Into the Dragon's Mouth: Part III

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Scene Title	Into the Dragon's Mouth: Part III
Synopsis	Claire, Peter and Trask are confronted by Matt Parkman and his unit.
Date	September 19, 2008

Primatech Research — Cell Block B

Trask is in full black camo paint, covered by gloves and a ski mask, covered by stocking cap, scarf, trench coat, and wielding a pistol. He is covering the rear as Claire and Peter take up the front.

Cellblock B is a dark place, made all the more dank and murky by the dim light and the faint blue glow of the security lamps that the facility uses to indicate a breach in the Company's security. Whoever is upstairs, either due to Daniel in the lobby or the unexpected movement of the freight elevator, knows that PARIAH is here — and although the hall is empty but for a series of cells with tinted windows, making it impossible to see inside, Peter, Trask and Claire appear to be alone.

For now.

Claire, dressed (purposefully) in a dark shade of Moving Target Red follows Peter's lead without a moment's hesitation, stepping out of the freight elevator and down the hall toward Cell Block B at a clipped pace, shotgun at the ready. Lulu's served her well so far, but hopefully she won't need to see any action tonight. Not until they reach their goal, at least. "It's way too quiet down here. I don't like it."

Each footstep clacks across the concrete floor, the heavy footfalls of Peter's boots as he looks at the doors as he passes by them one by one. "No names, no cell numbers," His brow tenses, head tilting to the side as he squints. "I'll have to listen for thoughts, see if I can pick up anything." One hand taps repeatedly against the side of his jacket, fingers strumming a stacatto beat as he anxiously shifts his eyes from Claire to Sergei.

"Claire, keep an eye up the hall, Sergei, watch our backs." Peter walks over to one of the doors, his long leather coat flourishing as he turns, raising his hands to press his palms against the reinforced steel surface. His head tilts to the side again, thoughts trying to penetrate through, a distant, hollow echo sounding inside of his mind as he tries to see if any captives remain down here — if his target lingers here.

Claire.

There's no mistaking the voice, and for a moment it is the only sign of life in the dim light. But when the flicker of that alarm swings the right way, shadows are thrown across the hall - shadows belonging to men and guns. The voice belongs to one of them, and it's owner is slowly making his way toward the pair.

Claire, Parkman says again, his voice steady and gentle. As he comes into better light, the detective-turned-fed moves one hand away from his pistol to hold it up in the universal sign of 'requesting negotiations.' Claire, I helped save your family once. Remember that? I can't get in Peter's head, so you have to help me. I don't want anyone to get hurt. Parkman's face, when visible, is creased with steadfast determination, his eyebrows furrowed upward in a silent plea. There is the option of calling out to Peter, of course, but who knows how tightly wound the younger Petrelli brother is at the moment.

Trask scans the area, but he is mostly concentrating on the rear, since Peter and Claire are both watching the front. He is definitely tense, and keeping to the shadows.

"Parkman!" Claire cries out in warning to her companions, saving him the trouble. But, really, the only one he's a threat to is her, as far as his ability goes. She's the only one with no sort of immunity to it. Which, of course, leaves her open to suggestion. There is a good, long moment of panic before the girls goes whirling about to aim her gun at the Homeland Security Agent. Negotiations? No thanks. "We're here to do what you stupid bastards should have done a long time ago. Just tell us where to find Sylar so we can end him and we'll be gone." She doesn't make the same promise on behalf of the other team, however. They still have their own mission.

"Nothing." Peter says with frustration, "These cells…" He shakes his head slowly, fingers gliding across the surface of the door, "There's no one inside." He tenses his brow again, tilting his head once more as he tries to focus harder, expand his listening further, but it's that expansion that causes him to become aware of Parkman's presence, the ringing shriek of telepathic feedback, …family once… Peter's head jerks to the side as he picks up a portion of a phrase, …anyone to get hurt.

Shuddering, Peter starts to turn, but it's Claire's shrieked warning that causes Peter to wheel around sharply as he withdraws from his telepathy, turning in the direction of the voice he heard. Spotting Matt Parkman and the shadows of other men with guns standing in the hall, Peter's eyes narrow, that scar that cuts across the middle of his brow creased.

