"Mohinder?" It had been days since Molly had really spoken to him, and Mohinder immediately looked away from some promising results to where Molly was sitting in the corner, feet dangling above the ground because her legs weren't quite long enough to reach the floor. She looked upset. "Mohinder--" There were tears in her blue eyes and the man had never pulled off his goggles or his gloves so fast in his life to get to her.

"What's wrong, Molly?" His voice was understandably strained and he reached into his pocket for some tissues in case those tears decided to fall. He figured she was upset at being alone here, at being cooped up, upset at missing her friends, at the birthday party she want meant to go to, at the lack of crayons Pineheart had.

He was not expecting her shoulders to start to hitch. "I can't find him. He's not anywhere!"


Now, that wasn't quite true. Matt was still alive, but the incendiary bomb, home made and strong enough to blast apart the building he and Peter had been hiding in, was enough to make him lose consciousness. Peter was caught under the rubble, dead for all intents and purposes until someone could pull the rebar from his skull, but Matt had been thrown clear enough that he wasn't immediately killed.

It was time to wake up, however. Time to clear his head from the way his ears rang and get the hell out of dodge before the bandits descended.

Matt might have been getting mentally stronger during his time in the hell that was now New York, but he had to be awake first.