Mission Seven: A Family Tale

From The Amazing Mutant Race 4....

"Greetings, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Summers," one of the so-called Tree People greeted us.

"Please," I responded humbly, "Call him Scott."

"I am Palín, no relation," he said, "of the Tree People."

I sensed a trap. "Funny," I said coolly. "You don't look like a tree."

"Well, we're not trees," Palín explained, "we're people of the trees."

"So, why don't you just go with that?"

"Tree People is more marketable," he replied. "So, ready for the games?" he asked putting an arm around Scott and leading us up the treetop pathway.

Scott sighed unenthusiastically.

"Aw, what's the matter there, tiger?" Palín said stopping. He grabbed Scott hard around his bicep and said, "Cheer up. You were made for these games."

I explained how Scott had been upset because he was looking forward to the other detour challenge. "I want to be mutated into looking good in sweaters," he had whined. "Winter's approaching."

Fortunately, I'm the brains of this team, so when it comes down to the decision making, I get final say. The other option was a joke. Evolution? My home school biology book says no. And besides, where would I come up with ideas for evolutionary advantages that would be original? I don't want people to think I'm just ripping off some silly comic book.

So, that's how I ended up locked in a kitchen ducking behind the counter with a pen and shield in hand as two velociraptors chugged some lager.


"I don't get the point of this game," I whispered to myself.

"You just have to stop them from drinking," a voice said, "and don't die."

"Wh-where are you? Who are you?"

"It's me, Palín," he answered. "We wired you with an audio transmitter. It makes it more entertaining for the audience if we can hear your screams." In the background I heard cheering.

I peeked back around at the velociraptors. They were still lapping up the lager. I stood up and said, "I'm going to need to see some ID." Then approached the beasts.

They watched as I walked toward them. I had my shield raised, ready to push off an attack. Once in range, I kicked the glass of lager across the kitchen.

"Did I win?" I asked as one of the raptors jumped on me, knocking me to the ground. His enormous weight held me down. I lifted the pen up as high as I could and poked at its ankle.

The other raptor seemed to watch gleefully, until it was suddenly struck by a tranquilizer dart and fell to the ground unconscious.

The raptor standing on me soon followed.

I rose to my feet and saw Palín with two bamboo-wielding Tree People. "Yeah, you won," he said. "Nice job."

Palín took me back to where Scott was waiting.

"The next game requires you to swing across to that tree over there," he pointed, "using only your tail. No hands. First one there wins."

"Okay," Scott said approaching the starting line.

"Wait," I stopped him. "He said using only your tail."

"I know," Scott replied. "I'm not deaf."

"But...you don't have a tail."

"What?" he asked shocked. "Of course I do!"

I was quite confused. "Why do you have a tail?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" he shot back.

"Um, well, humans don't have tails," I explained confoundedly.

"They don't?" he asked, then proceeded to pat me on the behind. "You mean...you don't have one?"

"No," I answered, "I don't."

Scott pulled a tail from out of his pants and asked, "So why do I have one?"

"How should I know? Just swing to that tree over there and be quick about it!"

"Fine."


But quick he wasn't. "Nice job, sport," Palín said as Scott returned. "I think you may have set a record. A record for optic blasting the competition, that is. You took a long time, but you're the only one that finished the race. You win. One more game to go...."

"Wait," Scott said. "I need to call my father."

"Hello?" I heard his father answer over the speaker phone.

"Hey, Daddy. It's me, Scott."

"That's Major Daddy, boy."

"Sorry, Major Daddy...I was wondering, um...did you know I had a tail?"

"Of course," Major Summers replied, "Why do you think I threw you out of an airplane as a boy?"

"Because we were attacked," Scott said.

His father corrected him. "No, boy. I found out that your mother was having an affair with a Tree Person, Pal-something or other. Hence your tail. I'm a good guy, a strong man, but I mean, come on...you had a tail. And you weren't even mine. Anyone would have done the same in my position."

"But what about Alex? You threw him out too."

"Yeah," Scott's father explained, "he was just ugly."

Scott was speechless. He stood there not saying a word.

So, his father hung up.

"Nice job!" Palín said coming closer. "I just overheard your conversation, and you just won the third game: Discover a family secret."

As we headed back, I thought it seemed suspicious how we managed to win all our games. I was rescued from the raptors just in time. Scott somehow wasn't disqualified for optic blasting away the competition. And that last game...well, I don't even know if that was a real game.

But the important thing is, we won. And a suspicious win is still a win.

Where's the Beef?

"Okay," Tracy finally said after having it explained for the fifth time. "I've heard enough."

"So you understand now?" I asked.

"Yeah....Nathan's been with everyone and their twin, and you have his illegitimate daughter to prove it."

See? It's not that complicated. I decided to move on to the next step. Collecting evidence.


"Well, well, Mr. Cocoon Man," I said as I cut off part of his encasement. "Looks like you've made quite the mess." I dropped the sample of his cocoon into a plastic baggy.

Having collected the evidence, I grabbed Meredith, and we returned to the office. I pulled into the Primatech parking lot where we exited the vehicle.

"Hey, there!" I called to Meredith as she headed for her own car. "Aren't you going to stick around the office for lunch?"

"No, sorry," she replied. "I really want to get back and see Claire."

"Alright, suit yourself."

I knew the best part of working was lunch. There was no way I was going to waste it on some ungrateful daughter I see everyday. This was my one hour of complete freedom from the grind. I'm on my own time during my lunch hour. I can shoot whomever I want, without worrying about about getting a sexual discrimination lawsuit filed against me.

The Haitian joined me at our regular table. He, like always, had a couple twigs and three quarters of a fish head. "Well, well," I said reaching into my paper sack, "let's see what the misses packed for me."

"Yuck," The Haitian commented as I plopped the foul-looking pseudo-food onto the table. "What is it?"

"Hmm...looks like...an egg sandwich?" Sure, Sandra's cooking rarely looked good, but well, sometimes it tasted decent enough. And with the current economic situation, there was no way I'd be giving into the Dollar Menu.

I bit into the strange food. "Yum," I said, lying. Chewing was difficult, but I managed. I quickly finished the rest and washed it down with a glass of water.

The Haitian just finished his last twig and then said, "Back to work?"

"Yeah," I replied, scraping my tongue with sandpaper. "We've got some evidence for the lab to examine."

"I will take it there immediately," he replied diligently.

"Here you-" I reached into my paper bag and felt around. "Well, that's odd...where's the-"

Our Chart

"Why'd you bring her?" Nathan asked, nodding over toward my newest partner, Meredith. "I thought you were into talk, dark and handsome memory-wipers."