"Drop your weapon, Matt." Peter's tone of voice isn't suggesting that it's a request, "Take us to where they're keeping Sylar, or you know how this'll end." Peter stays to one side of the hall, opposite of Claire, leaving a space down the middle of them for Sergei to have clear aim if he needs. He tries, for Helena, he tries to use reason, to not strike out before speaking…

"Sylar?" There's no sense in staying quiet now. Parkman turns his head just slightly as the shotgun-wielding teenager causes a few guns to clink in hands as they are readied even more than they already were. Grips tighten. Aim is checked. But Parkman holds them back with a turn of his head and a slight narrowing of his eyes. "You're a little late, Claire. Peter." It's then that Parkman lets his eyes settle on the scarred man in the long coat, and his voice holds little emotion in it, though there is that thread of urgency, readiness, and maybe a dash of folded-in fear. He keeps his gun in his hand, but he spreads the fingers of his free one. "That's a little hard to do with a shotgun pointed my direction."

Trask has turns when he heard Claire's yell and rolled for what cover her could get next to the wall, he keeps an eye on the rear, but covers Peter and Claire just in case.

"What do you mean we're late? Our information says-" Claire's eyes get wide and her aim falters as she looks at Peter. "But Mo—" Helena! She valiantly refrains from flailing. "We've been set up. Peter, the others!" She fixes her gaze on Matt now, however. "Where is he?" He's got to be here somewhere, right? He's got to be.

"Late?" Peter's hands close tightly into fists, one hand raising to hold out his palm towards Matt and his men, "What do you mean late?" Anger begins to show through the rapidly fading cracks in Peter's calm exterior. He's forgotten about the demand of lowering weapons, now focused solely on the notion of his singular nemesis. His eyes flit over to Claire for just a moment at her supposition, then back to Parkman again. "No. One of us saw him here, Claire, we know the Company is keeping him locked up down here. That's why we're even here!" His outstretched hand trembles, breathing becoming heavy, "He's here," It is a marked change of topic from what Matt had overheard Mohinder, Helena and Peter discussing at Isaac's loft, not a mention of Molly at all. "Tell me what you know, now, or so help me…"

"You're right," Parkman says, nodding his head a bit. "But you need to listen. Everything's gone nuts all of a sudden. Like it's Halloween a month early or something." He takes another step forward, lifting his gun away from Claire. The guns behind him, however, still remain somewhat nervously trained. "Let's just talk, alright?" Parkman looks to Claire, then glances to the shotgun before returning his eyes to her face again with a nod.

Trask frowns, not liking this at all, he moves a little bit further back, right now his wishes Peter could hear his thoughts, a first time for everything, he swallows once then speaks in a thick Russian accent, "Piotr, our Comrade up front is just trying to delay us, nyet? Slow us down don't let him …how you say? Sandbag us. Let's just put a bullet in him now, Da?"

"Nyet," Claire responds flatly. "Parkman still saved my mom and brother's lives. Nobody's putting a bullet in him." Unless I'm the one firing the first shot. Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it? There's a bit of a dark quirk to the corner of Claire's lips, but it's gone in a flash. "You had better start making some sense, or Peter's going to lose it. I can't exactly calm him down."

Barely able to restrain his frustration, Peter only manages to lower his hand when Parkman lowers his pistol. However, Sergei's words cause him to tense up and raise his hand again, a low harmonic rumble filling the air as dust begins to settle off of the ground. "Maybe he has a — " Claire speaks up, and Peter narrows his eyes, looking to the young woman, then back to Parkman. His jaw sets, and he exhales slowly again, his hand trembling, "You better have answers, Matt. Don't make me regret taking this time out to talk. What you do here…" Peter tries to calm himself, breathing out a slow, meditative breath through his nose. "Start talking."

A peircing ring cuts through the tense air like a hot knife through ice cream. Parkman sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before slowly lowering his hand to his jacket pocket to retrieve his phone. "I've got them," he says before he puts the phone to his ear. "Right here." He flips open the phone, but he keeps his eyes on the group in front of him. "Parkman. Yes."

Parkman then takes the phone away from his ear and thumbs the speakerphone feature on, a smirk curling in one corner of his mouth. "It's for you Peter. I think you'd better take it. Long distance from India gets pretty pricey," he says.

