Zero
Chapter Four
"When the Fall started, Hiro Nakamura was very adamant that we do something about it. I agreed with him, but when government watched people with abilities—people like us—tearing down civilization itself, they were a little bit unsympathetic to our cause." Nathan turned a pen over in his hands and ran his slender fingers over the bridge.
Noah opened his mouth to say something, but could not find the words.
"I thought it would be best for us—those of us we knew were the 'good guys', to take the antidote that was developed by Dr. Suresh to rid ourselves of our abilities and assimilate into regular society."
"Even though regular humans didn't stand a chance of surviving against humans with abilities?" Noah asked.
Nathan's mouth formed into a long, rigid line. "I admit I didn't fully…appreciate the gravity of the situation at that time," he answered. "I thought this was still a war that could be fought with guns and weapons." He placed the pen delicately onto his desk. "Mr. Nakamura, however, disagreed. He thought it was the destiny of those with abilities—for the heroes—to defeat the villains. He managed to convince a number of 'heroes' we've been familiar with over the years to join his cause."
"Claire?" Noah said her name quietly, like it was sacred.
"Yes. She was one of them. My brother, Peter, was another. His friend, Ando Masahashi. Matt Parkman. Micah Sanders. Molly Walker. There were others, as well. Quite a few joined up to be heroes.
"Then came the government's quarantine order. Herd people with abilities into reservations. Lock them up and throw away the key. If they struggled, shoot. It was hardly a comfortable climate to form a team of heroes. So Hiro Nakamura came up with an alternative plan.
"There was no safe place to hide on earth, so he would hide his heroes in time itself. He separated them and took them back through time, when the world was serene. He then returned to the present, keeping a very low profile. And he was successful. It's very hard to track down someone who can bend space and time."
Noah lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.
"He was waiting for the day until someone here was ready to fight back. And, coincidentally enough, that someone was me." Nathan sighed. The expression on Noah's face wasn't exactly encouraging.
"So Hiro has gone to find the heroes hidden in time. And then what do you suppose we do? Most of our most dangerous enemies have shamelessly shot up and gained multiple powers and have plenty of disposable people at their use. How do you expect for a humble group of people with only one power each to possibly defeat them?" Noah's eyes grew dark.
The room was silent. Nathan heard the sound of gunfire outside, and hoped Noah couldn't read the fear on his face.
"It's true, the outlook is bleak," Nathan said, keeping his voice steady. "But while there are still good people in this world, we cannot stand by and do nothing."
Noah raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"There are reports from the streets that there are individual crime fighters out there, doing everyday what we should be doing for them," Nathan responded. "They have small successes, but ultimately the end up brutally murdered for the missions they carry out. We can offer them protection and organization. They know the cities well. Their help is vital to this cause."
"How many?"
"We have no idea. We have more bodies turning up than vigilantes themselves, and survival rates are continuing to decrease. The street bosses have special people with the ability to track people, called Finders. They weed out the good guys and take them out." Nathan leaned forward. "Noah, I can't keep letting this happen anymore. I have to try to stop it, or at least die trying."
Noah sank into his chair. Sixty-eight years. Sixty-eight years of painful life, and this is where he was: contemplating whether or not to aid the fight for mankind itself. Sandra, his dear Sandra, was dead. Lyle was in hiding in Warsaw, and Claire was hiding in the past. He had lost everything that truly mattered to him by his own hand.
"Noah, I'm offering you a chance for redemption. A chance to put things right," Nathan said, hitting a tender chord in Noah's heart.
He could at least do this so that those who came after him had the chance to live a better life than he had. There had to be a future to this world.
Noah took a deep breath and said, "Alright. You have my complete allegiance. Just tell me what I need to do."
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"Dear Riley, I have gone out to clean up some trash and pick up an old friend. Already took care of Sylar. Please clean the bathroom. Love, Scout." Riley ran a hand through his tangled hair as he read the note Scout had left on the kitchen table aloud. His watch told him it was noon, his usual time for waking up. He guessed Scout had been gone for a few hours. She was one of those insane people who got up obnoxiously early. Riley could barely bring himself to drag his body out of bed before twelve.
He exhaled a long, groggy breath before settling into silence. He just listened for a couple of minutes. He heard the wind blowing through the metal jungle outside, accompanied by squealing pipes and occasional shouts from the street. He rather liked the ability of supersonic hearing; it made it quite difficult to sneak up on him.
Which is why he heard Scout returning minutes before she opened the hatch and dropped into their home. She wasn't alone, either.
