Chapter 10 is out now. I am not Rachel.
I woke up at the sound of another guerny being wheeled over. More test subjects? How many do they need to kill before they realise it's not working? I turned over to look at the newcomer.
He was… well… brown hair, slight fringe, fairly tall, and probably the sort of man that Jack Harkness would chat up on sight. Jack Harkness. Now this was one situation where a large pointy thing would come in handy. That sounds disgusting. I tried to rephrase it mentally into something that sounded slightly less pervy, failed miserably and gave up.
"How did you get here, then?" He was looking at me.
I sighed. "Long story."
He smiled crookedly. "It's not like we're going to be going anywhere soon."
"Weeell, I pretended to be a journalist to get in here, because…" I hesitated. "I found a business card for this place."
"You came here because you found a business card?" he said, disbelievingly.
"I'm a big believer in fate. Oh, and call me… John Smith. That'll do."
"This is going to sound really stupid." He shut his eyes. "I hugged my supposedly long-dead father."
"Natural reaction," I replied, wondering where this was going.
"And my name is Peter Petrelli."
I spluttered. "Sorry. You just said Petrelli, right? As in Arthur Petrelli? As in, the Arthur Petrelli who got me in here in the first place?" Please, please let there be clones, I'd rather not have to deal with –
Peter opened his eyes again, and sighed. "My father. Unfortunately."
Oh. My mind completely failed at that point.
Dr. Suresh entered the room, looking somewhat pale and with another needle in his hand. "The serum should work for you, Peter; your DNA would be more prone to accept it, for one thing." They know each other, then.
Peter struggled against the straps, trying to move away from the needle. "Seriously. I've seen what happens to you in the future. You need to stop!"
The needle stopped. He's a time agent?
Mohinder looked at Peter expressionlessly. "What did you see?"
"There was something seriously wrong with you. You wouldn't even show your face to me."
A brief look of sadness flickered across Mohinder's face, barely visible. "Then it's already too late." He picked up a swab.
Suddenly, the door opened to reveal another man. Mohinder spun round, swore, and lunged for the newcomer, only to be flung back by a casual gesture. "Sylar, you bastard. What are you here for this time? The son as well as the father?" he spat, pinned against the wall by an invisible force.
Sylar smiled predatorily. "My brother, of course." He flicked a finger, and Mohinder's head cracked nastily against the wall.
I suppressed a shudder. Telekinesis.
Sylar drew an invisible line across Peter's bonds, who freed his arms from the remains of the straps. "I never thought I'd say this, but thank you," said Peter, massaging his arms.
Sibling trouble? Sylar cocked his head. "Isn't that what brothers are supposed to do? Forgive each other when they make mistakes?"
Peter refused to answer, instead choosing to undo the straps on my arms. "Can you do anyone else who's still alive in here?"
Sylar mock-bowed, and focused for a second, shutting his eyes. Opening them again, he gave me a rather strange look. "Only six people."
"Six?" Peter looked confused for a second, then I realised why. There were only five people who were currently under that category; the one-man rescue brigade, Peter, the boy, Mohinder, and my good self. I hadn't missed anybody out, unless the semi-dissected corpse on the table on the far end was still alive. "You're sure?"
"Six heartbeats." I suddenly realised why he'd miscounted. This could be bad.
"Let's just get out of here while we can," I suggested, getting up painfully. Sylar's eyes flickered to me for a second, then he nodded.
"Family reunion." He smiled twistedly.
I grabbed the contents of my pockets, which were unceremoniously spread across the table, and stuffed them all back in appropriate places. I hauled the teenager over my shoulder; he was surprisingly light. He's in no condition to run fast enough to get out of here on his own. "Good luck."
I ran down the nearest attractive-looking corridor, then realised the problem. There were an awful lot of video cameras. Somebody's very security-conscious round here. "Right… step one, deactivate video cameras somehow."
Use No. 496 of sonic screwdriver: ruining security systems.
Annoying Point No. 1 of sonic screwdriver: running out of power when you actually need it.
"Damn." The boy groaned as I adjusted my hold on him. "Any suggestions? Help on getting out of here?"
There was a rather strange moment as the universe suddenly stopped moving.
The closest analogy I can describe this as would probably be: you are on a spinning teacups ride, which is spinning around really, really fast. You have been on the ride for so long that you are now accustomed to it. And suddenly the ride stops. And you've had a lot of candyfloss and hotdogs. It isn't a good experience. Trust me.
Rather more disgustingly, the vomit hung in midair about two foot away from my face. Damn time stasis field. I managed to regain control again, and decided to make the most of it.
Several corridors later, I spotted a sign saying 'Security Room', and opened the door to reveal a security man lounging on a office chair with a bag of Cheetos. It was rather disturbing watching the screens jitter a little. Who activated the stasis field anyway, and why am I unaffected? I wondered, for the seventh time in what might have been as many minutes, had time not stopped.
Then I spotted a screen that really pissed me off.