"Sometimes you gotta fight fire with fire," I replied.

Then, Tracy walked over to me excitedly and shook my hand. "Thanks for saving us, Mr..."

"Bennet," I replied. "Mr. Bennet. And it's very ice to meet you."

She seemed to blush.

Then, I pulled Meredith closer to us and said, "This is Meredith, an old friend of Nathan's."

"Oh, she doesn't look that old," Tracy replied.

Meredith's eyes lit on fire. I quickly explained the details of our relationships, to cool things down. "...and so, now Claire's mine."

Tracy seemed confused.

"It's simple really," I explained. "Nathan and Meredith had a baby. I adopted the baby with Sandra. My old partner, The Haitian, also helps protect her. My new partner is Meredith, Claire's real mom. Nathan's new partner is you, the twin sister of his old partner, Niki, who he thought was Jessica, which me met when he was married to Heidi."

She still wasn't getting it. So I drew a chart, like on The L Word. If it's good enough for Lesbians, it's good enough for me, I always say.



"See?" I said as she took in the visual.

Nathan was confused now. "What's with the X's on Heidi?" he asked.

"Oh, the X's mean the person's dead now."

"Heidi's not dead," he replied, "I mean, I don't think she is."

"Oh, well, you get the point."

Who You Gonna Call?

Has anyone seen the electrifying blonde bimbo?

I left several voicemails for her, but no response. It's like she's avoiding me, or found another evil company to work for.

"Hello, Elle? It's Mr. Bennet. Look, I don't know if this is still your number or not, but it's all we had on file. Please, contact me as soon as you get this. We really need a new receptionist. Our current one is having hip replacement surgery, so we have to find someone to fill her shoes for a few months. You were the first person we thought of! So, give me a call."

I just left my last message for her when I got an important phone call from...Claire's Bio-Daddy!

Yes, if I had a mortal enemy (other than The Company, Mohinder, occasionally Claire, Sylar and all the other villains I've bagged and tagged over the years), then he certainly would be it.

Ever since the pajama incident, he and I just haven't gotten along.

"Those stupid-looking pajama bottoms make your butt look big."

Then, there's the whole family drama of having his and Meredith's daughter as my own.

"Hurry, Noah," he said over the phone. "There's something strange in our neighborhood!"

"Hey, I told your brother to call me Noah. It's still Mr. Bennet to you." I snapped at him.

"Whatever. Just get down here. Tracy and I are scared. Well, mostly me. Hurry! I don't want her seeing me like this. We don't know what to do!" Okay, maybe that wasn't his exact words, the details are fuzzy. The point is, I put our differences aside and went in to help him.

Meredith and I hopped into our pimped out Nissan.



I arrived, as I always do, just in time.

"I ain't 'fraid of no cocoons," I said as I fired my taser.

The cocoon man that was pretending to attack my friends (in the John McCain sense of the word, meaning people I haven't shot yet) was momentarily electrified long enough for them to escape its grasp. I remember the good ol' days when instead of tasers, I'd just give Elle a squeeze and she'd fire off a few rounds. We need to find that girl....

"Wow," Nathan's latest blonde acquaintance said, "that sexy man in horn-rimmed glasses just saved our lives. He's so mysterious."

Nathan rolled his eyes.

New Policies - Part 2

Continued from Part One....

Finally, some good news.



Angela in a coma.

And with Bob dead....and Kaito dead....and Thompson dead....and Linderman dead....and Bernie Mac dead....

I'm now in charge of The Company!

The Haitian let out a hearty, "..."

"First order of business," I said, "Let's find Elle. Sure, I don't like her, but she still qualifies for our pension plan, and I want to make sure she earns it!"

The Haitian just nodded.

"Next, let's ban Peter from the premises. I'm really tired of that depressed whiner. The paper business is for real men only."

"Peter left," The Haitian informed me.

"Good. Then, let's move on to Sylar. I want him locked away and put into a coma until we find a way to kill him for good."

"Sylar is already locked up and in an induced coma."

Well, this Company running thing sure was a lot easier than I expected it to be. I think this could be a record profit-earning quarter for us. We just need a few more changes.

I needed to put the word out to my buddy, Shaq. So, I called him up.

"Ya?" he answered the phone.

"It's me, Noah. I need your help. I'm running the paper company right now, and well, quite frankly, we got a lot of fat losers on the staff. I need you down here to whip 'em into shape."

"Sure thing, man. That's what I do, you know, I just do things like that, you know, it's what I do, so Imma gonna do it, man."

He flew down within the hour and began training our sales team.



With our employees getting whipped into shape, it was time for me to whip up morale. The best way is with a mascot.


I call him Bready in Horn-Rimmed Glasses.

Finally, The Company was beginning to look like more than a simple front for a clandestine people-hunting organization. It was starting to look like a real company, one that would have family picnics for its employees (without radioactive tracking isotopes hidden in the food).

I sat happily in the big chair dreaming of our wonderful future. Perhaps I'll consider acquiring Dunder-Mifflin next quarter.

New Policies - Part 1

"We need more men!" I screamed at The Haitian.

He replied, "..."

"I know, they're all dead!" I sunk into my chair. Things have been terrible in the paper business ever since the Level 5 incident. We've been going through agents faster than Ben Savage. It was definitely hindering our ability to sell paper and shoot bad guys.

I suppose we'd have to start recruitment.

If only West didn't disappear. That kid already started down the path toward becoming a Company Man.

Then, of course, there was Claire. She did surprise me with the way she got out of the huge mess she got into with Eric Doyle. But she's too young and too much my daughter. I would worry for her safety, even though ultimately I would be very proud to have my kid follow in my footsteps.

"What about me, Dad?" some whiny little boy asked.

"What are you doing here? Are you the new intern?"

"It's me, Lyle," the unfamiliar brat said. "I could be a paper salesman."

I just laughed and sent him back home.

This would have been much easier if we never had all those Level 5 villains escape. Stupid Elle. It's all her....

Elle. She's still on our payroll! She should be working for us!

I made my way to the boss's office to demand Elle's reinstatement.

"I know she's an entitled little bimbo, but gosh darn it, she's our entitled little bimbo!" I said as I knocked open the door.


Angela didn't reply.

Peter and Sylar stared at me, as though I had just urinated on their mother's grave or something.

"My mother..." Peter began to sob.

"Our mother!" Sylar announced.

"She has fallen into a cold, bitter state."

"Yeah, like that's a new development," I replied. "Look, I need a word with your mom. It's about Elle."

