Retroactive Damage Control


bryan_icon.gif odessa_icon.gif peter2_icon.gif

Scene Title Retroactive Damage Control
Synopsis Peter finally starts to learn the truth courtesy of Doctor Knutson and Agent Buckley.
Date September 25, 2008

Level Five




The sound has become a measured form of torture to detainee 616. Ever since his encounter with Doctor Salonga roughly twenty-four hours prior, he has been restrained to his bed with no sign of release. The doctors monitoring his status have been unspeaking, given the Doctor's orders to them. Even the portable DVD player has been taken back from his room, affording Peter Petrelli all of the creature comforts of a true prisoner.



He stares up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused and mind wandering. So many unanswered questions danced through his mind, and all of them conspiratorial. With Doctor Salonga being nowhere to be found for the last day, he's come to realize something must be amiss, that something about his placement here in the "hospital" isn't adding up. But for now, the only answer he's been given, is the beep of the machinery monitoring his vitals.

"A penny for your thoughts, Mister Petrelli?" The door to the cell opens up to admit the blonde doctor whose name badge reads O. Knutson. She smiles seemingly genuinely to him as she approaches the bed, wasting no time in unfastening his restraints.

Peter doesn't look towards the direction of the doctor on her approach into the cell, his eyes merely stay focused on the ceiling above. "I don't think I have anything more to say." Peter's tone of voice is derisive and full of agitation, he's hardly slept the in the last day, complaining of headaches and muscle pains. His stress levels have been high since the encounter with Doctor Salonga, and having reviewed the security footage of that encounter, Peter's poor attitude isn't much of a surprise to Doctor Knutson.

"You just don't understand," Doctor Knutson tries to explain gently, "There are dangerous patients in this facility, and they escaped not too long ago. They're only worried you may follow suit. And you shouldn't be out there right now. It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous patients?" Peter says with his eyes shifting to the side, looking away from the doctor. "In a hospital?" One brow raises, then lowers slowly. "That just says my mother had me institutionalized." His lips press into a thin and frustrated expression. "I shouldn't be surprised." All humor is lost from his voice, eyes closing tight as he lays there in silence. "Yesterday wasn't funny," Peter swallows, neck tense, "Making fun of me, of my delusions. That doctor can go to hell."

"This isn't an asylum," the doctor assures him. "I'm not here for a repeat of what came before. I'm not happy about it, at all." She holds up a chart that might make some sense too him, but a lot of it is in shorthand that likely only makes sense to her and possibly her colleagues. "You've been complaining of headaches and muscle aches," she summarizes, "so I've decided to take you off the medication you were initially prescribed. I think you'll notice a marked improvement in only a few days."

Peter turns to the chart when it's offered, wrists struggling at his restraints reflexively as he tries to reach for it. Settling for a brief glimpse instead, his eyes narrow once he sees some of the statistics. Most importantly, though, there is a horrified look on his face when he scans the document for a specific line of interest. "T-two thousand and eight!?" He nearly chokes on his words, coughing lightly before struggling again at the bindings holding him in place. "September! September in two-thousand eight!" Peter's voice raises, ringing off of the concrete walls and reinforced glass. "I was in a coma for three years!?" Peter thrashes violently against his restrains just a bit more, the once rhythmic beeping of his EKG and EEG beginning to make a more high-pitched series of beeps.

A man can't spend all day and night trolling the city, looking for three people who managed to fly the coop and take a fourth with them. Especially a man like Bryan Buckley. His normal modus operandi involves already knowing where his target and likely going to be. He doesn't search.

That being the case, it shouldn't be too strange to find the large black man standing outside Peter Petrelli's makeshift "hospital" room. He's just gotten there, but as Peter makes his exclamation regarding the year, a cold smirk slowly curls in one corner of Bryan's mouth.

So like a child, this one. Tantrums and all.

"No, Peter…" The chart is yanked away and the doctor curses to herself. "You haven't been in a coma for three years. You're suffering from retroactive amnesia, brought on by high levels of stress. Calm yourself. I promise I'll explain everything. You just need to stop struggling, okay?" She offers a brief smile. "Deep breaths."

