Years Gone



Scene Title Years Gone
Synopsis The world gathers around to watch…
Date November 8, 2011

It is a bright and sunny day, without a cloud in the sky.

«My fellow Americans…»

Warm rays of autumn sunlight spill through the muslin-white curtains of the Oval Office. The Resolute Desk sits unoccupied, every notebook and folio on its surface squared just so. A portrait of George W. Bush hangs on a nearby wall, beside which a likeness of the current president hangs with his stern brows and tense shoulders, with a smile sharp at both ends like a pair of knives. Most Presidents share that smile.

«…my fellow New Yorkers.»

Seated on a midnight blue sofa situated in the middle of the room, Vice President Andrew Mitchell sits with his hands clasped together and brow heavy with consideration. His dark eyes are upturned toward the television at the back of the room, mounted on the wall, where Nathan Petrelli stands before a flag-waving crowd of onlookers bundled for the early-autumn weather on a perfect, cloudless day.

«Please let us take a moment to remember the men, women, and children…»

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Mitchell turns to the table in front of him and the cell phone sitting dark and silent just out of arm’s reach. He breathes in, deeply, then exhales a slow and steady sigh as he turns his attention back to the television. There’s the President, photogenic and commanding the cameras, and behind him the ruins of Midtown Manhattan sprawl like a war-torn wasteland, the long necks of cranes reaching up behind his shoulders like the broken off stubs of what were once wings.

«…who were taken from us five years ago.»

Mitchell’s phone on the table keeps drawing his attention. He was waiting, nearly praying for something.

«Five bells…»


«…for the five years of sorrow.»

To go wrong.

Eight Years Later


Long Island, New York

11:08 am

November 8th



«…and we’re just minutes away from the launch of the RXS Falcon capsule that will take the 12 astronauts on board up to the Latimer Incorporated spacecraft Itinerant Dawn where the remainder of the international crew is waiting.»

Today is a momentous day.

«The Itinerant Dawn’s launch will mark the beginning of a new era for spaceflight.»

It’s also an infamous one.

Odessa’s instinct had been to curl up in bed and hide under the covers until the clock on her wall ticked over to 00:01, but instead she’s sitting on the floor with a pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes and the hood of her track jacket pulled over her head, knees tucked into her chest. Looking up at the television screen.

«Latimer engineer and Itinerant Dawn creator Thomas Nowak is prepared to make a speech, shortly.»

She’d considered requesting exile to space and can’t help but wonder at the motivations of the individuals chosen for this historic voyage. What makes them special enough to make this journey? What are they giving up and leaving behind to take this leap? Jealousy twists at her heart.

Apprehensiveness gnaws at her guts.


NYC Safe Zone

Memorial Wall, Ferrymen’s Bay

11:17 am

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«There they are, the remaining crew of the Itinerant Dawn making their walk across the docking arm to the capsule.»

Countless papers pinned to the Memorial Wall flutter in the chill autumn wind. The air busily whips small white peaks off Ferryman’s Bay. Standing alone amidst visitors to the wall, the looming form of Luther casts a gloomy shadow as he scans the names, the messages, the mementos. Those who are counted amongst the lost have a place here, but he can think of several others who don’t find a place amongst the flowers and candles. Thoughts swirl as he hunkers down further into his coat. It’s not the physical chill that makes him shudder. In his earbuds, the news of Itinerant Dawn’s launch going forward unsettles the man. He could not imagine a more inauspicious day for such a risk-filled endeavor.

«We have on the line with us, via video conference, engineer Thomas Nowak, designer of the cutting edge technology that will allow the Itinerant Dawn to traverse the stars unlike ever before.»

