The Calm Before, Part 1
Title: The Calm Before [1/?]
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!
Main Characters: Matt/Mohinder/Original Character
Word Count: 1923
Rating: PG-13, course language
Genre: General
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing. Like, ever, so please be gentle. Any comments or constructive criticism would be welcome. Enjoy(I hope)!
Summary: A collegiate discovers that he has special abilities and quickly learns that even evolution has a dark side.
Oliver Gordon & Stanford Grant, Torrington, Connecticut.
“Mr. Gordon.”
Oliver stared blankly ahead, chin resting on his propped up arm.
“Mr. Gordon.”
His eyes felt droopy. He just wanted to crawl back to The Cave and sleep for the next six weeks.
“Mr. Gordon!”
A kick to his ankle. “Dude, you’re drooling.”
Oliver lifted his head immediately and looked to his left. His best friend, Stanford, was sitting there, nodding his head towards the front of the class.
“Huh?” Oliver turned and looked at his professor.
“Mr. Gordon, have you been paying any attention at all?” His professor, a stiff old man who believed in obedience over all things, openly glared at his pupil.
“Yes” Oliver replied, hoping that would end it. Of course, he knew that it would not. Professor Moran liked to make examples out of disobedient students.
“Oh you have? Can you tell me then, Mr. Gordon, how the ideologies in popular music in our contemporary society are reified and legitimized?”
Oliver stared ahead silently for a few moments before dropping his eyes to his desk, an admission to his guilt.
“Mr. Gordon, this is not high school. I will not coddle you anymore. It is utterly disrespectful to not give your full attention to me while I teach and I refuse to repeat myself. Do I make myself clear?”
Oliver only nodded. He could feel the head rushing up his neck and into his face. He knew he must be red as a tomato. Beside him, Stanford snickered.
“Good. Now, carrying on...”
The end of class couldn’t have come sooner. When Professor Moran finally dismissed them, Oliver was the first out the door. Stanford was only a few feet behind
“What an ass.” Stanford said as he caught up, shifting his backpack to the other shoulder.
“I didn’t see you jumping in there to defend me.” Oliver replied.
“I was actually paying attention in class. And don’t ask me to explain what he was saying, either.”
“What, do you refuse to repeat him too?”
“No, I don’t know what the hell he was talking about.” Stanford said as they stepped outside. It was a dreary April day, chilly and overcast.
Oliver paused and reached into his bag, pulling out several pieces of paper stapled together. “I finally finished this damn essay,” he said as he made his way to his next class. The building was across campus but he could make it if he hurried. Stanford was finished for the day, but the residence room they shared was in the same area.
“And?” Stanford asked as they quickened their pace.
“And I’m glad it’s over. This thing is worth fifty percent of my mark. Today’s the last day to hand it in and-Oof!” Oliver was knocked back a foot or two as some shmuck in a black hat ran into him. Worse than the collision and possible dislocation of his shoulder, though, was the fact that his essay had slipped from his grip. Thankfully, it landed on the dry sidewalk. Oliver looked at the retreating man with disdain. Students could be so rude sometimes.
“Hey, watch it!” Stanford called out after the man before turning to Oliver. “Damn, do you think you need a doctor?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Not for you, for your essay! That thing is precious, remember? Worth fifty percent of your mark?”
Oliver smirked and rolled his eyes before bending down to pick up his essay. But something about it was slightly off. The ink was smudged in a couple spots. Then another spot began to smudge. Then he felt something wet his the back of his head. He looked up at the sky and groaned. Darker clouds had moved in and it was beginning to rain. He scooped up his essay and slid it inside his coat to protect it from the water.
“Damn, it’s just not your day today, is it?” Stanford said as they hurried along, eager to get out of the rain.
“Guess not. See you back at The Cave.” Oliver replied as he hurried into the building. Stanford left to go home.
Oliver raced up the stairs of the building, taking a quick moment to look at his watch. “Shit” he mumbled. He was late. He approached the door to the classroom and breathed a quick sigh of relief. There were still students handing in their papers. He couldn't be that late. Oliver stepped into the back of the line and waited patiently for his turn. When it was his turn to slip his paper into the drop box the professor put his hand over the slit.
“Your paper is late, Mr. Gordon.”
“What? No it’s not.” Oliver replied, sincerely hoping that the professor was joking.
“I’m afraid it is. The syllabus clearly states that all papers must be submitted before 4:35. It is 4:38.”
"Oh come on!"
The professor only met him with an unrelenting stare.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Oliver whispered, suddenly realizing that most of the class was watching the classroom drama unfolding before them. “What about everybody else in line?”
