YEARS GONE
By Unlikely Hiro
Chapter X: Search!
Somewhere in India
Tuesday, May 18, 2021
Jyothis waited patiently, hands folded behind his back, while Dr. Shenoy read his
report. She finally set the papers down, biting her lip.
"You made yourself out to be a much better sniper than this indicates, Jyothis."
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I was not informed that Mr. Rains had the skills to
anticipate that--"
"He was British Special Forces, Jyothis."
"A fact of which I was not informed," he said, bobbing very slightly on his heels, "I was
also not informed that Mr. Iyer could put me to sleep."
"That we didn't know. Still, you should have anticipated it."
Jyothis wanted to ask just HOW he could have anticipated such a thing with as mch
sarcasm as he could muster. But he didn't. It didn't seem proper to him.
"You must kill Iyer before he leaves the country. Do you have any idea how important
that is?"
"Yes ma'am."
Shenoy frowned, and pulled a laminated card out of her dwarer, "You are now S.
Chidambaram Jyothis. You are going to infiltrate the Hyderabad office and you WILL kill
Iyer. And Rasihamatijan, if you can."
Jyothis accepted the ID card. He studied the photo on it before morphing his face to
match it.
"Is that the whole of my mission?"
"Collect intelligence if you can," she said, pulling something else out of the drawer,
"This is a 50 gig flash drive. Download as much as you can. I trust that you know what is
important?"
Jyothis ignored the sarcasm, "Of course." Still, Mira explained anyway.
"A driver is waiting outside to take you to Hyderabad," she said, pointing at the door,
"He already has the things you will need. I want your job done within three days. Is that
clear?"
"Yes, ma'am." Jyothis nodded stiffly.
"Then get going!" Jyothis saluted, spun on his heels, and left her office.
As she had said, a car was waiting outside. The car was marked with government plates
and was a rather new, European model.
Jyothis sat in the back seat. The driver, a rather pale American immigrant, nodded at
him through the mirror, saying, "The suitcase is yours, sir. The switch there opens and
closes the partition."
"Very good," Jyothis said, "Thank you." He flipped the switch. A few moments after he
did, he felt the car lurch forward. Only then did he open the suitcase. He examined the
contents, and then closed it. It contained all that he would need.
***
Peter beamed into Hyderabad late that evening, carrying snapshots of the paintings
and a copy of the Written Prophecy, which dealt more with events in India than did the
paintings.
Peter managed to secure the use of a conference room to speak with Claude. Claude
was one of only a handful of people on Earth who knew the truth about what happeed
November 8, 2006. Peter had managed--not without some difficulty--to begin forgiving
Claude for bailing on him that October. Having access to what was left of Primatech's
archives meant he knew what would have happened to Claude if they had captured
him. He also knew from his mind that he thought there wouldn't BE an explosion: he
thought it was part of an elaborate ruse to learn what he knew about SG's then capture
him.
So he had moved on. Claude may not have been willing to become an "administrator"
in the capacity that Peter (and, to a greater extenct, Kimiko and Heidi) were, but his
expertise was extensive and meant it was rather necessary to keep him around.
"We can do it," Claude whispered, "Amita's li'l mind editing trick is easy enough, and
we can funnel it through Sanjog. There may be, she says, a 'short window of time'
before it reverses itself. I'm not too sure, thoough."
"What?"
Claude blushed a little, "She pulled it on me, mate. Made me think everyone was so
nice and wonderful. You know, got rid of all the 'cynicism.' I don't think I would've
wanted her to change me back if she hadn't done it herself."
Peter smiled, "That'd be a shame."
Clauude glared at him, "Sorry I'm such a bother. Anyway, she can edit Tarkin easy."
"I'm sorry, 'Tarkin'?"
"The general. He looks like that guy who ran the Death Star in Star Wars. You never
gave me his name, you know."
"Robert Maslarak. I didn't think I should use it over phone."
"Bloody hell Peter, you got Hana's power, didn't you? You can see any hackers coming!"
Peter shrugged, "Doesn't matter. I'm sure he wouldn't like being called after the
Butcher of Alderaan."
Claude shook his head, "You a fan, mate?"