"She's in a coma," Sylar informed me.

"That's great!" I exclaimed. "That old hag has been running this paper company into the ground."

"Some studies suggest that coma patients can still hear," The Haitian said as he entered behind me.

"...uh, the ground is a great place for a paper company!" I quickly added. I grabbed The Haitian and darted out of the room.

In the hallway outside Angela's room, I said to The Haitian, "I think this makes me the boss."

"..."

"That's just what I was thinking!" It was time to make some changes around here.

To be concluded....

Internet Suggestions

If you're like me, then when you're not out shooting people, you're online checking out all the great content this giant series of tubes has to offer.

I thought I'd go ahead and make things easier for you. Sure, Google has already made it insanely easy to find anything you're looking for, but what about the stuff you're not looking for? That's where I come in. Here are some things you should be doing on the Internet:

Of course, the first thing is to be reading my blog, which you're doing. So, good job! You'll make a great paper salesman someday, kid.





The next thing, which is almost as important as reading my blog, is to add me on MySpace. It's how I keep tabs on Claire and any other youth that may be experiencing odd symptoms. Visit my profile.

Since you like reading blogs so much, be sure to stop by The Burnt Toast Diner. I hear Adam posted today. I've been wondering what happened to him. I thought he was buried, or cremated, or something. Oh, well, maybe I'll stop by the cafe and see what he's up to these days.




And the next fun thing for all of you loyal paper-enthusiasts to do is check out the forums on Primatech's website. You can discuss all the happenings in our crazy world of paper! You'd be surprised at all the things there is to discuss: Who would have Sylar's baby? Is Obama REALLY a terrorist? Why is Mohinder still alive?




I'm sure you have a lot of Internet activities of your own, which is why you'll find text boxes above with image links that you can use. Post links on your own blog, or on your own MySpace profile. The Company keeps an eye on where our Internet traffic is coming from. So, if you link to me, or The Company or The Burnt Toast Cafe, maybe I'll stop by your Internet hang out in search of special people. Don't worry, I won't bag and tag you...more than once.

Mission Six: Seeing It Through

I know you're all hoping I participate in a wet t-shirt contest some day, but I think this is as close as it will ever get.

The Sixth Leg of The Amazing Mutant Race 4

Water Boring

I came across this artistic rendering in my Primatech files:


Apparently, there's a race of underwater creatures wanting to stab our children with over-sized forks!

Fortunately, I don't let my children go into the water.

"Geez, Dad! I'm totally hot," Claire would always explain to me, "and totally hot girls are supposed to go to the beach, so guys can, like, look at us and stuff. It's, like, feminist power or something."

Of course, I would never allow it. I still remember what happened the last time she went to the beach.


I've never been a fan of water. Sure, I'll drink it, but that's only to show it who's boss. I'm not going to carelessly throw myself into its cruel, wet hands by frolicking around in the ocean and calling it fun.

That's always when danger strikes, when you're having fun. Fun causes people to let their guard down. In my line of work, that's not an option.

Which is why I'm warning you all: Don't have fun!

If there is a race of underwater beings wielding large forks, then that's just what they're waiting for. If you have to go into the ocean, stay alert and watchful. Or at least carry a big spoon to defend yourself.

The Big Picture

Anyone that knows me knows that I'm not a fan of the Big Picture. I prefer to see the world through my own horn-rimmed goggles. "Keep your eye on the prize," my father neglected to advise me when I was growing up.

That's how I live my life. One goal, one mission. For instance, I want to protect my indestructible daughter. So, naturally, nothing else matters to me. If I have to put Sandra's or that boy's life in danger, then so be it. Actually, that's probably why I can never remember my son's name. He's outside the scope of my vision.

See this?


I think that man next to me is a wanted terrorist. I could have bagged and tagged him, but I didn't. You know why?

Because of that smoothie.

The smoothie was my focus. I didn't even realize that man was there, though I do recall an odd odor. The point is, it never crossed my mind that something else, other than that smoothie, could be in existence around me.

And why should it?

If we focus on the Big Picture, then we miss out on what's really important.


It can catch up with you. This poor guy probably spent his entire life worrying about the Big Picture, and whatever the Big Picture was sucked the life right out of him. Metaphorically, of course. I mean, look how old he looks! I'd say he's coming up on 500, but he can't be more than 70 or so.

That's what happens to you. The Big Picture is too much for any one person to take in. Try to, and it will wear you out. So, my advice is to forget about the Big Picture. There are more important things out there.

Claire's New Daddy

Sometimes it seems like Claire's got more father's than Anna Nicole Smith's daughter. There's me. Then there was Hank. Then, Nathan.

Well, there's a new man in my daughter's life. The Puppet Master himself. No, not Frank Oz. I'm talking about Eric "Lardo" Doyle.

He's a foul creature if ever there was one. Even without the power to manipulate people's movements, I could have had him locked up in Level 5 because of his hygiene.

So, I was quite upset when I found out that my Claire Bear flocked to him. I know I've been driving her away with my semi-evil ways. But that's no reason to run right into the arms of a mad man!


He even taught her how to fire a gun. That was supposed to be my job! I've been begging Sandra to let me take her to the firing range since she was three years old.

"You'll shoot your eye out, kid," Sandra would always say.

That's the best part of being a kid, risking one's vision in dangerous fun.

Since I couldn't give my Claire Bear everything that a father should give their indestructible daughter, it's no wonder why she left in search of this fat idiot. But he wouldn't be able to love her in that creepy, yet platonic, way that I can.

I was heart broken when I got the call from Sandra. It was devastating.

Fortunately, when I arrived, I found Eric Doyle lying on the floor dead.

"Good," I said, "he's dead. Now I'm back to being the only man in your life, sweety." I patted Claire on the head.

"Ugh!" She complained. "My hair was, like, so perfect and now it's ruined! Ruined!"

That's when Sandra informed me that Doyle wasn't dead. "Bummer," I responded. "Guess I better take him into the office."

"You know," Sandra continued, "Claire was the one that knocked him unconscious."

"Really?" I was stunned. My little girl already struck out at her new daddy. So, even though she stormed off in a silent, contained rage, I knew in my heart that she loved me and only me.

"Wow," I said to Meredith. "My little girl continues to amaze me."


"I'm amazed she hasn't knocked you unconscious yet," she replied.

"Me too," I said. "Me too."

Photo Caption Contest at the Burnt Toast Diner

The Burnt Toast Diner is celebrating it's 400th post.


