Adam Munroe

Hart Center, New York, New York

He sat in the chair once taken by the late Bob Bishop, Noah across from him, waiting to see what he would do. Adam smiled, gently, and polished the muzzle of his gun. "Such a waste," he said to himself.

"What are you doing here, Adam?"

"I thought it was painfully obvious what I'm doing," he said, paying more attention to the gun. Adam motioned to the body of Bob. "I'm freeing the world of the Company, the last organization to oppose Prometheus. It's you I don't what to do with."

Adam watched Noah out of the corner of his eye. There was confusion behind his glasses. He struggled to decide whether it was worth it to go for his own gun. Adam's smile grew.

"You used to work for the Company, and now you work for the Agency," he said. "What am I to do with you?"

"Leave," Noah said. "Nobody needs to know you were here. I'll take the wrap for this, and you can go back to doing what ever it is since you left the Company."

"And what is this, one last bone to your old boss? I think not. I happen to know that your own Agents went on a hunt through out facility in Nome. I'm sure you'll be receiving a report soon. Until then, you can't be trusted."

Adam moved quickly, but not quick enough to stop Noah from putting a bullet in his left shoulder. Adam didn't miss. The bullet caught Noah in the right eye, putting him down for good.

"Goodbye, old friend," he said, leaving the small office. Soon it would be swarming with agents, and he wanted to be back in the air before they even notice their beloved leader was dead.

Hiro Nakamura

Hart Center, New York

He teleported into the office as the door shut. Squinting, Hiro stopped time and walked out to see the killer. When he pulled open the door though, everything jumped back into regular speed. A blonde man was walking away, tucking a gun into his jacket. There was nobody else in the lobby outside Mr. Bennet's office.

Thinking back to his little tour of Ando's office, Hiro ran to the desk and slapped the underside button, setting off the alarm. Hopefully, they would catch the man on the way to check it out. He, on the other hand, had to get to the files that the poor deceased man left.

He teleported up three floors to the security rooms. Locked box and after locked box lined the four walls. One of the boxes, small and almost unnoticeable on its own, stood opened, the lock melted away. The files were gone. He was once more, too late.

Hiro teleported back to Tokyo with a sigh to find out the next little stop on this runaway train to the end of the world.

Nathan Petrelli

New York, New York

He stood outside their door, wondering if this was such a good idea. How could he ask a kid to do something for the Agency, especially when he just got his family back together? This was going to be hard, but he had to do it for Pete. He knocked on the door.

A tall black man answered. Nathan recognized him from reports. DL Hawkins. Now the questions would come. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," Nathan said, wondering how crazy he was going to sound. "I need to speak with Micah about something." He stuck his hand in his pocket, running a finger over the smooth metal surface of Pete's negation bracelet. If anybody could fix, Micah Sanders could. He waited for DL to ask more questions. Instead, he let Nathan inside and led him to the living room.

"Just a minute," DL said, before walking off down the hall. Nathan heard him talking to Micah and prayed that this worked. DL came back with Micah. "Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Petrelli?"

"Yes, please," he said, looking at Micah. "And it's Nathan."
DL went into the kitchen. It was Micah who seemed wary of Nathan. "What do you want?" he asked, a little snide. Nathan understood. Micah was upset because they had promised to find his father, and then DL had turned up without any Agency help. They also held Nikki for questioning for two days, and eventually let her go, but she had to meet with someone from the Agency every week to make sure she was okay.

Nathan pulled out the bracelet and handed it to Micah. "I wanted to see if you would do me a favor. If you could tell me what's wrong with this thing, it would help tremendously."

Micah moved around his hand for a minute and then gave it back. "Too easy," he said. "The batteries are dead. Let me know if you get something hard."
"That's it?" Nathan asked, unbelieving but he knew Micah was right. It just backed up Peter's story about Jon's gift. It sucked the power right out of the batteries.

Micah nodded. "That's it."

Nathan thanked him and left, prying open the battery hatch on the underside of the bracelet. Double-A. Could this be any easier? A few double-A's and he had his brother back. This was turning out to be a good day, after all.

Dwight Berkley

New York, New York

Berk woke up to the sound of seagulls. His head ached and a fire burned in his chest. Once again, he woke up shirtless and with a massive hole in the seat of his pants. His shoes were gone, along with his wire-frame glasses. They were his third pair this week, and it was only Tuesday.

Jesus! It was cold. He wrapped his arms around him and stood up. He nearly collapsed when he found out where he was. The ground was a long distance away. The vertigo would have killed him. The city was recognizable, even from this angle, as New York City. It beat the hell out of where he found himself yesterday, deep in the heart of some forgotten jungle.

Whatever building he was on, this was surely the highest he would ever let himself be. He hated heights. He made his way to the center of the building, taking his surroundings. The place seemed familiar to him, even though he'd never been here before. He struggled to remember.

