"Maybe it was a sign of how little Omicron actually cared about people like us, or maybe they were just so confident in their domination that they forget we can still think. It's true, without our powers we're helpless. But we are still human, no matter what anyone says. They forget we can plot, we can scheme. Omicron is not a prison. There are no trials, no paroles, and no rehabilitation. Once they lock us away, they will never set us free. They forget. They forget one basic rule about humanity that they never should have forgotten. By taking away our hope, our freedom, we all begin to realise that we have nothing to lose anymore, and the moment that happens, they'll see just how dangerous we can truly be."
---
Claire covered her nose with the edge of her sleeve as wandering dust particles tickled her nostrils. The last thing she wanted was to make too much noise, and she was sure that a sneeze would echo a lot louder inside the ventilation network than the grate clanging against the opening would.
She slid her free hand further down the vent, trying her hardest to ignore the cold that seeped into her fingers. It was pitch black; she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face.
She inched forward on her hands and knees, her hair brushed against the top of the duct and her shoulders bumped against the sides. It was a tight fit; she was surprised that Desmond could make it through.
A faint whirling sound drifted through the vent, causing a soft hum to echo through Claire's ears. The sound only grew louder and more insistent as Claire made her way further down the vent. A steady stream of cold air whipped Claire's hair around her face. She smiled softly and closed her eyes. It was pleasant. It seemed like so long ago since she had felt a breeze, since she had felt anything but pain for that matter.
Claire opened her eyes as the sound of carefree laughter reached her from down the vent. It was faint, disguised by the whirling hum, but it was unmistakable. It seemed so out of place here. It wasn't sardonic, it wasn't bitter, it was cheerful. Happy.
She moved faster and the hum began to grow fainter again in her ears. A dim light emerged ahead of her in the blackness and more laughter sounded from outside the opening in the vent. When was the last time she heard laughter like that?
The laughter abruptly cut off as Claire reached the end of the vent. She had been sure she was being quiet, she had been careful in that regard. She stopped and craned her neck as she peered out through the opening and into the new room. The familiar white walls and floor leapt out in Claire's vision, despite the darkness flooding the room. It was another cell, Claire realised numbly. Disappointment filled her body, she had been hoping for anything, just not another bland cell like hers.
She crept forward until she could see the entire cell in all its insipid glory. A set of bunk beds, exactly the same as the pair in her cell were bolted against the opposite wall, however the bedding looked as though it had been torn apart by something. Strips of cloth were scattered over the floor. Claire breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes fell on Desmond, bending down on his hands and knees and peering under the bottom bunk.
"Des?" Claire asked as she moved forward and dropped awkwardly out of the vent and into the cell.
Desmond whirled around; the sudden surprise that filled his features quickly vanished at the sight of Claire. "Oh, it's just you." He said, turning back to look under the bunk. Claire thought she could hear him cooing reassurances, but it was so soft, she couldn't tell.
"What are you doing here?" Claire asked him as she walked closer.
"Visiting my friend." Desmond replied; he didn't even seem fazed by Claire's appearance. "You scared her, now she won't come out."
"I scared her?" Claire tilted her head and paused beside Desmond.
"She heard you coming. She doesn't like strangers. Strangers scare her." Desmond didn't look up from under the bunk. He was whispering reassurances, Claire realised.
Claire lowered herself to her hands and knees and glanced at Desmond. "What's her name?"
"I don't know." Desmond replied simply. "She doesn't talk, the scientists did it to her, I think. I call her Cat.
"Cat?" Claire said sceptically. Something ā someone ā under the bunk stirred.
"She won't hurt you." Desmond said reassuringly. Claire didn't know if he was talking to her, or the girl hiding under the bed. She assumed the latter.
"It's okay." Claire said gently. "I'm not gonna hurt you." She bent lower until she could see under the bunk. It was darker than inside the vent, but Claire wasn't focused on what she couldn't see. It was what she could see that made her eyes widen in sudden fright.
A pair of large golden eyes glowed luminously back at her. Claire could see how Desmond had named her. Her pupils were mere slits, just like a cat's.
Peter's thoughts snapped away from the cold air continually flowing into his cell as the door clicked open. It had been two days since he had been thrown inside the freezing cold cell and the only sounds that had reached his ears in that time was the soft hum of the air-conditioning and Sylar's muted ramblings. He didn't know what his cellmate was muttering about, but he really didn't care. He didn't want to talk to Sylar; he didn't want to interact with him at all.
He rose and swung his legs over the side of his concrete slab as the cell door creaked open. Two guards entered the cell and positioned themselves beside the open door. Peter wasn't entirely sure if it were him or Sylar who received the darkest glare. He paid them little attention; he was focused on the woman who entered the cell after them. He had been waiting for Audrey to come back, after all there wasn't much else to do but wait.
"So, Peter." Audrey said as she came to a halt not far from where he was sitting. "It seems as though you were telling me the truth."
"You found Suresh?" Peter asked. He hadn't expected that, at least not after so little time.
"In a manner of speaking." Audrey's face was blank, but Peter didn't need his powers to tell that she was furious. "I sent a couple agents, fully armed and with itchy trigger fingers down into the subway after you sold out Suresh. We didn't hear from them for a while so I sent some others down to investigate, and you'll never guess what they found."
Peter didn't reply; he didn't even have to guess. He knew exactly what happened to those agents.
"They were torn apart!" Audrey's mask slipped and anger swept through her features. "I don't like losing good men, Peter. Now, do you mind telling me anything that may have slipped your mind?"