They're celebrating with a Photo Caption Contest. I suggest you people go give it a shot, maybe you could even win! If you do, I'll consider granting you a Get out of Baggin' and Taggin' Free Card. No promises, though.

Here's the link:
Photo Caption Contest at the Burnt Toast Diner

(P.S. I'm in two of the photos!)

I'm Not Overcompensating

Seriously, I'm not.

Parenting: HRG Style

"Wow, Mr. Bennet! You're such a great father!" All of Claire's friends are always telling me that. They see all the hard work I do taking good care of my little Claire Bear, and they can't help to feel jealous.

Claire never seems to mention it, but I think she has to feign embarrassment to maintain her social status in school. It's uncool to admit your dad is awesome.

"Isn't that right, Claire?"

"Uh, Dad, you're being creepy again....
Parenting can be hard, though. It doesn't come naturally. It takes a lot of work, a lot of dedication, a lot of ammo, and a Haitian.

Here's some advice from one parent to another:

1. Don't let your children go swimming in the ocean - One word: Sharks. Five more words: with lasers on their heads! And don't even get me started on the drowning possibilities. If you want your children to not die, whether they're indestructible or not, keep them out of the ocean!
   
   
   
2. Force-feed them vegetables - Everyone knows the importance of veggies when it comes to health. Now, I know, none of us adults bother eating vegetables unless they're sauteed in butter and served atop a quarter-pound all-beef patty. Our children, though, need vegetables. Don't buy a garbage disposal, just have children.
   
   
3. Allow the illusion of privacy - Never, ever, under any circumstances, let your children have absolute privacy. Utilize video and audio surveillance when necessary. Planting a spy in their inner-circle of friends is also effective. Just remind him to shave because a fourteen year old with a full beard just screams "narc".
   
   
4. Always know where your children are - It's ten o'clock, do you know where your children are? Yeah, well what about at 10:05? 10:07? 10:34? GPS tracking devices are a great way to monitor your child. And the best part is, anyone trained in basic surgery can insert the device into one of your child's vital organs.
   
   
5. Don't let them lick statues - This is perhaps the hardest activity to prevent. For whatever reason, adolescents, when confronted with a nude statue, simply feel the need to lick inappropriate parts of said statue.
   
   
   Optional: Electroshock conditioning works well in deterring immoral statue-licking.
   
   
6. Hire a clone soldier escort - Clones are great. They're 100% loyal and obedient. They make great role models for your children, as well as protect them from rebels and religious fanatics.
   
   

Those are the most basic tips I have to offer you. Give it a shot, and when you're ready for more, just let me know. I'm a treasure trove full of great parenting gems.

Mission Five: Waterworld Domination

From The Amazing Mutant Race 4....

"Gross!" Scott commented. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing!" I quickly replied. "I mean, I'm just researching...Atlanteans, for the challenge." Unfortunately, my research seemed to be a waste of time. All three minutes and forty-two seconds of it. I didn't discover anything about Atlanteans that I didn't already know. They're humany and live underwater. No big secrets there.

"Learn anything useful?" Scott asked.

I answered, "Oh, yeah. Loads."

"Good. Let's get going."

We squeezed into the one-man transport.

Xavier wasn't kidding when he said it would be a tight fit. The camera was right up in our faces the entire way to Atlantis. I was extremely uncomfortable, but Scott seemed to not mind it.


As soon as we docked at the oxygen decompression chamber, I quickly shoved Scott out of the transport.

After drinking the green liquid that would allow us to breath underwater, we went to the throne room to meet with this so-called Sub-Mariner.

"Oh, my God! It's really him!" Scott squealed as we were introduced to Namor. "I'm like your biggest fan ever."

"Thanks, you stupid air-breather," Namor responded casually.

"And I've heard of you," I added.

Namor unenthusiastically presented us with the two detour options.

"Games are a lot of fun," Scott said. "And I bet they'd play naked, like the original Olympics."

While the thought of underwater nude sports was mildly enticing, I decided to go with Maim. "I'm a brilliant strategist," I explained. "Coming up with a plan to conquer the surface-dwellers would be easy. They're all a bunch of morons."

Scott and I quickly discussed possible plans of attack. "Let's poison the water supply!" Scott offered.

"You fool," one of the war ministers replied, "We Alanteans live in water. That would indirectly kill us all too!"

"Oh," he said. "Would that not count as victory then?"

Eventually, we settled on a few plans to present to Namor.

Our first plan was a good one. I was sure he'd like it. "As luck would have it, a terrorist is currently running for the office of President of the United States," I explained. "We suggest you gather up many Atlanteans and have them work the phones for his campaign. Convince the voters to elect this secret Muslim, and once he brings about the destruction of America there will be no one willing to stop your invasion!"

Namor sat thoughtfully for a moment and then said, "How exactly is this secret Muslim planning to destroy America?"

"Well, you see," I continued, "he refuses to wear a flag pin. Can you imagine what would happen if the President of the US didn't wear a flag pin?"

He didn't seem impressed. "Got anything else?" he asked.

"Yeah," Scott answered. "There's also this old guy you could support for President. He wears a flag pin, though."

"I see," Namor said, "and how would his election help me conquer the surface?"

I answered, "Well, he'll destroy America through incompetence and failed political policies, rather than unpatriotic gestures."

"What about the other nations?" he asked.

"Oh, they're all pacifists," I answered. "Once America falls, anyone can take over any country they want and nobody will lift a finger to stop them."

I could tell we almost had him on that plan, but he said that he didn't believe in voting and preferred a less democratic approach.

So, Scott and I moved on to other plans.

Buy nukes from Iran. Too expensive.

Help spread AIDS. Too messy.

Raise the undead. Too smelly.

None of our plans so far impressed him. Scott even suggested poisoning the water supply, after I had told him to forget it. Unsurprisingly, Namor didn't like that one either.

But I had one last plan. "This plan," I began, "will definitely succeed."

Namor yawned.

"All you have to do is wait 300 years."

"Wait 300 years?" Namor repeated. "I don't understand, yet I'm intrigued. Go on."

I quickly set up my presentation materials and began explaining the plan.


"As you can see by my map, the Earth is getting warmer and the seas are rising. What lives in the seas?" I asked rhetorically.

Scott answered, "Fish!"

"You guys," I continued, pointing at Namor. "If we simply allow the surface-dwellers to continue to pollute the planet, the entire world will be covered with water, just like that Kevin Costner movie that I forget the name of."

"Dances with wolves," said Scott.

"I like the sound of that," Namor said. "All water. Interesting. But your presentation was....lacking."

"Can I have another shot?" I asked. "We'll definitely wow you."

