seekevolution | Quarantine

"She doesn't have to come," Mohinder said without looking up, curls, no longer held in place with too much product and starting to frizz, fringing a shadow across his forehead and over his eyes. "I just need her blood. As much as she can spare. If the virus hasn't spread beyond Odessa, I should be able to cure those still alive with it and my own antibodies."

Mister moral high ground didn't feel the need to explain himself to Matt Parkman, but if Mohinder wanted the help, he would have to come clean. His atonement had already occurred in a hospital with a bag of Claire's blood and a feeling of loss of self. He really could do without Matt giving him another guilt inducing look-- The best way to avoid that now was to work at taking too much of his own blood to put on ice until Claire's could arrive.

He wet his lower lip again. The bile in his throat, unheeded by a decent meal in half a day, caused his nose to wrinkle slightly.

"You'll need to ask for it because I shot him." A good shot too for someone with few lessons-- Just a slip of a thought, but without any real back patting. "Claire's blood is...remarkable. But only if administered quickly and in large doses. Even to the dead. Five pints should do the trick here--"

Hopefully they wouldn't need that much. Mohinder didn't have five pints to spare himself.

Matt stared. "You're kidding", he said in a low tone, but that wouldn't convince either of them - it was just the initial denial making itself known. Because if Mohinder had gone as far as to shoot Bennet it meant he was much deeper in the Company's pocket than Matt had thought and that doubt and anger showed on his face.

A good shot. What the hell did that mean?

"So you need me to ask the guy you shot for five pints of his daughter's blood? Are you serious?" He threw an arm out, his voice rising, the effects of Claire's blood for the moment not quite listened to.

In a weird way, this was personal. Whenever him and Mohinder had gotten to the point of personal, Matt couldn't say and didn't care - he just knew that at the moment, for all that he trusted Mohinder when it came to this virus thing, he felt betrayed.

For a man with 'use me all you like' scrawled in indelible ink across his forehead, Mohinder never quite managed to look in the mirror. He didn't seem to understand how susceptible he was to being used or how much of a doormat he'd been his entire life. Oh, there was fight in him and he didn't often cower away from tasks put in front of him...even when anyone else would see the signs and edge away.

It could be that Mohinder saw the best in humanity (though he was trained as a skeptic). What was more likely, however, was that he wanted to see the best in humanity and oftentimes, his heart lead where his brain should have taken over. For a genius, Mohinder Suresh was the world's biggest idiot.

The target on his back for predators, therefore, was impossibly large.

Anger ripped through the Indian -- understanding his thoughts didn't matter when Matt could understand the emotion behind those thoughts -- and after filling a fourth vial of his blood, the Indian ripped the needle from his arm and stupidly stood up too quickly with a body suffering from blood loss, hunger, and exhaustion.

He braced himself against the table, close enough to the detective to touch him in he took too deep a breath. Their arguments had always been rather close. Blame that on the geneticist's culture. Mohinder didn't understand the Western Male need for privacy bubbles.

"I was in too deep," he growled. Yes, growled. "I didn't know what else to do." He'd been used by both sides. By that point, he'd been angry, lost-- "Just do it, Matt. I'm not asking for myself." Obviously. "I just want to save these people."

Blame Matt's part in it on the fact that he hated backing down. In arguments like these he believed that if he gave an inch he'd have lost the debate. There was no way he was losing this one when he knew he was right. He'd told Mohinder from the very beginning that he was in way over his head and while he wasn't cruel enough to say "I told you so", he'd stand his ground in a literal way to show his position.

Mohinder was in his face. Matt was in his, too. They were both too stubborn to yield like that, and yeah, Matt wasn't the most comfortable with that kind of proximity most of the time, but here? It wasn't all that different from getting up close and personal with a suspect to intimidate them to fess up.

"You're an idiot, Mohinder", he snapped at him, leaning subtly closer for a second himself, subconsciously using his size as a way to emphasize his words. But then he backed away and held out his hand, snapping his fingers, still looking thoroughly angry with the other man - still speaking in clipped tones. "Give me your phone."

While intimidation worked in Matt's case, Mohinder had changed his bandages for a month, seen him literally at his worst with a divorce pending and his future looking only as bright as the couch Mohinder let him sleep on because Molly couldn't be without her hero. There was no need to back down now and Mohinder sure as hell wasn't going to even attempt it. Not when pride was on the line and guilt was emblazoned in his eyes all ready.

