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Scene Title Failsafe
Synopsis (adj.) failsafe: eliminating danger by compensating automatically for a failure or malfunction
Date February 17, 2009

Primatech Research, Level-5

Heels clicking on concrete, it is a sound that echoes through the bowels of Level-5, a hollow and silent tone of approach from a pair of polished black shoes. With a leather-bound folio tucked under one arm, and light from the wall sconces casting soft shadows across his dark silhouette, Roger Goodman makes the rounds of the Company’s most secure level of imprisonment, dark eyes peering into each reinforced cell.

A raid on this facility taught the Company much about its internal security, lessons shared with the Department of Homeland Security in their construction of Moab. No longer would this level be so prone to security breaches, no longer would even the Evolved have an upper hand on penetrating its defenses.

Agent Petrelli did so some good in his short tenure here after all.

Coming to stop at a cell flanked by men in dark suits, Roger reaches into his jacket and retrieves an unmarked proximity card, waving it in front of a lock on the door. With the motion, the door does not open, but the reinforced and six inch thick glass plate window begins to slowly brighten, a chemical tinting fading to allow sight both in and out.

Seated on a bench that doubles as a bed, at the back of the cell, a lone and wiry man sits with his forearms resting on his knees. His body is shrouded in as much gray as the walls, the jumpsuit plainly marked with no identification or name. His head lifts, slowly, the fluorescent lights in the ceiling of his cell reflecting off of circular-lensed glasses that frame his face and make his expressive, blue eyes seem all the more large.

Roger Goodman squares his shoulders, black eyes meeting blue, as his voice crackles over the internal speaker inside of the cell, “Good Morning, Mister Ray.” There is a faint upturn to Roger’s lips as he steps closer to the glass, allowing himself to emerge from the shadows of the hall like some dark specter into Edward’s frame of view.

“I’d like to ask you some questions about Hiro Nakamura.”

Three Hours Earlier — Biomere Research, Inc.

“Hiro Nakamura?” The tone of Roger Goodman’s voice is incredulous, head canting to one side as he looks up from hastily scrawled red writing on lined journal paper contained within a leather-bound folio.

Standing opposite of Roger at his desk — leaning slightly less on his crutch today than he had the last time work brought him to this office – Jonathan Carmichael nods his head in slow acknowledgement of the rhetorical question. “The photographs we took of the web match the description given by Agent Parkman of the loft in SoHo where he encountered Sylar in the assumed identity of Mohinder Suresh.”

Looking down to the documents, it’s clear even Carmichael is a bit confused. “We know little about Mister Nakamura, save for his association with Peter Petrelli.” Goodman nods his head slowly, waving one dismissive hand towards Carmichael as he slowly rises from his seat, stepping out from his desk to turn and face the large window that overlooks the ruins of Midtown.

“Nakamura was present at the destruction of Midtown, several witnesses corroborate that.” Dark eyes narrow slowly, “But he has been as much of a ghost as those that died since the incident, and we – perhaps incorrectly – have presumed that he is dead.” Looking over his shoulder, one of Roger’s brows slowly rise, “Are we assuming incorrectly, Jon?”

That isn’t as much of an easy question to answer, and Carmichael’s steady shifting of weight on the foot that bears much of him is as much from physical discomfort as it is from mental. “We’re not sure yet. Analysis of the string web that Parkman discovered at the loft indicates fingerprints that belong to Nakamura, but we can’t be certain of how old they are. There’s been – a fair amount of contamination of that residence has happened.”

Roger nods slowly, turning to stare at the ghost of his reflection in the window, eyes distant and unfocused. “Company records indicate that Hiro Nakamura’s listed ability is teleportation, bending of space.” Goodman’s yes ever so slightly narrow, “the string web found at Isaac Mendez’s loft, and the similar construction found at Phoenix’s abandoned headquarters leads me to believe that there’s a portion of this that we’re missing…”

“There’s not much way to find out, Sir. I’ve checked with the Boston branch, Doctor Edward Ray hasn’t been present at MIT since December, and his residence has been abandoned. No credit card use, no cell phone use, he dropped off of the face of the earth.”

“Not entirely.” Goodman states in a quiet, hissed breath, his vision focusing now to the ruins of the city center. “The Company has him.” That revelation comes as an immediate shock to Carmichael, breath hitching in the back of his throat as he begins to hobble around the desk towards Goodman. “He made an attempt on President Petrelli’s life at his home in New York, and before that was seen at a charity fundraiser with Vice-President Andrew Mitchell. An event that Mister Petrelli was unable to attend at the last minute.”

Why was I not informed of this?” The tone Carmichael takes is sharp, a level of distrust raised as he meets where Goodman stands by the window, “I thought we were a team?

“It was not my doing.” Roger rebuts with a scowl, casting his eyes to stare at Carmichael’s faint reflection in the glass. “Angela Petrelli had him apprehended by the Haitian and moved to the Primatech facility in the Bronx.”

Petrelli.” Jonathan’s lips press together in a firm, aggravated expression, “No matter where that name comes from, trouble and disaster follows it doesn’t it?” That much makes Roger turn, staring down Carmichael with brows lowered.

“Not always Jon.” Roger has always kept his cards held close to his chest, and it would seem this – as ever – is one of those times. “I’m curious to know what would make an MIT scientist believe that he had to take the life of a United States President.” Those dark eyes track back to the window, and to the ruins of Midtown.

“I’m going to go speak with Edward Ray.” He finally admits, “I have some questions to ask him about Mister Nakamura.” Jonathan bristles as it’s clear he isn’t invited in on the conversation, keeping his eyes firmly focused on Goodman’s reflection in the glass, waiting for his gaze to be met.

When it is, he asks one simple and clear question, “We’re still in this together – you and I – right? You haven’t forgotten the pact we made, Roger, have you?” Goodman’s eyes settle shut, head shaking from side to side as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“No…” His voice grows more solemn, “No Jon, I have not.” Only when his eyes open and he sees the scar at New York’s heart does the adamant tone of his voice return. “We’re going to change this world forever, you and I.”

Primatech Research, Bronx Facility: Level-5

The window to Edward Ray’s cell fades to black once more, and Roger Goodman slowly folds the leather folio shut, staring down at the worn and scuffed cover. His eyes upturn to one of the guards at the door to the cell, “No one is to speak to him without my direct authorization,” his stare is as piercing as a knife to the heart, “is that clear?”

The agent nods, quietly, a solemn and respectful acknowledgement of orders. Goodman only spares a beat to let his gaze linger on the agent, before he begins making his way hastily down the hall towards the elevator. With impatience, he withdraws his cell phone from his pocket, flipping it open as a thumb brushes over a series of numbers not pre-programmed into the device. Bringing it up to his ear, there is a long and quiet pause as he waits for the man on the other end to pick up.

Then, finally, “Ohayo gozaimasu, Nakamura-Sensei. Chotto okiki shitai no desuga?

February 17th: Charlie Riggs

Previously in this storyline…
Red Herring

Next in this storyline…
Dr. Bianco's Drive-Thru Face Clinic

February 17th: Instead Of Miracles
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