“They were in the classroom before 4:35. You were not. I’m afraid I have to give you a ten percent penalty.” The professor fixed Oliver with a stare that suggested his mind was made up.
Oliver could do nothing but give in. “Fine” he mumbled, leaving the paper on the table, rather than in the box. Without another word, Oliver turned and exited the classroom, clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to bother with staying. He wouldn’t learn anything anyways, not in the foul mood he was in.
He paced back down the stairs, opened the front door of the building and was met with a wall of water. A shock of lightning zipped across the sky overhead, closely followed by a loud clap of thunder. Oliver’s groan was audible, even over the harsh pattering of rain. The last thing he needed was to be caught in a thunderstorm on the way home. But caught he was. He lifted the hood of his sweater and ducked into the rain.
His residence wasn’t too far away, but by the time he arrived Oliver was soaked to the skin. He trudged up the stairs, leaving a trail of water behind, until he reached the third floor. He walked through the hallways until he came to The Cave, room C68. He could hear something through the door. It sounded like Stanford, rapping along to his ever growing play list of music Oliver couldn’t stand. He entered the room and immediately froze. Stanford was not only rapping, but he was in full gangster form. Stanford was on his feet, using his arms to extenuate the beat, wearing an upside down visor, muscle shirt and a big chain around his neck. It was a far cry from what he really was - a slender white boy from Connecticut. When he realized the door to his room had been opened, Stanford yanked the chain from around his neck and spun around to face the door, hiding the chain behind his back. When he realized it was Oliver he went on the offensive.
“You aren’t supposed to be back for another two hours! What about your class?"
Oliver remained silent, the woes of his day melting away at the sight of his unfortunate friend.
“Well close the door!” Stanford hollered, pushing past Oliver and closing it with a soft click. He stomped back to his laptop and turned off the music. He spun back around to face Oliver, pulling the visor from his head. “Well? Explain yourself, Gordon!”
Oliver’s face broke into a soft smile which eventually grew into a huge, stupid grin.
“Oh, shut up.” Stanford sneered, tossing the visor at his friends face. “Seriously though, why are you back so soon? Was class canceled because of the storm?”
Oliver shook his head, the matter of Stanford’s eccentrics forgotten for now. “No. It was barely raining when I made it to class, remember? I decided not to stay because apparently I have two professors who are complete asses.”
Stanford grimaced. “Go on.”
“He’s taking ten percent off my essay because it was late.”
Stanford’s eyes widened. “Really? Your oh-so-precious-worked-on-for-weeks-might-need-medical-attention-because-of-some-loser-worth-fifty-percent essay?”
Oliver nodded.
“That’s balls.”
Oliver shrugged. “Well, today wasn’t all bad.”
“Really? I fail to see how getting chewed out by two professors in the same day, getting a late penalty on an important essay and getting caught in a freak storm doesn’t qualify as ‘all bad’”
Oliver shrugged. “I got to see you make an ass of yourself. I think that negates everything bad that happened today.”
Stanford’s face went crimson, causing Oliver to break out into a hearty laugh. Outside their window, the storm was breaking.
Mohinder Suresh, New York, New York.
Mohinder looked down at the file in his lap. It was all there in front of him - his medical records, his academic records, his family, his history. There was even a picture. Mohinder gently tugged the picture out from under a paperclip and examined it. The man in the picture has nondescript light brown hair, the same coloured eyes and a face that was bordering on handsome. Overall, he looked distinctly average. But so were they all. Until he came knocking on their door. Most of them just slammed it back in his face, either claiming ignorance or refusing the help he was willing to give. Hopefully this next one wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully Oliver Gordon would be more receptive.
He put the picture back under the paperclip and began to rifle through the files. Twenty one, originally from Glastonbury, Connecticut. No siblings. He had a history of mental disorder, mostly depression, onset by the death of his mother. The file said his father left before he was born, so he was raised by his aunt after his mother died. His report cards seemed to show that he was a bright boy, but most of the comments left by the teachers said he lacked effort. He had been accepted into the University of Connecticut in Torrington, going into the field of media studies. So Connecticut is where Mohinder was going.
After months of correlating events in the young mans life, Mohinder had formed a hypothesis about his ability. If he was right, it would be the first case of this unique talent that he has yet encountered. It was intriguing, really, what Oliver could do. It had the potential to be many, many things if he could properly harness his powers. If Mohinder’s hypothesis was correct, it could also be extremely dangerous. Mohinder closed his eyes and leaned back into the uncomfortable airport chair, waiting for his flight to board. Hopefully this time he will be believed. Hopefully this time he could help. Hopefully this time he could save somebody before it was too late.