"Go on."

"Alright, give me one minute," I said.

I raced to the nearest bar where I found an overweight and bearded Al Gore drinking double shots of tequila. "Come with me, Al," I commanded. As I shaved the former VP, I explained our situation. "You have to convince him Global Warming isn't a complete farce."

"It's not a farce," he said. "It's an inconvenient truth."

I laughed and said, "Yeah, sure." Then, I pushed him into the throne room saying, "Go do your thing."



After Al Gore's presentation, I took the floor. "As you can see," I said, "the surface will soon be completely flooded."

Scott held up my next visual aid.


I continued, "Once that happens, all you have to do is poke us with your pitchfork thingies and you'll win!"

"Good!" Namor clapped. "I look forward to the effects of Global Warming. You may now return to the throne room, the Pit Stop for this leg of the race."

"Isn't that where we are?" Scott asked.

"Yes, so hurry before the other teams beat you there."

"There? You mean, here?"

"Yes."

No! Bad Claire!

Why is being a parent so hard?

You give them everything: a warm home, love, guidance, strict rules with no room for defiant behavior. And what do we get from them? Defiant behavior!

"Like, geez, Dad," Claire said cooly outside our home. "Take a chill pill."

"I can't have you going off hunting these villains, Claire," I explained in my parenting voice. "You're too young. You almost got black holed!"

"Gah, Dad! Like that would be such a big deal! People get black holed all the time."

I don't see how we parents can be expected to compete with forces like the media and peer pressure. "Go to your room," was all I could think to say. That's the only tool we parents have in this battle for control over the hearts and minds of our children. Until some Japanese company comes up with V-Chips that can be inserted directly into our children's brains, sending them to their rooms to think about what they've done is the best we can do.

Claire stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

"I just don't know sometimes," I said to Sandra.

"I don't know either," she replied. "I mean, is Jello a liquid or a solid or what?"

"Not that," I glared at my mentally hopeless life companion. "I'm talking about our daughter. I just don't know what to do about her."

"Oh, well," Sandra said, "a girl's going to do what a girl's going to....oh, I forget the rest of that saying, but it's a good one."

It worries me to think about Claire's future, and where she may be headed with this reckless attitude of hers. Combine that attitude with indestructibility and you've got the ultimate recipe for a bad seed. I can tell you right now, I'm not going to be the one to plant that seed. I'm going to do whatever is necessary to stop her from becoming one of the bad guys, one of the villains.

"You know, maybe we should have Hiro teleport her into a coffin," I suggested, "for like a timeout or something." Spankings were pretty much useless now that she's lost all feeling. We were running out of options.

"Oh, but then she'll miss dinner!" Sandra pouted.

Then, I had a great idea. "Maybe we could get Meredith to help teach her not to go after villains on her own."

"That's a good thought, dear," Sandra said. "You're so smart!"

"I know." I called out for Claire's bio-mom, "Meredith!"

No answer.

"Meredith!"

"Oh, honey, she's out right now," Sandra informed me.

"Really? Where?" I asked.

Sandra answered, "She went out after some villains on her own."

Oh, great, so I guess this rebelliousness of hers is genetic! Sometimes, I guess Nature beats out Nurture. Luckily, though, I know a paper company that has done some amazing work in genetics. Maybe after we find Meredith I can splice some of Claire's genes so she won't grow into a troubled teen.

The Plan Sucks

Also posted on Burnt Toast Diner....

Stephen Canfield thought he could ruin my plan to finally get rid of Sylar once and for all, but he underestimated my willingness to shoot my daughter.

He held her in front of him as a human shield, and I pulled my trigger.

Damn! The safety was on.

Suddenly, the vortex-making villain created a large, sucky hole in the hardwood floor. My gun, my lovely gun, was snatched away from me. I wanted so badly to follow it, but I had to think about what it would have wanted.

"Save yourself, Noah," I imagined it saying to me. "You can always get another gun."

"But the waiting period could be anywhere from 24 hours to 10 days," I explained.

"Just use the gun show loophole," it didn't call out to me as it faded away into some other dimension.

"I'll miss you!" I cried into the vortex as I grabbed tightly onto a nearby pillar.

"Like, Dad, stop whining about your gun!" Claire Bear yelled back to me. She was hanging onto some railing with her feet only inches (or centimeters for our foreign friends) away from the vortex. "I'm, like, so totally going to disappear forever if you, like, don't do something!"

I contemplated whether or not I could buy a daughter at a gun show too. I knew I would be able to, but doubted she would be indestructible. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do. If I let go of my pillar, I'd be sucked into that vortex too.

I couldn't let go of my pillar, my lovely, smooth pillar. As I caressed it slowly, as I do to all life-saving structures, I was reminded of my wife. It was so cylindrical and white, just like Sandra.

"Oh, Pillar," I whispered into its ears, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Then, Claire walked up to me and said, "Uh, Dad, like, stop. That's totally weird. Gah! You're such a dork."

I was surprised to see that my Claire Bear survived the vortex, which had seemed to go away during my conversation with my pillar.

"I, like, totally had to let creepy brain-eater here save me," she continued to complain.

"Yeah, Mr. Glasses!" Sylar cheered. "I think you like owe me a kid now, since I saved yours."

How dare he save my daughter! I suddenly remembered just how badly I wanted this reformed sociopath removed from this reality. "We have to find Canfield!" I yelled.

"Gah! Dad, just talk to him or something. He's, like, totally cool and all," Claire responded.

Eventually, I tricked the little fool into giving me information on where he was heading, and that's where I got the jump on him.

Luckily, there was a gun show on the way to the park. "Boo!" I jumped out and screamed.

"I'm not a murderer!" Stephen cried. "You people got me all wrong!"

"We can't have you making black holes everywhere," I said calmly, "even if it's just an accident."

"Oh, so it's a racial thing?" he replied. "So what if I was creating white holes, huh? Bet you people with your Company would be all fine with that, right?"

"Probably," I said. "I'm just middle management. I don't set policy," I explained. Then, I offered him a great deal: send Sylar away forever and don't get shot in the head.

He seemed to take my offer.

He began doing his thing.

The doorway to Sylar's new home was opening.

Soon, Sylar would be gone forever!

Hey, wait a minute....

....I don't think that's....

Well, that sucks.

The Man with the Plan in the Horn-Rimmed Glasses

Hehehe!

What's got me so happy?

Well, I have the perfect plot to get rid of Sylar once and for all! That's right, no more Gabriel Gray/Petrelli.