Luther shifts his gaze to the headless, half-submerged, half-covered in seafowl shit statue of Emile Danko sitting lonely out in the harbor. His gaze stares unfocusedly through the distance, his mind slipping back to another time when catastrophic events both historic and personal unfolded on this date. His mind spirals further with the time-blurred memories of faces lost, threatening to sink him into the depths of despair, until he feels slender fingers curling around his rough hand pulling his attention back from the brink. He turns, and angled eyebrows quirk upward in surprise at the sight of the blond woman, his friend, who has sought him out. More surprising, she’s found him. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, and he tugs his earbuds out, silencing the voices describing the coming final countdown. “Hey,” he rumbles after a recovering beat.

«Mr. Nowak, how do you feel on this momentous day?»

Kaylee returns the smile a bit sheepishly and asks softly, "Tell me about them?"


Yamagato Park

Cresting Wave Apartments

NYC Safe Zone

11:19 am

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«Ah, ah, sick to my stomach, if we’re being honest? Proud—happy. Excited?»

It is a historic day.

«It sounds like you’re experiencing a wealth of emotions Mr. Nowak. Can you tell us a bit about what will happen when the remaining crew arrives?»

All the news channels available say so. The big in-set television screen on the pristine white wall plays on, chyrons scrolling along with big bold lettering while a newscaster stalls for time and content in announcing the impending historic launch of a spacecraft. Shaw isn’t paying very much attention to the commentary, instead leaned over to watch the light of a wafflemaker click off. He hums to himself a song learned from another timeline, one with bawdy lyrics he doesn’t sing aloud very much even in private, as he extracts a fresh made waffle to add to the short stack piled on a plate.

«Ah, well—yes. Yes. The next crew, they are uh, the volunteers? Brave, brilliant people. Giving up their lives for a dream, yes? Admirable, bold. Earth may lose them but history will remember them, no?»

“How many did you want, Eanqa’?” His question floats over the television voices to the scarred figure lazing on the couch.

«Of that I have no doubt, Mr. Nowak.»

“All of them.”

«But, ehm, you asked me what next? Yes, so—once they arrive, we will begin final preparations. Ship is in good condition, very ready to travel. We will make first jump once settled in and—»

“Wait, you want all the waffles?”

«Could you explain for our listeners at home what a jump means, Mr. Nowak?»

“Yes, Shahid, all the waffles.

«Oh—yes so. The Itinerant Dawn, it makes hops. Like rabbit? Folding space like cloth, point A to point Z like finger-snap. We make first jump from Earth to Mars, instantaneously, maybe. Long distance, you know?»


«My crew here at the studio is telling me that’s something like 33 million miles, is that right?»

“No, not really you dork. C’mere. Bring the plate.”

«Ehm, yes. I mean, orbit is further out now, but close to 54 million kilometers, yes. Very far, but in blink of eye.»

Shaw blinks in confusion, but picks up the plate, the bottle of syrup and a bowl of fresh fruit for toppings, and walks back into the common room. Items set down, he sits beside the pyrokinetic woman and glances over, mouth opening to ask a clarifying question. He doesn’t make it that far as warm hands pull his face in to meet her warm lips.

«You must be very proud to have made it this far, Mr. Nowak.»


Yamagato Building

Yamagato Park

NYC Safe Zone

11:22 am


«It is not about pride. People always ask me that. No, not pride. No proud.»

Arms crossed over her chest, the Director of Technology for Yamagato Industries has all eyes on the several different screens broadcasting the events of the space launch. Marlowe and her team have paused in their work - a scheduled delay of course - to bear witness to the watershed moment.

«Could you elaborate more?»

“Competition or not,” a young engineer pipes up in animated debate with a teammate, “Iterant Industries and Latimer Incorporated are to be lauded in their inclusivity of SLC-Expressive abilities alongside technology to ambitiously go beyond what we thought capable.”

«Is not pride, is hope. I feel hope. This ship, it could not go—could not be what it is without people like myself, Evolved—Expressive. We only want better future—brighter. We can build it with our hands, together, build a world of dreams whether here on Earth or out there.»

“Oh, is that why they’re about to throw 22 lives away into the void of space?” counters the teammate, skeptical scoff accompanying the query.

