CHAPTER 8

"Ashleigh!" Peter called out as he ran after the black van that took her. "Ash!" He called out again. He knew very well that she couldn't hear him, but he had to try. He didn't know how long he was runing after her for. He didn't notice that his feet were aching and his legs could barely carry him any more. He realise that his throat was dry from uselessly calling out her name so many times. He didn't even pay attention to his lungs crying out for oxygen. All he knew was that he had to get her back, and she had to be okay.

"Peter, it's no use!" Sylar shouted, catching up to him.

"I don't care! I have to try!" He called back, although his body was already slowing down.

"They've got her now. You have to accept that she's gone and it's very unlikely that she's coming back," said Sylar, ever the optimist. Without any warning, Peter turned around and his fisted hand collided with the ex-murderer's jaw. Sylar winced and groaned at the unexpected pain. "You know I'm telling the truth, Pete," he continued. Another hit. "She's gone!" A punch to the nose and a blow to the stomach. "She's dead and if she isn't...well, just pray that she is," that was the last straw. Peter tackled Sylar and started pounding on him. Sylar didn't try and fight back, he just accepted the hits as they came. He didn't even try and heal himself.

"You're wrong!" Peter said as he contiued to whale on the other man. "I'll get her back!" His punches started to slow. "I have to get her back..." Peter let his arms drop to his sides. He sat there for a minute before standing up and hiding his face in his hands. After taking a few seconds to calm down, Peter held out his hand to help Sylar up. The taller man accepted the outstretched hand once he was standing, he used the power he regrettably got from Claire and healed all of his wounds.

"Sorry," the Petrelli muttered, "I know you're right. I just..." he trailed off not knowing how to end the sentence. Sylar understood, though.

"It's okay, I only sid all of those things to get oyu to hit me anyway,"

"What? Why?"

"Because I knew you'd get your anger out that way. We can't save her if you aren't thinking straight," Sylar smirked. Peter smiled and shook his head, looking down at the road. Sylar studied Peter for a moment before asking; "Peter, do you have genuine feelings for this girl? Or is it just part of your whole hero complex? Because I'm not going to waste time and risk my ass just so you can add another save to your resume,"

Peter show him a look that said 'what the hell do you think'?

"Okay then," Sylar smiled and, having regained his strangth, flew up into the air "lets go save your little Firefly,"

Peter nodded and flew up with him. They flew for what felt like hours, although it was only minutes, until they saw the van pulling to a stop and a limp, lifeless body was thrown out of it. It didn't take Peter one second to recognise who that limp and lifeless body was, even from 100 metres up in the air.

He sped towards her and called out her name "Ashleigh!"

A sudden feeling of something cold was what woke Ashleigh up. She gasped adn opened her eyes, frantically looking at her surroundings.

She was in the van.

She looked down at her feet. They were bound together by led chains, as were her hands. She struggled in her binds, but it was no use as the two men in the back of the van with her only laughed.

"Stop trying, Special. We've got you," the taller man said right before he stabbed her shoulder blade with a long, metal device. The device had an LED screen, in which a series of numbers appeared on as it made a high-pitched whirring noise. Once the whirring noise stopped, the numbers disappeared and the man roughly pulled out the metal thing.

"W-what is that?" She asked, her eyes burning with tears she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing.

"It's a tracker, princess," the other one said with a deep southern accent "now it doesn't matter where you go, because we'll find you."

"Why don't you just kill me?" She spat back at them.

"Now what would be the fun in that, sweetheart?" he smirked.

"What are you going to do to me, then?" Her voice broke mid-sentence, a sign of weakness that she mentally slapped herself for showing.

"Well," the tall one was speaking again, "you're going to be our guinea pig."

She watched him get a syringe and fill it with a neon green liquid. On the bottle that contained the liquid was a lable that read: FORMULA #12 along with some scientific mumbo-jumbo that she didn't understand. If she looked closely, she could see small flecks of dark silvery-grey in amongst the green.

"What is that?" She nodded towards the needle.

The southern guy rolled his eyes. "You ask too many questions," he said and brought the back of his palm to the side of her face. She let out a pained cry at the impact. "Now, be a good girl and SHUT UP!"

The tall guy gripped her left forearm so tight she could already feel the bruise forming. Once again, he harshly stabbed the siringe into her vein and released the green stuff into her bloodstream. She immediately felt woozy.

"Wha-what d-did you do to-to m-me?" She asked while trying to keep her eyes open.

"It's a new cure for Specials," the southern man told her "it'll either kill you or take away your powers. Whicever comes first."

Ashleigh frowned.

"The last few tests have had...unfortunate outcomes," the tall guy said.

"They died," she stated.

The tall one shrugged. "For the benefit of my people,"

"And what about my people?"

He leaned in close to her and hissed "you aren't people. You're aliens."

"Whose to say you aren't the aliens? Maybe we were here first."

"It's not like it matters anyway. In a few days time, you'll either be one of us, or dead." the taller man said and before she could say anything back, the wooziness amped up, her vision blurred and she was beig thrown out of the van.