Moments after Hiro had whisked them away from the Watergate, Noah, Lauren and Peter found themselves on the rooftop of a building. Noah blinked as he became adjusted to the brisk, cold wind, then turned displeased to Hiro, who was smiling in his strange, naïve way.

Lauren spoke first. "What the hell is going on here? Where are we anyway?"

Peter came forward, holding up his hands in appeasement. "We're only a few miles away. Don't blame Hiro; I asked him to do this."

Noah lunged at Peter, grabbing him roughly by the collar. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

Peter swallowed. "I'm trying to keep you from making a huge mistake. This isn't right, and I'm not the only one who feels this way."

"We will not allow you to do this. The world needs heroes, and we won't let you take them away," Hiro added.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Lauren snapped. "People cannot handle this. You've seen what's happened in the last few days. Does that look like progress to you?"

"It's no use arguing with these two," Noah said, taking Lauren's arm. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel before-"

Noah was interrupted by a bright surge of light and the dull, heavy roar of an explosion. They all threw up their hands, shielding themselves from the fiery blaze. It took a few seconds to realize that the building that had been bombed was the Watergate, where the rest of Noah's team had been staying.

"Rene!" Noah cried in horror.

"Oh God! How did this happen?" Lauren cried.

Peter panted in anxiety as the smoke began to fill the air. As he turned away, his gaze pierced a dark corner of the building's roof and he realized that Sylar was standing in the shadows, his face calm and unfeeling.

Three hundred and sixty five miles away, Claire's televised plea to the world was abruptly cut short.

Not long after she'd demonstrated her regenerating skills, the camera shut off, the television began to snow. Frowning at Emma, who was standing in a corner away from the camera's shot, Claire grabbed her cell phone and called Micah.

"What happened?" she asked him.

"I – I don't know. The broadcast was working fine. But the server at the station in New York City isn't listening to me anymore."

"Can you reconnect with it?"

Micah sighed. "Sorry, Claire. It's like I've been cut off. I'll keep trying, though."

"Damnit," Claire swore as she disconnected the call. She turned to Emma. "What are we going to do now?"

Emma was about to answer, but stopped and directed her eyes to the stairway behind them. Claire followed Emma's gaze and realized Angela was standing on the stairs.

Claire felt like her heart dropped from her chest to her feet. "Don't lecture me. Please don't lecture me," she warned her grandmother.

"We need to get our coats and get out of here. Your broadcast getting cut off was a sign that we're in danger," Angela told Claire and Emma, walking downstairs to meet them.

"But no one knows where we are. No one's found us so far," Emma argued. "Where would we go anyway?"

"We'll figure it out. Right now the best thing we can do is-"

Angela was stopped in mid-sentence, and it was a sentence she would never have the chance to complete. A bullet had been shot through the window, breaking the glass and entering Angela's left breast. She eyes became blank, she coughed, and she sank to the floor.

"No!" Claire wailed as she fell to the floor with her grandmother. Emma ducked down with them, pressing herself to the ground as she realized that more bullets were being shot into the house.

"Claire, we need to get out of here. The house is under attack!" Emma cried, wincing as the shards of glass danced upon the hardwood floors.

Claire sobbed in agony, feeling Angela's hand grow cold and slack in hers. She allowed herself one last look at Angela, trying to get her to look into her eyes and recognize her. She knew that Angela was fading, that she wasn't even looking at Claire, but rather past her to something else beyond. Collecting herself the best she could, she allowed Emma to pull her away from her grandmother's body as they crawled toward the basement and to the garage.

Claire could hear footsteps like thunder above their heads as they made their way into the concrete garage. "They're in the house," she told Emma. "I can hear them."

"For once, I'm glad I can't," Emma quipped. She pulled open the door to an SUV parked in the enclosure, pushing Claire inside.

"Drive," Emma told her.

Claire tearfully shook her head. "I can't, Emma. I can't! I'll get you killed."

