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Peter followed meekly behind Hesam as the more experienced paramedic marched up to the others at the scene. His ultimate goal these past few years had been to maintain a low profile. The White House was keeping a close eye on exposed evos across the country and a number of them were imprisoned in a special facility without justification. The nation was wary of powerful evos.

It was resentfully understandable to Peter, which made him even more cautious. He did not know whether they would consider him a high-level evo.

“Peter, keep up.”

In the already overcrowded New York street, there was quite a commotion. Fire fighters and cops were running around. Sirens were blaring as more emergency responders arrived on site. Two Mercy Height ambulances were already there. “This is crazy,” Hesam mumbled to him as they drew near to a group of EMT waiting around tensely. In front of them stood a 50-storey skyscraper – a grandiose hotel, to be exact.

A harried-looking officer waved them closer for the briefing, “One of their water towers had been poisoned. The water is so acidic that it burns anyone who contacts it. Hotel guests are showing signs of heavy metal poisoning from ingesting it.”

Peter watched paramedics rush in and out of the building with groaning patients. They were not the first batch of EMT on site. This whole ordeal had been going on for an hour before Mercy Height dispatched their next shift of paramedics. Peter also spotted a few news crews from different networks hurrying into the hotel without anyone stopping them. “What exactly is happening inside?”

The officer sighed. His talkie had been loud and buzzing non-stop. “A group of political mercenaries. They’ve been in National Security’s radar for a while but they got bold lately because they have evos in their midst now. That’s why FBI is here so fast.” He motioned to a group of suited people near the entrance of the building. Peter recognized Agent Audrey Hanson from among them and immediately ducked behind Hesam. “They’re holding the hotel managers and a group of tourists hostage on the rooftop. Just demanded for a live broadcast twenty minutes ago.”

Peter squinted up at the tall tower and frowned. The dim afternoon gave the entire situation a dire, dreadful feeling.

“Hey! We need EMT! We’re heading to the rooftop. There’re people injured up there.” The voice barking at them happened to be Agent Hanson. And just as luck would have it, she saw Peter and her eyes widened in recognition. The empath swore internally.

“We’ll send up 2 teams?”

“Yes, I want that one and that one.” Hanson picked Peter on purpose. He did not know whether it was a good thing. She did not look hostile at the moment.

They travelled up using the fireman’s elevator. Peter heard that the water was so acidic that it eroded some of the pipes, causing water to leak through damaged parts and mildly flooding some service corridors. They were concerned about electricity short-circuiting. Hesam shot a worried look at Peter. They were walking into a danger more perilous than they originally thought. Peter tried to give him a reassuring smile but it came out strained. He was afraid too. What can he do if they really come face to face with ruthless terrorists anyway? He was just one person. And his spirited bravery and naïve optimism had long fled after years of trials and helplessness.

Arriving on the rooftop was a different type of chaos. The news crews had already set up their equipment and taking the center stage was a group of mercenaries wearing matching black t-shirts with red bandanas covering the lower half of their faces. Next to them knelt the scared and resigned hotel staffs and tourists from across the globe, bound and gagged with duct tapes.

Agent Hanson met his eyes with a severe grimace and Peter did not know what to think. He merely nodded at her and followed Hesam to a few hotel technicians lying out cold on the ground. Law enforcements were filling the space. The rooftop was cramped. It was strange that the mercenaries were not worried about SWAT and FBI blocking their only escape door.

“Peter…”

“He’s breathing. Vitals steady. 3^rd degree burns though.”

“Start a line.”

Hesam and himself, together with another team of EMT, were steadily treating the four injured people. They were all unconscious and suffered serious burns especially on their arms. Peter understood from one of the FBI agents that these poor technicians accidentally got burned while trying to check the water acidity level in the water towers. That was something. For water that acidic, if they do not contain it as soon as possible, they could have a full hazardous meltdown before nightfall.

As they worked on the patients, a hush came over the scene when the leader of the mercenaries spoke. “For three years, we have allowed the Democrats to run havoc with the government of our nation. We’re saying it’s enough,” the man addressed the cameras. He was a bald, harsh man who looked sturdy and tough, as was the imposing blonde-haired guy with sharp cheekbones standing next to him. The second-in-command stood out to Peter because he was the odd one out looking like a Hollywood actor and he was the only one without the red bandana. As if sensing Peter’s attention, the blonde guy glanced at him briefly and gave the slightest smirk.  

Peter shivered. The confidence and cruelty on the man's face reminded him of a distant past, where a serial killer once reigned supreme.

“Aliens were allowed to rule over us…”

Hesam snorted at the speech, “Peter, do you want to prep for transport?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stood and set up their stretcher. “We need more of these to transport the rest.” He told one of the NYPD standing nearby. In the midst of their coordination, the madman speaking to the media got more and more incensed.

“That’s why they need to know we mean business.”

That got everyone’s attention. Peter stared as the bald man and his cronies took a few steps back, jumping over a low concrete partition and rooting themselves behind it. The blonde guy though, took a step forward and raised a hand towards the foundation of a water tower to their right. It hit Peter that he was an evo just a second before the man shot out strings of sizzling liquid from his open palm. The strange metallic-smelling fluid streaked lightly on the structure holding the water tower and it started corroding. It was a moment of unmatched horror as they all watched the structure bent and creaked like a fragile toy.

“It’s melting!” Agent Hanson warned urgently. As if a spell was broken, agents, officers and media workers instantly abandoned their posts and started racing towards the rooftop door.

But it was too late. None of them made it out when the moderately sized water tower came crashing down as its foundation crumbled, spilling large body of water in their direction.

It was a horrifying sight. The roar of water sounded like deafening thunders. With the flood rushing towards them, the seconds seemed to freeze before Peter. He took in the panicked faces of his fellow paramedics and all the other people, even the blessedly unconscious men on the ground. He knew some of their lives would be cut short today if he does not do something.

So he lifted both arms and exerted all his energy and concentration into slowing the current of the water.

Like fighting against an unstoppable force, it was extremely difficult to manipulate water with telekinesis. He gave his all to shape the water into taking a neat and narrow path right past them. There were gasps and shouts of shock as the flood missed all of them by inches. Peter can feel splatters and gusts of breeze on his face as the water coursed past him. It was loud and forceful, consuming and wrecking everything in its path.

That was probably why he missed the furious face of the blonde terrorist evo, or the way the man quickly destroyed the base of another tower that sent its torrential water specifically towards him.

“Peter!”

Hesam’s yell of distress alerted him to the danger and he barely had time to telekinetically push a few people out of harm’s way. Fortunately, this attack was aimed directly at Peter and came from a different angle, which meant the group of people crowding at the rooftop door were spared. It was too late to redirect the waters careening towards him though. Peter was instantly swept away.

A haze swallowed the empath along with the torrent. He reached out blindly to grab anything he can but there was nothing in his way. He wheezed and took in water as it carried him to the edge of the roof. So this is how it ends then. He hoped he at least did manage to save everyone on that rooftop before plummeting to his death, finally. It had been a long time coming. His heart pounded in pure fear and resignation as he was pushed over the edge.

He dangled in empty space for a few fleeting seconds before he finally realized that he was not falling. Water was pouring upon him in earnest like a waterfall but all he felt was the strong hand gripping his tightly. Someone caught him. He looked up in confusion and saw a familiar silhouette through blurry vision.

He was then pulled up against the force of the water.

“You idiot.” Sylar greeted him viciously, eyes as hard as stone. Peter stared at him like he was a ghost.

Now that most of the water had discharged off the roof, the officers and agents waded through ponding water to arrest the escaping mercenaries. Sylar was an elusive help as he whistled at the blond, acid-wielding evo and the man froze like a log. But before the SWAT agents were able to lunge at the super-powered terrorist, the man was teleported away by another unassuming Asian woman in the blink of an eye.

At the side, Peter was on the ground coughing roughly and throwing up clear fluid pathetically, completely soaked and shaking like a leaf.

“Peter, are you alright?!” Hesam never sounded so terrified and worried. Peter panted and nodded at his partner. Looking around, he noticed that Sylar was gone. It was hard not to wonder if it was all just his imagination but the desperate, strong grasp on his hand just minutes ago was still a lingering phantom.

“I thought you fell.” Hesam continued shakily. His hands reached out to steady Peter as he wavered. “You… The water - you held them.”

A lump lodged in Peter’s throat and he gulped anxiously. Behind Hesam, the news crews had their cameras pointed at him. Now that he had shown his hand, if the FBI decided that he was dangerous, then-

“Petrelli! You okay?”

Agent Hanson came running. They had rounded up all the political terrorists, sans the evos. Everyone on that rooftop seemed safe and alright, albeit a bit wet.

Peter met her eyes carefully and nodded. He straightened weakly to not feel as vulnerable. If they were to tase him and take him in, he wanted to see it coming.

“Good,” Hanson raised a brow at his frail form dubiously, “The evos got away. High-level threats. It makes sense that they have a teleporter on their side with the way they managed to bypass securities a few times now. What’s that by the way? You got a new power?”