Much of what Doctor Knutson says is lost on Peter as his mind races, hands clenched into fists at his side. He does calm, after a short time, head laid down on the pillow beneath him, eyes closed. He forces a few, slow breaths through his nose. There's silence, and the beeping begins to slow down again. "I…" He starts out gentle, but then hardens his tone, "You have to tell me what happened." Peter's eyes open slowly, focused on the Doctor, "The last thing I remember is… is falling in that alley. I… it's really two-thousand eight?" Now he seems more frightened than anything, frightened and confused.

This is a conversation that Bryan feels compelled to not just observe. He makes his way to the open door, leaning against the frame with his arms folded across his chest. "Yes, Doctor," he says with an amused grin, the tips of his fangs just visible, should one care to look there.

"Tell Mister Petrelli what's happened." Because surely she can't tell him the truth.

"There was a bomb in New York City, Peter. Manhattan is in ruins." Doctor Knutson shoots Bryan a Look. Don't screw this up, Fangs. "You're lucky you weren't killed, Peter." Before he can ask, she informs him, "Your family is fine."

Peter's eyes focus on the man who had had seen only in silhouette before, then over to the doctor again. He misses sight of the fangs entirely, lost now in Doctor Knutson's explanation of what happened. "Oh — Oh my God." His eyes wildly wander, the beep of the EKG races as his pulse does, and as the bound patient looks back to Knutson, he seems at a loss for words. "W-what… What happened? When? H-How?" He can't keep focus on one thing for very long, mouth agape and eyes wandering. There is so much to piece together, so many horrible questions.

"Like everyone else who survived, including yourself," Bryan says with a shrug, his demeanor melting into something much more somber. "They were lucky. Extremely lucky. Many weren't." Pushing himself away from the wall, Bryan begins to slowly make his way to the other side of Peter's bed, letting his arms fall and hands slip into the pockets of his trousers.

Odessa's eyes follow Bryan as he pushes away from the wall. "Is there something you need?" she asks slowly, eyes narrowed faintly. But she shakes the question off. "It was a nuclear explosion. Would you care to explain in more detail, Buckley?" She knows how he loves to take charge of the prisoners, and she smirks faintly in challenge.

There's a certain level of disbelief one has at the realization that their home city was devastated by a nuclear bomb, but even the most harsh reality about that isn't even revealed yet. Peter states at Odessa for a long time, his eyes wide and mouth open, looking for all his worth as though he was struck in the stomach by a furious punch. He swallows, awkwardly, eyes wandering around the room again as the machinery he is hooked up to continues to beep rapidly with the racing rate of his heart. "I — " Peter slowly tries to put the pieces together, "What does that… why didn't the other doctor tell me?"

"That other doctor is a psychiatrist," Bryan explains as he moves closer to Peter, his expression becoming more dour. "And some would say that just because you can legally administer drugs doesn't mean you're really a doctor. Call it an experiment of sorts. Shrinks think up weird things, you know? But you don't need to worry about that."

"Psychiatrists," Odessa all but spits out. "Too many doctors have lost touch with true medicine and try to blame a patient's mental state, rather than truly finding what ails them." She smiles gently at Peter, "It's why I've taken you off the medication." It's all to help him, clearly.

Peter's brow tenses, looking up at Odessa with a puzzled stare, "You — " He eyes the tray where the tiny paper cup of pills normally rests, "The headaches stopped." His eyes wander around the room, focusing on Bryan for a moment before moving back to Dr.Knutson, "How long have I been off those meds? I… I don't actually have a headache, for the first time since I woke up here — " Peter shakes his head, quickly, "Why am I here? She was just playing with my head then?" Struggling against his restraints, Peter's brow lowers and his hands ball into fists. "First you tell me a nuclear bomb wiped out half of New York," His tone becomes more irate, "Now you're talking about my meds. What happened to me? Why do I have this scar? Where is my brother?"

"We told you, Peter." It's not a normal thing for Bryan, but his 'patient voice' isn't too bad. "Your family is fine. Unfortunately, your scar is a result of the bomb. You were hit with a piece of shrapnel. It's what knocked you out and caused your amnesia. Your mother wanted you to have the best doctors, which is why you're here." He's silent for a moment, and a frown pinches his features. "I personally apologize for any pain that psychiatrist may have caused you. Loose cannons, all of them. But I assure you, she has been dealt with." Or will be very shortly.