"You'll be able to hear if there's anything bad coming. It'll get your mind off of…it. Come on! We have to go! They're coming!"

Claire was going to protest again when she heard the door to the garage being broken into. Frantically fumbling around to find the keys, she miraculously felt them on the dash and plunged the metal bar into the ignition, shifting the truck into drive and plowing through the metal gates and onto the open road.

The truck swung wildly to and fro as Claire fought to regain control of it. She gripped the wheel, feeling the pounding of her heart in the throbbing of her fingertips. Once the car was in her control, she realized how dark the road was and she switched on the headlights. The road was dark and winding – an easy target for creating an accident.

Emma turned her head to look out the window. She calmed a bit, seeing the road was clear. She allowed herself to exhale. "I think we lost them."

Claire didn't answer. She was forcing herself not to think of leaving Angela behind, lying alone with a bullet in her heart. This was all her fault. Angela was dead because of her. Hundreds of people were dead because of what she'd done.

"God, what was I thinking?" she murmured to herself. She shut her eyes for a moment, blocking out those thoughts and keeping any tears from escaping. She didn't have time for this right now. She had to think of what to do next. She had to keep them safe.

Whump! Came the sound and vibrations of something running into the side of the SUV. Claire and Emma cried out as the truck swerved sharply. The wheels screamed as Claire fought to keep the truck on the road.

It was another truck, which had bumped them. There were two now, black ones, flanking them. They were taking turns ramming the truck that Claire was driving.

"Get down!"Claire shouted at Emma, using her free hand to push on the other woman's shoulder to get her to the floor. Just as Emma was on the floor of the truck, a bullet entered the driver's side window and struck Claire in the upper arm.

Claire screamed as she felt the bullet tear through her flesh and lodge itself in her shoulder. "Shit," she cried. She could feel Emma trying to sit up, and she pushed her down again, knowing that the moment their attackers saw Emma's head they'd have another target.

Claire pressed the accelerator right to the floor, creating only a few feet of lead over the two trucks. She could feel her muscles pushing the bullet out of her arm as it tried to repair itself, but no sooner had the bullet popped out of her skin and the wound had undone itself than another bullet crashed through the back window and struck Claire again, this time in the back of her neck.

Claire couldn't breathe, couldn't see. She gagged as the blood flowed out of her veins and clogged her windpipe. She fell against the seat, the truck out of control and skidding off of the road.

Emma now sat up and tried to get control of the wheel. They were plunging into the woods, branches and leaves smacking against the frame of the car as the rolled violently down the dirt hills.

They'd reached the end of the land, at a steep cliff where sharp rocks and a river flowed below. In spite of Emma's best efforts, she couldn't get the car to stop, and they were about to plunge off the cliff. Emma looked in Claire's direction, hardly able to see her in the dark. She could see the blood gleaming on the girl's neck as she choked and gasped for breath. She would survive this. Emma would not.

Emma took Claire's hand and shut her eyes as she prepared for the descent. She wasn't a religious woman by any means, but she couldn't help but find herself praying to God to hear her.

The front tires rolled off of the cliff and Emma screamed.

Then, the car stopped.

They were on a precarious angle, the front of the truck poised to roll right off of the cliff. The rear was up in the air.

Emma's heart raced as she felt the back of the truck hit the ground with a thud, then slowly roll backwards, inching further and further away from the cliff. Emma rolled down the window of the truck, cautiously looking behind her. She couldn't see much, but she was able to just make out the two black SUVs that had pursued them lying toppled over on their sides, on the road. She thought she could see a couple of people walking toward them, slowly but purposefully.

She turned back to Claire, who was now coughing as she was able to finally catch her breath again. Her hand quickly came to her throat, and she looked at Emma questioningly.

"I don't know what happened," Emma told her. "But something – someone – saved us. I guess."

