Warning: Contains spoilers for several of the first 11 episodes of “Heroes.” Nothing crucial, but you’ve been warned.

Chapter 3: Revelations

When evolution selects its agents, it does so at a cost, makes demands in exchange for singularity and you may be asked to do something against your very nature. Suddenly the change in your life that should have been wonderful comes as a betrayal. It may seem cruel, but the goal is nothing sort of self-preservation, survival.

Mike walked down the corridor of Allen Hall, home to the University of Pittsburgh’s Physics department. A million things were on his mind, including the class he had just sat through (“slept through” was more like it), his recently elevated mood swings, and -- as always -- his future. One thing he was distinctly not focusing on were the three football players walking down the hall toward him, pointing and chuckling. At this point in his transformation, Mike presented quite an androgynous mélange of male and female appearance, and apparently the three brutes thought this worthy of notice.

“Freak,” one of them muttered as they passed by. Mike cringed involuntarily at the epithet, but kept walking, waiting for the echoes of their footsteps to fade. They did not.

“Hey!” one of them shouted a bit more loudly, as they were now following him. “Didn’t you hear me, freak? What’s the matter, your ears screwed up just like the rest of you?”

Mike knew that a confrontation was now inevitable, but he thought that maybe humor would still save him. “No,” he turned and attempted to put on a weak smile, “I just figured you weren’t talking to me.”

“I don’t see any other freaks around here,” the bruiser retorted, his face now so close to Mike’s that he could smell the alcohol on the football player’s breath. Between him and his two cohorts, Mike was completely surrounded, and they herded him down the hall and into an empty classroom.

“Guys, really,” he stammered, a note of panic starting to enter his voice as the mid-afternoon sun streamed in through the window, “isn’t bullying a little passé for college? Didn’t we get this all out of our system in high school?”

“Oh, so now the fag is calling us immature, huh? I say we show him just how ‘developed’ we are…”

Click. The door to the classroom closed.

##############################

A large map of Pittsburgh and the surrounding areas now hung in Chris’s half of the bedroom he and Jeanie shared, in the attic of Chez Tekko. The path between the map and his computer had been worn thin by his constant walking between the two, and a series of pins connected by different colored strings gave the map the illusion of a Spirograph drawing.

Included in the research his father had left him was a CD. When he put the CD into the computer two days ago, an application had started running. For two days, numbers played across the screen, algorithms, coordinates, maps, statistics he couldn’t possibly have understood when this had all started.

Chris Aumiller had not slept in two days. He couldn’t have, even if he had wanted to: all of his father’s research was now spread out across his bed, his desk, his floor, and any other flat surface he could scrounge from the space. He had called off work as well: there was no way he could have concentrated on tech support at a time like this.

“Chris?” Jeanie inquired cautiously from the bottom of the stairs that led up into their room. “Is it, um, safe to come up?”

Chris blinked twice, his brain reluctantly returning to the so-called “real world” at the sound of her voice. “Yeah,” he half-heartedly called down as he placed another pin into the map -- another piece into the puzzle -- and grabbed for his box of strings.

Jeanie sighed as she saw him standing at the map. “You still haven’t slept, have you?”

“No.”

“Ate?”

“Yeah, I had a… um… thing…”

“Do you even remember the last time you slept?”

“Not really.” He shuffled through some papers, looked again at the map, and stopped. His eyes glittered with the light of sudden realization, and he turned, his mouth still half-open, to face Jeanie. “But I’ll bet you next month’s rent that you do.”

##############################

“Yes, sir,” said the man with the goatee into the cell phone. “Subject 38 is being tested right now.”

“Yes, sir. Subject 47 has been conditioned, and returned into circulation.”

“No, sir, no memory whatsoever. My associate made sure of that. And it’s been verified by my outside source.”

“No, sir, she has no idea.”

“Sir, I feel it necessary at this time to once again register my extreme objections to the severity of these operations.”

“No, sir, I haven’t forgotten -- “

“Yes, sir, of course I understand what would happen if -- “

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, sir. If the experimentation team responds with results, the experiment will be a complete failure.”

“Yes sir. … Thank you, sir.”

Click.

The man with the goatee sat for the better part of an hour, his head in his hands. There had to be a better way. The time traveler had explained everything, so long ago: everything that would happen, everyone that would be involved. His employer had explained to him many times that these gentles needed to be collected and detailed, as the first steps of the plan. Training would come next, though it was crucial that they retain no memory of the procedure. If they knew what was coming, they would not be able to face it, and then all would be lost.