«Inspirational words, Mr. Nowak. We’re going to cut away now, I’m being told the Falcon capsule is preparing for its launch from the spaceport in Kenya.»

Marlowe clicks her tongue at the pair, hushing them before their voices overtake the initial sources. She can’t help the fluttering inside her, the sympathetic nervous anticipation of one who knows what it’s like to watch a project come to fruition. Or failure.

«We’re about to witness history. Thank you Mr. Nowak.»



11:27 am


«We’ve received word that the Falcon capsule has been cleared for launch.»

Ryans sat quietly at the table, beer setting on the table in front of him. However, his attention was centered on a storm radio sitting next to it. It crackled and hissed while a newscaster chattered on about the beginning of a new era of space exploration.

«There is a crowd of some five thousand gathered on the ground at the Luigi Broglio Space Center to watch the final launch.»

Ben might have been a bit jealous. He’d never say it to anyone, but a part of him wanted to go back up there.

«Last night ten members of the Itinerant Dawn’s crew arrived on the spacecraft after a successful launch from the Grottaglie spaceport in Italy to perform last-minute preparations for the vessel.»

One more time.

«We just spoke with Mr. Thomas Nowak, engineer and brainchild of the Itinerant Dawn. Following today’s launch the spacecraft will leave Earth orbit and travel in a single instant to distant Mars, whereby it will begin its journey through all of the remaining planets on a path out of the solar system

Blue eyes shift towards the ceiling, as if doing so would allow him a glimpse of history. Ryans never thought he’d ever live to witness something like that again. History. The first time was when man dared to defy their place in this universe, July 20th, 1969. He could still hear Walter Cronkite‘s voice and remember the iconic words of Neil Armstrong.

«The remaining 12 passengers represent civilian volunteers who will participate in the journey across the stars, each one of them an SLC-Expressive individual seeking to bring their unique abilities and perspectives to the unknown frontier.»

One small step for man.

«It’s been just over 50 years since the first moon landing, and we’re joined in the studio by Geneva Isfeld of Latimer Incorporated to say a few words about this monumental day.»

They had all been crowded around the TV in the rec room in the barracks, newly graduated from basic training and gearing up to ship out to a war that would change his entire life. Ryans had only been 16 years old…

«Thank you for joining us Ms. Isfeld, we’ve heard from Thomas Nowak earlier. Do you share in his hopeful aspirations for the future?»

“One giant leap for evokind,” Ben rumbles out before taking a drink of his beer, then cradles it nervously in both hands.


Yamagato Park

Cresting Wave Apartments

11:34 am


«I am hopeful, I truly am.»

Godfrey rarely ever used the TV in his spacious and elegant apartment at Yamagato, but at the moment it was streaming the launch of the evo-driven spaceship called the… Id—- unno what its name is and don’t particularly care.

«Thomas is humble in explaining his role in the creation of Itinerant Dawn and… I’ll admit part of that has been out of caution for his well-being. But on the day of the launch, I want the world to truly understand his contributions.»

He had other plans.

«Thomas didn’t just design the space-folding engine that will bring the Dawn to the edge of the solar system and beyond…»

The elegantly dressed red-head on his couch was part of that plan, watching the launch together had only been the hook. A wicked smile curled Godfrey’s lips while he gracefully poured out a rather pricey red into a pair of fluted glasses. However, the scientist droning on about science things was sapping the mood right out of him. Ugh.

«He is the engine.»

To make matters worse, his companion hung on every word that scientist said. This was not how he had planned the evening to go. Time to change that!

«Thomas has designed a machine that interfaces with his abi—»

Snagging the remote off the pale grey leather of the couch, Godfrey clicks the TV off with a simple and aloof, “Boooooring.” Of course, this is followed by vocal protests about missing history, but it doesn’t take much to quickly silence them for more… passionate… pursuits.


Cooper’s Apartment

NYC Safe Zone

11:38 am


“O M G, dad!