Peter frowned at her. She looked at ease, or at least as at ease as can be after a national security catastrophe. There were agents and officers staring at him, but none of them seemed to be making any move to accost him.

As if sensing his trepidation, Hanson’s face softened. “You did good, Petrelli. Saved our lives.”

And just like that, she walked away. Peter tried not to gawk after her as Hesam fussed over him. His stressed partner saw reporters approaching them and started steering him towards the rooftop door. “Don’t want that now, do we?” Hesam murmured, as if everything was fine. As if Peter did not just expose himself as a freak of nature on live national news; as if the man did not just learn that his partner of four years was genetically abnormal.

Peter’s mind and emotion were jumbled even as Hesam sped them towards Mercy Heights.

They released him after three hours in the Observation Unit. Dr. Gavin and the nurses made sure his lungs were clear and his oxygen was back at a normal level before sending him home. They were looking at him differently, that was for sure. Footages from the scene earlier played across different channels on the lone TV in the ER. Peter looked impressive and heroic on screen, but in reality he felt drained beyond words. Everything had changed for him now.

“Listen, man.” Hesam laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Just go home and rest. Take 2 days off okay? This place looks like a circus with the reporters camping outside. I’ll call an Uber for you.”

“I can still come back?” his question came out like a whisper.

Hesam sighed. The man was exhausted and Peter suddenly felt bad for him.

“Peter, you did nothing wrong.”

“Why are you taking this so calmly? Why is everyone taking this so calmly?” They were curious, but none of them were antagonistic. With the government painting evos in bad light in recent years, he thought they would be more pissed at him for lying to them.

Hesam shook his head in fond exasperation, “Because Peter, we already suspected that you’re an evo.”

He went right to Central Park – to the spot they deemed their own, in a reclusive area in the vast green sanctuary. His head was dizzy and his muscles were raw. He was feeling the abuse his body had taken earlier. The fresh air helped clear his mind a little, but it did not dispel the chill in his bones.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Peter spun around at the honey voice. Sylar stood just a few feet behind him in his dark trench coat – a sight Peter did not want to admit that he missed.

“You were gone for two years.”

“I’m not gone, Peter.” Sylar’s told softly, drawing near to the empath.

Peter hated him. He hated Sylar to his core. The former serial killer knew they were bonded and connected in their minds and, God forbids, souls after the wall came down, but he abandoned Peter at the first sign of trouble.

“I did not abandon you, Peter.”

“Are you reading my mind?” He was hoping that he sounded angrier, but he just felt so numb lately.

Sylar kept quiet and studied him instead. Peter wondered what had changed about himself. What was Sylar seeing?

“How are you there on the rooftop anyway?” Peter asked when the silence and scrutiny became a little too unbearable. The frosty night winds rustled the trees around them and a few meek birds complained.

“I’m always watching you, Peter. Do you think that I’ve forgotten about you?”

Peter took a step back with a frown. He did not know what to think.                                           

Sylar followed him by taking a step forward. “I needed to keep you safe. After Claire revealed my face and my crimes to the entire country, I had to disappear. I know that if I don’t, you would fight for me, and that’ll put you in the line of fire.”

“You were gone for two years!” Peter hissed.

“I was always here.”

Peter shook his head angrily even as tears pricked his eyes. Did Sylar expect him to just let it go just because he claimed that he had been a creepy guardian angel stalking Peter while Peter went about two whole years worried to death for him? “I thought you died, you asshole!”

Sylar closed the distance between them but made no move to touch or comfort him despite looking remorseful. He supposed the former serial killer still had the social cues of a dumb hyena.

“I thought Bennet or my mother had you killed. I even went to Parkman.”

“Your mother knew exactly where I was.”

Peter gaped at him. How would she know? Did she have a hand in all these? Was that why she looked so unruffled when Peter had so desperately questioned her about Sylar’s disappearance?

“I merely told her I’ll stay under the radar, but that I’ll be here for you. I wanted to show her my sincerity and conviction, to let her know that I’ve changed. Pretty sure she would’ve plunged a wooden stake into my brain but she’s having dreams that when you’re in danger, I would be the one to save you.”

Peter snorted, “My knight in shining armor.” Poor Angela. Was it karma that Sylar was so persistently involved in her sons’ destinies? She had done a lot of bad things after all.

Sylar tilted his head. “Are we good then?”

Peter gawped at him like he was crazy. Surely this was a fevered dream.

The older man chuckled.  “I guess that’s a ‘not yet’.” He placed a hand over Peter’s chest. Their connection flared and part of Peter felt safer than he had been in years. He hated it.

“At least take regen, Peter.”

Sylar’s face was gentle and contrite. His voice was soft and coaxing. They had been enemies longer than they had been friends, but they somehow got such a hold on each other.

“I’m alright. I was in the ER.”

“If not for you, then for me.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. Sylar held his gaze steadily and he found himself obediently complying. A tender flash of colourful lights shimmered as cellular regeneration was copied and flowed unto the empath. Peter sucked in a breath and instantaneously felt ten times better.

Sylar smirked playfully and withdrew his hand. “I’m around, Peter. Expect me.” Just like that, the man merged with the shadows and vanished once again. Peter treaded a few steps forward curiously but gave up the chase before it even began.

He was not worried. He can feel Sylar’s reassurance circling him and comforting him.

Angela looked at him so affectionately and emotionally that Peter did not know how to handle it sometimes. But at the back of his mind, he was always asking “if you love me, then why do you always hurt me?”

“How many times does a mother need to apologize, my dear?”

“I forgive you, mom, but I don’t know how much to trust you.”

Tears welled up in Angela’s eyes, “That’s fair. I’m sorry, Peter.”

“Peter…”

Peter paused his strides and allowed himself to be lit up with a smile. “Claire.”

The uncle and the niece hugged. He had not seen her for months. The last time they met, she had cried herself to sleep in his apartment, knowing without doubt that her jump from the Ferris wheel had started a chain of worsening events. They did not know who else were on their side anymore. Evos were left to fend for themselves when the hate crimes started. And after that, high-level evos got incarcerated like animals by the government.

The duo settled down on Peter’s couch after he put his groceries away. It had been a strange day disguising himself in hoodie, sunglasses and face mask. He was lucky the press had not gotten his apartment address yet. The Petrelli residence was swamped with reporters and news vans. His mother had to stay at one of their safe houses in Boston.

“Sooner or later they’re gonna find out that we’re related.” Claire told, kicking her feet up on his sofa.

“They’re already digging out Nathan’s life story. We had to send my nephews and my sister in law to Tuscany.”

“Are they okay about it?”

“No, but Heidi’s loving the vacation. Her work has been killing her lately.”

Claire laughed quietly. Peter understood it was bittersweet talking about the family that Nathan did not abandon or give away to adoption, so he smiled softly to the niece. “Simon is showing signs. He can conduct and manipulate electricity. There needs to be a power source though, he cannot generate electricity from thin air like Elle.”

“Does Nathan’s wife know everything?”

“Ex-wife. They were still friendly after the divorce. And yes, to a point.”

He grew somber as he flipped through take-out menus without really seeing anything. Claire was surreptitiously glancing at him.

“You’re worried about them.”

“Now that everyone knows I’m an evo, I’m worried that people would harass my nephews, even in schools. I don’t want to put them in danger.”

Claire sighed and leaned back against the couch. No one knew it was a gift from Sylar. He got him a whole set of furniture, complete with a coffee table, lamps and a sleek shoes cabinet. They were imported from Switzerland, but not Ikea, Sylar had reiterated sternly. That was the day Peter learned that his new friend can turn things into gold, and he found himself possessing five untraceable bank accounts and a million dollar by the end of the week. “It’s a benefit of being with me,” Sylar had told him haughtily with a smirk. Peter was pretty sure it could damage the economy but after years on the run, he was not saying no to a monetary safety net.

“You did good, Peter.” Claire broke him out of his reverie. “The fact that you almost got yourself killed trying to save those lives…that has turned some opinions about evos. You’re trending on social media by the way.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to be Instagram famous.”

Claire sniggered. The mood in the apartment lifted and Peter smiled again.

“I’m serious though, Peter. This is good for us…”

“Hey, evo freak!”

Peter’s hackles rose instantly and he turned around to face the five men following him. They looked like they went to the gym regularly but Peter thinks he can beat them in a fight if he was agile enough, or he can at least run faster than them to escape.  

It was 1 in the morning and Peter had just finished his shift. The street in this part of the city was relatively deserted. The delis and retail shops along the blocks were all closed.

“Why don’t you suppress your power and take us like a man,” one of them slurred. They were clearly drunk. It was quite a feat that they recognized Peter. He supposed this was bound to happen sooner or later. Hate crimes towards evos were mostly swept under the carpet, but that did not mean they did not happen. Peter and Hesam had treated their fair share of injured evos. He was honestly too exhausted to deal with this after an eight-hour hectic shift though. Peter opened his mouth to call for a truce – as impossible as it sounded.

But a whoosh of air bought a person landing right next to him.

“I don’t think so.” Sylar pronounced each word sharply. The air suddenly became hauntingly still. His hair was slicked back and his hands were in the pockets of his long, flowing dark coat. Peter had chills looking at him.

