Youthful Experimentation

I went to college, too, you know. And if there's one thing I remember it's that college is a place for experimenting.

I'm reminded of my good friend Melvin, and the nights we used to spend together in that dark, sterile biology lab. I was young, and not all that sure what I was doing. I would poke and prod, and enjoy watching Melvin's responses. We both had no idea what it was we were hoping for, but we knew this was a step in the right direction.

The games we would play into the night were always so much fun. Melvin liked being on the receiving end. "Goalie," I believe is the term.


He was a good guinea pig, and zapping him with electrodes was really what inspired me to go into the paper business in the first place.

While boys turn to math and science to fulfill themselves in college, women turn to lesbianism.

I decided I would need to keep a close eye on my Claire Bear, as always. But it would be difficult with her away in college and letting some strange woman into her life.

Fortunately, the first strange woman fell out of a window, providing the opportunity for a new strange women to step in.


"Wow, Mr. B," my daughter's new BFF said to me over dinner, "you have the coolest glasses. Does your optometrist own a time machine or something?"

I smiled and replied, "Thank you."

The dinner was going very well. Both girls were enjoying the delicious yellow while I munched down some of the brownish green.

"Sometimes," Gretchen began, "people can do things no normal person can do. Yep, learned that one in my bibliography class."

"You mean biology?" I corrected her.

"Yes!" She went on, "I knew a girl that could wear bees as a bikini. And there was a girl that could throw up and stay thin. And there's a girl that can sing an entire Madonna song without feeling like a whore. And there's a girl that--"

"Do you have a point?" Claire interrupted rather rudely.

It was obvious to me something was up.

Gretchen replied, "No point, just saying it's cool how people can have special talents."

Was Gretchen hinting at Claire's ability, I wondered? Or something worse? Lesbian innuendo, perhaps?

I called Claire out on it when Gretchen stepped away for a moment to go make herself thinner. "So, you two..." I said.

"Oh, my God! Dad, like, it wasn't my fault. She just sort of found out, okay, but, like, seriously, please don't killer her and stuff. I don't need another, like, dead roomie."

I agreed not to Haitian or kill Gretchen, out of respect for their budding relationship. Besides, something tells me that Gretchen is going to prove to be even more effective than the surveillance equipment I installed in my Claire Bear's bears.

Let's just say, I always have a plan.

I have issues.

Don't we all, but of course. But since they are MY issues, I find them to be more important than anyone else's issues.

However, at this time I would like to offer you some sage advice. Never do the old switcheroo with the mind, body, and soul of any being of any kind. It'll just bring you buckets full of fun. Fun being defined as total and wretched hell. Actually, hell is an understatement. As the great and wise Sam Kinison once said, "Hell would be like Club Med." And if that's the case, come find me on the Lido deck when this is all over.

I have no idea what I was thinking. All I recall is seeing Nathan slumped back in a chair, looking glassy eyed and brain dead, with bodily fluids spewing from someplace or another. It was very reminiscent of his hazing days back in Annapolis. I saw those pictures he sent to Peter as inspiration for the boy to aspire to be something more than upstanding citizen with a ranging God complex. Nothing says accomplishment more than doing jello shots and blow lines off the ass of a mediocre-looking hooker.
Just ask my dead husband.

But as I was saying...

Yes. Drama abounds for me. I have some serious problems to contend with, none of which are barely palatable. Even all of the Beluga in Moscow can't save me now. This mind swap thing has managed to even ruin my lunches. I never know with whom I'm sharing my wasabi and edamame with.

Is it Son A?

Is it Son B?

Or is it a combination there of?

Who's to say? What happens is anyone's guess. It's complete and total shenanigans. Let the pandemonium begin.

And it's not like I'm receiving any help of any kind. I'm not the only one with hands in the dirty bath water. Even though this was my not so bright idea, I wasn't the one that went through with the evil act. If I recall correctly, I had two partners in this unspeakable crime.

Accomplice A: Detective Matt Parkman

Yes. Even Bruce Wayne knows that a to be a true hero, one must occasionally slum, and do something so skanky even the hired help would be ashamed of it. But to you, Detective Parkman, I must warn you that despite the snazzy get up, a leather suit that chisels out an Ando Masahasi six pack and dons you with a bondage mask for a hero does not make.

That little sh*t in your head is spot on. Use your power to help yourself, you martyr. That hooker ho that you still call your wife (even though you're divorced) is cheating on you as if the world was ending. The Water Cooler boy? He's the least of your worries. You have yet to meet the pimply mess behind the counter at In and Out Burger, Kevin Federline, and the ghost of Alejandro Herrera.
It seems the poor dear will take any scraps she can get her hands on. Though, perhaps she's in the right. She should hedge her bets. After all, it only took the telepathic man all of five minutes to forget the "love of his life," and that he and his turtle stalked her all the way from the airport to a cornfield in Tornado Alley, BFE. Viva la lost love. And get an STD test. Just a thought.