«That’s absolutely fascinating, Ms. Isfeld. So, why has Latimer gone through such trouble to conceal Mr. Nowak’s ability from the public eye?»

“What?” Cooper looks at his daughter innocently as she stares blankly at a rocket wobbling on the end of a spring perched atop his head. Giving his head a wiggle to make the rocket bounce back and forth he asks, “This?” Knowing full well what it looked like.

«We were worried about reprisals. This project has received a tremendous amount of hate from fringe anti-expressive groups that see what we’re going to accomplish as a threat.»

“I’m telling Raquelle.” Ellen comments like a child who is going to tattle to mom. “This is exactly why you are still single.”

«Thomas is an integral part of the dream of the Itinerant Dawn and it would make him an easy target for people wanting to do harm to the future of humanity to suit their own bigoted ends.»

That gets a flat look from Cooper, of course, his daughter just smuggly grins back. “Really? Can’t a dad have some fun while watching history?” The TV behind him showing a stream of the launch. Swinging the door open wider for her, he adds, “And I will have you know, I’m single because I choose to be.”

«Furthermore, we were afraid of intercession by the EU once they learned of what Thomas was capable of. He is not registered in the EUSR with his precise ability, and this act of political defiance in the face of fascist oppression is the kind of hope Thomas represents.»



«Ah—yes. Thank you Ms. Isfeld. We at the BBC would just like to clarify that Ms. Isfeld’s remarks do not represent the views or opinions of the BBC or its affiliates. Let’s—I’m being told the Falcon capsule is preparing for final countdown. Let’s—go live to the launch pad.»

Ellen points at couch and the guinea pig upon it. “Did you literally dress up Al as Princess Leia?!?” The subject in question sits up a little higher, giving a soft curious wheks, a pair of buns made of brown yarn bracket its head and a white cloth tied loosely around it.

«Thank you, I’m here in the viewing stands just outside of the Broglio Space Center launch pad in Malindi, Kenya. The energy in the crowd here is just palpable, I see so many Italian flags waving here. So many children with their families eager to see the launch.»

“Uh.. yeah. I mean, it fits the theme of today and I couldn’t exactly make Al wear a space helmet.” Cooper motions his daughter to follow, “Come on. Less talk more watch.”

«If you just—pan over the crowd here, take a look at that. And up there, the Falcon capsule high up at the arm of—ah! The docking arm is moving away, we must be approaching the final countdown!»

Ellen buries her face in her hands to stifle the laughter bubbling up, “Geez, dad, we’ve got to get you a life.”


Ferrymen’s Bay

NYC Safe Zone

11:43 am


«I can see smoke starting to issue from the bottom of the rocket, they’re firing up the engines now. The crowd is absolutely screaming with excitement.»

In his office aboard the Nouvelle Vue, Silas sits at a desk, sheets of paper scattered in front of him that are covered in numbers — projections, estimates, expenses, sums and differences. For a few minutes at least, though, he resolutely ignores them; there'll be time enough for more fighting numbers in a bit. Right now, though, he's got coverage of the Itinerant Dawn launch playing on the computer. It's a historic event, and therefore an excellent excuse to escape from do-it-yourself accounting for a bit.

«The docking arm has pulled completely away, we’re just momen—away fr—m —tory n—»

Or it would be, if his aging computer could handle things like video streaming without sounding like it's got millstones grinding in the case. He lets out an exasperated sigh as the playback rate slows to a crawl, whatever the commentators are trying to say minced and pulped into an incomprehensible string of sounds. "Oh come on, he grumbles, glaring as he reaches out to slap the side of the case.

«This is just momentous.»

The computer, rightfully fearing his percussive maintenance skills, decides to shape up; the momentary disruption of the video steam abates, leaving him to watch once more.


Red Hook Market

Red Hook, NYC Safe Zone

11:43 am


«I’m being told they’re testing the rocket, the crowd is all standing now, cheering.»

Why did it have to be so damn cold today?

