, though no one seemed to care when Peter did not follow.

"Hmm," Matt said, shrugging again, "guess I'll venture on down to the cellar. I'm sure someone's waiting to stab me in the back down there for sure."

"What...?" inquired Mohinder. "Matt, you cannot be serious!"

Again, Matt shrugged. "If I'm going to be here and quite possibly die, I might as well make myself useful by securing a good bottle of scotch or something..."

Mohinder gritted his teeth. "Fine, I'll join you. I suppose it does beat sitting around in the same room as Sylar of all people."

"Well I'm not going anywhere in this deathtrap right now." Following her words, Tracy laughed.

"I think I'll head on up to the library," Sylar said, standing from his seat. "This way, you'll all have one less of an excuse for wondering around."

Ando leaned in towards Hiro, whispering something in his ear, before Hiro nodded.

"Ando-kun and I are going to find the nearest computer," stated Hiro with an affirming nod.

"This is pure insanity..." muttered Peter.

Everyone had decided to split-up, hadn't they?

Great... just great...

That was how it always began in these situations, wasn't it?

A few people start wondering around some mysterious mansion, and next thing you know, you've got yourselves a dead body...

Peter's face fell into his hands. "When did I sign up for this?"

Oh yes – when he was born, that's right...

0.0.0

A/N: I'll post ACT II within the next couple days or so, I just know this fic is so freggin' long, but it was my pet project in August. There's three acts altogether, but I hope I didn't make them too long.

I have one other Heroes fic I've been working on (a solely Pylar one), so I'll try to get around to finishing some of that up, too. There's too many fandoms sucking me in these days. ;P

Anyhow, thanks for reading, and have a happy Thanksgiving! x) Also, please no flames...? Nice reviews, however, are much appreciated. :)