Peter's brow tenses, and he looks away from both of his visitors to stare at the display of his EKG. Peter closes his eyes, hands finally relaxing as he tries to piece together the situation, "And… and it's two-thousand and eight?" When he finally opens his eyes, there's something more hard in his demeanor, something sharp and concerned. He focuses on Doctor Knutson, watching her closely. He can't help but recall the date on that chart he read, "I've… I've been in a coma for two years?" His eyes manage to not leave Doctor Knutson's, "So… So I…" there's so many empty spaces, his eyes finally breaking from Odessa, "So I fell, in that alley… or…" He thinks back to what Claudine had said to him, a mortified look crossing his face as he looks back to Odessa, "If I'm here, because I was hit by… by shrapnel. What happened to me? How — How did I get…" He looks down, "Why am I restrained?"

Odessa smiles thinly, "Salonga means well. Her methods are just…" She shrugs. She doesn't know how to describe it. "I wouldn't be too harsh with her. It's a learning experience for everyone involved." The doctor glances at one of the monitors, watching it briefly, "Your brother is a junior senator for the state of New York. He's doing well for himself." She doesn't mention the fact that the elder Petrelli thinks his younger brother is dead. "You're restrained because you had violent outbursts when you first woke up. The bomb was a very traumatic experience, Peter."

Peter slowly relaxes, "I… I don't remember that…" A rueful expression slowly crosses his face as his cheek presses down against the pillow, eyes shutting again. "So, I mean…" Tensing his brow, Peter tries his best to focus through the patches of emptiness in his memories, hands flexing open and closed as he breathes slow and heavy breaths. "Claudine said I was being restrained for my own good… But if it was just because — " He exhales slowly, "This isn't making any sense." He looks down to himself, over the chest-restraints, then back up to Odessa. "I want to leave. I — I have to go see Nathan, I should…" Peter's eyes close again, tilting his head to the side. "W-what do I have to do? To… to get out of here?"

Odessa turns to look at Bryan. Her smile is so faint, Peter likely doesn't catch it. But Bryan? He knows Doctor Knutson well enough. "As I said before, there were some very dangerous people that escaped from here. They're sick, Peter. And they took a couple friends of mine and Bryan's with them. There's a girl, around my age, named Elle. She's been taken. And… they took my friend Adam." Her expression turns very, very serious. And pleading. "I need Adam back. But I can't leave these walls while those people are free. They'd hurt me, you understand. But you…" Odessa's expression is almost childlike, her eyes large and hopeful, "You're very special, Peter. You told your brother you could fly. You know you're destined for great things. You can help me!"

Peter narrows his eyes as he listens to Odessa, seeming concerned as he hears the explanation about the breakout, as well as one of the captives. "That was just a delusion," His mind is dead-set on this being some sort've twisted test, "I can't fly, I'm just an ordinary person, but I'm special in my own right — I'm a hospise nurse." He smiles, awkwardly, "Doctor Salonga helped me realize that." Helped, she did, "You call the police for things like that, Doctor Knutson." His smile turns somewhat more earnest, head tipped to the side, "I'm better now." He really has been convinced he was crazy.

Bryan knits his eyebrows together and folds his arms across his chest. "Who's to say hospice nurse's aren't special, Peter? You're able to talk to people when they're their most vulnerable. These people are very scared, as I'm sure many of your past patients have been. You've got the skills to reason with them…sort of like Doctor Salonga reasoned with you." But more honestly.

Odessa sighs heavily. "I'll be right back." She turns and swiftly exits the room, heading in the direction of her pharmacy.

Peter gives Bryan an incredulous look, "You want me to track down some runaway… what, mental patients?" He looks around the concrete room again, searching the ridges on the walls, his voice distant as he speaks. "You want me to chase them down and what, talk to them?" He looks back to Bryan, "When… Doctor Knutson here, said they'd hurt her? None of anything you're saying is making any sense. This is a hospital," Peter lens his head back onto the pillow, "You tell me I lost my memory from a severe head injury, and now you want me to look for some psychopathic patients instead of the police, because I'm a nurse?" His eyes level on Doctor Knutson, "What kind've sick game is this?"

"This is a hospital facility," Bryan clarifies with an arch of his eyebrows. At times, honesty is the best policy. Sometimes. "And yes, we need you to do this. You won't be going alone, of course." That'd be idiotic on everyone's part.

