1.89.3.d. Do you think you could survive an apocalypse? Would you want to?
It had taken them three years to finally catch him.
Three years he survived in New York on his own, faster than the men in their clunky suits, more agile and more dangerous, his very touch a potential death sentence to those who hunted him.
It did things to you, so many years by yourself. To a man who felt loneliness like a knife to his heart, it had killed something in him, something that needed to die that he might survive.
And work.
He didn’t know how they had finally found him, secreted away in one of his usual sleeping spots, in a wall cavity of an old apartment building in Queens. He’d only woke up when the dart jabbed into his neck and he’d felt the tranquilliser take almost immediate hold, sending him back under, to a darker, deeper place than he ever let himself go nowadays.
He woke up in a sealed cell, stripped and scrubbed clean and stinking of antiseptics. His hair was shorter, his skin raw from being rubbed.
Dark glass surrounded him on all sides.
He turned around slowly. He knew they were watching him, even if all he could see was dark, haunted eyes and a feral animal sleekness reflected back in to him.
With slow resignation, he walked back to the bed and lay down, curled up on his side. He stayed calm, he relaxed and he did not fear.
Because he knew he wasn’t going to stay.
Somewhere in the distance, he fancied he heard the start of panic, spreading like wild fire through the Company men.
It had been his promise.
I’ll forgive you when it’s just us left in the world.
Mohinder closed his eyes and spoke for the first time since that day two years ago.
“I forgive you.”
He smiled. And he waited.
Word Count: 310
Three years he survived in New York on his own, faster than the men in their clunky suits, more agile and more dangerous, his very touch a potential death sentence to those who hunted him.
It did things to you, so many years by yourself. To a man who felt loneliness like a knife to his heart, it had killed something in him, something that needed to die that he might survive.
And work.
He didn’t know how they had finally found him, secreted away in one of his usual sleeping spots, in a wall cavity of an old apartment building in Queens. He’d only woke up when the dart jabbed into his neck and he’d felt the tranquilliser take almost immediate hold, sending him back under, to a darker, deeper place than he ever let himself go nowadays.
He woke up in a sealed cell, stripped and scrubbed clean and stinking of antiseptics. His hair was shorter, his skin raw from being rubbed.
Dark glass surrounded him on all sides.
He turned around slowly. He knew they were watching him, even if all he could see was dark, haunted eyes and a feral animal sleekness reflected back in to him.
With slow resignation, he walked back to the bed and lay down, curled up on his side. He stayed calm, he relaxed and he did not fear.
Because he knew he wasn’t going to stay.
Somewhere in the distance, he fancied he heard the start of panic, spreading like wild fire through the Company men.
It had been his promise.
I’ll forgive you when it’s just us left in the world.
Mohinder closed his eyes and spoke for the first time since that day two years ago.
“I forgive you.”
He smiled. And he waited.
Word Count: 310