"Hello? Hello?" A man's voice from the other end cracks through the speaker: an unmistakable man who happens to be The United States of America's Department of Homeland Security's top geneticist. "Matt, what are you doing? You said this was an emergency? What is this about?"

Trask frowns, "Piotr, is that who I…." he keeps up the Russian accent even now, as he stares at Matt's phone for an important second or two.

Peter snatches the phone, eyes wide as he listens, his head tilted to the side. "Mohinder?" He squeezes the phone tightly, "Mohinder what the hell are you doing, why are you calling — " He freezes, pulling the phone away from his ear to look at where the number was dialed from. His hand shakes, eyes lifting up to Parkman again, "No." His fingers curl tightly around the phone, squeezing it and with an unexpected level of strength cracking the screen before he realizes what he's doing and stops, dropping the phone to the floor with a clatter.

"Damnit!" He reaches up for the walkie on his shoulder, pressing the button on the side, "Helena! Shoot Mohinder if you see him, it's not him! It's — I don't know who it is, but take him out!" Then, Peter looks up to Matt, "What the hell is going on, is this one of your sick ideas of a trap!?"

"That's…" Blue-green eyes grow so very wide. It's taking every ounce of willpower in her not to turn and run off in the direction of the A Block. Instead, she pumps the shotgun once. Someone is going to get a hole blown in them if her friends are harmed. "Peter," Claire finds her voice again with a surprisingly even tone, "which one of us is going to go help the others?" Because, clearly, it has to be one of them. And they can't just turn their back on this lot and go together.

"THAT is not my sidekick," Parkman shouts back, his gun at his side but firmly gripped, his freehand pointing behind Peter, but really indicating the other block of cells. "My guess is that that is what escaped from this facility two months ago. All I know is that it isn't Mohinder." Parkman glances between Claire and her uncle before he continues, his voice somewhat calmer for the moment. "We can help." Clearly, the disposal of Sylar is in the best interests of everyone, at least as far as Parkman is concerned.

"Escaped? Escaped two months ago!?" Peter's eyes grow wide, thin wisps of smoke beginning to come from his jacket. His hands ball up into fists, smoke starting to issue from between his fingers as well now. "He's been free this whole time? Sylar's been on the loose and — " His eyes flash to Trask, watching him for a moment as his whole body starts to shake.

"No, he's right." There's a slight sound of disappointment in Peter's tone as he agrees with Parkman. His gaze flits over to the agent as a distortion starts to ripple in the air around Peter, waves of thermal wind hot enough to rise and disturb his hair. "We have to stop him. I need you, Sergei." Peter's irises glow orange for a moment, cooling back down to brown again, "I need you to disable Sylar's powers so I can kill him." He looks to Claire, "Claire. Take Sergei and Parkman and head to A-Block, we're regrouping. Parkman — Tell your boys to stay here, you know how this might go down. If you see Mohinder between here and there," Peter starts to rise up off of the ground, "Take him out. I've got to go make sure Helena's alright. I'm not going to let this happen!" With that, Peter blasts away from where he is in a flurry of heat and smoke, roaring through the air and swerving around Trask as he leaves a trail of smoke in his wake through the air, flying down the narrow halls to find the others.

Helena, we're on our way to regroup. Hang on.

"You heard 'em," Parkman says in a louder voice, barely looking back at the men from various agencies in the hallway before he steps forward and bends to retrieve his broken phone. Mohinder has long hung-up by now, but his relations with the doctor are the least of Parkman's worries. Pocketing the phone, Parkman grips his gun in both hands as he moves toward Claire, his face set once more with that marked determination and purpose. "Let's go, kid."

"Peter!" Claire takes two steps toward him before he gives the order and takes off shortly thereafter himself. "You heard the man," she echoes Parkman in a fashion. "Don't call me kid." All the same, she's walking at the telepath's side. Grim determination has settled in. This is it. This is the moment they came here for. Not how they expected it, but still.

Trask takes up point, staying far enough ahead not to block Claire or Parkman, partially because he doesn't want Parkman to feel the effect of his powers, yet. Also because he's afraid Parkman will drop a bullet in Claire the moment she can't regenerate. The shadow cloaked Russian scampers forward, checking corners for the trio and keeping his eyes peeled for the good Doctor.

Continued from Part I and concurrent with Part II.