«And—ah! A group of spectators have unrolled a banner on the stands, it says— it’s in Italian I can’t read it. Hold on, I’m going to get someone.»

Roxie huddled down further in the leather jacket, flipping up the collar to keep her neck warm. Didn’t help her rump, which sat on the cold ground. Above her a window was cracked just enough so that the sound of voices drifted through. Gossip had alerted Roxie to what was happening. People were going to travel the stars, just like in Star Trek. She has fuzzy memories of that when she was little. Going to places no man has ever been before… or something like that.

«We’re seeing a lot of energy in the crowd, the noise from the rocket is drowning out the cheers.»

Not having a home or radio of her own, Roxie has snuck around until she found someone in Providence who did.

«Clarke can you read that—the banner? Get a good close-up of it.»

“Warm enough?” Roxie quietly asks the large lump under her jacket, tugging the zipper down enough so that a nose could peek out. “You’re almost too big to do this, you know.” It was always a chore to zip up the jacket, but they made it work and it kept them both warm. Goober’s tongue flicks out and licks her chin, before the nose disappears into the jacket again. It was cold!

«Ah! That noise you’re probably hearing are the primary engines of the booster rocket firing up! We’re—Clarke speak up!»

Roxie can’t help a rare smile and rests her head back on the house siding behind her, tilting an ear ever so slightly to catch the news event. While the casters chatter about what was going on, Roxie closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it was like for the people on the ship, getting ready to leave this shit hole of a planet? Being on the right side of history.

«What? I can’t hear—»

She was jealous.


Sheepshead Bay

NYC Safe Zone

11:47 am

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«It seems we’ve lost our ground feed. We’re working on bringing it back online but we’re patched in to the KBC Channel 9 feed recording the broadcast from outside the launch zone.»

The network in Sheepshead Bay area is overloaded right now. Emily wasn't the only person who had the idea to try and watch a stream of the launch and any other footage that comes along with it, but — alas. Spotty coverage, even with the GhostNet, forced them to resort to other methods to be a part of the moment live.

«I’m being told the primary thrusters are firing, we’ve reached countdown and we’re patching in audio from mission control to our viewers at home.»

"Jesus, feels like we're back in like … what, I don't know, the forties?" she grumbles as she finally steps back from the television, slumping into a seat on the couch alongside Devon. The radio is turned on and tuned to the correct frequency, sitting in the windowsill. She pulls the blanket draped over the back of it down, drawing it around herself like a shawl while she settles in.

«Launch in T-Minus Ten.»

She furrows her brow while she listens, half-appreciating the momentous occasion— and half-reflecting on how incredible it is it's happening at all.


"People thought in our lifetime maybe we'd get to seeing the moon again, maybe Mars… and now thanks to the Evolved, we're going beyond the edge of known space." Emily looks over at Devon, those deeper thoughts reflecting in her eyes before she gives them voice. "Some days growing up— it all still felt a little unreal, despite everything. Despite — policies, despite the war. Like maybe if I just ignored it, it'd go away." The light leaves her eyes some with the admission, ashamed to admit that sheltered, even privileged mindset. "But days like today? It's…" She looks off for a moment, unsure how to put it. "It's not like we had anything to do with it, but I still feel proud, you know?"


"A literal giant leap for mankind." Devon may very well be stealing part of Neil Armstrong's famous quote but, now just as much fifty years ago, it's fitting and true. "It's a sign that we're recovering, that the world is putting the pieces back together." Maybe not perfectly, but it seems to be a solid step in the right direction. A small step for hope, a giant leap for humanity.


He looks up from the radio as Emily settles beside him and grins. It's exciting, and he's proud of the achievement. "It's one of those things we fought for. Not as a publicity stunt but to show and share what we're capable of. In a good way."


Leaning over, Devon pecks Emily's cheek with a kiss, then settles into couch. His head tilts to rest against the back of the couch. As the commentary on the radio continues, news casters competing with each other in their own excitement to get the latest updates out, he slides a hand into Em's and angles a look to the sky through the window. With the help of the descriptions coming through the speaker, he can almost imagine what the launch looks like in real time.



