Heroes: Emergent (IC)

Spring, 2020

It had been another hard winter in England. Nearly a hundred deaths had been attributed to the extreme cold and the lack of heating fuel for the commoner. Thankfully the conflicts that had marred the world since the Global War of 2016 had finally seemed to settle down. Now the world had begun to find it's own kind of normal, and the new company formed by Angela Petrelli, Peter Petrelli, Noah Bennet, and Sylar (in the guise of Nathan Petrelli) had also begun to expand and grow Internationally.

Primatech and the Deveaux Society have both crumbled, as far as people know. Some have begun to believe that the 'others', the ones with powers, were a fluke and that they were all disposed of, especially after the president of the United States and his wife was revealed in 2016 to be of the others, a couple who could cause people to believe blatant lies and to agree with them with unconditional obedience and adoration. They were narcissists who could project their self-love out into the world and cause others to love them with the same abandoned carelessness.

Once that was revealed, it acted as the catalyst for the 2nd US Revolution, which lead to the Global War, which lasted for 18 months. In 2018 a leader by the name of Nathan Petrelli was able to unite the fractured United States under his Despotism form of government. The USA was no longer a Democracy, not that it had been one for many decades - it was an Oligarchy.

President Petrelli restructured the country to his ideals, accompanied by his closest three advisers. Other countries quickly followed suite, restructuring their countries under leaders who secretly possessed genetically-derived special abilities. England was happy to allow their current Prince and his young wife to regain the powerful throne in more than just symbolic rule. The Prime Minister was no longer the true ruling head of the Parliament; he was simply someone to carry out the young king's decisions and to head the other Ministers in their tasks.

It was good to be an 'other'.

Today the streets were busy and the weather was crisp. The hint of warmth was in the humid air, and some people walked about without their gloves on, and with their scarves tossed casually about their necks. It was Spring, it was gorgeous weather, and it was London. What more could a person want?

Confused and nackered, Beatrix woke up feeling hungover after yet another evening of getting arse over tits drunk at the pub. She forced her eyes to open and groaned, but looking around just made her feel worse as she saw the room spin and didn't recognize it. ~Got pulled by...~ she thought to herself as she looked across the bed and was pleasantly surprised to spy the hot far eastern chick still asleep in the bed beside her. ~.... Someone I wish I could remember...~ she mused with a wry smile on her face. The girl was a sound sleeper because she didn't stir when Beatrix's phone's alarm went off again letting her know what woke her up.

Beatrix slipped out of the bed, trying not to wake the cracking babe in the bed, she had vague memories of being chatted up by her as they drank and drank and drank. A smile came to her lips as she looked for her clothes, which were strewn all about the girl's flat. She wriggled into her things, a pair of sexy undies and bra, a pair of skinny jeans and a pair of shirts, one red plaid over a short white crop top that read "Twerking isn't a crime" and then made for the door before her night's bedmate woke up. Her phone went off again and she spat out, "Bloody hell! Case worker's going to have my arse..." as the door closed behind her and she dashed down the stairs hoping to catch a cab out on the street.

Unfortunately, luck was against her and Beatrix arrived at her Community Service site half an hour late. She was able to slip into the locker room and change out of her club clothes into her orange jumper without being seen by Mr. Thompson, the aweful, squat man in charge of her case, but she knew she'd be called into his office shortly. He always liked to lord it over her before handing her her assignment for the day, usually something degrading, dumb and dirty.

-
4AM in New York City, NY, that same day

Nathan Petrelli was buttoning his cuffs as his 'mother', Angela Petrelli went over his day's schedule with his secretary. He had grown his beard and was looking in the mirror. Was this how he was meant to be? Older, wiser, but... Gabriel Grey, also known as Skylar, had accepted his position living in this body... assuming this role, but he hungered for more. He wanted to know how things worked. Why they worked. Not to be some new nation's puppet president.

"You should be running the Company," he chided Angela. "I have plenty of nursemaids here to keep me in line." He eyed his secretary, a sexy blond woman who was no older than thirty and smiled to himself. Then he nodded as the secretary finished out his schedule and excused herself. Once she was gone Nathan turned to his mother. "Besides, you need to find all of the others, don't you?"