Laying the boy on the floor, I hacked into the security system, deactivating a slew of things from remote deadlocks to cameras, getting doors to open and electronic vacuum cuffs (vacuum cuffs?) to unlock. What kind of 21st century genetics company needs vacuum cuffs anway? I turned around to get out of the room, and was met with the vision of Arthur Petrelli.
"So you understand how to use your power, then. You're a time traveller," he said, calmly.
I narrowed my eyes. "You activated the stasis field? Why?"
"If by stasis field you mean stopped time, the answer is no. You don't understand, do you?" He looked almost as if he was pitying me. This annoyed me even more than anything else. "You did that, I assume. You body reacting unconsciously in an emergency."
Act ignorant of what he's talking about. "So what do you want from me, then?" I asked suspiciously, mindful of what the answer would probably be.
Arthur considered the question. "Help. To find out why it worked for you. And to recruit… others… like us."
I shook my head. "Nope. Allergic to needles and other things being prodded into me, sorry about that. Besides, generally bundling someone who turns up outside your door into a small cell and later asking them to help you isn't the best way to get on." I raised an eyebrow. "Capisce?"
His expression darkened. "Then I suppose I'll have to resort to other methods," he replied, and gestured towards me with his hand, casually slamming me against the wall and pinning me there. Bloody telekinesis. I was even more annoyed about the fact that I couldn't do anything about it.
"You won't remember who you are." Arthur took a step forward.
"I can't risk you going back to Angela. She'll get suspicious." Another step.
There was a slight brush against my mental barriers, which increased in intensity until it was slightly more useful than a kitten attempting to push over a concrete wall.
He frowned at the resistance. "She trained you well." Another step.
Arthur reached out with one hand to my temples to make physical contact. The better to wipe your memories with, my dear…
His fingers touched.
"Who's Angela?"
The pressure increased with the contact, not enough to breach the boundaries, but getting close. I put up with this for a few seconds, before getting angry at the fact that he still refused to back off. If he gets through, he's going to die. Remember what happened to Donna?
I opened the mental door, and quickly slammed a door in his mind shut, temporarily paralysing Arthur. (Actually, that's the worst description of the process possible, but it's about the best I can do for it to be comprehensible to anyone who isn't a telepath; cutting off the brain's access to the rest of the body would be more accurate as a description.) He stared at me, as the force holding me lifted and I lowered him into a lying position. 'Who sent you?' came his voice mentally, afraid.
"I sent myself. I'm the Doctor." I looked dispassionately at my handiwork. "You should be able to break it after a while. And your sons are looking for you."
I took the still-unconscious teenager and left.
Jack stared at the pile of bodies, one of which was bright yellow. "Mickey?", he yelled, reaching down towards a gun holster. A blue spark flickered, then another.
"Yeah, just coming," came the reply from the other side of the Hub.
"You said we just had a Rift spike nearby?" Jack pulled out his gun as the magic flow increased, healing their injuries
"Yeah. Quite a big one…" Mickey's voice trailed off as he saw what was on the elevator, now covered in what looked like blue lightning. "What the hell is that?"
"That," replied Jack, "is a very good question. Cover me." He reached out tentatively, just as the magic vanished.
Martha hurried over with Gwen, medkit at the ready in her hand, and lifted Pikachu off. He sparked weakly, causing Martha to drop him in surprise. "There seems to be some kind of electrical effect." She checked Stephen, then Holly, for heartbeats. "And they're all still alive," she noted, with some surprise.
It was about this point that Holly started swearing in Gnommish.
Arthur stared at the frozen universe, unable to move. It felt like the time he'd been paralysed by his wife. Betrayed by Angela.
Inside, he screamed, and tried to open the door again, running against it with his shoulder as a point of impact, trying to use telekinesis, trying to freeze it, melt it, turn it into a wisp of radioactive dust. It didn't work. Nothing worked.
He stared at the door, and wondered if this was what Angela was feeling right now, trapped in the prison of herself. Just like him.
The door opened again, and suddenly he could feel again.
Arthur Petrelli got up slowly, reached for his phone, and restarted time. The security guard looked surprised to see him there, then guilty, and was about to offer an explanation when Arthur waved his hand for silence.
"Flint? We have a problem. Escapees. I don't know how many, but they are dangerous, so be careful. Yes. Although I would prefer to retrieve them alive."
Halfway down the staircase, the universe started moving again. I retched, but kept going. Probably someone would notice that the cameras were not functioning pretty soon now. I sped up, and reached the floor with all the cells.
The doors had opened. Most of them were empty, but there were three that were currently occupied. I fished out a lockpick, and entered the first cell to see a black man attempting to break the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. He looked up at me. "Are you breaking out of here?" he asked, proffering them to me.
"Sort of. There, done."
He ran past me, and sprinted off down the corridor to the exit as I put down the still-unconscious boy, who didn't seem quite so light any more after so long.
The second cell contained a dark-haired woman with her hands in melted vacuum cuffs. I raised an eyebrow. "Need any help?"
"I'll be outta here before you are," she drawled, separating the halves and immolating her hands, causing the cuffs to melt further. I backed out at the stench of plastic, and decided to help the girl in the last cell.