Peter suddenly started pacing about the desk, "It doesn't matter, I guess. We've got a
bigger problem."
"What?"
Peter stared at the desk, biting his lip and shaking his head, "Sylar. Molly saw Sylar."
"WHAT?!" Claude suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, "You said you killed him!"
Peter wriggled loose, "I thought I killed him. His illusory power must be more extensive
than I thought it was."
"Bloody fucking hell, Peter! Bloody mother fucking HELL!! You're telling me Sylar's
been running loose for the past five years!"
Peter glared at him and let out a low breath. Claude felt his anger dissipate. "That's
dirty fighting, Peter," he grumbled.
"I need you to think clearly, okay?"
"I'm gonna think clearly when you've hopped me up on this power of yours?"
"I don't think Sylar's been killing. No one's gone missing."
"Think, Peter," Claude crooned--crooned!-- in a tone that disgusted him and would've
made him hate Peter's power even more if such a thing were possible when it was
being used, "You're gonna notice if a kid disappears in America. Hell, in Britain,
Europe, India, or Japan. What about Africa? We don't have operations there, Peter."
Peter sat down in a swivel chair and spun around idly, "Right. Africa. Didn't think about
there."
"Of course you didn't," Claude noted. Normally, this would've been a sarcastic note,
but since Peter had "calmed" him it had been robbed of its "bite."
"Africa. Hm." Peter leaned back and tapped on the table.
"Where is he now?"
"Huh? Well, I've been keeping a low-level track on him. He hasn't left the base yet. I
suppose I could be more specific."
"Please do, Peter."
Peter sat up and sighed, "You're actually ANNOYING like this." He waved his hand and
Claude took a deep breath. His eye was twitching and he was gritting his teeth.
"I've. Had. Enough. Of. People messing with my bloody mind. I'm more pissed now, you
know."
Peter shrugged and leaned back in the chair again, taking a deep breath.
Locating someone was a rather weird process, partly because he rarely did it. Even
though he frequently stopped time relative to himself to do things (like sleep), he still
had a schedule.
He thought about his frequent time-stopping. How old am I? he thought. He was
certainly older than the 41 his birthday suggested.
He pushed it aside and focused on Sylar. Locating was something like astral projection,
sending his spirit out towards the person, watching them and their environment. At the
same time, he knew the name and geographic coordinates of where the person was. It
wasn't as if he saw it, or heard it, he just KNEW.
He saw the whole of Nuremberg Air Force Base. He wasn't flying over it, he could just
see it all at once and somehow make sense of it. Lately, he had just been stopping at
this level, just to be sure Sylar was still there.
He willed himself closer to Sylar.
He felt himself move down the hallways. They were, to him, empty, but they probably
weren't in reality. Unlike Molly, he had yet to see other people in these visions. Even
he had his limits.
He found himself standing in a modest bedroom. Sylar was sitting on te edge of the
bed, flipping lazily through a stack of papers.
Peter leaned his psychic self over to look at the papers. The one on the top was
labeled "Iriba, Chad."
Sylar looked up and around the room. He stopped and stared in Peter's general
direction.
Peter tensed. Sylar seemed to relax and took a deep breath.
He smiled and said, "Hello, Peter."
Peter gasped. Sylar was suddenly standing and reached out towards him. Peter's
vision blurred and he felt a sort of draw towards Sylar.
Peter. Peter.
"What do you think Peter?" he heard Sylar ask, "This is a new one of mine."
Peter. Peter!
Claude's voice impinged on the edge of his mind. He shot out a beam of intense
psychic energy at Sylar, but saw it dissipate.
"Don't try to fight it Peter. Sometimes those with power meet pathetic ends."
The universe isn't that lame. A voice echoed across time and memory. Who said that to
him? He was having trouble remembering.
He tried focusing sheer will at fighting him, but he felt things slip away faster.
Peter! Peter! PETER!!
He had a sudden epiphany and focused on Claude's voice. He felt Sylar and his world
retreat back into distant America with a small cry of anger from Sylar.
Peter sat up with a loud gasp. Claude was shaking him.
"What happened?! You were having some sort of seizure mate!"
"Sylar," Peter panted, looking around the room. He was now on the floor, "He saw me!
