Aaaaaaand here we are in scenic Wisconsin, where the wind ripples happily through the cornfields and the sun shines lovingly over the livestock and shit
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She nods in one direction. "Looks like there's a Sheriff's department over that way. So long as anyone in there's actually alive, they'd probably be in there."
At least there aren't any riots. That's something, right?
"I'd rather just take a nap, honestly," he mutters. "Now that we're here, we've probably got all the time in the world."
So much time, so little to do. Mohinder probably looks a bit like a lost puppy. He's got information, for once, and basic tools to analyze it with, but where does he go from there?
"I will have to get back to you about that DNA sample, though," he says, trying to seem upbeat.
"I work for a company, back in New York, and we...well, we basically look for people like me. And I suppose like that fella you saw before. And we help them out, train them. Protect them."
The idealistic, adoring-son side of Mohinder wonders how on earth his father never heard of a company like this. The logical side of him...is not at all surprised.
He fidgets a bit--if this is true, if the company would want someone like him, he could help. He's got years of research to offer them, hundreds of theories and ideas, unrestrained passion for his subject; he just needs an outlet--
"What's your company called?" He tries to keep his tone neutral.
Because...well, come on. This is Mohinder. Like he wouldn't be leaving flaily, increasingly-British messages on the TetCorp answering machine every half-hour no matter what.
"Through me, in general. I don't know how many people are still alive back in New York. For all I know, I'm the only one." Little does she know there's a gunslinger in town, eh?
And unlike the FBI? Tet Corp would answer each and every one.
It would really suck, Mohinder reflects, if the entire company were dead just as he's found out about its existence. But he is not going to think about that right now! Because Mohinder is a near-relentless optimist and his day is already going far better than he ever thought it would.
"Well--" He glances nervously down at the ground and then back up at Charlie.
"Would they have any use for a geneticist? I could send them my credentials--give them the benefit of my research. If they're still operating, I think I could help. I'd love to help."
"Charming town names. At least it's not something like Desperation, though." Ha ha. Oh, Charlie. Shh. "I wonder how many people."
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"Probably not many," he mutters, in one of his occasional brief flashes of cynicism. "But it's still better than nothing, eh?"
He gets out and stretches. LAAAAAAAAND.
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Like, uh...
...well, damn.
"...I suppose we should try to find the authorities, or something." He rubs the back of his neck. "If there are any."
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At least there aren't any riots. That's something, right?
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"I'd rather just take a nap, honestly," he mutters. "Now that we're here, we've probably got all the time in the world."
So much time, so little to do. Mohinder probably looks a bit like a lost puppy. He's got information, for once, and basic tools to analyze it with, but where does he go from there?
"I will have to get back to you about that DNA sample, though," he says, trying to seem upbeat.
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"Sure, you do that. And I'll get around to telling you about the people I work for."
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Mohinder tilts his head. This sounds potentially intriguing enough to be worth putting off naptime for.
"Sorry?"
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He fidgets a bit--if this is true, if the company would want someone like him, he could help. He's got years of research to offer them, hundreds of theories and ideas, unrestrained passion for his subject; he just needs an outlet--
"What's your company called?" He tries to keep his tone neutral.
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Because...well, come on. This is Mohinder. Like he wouldn't be leaving flaily, increasingly-British messages on the TetCorp answering machine every half-hour no matter what.
Fidget.
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And unlike the FBI? Tet Corp would answer each and every one.
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"Well--" He glances nervously down at the ground and then back up at Charlie.
"Would they have any use for a geneticist? I could send them my credentials--give them the benefit of my research. If they're still operating, I think I could help. I'd love to help."
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Well, that doesn't sound good. He looks wary.
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