One of the men in a green jacket shrieked like a little girl. He was frightened by Sylar’s sudden arrival, probably thought he was a vampire. His friends were in turn frightened by his high pitched scream and they all swiveled around and ran.

“That was anti-climactic,” Sylar remarked in a bored tone. He turned to Peter instead. “Do you want me to go after them?”

Peter frowned, “Sylar…”

“I’m just kidding. Though I would, if you think they’ll be a problem for other people.”

Peter sighed and watched the stumbling fools scampered but not making much headway. They would probably end up in the ER with the way they were tripping over their own feet.

“I think you’ve scared them enough.”

“I can do a little worse. Teach them a lesson, maybe break a finger or give them a nice scar. Nothing life-threatening, I promise.”

That rang a bell in Peter’s head. His eyes widened in realization as he faced the former serial killer. “Are you the one hurting people in the news?”

Sylar grinned. “Don’t say it like that, Peter. I know you think they deserved it too.”

Peter refused to let his face betrays his thoughts. Call him naïve but yes, he did think The Shadow showing up to save evos from being assaulted was gallant. With the growing number of attacks on evos, a lot of tragedies had been averted whenever The Shadow chose to interfere. That being said though, a part of the non-powered public was outraged and claimed that they were being targeted. It further heightened the tension between evos and normal humans.

With that, another revelation dawned. Peter gaped at him, “You’re The Shadow?”

Peter could swear that Sylar preened. “I have the stealth and ability to neutralize threats.”

The moon unveiled itself in the sky and illuminated the land. It brought Sylar into a new light. Peter stared blankly at the man who was once his mortal enemy. He had been to a few futures and he never imagined Sylar as a vendetta personified. “You’re the one leading the Rebellion,” Peter said quietly.

Because it was true. The Shadow was the head of the Rebellion. They were a body of silent evos, discreetly pushing back against mistreatments of evos.

Sylar’s thick brows furrowed, “Well, yes.” He walked closer and pulled at the lapels of Peter’s sweater to make it more snug. Peter jerked a little from the motion but otherwise remained still. “Are you alright, Peter?”

“I’m just…” Peter blinked - Sylar had moved on without him, “processing.”

“I did not move on without you.”

Peter glared up at him, “Stop reading my mind.”

“Take Matt’s power and read mine then,” Sylar held out his hand. His dark eyes were intense and entrancing. Peter was unmoved though. This was just another minor hurt in his life that was filled with betrayals and manipulations.

“I don’t need to read your mind, Sylar. Listen, its fine.” Peter took a deep breathe, “I’m glad you found a purpose with the Rebellion. I’m proud of you, truly. I wouldn’t know how to do it. Even Claire is trying to track you guys down to work together, but I guess that’s the reason you’re untraceable by her.”

“I don’t want her because she’s too closely affiliated with the White House, not because of our history.” Sylar countered, “But I did not move on without you. I moved on with you in mind, Peter.”

Peter frowned. Sylar did not seem like he intend to let that go.

“We have everything we need right now – the people, the abilities, the skills, the fervor. But we lack the heart, Peter. We need an empath. I don’t have a direction now other than rescuing evos day-by-day. We need someone to point the way. I’ve prepared everything for you.”

Peter lowered his eyes irately to avoid Sylar’s earnest gaze. These two years were void of human connections for the empath. Angela tried her best, Peter knew, but she was still absent with her attention spent on Claire’s ascend in the political sphere. Sylar severed their mental bond by disappearing, and now it reappeared in its full intensity like an inescapable spotlight. It was suddenly very overwhelming.

“Are you hearing yourself, Sylar?” Peter demanded. His voice quivered without his assent. “You left me all alone for two years and now you expect me to join your Rebellion? Who do you think you are?”

Instead of provoking a fight, Sylar’s face softened at Peter’s harsh words. “You don’t understand how much I care about you.”

“Stop it, Sylar.”

“Maybe someday you’ll understand. And I’ll wait, just like you’ve waited for me.”

Peter’s eyes watered and he scowled angrily at the man, “I didn’t wait for you.”

“Yes you did, Peter.” Sylar drew closer to him and finally wrapped his arms around the younger man. His warmth surrounded Peter like a soft blanket and brought hot tears down the empath’s face, “You know in your heart that I would never abandon you.”

Emma made eye contact with him across the hallway and Peter immediately went to her like a moth drawn to a flame. She was gentle as she asked whether he was alright. That brought the forgotten melancholy right back. The ER was insanely busy tonight and Peter was able to forget about his current predicament for the past few hours.

He made the headlines of every newspapers in the country the day after the rooftop incident, so almost everyone recognized him as he walked the streets. News networks and talk shows were calling for interviews and he kept dodging government agents who did not dare use brutality to hold him since he was the city’s hero that week. The new-found fame had its pros and cons. For one, the media were praising him for his bravery. The victims on that roof were spilling gratitude everywhere. So there were a gradual shift of the majority’s originally negative view on evos. The downside was that he lost his freedom, and he felt too burned out to carry the weight of advocating for his kind. He was glad that Claire picked up the job and smiled on TV for his sake.

“I’m doing okay. Hanging on.”

Doctors, nurses, police officers, patients, and patients’ families all buzzed past them. There was a serious pile-up at one of the Interstates earlier and the residual mayhem still loitered.

“Must be crazy for you.” Emma smiled gently and Peter mirrored her. He was about to ask her about the night classes of her medical course when Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Senses on high alert, Peter turned and saw an unkempt man of about 60 with a full beard pointing a gun at him. Next to him, Emma gasped in horror, hand covering her mouth. The other passersby started noticing the danger and there were shouts of alarms, but the man was unwavering as he glowered coldly at Peter.

“My family was killed by an evo,” was all the explanation he got before he was fired at.

The gunshot was earsplitting. The force of it sent Peter sprawling to the floor and it took a second before he registered the excruciating pain on his stomach. Blood started pouring forth next.

There were screams and footsteps running at that point. Emma immediately crouched down next to him and she looked chokingly worried. He saw security guards tackled the shooter and the man went down without a fight. It was all terribly frenzied and an onslaught to the empath’s senses as regeneration fought to push the bullet out.

Peter was completely well after 15 minutes.

“Evo hero was shot because of hate crime.” Noah Bennet read from The Daily Tribune loudly. Peter followed the older man’s pacing up and down his living room with wary eyes. “They’re eating from the palm of your hand.” Noah teased, closing the papers.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Half the people think I’m an angel, and the other half is waiting for me to slip up. No pressure. Can’t even work properly with people crowding around on scenes.”

“Did you meet any trouble? With government agencies?”

Peter shook his head with a slight, playful smirk. “They don’t wanna use force to take me in. Allowed me to just dodge them.”

“That’s good. Everything else good? Anyone harassing you?”

That was Bennet’s trick. He was as subtle as a big log blocking a highway.

“Noah, just spit it out.”

Bennet smiled at him. It was almost fond. “Is Sylar around?”

Peter gave him big, wide eyes.

“I know he’s around, Peter. The reporters on the roof that day saw a glimpse of dark hair and dark trench coat rescuing you. No footages though.”

“Did they identify the person?”

“Don’t play coy with me now, Peter.” Noah threw the papers onto Peter’s coffee table and went to study a photo of Nathan on top of one of the cabinets – he was eighteen and had his arm tight around his beloved baby brother who had just finished preschool. Noah knew the photo would get Peter to miss Nathan. It would also get him to remember who killed his brother.

Peter scoffed at the emotional manipulation. “What do you want?”

“I know we had this conversation before. But if Sylar is back, we need to make sure he is contained.”

“He IS contained. Do you see any crimes with the victim’s skull sliced open these few years?”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”

“And how would you know whether he’s dangerous or not right now?”

Bennet stared at him grimly, like he did not know why Peter was being difficult. Peter sighed and stood from the couch tiredly.

“Listen, Noah. I explained this to you. I even brought Matt to you. Sylar has changed. Matt had done him in good. I’m not saying he’d received his fair share of punishment, but it’s close and he’s reformed. We should give him the chance to live out his repentance, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s safer for him to be dead, or at least contained.”

“You mean like the way the White House is containing some of us without any reason?”

Bennet pursed his lips. To say yes would mean he agreed with what they were doing. Although to be honest, he had a feeling that Bennet did agree with what the White House was doing up to a certain point.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. It felt so pointless to be living among normal people and having to constantly prove to them that evos deserve basic human rights too. “Listen Noah, can you leave Sylar to me? I’ll make sure he’s safe to be in the land of the living.”

“You’ll kill him if he’s killing again?”

Peter smiled sadly in reminiscence, “Haven’t I tried?”

Peter already knew the staffs and executives of the hospital were wearing thin down to the core when reporters camped near their ambulance bay for two weeks in a row. Even the police had given up and let them be as long as they were not blocking the EMS. And so Peter was ordered to give the shortest, most impromptu press conference in history on a Wednesday night under the watchful eyes of Mercy Height’s CEO and her administrators.