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!
Main Characters: Matt/Mohinder/Original Character
Word Count: 1923
Rating: PG-13, course language
Genre: General
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing. Like, ever, so please be gentle. Any comments or constructive criticism would be welcome. Enjoy(I hope)!
Summary: A collegiate discovers that he has special abilities and quickly learns that even evolution has a dark side.
Oliver Gordon & Stanford Grant, Torrington, Connecticut.
“Mr. Gordon.”
Oliver stared blankly ahead, chin resting on his propped up arm.
“Mr. Gordon.”
His eyes felt droopy. He just wanted to crawl back to The Cave and sleep for the next six weeks.
“Mr. Gordon!”
A kick to his ankle. “Dude, you’re drooling.”
Oliver lifted his head immediately and looked to his left. His best friend, Stanford, was sitting there, nodding his head towards the front of the class.
“Huh?” Oliver turned and looked at his professor.
“Mr. Gordon, have you been paying any attention at all?” His professor, a stiff old man who believed in obedience over all things, openly glared at his pupil.
“Yes” Oliver replied, hoping that would end it. Of course, he knew that it would not. Professor Moran liked to make examples out of disobedient students.
“Oh you have? Can you tell me then, Mr. Gordon, how the ideologies in popular music in our contemporary society are reified and legitimized?”
Oliver stared ahead silently for a few moments before dropping his eyes to his desk, an admission to his guilt.
“Mr. Gordon, this is not high school. I will not coddle you anymore. It is utterly disrespectful to not give your full attention to me while I teach and I refuse to repeat myself. Do I make myself clear?”
Oliver only nodded. He could feel the head rushing up his neck and into his face. He knew he must be red as a tomato. Beside him, Stanford snickered.
“Good. Now, carrying on...”
The end of class couldn’t have come sooner. When Professor Moran finally dismissed them, Oliver was the first out the door. Stanford was only a few feet behind
“What an ass.” Stanford said as he caught up, shifting his backpack to the other shoulder.
“I didn’t see you jumping in there to defend me.” Oliver replied.
“I was actually paying attention in class. And don’t ask me to explain what he was saying, either.”
“What, do you refuse to repeat him too?”
“No, I don’t know what the hell he was talking about.” Stanford said as they stepped outside. It was a dreary April day, chilly and overcast.
Oliver paused and reached into his bag, pulling out several pieces of paper stapled together. “I finally finished this damn essay,” he said as he made his way to his next class. The building was across campus but he could make it if he hurried. Stanford was finished for the day, but the residence room they shared was in the same area.
“And?” Stanford asked as they quickened their pace.
“And I’m glad it’s over. This thing is worth fifty percent of my mark. Today’s the last day to hand it in and-Oof!” Oliver was knocked back a foot or two as some shmuck in a black hat ran into him. Worse than the collision and possible dislocation of his shoulder, though, was the fact that his essay had slipped from his grip. Thankfully, it landed on the dry sidewalk. Oliver looked at the retreating man with disdain. Students could be so rude sometimes.
“Hey, watch it!” Stanford called out after the man before turning to Oliver. “Damn, do you think you need a doctor?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Not for you, for your essay! That thing is precious, remember? Worth fifty percent of your mark?”
Oliver smirked and rolled his eyes before bending down to pick up his essay. But something about it was slightly off. The ink was smudged in a couple spots. Then another spot began to smudge. Then he felt something wet his the back of his head. He looked up at the sky and groaned. Darker clouds had moved in and it was beginning to rain. He scooped up his essay and slid it inside his coat to protect it from the water.
“Damn, it’s just not your day today, is it?” Stanford said as they hurried along, eager to get out of the rain.
“Guess not. See you back at The Cave.” Oliver replied as he hurried into the building. Stanford left to go home.
Oliver raced up the stairs of the building, taking a quick moment to look at his watch. “Shit” he mumbled. He was late. He approached the door to the classroom and breathed a quick sigh of relief. There were still students handing in their papers. He couldn't be that late. Oliver stepped into the back of the line and waited patiently for his turn. When it was his turn to slip his paper into the drop box the professor put his hand over the slit.
“Your paper is late, Mr. Gordon.”
“What? No it’s not.” Oliver replied, sincerely hoping that the professor was joking.
“I’m afraid it is. The syllabus clearly states that all papers must be submitted before 4:35. It is 4:38.”
"Oh come on!"
The professor only met him with an unrelenting stare.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Oliver whispered, suddenly realizing that most of the class was watching the classroom drama unfolding before them. “What about everybody else in line?”
