Chapter Eleven: The Bull

"Mrs. Prime Minister, there is a Joseph Allen here to see you."

"Yes, well! Can you please tell-- what?" Jocelyn's annoyed and sarcastic voice turned something to the complete opposite. It was right well that she should be annoyed in that the world had been at war for two weeks and apart from the occasional victory from the obvious dominant forces, no one had gotten anywhere.

She was in quite a state. Following her advisor's advice, she disbanded all but her essential servicemen, and that resulted in frizzed black and thick hair, wrinkled clothes, a stomach full of grilled cheese, and coffee that never did taste the same. Her desk was a mess, flooded with a billion and two papers that she hadn't even started on. Two news feeds on the war were playing on screens that rose from the desk and one played in her earpiece. Being Prime Minister, it seemed, was actually very difficult.

"Joseph Allen," the guard peeked again through the door in a completely serious voice. "The Joseph Allen."

Jocelyn ripped her glasses from the nip of her nose. "And the screenings and anti-ability fields? Nothing to suggest this is some illusionist impersonating a dead Prime Minister?"

"Nothing of the sort, Mrs. Prime Minister. It seems that he is the real thing."

A bolt of fear ran down Jocelyn's spine. So Joseph Allen had come from the dead? No, couldn't be. There was something wrong with this picture. She turned off her televisions and ripped off her earpiece. "Let him in," she called.

The man who entered was unmistakably Joseph Allen. His hair, of course, was in a slightly shorter fashion, but his choice of clothing was still rich and classic. He had that august air about him, but with an unhappy scowl as he glanced around for a split second.

"I don't believe we have had the pleasure of meeting, Mrs. Kimball," he held out his hand, and Jocelyn, in a confused trance, stood and shook it.

"No, but I do believe we would have met if you were not dead, Mr. Allen," she said, and sat. "Please, sit down."

Adam sat. "Didn't anyone tell you? No? Oh, good people. No, Mrs. Kimball, I was not actually dead. Though I was... not... here. " He started to speak with his hands, and Jocelyn barely followed. "I was stuck somewhere in someplace for a while, but the important thing is that I'm here now and you, my dear, are ruining my country-- no! My dear, are ruining the world."

She was astounded. She returned with, "What? Y-- Me ruining the world? You were ruining it first, with all your..." she made some flamboyant arm motions, "policies! Running it into the ground and left Walter to pick up the pieces!"

He rolled his eyes, taking her coffee mug and sipping it a little. Jocelyn watched in horror as he spit it out and made a disgusted face. "But see, it doesn't matter what I've done, because you've let Europe separate. I would have never let any such thing happen."

"Europe needed to separate! It was... inevitable!" Jocelyn argued, snatching her coffee back.

"It was not. It was the worst mistake anyone could've ever made. Now, with the very idea of split communities for each ability is going to lead us right to the end of the world. Thank you, Mrs. Kimball. Thank you very much."

She stood now, fuming. "Firstly, what was a mistake was... was your ways, Mr. Allen. People should always, always have a choice of how to live their life and if they want a colony in the middle of nowhere, then well! So be it! To force them to live an-any other way is completely immoral, and it is about time that that has been fully realized. Secondly, you don't-don't you dare blame me as if I was the antichrist. If you'll blame anyone, you'll blame the-the whole Individualist's Party, and then blame your own Primist's Party for not standing against us in your absence."

Jocelyn sat back down and seemed pleased. Adam stood up this time, with lazy, unconvinced eyes.

He started in a soft voice, "Mrs. Kimball, you do know that you're just a puppet. A pretty face to drive your party into power. They don't tell you a damn thing, not even that I was really alive. I'm not even sure that anyone has told you that without the given situation, you would have never survived in politics at all. So let me just say that you're too foolish for me even to give you the time of day. Foolish and immature..."

Adam stood up, leaving for the door. He finished with an excellent strike, a admirable curve of a ball, a "...just like your father."

"Wait! Please, Mr. Allen!" Jocelyn bolted out of her seat. She slowed, trying to forget him just so casually insulting her and asked, "You knew my father?"

He spun around, milking it. "Well, of course. A lot of people knew your father, didn't you?"

"No..." Her eyes wilted and she leaned upon her desk. "I never did know him. I didn't know-- even know he was my father until I took the DNA test a few years ago. After all, he has been missing since I was a four years old. And then-- even before that, he had such a secret life that no one barely knew him."

Adam sighed, almost sympathetically, and leaned upon the desk next to her, grasping her coffee. "Yes, Peter Petrelli. I, myself, am older than most think. We were friends for a while, actually." He sipped the coffee and tried to temper his repulsion. "He was a nurse, you know. He always wanted to help people, make them happy, and had to make some hard decisions because of his ability. He was a real good man, I think. Perhaps a little too nice, but good all and all."

Jocelyn sighed. "I do want to help. I do want to be a good person for the world, but you know, Mr. Allen, it's so difficult. Look at," she gazed at her desk, "look at all this paperwork. Can anyone do anything anymore without filing for it? I'll die from being piled-- being crushed to death before I can ever do any good in this world."

He put the coffee cup down and started for the door. "Mrs. Prime Minister, that's your problem now. Granted, you have advisors left and right telling you what's good for your party, but eventually maybe they'll think up something that might help the world. As for me, I have no say in anything anymore. I'm dead to the world. And let me tell you, it sucks." His hand was on the doorknob now.

"Mr. Allen-" she walked up to him, "if... for any reason I would wish to speak with you, is there any way that... I can... for unbiased advice...?"

Adam didn't even smile. "Of course, Mrs. Kimball. Do you have a pen?"

He wrote down his address and phone number.

"If you can't find me, ask Walter or surely you'll find a way, a woman in your position."

Adam gave her a hand shake and farewell. Jocelyn shook the hand more firmly than before and thanked him. He was fully polite until he exited the building, which is when he cracked just a little smile of victory.

Check and mate.

End of Part Three

A/N: I wrote this when Sarah Palin was campaigning for VP. Ha. Ha.

And welcome to the end of Part Three! Before I begin Part Four, I'll explain something to you that will help.

The Primist political party is mainly comprised of the people that got into power after Year Zero (prim- as in first). They are considered the conservative party, and believe that as long as you used your ability to contribute to society, everything would be good. And so healers became doctors and speedsters became mail carriers. This didn't quite work as well for the people with lesser abilities. They were told that every ability would be paid the same wages, but in truth, some were more useful than others. Take for example, Devin, with his exceptional hearing ability. The only jobs available for those kind are the odd-and-ends.

These kinds of people formed the Individualist party, the liberal party, who believed that the Primists had it all wrong. They wanted people to live with their own abilities. And so all the mind readers would be in a city where everyone wouldn't speak because they could read each other's minds, and wouldn't be in so much trouble for accidentally reading other people, etc. Most importantly, laws would specifically apply to them, and could be more tailored to their wants and needs.

Their ideals eventually became the most popular, so then they had a war to decide what peoples got which land. Naturally, the more powerful abilities came out on top, but the less powerful ones still made out with enough. Now, the problems were that all of the healers were having a dandy time in Barcelona, and all but a few refused to heal anyone else. Without the mix of abilities, the communities had to make do, and although they had more freedom and some were happier, most others were not.

But somehow, it worked. They came to terms with each other and went on with their lives.

And so begins Part Four.

Which may be found here: /s/4690774/1/The_Monroes_Winter_Nights