“I’m just here to say that I am grateful for your support and I understand your curiosity. But the hospital ground is not a place to address your questions as patient care is our topmost priority. Hence, I seek for your cooperation to not linger in the hospital compound. I will answer your queries at an interview of my choice.” Peter read from his script droningly. Camera lights flashed as a dozen news crews gathered in front of him about 10 feet from their main lobby entrance. It was humiliating, eventhough Hesam may argue otherwise.

The reporters were now shouting questions at him despite his plea. He took a quick glance at Dr. Agnes Liplin, aka the person who had the authority to fire him, and was immensely relieved when she nodded and walked back into the hospital with her hoards of executives. He quickly followed, trusting their security guards to hold back the hungry media at his back.

“Mr. Petrelli, how long have you known you have powers?”

“Mr. Petrelli, have you used powers to save or harm people before? Other than the rooftop incident?”

“Mr. Petrelli, are your colleagues aware that you’re different before this?”

“Mr. Petrelli, how are you gonna help the other evos since they were being quietly persecuted right now?”

That last question caught Peter’s attention and he found his steps slowing slightly. The media never acknowledged the injustice that evos faced, nor did they care.

“Peter, you’re the most special one among them, the most powerful of them all. How would you save them? Brothers stick up for each other. You couldn’t leave them.”

The familiar words froze Peter. He spun around to find that it was a short, plump guy with thick glasses asking them. The earnestness on the guy’s face turned into a smirk. The scene grew a little quiet because of the strange questions. The other reporters were frowning at the man.

“Maybe you’re the only one who can break down the wall.”

Peter scowled angrily and stormed forward to grab the guy’s arm. They then march together into the lobby. The chaos resumed when the other jealous reporters were desisted from following by burly hospital guards.

Peter sought out an empty changing room at their Radiology nearby and threw the man inside. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Sylar shifted back into his own form without missing a beat and chuckled. “Hello, Peter.”

“What are you doing?!” Peter hissed. They were lucky that they were alone. He barely had time for a break with the way the ER was bustling today.

Sylar looked around the room over-nonchalantly, as if suddenly embarrassed. “Just making sure you’re okay. Heard you got shot two days ago, and now they’re forcing you into a frankly pathetic press conference. You never know if another shooter is in the crowd, you know?”

Peter let out an exasperated sigh. “Sylar…”

“I went to your apartment several times, but you’re drowning yourself at work again.”

“Went to my apartment?” Peter narrowed his eyes at the man. He did notice a few misplaced items – an apple straying away from his fruit basket, the dining chair slightly pulled out, the edge of the carpet folded up... He thought he was misremembering things because of exhaustion. “Did you break in?”

“I used my keys.”

Peter stared at him incredulously, “You still have your keys?”

“Of course I still have my keys,” Sylar smirked. He was in a tan jacket today, which was different. Peter was sure he had never seen the man wore light-colored clothes before. He looked way less dangerous like this.

“I meant what I said though, Peter. I care about you. And I know you want more than just this,” Sylar gestured around. The change of topic was disorientating but his gentle voice heaped the burning coals on Peter’s head, which was frustrating because Peter wanted to be angry at him.

“You can’t just show up here, Sylar. You’re insane! Noah was just asking about you.”

“And you care about me too, I see.” The horrible man sing-songed. Peter fought to hide his annoyed smile. Sylar was the least funny man Peter had ever met. His stupid and ill-timed jokes were worse than Claude’s, but the empath can tell when someone really wanted him to laugh, and his heart was responding to that sincerity.

“I don’t know how to be what you want me to be,” Peter told resignedly after a while, “I’m not that person anymore, Sylar. My power is so watered down and I destroy everything I touch.”

“You didn’t destroy me though. You saved me.”

The small room was tenderly quiet despite the loud noises outside. Peter basked in the affection and confidence pulsing across their mental link.

“I’ll be there for dinner.” Sylar told snootily after a while, as if they were not bonding on an emotional level just seconds ago. He swaggered out of the room and when Peter came out after him, the man was nowhere to be seen.

Peter blanched when he saw Agent Audrey Hanson in the ER waiting area. She motioned him over with a head tilt and he knew his luck may have ran out. A quick search across the perimeter showed no signs of other agents though.

“Relax,” Hanson said lowly when he lumbered to her side, “I just came to talk. Walk with me.”

“Of course.”

“I heard about your brother few years ago. Sorry for your loss.”

That threw Peter off a little and he nodded his thanks.

“Claire Bennet went on TV to say that Sylar killed the Senator.”

Peter’s head started spinning. He had no idea where this conversation was going. A group of family shouldered him as they walked past and unsettled him further. That did not seem like an innocent accident.

“Claire also said that Sylar tried to impersonate our former President, which I fact checked with Secret Service and the former Chief of Staff.”

Peter nodded nervously. Hanson seemed to be bringing him to the cafeteria. Peter did not think he can handle the lunch crowds right now. It was flu season and it was driving the entire hospital crazy.

“But you see, I don’t understand why Sylar saved you the other day.”

Peter’s heart plunged to his stomach even as Hanson suddenly stopped her steps. They stood motionless in the middle of the busy hospital lobby. The agent had her hands on her hips and an impatient look on her face. “Was Sylar on the rooftop that day, Peter?”

Looking at her severe green eyes, Peter knew he cannot lie without burying both him and his friend. She was ready to assume the worst and if Peter was dishonest… “Yes, he was.”

Hanson stared starkly at him, “Is he dangerous to anyone?”

“He…” Peter gulped and lowered his eyes, “He’s just trying to help our kind.”

“He tried to kill the cheerleader that you saved.”

“I know, but-“

“If it’s up to me, I would think the two of you are working together to kill people, because wherever he wreaked havoc, you were there too.”

Peter frowned, “No, Agent Hanson, you have to –“

“I only released you for good that night because Matt Parkman read you. You were innocent. If you weren’t, even your brother’s lawyers won’t be able to hide you from us.”

Peter nodded fervently. His throat was dry and his hands felt icy.

“And he killed your brother, so it’s hard to understand why he saved you.”

“I can expla-“

“I called Matt Parkman, Peter. He told me everything.”

Peter gawked at her. That was the last thing he expected her to say. Matt had retired from the force and he thought that they had no more contact with each other, not to mention the whole bomb threat mess during Danko’s operation.

“Sylar has changed. I can vouch for him. I-”

“It’s incredibly stupid to believe such a thing.” Hanson was reprimanding him now, “But I do understand your kind don’t abide to the natural law, and a 7-year mind prison could change a person.”

“We do abide-“

“You have to make sure he’s under control at all times, you understand me, Peter?”

Peter gaped. Her words had taken too many turns and Peter was starting to doubt his own comprehension of a simple dialogue. “You’re…you’re letting this slide?”

“I’m gonna pretend I don’t know it was Sylar on the rooftop because he didn’t do anything wrong these recent years. And I need the two of you to be ready when I call.”

Once again, Peter was thrust into another unthinkable surprise. “What?”

“I need you to help me with the political terrorists, Peter. They’re calling themselves AMA – America for Americans. You’ve seen what happened. 8 people dead and 30 still hospitalized? What will they do next? What if they have other evos with them? I’m looking at the big picture here. We can work together.”

Peter’s mouth opened and closed several times before he nodded, “Okay.” He felt dazed, but this was what they wanted, was it not? They wanted the government to not see them all as threats. They can show themselves to be helpful.

“You alright, Petrelli?”

“Yes,” he blew out a breath feebly, “Yes, we’ll be here when you call.”

Not many people knew that the Italian blood running through Peter made him a decent cook. It was a convenient skill to have. He can easily serenade girls, or in this case, a rebellion leader. He needed to put the man in a good mood before telling him about Agent Hanson’s request.

Juggling the paper bags of fresh produces in one arm, Peter unlocked his apartment door and stepped inside with his mind occupied. He even managed to bolt the door and threw his sling bag onto the floor before fear seized him cruelly.

There was a man and a women standing in his living room. They were the blonde guy and the Asian woman from the hotel rooftop.

Peter’s groceries dropped to the floor, sending fresh tomatoes rolling towards the duo. The blonde guy chuckled, charmed by his carelessness, “Peter Petrelli…”

“What are you doing in my house?” Peter’s voice came out weak. Physically, with Claire and Sylar’s regeneration at the moment, he knew he cannot die. But there were more ways to hurt a person and Peter felt like a cornered prey. He wondered if he can make it to the door.

“You can’t outrun us,” the blonde guy taunted casually, “It’ll only make me angry and I might harm your neighbours.”

Peter swallowed. He did not doubt the threat at all. “What do you want?”

The man grinned. Peter hated that it made him think of Sylar. “We really want you to know that we’re on your side. We care about you.”

A crease formed between Peter’s brows. This had to be a joke. Of all the things he had expected, he never thought it would be this coming out of the terrorist’s mouth. He wondered if he can make it to the knives in his kitchen instead.

“Think about it, Petrelli,” the blonde guy continued, pushing his stray golden locks away from his face, “The Democrats have no plan of making life easier for evos. What are they doing for us? You treated an evo who was slashed in school last week, didn’t you?”