But damn it, these were his friends.

##############################

With one final heave, the last of the contents of Mike’s stomach violently exited his body. He knelt on the hard porcelain floor for a moment, catching his breath and trying to get the awful taste of vomit out of his mouth. Once he was certain that he was done, he took some toilet paper from the dispenser, and wiped his mouth clean. As he went to throw the paper into the toilet, he looked down at it in horror. The paper was smeared with blood.

It was only then that he really stopped to take stock of his situation. How had he gotten into a bathroom? The last thing he remembered was being in that classroom, with the three jerks from the football team. His head jerked involuntarily to one side as he remembered the sting of the first slap across his face, their taunts still echoing through his mind. He remembered his vision going blurry, and feeling like he was passing out.

But really, he thought as he flushed the toilet and exited the stall, they wouldn’t have carried me to a bathroom; if they were going to leave me somewhere, it would have been there. He looked around the bathroom, noticed a distinct lack of urinals, and blinked in surprise. Especially not a women’s bathroom… then again, they might have, just to be funny. Assholes.

His legs still unsteady, he walked carefully to the sink, wet a paper towel and began to clean the blood from his hands and face, then started in earnest to clean a blood stain from the shoulder of his t-shirt. Damn it, he thought, there’s no way to hide this. He looked in the mirror to see if he had made himself presentable.

His reflection in the mirror was nearly pristine. No blood, no bruises, no mess, no stains, no muss, no fuss. Mike shook his head and walked out of the bathroom, down the hall, and out the door into the cold Pittsburgh night.

His reflection, still in the mirror, smirked, adjusted the football letter jacket over her shoulders, and left about a second after him.

##############################

Jimmy sat in class, bored out of his skull. His pencil absent-mindedly sketched over a blank piece of paper, but as much as he wanted, as hard as he tried, he didn’t think any of the things he drew showed the future. He thought of Whitney, and as scared as she was when she discovered some of the things she had drawn, he found a somewhat disheartening feeling surging once again in the pit of his stomach.

He was jealous of his girlfriend.

He had tried to rationalize the feeling away; he had tried denying it; he had tried to duplicate the things she had done. But his mind kept coming back to one undeniable conclusion: she was special, and he wasn’t. He was going to sit here in class, and she was going to go on to do…

…what? He thought to himself, disappointed in himself for even thinking such things about the girl he loved with all his heart. She can draw the future, you idiot; it’s not like she’s leaping tall buildings in a single bound or something dangerous.

His professor finished up the lecture, and he stood up as students around him hurried to get out of the room. He had gathered up almost all of his things when his shoulder was bumped by someone, which sent all his books, pencils and other supplies spilling to the floor.

“Watch it!” snapped the student, who pulled his beat-up baseball cap down over his eyes and hurried towards the door. Jimmy bit back a sarcastic reply, instead turning and bending down to start grabbing his things. No one else in the class offered to help him.

Hence, no one else saw when one of the pencils leapt up off the floor and into his hand.

Jimmy knelt there, frozen for a moment, wondering if he had just seen what he thought he had just seen. Eyes wide with hope, he reached out again, this time for one of his sketchbooks. Much like the pencil, it flew unaided into his hand. He couldn’t help letting out a “Woohoo!” at his good fortune.

“Falba!” called the professor. “Let’s go! There’s another class in here in 5 minutes!”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Yeah, 5 seconds!” he responded, half-giggling, as he grabbed the rest of his things and nearly bounced out of the room and down the hall.

The student in the baseball cap stood just outside the room, noting Falba on a scrap of paper before walking in the opposite direction.

##############################

“How long has it been, Jeanie?” Chris and Jeanie sat facing each other on her bed, talking in hushed voices despite the fact that there was no one else in the house.

“About six months,” she muttered, hugging one of her plushies close to her and avoiding Chris’s gaze. “All of a sudden, everything I heard or saw or read or whatever, it just… it stuck. Trust me; it made it difficult to be around people sometimes, when I could hear every conversation I’d had with them recently.”

Chris scribbled notes in the margins of his father’s research. After a moment’s thought, he got up, wrote “Jeanie == Charlie” on a post-it note and stuck it to his computer, where it joined other notes: “Trevor == Peter?” and “Olsen == Niki?” He sat back down and nodded at her to continue.