I was looking through the files on the villains and came across Stephen Canfield. He's going to be my hero.

Stephen's special power is creating vortices. He can send anything (and anyone) to God knows where by sucking them up in one of his black holes.

And that's what's going to happen to Sylar. He's going to be vacuumed away into the netherworld.

"Stop touching that," I said to Sylar who kept changing the radio station.

"But I'm looking for The Beach Boys!" he whined.

"Well, maybe you should search for them in another dimension," I snickered thinking about my upcoming triumph.

"Ooh, that would be totally fun," he replied, "I'm picking up good, multi-dimensional vibrations!" he sang.


"Shut up and eat your apple," I said cooly, then added in a whisper, "it'll be your last."

"Mr. Glasses, like, I can totally hear whispers, silly," he said. "What do you mean it will be my last?"

I just smiled and stared straight ahead.

Then, he said, "Oh! Duh! Lol, cause it's almost winter!"

I drove happily to our destination, trying to imagine the horrors in store for Sylar on the other side of one of these vortices. It filled me with such pleasure, a feeling I haven't felt since I reported my one-armed algebra teacher for beating students with his hook. He had been immediately transferred to elementary school. I'm sure an alternate dimension would be nearly as bad and looked forward to sending Sylar there.

"Like, ready to do this or what?" he asked getting out of the car in a manner that could only be described as gleefully.

"I've been waiting for this my entire life," I replied, pulling my gun.

"OMG, Mr. Glasses! You're so bad ass."

"Yes. Yes, I am."

My plan was perfect. My life's work was about to be complete. Nothing and no one could stand in my way.



To be continued....

An Odd Request

Those villains were no doubt wreaking havoc on the public, but I had other things to attend to, like watching me come in first place on the fourth leg of The Amazing Mutant Race. It was a fun moment to relive, and worth putting the villains on hold.

But they've been waiting long enough. It's time for me to do what I do best: bag and tag special people.

"I'm special!" Sylar called out from his cell.

He had been annoying me non-stop every since he learned that I'd be taking The Haitian with me on my next mission.

There was no way I'd be working with that murderous lunatic again. I told Angela that, I told Sylar that, I even told the cashier at McDonald's that when I got a Big Mac earlier.

"Do you want fries with that?" the overly-pierced adolescent asked.

"No, I don't want fries," I replied, "and I don't want to ever work with that murderous lunatic again."

Surprised, he then asked, "You worked with OJ?"

Once I cleared up the confusion, and he realized I couldn't get him Juice's autograph, he gave me my change, and I awaited the arrival of my Big Mac.

Then, back at Primatech, I had to go tell Sylar for the seventeenth time that he can't be my partner anymore.

"Oh, well can I have your toy?" he inquired.

"I didn't get a Happy Meal," I said, finishing the Big Mac I bought earlier.

"Gee, Mr. Glasses, you're such a bore!" He looked at me from behind his Plexiglas barrier and added, "But you're a very responsible and, like, mature bore. It's, like probably totally awesome having your life...a fun job, a daughter with a scrumptious brain, being old enough to have seen Grease at the drive-in."

This was that new side of Sylar again. It made me uncomfortable. I prefer shooting him, not listening to him try to be human.

Then, he asked me a very strange question, even by Sylar standards. "Could I have some of your sperm, Mr. Glasses? Lol, I mean like in a cup, silly. For later."

"Why would you want that?" I asked, stunned.

"Well, like, you know, if I can't have little watchmakers of my own someday...it's just that...you're such a family man and, like, I wanna be like you someday, you know, once I eat bunches of brains and finish being a hot child in the city and all. Like, eventually, I want to settle down in the suburbs, but I'm afraid all the brain-eating and DNA alteration may have turned my magic firecracker into a dud."

That was more information than I wanted to hear. "That's not gonna happen," I said. "You're a murderer, Sylar. You won't change."

"My name is Gabriel!" he cried. "I mean, uh...like, you can call me Gabriel if you want...or Sylar. Whatever."

"The answer's no," I told him.

"Think about it," he responded. "Mohinder could probably help me out with all the gooey medical details. Ewww, but then I'll get all fat and stuff! But after nine months, I'll give birth to a cute little Mr. Glasses Junior! I'd totally be like Arnie in that movie where he has a baby with Danny DeVito. You can be my Danny DeVito!"

Yeah, that will never happen. "Goodbye, Gabriel." I said and left Level 5.

Follow Me

"Come with me if you want to live."

Yes, I do Arnold impersonations. It's just one of my many, many talents. My mysteriousness usually overshadows just how talented I am. People see me and they say, "Wow, he's mysterious," completely neglecting my talent.

But now you can love me for my talent, my mysteriousness and more! And not only that, you can show your love and admiration by following me. Thanks to Blogger's new Followers gadget.

From what I hear, it works a lot like (and in tandem with) Google Reader. You can subscribe to blogs and you add to their overall Follower numbers.

Burnt Toast Diner has added a Follower gadget, so if you read it, go add yourself to the list. Apparently it rotates pictures of the followers, which means some of our readers could see a tiny version of your head!

And who wouldn't want that kind of fame?

So, come follow me if you want to live...a good and harmonious Blogger life, that is. Whether you're Joe Six Pack or Miss Alaska you'll feel like a true patriot when you become a Follower of your many, many favorite blogs. See their Followers number grow and feel the pride in saying, "I'm one of those nameless supporters."

Wasted Time

Well, I could have been out capturing villains, but no! Angela needed her dog groomed. She doesn't even have a dog!

After wasting hours upon hours running personal errands for the new boss at Primatech, I was finally ready to head out into the field.

"All done," I said.

"Great, Noah," Angela replied. "Now, go get those villains. Take The Haitian."

"I'm right on it." I was about to leave when I noticed another episode of The Amazing Mutant Race was on. "Right after this," I added.

Watch my performance on The Amazing Mutant Race....

Guest Poster: The Haitian - A Grave Mistake

I like to keep my mouth shut.

My therapist says that I'm passive aggressive. He is imaginary. I made him up to cope with my many childhood problems: an abusive father, growing up in poverty, failing to "catch 'em all."

So, I am unable to let my employers know of my discomfort with my recent task. Luckily, Mr. Bennet is out running more personal errands for Mrs. Petrelli, so I can post on his blog about my problem.

"Take Hiro and Ando and dig up Adam," the old woman ordered me. I prefer erasing people's memories. It is a far less unholy act than digging up a grave.

"You will help us too?" the chubby one asked.

"..." I replied. The loud-mouth one had previously attacked me, and so I am enjoying their forced physical labor. And when the time is right, I'll smack him in the back of the head with something!