Peter shuddered. He did not know how they knew about that. It was not in the news. Were they stalking him? Was he under some sort of illegal surveillance?

“The Republicans though, they let us join their fight. They have policies to protect us. They treat us right.”

“But they’re mistreating other groups of people,” Peter argued non-sensibly, fired up by his disagreement. It was not wise to start a quarrel with the person holding you hostage, “Their policies are actively hurting people!”

“Listen Peter,” the man advanced towards him, sending his heartbeat through the roof. He cannot stay in here, especially not when he did not even know their intention. Were they trying to recruit him? What would they do if he refuses?

But before Peter even took a step back, the blonde guy was suddenly choking, hands on his own throat.

Sylar flew in through the opened window and landed right in front of Peter.

“You have lots of guts to show up here.” Sylar sneered frostily.

The blonde guy’s toes were scrubbing the floor now with the way he was slightly hoisted up by telekinesis. Peter always forgot how intimidating and powerful Sylar can be until the friend’s anger flared towards someone else. Even now, Peter can see the terrorist’s eyes popping in panic.

Peter tried to think of the best interference. He did not want Sylar killing a man in a rush or have them both fight and burn down his home in the process. They needed information. However, the unassuming Asian woman that they had all somehow overlooked suddenly pitched towards the struggling blonde and phased him out of their presence.

Sylar and Peter spun around and regarded the empty space in astonishment. Peter even hastily checked his bathroom and bedroom to make sure that they were really gone. He then ran back to Sylar, who was picking up his vegetables calmly. But Peter knew him enough to know that he was shaken too.

“Are you alright?”

“They’re in your apartment.”

“I know… They must’ve known where I live beforehand. I think they’re watching me. I have to call Agent Hanson.”

“How are cops going to protect you, Peter?” Sylar questioned harshly, fiery eyes suddenly set on him.

Peter was taken aback, but he was already used to the watchmaker’s temper. “Sylar -”

“You’re staying with me tonight.” The former serial killer said with finality. He was now pacing back and forth in the living room - a picture of rage and concern.

Peter’s heart softened. He went over to the kitchen counter to reorganize his groceries into the paper bags. “I don’t even know where you live, Sylar.” Might as well bring the food with him. No use letting them spoil in his absence.

“Soho.”

Peter stared at him incredulously.

“Well, that’s where I stay when I’m not at the Circus,” Sylar clarified, as if that made it better.

“You’ve been staying in Soho these two whole years and you never thought of dropping me hints?! Just to let me know you’re safe?” Peter can feel his hurt and anger boiling again. Was it so hard for people to care that he cares?

Sylar’s face instantly fell. He stood stock-still for a few long seconds before making his way to Peter slowly.

“Peter…” a hand went to the empath’s chest gently and Peter felt hot tears welling up. He hated being so sensitive but he did not know how to change this essence of his being. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Deep brown eyes gazed into his and Peter suddenly grasped the regret and sorrow conveyed across their mental link. His friend had missed him dearly in that time. He cannot keep punishing them both like this.

“I had to be so patient, Peter.” Sylar told softly. “I cannot just ask you to throw away your life like that. I had to wait for the right timing.”

“Okay…” Peter answered dumbly, mesmerized by the man’s solemnity.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Peter repeated in an exhale, releasing the resentment and the hurt of the past two years. It was just another minor hurdle in their strange relationship of violence and intimacy. Had their times together known much peace?

“The time has come though.”

Tension and guilt seemed to gradually drain off Sylar’s shoulders, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think there’s a way for the Rebellion to show themselves helpful - to win the people’s hearts. The FBI know about you, Sylar. They know you saved me.”

Sylar nodded, unsurprised. “I was half expecting that. Someone is bound to have seen me that day on the rooftop.”

“The FBI agent co-leading this terrorist investigation is the one who arrested me the day we met at Claire’s high school.”

Sylar’s brows raised to his hairline. “She’s the one who knew about you and Parkman?”

“Yes. She also called Parkman regarding you. Matt vouched for you, Sylar.” Peter smiled at the watchmaker’s astonishment, “He told Agent Hanson we can trust you, and so she wants us on standby in case those terrorists show up again.”

Sylar was silent in contemplation as he went to collect Peter’s laptop from the coffee table. He then headed to Peter’s bedroom and Peter heard noises of cupboards being opened and rummaged throuh. The older man finally came back out a few minutes later with a stuffed backpack. “I’m shocked, Peter.”

Peter nodded, “I know.”

“They asked for me too?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it’s not a trap?”

“No, Sylar. They really need our help.” Peter took the bag from Sylar. It was the khaki one – a present from Nathan the year he graduated from nursing school. He cannot help but feel his brother with him every step of the way.

Sylar chuckled lowly in disbelief. “I guess we better make a move now. Lock up good, Peter. We’ll only come back here when that Bratt Pitt wannabe and his gang are gone for good.”

The months went by relatively fast as Peter immersed himself into his job. There were reports of terrorist movements across the States but none of them were pin-pointed by the FBI beforehand, so they had no choice but to deal with the aftermaths only. Agent Hanson did not have a reason to call him thus far.

When Peter was not working, Sylar flew him to New Jersey where the Circus was hiding in a clearing. Edgar, Micah and Tracy Strauss were among the familiar faces. They welcomed him and he immediately put his heart into comforting and guiding the newcomers who sought refuge with the Circus. “That’s just so you, Peter.” Sylar had teased with a leer but he looked proud of him.

Angela smirked at him when they came out for dinner one of the days. Her smugness showed as she hinted to him that she knew what was going on in his life. She did not seem vengeful of Sylar anymore and left the two of them be. It was a miracle in itself.

Claire stayed with him on Nathan’s death anniversary that year. She had no idea what was going on. They drank beers and watched revolting reality TV shows, nibbling on pizzas and talking nonsense. She did tell Peter that she gained good grounds convincing senators to protect evos’ rights though. That sounded promising. A lump lodged in Peter’s throat and he was still physically unable to tell her that she was growing up to be more and more like Nathan. It broke his heart that his brother would not get to see this. From her soft smile though, he was sure she got it when he said, “You’ll have a position in the White House before you know it.”

Christmas and New Year were spent managing his time between his mother, Sylar, the newfound family of the Circus, and his unforgiving hospital shifts. At least Claire was away with her own families. Hiro and Ando dropped by for a quick visit the week before Thanksgiving, and Sylar was in awe that they were completely unafraid of him.

February of the next year came though and they were all thrust into disarray.

The President declared a state of emergency towards the end of February and nothing felt safe anymore. The terrorist attacks started in vicious intensity right after the relatively peaceful New Year. On 3^rd of February, two Associate Justices were murdered in the Supreme Court Building in Washington DC. The Republican terrorists claimed the kill. The following week, a group of school children in Iowa suffered acid attacks from the same man who wreaked havoc on the New York hotel rooftop, identified as Leon Jackson. At least Peter can finally put a name to the strange evo who trespassed into his apartment. In the meantime, FDA scrambled to pull back all the Dr. Peppers in the market because the terrorist group announced that they have tampered with an entire batch of them. The death toll from that was at 30 now. On the Thursday after that, an entire studio in Hollywood was engulfed in flames after the same terrorist group set it on fire. The fire department barely rescued five award-winning actors and a studio CEO trapped inside in time. Thankfully there were no casualties. Later in the evening, there was a blackout in LAX. Apparently, the Asian terrorist evo teleported into their control room and fried their electric panels.

Needless to say, the emergency services of the whole nation had been working with a sense of foreboding for the entire month. So when a dispatch came through the radio on a Friday morning in the beginning of March, Hesam and Peter were understandably tensed.

“Active shooter in the United Nations Headquarter. All units required.”

The paramedics exchanged grim looks. Hesam put their ambulance into drive and sped towards the location. The air in between them was hushed and strained. The radio crackled as different units responded.

Peter’s personal phone rang in his pocket en route. He somehow knew it was the FBI before even seeing the caller. The empath met Hesam’s eyes worriedly before answering.

“Agent Hanson?”

“Peter, we have a situation. UN HQ.”

“My partner and I are actually on this call, ETA 8 minutes.”

“Good, ‘cause it’s them. They barricaded certain sections. There’re already casualties. Get here ASAP. And get Sylar.” The call was disconnected.

The UN HQ compound was way larger than they had anticipated, but it was still packed with SWAT vans, black SUV, police trucks, fire rigs, news vans and ambulances. Peter thought it would be a nightmare to navigate the congested area but the officers parted before them as they were led directly to Agent Hanson.

“You see that one over there? That’s the main building.” Agent Hanson pointed out. Her piercing green eyes were on Peter. “The President and a few very important foreign dignitaries are inside, not including their convoys and the judges and senators inside, not including the staffs and outsiders like news crews and caterers either. We’re counting about 400 people inside. It’s them. It’s the AMA. The evos from the rooftop are here. Their members have AR machine guns. It’s a shit show. Where the hell is Sylar, Peter?”

Sylar landed next to Peter from the sky as if summoned, formidable and at ease. His hair and the tail of his dark trench coat billowed in the wind. No one had seen him coming other than Peter.

