A/N: So here is Chapter 2! (Or should I say Chapter 1, as the last chapter was a prolouge?) Hmm, anyway, here's the next installement. This one's setting things up a little more so I can get the action going in a few chapters. Thanks again to alaricnomad for betaing! :D

Also, if you go to my livejournal I've included the download links for the music for this chapter, and Peter's 'theme tune' so to speak. :)

Enjoy!

Warnings/Disclaimer: This fic will contain (eventually) canon Paire, so that means incest. If you don't like that sort of thing, please don't read. Spoilers up to the end of Season 2, and possibly spoilers/speculation for Season 3 later on in the story. You have been warned. I don't own Heroes, that all belongs to Tim Kring and NBC.

Summary: Peter Petrelli has little to live for in 2010, what with his brother bent on ridding the world of those with powers, the title of the Most Wanted Man in America on his head, and the killing of thousands of people on his hands. But when the President announces plans to open containment camps to hold such people, and a certain cheerleader is imprisoned, his life will be turned upside down once more.

--

"Ok then! So that's two burgers with fries and a side order of salad, right? Comin' right up!" Sandra McBride gave a cheery smile to her customers as she finished jotting down their order.

She turned on her heel and moved towards the counter, smile fading as she did so. She went over to the hatch and rung the bell, "Order's up!" She shouted into the kitchen.

Andy appeared through the window, stealing a quick kiss as he took the slip of paper from her. The girl smiled.

"Hey," She breathed softly.

"Hi to you too," He answered back, eyes gleaming with warmth, "You ok?"

"Yeah," Sandra nodded, just as Lynette, the owner, switched on the TV. The voice of the President loomed over them, his speech for the anniversary of the bombing already underway.

The brunette quietened and turned to look at the screen, studying it carefully.

"We mark this day with great sorrow, but also with hope. The Linderman Act has helped improve standards of living nationwide, and the rebuilding of our once proud city of New York is half-way to being restored to her former glory. People of America, times may be hard but, together, we can pick up the pieces of our fallen country and build them up to the sky. All we need is faith."

Sandra had become so absorbed with the President's speech that she hadn't registered Lynette trying to get her attention.

Andy's hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her reverie with a jolt, "Sorry, Lyn, what were you sayin'?"

"You sure you're ok, honey?" Her boss asked, both her and Andy exchanging concerned glances, "These past couple o' days you've been a little…off."

The brunette shrugged, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "Guess I'm just tired."

The older woman nodded sympathetically, "I wouldn't mind if you took a few days off, ya know. You work so hard, Sandy."

The girl shook her head, "It's ok. I'm fine."

Her boss sighed, letting the subject drop and walking towards her section of the diner. From inside the kitchen, Andy still stared at her, worriedly, "Your do seem to act strange when you see the Big Man on the screen, sweet."

Sandra scoffed, looking down at the floor, "Nonsense, Andy. Stop frettin'. I'm fine." She looked back up at him, a smile gracing her features, "Now get that order done, y'hear?"

"Yes, M'am," He answered jokingly, disappearing once more.

On the television screen, scenes of a desolate New York City illuminated around the diner, and Sandra averted her eyes, picking up her order pad once more and moving to serve a customer that had just entered her section.

"Hi! Welcome to the Burnt Toast Diner. What can I get'cha?"

Matt Parkman looked up from his menu, grinning, "What's good?"

It's alright, Claire Bennet. I've just come for you.

--

Peter Petrelli took his resident seat at the back of the strip joint, downing the liquor in his hand in one gulp. He grimaced as the liquid burned his throat, looking around for his late comrade.

Hiro came into view seconds later, disgusted with Peter's choice of venue, "Classy. Extremely classy."

"You'll get used to it," The man answered, signalling the scantily clad waitress for another drink, "This better be important, Hiro."

The oriental man blinked slowly, and Peter still marvelled how much four years hand changed him. Gone was the geeky, comic-book loving character and here stood instead an older man, a warrior, wizened less by age and more by experience.

Peter supposed he'd had a hand in that transformation four years ago, when it all went so horribly wrong. The scar on his face stung ominously, whether physically or from part of his subconscious, he didn't know, and the man's eyes darkened.

"There's a prison in Utah, not too far from here," Hiro began, politely declining the drink offered to him by the waitress, watching as his companion took the refused drink for himself, "Last month, a couple of special cases were brought there."

"And by special, you mean they're like us," Peter finished grimly, setting down his shot glass.

"Yes. Sparrow's located them and thought they could be useful for our cause."

"Cause? Is that what we're calling it nowadays?" The man chuckled bitterly, "I thought it was called survival."

His friend frowned, "You haven't heard the news then."

"What ne –" Peter began, but an announcement from the television at the bar stopped him from speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen of America: The President of the United States."

Peter felt his stomach churn as he looked into the hollow eyes and cold grin of the man now appearing on screen. Nathan Petrelli.

"My fellow Americans, I am speaking to you at a time where terror is great throughout the world but, also, at a time of change. Since the Linderman Act was passed last year, we have been able to help identify those among us who are... 'special' and help them.

Both men looked at each other warily. 'Help'wasn't the word they would have used at all.

"Now, I am pleased to announce the opening of a new, state of the art facility, created to house and help these people. Our researchers and scientists have been toiling endlessly, and they have come up with a cure for this, for use of a better word, 'disease' and we hope that this centre will encourage those suffering from it to come forward and help return their lives to normalcy. The first of these centres will opening in Boston next month, with a trial period taking place using a few, select individuals. We hope to have one of these facilities in every city. We can cure our nation, ladies and gentlemen, I'm confident of that. This is only the beginning."

Another shark-like smile, and Nathan's face disappeared, the speech still resounding loudly through Peter's ears.

"They'll start with the prisons," Hiro said softly, "Get those that are damaging to society and test them. Then they'll move onto civilians, run tests, send them away. They'll dispose of the ones that aren't useful or who can't keep up with the pace."

"It's genocide," The man was horrified, had it really come to this? He thought back to Hiro's earlier proposition, "So how do you propose we get to this prison, then?"

--

She felt trapped, her head was foggy. The air around her seemed to be thick, oppressing, forcing her into the dark.

"Wh…where am I?"

She struggled to open her eyes, figures blurring and fading incoherently.

A presence loomed over her. At first, she thought it was her father, and her mind scrambled for full consciousness.

Her hopes were dashed when a pair of piercing, blue eyes met hers, "Hello, Claire. I'm Mr. Linderman. Welcome to Camp Zero."