“I mean,” she started again, slightly indignant, “where was this when I was still in college? You have any idea how much easier a perfect memory would have made finals??” They both chuckled at this, though hers was considerably more nervous than his. “But…” she looked up at him, “how did you know? I mean, I know you’ve been going nutso over that map, and that box of stuff, but…”

“I wish I could explain it,” he started, very unsure of himself. “My father, he was… I had no idea that he had anything to do with this. But reading into the research that’s in that box, I mean, this is serious physics and genetics stuff. Quantum theories mixed with genetic migration patterns mixed with -- I don’t know, Zen mysticism about how we’re all connected or something. I’m still not sure I understand it on, y’know, a conscious level, but it all makes sense to me, y’know?” He got up and moved to the map, getting more excited as he went. “I mean, look at this. You have any idea how much of this was already set before I got to it? The equations, the patterns, it all pointed to us, Jeanie. All of us. Whatever it turns out to be, I mean, this is like ‘Heroes’ all over aga -- waitaminnit…” He started rifling through papers again, then sat down at his computer and started typing urgently.

Jeanie came over and stood looking over his shoulder. If this concerned more of her friends, she wanted to be a part of it, but the equations on the screen made no sense to her. Perfect recall, it seemed, did not grant perfect comprehension. “What is it?”

“Those two have to get up here and take a look at this,” said Chris, as much to himself as to Jeanie. “We need as many heads on this as possible.”

##############################

It was clear to Rebecca, from the moment she stepped into the store to pick up John after work, that something was wrong. It seemed like it was written all over his face. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He attempted a smile, but failed relatively miserably. She stroked his cheek, still getting used to the feel of his new facial hair.

“Yeah, right. I can read you like a book, Prager. What do you need?”

John thought for a minute, and then his smile softened. “Hey, let’s… you want to go to Dave & Buster’s tonight? It’s Friday; the Tekko crowd will be there. I just… want to see some friends.”

This seemed like an odd request for him, but she could tell that he was hesitant to talk about it any more than that. “Sure, John.” The two of them walked in silence for about 15 seconds before she had to try one more time. “What’s bothering you?”

“I know what’s going on with our friends, and I’m sorry I haven’t told you, but I’m just really worried about all of them, and I’m trying my best to keep you out of it, and I can’t tell you any more than that and it frustrates the hell out of me.”

The bluntness of his response startled her, and she turned to him. “What? What are you talking about?”

He blinked for a second, then shot her a look of surprise and puzzlement. “Uh… I didn’t say anything, Rebecca.”

“I thought I just heard you say something about friends and something going on.”

“Noooo…” he drew the word out in inquiring confusion. “I haven’t said a word since we left the store.”

##############################

It had been a grueling few days for Kate and Bayani. Since his glimpse at the apocalyptic future of Tekkoshocon and -- more importantly -- their friends, neither of them had been able to concentrate on much of anything. They had both staggered through workdays like zombies, and spent their evenings poring over maps of the ExpoMart, using some of Bayani’s miniatures to try and “plan out” some kind of strategy. One thing they could agree on was that they were woefully lacking in information.

One thing they couldn’t agree on was what to do next.

“We have to tell them,” ventured Kate, breaking the conversational silence that had dominated her car since she and Bayani left for Dave & Buster’s. “You know we do.”

“We can’t, and you know we can’t, and you know why. We’ve been over this a dozen times,” he responded immediately, exasperation evident in his voice.

“So what?” she asked, concern rising near panic. These were her friends, after all, and if there was anything she could do to keep them from harm, she would. “We just sit here and watch it happen? You know what’s coming; you can do something to stop it.”

“And what do I do, Kate?” he cried. As concerned as she was about everyone, she sometimes forgot that Bayani cared just as deeply for them, and his frustration was as raw as hers. “I don’t know what caused this. There’s nothing I can do right now. Maybe later, when we get closer, I’ll have more information. Maybe I’ll take another trip there, and I can find more out. Hell, if I’m really traveling through time, maybe my future self will come and give me some insight or some shit like that. We’ve both seen enough time travel movies to know that -- “

“You’re right,” she said softly. “I know you’re right, I just… I want to do something.”

“We will,” he reassured her, reaching out to take her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to them. Or you. I promise.”

##############################

It was an odd collection of people at Dave & Buster’s that night. Rebecca and John -- who were hardly ever there -- had joined in; Chris and Jeanie -- two of the staunchest regulars -- were nowhere to be seen. Kate and Bayani had shown up late, and Bayani and T.J. were currently doing their best to show each other up on the Pump It Up while Kate, John and Rebecca watched. Cat had apparently taken Chris’s regular spot, blowing the snot out of enemy agents on “Time Crisis 4.” Being on pace to rack up one of the highest scores ever seen on the game, she had drawn a bit of a crowd of onlookers, including Jim. Several of the Tekkoites had been acting more nervous than normal, and the evening’s activities seemed perfect for letting off a bit of extra stress.