And Riley was none too pleased when he heard the voice of Scout's acquaintance as they approached the base.
Riley was standing at the counter, attempting to transform a hard lump of bread into something edible. No matter how hard he tried, the knife simply would not take to the bread. He dropped the knife with a clatter as Scout entered behind him.
"Morning," Scout said, dropping something with a ker-plunk onto the kitchen table. "I've got a visitor with me."
"I know," Riley sighed, trying not to sound frustrated. "Been a long time, Hollis." He flipped around, his bright green eyes meeting with cold grey.
Hollis smiled thinly. "Riley." She was a sharp-featured girl with a strong jawbone, almond-shaped eyes and a face framed by dark tresses. It was a face Riley knew all too well. He had a longing urge to crawl back into bed.
Scout cleared her throat in the awkward silence that followed, and Riley's eyes landed on the misshapen mass covered in a plastic bag that Scout had set on the table.
"What the hell is that?" Riley asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Lifted it this morning," Scout said, grinning. "It's got a few bad parts, but it's still cheese. Might even make that bread there edible." She gestured to the stale bread on the counter behind Riley.
"Lifted? From whom?"
"Garbage."
Riley chortled at Scout's codename for dealers.
"Anyway, feel free to have some. We have some work to do."
Riley reached for the bag of cheese and pulled back its plastic covering. "Work? And what would that be?"
Scout smiled, and something dark played across her expression. "We're going to talk to our tight-lipped new friend."
As she headed for the storage room door, she stopped and picked up a case of surgical equipment that was on the counter. Riley bit his lip as he watched the girls slip through the door.
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Sylar hated the sluggish feeling that had been populating his body the past few days. He could barely move his fingers, let alone stand up or use his powers. He was frustrated beyond belief, and every time he thought he might have built up enough energy to fight back and use his powers, Scout was there again with a syringe in her hand and a wicked smile on her face. Sylar hadn't spoken since that first day. He was so consumed by his rage and desire to kill her.
Now she came again. But this time, she was not alone. And it wasn't that boy who was accompanying her, either.
"Hello, Sylar," Scout said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him. Her new friend took a seat beside her. "How are you feeling?"
His fingers twitched, but he said nothing.
"This is my friend, Hollis. She's special, too, just like you and me. Would you like to talk to her?"
Again, he said nothing. Scout sighed and set the medical case down in front of her.
"My friend, you see, is a telepath. She can get into your mind, walk around for a bit, appreciate the scenery, and give me those answers that you refuse." Scout moistened her lips. "Who are you, really? Where do you come from? What powers do you have?"
Sylar turned his head slightly, but only looked at Hollis. His dark eyes pierced her grey ones, but Hollis didn't flinch.
"I'd like to offer you one last chance to speak freely. Sometimes well-preserved minds are difficult to access, but I've found, in the past, that little distractions…" Scout drummed her fingers against the medical kit. "…help with interrogation." She tried to smile, but could barely manage it. She maintained her calm exterior, though adrenaline was pulsing through her body. She had done this more times than she would care to count, so much that it felt like a routine. But it excited her, in a sickening, frightening way.
They waited. Sylar's lips curled into a smile like a jack-o-lantern's. "I think I've decided how I'll kill you. I'll start with your fingers and toes. How does that sound?"
Scout lips twitched, and she felt almost disappointed he chose the hard way. She turned to Hollis. "Dig deep."
Hollis nodded, then stared straight into Sylar's eyes. Sylar stared relentlessly back, like he was challenging her. Her eyes narrowed and a small snort escaped her. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"I can't get in," she muttered. "All he's showing me is bodies. Victims."
Scout sighed. "I was afraid it would come to this." She pulled back the latched on the surgical kit, and flipped open the lid. She examined its contents, before picking up a small but precisely sharp knife.
She crept close to Sylar, his dark eyes turning to her. "Where do you hurt the most? You know, Sylar, this world has crumbled because of people like you. Dealers are dealers; they're harmless. Well—mostly." She smirked as her left hand closed around his wrist. "That's why we leave them. But people like you, who go out of the way to hurt someone else…" she brought his hand to the knife in her right. She placed the blade firmly but gently against his palm. "…must pay for those you kill." Her heart was beating frantically as she slid the blade evenly across his palm, creating a nice, straight line of blood.
Sylar cringed. Hollis took that exact moment and catapulted herself into his mind. She waded through memories and thoughts, all free for her to access.
Scout exhaled. Her neck tingled with sweat. She usually didn't get this worked up when torturing someone, but she could barely keep her thoughts straight. Don't get soft, she chastised.