She seemed rather calm, considering the circumstances. "Are you my daddy?" she asked, as I fiddled with the keyholes.
"Shouldn't think so," I said absentmindedly, as the catch opened with a quiet click and I set to work on the other pair. "What's your name?"
"Rachel. Are you going to take me back to mummy now?"
"Not just yet. We're going to have to do quite a lot of running, though." I smiled a little at the memory of Jenny. "Ready?"
Rachel nodded, and got up off the bed. They experimented on a ten-year-old?
I picked up the boy, and we ran for the exit. Unfortunately, this involved running past quite a lot of people, including the secretary I'd met on my way in. I didn't bother stopping to listen to what the people were shouting. It probably wasn't relevant, something like "Stop!" or "What the hell are you doing?"
I crashed through the doors just as a car pulled up and a couple of blonde girls got out. "Rachel, get in the car. Now." Rachel nodded at me and ran towards the car, sliding into the back seat.
The younger looking one began, "Hey, what the hell are you – " just before I dumped the boy into her arms.
"Seriously, load up the car and get back in. They're not doing anything good in there, and trust me, I've seen it," I said, cutting in. "How fast does that go?"
She looked confused. "Uh, pretty fast," she replied. "Why?"
The other girl – woman, really – looked furious at this. "Claire, I flew on a damn plane that almost crashed just to get here, for a cure, and we're turning back just because some guy turns up and tells us to stay away?!!"
It was at this point that the window shattered and Peter landed on my back from a window above.
An alarm went off in the building. I wasn't particularly concerned with which floor it was at the time, other than the fact that it hurt quite a lot. There would be some broken bones, of course, but nothing to worry about; that could be sorted out later.
"Peter?!! What the hell happened?"
The weight lifted, and I got up with some difficulty. The blonde woman helped me over to the car, and slid me onto the front seat. I grinned at her, then winced. "Need any more convincing?"
"Elle, we've got to get them to a hospital or something. Elle?" said Claire, then her jaw dropped. "You're seriously still thinking about going in there?"
"Claire, you don't know what it's like. You can't feel pain; I haven't been able to have a shower for god knows how long and I shock myself on contact with water. I'm losing control, I almost crashed the plane, for god's sake!" Elle cried, hysterical. "I can't live with it any more. I'm sorry, but… I have to take this chance." Claire snatched at Elle's sleeve just as she ran over to the door, disappearing inside.
"Shit."
Claire stared for a moment, then started as she saw someone opening the door from the corridor and running towards the entrance. Security guard, this won't be good. She sprinted for the door and slid into the driver's seat, pulled out and floored the accelerator.
I glanced at the speedometer. It was currently pointed at 70 mph.
"Where exactly are we headed?" I asked, weakly, as she slalomed past parked cars and people who were driving too slowly for her opinion (consisting of more or less everyone). A horn beeped loudly as we reached a major road.
"Somewhere as far away from that building as possible," Claire replied, without taking her eyes off the road. Turning round, I saw that everyone in the back was either unconscious or sleeping. This did not really make me feel better.
"Uh… could we slow down a bit, then? I'm rather fond of my stomach contents, thanks." Even if I did bring up most of breakfast/lunch/dinner up in that building. I winced as my ribs reminded me of the events of five minutes ago.
Claire pulled over in a layby, and opened the boot to reveal a first-aid kit, which she popped open to reveal assorted measly medical items that would be in no way helpful at all to either Peter, the boy in the back or I.
"What are you looking for?"
"Something sharp, preferably a syringe with a needle."
I procured one from my pockets of not-quite-infinity and passed it to her. She cast me a disbelieving glance. "How big exactly are your pockets?"
"Pretty big. Look, wouldn't it be better to get him to a hospital or – "
Claire stabbed herself with the needle, and drew out some blood. "He should be healing by now. Something's gone wrong," she said dreamily, removing the needle from her arm.
"Nonononononono! What are you doing?!" I tried to snatch it away from her, but she stepped backwards and I tripped over. As I got up, I could see that Claire was injecting her blood into Peter. "Are you even the same blood type?"
She didn't reply, but the cuts and bruises were already fading. Peter groaned as Claire drew more blood out of herself. Cellular regeneration?
She grabbed my hand, and stuck the needle in as I tried to push her away. "Seriously, that's a really bad idea. I'm fine, I've got nanogenes – " I babbled, just as she pushed the plunger down.
There was a slightly disgusting sound as my ribs reformed. I poked them gingerly just to make sure. "You know," I said hesitantly, "I was half expecting something worse to happen."
In hindsight, I should probably have remembered about Sod's Law at that point.
If anyone spots any OOC sections, bad grammar, spelling or whatever, please tell me about it! Even if you don't, review anyways and tell me what you think of the fanfiction so far. Good? Bad? Indifferent? Let me know, and I'll be inspired to type faster! (Possibly.)
Leverage for typing faster now includes persuading anyone on my Story Alerts list to publish, sending me peanut mochi if you know where I live, reviewing if you don't, and coming up with a really brilliant fanfiction.