Takes place during Hysterical Blindness
Nathan Petrelli died that night, died from a shotgun wound. Several bullets in the chest. Instantly fatal. If it hadn't been, the dirt that piled over him immediately afterward would have caused suffocation, filled up his lungs. No mortal could survive such a fate.
Therefore, the individual who emerged from the ground was not mortal at all.
At first, there were- there were overwhelming colors and images in the back of his vision which he couldn't call vision at all, really, unless it was actually occurring in front of his eyes. But, but the visions, they were horrible. Frightening beyond anything this individual wanted to experience. He thrust them away, on instinct. They couldn't be real. He didn't want them to be real. He'd hide from them, so that they wouldn't be.
So he sat on the ground, hair hanging limply over his face, shuddering and rocking back and forth until the pictures gradually retreated, away from his mind, his haven. And then, he sat there, he sat there and- thought.
His first solid thought, which he instantly identified as cliched and not to be tolerated at all, was simply: Who Am I?
Stupid question. Simple question. Question... which he couldn't answer.
The individual trembled as he reached a hand out in front of his eyes, examining the dirt that streaked over his fingers. He was this body, these thoughts. That would be enough. For now. Maybe.
With the first question pushed aside, if not answered, a million more started to throw themselves at him, asking why and how and what am I supposed to do. He needed to know the answers to them all, he had a craving for it, a craving to understand that gripped him tightly and refused to let go. He couldn't- couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't answer- so he ran.
It wasn't really running, not the way he defined it. It was a shuffling walk that he forced himself into. It was movement, though. He could pretend that that was progress. And the open surface that he walked on (road, his mind filled in for him), it was easy to see and something that he couldn't distinguish the end of. He could even look at the sky overhead, when he stayed on this road. Progress.
The individual discovered that he had an active mind. It refused to be captivated by one idea at a time... it strayed. But there was nothing safe to think about, only the past few memories that he couldn't look at couldn't couldn't. So he'd try to pull his attention back into observing the surroundings, and shivering. Rinse and repeat. What did that phrase mean?
And then, something new. Lights. Sounds. Another creature- another something like him.
At first, the sounds that the creature- no, man- made didn't make sense.
They were garbled, and harsh. He could tell that much. But- he couldn't associate them with meaning. Did they have meaning? Did anything have meaning, besides force and the bulky black object which had, which had shot things at him, and- no, no, the man had one too. The man was angry. The fact pushed itself upon him suddenly, making his eyes widen.
Slowly, too slowly, the words warped themselves into definitions. Ideas. Like his thoughts.
He put his hands up into the air carefully as soon as he had figured out what the man was saying, confused and scared and unsure of what to do. He just wanted help. He just wanted someone to tell him all of the answers, because he couldn't figure them out alone. He didn't want any more black objects pointed at him, no more sparks of pain and darkness, please.
The man pointed him towards the back of the large thing that was rumbling loudly and looked like a giant angry monster, but the man himself had come out of it so the individual deduced that it was safe, maybe. Safe enough to enter. Maybe the man would help him.
And then he stepped inside and remembered bulky and enclosed and unable to escape and it smelled just like this oh God--
-
When he came back to his senses- but had he ever been asleep?- he was no longer in the bulky monster object- car, he defined, remembering. He was somewhere else. He couldn't see properly through his hair, so he tried to shift it with his hands, but-
Clanking sounds. Coldness against his wrists. Restriction of movement. Trapped.
Instantly, panic.
Panic broke down the flimsy walls he had tried to build up against the visions, and he whimpered as they assaulted him again, relentless, allowing no escape. Pain and fear were all he'd been given so far. He wasn't sure that anything else existed, though he had a vague suspicion that they were supposed to.
But then there were people.
And they brought him questions.
He was scared by the questions, at first. The people tried to make him remember, tried to make him- actually think about the horrible, horrible- he didn't want to, couldn't. Bad enough that it was there at all.
But the smaller creature- woman- she was soft, insistent. She understood him, somehow. She promised to help. Promised to take care of him.
And- for the first time in his short, short existence- into this individual's life came hope.
Spoilers following: hfkeghwigh last night's episode = LOVE LOVE LOVE. Sylar with amnesia and freaking out, brilliant (Zachary Quinto you are amazing). Interesting psychologist woman with a British accent interacting with Sylar, very intelligent and quietly creepy and some of the best writing I've seen on the show in a while. Samuel being shifty and awkward and some new circus members showcased, very fun. Invisible girl trying to separate Claire from others and willing to kill for it, totally unexpected but nicely done. Potential for Sylar and Claire to be in the circus at the same time = my Sylaire senses are tingling...
Ahem. Pardon my rambling. I'm just still very excited. Thank you for not sucking (much), Season Four. I am DEFINITELY writing several more shorts based around this episode. You can definitely expect two chapters that will go together, Questions and Answers, to go up sometime this week, and then maybe another piece about a possible future with the circus.
Also, out of curiosity, are these crazy/amnesiac/twisted Sylar oneshots readable, or just so ramble-y that they're impossible to follow? They make sense to me, but that doesn't say anything about how sane they might be. =P