She pressed her lips together and then reached up to straighten out his collar like a meddling mother hen. "This is more important, Natha - "

He stopped her, grabbing her wrist harshly with his left hand. "Finding the others is more important, Angela. I want to know who else is out there. That's your job, not this."

Mrs. Petrelli looked at Nathan's eyes and for a moment she didn't recognize him. "Natey, you're not left handed."

"I'm not Nathan." His jaw grew tense. He jerked away from her and then walked over to his full - length mirror to give himself a once-over. "Now... go do your job. Find others. Recruit them. If they won't come willingly, then convince them. Or capture them. I don't care, really. Just bring them in. You have offices all over the world, 'mother'. It should be an easy task." He ignored her and looked at himself in the mirror. With a self-satisfied smile he turned towards the door. "Now... I have a phone conference with the minister of Japan before their business day closes."

He walked out of the room, leaving behind a very shaken woman. This was not the Nathan that she had planned on resurrecting. She could see the last decade of work slowly circling the drain.

---



9AM, London, England

Mr. Thompson was every bit the degenerate his cases thought he was. Problem was, at least for them, that he was on 'this' side of the law, and they were the twerps who had screwed up and ended in the orange.

He poked his tongue against his cheek as he eyed pretty little Beatrix. She was kind of a doll. It didn't hurt that her name reminded him of his favorite Harry Potter character. Gods! If he could get his hands on that sexy, crazy, Helena Bonham Carter, he'd...

He felt his trousers tent up and groaned inwardly. Great. Just what he needed, a woody that the girls would snicker over. He leaned over to the loudspeaker mic and turned it on. "Beatrix. Beatrix Davies, report to Mr. Thompson immediately. Beatrix, come see me right away." He clicked off the microphone and leaned back in his chair, touching his hard shaft through his pants as he waited.

If he could get that girl on her knees under his desk the things he would do! He ached to pop her sassy cherry. Not that he thought that she was a virgin, but he was convinced that she never had someone as wide across as him. Like his physical stature, his cock was short and stout. Very stout.

He smiled to himself and waited. What would he have that bitch do today? Scrub out the latrines? No... she's done that too many times. Scrub out the deep fryers? Or... maybe he'd have her mop the dining hall floor with a towel? Pick up dog poop in the park? His eyes closed slightly. He wanted to have her do all kinds of nasty, naughty things, illegal things, but he couldn't risk losing his job. But if he could, her tasks would begin with her mouth wrapped around his girth and end with her on her hands and knees as he made her yelp like a dog in heat.

Thompson smiled and waited. He could always fantasize about the girls. No one could fire him for that.

"Bollocks!" Beatrix spat out when she heard her name crackling out over the decrepit, old PA system. She took a moment to try and figure out if she could claim not to have realized it was her who was being called into the Case Worker's office. She shuddered as she determined she had no leg to stand on, so trudged down the hall the way a prisoner on Death Row does when they're on the way to the gallows.

~Mr. Thompson's such a biggee... Floating about the porcelain bowl of Life. If there WAS a just and loving God he'd get flushed right quick,~ Beatrix thought to herself as she knocked at his door. "Present and accounted for, Meestare Sod-some," she said cheekily after opening his door and plopping down into the free chair in his office. She leaned back and put her feet up on the desk, one over the other so that her ankles ended up crossing each other as the disgusting little twat oggled her. THAT'S the part of this she hated most, the way the man looked at her, like she was some slapper who should be gobbling his gross knob or bent over his desk being rodgered silly.

Beatrix shuddered to think of this and something tickled the back of her mind. THIS was something she'd vented about with the hot chick last night... She giggled for no real reason she knew consciously, the memories being too hazy to let her know what had happened. Still, the notion that some sort of decision or plot or scheme had been hatched stayed with her as she waited to hear what humiliation this day held for her.

"Rosie, come in here, please. Bring the Barstow file with you when you do," Elizabeth said to her executive assistant through the intercom feature of her office's communication system. She'd spent the morning responding to emails from clients, reviewing accounts, looking over some prospective hire paperwork and flagging the ones she wanted on one of her teams or another and identifying a middle manager who had just begun embezzling from her. Hence her request for the personnel file that her assistant brought to her.