“They were in the classroom before 4:35. You were not. I’m afraid I have to give you a ten percent penalty.” The professor fixed Oliver with a stare that suggested his mind was made up.
Oliver could do nothing but give in. “Fine” he mumbled, leaving the paper on the table, rather than in the box. Without another word, Oliver turned and exited the classroom, clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to bother with staying. He wouldn’t learn anything anyways, not in the foul mood he was in.
He paced back down the stairs, opened the front door of the building and was met with a wall of water. A shock of lightning zipped across the sky overhead, closely followed by a loud clap of thunder. Oliver’s groan was audible, even over the harsh pattering of rain. The last thing he needed was to be caught in a thunderstorm on the way home. But caught he was. He lifted the hood of his sweater and ducked into the rain.
His residence wasn’t too far away, but by the time he arrived Oliver was soaked to the skin. He trudged up the stairs, leaving a trail of water behind, until he reached the third floor. He walked through the hallways until he came to The Cave, room C68. He could hear something through the door. It sounded like Stanford, rapping along to his ever growing play list of music Oliver couldn’t stand. He entered the room and immediately froze. Stanford was not only rapping, but he was in full gangster form. Stanford was on his feet, using his arms to extenuate the beat, wearing an upside down visor, muscle shirt and a big chain around his neck. It was a far cry from what he really was - a slender white boy from Connecticut. When he realized the door to his room had been opened, Stanford yanked the chain from around his neck and spun around to face the door, hiding the chain behind his back. When he realized it was Oliver he went on the offensive.
“You aren’t supposed to be back for another two hours! What about your class?"
Oliver remained silent, the woes of his day melting away at the sight of his unfortunate friend.
“Well close the door!” Stanford hollered, pushing past Oliver and closing it with a soft click. He stomped back to his laptop and turned off the music. He spun back around to face Oliver, pulling the visor from his head. “Well? Explain yourself, Gordon!”
Oliver’s face broke into a soft smile which eventually grew into a huge, stupid grin.
“Oh, shut up.” Stanford sneered, tossing the visor at his friends face. “Seriously though, why are you back so soon? Was class canceled because of the storm?”
Oliver shook his head, the matter of Stanford’s eccentrics forgotten for now. “No. It was barely raining when I made it to class, remember? I decided not to stay because apparently I have two professors who are complete asses.”
Stanford grimaced. “Go on.”
“He’s taking ten percent off my essay because it was late.”
Stanford’s eyes widened. “Really? Your oh-so-precious-worked-on-for-weeks-might-need-medical-attention-because-of-some-loser-worth-fifty-percent essay?”
Oliver nodded.
“That’s balls.”
Oliver shrugged. “Well, today wasn’t all bad.”
“Really? I fail to see how getting chewed out by two professors in the same day, getting a late penalty on an important essay and getting caught in a freak storm doesn’t qualify as ‘all bad’”
Oliver shrugged. “I got to see you make an ass of yourself. I think that negates everything bad that happened today.”
Stanford’s face went crimson, causing Oliver to break out into a hearty laugh. Outside their window, the storm was breaking.
Mohinder Suresh, New York, New York.
Mohinder looked down at the file in his lap. It was all there in front of him - his medical records, his academic records, his family, his history. There was even a picture. Mohinder gently tugged the picture out from under a paperclip and examined it. The man in the picture has nondescript light brown hair, the same coloured eyes and a face that was bordering on handsome. Overall, he looked distinctly average. But so were they all. Until he came knocking on their door. Most of them just slammed it back in his face, either claiming ignorance or refusing the help he was willing to give. Hopefully this next one wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully Oliver Gordon would be more receptive.
He put the picture back under the paperclip and began to rifle through the files. Twenty one, originally from Glastonbury, Connecticut. No siblings. He had a history of mental disorder, mostly depression, onset by the death of his mother. The file said his father left before he was born, so he was raised by his aunt after his mother died. His report cards seemed to show that he was a bright boy, but most of the comments left by the teachers said he lacked effort. He had been accepted into the University of Connecticut in Torrington, going into the field of media studies. So Connecticut is where Mohinder was going.
After months of correlating events in the young mans life, Mohinder had formed a hypothesis about his ability. If he was right, it would be the first case of this unique talent that he has yet encountered. It was intriguing, really, what Oliver could do. It had the potential to be many, many things if he could properly harness his powers. If Mohinder’s hypothesis was correct, it could also be extremely dangerous. Mohinder closed his eyes and leaned back into the uncomfortable airport chair, waiting for his flight to board. Hopefully this time he will be believed. Hopefully this time he could help. Hopefully this time he could save somebody before it was too late.