The tension between Rebecca and T.J. was palpable, as soon as he approached the table. The two of them, even after months apart, were still trying to figure out how to act around each other. Great, he thought. Just what I needed on what was supposed to be a relaxing night.

“I have just as much right to be here as you do, T.J.,” she snapped. “Knock it off, huh?”

“What are you talking about,” he responded, “I didn’t say a damn thing.”

What’s she talking about?

“I’m talking, Kate, about people not treating me like a pariah just because of my history with T.J.!”

What’s going on over there? Is everyone OK?

“No, Jim, I’m pissed! And I think I have a right to --“

Frakking pieces of shit, how dare they do that to me. I’m glad they’re dead. Now all I have to do is keep us from getting caught. Frakking useless little boy can’t take care of himself, so now I have to do it for him.

I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her.

Oh God, she knows. It’s started.

Rebecca pushed away from the table, her hands covering her ears to try to shut out the noise, which -- surrounded by so many people -- swarmed into her brain like screeching locusts. Her head seemed about to explode as, tears starting to stream down her cheeks, she slowly crumpled to the floor, unconsciousness a blessed relief from the sudden onslaught.

##############################

Chris, Jeanie, Shaune and Trevor stood in front of Chris’s map. Of the four of them, Jeanie was the only one who hadn’t watched “Heroes,” and therefore the least amazed by the recent events that had unfolded.

“OK,” Trevor said, his arms folded and his fingers cradling his chin in thought. “So let’s take stock. Jeanie here is our Charlie -- let’s hope things end up better for her than they did on the show. Chris, you seem to be Mohinder -- no powers, but you’re the one with all the research. You can throw that note about me out, by the way: nice try, but you called the wrong one.”

“You’re not Peter?” Chris inquired. “OK, good, that actually makes sense; the patterns didn’t seem to fit quite right. So… if you’re not Peter, then who are you?”

Trevor looked around the room, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. His hands balled into fists and rose slightly from his sides as he concentrated… and then he rose about 18 inches off the floor. “Right family,” he said softly, “wrong brother.”

Despite all the events of the last two weeks, Chris still drew a quick breath at seeing his friend hovering. “Nathan,” he said quietly. “Got it.” Chris turned to Shaune. “Next?”

“I… I’m not… I mean, I don’t think I…” Shaune pulled her hair in front of her face and tried to hide behind it. “Can’t I just be Simone or Ando or Zach or someone?”

Trevor drifted over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “First rule of comics, Shaune: ‘Powers don’t make the hero.’ Don’t worry about it. OK,” he looked over to Chris, “what else you got?”

“That’s… really it, at least as far as concrete knowledge,” Chris admitted. “I mean, I’ve got theories: Kate told me a few days ago that Bayani had just disappeared, fallen off the face of the planet. She didn’t seem to think much of it at the time, other than being worried, but ever since he came out of wherever he was hiding the two of them have been acting really weird. So, I’ve got this voice in the back of my head, wondering if he didn’t, y’know, go to a ‘where,’ but a ‘when.’ But other than that…”

Jeanie stepped in front of the map and started tracing the lines that hung between the pins. “Bayani,” she recited, almost meditatively, her finger resting on a pin stuck in the Carnegie area of the map, right where Bayani’s apartment would be. “Kate,” she continued, pointing to one right next to it. Moving her finger along connecting strings from Kate’s pin to Greenfield -- “TJ” -- to two adjacent pins in Squirrel Hill -- “us, then you” -- then down to California -- “Whitney,” all four of them said together -- to Newcastle -- “Jimmy” -- to Oakmont -- “Rebecca” -- to Moon.

“…Jim,” Jeanie said, a quiet mixture of resignation and concern in her voice. “We’re… all in danger, aren’t we? I mean, I still haven’t watched the show, but… we’re all in danger, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Trevor replied, unable to keep the awe out of his voice, “but we may well save the world.”

“Trev,” Chris stated slowly, “if we’re going to ‘save the world,’ there’s something else we have to do first. And we have one very important question to answer in order to do that.”

It was Shaune who voiced the question that the she, Chris and Trevor were all thinking:

“So… who’s the cheerleader?”

This force, evolution, is not sentimental. Like the earth itself, it knows only the hard facts of life's struggle with death. All you can do is hope and trust that when you have served its needs faithfully, there may still remain some glimmer of the life you once knew.

To be continued…