As Rosie, a lovely latina with a cat's grace and poise, entered Elizabeth's office she paused for a moment, as she always did when the view from her bosses office hit her. Elizabeth chuckled and joined her in gazing out the window, taking the moment to savor all that her hard work had wrought for her. "Sit, Rosie, we have a little problem," she told her assistant, who did as bidden and paid rapt attention to all Elizabeth said.

Rosie, named Rosa Maria Santos at birth, was sharp as a tack, quick as a whip and ambitious in a pragmatic, almost principled way. She'd worked hard to catch Elizabeth's eye, knowing that those who served under her for a year and proved themselves worthy commonly became the VPs of a division of one of her companies then wrote their own tickets to the highest echelons of power and wealth. For Rosie, that was reaching for the brass ring and why she worked so diligently for her boss.

Elizabeth showed Rosie the evidence of the middle manager's malfeasance then passed the file back to her. "Rosie... I need you to handle this," she said matter of factly and Rosie found her heart skipping a beat. This was the first time Elizabeth had given her a project in so open ended a manner which Rosie found exciting and terrifying all at once. She knew this was a test, the first of many to come that would determine her fate and future. Rosie rose to leave the office and Elizabeth nodded then picked up the phone just as it started ringing and said, "Guten Abend, Herr Anderson," as a beginning to a conversation about the German expansion of one of her R&D divisions.

Julia Heart
2:15 AM, LA, USA​

"I zay we are closed!" Julia screamed into the face of a customer that just wouldn't get up and leave. She had closed the bar fifteen minutes ago but this creep and his ugly ass girlfriend refused to leave. Her German accent was still evident after living in LA for only a year. "I zaid. LEAVE! You have wone minute to leave or I'll call the Polizei!"

At the mentioning of the police the man got up and took Julia's hand, "You don't call no police you German bitch or I'll teach you."

There was few thing that Julia hated more than customers touching her. One of the things was meatheads like this one thinking they could intimidate girls to do their bidding. So when he put his hand around her wrist she all but exploded, her vision went red and the blood was rushing in her ears. She threw her other fist into his face and felt his nose breaking beneath her knuckles. The punch send the man flying and he landed 8 feet away. Julia walked menacing to the man than was trying to hold his nose together. She grabbed the 250 pound man by his collar and literally threw him out the back door into one of the garbage bins. The cool night air of the back alley calmed her a little and the man's girlfriend rushed past Julia to him. She closed the back door and collapsed by the door.

Julia awoke and looked at her phone. It was 2:30 in the morning. She really should be closing up. Why was she on the floor by the back door? Then she saw the blood on the floor and on her hand and it came rushing back to her....... It had happened again. She forced herself to stand even though her body shook. It had happened again. She had gone berserk and then she punched that guy. She had always had these violent outbursts but after she became an adult she had tried to control it better after she realized that she had almost inhuman strength when she was like that. She feared that she'd one day kill somebody with her bare hands.

She was still shaking as she left the bar half an hour later. She'd go home to her small apartment and sleep until noon. That was just what she needed. Maybe the event of the evening would be wiped away from her mind when she awoke. So the blonde German walked home. She loved walking in the city of angels and the cool night breeze helped her clear her mind.

When she got home to her small two room flat she collapsed on her bed, not even bothering to take off her boots or her jacket. She just needed to sleep.

Reem's job meant that she needed to stay at the restaurant from 9 AM till 10 PM. She was the waitress, the four chiefs and the manager of a cheap Mediterranean restaurant that served Falafel, Shawerma and other Mediterranean pitas in downtown LA. It wasn't a heavy burden, she actually stayed home all day drinking merrily and playing video games while her clones secured her job. The owner of the restaurant was a family relative, and given Reem's knowledge in her own country's food and her special 'skills' at multitasking, she proved her worth in her job. For the first year, she slowly found ways to drive all her fellow employees away from the restaurant then convinced her uncle that she could manage the place all by her own. Her uncle, unbeknownst of her abilities, was skeptical but after putting the matter to test, he was very happy with the result. Reem now takes the salary of that's equivalent to 4 other people running a restaurant while she stays at home wasting time.