Then, Sylar started to laugh. Scout watched in dismay as the skin on his hand knit itself back together, until all that remained was the blood from the wound. Hollis' head snapped back, as his mind purged itself of the intruder.
"Wasn't sure if that would still be working," Sylar smirked.
Scout guessed that the drug she had been giving Sylar only prevented someone from utilizing a power, not prevented automatic powers altogether.
"So, you have rapid cellular regeneration. That's a start." Scout turned to Hollis. "Did you find anything?"
Hollis nodded, her eyes wide. "Many things. He's killed many people, Scout. I saw recurring faces. A blonde cheerleader. A man with horn-rimmed glasses. A girl with electric powers. Watches. His mind—it's like a watch."
"What about a name? Powers?"
"Only one power truly belongs to him. Intuitive aptitude. He wants to know how things work, and he figures it out at all costs." Hollis took a deep breath, shuddering. "I saw him use many powers, electric manipulation, shape-shifting, lie detection, spontaneous explosion…and telekinesis."
"Is that all?" Scout asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure."
"Quite the impressive line-up, Mr. Sylar," Scout said, still staring into the palm of his hand. The blood was starting to dry. There wasn't even a scar. Rapid cellular regeneration was one of the most sought-after abilities on the street. An image flashed through her head: selling his blood, making profit she and Riley desperately needed…surely the ends would justify the means.
She shook the idea out of her head. She wouldn't be like them. She wouldn't be like him.
"Do you know the story of Prometheus, Sylar?" Scout asked. She dropped his wrist and examined the drying blood on her knife. "He stole fire from the gods and gave it to mortals." She grabbed a cloth from the kit and wiped the knife clean. "He gave them intelligence. This made Zeus angry, and as a punishment, he chained Prometheus up—"
"And let crows eat at his liver for eternity. He never died, because he was immortal, and his liver kept growing back. But he suffered the exquisite pain." Sylar's voice was low. A dark smile covered his face.
Scout's eyes narrowed. "I think immortality is bit overrated when you spend your entire existence in pain. There might not be a scratch on you, but that just means you can hurt over and over again." She put the blade against Sylar's neck. His skin was hot, and she could feel his pulsing blood beneath the pressure of her blade. "I haven't gotten all the answers I want. Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to resort to other measures?"
"You aren't nearly as intimidating as you think you are," Sylar said quietly.
"Oh? Well I'm just going to have to change your mind about that." She drove the knife in, and pulled it silently across his jugular.
A look of shock crossed Sylar's face, but he did his best to repress it as a river of blood spurted from his wound.
Hollis dove in again, pressing hard against his thoughts this time. She didn't waste time with any of his distractions this time, going straight for the most secret parts of his mind.
But the wound in his neck was already closing up, though it left him with a sticky, foul-smelling shirt. Hollis' jumped back again. Sylar's expression was murderous.
"I got it, Scout. His name," Hollis breathed.
Scout's eyes lit up. "What is it?"
Her eyes fluttered shut, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Gabriel. Gabriel Gray."
Scout suddenly recoiled, dropping her knife and scooting back against the nearest shelf. Concern, not fear, washed over her face, but she felt suddenly sick, and her breath was heavy. She stared into Sylar's eyes, which only looked curious and menacing back at her.
"Scout? What's wrong?" Hollis asked, moving towards her distraught friend.
But Scout didn't hear her at all. Her mind buzzed with confusion as images flashed through her mind. Letters on her parent's writing desk, addressed to that name, Gabriel Gray. Conversations held in quietude when they thought she was asleep in her bed, concerning that name, Gabriel Gray. A part of her wanted to be excited, but another part of her wanted to be afraid.
"Do you remember?" Scout whispered.
Sylar's eyes widened, and suddenly he understood what she meant. He understood everything.
"Jane Elizabeth Prince," Sylar muttered.
Scout nodded.
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A/N: Well, end of another chapter! I was going to go back to Claire/Peter, but I didn't want to make this too much longer than previous chapters, so I'm stopping here. Besides, this was more suspenseful! Ha.
Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed! Shadeslayer390, night-star-93, A. Odessa, Neurotic-Isopod, and KaraxLavi13—you guys make my day! Seriously, you have no idea how happy it makes me when I get one of those review notifications in my inbox. It's like a little piece o' love! Thank you, again, for being so encouraging and reading this fic! I only hope that this chapter and future chapters live up to expectations. I hope I can do my best for you guys!
Alright, that's all for now. See you next chapter, and remember to review if you read! I very much appreciate it! Thanks for reading!