For 00smut's very belated birthday...
Mohinder was being watched. He could feel it, the persistant itch of someone else's eyes on the back of his neck.
At first, Mohinder thought Bob might have increased servailance. It would have been a prudent measure to take, what with Sylar once more on the loose and himself all the more suspicious about their motives. But both a casual sweep of the room and a far more thorough one revealed nothing more than the handful of cameras and bugs he'd known about since the beginning.
His second thought was that it was Sylar himself, stalking him, waiting for the perfect moment to come and disrupt his life again. But that couldn't be the case either. He'd get that itch two hours after Sylar had committed another murder in Texas, would feel another presence four hours before a killing in London. It wasn't Sylar.
His next thought was Molly. It would have been understandable- it was only natural that she use her ability to keep an eye on the people she cared for, especially when she had such a reason to worry about them. He confronted her about it one day over ice cream, however, and she denied it. It couldn't be Molly.
Which left the question- if it wasn't Molly, if it wasn't Sylar, if it wasn't Bob, then who could it be?
Then the messages started coming.
At first it was involuntary: a virus or trojan of some sort would cause a window to envelope his screen and play short, disjointed movie clips. Mohinder making his morning tea. Matt sorting the laundry. Mohinder in the shower. Matt dozing off on the couch. Molly, asleep in her bed.
The last one scared him.
Trust No One the screen warned him each time, before disappearing without a trace. They're Watching.