This wasn't how she pictured herself a few years ago when she looked at the future. Her social life is almost non-existent as her circle of friends fails to extend beyond pizza guys. An interesting ability thrown to waste. The fact that she can sense everything each clone goes through meant that she could learn two languages every month, travel the world, work at different fields, write novels and poetry, take professional photographs and even go fishing everyday. That unfortunately wasn't her current life, though she does aspire for a good change to come soon enough. She just has to meet the right people.

"The right people.." Reem thought to herself as she read an article in the newspaper. "What a load of bullshit" she sighed throwing the newspaper across the bedroom. She looked back at her reflection in the mirror. A sexy, busty, naked woman sitting on her bed looked back. She had all the signs of an unemployed woman even though she works more than most people, in a way. "Why do I need people? I can start up a company by myself.. pfft, I wish" she started talking to herself again. It happens when she gets bored and lonely. Truth was that she finds herself limited to seven clones before she feels a severe headache. She could create more clones, but last time she tried this she passed out after the ninth clone saw the light.

Her clones back in the restaurant were working ever so diligently. The waitress would be the only one the customers would see, while the rest of her clones would work behind curtains. If the restaurant gets a bit crowded, she gets the manager clone to wear a wig and pretend to be the waitress's sister and take orders.

Life was easy.. almost too easy for Reem..

"So much for being a woman of the evening... " Katya muttered to herself in her native Russian. Her client had just left, leaving her alone in the rather posh hotel room. She wondered how the British taxpayers would react to one of their Members of Parliament using government funds to have "private meetings" with a whore. A classy one, yes, but a whore nonetheless.

Now it would be wrong to suggest that Katya had any regrets about her chosen field. Times had been tough back in Volgograd, jobs were scarce and using her voluptuous body to make ends meet simply made sense. But harassment from the police and the Mafiya took its toll. So around a decade ago Katya had made her way to the UK where many girls from Eastern Europe found the British view on prostitution more acceptable. The first few years weren't great but they had been better than how things were in Russia. Over time Katya became fluent in English and learned how to present herself to attract a higher grade of clientele.

Katya sighed as she noticed several sequins had come off her dress during the course of the morning's assignment. She decided to just leave it and threw her fur coat over her nude body. Putting on her pumps, Katya left the room and went down to the lobby.

Now while normally an attractive woman wearing nothing but a coat open to reveal her massive breasts and shaved cunt would get a lot of attention from the staff and guests in the lobby. But none even gave her a glance. That's because a few years back Katya discovered she had a gift. She could control the impulses sent along the nervous system. This mean she could keep people from seeing the half-naked woman walking by or hearing the sounds of her heels on the tile. It also meant she could fulfill a public figure's taste for kink by making him feeling pain but leaving no wound. Both very useful applications in her line of work and Katya was always coming up with more.

Reaching the door to the hotel, Katya turned and opened her coat wide before all the oblivious people. She then laughed to herself and exited to the London street.

It's dark out, the night sky is beautiful and full of stars, there's just a light breeze that sweeps through the trees. Or is that just the blurred vision?

The darkness and the breeze are so cold, causing her legs to go rigid, her light blue eyes to bulge from their sockets, the stars an effect of losing consciousness, "please," her voice was hoarse, nearing an emotionless rock bottom as the dark cloud wrapped itself tighter around her throat in a sensational, yet twisted manor.

Standing above her, beyond the moving vapor, standing at the edge of the freshly dug yet impromptu grave, the roots clawing at her skin as she tried to escape the demon's grasp. The man above her had his arms folded, a look of frustration strewn on his face, he was starting to get peeved that she wasn't dead yet in the obvious light of day. Several hundred yards away, there was a jogger moving at a leisurely pace, unaware and oblivious of the homicide unfolding before them.

"C'mon bitch," the man spat as his arms unfolded, but his fists clenched, the cloud of a shy blackness took this as a signal to take it's lethal efforts up to eleven and became thinner, allowing it to squeeze harder, "why won't you ducking die?"