The two Japanese office workers began shoveling. They whined every step of the way. Typical of people from so-called "civilized" countries. Always so ungrateful. In Haiti, we would consider it lucky to be able to dig. Imagine all of the grubs one might find!

"Hey, you are wasting the grubs!" I said as I noticed them flinging the dirt to the side without care for the nutrient-rich creatures within.

"Um...Mr. Haitian man, we don't need grubs," Ando responded.

Like I said, ungrateful. I simply shook my head and allowed them to continue their wasteful ways.

Soon, they uncovered the coffin. I took the shovels from them as they opened it.

The evil man inside leaped out with the ferocity of a caged baboon and punched Hiro in the face while cursing.

Ando was startled by the rash action.

So, I swung a shovel into the back of his head.

"Ow," he said, then yelled at me in Japanese.

"We're even," I told him.

Now that we unleashed this Adam guy, I can hopefully start working with Mr. Bennet again and bring in some villains. I miss the old bagging and tagging days. If I performed well, Mr. Bennet would buy me ice cream. Mrs. Petrelli doesn't reward me for a job well done, but if I screw up, she disconnects the cable.

I've missed so many episodes of Project Runway, I don't know who to root for.

Now? How about now?

I picked up Angela's dry cleaning and had returned it to her.

"There you are," I said tossing the clothes on Bob's old desk. "So, I guess the devil really does wear Prada."

"Ha ha, Noah. So very funny," she replied unenthusiastically. She examined the clothing and said, "Yes, well, that will do."

"So, can I get back to hunting villains now?"

She gave me a strange and creepy look (not that she has many others) and said, "I will send you out when the time is right."

"But it's 3:14!" I complained. "The time is right!"

"Hmmm...I'm not feeling it," she moaned in that dreadful old lady voice of hers.

"What about now?"

"Still no."

"Now?"

"No."

"How about--"

"No!"

I could tell I was wearing her down. Any minute now she would crack.

....THREE HOURS LATER....

"It's 6:15...that's gotta be the right time."

"It's not," she responded.

"Now?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"Still no."

"What about--"

"No!"

Out of the Office

I know, I should be bagging and tagging, but Angela Petrelli sent me on a personal mission for her. I'm not one to turn down missions.

So, I'm out picking up her dry cleaning.



The good news is there's a frozen banana stand on the way!

The frozen banana is one of mankind's greatest invention. It ranks right up there with the telephone, indoor plumbing and peanut M&Ms. You can put a thousand monkeys in a room with typewriters for a thousand years and they'll never invent a frozen banana.

I just got an idea.

I wonder if a thousand monkeys with typewriters could hunt down villains?

Escaping Japanese

This is just great.

I had finally finished watching several TV shows with Sylar and The Haitian and was about to head out to apprehend the next villain on my list. "Let's just switch the monitor back to security footage," I said turning the dial. "Oh, come on," I exclaimed, "they're escaping!"

"Not very good writing if you ask me," Sylar commented. "I see this plot all the time. It's the old belt in the air vent routine."

"Go take care of it," I said to The Haitian.


Meanwhile, I headed in to see Angela. "Hey, your worshipfulness," I said, using the title she chose for herself, "your step-son is escaping through the vents."

"Oh, relax, Noah," she casually replied. "You and I both know those vents won't allow for his girth."

"The Haitian is already seeing to them."

"Good. Have him bring them to me," she ordered. "I've got a special mission for the little nerds."

"If you need me," I said exiting her office, "I'll be out villain-hunting."

"Actually, Noah," she called to me, "before you do that, would you be a dear and pick up my dry cleaning?"

"Yes." I really miss Bob. He always bought a new suit each day on the way to work. No sense in dry cleaning when you've got unlimited funding.

"Yes, what?" Angela asked.

I sighed, "Yes, your worshipfulness."

I really miss Bob.

Next Villain, Please

Just take a look at me. I'm obviously a man of action. I was meant to wield a gun, to shoot people and to bag and tag the rest.

So, naturally, my TV-viewing had to come to an end. There was still work to be done.

Places to go.

People to shoot.

It's a busy life, the life of a paper salesman. And I'm glad to finally get back to it. Don't get me wrong, television is great. If we didn't have guns, then I'm sure I would spend most of my time watching TV. Fortunately, we've got guns, and mine is aching for some action.

My first mission after being released from Level 5 myself was a complete success. Two of the villains died, which still counts as a bag and tag, and one escaped. But Mr. Flint, well, we caught him.


"I could do this every week!" I commented to Sylar as we took Flint on his perp walk back to his prison cell.

"Like, me too!" Sylar replied. "Being a Men in Black is so much fun!"

There's several villains still out there. That means I've got a lot of work ahead of me. I won't have to take Sylar anymore, hopefully. The Haitian is back, and we make a great team.

"Don't we?" I asked The Haitian.

"..." he replied.

I couldn't have said it any better myself.

Right now the two of us are waiting around. We're not really sure how to go about finding the next villains. Flint and the gang were dumb enough to get on the news, so it made my job easier. But now it seems I'm going to have to do some detective work. Luckily, I know a detective.

"Hello," Parkman's voice said over the phone.

"Parkman, it's Noah. I need your--

His voice continued, "Ha! Kidding. You got the machine." Beep.

"Stupid Parkman," I said and hung up the phone.

I can't believe he's not home. He's always home. He's nothing but a stay-at-home dad, Mohinder's little housewife. He must be having an affair!

Haha! An affair, yeah right. That guy couldn't even get the woman he was married to for so many years.

It is curious though. What could have happened to him? Has he gone native?

Oh, well. There was a mission waiting for me.

"Come on, The Haitian," I said to The Haitian. "We've got some work to do."

He asked, "Can I drive?"

"Don't be silly."

Is Mohinder There?

Before heading out to capture more villains, I became distracted by the television. It started out with me watching my own performance on The Amazing Mutant Race, but then House came on.

"I'm right," the limping doc said to another character on screen.

"Um, no, you're not," the Black guy replied. "It's probably lupus."

"It's never lupus, and I'm never wrong," House retorted, "except when I'm not right, which is rarely and I'm still right in principle."

This was just too good to pass up. You never see writing like this on TV anymore, so I tuned in for the hour. After Dr. House went through about 20 diagnoses, he finally cured the patient of bloody diarrhea.

Then, I realized that these villains are a lot like bloody diarrhea. They're unnatural, they wreak havoc, they smell really weird, but perhaps they could be cured. And I just happened to know a doctor: Mohinder Suresh.