Agent Hanson stared at the former serial killer unimpressed. “Are you going to give us any trouble?”

“No, ma’am. Definitely not. We’re here to stop them.”

The agent glowered some more before she was satisfied by Sylar’s humility. “Here’s the thing,” she motioned for one of the police officers nearby and passed him a note, “no one is allowed into their barricaded territories other than the news crews and paramedics.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. A quick glance around them showed that the other EMTs were occupied with injured patients. Most of them were from hospitals nearer to the site. Blood trailed across the otherwise pristinely clean ground. There were some unharmed UN staffs sobbing across the place too, obviously traumatized and fearful for their fellow colleagues still inside.

“Why would they allow paramedics into the barricaded areas?” Hesam asked anxiously.

Agent Hanson paused with a grim grimace, “Because they want us to know who got injured and who else are still trapped inside with them.”

FBI and Secret Service agents were barking at each other near them while SWAT leaders watched. NYPD were shouting orders off to one side. No one seemed to be able to find consensus on how to proceed. It was overwhelming, and he felt Sylar furtively staring at him. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Sylar’s going in with you as a paramedic.”

The former killer’s head swiveled to her in surprise.

“You can’t fight your way into this one,” Audrey explained, “It’s a delicate situation. The President and the foreign ministers are in danger. You need to get as close as you can and disable them all at once.”

“But what do you expect Peter and his friend to do? It’s just the two of them against a horde of psychopathic terrorists.” Hesam protested hotly. Peter, on the other hand, was wordlessly seeing his work partner in a new light.

“Don’t worry, we’ll send back-ups in once they located the President. Two of our field agents will be going in with them too.”

“And how do you know when to send back-ups in? Are they able to wear wires?”

“I’ve brought someone who can listen in on them without wires.” Audrey told straightforwardly, and as if summoned, from a short distance away, Matt Parkman emerged from the throng of first responders.

Peter gaped.

“Well, well,” Sylar muttered flatly, “I thought you retired.”

Matt had a pinched look on his face as he regarded Sylar, but soon resigned to acceptance. “I came because Agent Hanson asked for my help. I wasn’t going to let Peter go in there alone.” The man looked slimmer and there were shadows under his eyes, like sleep escaped him often. His eyes conveyed a deep exhaustion of the mind.

Peter recovered from his shock and surged forward to hug the old friend. Yes, Matt had done the unspeakable to Nathan’s memory and to Sylar’s conscience, but the empath knew the telepath never meant him any harm. They were all simply dealt bad cards since the eclipse that uncovered their powers, and the outcomes were out of their depths to handle. “Thank you, Matt.”

Matt gave him squeeze before they broke off, “It’s the least I can do, for Nathan’s sake.”

Gunshots were heard coming from within the main building and there were screams. The agents and officers around them tensed at the noises, and Audrey heaved a frazzled sigh. “Is everyone clear of the plan?”

“You make that sounds too easy but I guess it makes sense,” Sylar grumbled and turned to Peter again. His eyes were gentle and reassuring despite the dire situation, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered numbly and nodded.

Hesam slapped his back in support and divested himself of his paramedic t-shirt. “Well man,” the partner handed his uniform to Sylar, who took it curiously. “See the emblem and badge here? It indicates that we’re experienced and have certain degree of medical qualification. You guys can use this excuse to bypass the minor injuries at the front and head straight to the VIP.”

“Good call. Peter, Sylar, you guys ready?”

A corner of Sylar’s lips lifted in response. Peter’s mouth opened in a soft gasp of surprise before the friend even said a word. “We’ve brought back-up too.”

“Remember Peter,” Agent Hanson’s voice was surprisingly soft as she brought them to the armed terrorists inside the main building together with a large group of actual paramedics, “The President is the priority. Call out to us as soon as you’re in the VIP room. We’re listening in.”

Peter nodded and watched nervously as an FBI liaison talked to the brutes in front. The EMTs were soon searched and let through, without the FBI agents escorting them.

They were on their own now.

Peter took a quick glance at Sylar. The man looked completely at ease and fearless. Hesam’s uniform hugged him snugly and he waltzed through the grand lobby like he could barrel through anything. Peter was very well aware of the confidence pulsing through their mental connection. It lessened his nerves already like an ice drink in a burning heat wave.

Sylar looked at him and gave him a fond smirk.

The three terrorists herding them had red bandanas covering the lower half of their faces as well. Machine gun magazines were strapped across their chests and they held their weapons proudly. They were not aware of the frauds in their midst though – Edgar, Amanda, Tracy Strauss and two other FBI agents masquerading as angels of healing.

After crossing two hallways, they came to a medium-sized conference room with velvet curtains and chairs. A small group of people cowered at a far corner and on the carpeted floor in front of them laid three gunshot victims. The tearful men and women had their arms up instantly when the terrorist thugs swung their guns onto them. The most muscular one standing behind Peter chuckled at the reaction. “Alright, three paramedics help those losers out. Get them out of here.”

“Three is not enough,” one of the EMT from Hospital General argued. They all knew it was true. But the said thug puffed up angrily and pointed his gun at the defiant woman.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let’s just chill.” Peter quickly interfered, pulling her away. Another two of her colleagues quickly came forward to talk her down and the trio were left in the room to attend to the dying victims.

As they continued their path across the massive, grandiose building, Sylar walked alongside him once more. “Stay low-key, Peter,” he urged, and Peter finally saw the unease in his dark eyes.

“I can’t get hurt,” Peter reminded in a whisper, but it did not quench Sylar’s concern.

They stopped by six more halls and conference rooms of varying size, and paramedics from different hospitals stayed behind to help the victims in each places. By the end of the 15 minutes journey, they arrived to a courtroom. Peter gulped quietly.

The scene was gut-wrenching. There were at least 50 people in here. The judge was gasping for breath on the bench, a hand pressed to his bleeding stomach. In the witness stand, a woman was sprawled in the seat. She was probably dead. In the jury box and the gallery, almost half the people were wounded. Two particular young children caught Peter’s attention. They were screaming from the gaping wounds on their chest and shoulder. It looked like acid burns that melted skins, and the bones underneath were at risk of disintegrating. Their mother was clutching them with heartbreaking sobs.

Peter did the math in his own head. There were only six real paramedics remained in their little squad, himself included. There were not enough of them to help this room.

“We need to all stay here. There’re too many people,” one of the older guys from Sisters of Grace Hospital voiced out, looking worried. Peter chanced a peep at Sylar and found the man boring a hole into his soul. He can almost hear his friend warning him not to do anything stupid.

But he also knew that Sylar knows him too well.

“I’m staying here,” he volunteered, as did a few others. His fellow undercover evos and FBI agents stared hard at him. “I won’t be long,” he promised, meeting Sylar’s accusing eyes, “I’ll catch up with you guys when I’m done here.”

“Alright, alright. At least 7 of you need to be moving on. The rest can stay and help this room,” the red-haired thug that slurred his words with thick accent said, waving his gun. None of the brutes seemed to notice the silent argument that had transpired.

As expected, the real paramedics in their midst stayed. Peter watched as his own undercover people were steered down the hallway, away from him.

“Hey! Mercy Heights? Can you help me?” a medic called out to him and Peter instantly got to work. Kneeling down next to her in front of the two children and their mother, he was gentle and efficient in taking stock of the situation. But it only took two minutes for him and the medic next to him to exchange subtle looks – the wounds were too deep and the kids would probably be handicapped by the time they reached a hospital, if they did not die from blood loss that is.

Peter closed his eyes in distress. He can tell that their clothes were overworn and the purse next to the mother was falling apart by the thread. They were poor. They probably could not afford the cares needed for physical disabilities. Having a decision made, Peter opened his eyes again and gently grasped the hand of the EMT next to him, “Hey, I’m… I’m an evo.”

The woman frowned, surprised by the sudden admission. “You…what can you do? Can you help with this?” she gestured at the children.

“Yes,” Peter told, a little hesitantly. Without preamble, he opened the first aid box he carried and took out a scissor. Before anyone can stop him, he drew a long, deep cut on his palm.

“What are you doing?” the concerned medic hissed, hastily perusing the box for gauze. But Peter met the mother’s confused eyes steadily.

“I have cellular regeneration. It can heal the boys.”

The initial fear and suspicion on the mother’s face immediately ceased. “Please…” was the desperate plea. She was losing hope as her boys’ blood soaked her blouse. Peter wasted no time and pressed his palm to the children’s injuries. They screamed in terror and pain as his blood mingled with theirs.

For the next twenty seconds of escalating wonder, they all watched as the kids’ bones and flesh knitted back together. The serious burns faded and soon, fresh skins sealed their wounds and their crying hiccupped to a stop. The mother and the medic by his side gaped in astonishment, eyes wide and bewildered.

“You healed them.”

“It’s the blood.” Peter explained to the fellow EMT. The woman came to herself quicker than the emotional mother. It was her turn to grab Peter’s wrist.

“Can you help them all?”

“I need to try.”