And as for Accomplice B, Mr. Noah Bennet?

That's just the height of rudeness, is it not? Do I have any Grey Poupon? For what? For that weenie that he roasted over Sylar's body when he was the bon fire du jour? (As opposed to his Baby Momma! SNAY-UP! OH NO I DIDN'T!!!)

I'll give Noah this; at this moment, he's lost in his own misery that his Haus Frau of a wife kicked him to the curb, and now he'll have to broaden his horizons, put himself out there, and go for a woman that he can spit shine his glasses with.

Any woman who shows up at your home lingerie-clad or already in the nude already knows what she wants. Aside from that, even a woman like myself knows what perfection looks like. You could bounce a Japanese Yen off that ass of hers. Who cares about eating cereal for dinner when you can flaunt a lady like Miss Strauss in front of your ex-wife and her home perm?
It's not that simpering Sandra made me want to throw up in my mouth. It's just...simpering Sandra made me want to throw up in my mouth. Anyone that obsessed with a dog needs to go to the Jessica Simpson School of Doggie Co-dependence. Bow, wow, wow, indeed.

That and Miss Strauss is quite fond of the single strand, pearl necklace. A woman with fine tastes, if I do say so myself. And I do. So she is.

As for myself, I think I need some time to figure out what's best for me in all of this. After all, it's all about me, as it should be. But I have high hopes that with some good old fashioned self medicating, and some quality shut eye, I should be able to conjure up some kind of solution that benefits me to no end.

That, or I'm a dead woman in about three months. Does anyone want to bet on me in a death pool? Someone call Vegas and get the odds. I just may bet on myself.

Tick tock,

Dame Angela Petrelli

Tracy's Top Three

Friends, Americans, admirers, I have returned!

Yes, at long last love, your cold angel of beauty is back to shine the icy glow of her radiance upon your pitiful, unglamorous lives. I am so, so sorry for my long absence, but now I am here to make it all better. Rejoice, and heal yourselves with the soothing balm that is my reflected beauty. You may all breathe easy now.

Well, except for this poor schlub.



Yes, friends, a new development for me! Something I never thought I could do, and yet here I am doing it. A new ability, one I will be able to put to use saving the rest of the world as Supersexy Superhero Tracy Strauss.

I am finally letting you all witness the glory that is my naked back. Wouldn't you be proud of me if you weren't too busy ogling me?

Oh, and that water thing, too. That's new as well.

But really, everyone, these past two months have seen so many new horizons open up for me, and because I feel guilty for depriving you of my icy beauty for so long, I will share the best ones with you in a list I'm calling Tracy's Top Three.

#3: New Understanding of My Hideous Sister Niki
I finally understand what drove her to the brink of madness. It was being forced to wear Prison Jumpsuit Orange.



And having endured this travesty myself, I now have a better understanding of what drove my poor sister to act like a crazy, unglamorous psychopath. Beware, all ye who design prison clothes, I am coming for you.

#2: New Abilities
I learned a lot of new tricks while on the run from Danko and the U.S. Government, henceforth to be known as the Horde of Ugliness. In addition to my newfound powers of Blindingly Beautiful Nudity and Super-Gorgeous Water Action, my Fierce Ice Skills have evolved to new heights, allowing me to freeze an entire parking garage of ugly people in a flash. I call it my Cold Snap.


Another bonus. I am now effectively immortal, a true Goddess of Beauty. Whether it's freezing myself and getting shattered (which is surprisingly a bit of a turn-on, ladies, take note), or simply turning into water when I'm slashed across my beautiful face (which is still unscarred, don't worry!), I now seem to be invulnerable to harm, allowing my loveliness to endure forevermore.

Watch and be amazed, my lovelies.

"But wait!" you exclaim. Who would have the audacity to even try to slash me across the face? Well, the answer to that is...

#1: New Love?!
Yes, friends, Tracy Strauss, supersexy superheroine extraordinaire, the ice queen with a frozen, impenetrable heart, may have finally found true love.

I mean, just LOOK at him. :">

I never got his name or number, but one look at this dreamboat as he sliced up Danko at superspeed (and then tried to do the same to me) and I was hooked. Finally, someone to equal me in both hotness and cold, deadly superpoweredness! Nothing like Psycho Traitor Ex-Loverboss Nathan Petrelli, oh no, this guy embraced his power in a way that I have never seen ANYONE do so other than... well, me.

And when I grabbed him by the arm to shatter his knife, that might just have been an excuse to hold his hand.

Maybe. ;)

Sexy. Lethal. Superpowered. Am I in love?

XOXO (but especially for him),
Supersexy Superhero Tracy Strauss

Photo Caption Contest: Spying Heidi

You remember me, yes? Please, tell me you do. It's an utter nightmare, my life. Thank God I'm no longer a paraplegic, thanks to Nathan's connections. But thanks to Nathan's connections, I was a made a paraplegic in the first place.

