Me Myself And I

Participants:

brian_icon.gif peter_icon.gif

Scene Title Me, Myself, and I
Synopsis Out in Harlem, Brian has a run-in with a very frustrated Peter Petrelli.
Date October 22, 2008

Harlem

Harlem stretches from the East River all the way to the Hudson, miles of tpacked residential districts filled with refugees and vagrants, a neighborhood stricken with crime and poverty. Harlem was, and has been for generations, one of the urban hearts of New York City. Before the bomb, this borough of Manhattan was the center of the Afircan American community in New York City. Now after the destruction of Midtown and the wake of social devastation brought in by the bomb, the borough has seen better days. Much of Harlem suffers from the same plight as much of New York — Overpopulation and crime in the wake of the collapse of infrastructure in 2006. With major traffic arteries cut off, power and water only recently restored, the area was in chaos for those first few terrifying weeks after the blast.

Before the bomb, Harlem had been shaping up, cleaning up its crime rate and working towards becoming a safe place for its residents. All of that hard work was laid to waste in a single night. Many of the buildings on the southern side of the neighrhood bordering on Central Park were gutted by arson in the chaotic weeks following the bomb, and the vast majority of them haven't been torn down yet, leaving the southern edge of the neighborhood a burned out and dangerous ruin. Even if it wasn't for the fires, the looting, vandalism and crime that spiked shortly after the bomb only made things worse for the Harlem residents, followed by the electricity and water stoppage from the damage done to the city's infrastructure.

With the major highways mostly repaired, Harlem is in a process of reconstruction and revitalization. Most of the neighborhood's historic landmarks still remain, and the region surrounding 125th street continues to be the urban pulse of Harlem as a whole, and from that street it's hard to tell anything has changes. It is the center of the reconstruction movement, constantly packed with repair crews, construction workers and maintence teams.


Late night, there is not a lot of action on the streets. A lot of the crowd at this time of night are also not the most sociable people. An intimidating area to say the least, especially at this point during the evening. But when you can create your own posse, how can you be scared? A white 91 Dodge Spirit is pulled over on the curb. Four men are in and around the car. One young man sits on the trunk of the car, a wooden baseball bat laid across his lap. From the Spirit, beats reverberate rather loudly. Rap music filling up the area around the car.

Another man is sleeping in the back seat, sprawled out. A cro-bar on the ground right by his hand which is left hanging near the floorboards of the car. Another man sits in the passenger seat with the door open. A bible is open in his hands, and he seems to be studying vigorously. The fourth man is standing just outside the car, holding a golf club. He seems to be practicing his swing in the headlights of the car. All the men are dressed in different variants of street clothes, clothes that either a bum or a 'thug' would be wearing. But upon closer inspection one would find that all four men in and around the car look exactly the same.

Harlem after dark is usually a dangerous place, even if the neighborhood has been shaping up lately in the reconstruction effort. A few streets away from 125th, though, and that look of renovation and urban renewal fades back to earlier times, with rougher crowds and more shady individuals. Between a pair of apartment buildings, there is a small used car lot directly across the street from the car full of "brothers," and at this hour of night, the lot should be closed for business. Instead, a black sedan is parked just inside the chain-link fence, engine running and headlights on. It's been there for almost a half an hour, and only now does someone start to come out. He looks like a businessman at first glance; black suit, gray undershirt, thin tie. But then there's the stylish haircut, the scar across his face, and the cocksure swagger he walks with. Seems more like a mobster than a businessman, though maybe it's his surroundings. He walks up to the stopped car, knocking on the window, leaning in to speak to someone inside.

Bat man — that is, the man with the bat — looks over to the happening across the street. A drug deal maybe? Hopefully something less sinister, though possibly something more sinister. For now, though the 'brothers' continue doing their thing. Although all are aware of the scarred man on the other side of the street, only the one sitting on the trunk watches the car and the guy with it. Reading Brian continues to read, and golfing Brian continues to try and perfect that swing.

The guy in the suit taps on the roof of the car twice, and the reverse lights brighten on the tail-end of the sedan. It begins backing out of the parking lot, pulling out onto the street before driving off towards 125th, the tinted windows not giving much of a suggestion as to who's inside. The scarred man in the suit straightens, tucking his hands into his pockets, and then peers across the street to the gathering at the car. He begins to turn away, and then what he actually saw clicks, and he double-takes, looking back to the car with his head cocked to one side. One brow slowly raises, and then, he's just gone, but it wasn't instantaneous, it was a quick but gradual fading away, like a heat mirage.