Sorrow didn't quite override anger and nearly to the point of giving Matt little pushes with his fingertips on the larger man's chest, entirely too macho for his slight frame to be doing any way, he decided to try to diffuse the situation before his broken nose became any worse.

Or he added broken ribs as a side effect.

He was stupid. He meant well, he wanted to keep Molly and people like her safe. And in the end, all he managed to do was lose part of his soul and some of his good looks due to bruising and blood shot eyes.

"I'll do it myself," Mohinder said, turning away. It was easier in New York, his mind echoed. Only because of Molly-- She wasn't the sole reason to their friendship but Mohinder's bruised ego dismissed Matt as something less desirable than friend.

All of this posturing, however, wasn't a good idea on a run down system with four vials of it's blood sitting on the counter rather than his veins. God forbid Matt try to catch him when his knees nearly go, however. Mohinder had a stool to help him, thanks.

The thing was that Matt knew. It was easy to dismiss when he was angry (and boy, was he ever), but he thoroughly believed Mohinder to be a good guy. It was impossible to watch him with Molly and think anything else. But that's exactly what made it so infuriating, the way Mohinder insisted on putting himself and others in danger because he couldn't seem to grasp that people didn't always have each other's best interests at heart.

Matt, on the other hand, was suspicious by nature. He'd learned early on. From his dad, in school, by being a cop, not to mention now with his ... his mind thing. Hearing people's thoughts didn't instill a lot of trust most of the time. Those few times things matched up between what people thought and what they said, that's when he latched onto them.

And he had, too. With Molly and Mohinder both. That's why he was still seething even as he watched Mohinder wobble, even as he reached for him on instinct but ultimately let it be when the other man all but crawled onto the stool, but he still pinned him with a look that was even harsher now when he could actually look down on him.

"Like hell you are. Just give me the damn phone, I'll make the call."

In a way, Mohinder learned to be the man he was from his father too. Never feeling the man's love, though he had stayed with his family rather than walk out on them (physically, though Mohinder often wondered if his mother didn't assume Chandra had emotionally checked out some time after his book took over his life), only left Mohinder with a deep seated need to crave affection wherever he could.

The moment someone took interest in him, no matter their underlying intent, Mohinder was willing to do what they wanted. It was how Eden had easily gotten her hooks into him without use of her power, how 'Zane' led him to Montana on what he'd hoped might be a long, fruitful killing spree, how Noah got Mohinder to agree to infiltrate the Company and, ultimately, how Bob turned Mohinder against his own ideals.

"Just-- I can do this myself. He'll need an explanation." Mohinder didn't say it, or even think it, but the idea that, likely, Matt wouldn't be able to convey the reason certainly laid between them. Mohinder turned his back to the larger man this time, rubbing some of the strain from his forehead. He needed something sugary. He'd have to produce a lot more blood than that.

Dialing the number? Easy. Getting Noah to answer? Understandably impossible.

"You wouldn't have asked me if you thought he'd listen to you." It was a sensible observation and one Matt made with some impatience. He got it - he wasn't the brains between the two of them, but him and Bennet had worked together on more than one occasion and even though it was well known that him and Mohinder had formed a kind of team to help protect Molly he suspected Bennet might listen a bit more to him than the guy who'd hit him with a good shot. Especially given Matt's known distrust of the Company to begin with.

Besides, Mohinder was looking shaky to a downright worrying degree. It only took Matt a moment's worth of deliberation before he circled the damn stool, a muttered "For God's sake--" before he just snatched the phone from the other man's hands. He shoved an apple towards Mohinder in its place. "Eat. Explain what I have to tell Bennet and I will, but just trust me for once in your life!"

It was easy to be angry. He hadn't been angry when he'd grabbed the apple from the cafeteria after he came back from Primatech.

Now he held the phone hostage, holding it in the air and practically daring Mohinder to reach for the thing.

Mobile in hand one moment, apple the next, Mohinder at least looked sufficiently cowed not to immediately jump up and retrieve his stolen device. He doubted Bennet would pick up once he saw his number and even if he did, his family was likely deeper in hiding than ever before. He didn't blame Noah for it. Mohinder might be the sort to ask all the wrong people for advice and show his hand (and heart) on his sleeve at the most inopportune of moments, but he admired the man's care of the people that needed him.

If only he could be a man like that one day.

Turning the apple over in his hand, thumbing the skin with a glint of the silver ring pressed heavily against his own, Mohinder dropped his knuckles to his thigh and blinked up at the larger man in dismay.