He saw me!"
"What? How?" Claude started shaking him again, "Wait! Peter!"
Peter had fallen to the floor, struggling to breathe, "Wait, Claude. I'll be--" He began
drawing air to himself psychically, "--fine."
"You sure? I called for--"
"What's happening?" Peter heard Nirand and several others enter the room.
"Psychic shock," Claude said, standing up, "S--A hostile tried invading his mind."
"What hostile?" A man Peter didn't recognize knelt down beside him.
"Classified!" Peter tried to shout. The man heard him fortunately, and made some sort
of noise in dissaproval.
"Well, I could know something about him, couldn't I?" the man muttered.
"Multiple powers," Peter said, "No known history of mind control. Really, I'm fine!" And
he sat up.
The man--Dr. Rambastiran, according to his nametag--was holding something that
looked like a doctor's ear light, "I should try--"
"No!" Peter stood up and said, "I am perfectly capable of fixing myself. Everyone out!
Everyone out!"
He shooed the doctors away, but grabbed Claude's arm and prevented him from
leaving. Not that the old man would have anyway.
"Do you know anything about someone who could rip people out of their minds?"
Claude sat down and put his hand on his forehead, "I remember Molly telling me about
someone who could see her when she was told to find him. She didn't say much about
it, but I always though she was talking about Maury Parkman."
"The founder?" Peter sat down across from him, "I know he had mind control, but
mind-ripping?"
Claude shrugged, "Well, what else happened? What did you see mate?"
Peter rubbed his eyes, "Something about Chad and Sudan. Iriba, Chad."
"Told you he was in Africa." Claude put a hand on his shoulder, "Peter, you should go
see someone to make sure Sylar hasn't messed with you. Go see Ami, she'd know.
'Sides, she's quite a looker. That'd cheer you up, right?"
Peter shrugged, "Fine, fine. You have seen Niki though, right?"
"Hard to forget her, mate."
Peter laughed, "Well, I need to meet her anyway, and Sanjay."
"Sanjog."
"Right." Peter stood up, "Lead the way."
By Unlikely Hiro
Chapter X: Search!
Somewhere in India
Tuesday, May 18, 2021
Jyothis waited patiently, hands folded behind his back, while Dr. Shenoy read his
report. She finally set the papers down, biting her lip.
"You made yourself out to be a much better sniper than this indicates, Jyothis."
"Ma'am, with all due respect, I was not informed that Mr. Rains had the skills to
anticipate that--"
"He was British Special Forces, Jyothis."
"A fact of which I was not informed," he said, bobbing very slightly on his heels, "I was
also not informed that Mr. Iyer could put me to sleep."
"That we didn't know. Still, you should have anticipated it."
Jyothis wanted to ask just HOW he could have anticipated such a thing with as mch
sarcasm as he could muster. But he didn't. It didn't seem proper to him.
"You must kill Iyer before he leaves the country. Do you have any idea how important
that is?"
"Yes ma'am."
Shenoy frowned, and pulled a laminated card out of her dwarer, "You are now S.
Chidambaram Jyothis. You are going to infiltrate the Hyderabad office and you WILL kill
Iyer. And Rasihamatijan, if you can."
Jyothis accepted the ID card. He studied the photo on it before morphing his face to
match it.
"Is that the whole of my mission?"
"Collect intelligence if you can," she said, pulling something else out of the drawer,
"This is a 50 gig flash drive. Download as much as you can. I trust that you know what is
important?"
Jyothis ignored the sarcasm, "Of course." Still, Mira explained anyway.
"A driver is waiting outside to take you to Hyderabad," she said, pointing at the door,
"He already has the things you will need. I want your job done within three days. Is that
clear?"
"Yes, ma'am." Jyothis nodded stiffly.
"Then get going!" Jyothis saluted, spun on his heels, and left her office.
As she had said, a car was waiting outside. The car was marked with government plates
and was a rather new, European model.
Jyothis sat in the back seat. The driver, a rather pale American immigrant, nodded at
him through the mirror, saying, "The suitcase is yours, sir. The switch there opens and
closes the partition."