Odessa returns to Peter's cell with a capped syringe in her hand. "I have something I would like to show you, Peter." She holds her hand out to Bryan, one finger extended toward his mouth. "Gimme some sugar, baby." She waves the syringe in her other hand. I've got anti-venom~ "Bryan here is special, too, Peter."

"Facility?" Peter's eyes narrow as he hears the explanation, "Look, I don't know what's going on. My last memory is of two years ago when I jumped off of an apartment building because I thought I could fly, I've been chained down to this hospital bed for apparently longer than I knew, and I had a doctor telling me I was on suicide watch from an accident two years ago." There's obvious frustration in his tone of voice, and rightfully so.

"Forgive me if I seem a bit disoriented!" His hands struggle against the restraints, straining, "Now you think I'm in any condition to just get up and leave here — Get out and just go after some crazy people? Why should I do any of that?" Peter's hands clench into fists, arms struggling against his restraints again, he's losing his temper, and the rapid beeping of the EKG and EEG are evidence of it.

"What makes you think I can do anything, what could possibly make you think I even should do anything? Why don't you call the police, the FBI?" Realizing he has no hope of struggling out of the restraints, Peter throws his head back against the pillow, slamming down onto the bed. "Nobody is making any sense!" It is only Doctor Knutson's timely arrival into the cell that makes Peter calm down, but his eyes are entirely on the syringe. He watches her, confused, especially when it seems to be directed to Bryan and not himself. "Special? What, is he a gynecologist?" The line is delivered with a sneer.

And here Bryan had thought his sneaky 'I'm not taking my meds' game would go unnoticed by his doctor of choice — but if it had, she might not be his doctor of choice any longer. It takes him a moment, but Bryan smirks. "I want you to watch carefully, Peter. And remember that I may be no angel, but the people that have Elle, the people who used to be here, are far, far worse."

Bryan unfolds his arm and steps closer to Odessa, taking her hand almost tenderly in his own. "I hope you have some of him left, or you're not going to be able to inject that into your neck fast enough and give Peter the show you want to." But he grins, wide enough to show those fangs clearly before he gives the tip of the doctor's fingers a kiss, then a small nip and suckle before he goes back to holding it, making a bit of a show of his own when it comes to licking the small amount of blood off of his teeth.

Odessa brings the wounded finger to her lips not to suck on the wound itself, but to actually ingest more venom. It isn't long before she's passing the syringe off to Bryan with a squeaked order. "Do it!" She's clutching at her throat, breathing severely labored. This was not the most brilliant plan Doctor Odessa Knutson has ever had, but it will prove her point.

Peter watches on in disgust and confusion at the display, only now finally spotting the sharpened incisors that Bryan has. His eyes narrow, brow furrowing before one arches up, "What are you doing?" Peter spits out, struggling against the restraints as Odessa wavers and clutches her throat, "What the hell is wrong with you people!?" Peter's eyes dart back and forth between Bryan and the doctor, fingers curling into the blankets beneath his hands. "What the hell are you doing!?"

All the screaming Peter could do won't distract Bryan now. His nostrils flare when Odessa sucks on her wound, and he glowers at her as he takes the syringe with it's hybrid solution. "You idiot," he scoffs, swallowing to dry out his mouth as much as he can before he steps closer and stabs the needle into the doctor's neck and presses the plunger down. "Showing him is one thing," he grumbles. "Putting your life at risk is another."

"Wouldn't have been able to put on a show if you'd been taking your medication, Buckley." Odessa takes up a position leaning against one wall of Peter's cell, catching her breath as her little anti-venom concoction works its way through her veins to patch up the self-inflicted damage. "Bryan is venomous as some of the deadliest snakes, Peter." She frowns and peers at the Agent, "Do you suppose that means he is, too? Hm." She shrugs her shoulders, "The lingering medication may be negating that. We'll see." Odessa smiles faintly and runs her fingers through her hair. "I'll make you a deal, Petrelli. I'll let you out of the restraints if you promise not to freak out on me. I'm trying to explain this all to you — to tell you the truth. I've already shown you what I can. I just need you to trust me."