"I do trust you," Mohinder said, anger dissolving because he didn't have the strength any more. Anger might be easy, but it could take a great deal out of a person.

Mohinder didn't have anything else left to fuel it.

"Tell him what it is we need and why. He's bound to have seen the news by now. Claire's blood is special. He understand what that means."

Matt nodded, his own anger starting to die down as well now when Mohinder had given in. It was usually Mohinder's stubbornness that fueled his, after all. He breathed out, nodded, and took a few steps back, flipping Mohinder's phone up to scroll through his contact list. He didn't think there'd be any actual names in it, of course, that would have blown what little cover Mohinder had ever had, but 'B' was telling enough.

"Right", was his muttered agreement as he paused at the number, glancing at Mohinder and letting a beat pass before he spoke again. "Just eat the damn thing before you fall over. It ends in -49?"

Once he'd gotten confirmation, or found the right number, he got his own phone out and copied the sequence down. Because yeah, he didn't think Bennet would answer Mohinder's number either. How fortunate that almost everyone had their own phone these days, wasn't it?

Once he hit dial, he waited with a still-dark look Mohinder's way as the dial sounds went through, until there was a click and a cautious voice in his ear. He gestured briefly at Mohinder - got him - before he partially turned away, crossing his free arm over his chest.

"Bennet? It's Parkman."

The conversation felt like teeth were getting pulled, even though Mohinder wasn't part of it. He worked his jaw on the apple instead, face turned away from the man stuttering explanations towards the back of the room. The apple was warm and tasteless, not Matt's fault, and the feel of something fibrous in his stomach was starting to turn it ever so slightly. Exhaustion caught up quickly.

There was no need to be a telepath, nor hear the other end of the conversation, to know that Noah was giving Matt trouble. He glossed over the request and instead picked at the detective for information on who might have been hit, on what was being done--

Odessa had been home for a very long time, after all, even if Noah had kept his distance.

He sounded as tired as Mohinder looked. "There's been a media blackout since noon, Parkman," he said. Bad sign.

Bad sign indeed. Matt ground his teeth as he paced - he'd never been one of those people to take a call standing still, and he was circling himself slowly as he listened to Bennet and tried to get a word in edgewise. It wasn't that Bennet didn't listen to him, because he did; it was more that he seemed to have already made up his mind and refused to budge despite the arguments Matt put forth.

What aggravated Matt most, though, was that Bennet often spoke with a cool tone that held a lot of arrogance, and that tone carried over even through the tiredness that was blanketing all of them at this point.

"Yeah, that's bad, I get it", he hissed into the receiver, "but right now? We don't have time for this. No one has time for this. We need Claire's blood to save these people. If you won't listen to me, let me talk to her!"

That naturally didn't fly. Matt hadn't expected it to, but that didn't make him any less frustrated, and he shot Mohinder a look that said as much on his next rotation. The demand seemed to have made Bennet even more detached, and that was bad news too, but he was still on the line. So maybe they were still at a half-half.

There was another silence on Matt's end after that, before he finally snapped, "Just tell me what it's gonna be!"

Noah had no qualms with killing people. You couldn't work for the Company, you couldn't put your life on the line, and still have a high sense of fair morality. The sigh that followed painted a picture of the man removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Then you have Suresh there." Not a question. Matt didn't need to answer. "Right. I'll bring it myself."

It was more than either of the two in the high school lab could have hoped for and it was better than Matt didn't get the chance to ask how, exactly, Bennet planned to get through a barricade if there was a media blackout before the CDC even arrived.

There would be double or even triple perimeters set up now. Evacuations would have ended. They were likely already trucking in additional military personnel to keep people in their homes or to enforce martial law.

Day one of a viral outbreak wasn't so terrible.

Day three? Day seven?

All hell would break loose.

Matt's posture told Mohinder the answer to his question when the other man hung up the phone. "He'll do it?" he asked, just to be sure, and relief filled him as he tilted his head forward to set his forehead on the back of one hand.

There was nothing more Mohinder could do until Claire's blood arrived except perhaps contact the hospitals away from the epicenter of Odessa's viral outbreak and walk them through testing for presence of the virus. Containment was all Mohinder could hope for until that precious blood arrived.

"Thank God."

"Yeah."