She nodded at him resolutely, pleased by his determination. With a tug, she led Peter to her other colleagues tending to the other victims. She explained the situation to them quickly and clearly. There were curious and confused looks shot his way, but Peter was emboldened when one by one, the medics retreated and let him pressed his palm to the victims’ injuries. He had to reopen the cut on his hand several times as he went through the room but before long, all the victims were fully recovered and well, except for the already dead witness. They all gathered around him loosely. There had to be people in there who were unsure about evos, but none of them were showing hostility right now.

“I’m with the FBI,” Peter told at last. The entire room looked relieved. Peter scratched lightly at the itch on his newly healed palm. “I need to get back to them. Can you all stay in here and lock the door? Stay quiet about this?”

As one, the people in the room nodded. There were blood on their clothes but none of them were hurt anymore. The judge approached and placed a kind hand on Peter’s back as he led him to the doorway. “Be careful, son.”

They sent Peter on his way with gratitude and soft encouragements. Peter heard the door of the courtroom closed with a creak as he continued down the hallway.

Peter rejoined the group as they were nearing the end of the main building. Sylar glared at him whereas the mercenaries did not pay him much mind. They were marching to a set of huge ivory doors with dead guards by the sides. Peter took another glance at his friend and found Sylar tensing up.

The thugs knocked with a coded rhythm and the doors opened unceremoniously. Inside were, of course, the most important people in the building – the President, some members of the Cabinet, and foreign dignitaries. From what Peter can see, about thirty or so rebels were holding about twenty VIP and their Secret Service agents hostage. They were all clustered in the void center of the massive assembly hall. At a glance, no one seemed to be injured.

The blonde evo, Leon Jackson, was also inside with the Asian teleporter. Leon caught sight of Sylar and all hell broke loose.

Strings of acids came flying towards their small group. They yelped in alarm and Sylar was quick to form a protective telekinesis shield around the group.

“See, this is what’s called ‘lack of plans’!” Edgar hollered irately. They vaguely heard the other rebels asking Leon what was going on. The acid-wielding evo missed the brutes escorting them by mere inches. It was creating a heated commotion among their own troop.

Taking opportunity of the confusion, Edgar, Tracy and Amanda charged forward valiantly to wreak havoc on the group of mercenaries. It was dangerous and it was reckless, but the stake was high. If any single person in this hall was killed, it could start a war.

Edgar was the leader of the Carnival. His team moved in sync with him. The speedster incapacitated half the room already while Amanda and Tracy did the rest with contradictory powers. They worked fantastically well together after years of training. Unfortunately though, a lot of the terrorists had radios in their hands, which meant they were able to call for help. Another large, armed group of AMA burst through the ivory doors about three minutes in. In the midst of the tumult, the ministers and their Secret Service agents suddenly found the courage to fight back against the mutineers. Chairs were hurled and tables were overthrown. Continuous gunshots rang out deafeningly around the hall. As a result, they were all scattered. The President and his ministers had fled to the north side of the hall towards a fire exit, while the foreign dignitaries separated into two small bands, heading towards different directions.

“We have to split!” one of the FBI undercover agents shouted, “I’m going to the Saudi group and Jensen will get the Russian ones. Sylar, Peter, go get the President to safety!”

They moved fast. The agents bounced right after the impromptu instruction. They were severely outnumbered with the terrorists that kept on coming.

“Stay behind me!” Sylar yelled at Peter. Crouching low, Peter dodged bullets and trailed after Sylar as they make their way towards President Riley and his circle of people.

Peter, hang in there. Back-ups are meeting resistance up front. There’re more of them than we expected. Peter heard Matt spoke directly into his mind.

“Mr. President, sir!” Sylar called out the instant they reached the man, “we’re here to get you out!”

Instead of gratitude, the five Secret Service agents surrounding the President and the few ministers shot wary looks at Sylar. Their guns were probably taken away by the AMA but they did not need weapons to get their hands dirty. They looked ready to fight.

“You’re one of them?” Secretary Kloss, who was cowering next to the President, queried. He had been openly distrustful towards evos since Claire’s jump.

“Yes, the FBI sent us!” Sylar sounded just a tad annoyed. He had just narrowly shielded them from a burst of fire from the battlefield a few feet from them. Bullets were also diverted with a wave of his hand. “Why don’t we move first and ask questions later?”

The obstinate group of USA leaders side-eyed each other before nodding their assent warily. Together, they all ran for the fire exit nearest to them. Sylar and Peter followed behind, guarding their rear. They traversed a narrow back lane and came to a rather huge alcove where the catering staffs had left their foods.

“There!” a Secret Service agent pointed at another fire exit, “That one opens to the outside!” They all crowded to the door but a quick perusal showed that it was jaggedly welded shut. They cannot even find its hinges anymore.

“Oh I did that!” a familiar voice told smugly. Peter’s hackles rose. They spun around and saw Leon Jackson approaching them with a relaxed swagger. The last time Peter saw him up close, it was in his own apartment.

Sylar looked enraged as he stalked forward, an arm raised threateningly.

“No, no! Please don’t shut my mouth. We need to talk!” The blonde man hurriedly appeased. “Riley is planning to give an executive order to arrest all evos next month! All of us! Not just the dangerous ones. He’s meeting world leaders to encourage them to do the same too!”

Sylar paused at the curious words. Peter, in turn, frowned at his friend.

“Come on, Riley!” Leon Jackson called out casually to the President hidden behind the Secret Service, “would you tell them I’m wrong?”

The evos turned to look at the man, but the President set his face like a flint haughtily.

“See, he’s not denying it,” the political terrorist taunted.

Dejection and apprehension slinked into Peter’s gut like a dark cloud. Surely this will not end like all the other alternate versions of their world – the earth split into two?

“No,” Vice President Neil Corral suddenly spoke, to their mild surprise. He had been silent up to this point. “It’s not a done deal. There’re still people fighting that notion. There’s no unilateral assent on that.”

Peter regarded at the older politician desperately. He seemed like a reasonable, honest man. If there was still hope for this whole situation, Peter will hold on to it. He is still Peter after all. He is not able to abandon his naïve optimism about trusting in the goodness of people.

But the two other evos completely ignored the Vice President’s reassurance. Sylar’s eyes were illuminated with wrath as he glowered at the blonde terrorist. “Shut up. Don’t say another word.”

“You know we’re on the same side,” Leon Jackson continued, occasionally meeting Peter’s eyes like an orchestrated flirtation, “You know you’re too powerful. You know they’ll lock you up. That’s why you’ve hidden your people. You’re The Shadow.”

“Sylar…” Peter implored his friend when the former serial killer continued glaring at the terrorist without action.

“But there’re still evos out in the open. You would know. You’ve been rescuing them. Well they’ll be safe from persecutors soon ‘cause President Riley wants to imprison all of them. Lock them all up! Probably underground even?” Jackson shot a look at the President again. “What would they do to evos underground? What if they take empaths first, Shadow? Like your friend Peter here?”

Sylar was as still as a statue, but Peter can see that his right fist was clenched tightly. He can tell Leon Jackson was getting through to the protectiveness in the rebellion leader.

“We can find other ways to go about this,” Peter countered earnestly, “Like VP Corral just said, they’re still in talk. You can’t just run an insurrection and expect people to stand on our side. This is not helping us.”

Leon Jackson chuckled with a fond look at him, “Oh Peter… Surely you don’t believe that?”

“Sylar, this is wrong.” Peter beseeched the man. Sylar finally looked at him. Peter can tell that his friend was torn. If Peter can hold the two men at bay for another few minutes, perhaps Agent Hanson and the SWAT team would make it to them.

Matt, we’re at one of the catering hall behind the main assembly hall. The President is here. But the fire exit is fused shut.

Peter, hang on a little while more. That teleporter keeps bringing in troops. We’re not able to get past the second lobby.

“Shadow, or Sylar, whoever you are…you know I’m on your side. You know I’m right. That’s why we can’t let President Riley live.”

Peter’s heart sank as Leon Jackson shot out an arm and flung a pile of molten acid towards the group of politicians at their back. Without a second thought, Peter extended a hand to freeze the enormous globule with Tracy’s power. It was a foresight on his part to quickly copy her power when she dashed past him earlier in the assembly hall. He figured cellular regeneration was of no use to him in a battlefield. In the present, Leon Jackson’s acid projectiles were all met with similar ends - they were all frozen midair and shattered as they hit the ground.

“Sylar, please!” Peter urged. The blonde terrorist was relentless in his attacks, sending a net of sizzling fluid like fireworks all over the place to hurt the frightened politicians. Sylar finally gave in after a stream of acid flew too close to Peter. The former serial killer scowled and bound the guy telekinetically, flinging him away like a rag doll. Leon Jackson cursed and struggled to no avail, writhing on the floor angrily.

“Like you said, I’m doing what’s best for my own people.” Peter heard Sylar said calmly to the man.

Satisfied that the Jackson was incapacitated, the empath sprinted to the fire exit and laid a palm on the door. Frosty veins started swirling on its surface and soon, it became smooth and glossy as it turned into ice. The Secret Service quickly smashed the door after catching his intention. It broke off into thousands of shimmering pieces and they were hit by the slightly colder air outside. The SWAT and FBI agents came forward immediately and met them with astonished faces.