As if under orders from the man above, the vapor wanted it's master to be pleased, so it allowed the woman her last words, "please," she coughed, her clothes gone, her nude body scratched and dirty in her soon to be resting place, "please don't do this, i promise i won't tell anybody about this,"

The man above her smirked and slowly turned around, considering his options, when he made his completion of the turn, he winked at her before opening his mouth, allowing more vapors to escape from within his dark and twisted soul and wrapped around her neck once more,

"I know you won't," the sound that escaped his mouth didn't seem human, and the vapor did as commanded, and snapped the once beautiful young lady's neck, killing her he watched as she fell over in her grave.

A woman came up behind him, beautiful long hair that resembled that monstrous young man and she smiled as she looked down at the dead woman, clinging to him as if they were a couple, "that's my good boy,"

The young man turned to look at her and smiled, "thank you mother, now let's go enjoy my day off from work," he softly grabbed her hand as the two walked off down the path.

11:30 AM, London, England

Daniel Anderson looked like any young man walking the streets. His attire was casual, simple jeans and a t-shirt, a grey hoodie open to his belt and nothing about him that would scream 'look at me!', but he was very extraordinary. Just that morning he had landed at Heathrow Airport and helped the very inebriated and very famous passengers crawl to their limousine. It was odd; Daniel could fly anyone anywhere that his chartering company sent him, but he couldn't go home.

Home was Los Angeles, but he hadn't been there in much too long. What was it? Almost ten years? He wondered briefly how his family was doing, but then he shoved that thought to the back of his head. They were better off without him.

As he walked through the crowded streets he accidentally bumped into... someone. He glanced around, confused for a moment, before continuing to the Community Service site where he was to deliver an envelope to the chief counselor there, a 'Mr. Thompson'. Daniel glanced at the envelope in his hands. It wasn't unusual for his charter company to deliver things, instead of people, but normally one of the security guards did it. Today Daniel was running the errand simply because the guard assigned today had broken out in some strange hives and had to be sent home.

When he got to the center one of the secretaries pointed him to the office. Inside, Daniel could see a chubby, unkempt man talking to a girl dressed in orange. The man must have been Mr. Thompson. The girl looked slightly amused, as if she had remembered a joke that she heard yesterday. Her strong cheekbones and the exotic tilt to her eyes made Daniel smile. There was something about her that stirred him.

Mr. Thompson was in the middle of berating Beatrix when he noticed the man hovering outside. "Fuck." He got up and slammed the door open, upset to be disturbed as he was just beginning to fantasize the girl's mouth around his cock. "What the 'ell do you want?"

Daniel seemed nonplussed at the language. "Are you Bernard Thompson?"

"Who fucking wants to know?" The man sneered. He looked Daniel over. The 'kid' looked harmless, in a fashion-model way, and Thompson hated models.

Daniel smiled and handed him the envelope. "You've been served, Mr. Thompson."
--- --- ---


3PM, New York City

Angela Petrelli lounged in her chair, watching the way her youngest son paced back and forth in the lush, penthouse office they shared. "You really must stop fighting it Peter. We need more help, and she's been selected as the most likely to benefit the company."

Peter looked up from the file he was reading. He stopped in his tracks and considered his mother. "It's always about the company, Mother. This is what we were trying to avoid. Don't you remember how it was before the war? We're going right back to everything that we fought against."

"It's for the best." She paused to take a sip of the white wine that she was holding in her hands. It was always wine time for Angela. She had to dull the conflicting images and thoughts that seemed to come more and more unbidden in her mind. "Just... just do it, okay Petey?"

"Why? Because he says to?"

"He's your brother."

"He's NOT my brother. He's unstable. This whole idea of yours... it's falling apart!" He slammed the file onto the table and a picture of a beautiful blond woman in a black tennis dress slid out. "I can feel this like a noose around my neck, Mother. This is going to get us all killed."

Angela sighed. "You have a plane seat booked, Peter. I expect you to make contact with her by noon tomorrow." She set her glass down. "This is very important. Just do it for me."

Peter shook his head, his hands on his slim hips. "I want you to remember that I was against this from the start," he said to her. He picked up the file again and looked at it. Elizabeth Gordon. "Alright. I'll do it, but if she says 'no' then that's it. Let her go. People deserve to have their own lives."

"Of course, Peter." Angela smiled as her son left the room. Then she shook her head. "Naive boy."