Peter wrinkles his nose, watching what happens to Odessa once whatever was in that syringe is injected into her neck. "Venomous?" Peter's eyes shoot over to Bryan for a moment, then back to Odessa, "I'll try not to freak out, but maybe you should start by explaining to me what I'm really doing here. Why did you have a psychiatrist telling me one thing, and then… I don't understand what you people want, but it didn't take long to realize this isn't a hospital." Peter wrenches his wrist once, looking back to Odessa, "You're going to tell me what's going on, and you're going to tell me now."

"Let him up, Doctor," Bryan says coldly, sinking back against the door frame, guarding it in a way. "Calm down, Peter. You were taking off the meds for a reason. I know /I/ wouldn't want the good Doctor to sedate you." And he certainly doesn't want to bite /any/ Petrelli in order to protect Odessa.

Odessa's expression is flat. "You're the most special of them all, Peter Petrelli. You can mimic the abilities of those around you. Your brother can fly, and so can you. Your mother has prophetic dreams, you do as well. You have a whole laundry list of abilities… But, unfortunately, you aren't exactly able to control which ones you get. Sometimes, you overload. And then you fall into a coma, like you did this time. You haven't been under for two years, Peter. You just don't remember the last two years. I can only assume something terrible happened that you don't want to remember."

Swallowing dryly, Peter gives Odessa a withering glare, "What the hell are you talking about?" He watches her closely, looking over to Bryan as he steps back against the wall, folding his arms. Peter's brow furrows, eyes moving back towards the doctor as her counterpart allows her to take center stage. "I…" Part of him wants to believe what it is she's saying, "I…" but part of him, "I don't believe you." He looks away, ashamed, his eyes closing. "I can't do any of that, I…" Looking back, Peter seems suddenly angered again, "If you wanted me to believe this, why did you have that psychiatrist try to convince me I'm insane? I…" He's conflicted, is this a test? Is he really out of his mind? Are they pushing him? "I don't know what to believe."

"That wasn't my idea," Doctor Knutson assures Peter. "Initially, it was decided you would be better off not knowing what happened. But your reactions… It does no good for you to stay in the dark." Odessa finally starts working on the tethers that bind Peter to the bed. "The medication you were on… The headaches and the muscle aches were caused by the suppression of your abilities."

"Suppression?" Peter looks to the monitors, then back to Odessa, "You're…" A breath, deep and slow, "This is real," His eyes wander over to Bryan again, then back to Odessa, "You're serious — " Peter's eyes snap wide, "Wait, Nathan can fly?" He finally realizes the gravity of what it is that Odessa is trying to explain to him, and something more akin to a youthful exhuberance begins to slowly creepy up on his features. "I — I can do all of that? I… how does it work?" He tries to sit up, despite the restraints as Odessa works on undoing them. "How — I mean, how many people are…" He seems hesitant to so openly accept the idea, but at the same time he's drawn to it. "So all those book, Chandra Suresh's book was right?" His eyes go wild, "I'm a Mosaic!?" The term Chandra coined for Peter's specific type of ability, "I… I don't know how to…" His brow tenses, thoughts racing, "The bomb…" Sudden, horrified realization, "You have to tell me what happened."

"One thing at a time, Petrelli." Odessa smiles gently as she finally removes the last of the restraints. "Yes, you are a Mosaic, as Suresh phrases it. I confess that I don't know how your ability works, having not had the opportunity to observe it myself. Not in a controlled setting, at least. There are many people like you out there, with many different abilities. The government has been requiring registration since the explosion."

"Registration?" Peter's eyes wander Odessa for a moment, and there is not a single look of recognition on his face. "So… so the whole world knows about it? I mean, about people like…" His thoughts change course immediately, and once his hands aren't restrained he sits up slowly, wringing one wrist and then another, "Are you like me too?" He shoots a glance at Bryan, then back to Odessa again, managing as much of a smile as he can despite the confusing situation. "I mean, do you have a gift?"

The question is avoided, however artlessly. "The world knows. The bomb was actually a man with radioactive abilities." Odessa just doesn't specify which man. "The dangerous ones are locked away in camps. We try to keep the worst criminals here. But they escaped. Don't you see? This is why we need your help. We need you to be strong…"

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed once they're unbound, Peter watches Odessa carefully as she explains. "One person? One person was a bomb?" Peter's hands move up, running fingers through his hair as he leans forward, then straightens again. "So… So what was I doing? I mean, obviously you know I had these powers, I… I can't remember how to do any of that. Was — What was I doing since I got all of these abilities? Was… did I help people?" There's nervousness, uncertainty.