Ah, yes, this is where that guy Petrelli sometimes gives his interviews before he flies of to do this or that. Whatever it is the Muties do during the day. He had his own work to do, back at his own lab, out in Albany. How the hell did he end up here?

Berk looked down at his chest, astounded to see scars knitting his stomach. Something big had happened to him last night, if only he could remember what. Maybe, he thought, it's time to get tested. Why else would you be at the Hart Center? It made sense, but first, he'd have to find new pants and a shirt.

Something landed on the roof behind him, and he was loathe to turn around. He didn't want to be seen like this, half naked, with hole in his butt the size of a small country. He was a man of science, and this was frat boy stuff. He turned anyway.

It wasn't the flying director of the Agency. This man was tall and almost pretty, with blonde hair. His eyes shimmered like the colors in a kaleidoscope, even though Berk knew it was impossible. He was dressed in blue jeans, hiking boots, and a white tee shirt. He carried a bag, and when he saw Berk, he threw it to him. "Clothes," he said.

"Who are you?" Berk asked.

"A friend," the stranger said. "Most call me Vann. Now, please get dressed so we can meet with the others."

"What others?"

"The Others."

Vann said no more, but turned around to give Berk a small amount of privacy, the most a man on the roof a building can get. Berk opened the bag and pulled out the clothes; jeans and a button-up shirt. It was amazing that this stranger got his size perfect. He wondered how this guy knew where he was. It was as if they were tracking him. What did he have to offer them, these others?

Berk dressed himself slowly, moving like he was in a dream. A sense of surrealism hit him hard and he had to wonder if he died last night. That didn't explain why he woke in a jungle yesterday, or in ancient ruins the day before. Vann did something to him; that had to be it. "What do you want from me?" he asked, turning around

"Only for you to be safe," Vann said, looking off into the horizon. "There's a war coming, and we need every man, woman, and child to be ready, especially one of your gifts. Once you learn to control them, anyway."
"You're not making any sense."

"Not yet, but I'm afraid I will make all the sense in the world, in time." Vann set his eyes on Berk, and the scientist felt cowered and humble before the Mutie. "You will learn to fear it, too."

Vann lunged at Berk, and for one second, he thought Vann pushed him to his death. Instead, he found himself held in Vann's arms as they flew over the city. He shut his eyes, waiting for the ground to rush up and meet him, hard, but it never happened. "Where are we going?"

"Home, to Bucharest."

Nathan Petrelli

Hart Center, New York

How could things go so bad, so fast? How was he going to tell Claire that her dad was dead, that she only had him now? In his mind, he knew he never could. He would, but it would kill him. Thank God Heidi had offered to take care of Peter during his little crisis. That left this to Nathan, and that was all he had riding on his shoulders; it was enough.

People moved around him as he stood in the Agent's bullpen. Everyone seemed to have something important to do, not looking directly at Nathan. He knew what they all wanted, to catch the guy who attacked in their stadium, their home field. Again, it was enough.

Nathan stood at the desk of Agent Matt Parkman, waiting for him to come in from where ever the hell he's been. He's got a lot to explain, like why he abandoned the hunt for Sylar, and why he didn't mention anything about Prometheus in any reports since that one or any before it. It was like all of a sudden, the entire world started looking into this one group, shining a light directly on Nathan's inadequacy to defend the world from people with abilities. No matter what Matt said, it wasn't going to be enough.

Parkman came in around noon, with Ortega right behind him. They both looked like two over-sugared hamsters. They chittered to each other quickly and in hushed tones, but Nathan could intuit the subject. It was after all the subject of the century; the Prometheus Group. "Hello, boys," he said as soon as they got close enough to hear him over the noise.

"Director, you've got to see this," Ortega said, pushing past Nathan to get at the computer. He pulled a flash drive out of one of his many pockets, and plugged it into the computer. He began typing at a speed Nathan didn't realize was physically possible.

Nathan glared at Parkman. "We need to talk," he said. "I need to know why you abandoned the hunt for Sylar. I need to know what you know about Prometheus. I need to know, now!"

Quiet reigned over the bullpen, as all eyes turned on Parkman and Nathan. All of a sudden, he had everyone's full attention. It felt good, but it still wasn't enough. He needed answers. Parkman stammered. "It's a complicated story…"

"Then uncomplicated it," Nathan demanded.

"The hunt for Sylar led in an interesting path, one that took me a little too close a group known as Prometheus," Matt said, trying desperately to follow orders.

It was Hector who stepped in and saved him. "Boss, you need to see this intel we stole from a Prometheus Facility in Nome."

Nathan leaned down and stared at the screen over Hector's shoulder. What he saw amazed and shocked him. It was a list of names. Not just any list, but THE LIST, the one Mohinder made based on his dad's formula. One of the many names highlighted was that of Claire Bennet's. Another name highlighted was Peter Petrelli's.