Matt rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, breathing out slowly. He was pretty good at going on the momentums he built up and he'd been going on determination, stubbornness and anger the past few hours ... it was only now he realized how tired he was. Seemed lengthy verbal spars would do that to you, two in a row even moreso.

He needed to find a charger, he realized. It was almost funny. The end of the world just around the corner and his phone was almost out of battery and it was a legitimate concern in case Bennet would call again.

Bennet had Mohinder's number. It was probably fine, for the time being. But still something to keep in mind when he'd be navigating the halls of coughing, scared or hurried people later.

"Catch", he said after a moment, tossing Mohinder's phone back to him in a gentle arc after pocketing his own. He found himself leaning against the desk after that, both hands flat against the surface. Listening. "You can't go to all of them", he commented, looking up. "You're even thinking tired."

With the apple half eaten to the core and nibbled on around the stem, laying lopsided on the desk, Mohinder couldn't help but wonder if he looked just as beaten up as the piece of fruit did. He let out a very long breath from the pit of his lungs and dropped his mobile into his jeans pockets when he stood. Likely, he couldn't get a hand into them otherwise while seated. He did seem to prefer trousers that might have been cut for a woman back in LA. Asian fashion was always a bit out there.

"How is it possible to think tired?" he asked, a smile on his face mirroring one from what seemed like so long ago, back before 'Suresh, Mohinder Suresh' became a thing to contend with and bicker over while Molly was in her room listening to Hannah Montana or rubbing her crayons into nubs on any piece of paper should could find. "Does it slur? Like speech?"

Right now, Mohinder couldn't do much at all. Matt was right. Even a phone call to one of the hospitals might be too much, getting through reception, to the right person, bounced around through any number of administrators-- He just wasn't up for it.

"Never mind. I believe you. I don't suppose there's a free sofa around..?"

The question did cause him to reflect, because he'd just noticed it, the thinking - he hadn't really considered what tipped him off. And that was them when they were good with each other, really: Mohinder making him think and being interested in something he did or said, and Matt able to provide insight and feeling like he was learning something about either himself or Mohinder (because by learning about his research, you invariably learned something about him, too). At their best, that exchange evolved into comfortable (and sometimes not-so-comfortable) teasing. At their best, they acted like a family.

God, he missed Molly so much. He wasn't sure how many days it had been since he'd seen her - probably only two, maybe three, but he felt like a very real part of him was missing. And now in the middle of all this he wasn't sure when he'd get to see her again.

But Mohinder was smiling at him and he smirked tiredly back at him. There was that, at least.

"Wouldn't bet on it. You might want to consider the floor, doc."

The sad part was that it looked like the most viable option. Any sofas were occupied or moved out of the way - more poeple than Mohinder needed the sleep, especially with the darkness outside. When had the whole thing started? Just before lunch time? The sun had set a while ago.

There had been many nights with a six pack of beer and American football on the television in the background (Mohinder couldn't figure the game out and in the end, simply pretended not to mind it so much when Matt needed the game to work through the pain of healing entirely too many bullet wounds) when discussions would turn towards Matt's blossoming ability and Mohinder would find himself going off on a verbal tangent stream of consciousness as he pondered the applications of telepathy in every day life. A little bit of alcohol and the professor still wouldn't shut up but at least he spoke slower and repeated himself quite a lot so Matt could keep up with the conversation. It had felt right to share his life with the two at that point, at least until Noah put it in his head that he'd best serve his little not-quite family by playing spy.

Conceivably, their lives could have been so very different if he'd only been capable of settling down. Perhaps, after this, they could bring Molly home together and try again? He'd even give Matt his bedroom in exchange for the couch if that's what it took!

Ah. A couch. Mohinder glanced around the lab and sighed. "It won't be the first time I've slept on the floor. I wonder if the administrator's office at least has carpeting though," he mused out loud. "You ought to rest too. I might not be able to hear your thoughts slur, but you look as exhausted as I feel. I'll give myself three hours, but you've been at this for almost a day longer than I have."

At least the apple seemed to allow his knees to function correctly this time.

He'd be able to see himself someplace at least a little more comfortable for a nap.

"It's not really slurring", Matt answered, wanting to sort it out now when he was thinking about it. "It's more, uh ... it's like a focus thing. Like your thoughts are less complete. They trail off, start over. You know?"

It was a figurative question, of course, since Mohinder wasn't a mind reader himself, something Matt was quite glad for at times. But it had turned into the question Matt used the most to make sure that Mohinder was following what he was trying to say. He'd been on the receiving end for quite a bit of questions after a while; it was naturally impossible to live with probably the only person in the world researching abilities to not ask him about them.