"Yes, Peter," Odessa says gently, "You've been helping people. That's one thing fairly constant about you, I think." Or so his file has led her to believe. "You disappeared for a while. The world — your family — thought you were dead. But you've proven everybody wrong." She takes a seat next to Peter on the bed. "I wish I could tell you more, but… I'm kind of in my own little world here. I'll do my best to answer what I can."

"I — " Peter looks down to the floor, hands closing tightly before relaxing, "They think I'm dead?" Shaking his head, Peter circles around the bed, bare feet scuffing on the concrete floor as he shoots one wary glance up to Bryan, then back to Odessa. "So, so I was right? I… I was special, I am special." He turns his hands around, looking down at his palms for a moment. Peter's eyes wander the creases, closing both his hands and his eyes at the same time, then looks up to Doctor Knutson. "I can't… really remember any of that. So, who are you people then, if this isn't a hospital?" One brow arches, causing the scar across his face to crease slightly, "You don't seem like government agents, you're more relaxed." Looking over his shoulder, Peter and Bryan exchange eye-contact for a time, and then Peter turns his focus back to the doctor again. "Why did you keep me here? I mean, do we work together?"

"Not yet," Odessa responds with a smile. "I'd like to work with you, Peter Petrelli. You'd make a very valuable asset. Recruiting you would earn me some respect. I'd get to move up in the world. Up and… out." Her gaze shifts toward the door for a moment before turning back to Peter. "You were kept in here for your own protection. There are people out there that would hurt you while you're powerless. When you were brought to me, you were this way. You didn't know what had happened and you didn't know what you could do. You couldn't do what you can do. And until we were sure you weren't going to be a danger to those around you, since you obviously had no idea how to control your abilities, we suppressed them to ensure you wouldn't accidentally hurt anyone."

"I don't feel like I can do anything." Peter says with a tensed brow, his response coming very quickly on the heels of Odessa's words. "I don't feel different — I mean, from what I remember." A smile crosses his lips though, and as he looks back up to Odessa, there's a mild look of determination crossing his face. "I don't know how I did things before, I mean, by myself…" His fingers flex open and closed, "But I think, maybe, if I ended up like this… and people have been hurt?" His eyes lift up to Odessa, and Peter shakes his head slowly, "Maybe the whole on my own thing isn't working out like I planned." Taking a few steps around the room, Peter keeps flexing his hands open and closed, to the beat of what was once the noise emanating from his EEG and EKG readouts.

"So, you think I can actually stop these people who escaped?" One brow raises slowly, "I mean, I don't think I can just… walk out there and do this, I don't even have any idea of how to do the stuff you said." He dithers, looking a bit lost, "But…" That look starts to fade as he finds his resolve. "If you need me, I mean, if I can use…" A laugh breaks his composure, "I can't believe I'm actually saying this — If I can use my powers to help make what happened here right again?" He looks to Bryan, silently, then back to Odessa, "Sign me up."

Odessa watches Peter's hands as though watching an animal she suspects might make a move to pounce. "Stop doing that," she says quietly. She forces a smile when he agrees to help, however. "Oh, good. I knew you would see it my way."

Peter turns his head, arching a brow and looking back from the glass window that had momentarially stolen his focus. "Hmm?" But Peter only catches her smile, forced as it is, and the more amiable and gentle nature she seesm to put forth in her tone of voice, "If it means getting out of this cell, and helping you put dangerous people back where they belong…" Peter closes his eyes, nodding his head solemnly. "I'll do whatever I can." He glances over to Bryan one more time, as if trying to gague exactly what the silent man is thinking, then turns his focus back to Odessa. "Show me what I need to do."

Odessa's smile brightens. "I'll get the paperwork." She moves quickly for the door, grabbing Bryan by the arm. "Stay right there. I'll be back before you know!" She opens the door and drags the hapless agent with her, "Come on, Buckley!"

Watching the pair leave, Peter's gaze lingers on Bryan for a time, still not quite certain what to think of him. Once the door is closed, and Peter is by himself again, his eyes wander down to his open palms, ones which close tightly into clenched fists as a smile crosses his face. Slowly opening his eyes, Peter nods once to himself, "I'm going to be a hero."

September 25th: I Have a Job for You
September 26th: Of Death Threats and Demons
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License