Claire smiled at Emma, but the smile quickly faded as she heard some rustling in the woods coming from the open window. Frowning, she slowly unlocked the door and prepared to get out. Emma tried to stop her, but Claire squeezed her hand – her way of saying that she needed to look and to stay in the car.

Claire climbed out quietly, moving as stealthily in the grass as she could. She could feel there were eyes on her as she moved away from the car. "Who's there?" she called out.

No response. "I know you're there. Come on out!" she called in the darkness again.

After a few seconds, the rustling could be heard again as someone waded through the tall grass of the woods and came towards her. Claire held her hands up in a self-defense posture, ready to take on whoever was making those footsteps.

She could just make out the person. She knew it was a man, but that was about all she could gather. He was coming slowly toward her, his arms outstretched and his hands open and empty. He finally came into the path of the moonlight and she could see him now, all of him. He smiled at her. Her arms came down. A sobbing laugh of relief tumbled from her lips.

"West," she said, falling forward, into his arms.

Barbara Zimmerman did exemplary work. This was a fact; it wasn't the vicarious praise of a doting parent, nor the hubris of deep-seated self-doubt. Anyone who had ever had the pleasure of experiencing Barbara's work – either as an observer or a subject – would never deny this fact.

It was this outstanding skill that made life bearable for Barbara. Living in a world in which she knew everything about her sisters and they hadn't even the slightest notion that she existed was a daily torment. Tracy and Nikki both lived lives fraught with drama, but they had experienced life in a way that Barbara never had and probably never would. Shy, overweight Barbara was on the outside looking in, at her thinner, more desirable sisters' lives: one a powerful political player, the other having been married and given birth to a son who would no doubt grow up to be more powerful than any of them.

Barbara had managed to put this out of her mind as she emerged from the operating room that night, exhausted but nonetheless pleased with her work. She pulled the white cap holding her short blonde hair from her face, removed her clear plastic gloves, and collapsed into the nearby bench in the main hallway of her father's private office.

She leaned her head against the yellow, slightly odorous wallpaper and closed her eyes. She knew she probably should look at the news to see the reaction to Claire Bennett's appearance on the Aaron Neil show, but finally having a chance to sit felt too good. Besides, Bruno would surely fill her in once he returned from his work.

Barbara's waiting time was relatively short, as Bruno appeared only a few minutes later. She sprang from the bench and automatically pressed herself against the wall, hoping that this stance made her appear thinner to the red-haired man.

She smiled a terrified smile. "Mission accomplished?" she managed to croak out.

Bruno did not smile back. "It's done. Bennett and his lackeys are burning in Hell as we speak. How's he doing?" he asked, motioning with his head toward the operating room.

"Why don't you go in and see for yourself? He's still under anesthesia."

Barbara bit in nails in anxiety as Bruno went to see her work. Though he never said anything to her directly, Bruno was one of her most discriminating critics. It was mostly due to the fact that their abilities were so similar. He knew good work when he saw it, since he was such a professional himself. She was dying to know what he thought while at the same time dreading it.

She arranged herself primly on the waiting bench as Bruno emerged from the operating room. She looked up at him as non-chalantly as possible. "It was all done as he wanted."

He nodded in agreement. "Very good work. The shading of the hair and eyes is exquisite. I couldn't have done it better myself."

Barbara beamed with pride; she couldn't help herself. "Well, it's what he wanted," she said again, cursing herself momentarily for her silly repetition. "So what happens now?"

"Now, dear Barbara," Bruno began, collapsing on the bench next to her, "You and I take a much needed, all too brief break. Tomorrow's going to be a fresh new Hell."

He was so strong and so…capable, and Barbara wanted desperately to lean against her adoptive brother. But she didn't dare. It wasn't the right time yet. Later, after she was able to prove how strong and capable she was too. She knew what she needed to do next. She was sure she'd have no problems getting Tracy to do what they wanted her to do.

And if Barbara couldn't convince her…well, they were identical siblings, weren't they, with the same genetic structure?

No one would ever know the difference.