"Very good," Jyothis said, "Thank you." He flipped the switch. A few moments after he
did, he felt the car lurch forward. Only then did he open the suitcase. He examined the
contents, and then closed it. It contained all that he would need.
***
Peter beamed into Hyderabad late that evening, carrying snapshots of the paintings
and a copy of the Written Prophecy, which dealt more with events in India than did the
paintings.
Peter managed to secure the use of a conference room to speak with Claude. Claude
was one of only a handful of people on Earth who knew the truth about what happeed
November 8, 2006. Peter had managed--not without some difficulty--to begin forgiving
Claude for bailing on him that October. Having access to what was left of Primatech's
archives meant he knew what would have happened to Claude if they had captured
him. He also knew from his mind that he thought there wouldn't BE an explosion: he
thought it was part of an elaborate ruse to learn what he knew about SG's then capture
him.
So he had moved on. Claude may not have been willing to become an "administrator"
in the capacity that Peter (and, to a greater extenct, Kimiko and Heidi) were, but his
expertise was extensive and meant it was rather necessary to keep him around.
"We can do it," Claude whispered, "Amita's li'l mind editing trick is easy enough, and
we can funnel it through Sanjog. There may be, she says, a 'short window of time'
before it reverses itself. I'm not too sure, thoough."
"What?"
Claude blushed a little, "She pulled it on me, mate. Made me think everyone was so
nice and wonderful. You know, got rid of all the 'cynicism.' I don't think I would've
wanted her to change me back if she hadn't done it herself."
Peter smiled, "That'd be a shame."
Clauude glared at him, "Sorry I'm such a bother. Anyway, she can edit Tarkin easy."
"I'm sorry, 'Tarkin'?"
"The general. He looks like that guy who ran the Death Star in Star Wars. You never
gave me his name, you know."
"Robert Maslarak. I didn't think I should use it over phone."
"Bloody hell Peter, you got Hana's power, didn't you? You can see any hackers coming!"
Peter shrugged, "Doesn't matter. I'm sure he wouldn't like being called after the
Butcher of Alderaan."
Claude shook his head, "You a fan, mate?"
Peter suddenly started pacing about the desk, "It doesn't matter, I guess. We've got a
bigger problem."
"What?"
Peter stared at the desk, biting his lip and shaking his head, "Sylar. Molly saw Sylar."
"WHAT?!" Claude suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, "You said you killed him!"
Peter wriggled loose, "I thought I killed him. His illusory power must be more extensive
than I thought it was."
"Bloody fucking hell, Peter! Bloody mother fucking HELL!! You're telling me Sylar's
been running loose for the past five years!"
Peter glared at him and let out a low breath. Claude felt his anger dissipate. "That's
dirty fighting, Peter," he grumbled.
"I need you to think clearly, okay?"
"I'm gonna think clearly when you've hopped me up on this power of yours?"
"I don't think Sylar's been killing. No one's gone missing."
"Think, Peter," Claude crooned--crooned!-- in a tone that disgusted him and would've
made him hate Peter's power even more if such a thing were possible when it was
being used, "You're gonna notice if a kid disappears in America. Hell, in Britain,
Europe, India, or Japan. What about Africa? We don't have operations there, Peter."
Peter sat down in a swivel chair and spun around idly, "Right. Africa. Didn't think about
there."
"Of course you didn't," Claude noted. Normally, this would've been a sarcastic note,
but since Peter had "calmed" him it had been robbed of its "bite."
"Africa. Hm." Peter leaned back and tapped on the table.
"Where is he now?"
"Huh? Well, I've been keeping a low-level track on him. He hasn't left the base yet. I
suppose I could be more specific."
"Please do, Peter."
Peter sat up and sighed, "You're actually ANNOYING like this." He waved his hand and
Claude took a deep breath. His eye was twitching and he was gritting his teeth.
"I've. Had. Enough. Of. People messing with my bloody mind. I'm more pissed now, you
know."
Peter shrugged and leaned back in the chair again, taking a deep breath.
Locating someone was a rather weird process, partly because he rarely did it. Even
though he frequently stopped time relative to himself to do things (like sleep), he still
had a schedule.
