Chapter 17: Taking care of business.

"Where to now? Nevada?" Mohinder asked, once we'd left the vicinity of the explosion.

"No." I said, pulling down my suit jacket, revealing my now bleeding wound, "I need treatment, or I'll bleed out."

"Holy ...cow, how did I not notice that! You were shot?" He asked.

"Yeah. Back at the hotel." I replied, taking off the suit fully now.

"We need to get you to hospital. Do you have insurance? Wait, of course you don't, you're a time traveler!" Mohinder said, palming his head, sweaty, again.

"Calm down. I know where we have to go." I replied, patting his back.

"Where?"

"The Petrelli house." I said.

"Wait how is tha-"

"Just trust me will you? Petrelli house. Now!" I interjected.

"Fine." Mohinder relented, as he turned abruptly, leading us to the Petrelli mansion.

As we stopped the car in front of the door, Angela Petrelli was already out, waiting for us.

I stepped out, pointing at my bleeding shoulder and attempted to say something before she shushed me.

"I know." She said, "Come on in."

Of course, I thought. This makes sense.

Angela Petrelli was also a superhuman, her ability being precoginitive dreams.

No wonder she saw us coming!

"Excuse me, we-" Mohinder came around the car and tried pleading.

"Yes. I know. Follow me. You too, Micah." She ordered.

"You know me?" He asked.

"Yes. From a distance. I have powers too, just like you." She smiled kindly, bringing us in as she called for Peter to bring the first aid kit.

Peter walked in, saw my blood soaked shirt and gulped, before nodding and rushing back down the corridor he came from.

"You know, that's not gonna help much..." I said, stripping bare on top.

"Yes. And I know what you came here for. But it's not my choice to make." She said.

"I understand. But you will give me a chance to make my plea, won't you?" I asked, "Where even is Claire?"

"Here." She said, walking down the stairs, "I saw a kid....oh my god! You're bleeding. What happened?"

"The company happened. I got shot trying to save Molly here, from them." I said, only to get a dirty glare from Angela.

The message was clear.

Keep your mouth shut.

I shot her a mischievous one back, as if to say, 'What will you do about it?'

She took a step forward, hand raised, as she took a deep breath in, ready to throw us out, when I conceded.

"Fine." I muttered, watching her cordial smile return to her face.

Scheming hag!

I'll kill your sons by the end of the day, you'll see!

Of course I didn't say it out loud.

Instead, I turned to Claire, who was helping the returned Peter dress my wound.

"Claire, I have a favor to ask of you." I said, grasping her hand, putting on the most pitiful face I could muster.

"Sylar is here. In New York.

He is coming for Peter. For all of us. Peter will have to face Sylar tomorrow.

It is history. Inevitable. And we both know, he's not ready. He's not strong enough. If he goes in alone, he will die. And then, when Sylar has his powers, so will everyone else in the city. You've seen the painting, haven't you?"

"I thought you didn't believe in destiny?" Peter asked, shocked.

"I don't. I believe Hiro Nakamura. And I am from the future myself. This attack, it left the world devastated. Nothing was ever the same.

And all sources point to Sylar being the culprit." I lied, telling them what they wanted to hear.

"Wasn't it supposed to be Ted?" Claire interjected.

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"Ted is dead. And Sylar didn't kill him.

Yet the future hasn't changed. That means Sylar will get that power from the only other person in the city who has it - you, Peter. It will happen tomorrow, at 9 pm, in Kirby plaza. But," I repeated, "He can't do it alone. I need to be there to help him. And so do you, Claire. He needs all the help he can get if he wants to come out of this in one piece."

"Just get to the point already." Angela said, interrupting me.

"Fine." I said, rolling my eyes at her, "Claire. Your blood can heal people. Can I please get some. A small syringe worth should do. Quarter of an ounce at most. Please?" I pleaded.

As Claire realized the significance of my words, she sat down on the sofa, and fell into thought, tears pooling in her eyes.

"You mean, all this time, all those people who got hurt.....I could have helped them?" She said, voice shaking.

"My dad, Rene....even Jackie.... "

"Yes, but you didn't know. You couldn't have known.

Now though you do, and I need your help, Claire. Please, will you save me?" I asked, rubbing her hand, comforting her.

Claire sniffled, wiping her tears, and looked at my wound, determined.

"Yes. I'll help you." She said, "But how are we going to do this?"

"Peter, you worked as a nurse, didn't you? Do you have an IV drip lying around....."

"I'll need one too!" Mohinder requested, pointing at the unconcious Molly on the sofa, "she needs treatment too."

"Yeah. I have some in the storage. I'll go get them. Claire, I'll need to draw some blood for an infusion, come with me." Peter said, giving instructions as I felt increasingly drowsy, from the blood loss.

I called out to Micah, who ditifully came to my side, and handed him the portal gun, wrapped in my coat.

"Micah..... Don't let anyone touch this. Keep it close. And don't touch it. Don't use it. Don't tamper with it. It's the most dangerous weapon I have. No one other than me can use it okay? Promise me, Micah, please?" I asked, having no choice, as sleep fast encroached upon me.

Micah nodded, resolute, clutching the bundle tight, "Promise!"

"Thank you, Micah. You're a good boy."

I rubbed his head affectionately, and replied, as sleep took me.

Next I awoke, I was in a soft bed, bandaged up.

Looking out the window, I could tell it was already night time.

I got up and found my suit and guns placed neatly on the side table, waiting for me.

Good. I stretched, noticing the pain had gone away.

Time to get to work.

I locked door to the room, and opened a portal to my storage unit, bringing back my tools and the half finished drone I had left behind due to lack of time constraints.

Reassembling my tools, I got back to work, starting with opening up the laser pistol, repurposing it into a miniature laser cannon, small enough to fit on a drone.

Next, I pulled open a cellphone, then another, creating from them a signal booster.

Linking that to the drone control system, I soldered it onto a joystick mapped on a gadrening glove, which admittedly cheap, would do the trick for now.

Simultaneously, I opened up the forcefield generator, examining the cracked crystal battery and sighed.

So much work....so little time.

I put on my headphones, as 'Taking Care Of Business' by Bachman-Turner Overdrive started playing and I got to work.

Come morning, the house stirred to wakefulness, and Peter knocked on my door, calling me down for breakfast when he spotted the mess around the room, and summarily my heaphones.

Intrigued, he came in close, just as I finished the final preservative coating on the glove, and let out a satisfied sigh, removing my headphones.

"What's all this?" Peter asked suddenly, startling me.

I jumped in my skin, almost falling over my latest inventions.

"Jesus fuck, you scared me half to death Peter." I laughed.

"Heh, sorry about that." He said, squatting down beside me, examining the dark blue pillbug shaped drone, hefting it with care.

"A drone? What for?"

"For Sylar. I was going to call it the Devastator Mk1 at first but then I figured it should be christened by it's first target." I said, putting on the now silver-metallic glove, and pressed on the touch pads along my fingers.

The drone hummed to life, lifting off with a massive but silent gust of wind, scattering some of my blueprints across the room.

It's blinking eye reflected our faces, twinkling under the seeping rays of the morning sun, and the laser cannon on it's abdomen lowered with a whirr, glowing an intimidating red.

Imitating Scarface, I announced, happily.

"Peter, meet my little friend, the Sylar Slayer!"

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