Logically, they had finally arrived in the arms of safety. The President and his band of leaders were hurrying to the proficient combative agents outside. The sun was shining wanly on them in the open air.

Within the span of two seconds though, Peter saw the Asian teleporter materialized right behind President Riley. His stomach dropped at the sight of the sharp knife in her hand.

“NO!” he yelled out in panic and ran to grab her shoulder, which she retaliated by turning and slashing him across the stomach.

Peter gasped, shocked. The agony was crippling as blood poured. The paramedic within him knew it was potentially a fatal wound. The distraught faces of agents and politicians in his line of vision swam and he briefly wondered whether getting killed for them was worth it.

“Peter!” Sylar sounded horrified. His footsteps were thunderous as he rushed towards to them. He had accosted the Asian woman with telekinesis but Peter can tell that she intended to simply teleport a few feet away to break free from Sylar’s hold. It was way too easy for her to simply reappear elsewhere with another assassination attempt in the blink of an eye, so Peter did what was reasonable – he grasped her wrist and freeze her entire right arm.

It was her turn to be horrified.

“Take it back!” she screeched at Peter. Behind her, Peter saw President Riley evading the Secret Service’s endeavor to get him to safety.

“I won’t if you teleport away. You can take your frozen limb with you.” Peter challenged with stuttering breaths. That did stop her resolve to continue with her mission though. Her eyes darted around like a trapped animal as she considered her options. The SWAT agents were coming over with guns but he wondered how they could confine a teleporter. He supposed Sylar can electrocute her and knock her unconscious, but he hoped it would not come down to that.

Peter’s eyesight was getting blurry as blood loss took its toll. Sylar had come to his side and hooked Peter’s arm around his shoulder worriedly. Everything else seemed to fade into the background.

“Alright, I won’t run! Undo this!” the Asian woman pleaded.

“Peter, listen to me, take regen now. You’re bleeding too much.”

“FBI, stand down! Do not move or teleport away!”

“Sir, Mr. President, what are you doing?”

Maybe it was due to the chaos and loud noises that no one really noticed or stopped President Riley from approaching the Asian evo. He stood a head above the woman and to their utter shock, smashed the teleporter’s frozen arm with his fist, shattering it like a scene from a horror film.

The woman shrieked. Peter watched with gut-wrenching distress as small pieces of a bloodied arm slid across the floor. “Sylar…” he muttered, turning to his friend, feeling nauseous and revolted.

The President laid a rough hand on his other shoulder to get his attention though, “Freeze her whole!”

“What?” Peter wheezed weakly. He felt Sylar’s arm around his waist tightened protectively.

“I said, freeze her whole! We have to destroy her!”

To say he was aghast was an understatement. The politicians and some of the agents looked appalled by the President’s blatant cruelty too. The woman was already on her knees, crying aloud in pain.

“I can’t,” Peter said, feeling greatly perturbed as he stared at the man stubbornly.

President Riley fumed. He looked terrifying when his eyes turned red with rage. “I said, freeze her whole, evo…”

Peter did not know which dread he should prioritize first - whether it was the President’s threat, or Sylar’s obvious impulse to rip the man to shreds. Either way, he did not find out, because a bullet pierced through President Riley’s chest, splattering blood onto Peter’s cheek.

“Gunmen at 12 o’clock!” Peter heard one of the SWAT barked. Sylar pivoted slightly and telekinetically tossed away the guns in the terrorists’ hands. They had arrived at the entrance of the alcove. There were about 30 of them at least, only slightly surprised by the loss of their weapons and continued charging towards them like psychotic dogs. Sylar probably had enough when he whistled at them. Peter knew he hated using that power. It reminded him of his undesirable root.

The terrorists froze in their actions halfway like a drawing. Their eyeballs bulged with fear but their throats were partially locked up, so they could not make a sound. When Peter turned back around, the President was already taken to an ambulance nearby. The SWAT and FBI agents single-mindedly rushed past him and Sylar to arrest the motionless terrorists.

The noises were starting to escape Peter when they all started sounding like they were underwater. He felt his blood dripping on the floor like a leaking faucet. The teleporter was still on her knees in front of them, weeping uncontrollably. She looked terribly young in this light. Two FBI agents came to drag her away as an afterthought a moment later, injecting something into her neck and sedating her instantly. Was it normal sedative? Or was it something conjured up in a government’s lab to suppress evos’ powers? They needed a way to capture and lock up all the evos after all if they wanted to go through with President Riley’s plan.

“Take regen,” Sylar hissed by his ear, and Peter obeyed without an argument. His flesh and skin started knitting back together and he found himself taking large gulps of air again. The pain was dissipating and his senses came back to him with clarity.

Sylar observed him with intense brown eyes, “Okay?”

Peter nodded shakily, “Yeah.”

When President Riley’s death was announced two days later, Peter wondered why he did not offer to heal the President like he did for the people in the courtroom that day. It was bizarre that it did not even cross his mind.

“I think you should not do that again unless absolutely necessary,” Sylar said when he brought it up.

“The President is dead. Was it not absolutely necessary?”

The rebel leader remained quiet. They both knew it would not end well for their kind if the late President survived. The opinions of the nation were once again torn. Some thought that evos should cease to exist, others thought that evos can help counter terrorism. Peter understood their dilemma.

They were invited to the White House after the office was passed to VP Corral a week later. The new President smiled warily at them as they sat in a room that resembled a small but ostentatious living room. Peter took subtle peeks around the space and noted the staffs and Secret Service all around them.

“I heard from the hospital that you quit, Peter.”

Peter startled, “Yes sir. It’s difficult to do my job with the media attention and eyes on me.”

“Claire seems to be doing fine with college and White House duties.” It was said without malice. Peter caught a glimpse of a genuine, friendly smirk from the older man.

“Peter doesn’t have her charm and management skill. He’s a disaster magnet,” Sylar interjected, eliciting a snort from the Chief of Staff sitting next to the President.

The air became solemn when the FBI chief excused the White House residence staffs from the room. “Listen,” the serious man with wrinkles and gray hair started, “we know you’re the Shadow.”

Peter wanted to smack Sylar so bad for looking smug.

“We know you’re leading a rebellion. But ultimately, you guys never did anything harmful to other citizens, except for those who break the laws and hurt other people.”

“That’s right.”

“We’re offering you a chance to work in the light. Come work for us hand in hand.”

“Absolutely not,” Sylar growled, “We’ll never put ourselves in a vulnerable position after you guys just admitted your intention to put us all away.”

President Corral sighed. “It’s true, we’ve discussed that. But like I said, it wasn’t final. There’re people who are against it, like myself.”

Sylar stared at the man dubiously. Peter frowned and looked around the room again. The Secret Service stood quite a few feet away. As far as Peter can tell, they were only carrying normal guns, no strange sedative implements.

“My daughter is an evo.”

Both Peter and Sylar were stunned. A quick glance at the FBI chief and the chief of staff told Peter that they knew.

“So you understand my purpose is for evos and humans to coexist peacefully, eventhough it may take time getting used to, as history foretold.” President Corral poured himself a glass of whiskey and Peter was slightly surprised that he can drink during work.

“I still don’t agree to exposing my people. We’re not working for you.” Sylar insisted.

“I understand that too,” the President nodded, “You don’t have to work for us. But you need to be at least available when we call, and refrain from creating too big of a dissension in the country. A bit of a Claire Bennet role, if you will. You can still live your own lives, but you are our friend and our back-up.”

Peter and Sylar looked at each other, passing notes in the bridge of their minds. I’m not reading any tricks, Peter told Sylar telepathically. He had visited Matt Parkman last weekend specifically for this White House date.

“We’ll smooth out details about the type of back-ups you’ll provide to us. And you and your people will help me to smooth over any discord between evos and us normal folks. It’s what an upstanding citizen would do, don’t you agree?”

Four years had passed and President Corral was reelected last year. Peter and Sylar lounged on a hill in Hollywood, overlooking their Carnival on a plain. The sky was turning a soft lavender and the city lights were coming on at a near distance.

It had been peaceful lately.

“When I went to the future, they were hunting us. I had a scar on my face and the earth split into two.”

Sylar had a carefree expression on his handsome face, “Maybe that was another lifetime, Peter.”

Claire was now a policy analyst in the senate committee instead of a dark-haired, blood thirsty agent. “Yeah…”

“We deserve this, Peter.”

Laughter from the Carnival drifted up to them. Angela was visiting this week. Edgar’s wife just had their second baby. Renee just flew back from Haiti and dropped by to say hi. Micah Sanders was probably building another supercomputer. He was interning at Google HQ and was blowing their mind. Noah Bennet still hated Sylar’s guts but maintained civility whenever he came knocking. Matt Parkman was a consulting agent for the FBI, and Tracy Strauss went back into the political field. Peter was pretty sure she was also in a love triangle with Noah and his work partner, Laura. Huh, who would have known…

It had been peaceful lately.

“Yeah, we deserve this.”