~GOD! this balmy little git gets my knickers in SUCH a twist,~ Beatrix thought to herself as Mr. Thompson droned on and on and on about punctuality, responsibility, respect and self improvement. She could SWEAR he himself was only half paying attention to the words spewing from his mouth and would NOT allow herself to imagine what disgusting thoughts were playing through his dirty little piggy mind of his. Still, she endured it all knowing what was at stake. Sure, Community Service was bloody boring when it wasn't terrifically humiliating, but getting sent onto real prison... THAT wasn't anything she wanted to endure. So she let the ghastly man lord his power over her and suffered his slimy, leering gazes just wanting to put her time in and get out as quickly as possible.

Then God himself decided to send her a great gift in the form of a ruggely handsome bloke with a strong chin, ~I've always liked that in a fellow~, and short cropped brown hair. The moment her eyes fell upon Daniel she felt that magnetic pull that made it impossible to look away. It wasn't JUST that he was GORGEOUS, which he was, there was just something... Powerful, commanding, electric and dreamy about him that drew her eyes like a moth to a flame. ~Whoa, girl! Can't just jump his bones right in front of Mr. T here...~, she chided herself as her heart skipped a beat and she felt her face flush.

Just as Beatrix was about to get all self conscious about being in the hideous orange jumpsuit when she heard the words coming out of Daniel's perfect lips... ~served really...~ she thought to herself KEENLY interested in what sort of trouble Mr. Thompson had gotten himself into. "Mr. Thompson.. Gov'nah..," she said pouring on the Cockney accent. "Shouldn't we be hospitable and offer your guest a cup ah?" she asked as she stood then gave Mr. T and Daniel a little curtsey full of fake gentility and sarcasm as she deliberately misconstrued the situation. She took a few steps towards the door and when she was close enough to Daniel she put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Take m'seat, love, be back in a minute." Before she passed him, she gave him a saucy and conspiratorial wink, begging him with her eyes to play along with her play and extend the drama of the moment. With the state Mr. Thompson was in things could get VERY interesting, VERY fast... With the right kind of push...

---

3PM, New York City

Elizabeth Gordon wrapped up a luncheon meeting and went out to the waiting black towncar. She idly flipped through her emails, catching up on anything she missed during the meal. She'd a hard and fast rule in business, and life really, Always be Present. Sometimes it could be hard, but she'd found the more she focused on the current moment the more open she was to the flashes of insight and inspiration that served her so well in the past. What others might call hunches or the guidance of guardian angels, Elizabeth had come to think of in more Jeffersonian terms. Her praeternatural 'luck' was directly due to how hard she worked to prepare herself to act when opportunity knocked. Her results were directly corelated to her clarity of purpose and quality of mind and body...

~Speaking of...~ Elizabeth thought to herself as she had the impulse to glance at her schedule. She had a few hours free and suddenly the ocean was calling to her. "Jimmy, change of plans... Take me to the beach house, I want to hit the Zeros with the tide..." she explained conversationally. She sent out a few emails and worked on her laptop during the hour long drive, wrapping things up as Jimmy pulled into her Malibu house's driveway. Nodding at the back after stepping out of the car, she tacitly asked Jimmy to bring her things in for her as she made her way up to the bedroom to shower and change into her cute new bikini and her wetsuit.

A little later she was on the ocean as the swell coursed around, catching them at /just/ the right moment to draw from them a truly sweet ride. Elizabeth learned she enjoyed this time alone, simply being in the moment, doing nothing important, just relying on her intuition and balance. ~... Wish you could see me now...~ she thought to herself as her thoughts traveled back in time to when she sat on the beach, squinting as she watched him ride the waves like he was Venus as a boy... The spray that hit her face washed away the tear that rolled down her cheek snapping her out of her heartbroken reverie and bringing her back into the present. As the sun set, she paddled back into shore and peeled off her wet suit to allow herself to luxuriate in that last rays of the day's sun. All in all, it was a good day.

NOTE:
Supporting characters are moving to LA to consolidate the active characters still in play.

All active characters should be moved to the LA thread. Post in the next two weeks or let us know in the OOC if you are going to be busy and still want to remain in play.

*This thread is closed until further notice.*