He thought about his frequent time-stopping. How old am I? he thought. He was
certainly older than the 41 his birthday suggested.
He pushed it aside and focused on Sylar. Locating was something like astral projection,
sending his spirit out towards the person, watching them and their environment. At the
same time, he knew the name and geographic coordinates of where the person was. It
wasn't as if he saw it, or heard it, he just KNEW.
He saw the whole of Nuremberg Air Force Base. He wasn't flying over it, he could just
see it all at once and somehow make sense of it. Lately, he had just been stopping at
this level, just to be sure Sylar was still there.
He willed himself closer to Sylar.
He felt himself move down the hallways. They were, to him, empty, but they probably
weren't in reality. Unlike Molly, he had yet to see other people in these visions. Even
he had his limits.
He found himself standing in a modest bedroom. Sylar was sitting on te edge of the
bed, flipping lazily through a stack of papers.
Peter leaned his psychic self over to look at the papers. The one on the top was
labeled "Iriba, Chad."
Sylar looked up and around the room. He stopped and stared in Peter's general
direction.
Peter tensed. Sylar seemed to relax and took a deep breath.
He smiled and said, "Hello, Peter."
Peter gasped. Sylar was suddenly standing and reached out towards him. Peter's
vision blurred and he felt a sort of draw towards Sylar.
Peter. Peter.
"What do you think Peter?" he heard Sylar ask, "This is a new one of mine."
Peter. Peter!
Claude's voice impinged on the edge of his mind. He shot out a beam of intense
psychic energy at Sylar, but saw it dissipate.
"Don't try to fight it Peter. Sometimes those with power meet pathetic ends."
The universe isn't that lame. A voice echoed across time and memory. Who said that to
him? He was having trouble remembering.
He tried focusing sheer will at fighting him, but he felt things slip away faster.
Peter! Peter! PETER!!
He had a sudden epiphany and focused on Claude's voice. He felt Sylar and his world
retreat back into distant America with a small cry of anger from Sylar.
Peter sat up with a loud gasp. Claude was shaking him.
"What happened?! You were having some sort of seizure mate!"
"Sylar," Peter panted, looking around the room. He was now on the floor, "He saw me!
He saw me!"
"What? How?" Claude started shaking him again, "Wait! Peter!"
Peter had fallen to the floor, struggling to breathe, "Wait, Claude. I'll be--" He began
drawing air to himself psychically, "--fine."
"You sure? I called for--"
"What's happening?" Peter heard Nirand and several others enter the room.
"Psychic shock," Claude said, standing up, "S--A hostile tried invading his mind."
"What hostile?" A man Peter didn't recognize knelt down beside him.
"Classified!" Peter tried to shout. The man heard him fortunately, and made some sort
of noise in dissaproval.
"Well, I could know something about him, couldn't I?" the man muttered.
"Multiple powers," Peter said, "No known history of mind control. Really, I'm fine!" And
he sat up.
The man--Dr. Rambastiran, according to his nametag--was holding something that
looked like a doctor's ear light, "I should try--"
"No!" Peter stood up and said, "I am perfectly capable of fixing myself. Everyone out!
Everyone out!"
He shooed the doctors away, but grabbed Claude's arm and prevented him from
leaving. Not that the old man would have anyway.
"Do you know anything about someone who could rip people out of their minds?"
Claude sat down and put his hand on his forehead, "I remember Molly telling me about
someone who could see her when she was told to find him. She didn't say much about
it, but I always though she was talking about Maury Parkman."
"The founder?" Peter sat down across from him, "I know he had mind control, but
mind-ripping?"
Claude shrugged, "Well, what else happened? What did you see mate?"
Peter rubbed his eyes, "Something about Chad and Sudan. Iriba, Chad."
"Told you he was in Africa." Claude put a hand on his shoulder, "Peter, you should go
see someone to make sure Sylar hasn't messed with you. Go see Ami, she'd know.
'Sides, she's quite a looker. That'd cheer you up, right?"
Peter shrugged, "Fine, fine. You have seen Niki though, right?"
"Hard to forget her, mate."
Peter laughed, "Well, I need to meet her anyway, and Sanjay."
"Sanjog."
"Right." Peter stood up, "Lead the way."
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