"We have more on your brother, but we'll come back to that," Ortega said. "You see, they've been doing experiments on people up in Alaska. They were going to remove Parkman's brain, for God's sake! I think they wanted my hands, too, but we never made it that far in, shall we say, negotiations. They pilfered this from the Agency database, and there's a lot of other crap from the Company, including files on all the Heads and their families. We think Peter is somehow wrapped up in the group, but not by choice. We almost have enough to blow this thing wide open, if you'll just give us more time, and a team to take to Bucharest. They have another facility, there."

Hector had spoken quickly, but Nathan had caught the gist of it. "No," Nathan said. "I have something else for you to do, first. Swing by my place in four days. I'm forming a committee of sorts to deal with this ever growing threat."

To Parkman, he added, "Sylar's been caught, in Seattle. I want you and the new kid, Frost, to deal with interrogations. Get it done." He started to walk away, and then stopped. Without turning back, he said, "Your job is safe, for now."

Nathan left the bullpen with a fire in his stomach.

Three Days Later

Peter Petrelli

Peter's Apartment, New York

The new bracelet worked as good as gold, but it still didn't stop his energy absorption. Nathan said he'd have some of the guys down at the Agency look into it. A lot of progress has happened since then. They now have the schematics worked out on the bracelet, and producing new ones to help keep dangerous abilities in check and to keep prisoners from using their abilities.

Claire left for Texas to spend time with adopted family, and he didn't get to say goodbye. He wrote a note for Heidi to give to her, but it wasn't the same. He should be with her. They were family after all, and he wanted to meet the woman who raised his niece.

It was for Claire that Peter started training his abilities again. He struggled daily to control the absorption, but it seemed no matter what he did, he couldn't quite shut it off. It was like a leaky valve, sure it was off, but water still got through. He did, however, learn to discharge it, so he wasn't quite so afraid to be around her.

Nathan was all in a tizzy about Prometheus, so it seemed best to leave him alone. The whole thing had come down on his shoulders hard, and he was starting to look really old and tired all the time. Pete wondered if he got any sleep at all. Heidi said he did, but what did that really mean. There was that time in Vegas that Nathan cheated on her, so he was capable of lying to the woman he said he loved.

Then, there was Sylar. The demented killer had asked for Pete to help him. He said Pete was the only person capable of dealing with Prometheus and their goonies. Nathan had flat out refused, remembering the last time the two were together.

Now, Pete stood on his rooftop, wondering if anything could be down about the organization known as Prometheus. Legion was still out there, and if anything, worse than before. He was getting picky, judging by the number of people who disappeared. Peter hadn't seen Jon since Seattle, and there was no word about him on the news. Claire seemed more distant than right after Seattle, and there seemed to be no mending that bridge.

Pete watched the sunset in the west, wondering if there was a point to any of this. He stood alone on the rooftop, waiting for some sign of what he should do.

"You should help me," a soft, feminine man's voice said. Pete spun around and stared into the face he vaguely remembered from his time in the All-Gift Program.

"Vann Shepard," he whispered to himself, but the man heard him anyway, nodding. He remembered that Julie showed him Vann's picture every so often, asking if he knew this person. Sometimes she'd say a name; mostly she didn't say anything but the question. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeking out the Seraphim," Vann said. "People who can fight in the last battle for this planet."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You and I are a lot alike, Peter Petrelli," Vann said. "In a way that binds us more closely than that of yours and Nathan's connection. You see, you and I, we share the same gift. We absorb the powers of those around us, but it is so much more than that. There is a history of our kind, Peter. We are Seraphim. One day, you will know that history.

"First, you must get rid of your earthly doubts of your talents. If you absorb an ability you don't want, purge yourself of it. You must also learn to shield you gifts from the other Seraphim. We are now four, total."

"You're not making any sense," Peter said, turning away from the madman.

"I will, in time," Vann said. He raised his hand, sending an arc of electricity crashing into Peter's bracelet. "Now, you must prepare yourself for battle with Demons. Go to your brother's house, tomorrow at seven. He will tell you where your fight with Legion ends. You are the last of a kind, Peter. Make us proud." Vann launched himself into the sky, flying off.

Peter wavered in the wake of mysterious man. It felt like someone cracked his head like an egg. He had new powers, he was sure of it, but just which ones, he couldn't be sure. Words filled his head, little fish swimming in a sea of swirling madness. The power of man isn't in the strength of his mind, muscle, or soul. It comes from the extent of his heart. It is where your power lays, Peter Petrelli. Find that extent. The world was turning black, and there on the roof of his apartment building, Peter Petrelli fainted.

(A/N – this may be the last update for a day or two, maybe more, but I doubt it. It's the end of the second story arc, and I'll be taking a break while I script the third. For anyone interest, each story arc has a title, you know, like "Save the cheerleader, save the world". The first was called Recovery. The second, Coming Together. The third will be called Seraphim, with the fourth being The Storm.

This is, in a way, a half way point between my version of the second season. This is, in fact, the fall finale. I do plan to continue writing this story into season three and beyond, each with my own storyline.

Thanks to everyone who read, thanks even more to everyone who's reviewed – Traumedy101)