BBC Headquarters

Broadcasting House

Langham Place, London

United Kingdom

11:55 am

With the broadcast focusing on the launch countdown, a frustrated anchor rises up from her seat behind the desk, shouting across the divide of the studio to her producer. “What the fuck, Harold! Where is Malcom’s feed? We’ve got a shot of the rocket from a bloody mile and a half away, we’re absolutely fucking this—”

She catches a glimpse of her producer’s expression as he stands behind his monitors. Briskly, she eases her chair out and starts to circle around the desk while Geneva Isfeld, who had excused herself for a quick smoke after being so surreptitiously cut off, lingers in the doorway to the studio. “Harold, what’s going on?”

Harold looks up from the monitors, ashen, and the news anchor steps around to look down at the monitors of the launch site, confused at first. Then, the expression of confusion on her face turns to horror as she claps a hand over her mouth, stifling a screamed curse. “We can’t—broadcast this. We— Jesus fucking christ we—”

Geneva Isfeld screams, she hadn’t checked her phone in several minutes. As she looks up to the producer and anchor, starting to take a walk, a gunshot splits open her chest and sends her crumpling to the floor. A ringing noise echoes out across the studio, followed by screams of confusion and panic as three black-clad figures in masks stride into the broadcast room, one of whom wears a star-spangled scarf around his neck.

Put it on,” he demands, raising his shotgun and racking in another round.


Broglio Space Center

Malindi, Kenya

7:58 pm, Local Time

Billowing clouds of white smoke issue forth from the primary rocket of the Falcon capsule on the launch pad. Screams are drowned out by the roar of the engines, boots scuff through shell-casings on the floor. Bodies lay slumped in seats, huddled over one-another, smoke issues from the barrel of an automatic weapon trained down on a moaning figure on the ground. The gunshots are drowned out by the roar of a rocket, muzzle flash lights up the stands.

A banner, tied to the balcony railing, snaps in the wind. It depicts an Italian flag with writing stenciled across it in bright red. The gunman cracks a smile, rubbing one hand across a stubbled jaw. Reaching down at his side, he picks up a small mobile device and looks up to the rocket on the pad, rumbling as a fire builds beneath it.

The banner is in Italian. Humano è il Primo.


He prefers it in English.

“Human is First,” he says, depressing the switch.


The Itinerant Dawn

1,200 miles above the Earth

4:59 pm Greenwich Mean Time


Jesus Christ.”

A shaken astronaut says, clutching a portable display screen in one hand. She pivots, twisting about in mid-air in the low gravity, pushing off the bulkhead with tears in her eyes. An American Flag patch on her shoulder rests above her identification as A. Jimenez. Thomas Nowak floats in the arched doorway leading to the Itinerant Dawn’s engine room, surrounded by the sterile white and illuminated display screens of the cockpit.

“Thomas,” she says with a shake of her head, “Thomas, Jesus Christ.” Her thumb depresses the speaker button, headphones coming loose from her ears with a tug to float aimlessly through the cockpit.

«—oo long have we sat idly by watching the world believe us gone. We are not gone. Our ideals are not gone!»

Nowak exhales a shaky breath, Nowak floats over to look at the display. A red and white BBC pip sits at the bottom-right corner of the screen, but the man in the display wears tactical body armor and a black cloth mask and goggles, an American flag scarf around his neck. “No, no, no no no.” He splutters at the sight, a hand over his mouth.

«We may have lost the battle, but we will not lose the war. We will fight until we have made a new Earth, a PURE EARTH!»

“Jesus fuck, no! Get—we have to launch.” Nowak sputters, and Jiminez looks up from the screen, tears rolling down her cheeks.

«Look on our works, ye mighty, and despair.»

