Night 48: West Wing, North Hall 1-A
[Skipping one room from here]
Ugh. The prosecutor could not get out of the patient block hallway fast enough. He could practically still taste the putrid tobacco from there. For once, he was thankful that he was wearing the hideous coat over his precious garments. But if one single fume of that blasted cigarette smoke filling the previous ( Read more... )
Ugh. The prosecutor could not get out of the patient block hallway fast enough. He could practically still taste the putrid tobacco from there. For once, he was thankful that he was wearing the hideous coat over his precious garments. But if one single fume of that blasted cigarette smoke filling the previous ( Read more... )
As much as Peter tried to tell himself that Nathan was better off brainwashed than dead, it was harder to believe when it meant that he was once again stuck by himself -- with Sylar. There were friends he'd made here, true, but a lot of them had also disappeared. First Brooklyn, now Roland, and how many other people who he'd spoken to briefly were now gone? The whole thing was almost too depressing to even acknowledge, but seeing Nathan like that just got his mind on it again.
There was Sam, at least. He was one of the only constants Peter had in his life at the moment, and he was grateful for that. At the same time, though, it made him nervous. When might it be Sam's turn to get shipped off for brainwashing?
No, he had to keep his head on straight. He had to make sure this place didn't grind him into the floor. Peter had found something to do with his nights, and that was why he was making the trip back to M7.
He'd make this work, somehow. He'd find all the people who'd disappeared and get them home. Or he'd do what he could to help the cause, if nothing else. Nodding shakily to himself, Peter swallowed deeply and continued his trip back.
[Skipping back here.]
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