Molly was usually kept out of that kind of poking and prodding, but she was different. And with the way they were all trying to lie low Matt had quickly become one of Mohinder's very few test subjects. Matt usually didn't mind too much, and that's what he fell into now when he moved away from the desk and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, following Mohinder out the door.

It struck him that he could make people clear an area to let them sleep, if he wanted. It was a subtly scary thought, but it remained in his head.

"I'll live", he responded to what was likely underlying concern on Mohinder's part, but he'd barely said it before he had to stifle a yawn.

Missed this, comes unfiltered and unfocused, unconnected from the surface thoughts of Mohinder's brain, floating over probability and mathmatical equations on the likelihood of seeing everyone make it through this. Without knowledge that the original National Guard were now getting ill, even those who had not worn their masks for simply a moment, and were being replaced by soldiers in tough viral suits tightening down the border between the infection zone and the standby areas, this little nap was going to cost people lives.

Mohinder simply could not function any longer. A slip up could cause even more death. He wasn't really trained for this. He'd been interested in practical medical vaccine production as a student and then in human evolution post-graduate. None of those things provided the stalwart ability to look the dying in the eye and still study them.

He wasn't quite up to that point.

So falling back on conversation with Matt, sleepy and comfortable, about what he could do and how he could react to it was lulling and safe.

One of the side offices, lucky for them, was indeed carpeted and even had two plush chairs to steal the cushions from for pillows. As Matt had said, it wouldn't be comfortable, but Mohinder really had slept in worse places before. He moved through muscle memory alone, setting up a place for Matt first before he tosses himself into a corner, shoes placed carefully on a window ledge. Sleep. And then he'd call Molly as promised.

Matt had to smile a little at the stray thought, because yeah - he'd missed this, too. It was kind of bizarre when you really thought about it, how they'd had four months that had left them all alone, let them recover from the chaos that had been Kirby Plaza and all events leading up to it, and then now ... everything had happened so quickly and with such a degree of danger. Like the world regretted those four months altogether and had to roll all the missed opportunities for really bad things into a single strike and strike them hard.

He tried to calculate how long he'd been awake but the numbers were slipping away from him. He didn't think much about it when Mohinder motioned for him to lie down, cause that was another thing born from their moments of - well, it was friendship, he supposed, and he rubbed his face and lied down with an arm thrown over his face.

He made Mohinder promise to wake him the moment something changed. After that, he couldn't really stay awake anymore.

Things were getting more chaotic outside as they slept. It wasn't just about the disease spreading but the people trying to spread it, even without the intention. Throghout the morning there would be people trying to get out from the city: part of them not wanting to be contained or thinking the lockdown some kind of conspiracy, part of them because they had someplace to be.

The soldiers and National Guards could make do for now, citing whatever script it was they were trained to tell people in these situations, but like Mohinder had thought earlier - as the quarantine went on, it'd be more and more difficult. Riots might start. People would keep dying, not always because of the virus.

They'd likely hit triple digits before sunrise.

The thing about alarms, it turned out, was that one had to remember to set them in order to have them go off at a certain time. Mohinder had ever intention of doing so before sleep dragged him down and kept him there, pinned under glass, for nearly seven hours. In fact, it was to gunfire that the professor was roused, head aching from inconstant dreams and body unaccustomed to waking up prone on carpeting.

Hindi streamed from his mouth before his brain made the renewed effort to try again in English. Matt had to be awake, the man slept so slightly. He called his name, the glare of the sun coming through windowless curtains. "What was that?"

The shots sounded far off, towards the road, across the field of the high school. A couple with a dying child had tried to make a run for it. Soldiers, mostly just kids, panicked.

Mohinder had no idea what was happening, but there didn't seem to be a prolonged period of reaction. The early morning quieted down again.

Maybe it had been nothing at all? A weapons' misfire? Target practice? It just didn't sit well with him. But then, neither did the time.

Bennet could well be nearby already and Mohinder had slept through valuable minutes!

Yes, Matt had woken a bit earlier than Mohinder, roused from the sunlight teasing its way through the windows and the raised voices outside. The voices most of all, actually. At times he'd wake up from loud thinking the way you would from loud voices, and there was a combination there in the desperate pleading once the guns had entered the picture.

