Desperate Measures



Scene Title Desperate Measures
Synopsis Arthur Petrelli reviews the progress on Looking Glass.
Date January 28, 2012

Pinehearst Tower

Soft piano music plays within the confines of Arthur Petrelli's penthouse office. The nighttime skyline of New York City glitters at his back, and the most recent update on the status of Project Looking Glass sits in a paper printout in a red folder on his desktop. Arthur has always been a man of traditional media, never a fan of tablets or computers. Perhaps it is his past, then, that has inspired his affection for paper products. Sipping from his glass of scotch, Arthur turns a page, looking at a complicated schematic of interlocking triangular components, glancing at equations notated in the margins. One diagram depicts scale of the gate and scale of the user in a protective suit. Arthur raises one brow when he sees the words infinite friction burns under one test report, along with a paperclipped photograph of a piece of charcoal that was once an apple.

Setting his glass down, Arthur reaches inside of his coat and retrieves his cell phone. Frustratedly, he looks at the text message displaying on the front screen and swipes his finger over it, then again, then closes his eyes and sets the phone down on his desk. There's a pineapple emoji in the middle of his sentence, and he isn't going to bother trying to fix it right now. Slowly, Arthur pushes back his chair and comes to stand up, walking around the office and looking out the windows at the panorama of lights sprawling within the darkness. He's pulled from that contemplation when the phone on his desk vibrates again.

Grumbling, Arthur holds out a hand and draws it through the air toward himself; Incoming Call is displayed on the screen. Bringing the phone to his ear, Arthur grouses "It's nearly midnight" into the receiver.

«We're still looking into the riot at Moab, sir. But I wanted to give you an update.»

Arthur rolls his eyes and scrubs one hand at his brow, holding out a hand to telekinetically call his drink into his hand next. "Alright," he says in a resigned tone of voice, "but let's make this snappy."

«Absolutely, sir. We're still missing about twelve prisoners that were able to escape during the break out. A mix of Evolved and Non-Evolved detainees, all from Red Level. We believe that detainee Christian Bender was able to get them all out of the facility. But based on our reconnaissance, they split up immediately after the prison break. There didn't appear to be any sort of coordinated effort.»

There's a noise in the back of Arthur's throat, and he takes a sip of his scotch. "And you're sure Edward didn't manage to escape?"

«No, sir. We put him back in confinement.»

"Just because he didn't escape doesn't mean that the little shit didn't get exactly what he wanted," Arthur grumbles into the phone. "Get in touch with General Autumn and make sure FRONTLINE is ready to be mobilized on a minute's fucking notice. Also, go through the prisoner records and look for someone with persuasion or…" Arthur twirls a finger in the air, thinking, "some sort of lie detection ability. Offer them clemency if they can figure out what the fuck it was Edward was trying to do."

«We could call in Epstein, sir. He has— »

"Are you out of your fucking mind? No. The last thing I need is a CIA operative with persuasion in Moab. Get a prisoner to do it, and once they're successful have them executed, we can't risk leaving any loose ends with what Edward's done." Arthur's dead-cold instructions are met with a moment of silence from the security operative on the other end of the line. "Did you just get gold feet, Diego?"

«No, sir. It'll get done. I'll give you an update tomorrow.»

"Good." Arthur spits into the phone and hangs up. A moment later, he catches something out of the corner of his eye and jerks toward the figure standing in his office. "Peter." Standing by the closed doors to the office, Peter Petrelli cuts a dark silhouette against the door in his black suit and wool coat, collar raised against the back of his neck. "You know not to just barge into my office like that!"

Peter tilts his head to the side, brows pinched together. There's a visible scowl spreading slowly across his face. "We need to talk," Peter intones, gravely.



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