If he could whip me up a cure for these abilities, then I could use it on the villains and we wouldn't need Level 5 anymore. And the best part is that I could finally kill Sylar.

So, I called Mohinder.

"Hello?" a woman answered in a south of the border accent.

It was obviously the maid, so I said, "Shouldn't you be cleaning?"

She began crying and whined, "I tried everything! I used Holy Water and Dial antibacterial body wash, but it doesn't wash away the stink of sin from my flesh. I should have never acted on my inner desires. Es el diablo!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I explained. "My name's Noah. I used to work for Primatech Paper Company."

"Oh, sorry, I'm not interested," she said calming down, "we don't even have a printer."

Clearly the only way to get through to her would be speaking her language, but I have dignity. "Just put Mohinder on the phone," I said to her.

"He is locked in the bathroom," was her response.

It seems bloody diarrhea beat me to him. "Can you tell him that Noah's on the phone and that it's urgent."

I could hear her relay my message, then I heard Mohinder call back faintly in the background. I couldn't hear it all. "Tell him....indisposed....horrible condition....my father's research....or is it destiny....Kentucky Fried Chicken, original recipe....like a rabid Tibetan feline...."

Finally he finished and the girl repeated his message to me. "He says he is busy."

I asked her to have him call me when he could. Mohinder...busy? Something strange was going on. If only I knew what it was.

Mission Three: An Attempt to Ketchup

Before heading out again to capture villains, I decided to watch some TV with Sylar.

"Gilmore Girls!" Sylar cried. "They talk about stuff that I don't understand, but they're funny anyway!"

"No," I replied, "we're watching The Amazing Mutant Race. I'm a contestant, you know."

And so we watched the new episode. See it for yourself.

Tutoring a Monster: Part 2

Continued from Part 1...

"No, Gabriel," I explained, "a tutor doesn't necessarily toot."

He continued to giggle hysterically.

I decided it was best to move on to the lesson. "Now, Gabriel, listen to me," I said. "Your mom wants you to learn, so I'm here to teach you some basics."

"I don't want to go to school!" he whined. "I want to stay here and eat brains with you!"

"That isn't an option," I replied. "Now, listen to me. We have to work on your reading skills. Can you read, Gabriel?"

"Um...yeah, I think so," he answered.

"Good, then this will be easy," I assured him. I showed him a flash card.

"What's this word, Gabriel?"


He thought for a moment and said, "Unicycle!"

"Yes, that's right."

"Yay!" he cheered. "Can I have a brain now?"

"No, no brains," I said. "Next card."



Gabriel stared with his mouth watering.

"Can you read this word?" I asked him.

He struggled with it and finally said, "I don't know."

"It's brain," I answered for him.

"Not fair!" he cried. "You said there wouldn't be any brains!"

"None for you to eat," I corrected. "Now, what's this word?"


"Oh, my God! It's Arnie! I love him!" Sylar was really excited.

"Yes, it is, but what's the word on the card?" I persisted.

He made an attempt to pronounce it. "Shh...shh...shwaa...shwanazeeg....shwarnzeegar.....swranezager?"

"Close enough," I said. "Last one."



"Nucular!" he shouted.

"No, it's pronounced nuclear," I corrected him.

He repeated, "nucular."

"Nuclear," I said.

He said, "Nucular."

"Nuclear."

"Nucular."

"Nuclear."

"Nucular."

"No! Nuclear!" I shouted in frustration.

"I'm just kidding," he laughed. "I'm not a moron! Nuclear. See?"

Tutoring a Monster: Part 1

"So, I've got a plan for catching the remaining villains," I said to Angela as I laid out my presentation materials on her desk. I rolled out a map of the US and continued, "As you know, the villains only want to destroy things, kill people, and get revenge on The Company." I picked up a Lego figurine and said, "This is me."


I placed my little stand-in on the map. "I will--"

Angela thumped Lego Me across the room.

"Well, I don't think that's a very good plan," I commented.

"Bennet, I need something from you," she told me.

I reminded her, "I'm married."

"Not that," she replied, "...yet. As you know, my baby Gabriel is locked up on Level 5. I'm worried about him. Being incarcerated means he can't get a proper education, and I don't want another retarded son." She looked me over and said, "You seem like a smart man, Bennet. I want you to teach my boy the basics: Reading, Writing and--"

"Suicide?"

"Arithmetic," she finished.

"Same thing."

I couldn't say no to the boss, so I went down to Level 5.

"Hello, Gabriel," I said through the super-strength Plexiglas barrier. "I'm your tutor."

He giggled.

To be continued...

Not My Fault

"Sylar, don't you dare eat that brain," I said rather sternly.



But he ignored me. And now I have a mess on my hands.

"Me too!" Sylar giggled as he happily showed me his blood-drenched hands.

"You realize," I said to him, "Angela's going to throw you back into your cell for this."

"Mother would never do something like that. I'm her favorite!"

He is most likely indeed her favorite, but that's precisely why she locked him back up. She's always been a smotherer. That's why I didn't want her in Claire's life. She's over-bearing.

Sylar sulked inside his cell, "Aw, gee mom, you never let me go outside and play with all the other boys."

"That's because you're special," she replied moving closer to the glass wall separating them. "I want you in here with me, where you're safe."

"You should shoot him," I suggested.

"Oh, shut your trap, Bennet," she replied. Then, she reassured Sylar, "Don't worry about the mean man in the glasses. Nobody can take you away from me now. Nobody."

Later, the old windbag, as Kaito once referred to her (it sounds better in Japanese), called me into her (Bob's) office.

"You shouldn't have let him eat Jesse's brain," she said as I walked in.

I took a seat and insisted, "It wasn't my fault. I told you this would happen."

"Yes, I know. But I'm going to blame you anyway."

I was baffled. "Why?" I asked. "I operated one hundred percent professionally, as always."

"You did. But I'm the boss, and I'm blaming you," she replied.

I said to her, "You should blame Sylar."

"Oh, he's just misunderstood," she explained. "And besides, he's my son now. Hasn't Thompson or Elle taught you how important nepotism is to The Company?"

"I don't even work for The Company anymore!"

"Which is why I can't fire you. But watch yourself, Bennet. One more slip up like this and you could be on the streets looking for another secret organization with escaped villains for you to pursue."

She was right. I'd never get an opportunity like this again. There is still bagging and tagging to be done. "Fine," I said. "I'll take responsibility for Sylar's recent indiscretion."

"Good," she replied, "but I'm docking your pay."

"What pay?" I asked.

"Exactly."