Raising a brow at the exchange, Brian on the trunk slides off as he watches the car drive off. That's weird. Then the man turns and looks at the car and the men there. When the man does a double take, Bat Brian matches his gaze, making eye contact. As if challenging him to make something of what he sees. Instinctively the grip on his bat tightens. Then the man is gone. Eyes widen, and without pointing, without a word, Bible Brian has his page folded and is immediately standing, looking around. Golf Brian is looking up to see if maybe the man flew up. Sleeping Brian remains asleep, but the other three seem to be trying to find what exactly the man just did to vanish in such a way.

While the Brians look around the car, trying to figure out where the guy in the suit went, a few minutes go by. It's a prolonged and somewhat unnerving passage of time where nothing seems to happen. The man doesn't come back into view, and only the loud pulsing beat of the rap music blaring out of the car serves to fill what would otherwise be an uncomfortable silence of the city. But it's also that loud music that masks the sound of footsteps, and the eventual approach. "Who are you?" The voice come from somewhere behind Golf Brian, but there's nobody there, just the sidewalk and a parking meter. "Identical quadruplets? Please."

It is obvious that these men are not Identical Quadruplets, the way they all act at exactly the same time. As soon as the question is asked, the Brian's spring into action. Bible Brian slides back into the car quickly to slap the music off. Right after that he opens the glovebox, a switchblade is retrieved and the man steps out of the car. Sleeping Brian is suddenly awake, and the crowbar is gripped tightly. Springing up, the formerly sleeping man is soon out of the car.

Bringing the golf club down into both hands, the man whirls around, holding the thing up as if were a sword. Bat Brian walks hastily around the car, holding his bat menacingly. The four men never look at the same spot, their attention always seems to be divided though they always seem to be aware of each other. "Stranger things have happened than identical quadruplets. For example. A disembodied voice. Perhaps an invisible man. Who are you?" The Brian who retrieved the switchblade retorts.

"Easy there." The golf club warps and bends, then snaps off in the middle like some unseen hand had decided to have it's way with it. "You don't want to hang around in this neighborhood, given what you are." The voice keeps coming from different spots, and there's no footsteps to mark the movement, it's like he's appearing at random points around the car as he talks. "There's some people — and I'm not talking about thugs — Who would spot you faster than I did, and might want to check for your registration card. I've never seen a power like that before, even in the database, so you might want to take a hike." The voice moves again, "Fast."

Eyes go wide as his golf club snaps off. Brian frowns deeply. "Fuck man. It's not like I have those laying around. You gonna fuckin pay for that?" Bible Brian stalks around the car. The blad of the knife is brought out. "Who the fuck are you?" The preacher man says, the Brian's spin around trying to find the source of the voice. But when, on their different perspectives figure out where he is, he moves again! Bible Brian holds his knife out, just in case. "It doesn't stop at three bro, so you can come out and talk nice, or we can play a game of how many of me you gotta beat till I get to you. I don't take advice from invisible moving voices."

"Fine," The voice calls out, this time inside of the car, "I'll come on out and show myself," the voice then comes from near the trunk, "then maybe we can sit down for tea," above the car, somehow, "sing songs around a campfire," out in the street, "or maybe you can take my advice," right behind Bat Brian, close enough he can almost feel the breath on his neck for an instant, "or you can get out of here before these guys lock you up in a deep, dark, and lonely hole in the ground where the only company you'll ever have," somewhere down the sidewalk, "Is yourself." That series of words rang out inside of Brian's mind, a hollow and echoing voice in his own head. Then, absolute silence.

The Brian's try to adjust to the voice popping up in different places. Bat Brian even takes a swing with his elbow when the voice pops up right behind him. The kinfe is put away. "What's wrong with singing songs round a campfire?" Brian asks himself. Shrugging a bit, he turns around looking to his clones. "I'm great company to myself." A shrug as the invisible man seems to be gone now. "Gotta remember that scarface." With that Bible Brian makes his way around to the drivers seat, the other Brians walk towards him and all seem to.. meld into him. The clothes, the bat, the crowbar, and the broken golf club fall to the ground. Brian goes about retrieving them and throwing them into his back seat. Peaceful evening ruined. Better find a place to sleep. "You owe me a golfclub fucker!" A middle finger is held up in the air as Brian opens the door and eases into the driver seat. The car hums off down the street.

Folding his arms across his chest, Peter stares down from high up in the sky, his thin tie blowing in the wind as he watches the car speed off. His brow tenses, eyes narrowing as he watches the vehicle and its passenger turn onto 123rd, "He can thank me for it later," he says to himself, turning his head to the side to look towards the lights of the Bronx in the distance, "But for now," his head tilts to the side, a crooked smile working its way across Peter's lips, "I've got to take matters into my own hands." Then, in a rush of air, he's gone, vanishing from the night's sky to parts unknown…


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October 22nd: The Midas Touch
Previously in this storyline…
Schism

Next in this storyline…
Like Father, Like Son

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October 22nd: That the Best You Got?
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