Snapshots from Elsewhere

Chapter 21

Sins of the Father Part 4

In preparation for Volume 2 of "ELSEWHERE", Mr. Chaos presents a multi-part series, dedicated towards the newest main characters that will join the cast of his smash fic

In Part 3, Russian Sergei Arkadiy arrived at the Petrelli mansion, to offer his sympathies to his friend Nathan Petrelli, whose wife had been paralyzed by Linderman and his men. Nathan revealed his power to his friend, only to receive a greater shock: Sergei had a power of his own, the ability to fire needle-like barbs from his body…

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(New York City- 5 months before the eclipse)

Nathan played with the saltshaker, running it along the tabletop. He slowly traced the same path, over and over: an s shape with a few lines branching off on each end. His eyes were down, unfocused as he puzzled over what his friend had just told him.

Sergei sipped his coffee, waiting for Nathan to answer him. He knew that this was a lot to take in, and thus he wanted his old college roommate to think long and hard about his proposal. Better that he had someone that considered the options and dropped out, then someone that was boastful now and a coward when the deed needed to be done.

"You're talking about murder, Sergei." Nathan said at last.

"I speak only of eliminating a threat to your life, nothing more, my friend. No different then removing an infection from a limb."

Nathan frowned. "We're talking about a person, Sergei."

"We're talking about someone that tried to kill you and your wife." The Russian argued. "He nearly succeeded. What if you hadn't flown out of that car in time? What would have happened to your children? He paralyzed your wife, he tried to kill you…your children could have been orphans, Nathan." He leaned forward, voice growing softer yet sterner. "And what if this were only the first strike?"

"The first strike?"

"You really think Linderman will be satisfied after you escaped?"

Nathan shook his head. "It was a message…one he got across, loud and clear. I'm not on the case anymore, am I?"

"But you know things, Nathan." Sergei pointed out. "You know things other people don't. That makes you a threat to him. There are only two things that happen to people that knows things: They either die, or become a pawn."

Nathan glared at his friend. "I would never work with Linderman. Never."

Sergei shook his head. "Talk to me in 7 months, when he has taken all you hold dear and you wish for your worries to fade away." He sat back, waving his hand dismissively. "You can not hope for your problems to solve themselves, Nathan. Doing so will only risk the lives of others.

His thoughts going instantly to his brother Peter, Nathan could see how his somewhat flighty brother would be the perfect target for someone seeking to send him a message. He looked at Sergei, his face even more solemn then normal. "What's your plan?"

Sergei grinned.

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(One Week Later)

Everything was set.

Waiting in the alley, Sergei ran his fingers along his knuckles, feeling the blood pooling his the sacks underneath. He needed these sacks to be full, so he could get off several shots without having to wait for more blood to pool in for the reload.

Above him, hiding on a fire escape, Nathan say in some black sweats, trying to hide in the shadows as best as he could. Sergei was not as concerned, instead flicking a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it up. He breathed in the nicotine, feeling his nerves relax.

It had been easy enough for them to learn of Linderman's trip to New York. He had wanted to meet with his art dealer, a woman named Simone, to purchase a new piece he simply couldn't wait to have. It would leave him open, a perfect time for the two men to strike.

The plan was a simple one: Sergei would wait for Linderman to appear, then use his barbs to kill him and the guards. Once that was done, Nathan would swoop down and lift them both out of the area, leaving no trace, no murder weapon, and no more murderous mob boss. The blood barbs would be impossible to trace back to him, and even if they were, no cop in his or her right mind would tell the press Linderman had been killed by solid pieces of blood to the chest.

Flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground, Sergei rubbed his hands together, tensing for the key moment. He didn't have to wait long, as a limo pulled up to the curb after a few moments, guards pouring out and moving to surround the aged Linderman as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

"So long, Mr. Linderman." Sergei muttered to himself, raising his hand and slowly pulling his fist closed…

The next thing he felt was pain. Pain beyond belief, running along his body and making his skin sizzle. The Russian screamed in agony as he dropped to the ground, twisting as he clutched his skull. He had no way of knowing what was happening to him, only that it felt as if he were on fire.

In fact, the electrical impulses that ran along his spine had just been redirected to the pain center of his brain, making every sensation he felt, from the simplest caress of cloth to the rough concrete, be interpreted as searing flames, roasting his skin.

The man doing this was no mere man, no was he no mere empowered person like Sergei. He was of a different understanding, trained to the point of perfection. And thus, it was no surprise that he was the number one bodyguard of Mr. Linderman, his right hand man and assassin.

Terrence Harper.

"Well done my boy, well done." Linderman praised, walking over to Sergei's twitching form. "But be a good man and undo the damage. I wish to speak to our friend here." Terrence nodded, and with a wiggle of his fingers, the pain faded from the Russian's body. "Now, let us have a little chat." Linderman kneeled down next to Sergei, running a hand along his head, healing the internal injuries. "Sergei Arkadiy. I am not surprised. After Nathan's poor accident, it is only natural that you come after poor me, the innocent scapegoat."

"There isn't an innocent bone in your body."

Linderman watched as the Russian's hand twitched. "Are you going to fire your blood barbs at me, Mr. Arkadiy?" He shook his head. "Do not be foolish. Terrence will kill you before you can even twitch your finger."

Sergei glared at Linderman. "I'm dead anyway. Finish me, old man."

Linderman held up a hand, stopping Terrence from doing just that. "Not today, Sergei. No, I wish to find out what exactly makes you tick." He snapped his fingers. "Load him in the truck, and make sure he can't make a sound. I'll put the painting in the back with me."

"Where are you taking me? What makes you think no one will miss me?" Sergei grunted, deciding to at least try and provide Nathan was some information, so that he could mount a rescue mission.

Linderman smiled. "I have people at my disposal…people that can make it look like you never left. By this time tomorrow, it will appear as if you have taken a year-long sabbatical make to Russia, to discover your roots. By that time…I will have all that I need, and we will see where you fit in with my organization.

"As for where I am sending you…an island in the Pacific Ocean." Linderman said sarcastically. "Load him up Terrence, he's already put me several minutes behind schedule. I don't fancy missing my dinner reservations because some young fool tried to kill me." As he spoke, Linderman looked up at the fire escape.

Only to find a piece of paper, fluttering in the breeze.