Life After Life
Life in New York City was unpleasant. It smelled bad, there were too many people and everything had this sort of greasy flavor that got in through the nose and tainted the very air. Luke Campbell loved every moment of it.
It had been almost a year since the world was suppose to have ended for specials when that idiot blonde took a flying leap to her not-quite death in front of a million watching eyes. The videos had gone viral and the , just like that, were covered up and labled an amazing hoax. Luke hadn't seen her since, though sometimes he looked her up on Youtube to get a laugh at how her body twisted when she landed.
Unable to go home, his mother wouldn't want him and he was pretty sure he didn't want her either, he took whatever job he could get. Kitchen Bitch suited him best, he found, even if he just bussed tables and washed dishes. He supplemented his meager earnings with petty theft and kept himself from being bored by decimating the feral rat population of the God awful building he shared with three other rejects his age. One wanted to be an actor or model. All were drug addicts.
Things had been perfect until he saw him. Two years' worth of rage filled him enough that the plastic bag he had been holding with a few frozen dinners melted right out of his hand. He still didn't have great control over his powers.
"Sylar!" he screamed across heavy traffic, ready and willing to leap across stand still taxis to get revenge on the man.
It had been almost a year since the world was suppose to have ended for specials when that idiot blonde took a flying leap to her not-quite death in front of a million watching eyes. The videos had gone viral and the , just like that, were covered up and labled an amazing hoax. Luke hadn't seen her since, though sometimes he looked her up on Youtube to get a laugh at how her body twisted when she landed.
Unable to go home, his mother wouldn't want him and he was pretty sure he didn't want her either, he took whatever job he could get. Kitchen Bitch suited him best, he found, even if he just bussed tables and washed dishes. He supplemented his meager earnings with petty theft and kept himself from being bored by decimating the feral rat population of the God awful building he shared with three other rejects his age. One wanted to be an actor or model. All were drug addicts.
Things had been perfect until he saw him. Two years' worth of rage filled him enough that the plastic bag he had been holding with a few frozen dinners melted right out of his hand. He still didn't have great control over his powers.
"Sylar!" he screamed across heavy traffic, ready and willing to leap across stand still taxis to get revenge on the man.