"I've told you everything I know. What more do you want?"
"You're not helping yourself." Audrey stated. "And you're not helping Claire."
"Do you just want me to tell you what you already know? You know what happened to Suresh just as well as I do." Peter could feel a new pair of eyes looking at him. All it took was a quick glance to his right to see Sylar staring at him curiously. He turned back to Audrey and met her annoyed glare. "You can threaten me all you want. I don't know anything else."
"Do you know just how many subway lines run under Manhattan? And I'm not talking about maintenance shafts or sewer pipes."
"I really couldn't say." Peter replied. He managed to keep an outer shell of calm, but his stomach was a bundle of unease. Audrey knew that he had held certain pieces of information back when she had last question. She shouldn't be pressing him. His silence was as much for her safety as it was for Suresh's.
"Neither could I, but somehow, they were found by something and killed. Now you tell me, how is it that my men were discovered?"
"I don't know." Peter said through clenched teeth.
"That's not good enough." Audrey turned around and began to walk back towards the cell door. "You're not going anywhere, Peter. And neither is Claire."
Peter leapt to his feet, anger flooded through his body, completely obliterating his nervousness. "I told you everything! Iā" The words were barely out of his mouth when one of the guards crossed the room in an instant and struck Peter heavily across his mouth.
Peter stumbled back, rubbing his jaw tenderly where the guard had punched him. He shot the guard a furious look. The guard only smirked and massaged his knuckles.
Audrey glanced back at Peter as she exited the cell, gesturing for the guards to follow. She still looked angry, and more than a little bit frustrated.
Peter sighed and sat back down as the cell door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the chilly room with Sylar.
"Expecting your ticket out of here?" Sylar asked. "They promise and promise but they never hold true."
"Leave me alone." Peter replied. It lacked heart, he knew it, and it was obvious to him that Sylar knew it too.
"So, Mohinder's creeping around in the subway, probably with Molly with him, I assume?" Peter didn't answer, hoping his silence would discourage Sylar from talking. It didn't work. "I don't know why Omicron is even bothering; I doubt even an entire squadron would be enough to track him down. It's probably pride, I guess. They don't like it when someone beats them at their own game."
Peter looked at Sylar, his curiosity at Sylar's words overpowering his hatred of the man. "What do you mean?"
"You don't know?" Sylar laughed dryly. "Mohinder was in this very facility about a year and a half back. He tried to bargain with Omicron's president to release Molly Walker. And from what I hear about the president, he doesn't like it when normal people sympathise with people like us." He put an emphasis on the last word. Peter noticed and furrowed his eyebrows. He and Sylar were not the same.
"What happened?"
"Omicron took the good doctor and locked him away. Then six months later I hear that Mohinder and Molly Walker had escaped through the vents."
Peter glanced up, looking towards the gleaming grate above his head. The cylinder pipe connected to the grate was large, more than big enough to fit through. Cold air blew through that shaft. It was one of the subtle tortures that Omicron was forcing them to go through, and the flow never stopped.
"I think we can get through there." Peter said, standing up and pointing at the vent.
"Yeah, you'd think." Sylar replied. "If you go left, you get blocked by the fan. It spins too fast. If you go right, you get stuck at the bottom of an elevator shaft."
'You've tried this before?" Peter asked as he stood on top of his crude bed. The stream of cold air stirred his hair as he reached up and touched the bottom of the vent. The pipe ran down the length of the cell, disappearing through the walls.
"Unsuccessfully," Sylar said. "There's no use. The sooner you realise that, the better off you'll be."
"What happened to you, Sylar?" Peter said bluntly as he tested the grate. It groaned, but refused to move. "Since when have you ever given up?"
"You have no idea what I've been through here, Peter!" Sylar said angrily. "They only just stopped dragging me out of this cell a month before you got here!"
Peter glanced over his shoulder, but said nothing. It was true; Peter couldn't even imagine what had happened to Sylar. He applied more force the grate, standing on his toes and pushed as hard as he could without losing balance. The grate creaked and shifted, falling into the vent with a loud echoing bang.
"Omicron really doesn't care, do they?" Peter asked, more to himself than to Sylar.
"They never have." Sylar answered. "Not in this prison. They don't bother to screw the vents closed again after maintenance. Not that it matters. We're stuck down here, Peter."
Peter gripped the bottom of the open vent and hauled himself up. His muscles burned from the effort as he managed to pull his upper body inside the vent. The roar of the fan assaulted his ears and his hair whipped about his head. He could faintly make out the spinning blades to his left. They were moving too fast. Sylar was right; there was no way anyone could make it through that way.
He dragged his legs into the vent and crawled in the opposite direction of the fan. He didn't have far to crawl before the vent ended, blocked by another grate. Peter pushed against it and it came away easily ā a lot easier than the first one.
Peter eased himself through the opening and stood up. Disappointment filled him as he gazed around the elevator shaft.
Ledges and cables decorated the concrete walls of the shaft. A series of thick cables hung down the middle of the shaft. Peter looked up and stared at the thin opening that the cables passed through. Above that, he assumed, was the bottom of the elevator. He was stuck, there was no way out.
"See what I mean?"
Peter whirled around and glared at Sylar as he crawled out of the vent. He hadn't heard his cellmate follow him through, the fan made too much noise.
Sylar stood up and walked towards the cables, running his hand down one of them. "We're both stuck here, Peter. There's nothing you can do."