The display cuts from the speaker to footage of the launch pad, where a tremendous explosion rocks the Capsule, causing a chain-reaction explosion that blows down through the rocket on the launch pad in a cataclysmic ball of fire and black smoke. Nowak strangles a scream in the back of his throat, eyes filled with tears as the 12 civilian volunteer astronauts on board the rocket are slain in the fiery blast. The terrorist’s voice carries over the footage.

«There is nothing you can build we won’t destroy.»

“We have to launch!” Nowak screams, grabbing Jiminez by the shoulders, knocking the display pad out of her hands to float away and bounce off the nearby bulkhead. “Get on navigation, I’m going to the engine room.” Nowak demands, and Jiminez looks over at the console.

“Tom, we have thirty minutes of navigation prep at least. If we’re even a fraction of a degree off or if the power output is 1% too high we could wind up on the other edge of the fucking galaxy!” Jiminez protests, voice cracking. “We—” Suddenly Jiminez realizes something. “Where the hell is the rest of the crew?”

Realizing the absence of the others, Nowak quickly pivots around. “They should’ve been back from their final sweep. They— they— I’m going to the engine room. We’re launching!” But as Nowak turns toward the door he’s been hovering in front of, one of the crew does return. The second American astronaut, blonde hair pulled back into a bun, blue eyes fixed on Nowak.

God, where have you b—” Nowak sees she has a gun.

No!” Jiminez screams as Kara Prince raises her firearm up and shoots straight into the center of Nowak’s mass, but the engineer is gone in a rippling distortion of air. The bullet passes through that gap where Nowak was, traveling upwards before punching through the front of Jiminez’s brow, exiting the back in a spray of zero-gravity blood and bone, then rockchets off of the bulkhead. Jiminez hangs limply in the air with a slow pivot, and the second American astronaut turns to look toward the door to engine room ladder.

Below the flag on her arm patch is her name.

K Prince.



BBC Headquarters

Broadcasting House

Langham Place, London

United Kingdom

12:01 pm

“This world belongs to humanity,” the flag-wearing terrorist says into the camera. The remainder of the studio crew, including Geneva Isfeld, lay scattered and dead across the floor in growing pools of blood. “We are not subservient to the wishes of mutants in the human gene pool, we are not victims of evolution, we will not go the way of the Cromagnon.

Reaching up to grab the underside of his mask, the terrorist continues his speech, broadcast to the world. A promise, written in blood and fire.

“We are Humanity,” he says as he reveals his face, the backdrop behind him strained in the blood of once fleeing camera crew, “follow us and we will lead you to a new Earth.”


“A Pure Earth.”

Eight Years Earlier

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

Washington, DC

November 8th


The phone on the table finally rings.

Sitting forward, Mitchell picks up the phone and stands. His throat is tight. Behind him, the President’s voice continues on the televised memorial broadcast on a 5-minute delay, despite the Live pip in the bottom corner.

«We've been vigilant.»

“Yes?” Mitchell asks into the receiver, looking back over his shoulder at the television.

«We have been uncompromising..»

Whatever the voice on the other end of the line says, it’s enough to get Mitchell’s spine squaring straight. He snaps his focus to the television, brows furrowed. “You can’t—You can’t call me here.” Then, after a moment. “He’s in the middle of his speech right now, I don’t—” Mitchell tenses up, lips parting.

«And our efforts have paid off.»

“No, he’s in New York. I’m looking at him right—” Mitchell cuts himself off, eyes tracking from side to side, then down to the floor. “He what?” Mitchell croaks out, his hands trembling enough that he nearly drops the phone. He swallows again, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

«The nightmare is over.»

“We—we have to—to—” Mitchel is at a loss for words, jaw unsteadied and one hand sweeping over his mouth. “Contact Georgia, everyone. This is…” At a loss for words, Mitchell listens to the voice on the other end of the line, slowly shaking his head in disbelief as he looks into a window to the past on the delayed broadcast, before the moment the world would change once more was revealed.

«The world is safe.»

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