He didn't see what happened, but he heard the shots and cursed loudly, practically on his way out when Mohinder called for him.

"I don't know. I'm going to find out", was all he offered before he left, only then really registering the sunlight.

How long had they slept? Why hadn't anybody tried to wake them? It didn't sit well with him, like there might be something wrong even outside of the fact that there'd just been guns fired on the streets. Maybe the CDC had finally arrived and tried working things out. That would be the optimistic option.

He was on all kinds of edge when he moved through the corridors before he hit the streets and grabbed the closest Guard he could find, making him tell him exactly what he'd seen without a moment's hesitation, using his newfound power to get the information he wanted. When he got an incomplete image he forced another Guard too.

Matt wasn't happy about what he found out. No one had died but the father was badly hurt, but that wasn't the sole issue. Now people would view the situation as a bad one on a completely different level. Start opposing the people trying to protect them.

He whipped around and re-entered the high school, trying to find Peter. If he knew him right he hadn't allowed himself to sleep. He'd know more about what had gone down while him and Mohinder had been out.

Matt didn't have to find Peter at all. The younger man was already there, popping into view down the hall with a dangerous look on his face. Something was off about Petrelli, something Matt wasn't quite able to get out of him from the feedback his telepathy caused. Peter winced and paused, feet apart and hands at his side.

"It's the Company," Peter said, but that was mostly just an educated guess. "They're trapping the people in here, destroying roads--" Yes, he'd gone to look. He'd been a busy man in that early morning.

What else could he do with Nathan dead?

Mohinder appeared as a shadow behind Peter and one little gesture from the latter caused the professor to be pushed out of sight again. Peter didn't even bother to look sorry. "Help me, Matt. Help me before they start shooting at people, and not at the ground in front of people."

It was funny how quickly things could go so bad.

Matt didn't even reflect. It was all too easy to accept Peter's theory right away because it made far too much sense. Of course it'd be the Company, it was always the Company, and it'd be just their style to try to cover up the mess they'd caused by silencing anyone who could tell on them.

"Is Bennet here?" he asked Peter, already moving with him back outside.

"Bennet?" A puzzled look from Peter in return, but he didn't stop moving, leading the way with hurried steps. Matt kept up, not elaborating for the moment on why Bennet was on his way. That was answer enough that if he was there, he'd chosen not to announce himself.

Peter let it go, and Matt found himself speaking very quickly, trying to explain how to get to the point where you could push a thought, make people do what you wanted. It was difficult to explain but it'd work out one hell of a lot better if both of them could do it.

The main road into Odessa that Peter had blocked the previous day was ... not looking much like a road anymore, all torn up around the boulders. It looked like someone had tried to make dead sure that even if they could haul the boulders away from there the road would never be one you could travel on again. It was almost a rift in the ground. From the looks of the cars with the open doors it looked like several people had tried to get out that way. From the looks of the people slowly moving around the area, it was clear that they wouldn't.

In front of them were several official-looking people with guns, pointing them towards anyone who dared get close enough. Tension was running high, mixing with all the voices in the air. It looked bad, really bad, and Matt wished he had his gun. For now he had his mind. It would have to do.

He took a deep breath after a meaningful look Peter's way and tried to reach out to the anonymous looking people behind their masks even from this distance, trying to get to them before either side committed murder.

If it wasn't for Matt, Peter would say later, there would have been a lot of very, very dead people along the torn up road. Though one poor girl did have a violent, fever induced seizure, Peter was there to take care of her in her last moments of life and with Matt's prompts, the soldiers and the remaining, uninfected National Guard soldiers directed the near riot back to the quarantine zone.

By that point, the place looked very different. Tents had been erected in the former football field for the dead. Everyone showing symptoms were set up at at the high school. Primatech was under armed guard. The houses and businesses in between were all but barricaded from those hiding away from an airbourne illness that was just as likely to claim them inside as out with the way soldiers were insisting on banging on doors to get full blood work on everyone.

Mohinder was no where to be seen, already escorted back to his lab since someone told the commanding officer in charge that he had a way of identifying the infected. Mohinder had argued, of course, but there wasn't a lot to be done when under supervision like this.

It was worse than being at the Company, worse than being told to experiment on people with powers. Worse because he knew he was writing death warrants for each new group of individuals paraded through the lab for their blood to be drawn.

Red bracelets were issued to the infected.

White to those exposed.

There were still a whole stack of white bracelets laying in a pile on his desk and they were nearly out of red.

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