However, that's all behind me. If being handicapable has taught me anything, it's that you have to keep rolling forward. Mainly because steering on those things is impossible.

While I've been moving forward, setting out a new life for myself and the children, I can't help but notice what's going on in my ex-husband's life. My private investigator just keeps bringing me photos.

The truth is, I can't make sense of all of them, so I'm enlisting your help. Provide a caption for the photos below. The best captions will be selected as winners! And if there's anything society likes more than people who can use their legs it's winners.

Photo #1:

Photo #2:

Photo #3:

Photo #4:

Photo #5:

Rules: To participate, simply comment your photo captions on this post. You can caption for as many as you'd like. Be sure to include the photo number of the caption.

The funniest and wittiest will be chosen and winners declared soon. Check out past Photo Caption Contest winners here.

I Should Have Worn Tights.

As most of you know by now, I am Rebel, super hero to all of those that were trapped in Building 26 or getting there. You would think that finally living out my dream of helping people that I would be happy. I’m not. It’s true I love saving people I feel like Astro boy, but I feel under appreciated and forgotten. I didn’t mind hiding out and being incognito, but sometimes the situation called for face to face action. And well I felt like I was the main star of a freak circus. Every time someone saw me they would give me a look that Paris Hilton would give if she walked into a Star Trek convention. Then the famous line, “You’re just a kid.” So what? Would you have rather me been at home playing Kingdom Hearts all night like a kid should instead of sending you warnings and putting you on the road to safety? Why must you judge me? I’m a genius; I know what I’m doing. Did you want me to turn around and go home because I’m not tall enough to ride the Superman? If my mom was around she wouldn’t be happy with you guys.

Speaking of my mom; people are always asking me about the name Rebel. They tell me I’m such a momma’s boy, that I’m too obedient of a kid that I can’t be a rebel. Well guess what? I am. My parents never wanted me to do this dangerous work, but I am.

(So, so, so, so sorry mommy.)

And if that’s not being a rebel then I have no idea what is! I’m pretty much as bad as they come. I can’t help it; it runs in my blood. I guess I got a little Jessica in me too. Doing this is worst than the time when I gave that weird Japanese man a doctored photo of my mom in return for the first edition of 9^th Wonders.

Now I admit I’m thankful that people wanted to help me with my Rebel work, but now they’re just trying to take credit. Rebels a group? Are you for real? The people with me, hogging my spotlight, are nothing more than tag alongs. Calling Rebel a group is like calling Destiny’s Child a group. We all know Destiny only had one child. I’m sorry, but this is a solo career. Kelly and Michelle can get out. And by Kelly and Michelle I mainly mean West. Just because he’s about a foot taller than me he thinks he’s a heartthrob. Having a few chest hairs doesn’t make him Orlando Bloom. I mean I have a chest hair too and I don’t think I’m Will Smith! It really peeves me that he’s taking all the girls. IM REBEL, NOT HIM!

Just remember next time you're in trouble and you need someone to call; I’ll be playing Scrabble…by myself.

Micah Sanders aka Rebel

A House Divided Forgets to Serve Dog Food

Poor me. Poor, precious little Mr. Muggles. That's how Mother put it. And I couldn't agree more. I'm officially a statistic, another innocent child trying to survive in a broken home.

With the oldest, Claire, off to college, and Lyle doing whatever it is Lyle does (nobody ever notices him or cares anyway), it's just Mother and I left to fend for ourselves. That's right. No more Father.

He didn't die. Again. No, this time it's far worse. He....he....I can barely say it....he left us. I suppose it's my fault, really. I never appreciated him. He was just some mysterious man in a suit that stole Mother's attention away from me on occasion. It wasn't until he was gone for good that I realized how important he was to this family.

"Oh, my," Mother exclaimed, "I don't know what happened to Mr. Muggles' doggie bath. I swear, it must have grown legs and walked out of here. I just can't find it anywhere!"

She never could find anything. That's what Father was for, always reminding her of the important things that this family depended on, like doggie baths and potassium. It's been over four weeks since I've had a proper grooming, and who knows the last time a banana has entered this house. How is a champion show dog expected to survive in these conditions?

And then she has these strange men over. "Thanks for fixing the water dispenser, Roy."

"No, problemo," the so-called dude replied on his way out.

"Wait just a moment," Mother called out. "You know...there's this new TV show on called Cougar Town. Have you seen it?"

Roy scratched his head, "Nope. I only watch MTV. Love the tunage!"

As if MTV played tunage anymore.

The phone rang, and Roy answered. "Some guy asking for Sandra," he said handing it to Mother. With that, he left to go solve other needy middle-aged women's plumbing problems, much to Mother's dismay.

I barked to get Mother's attention. My bowl laid empty on the floor. With a competition coming up soon, I was in serious need of potassium to help make my coat shine its brightest. But did Mother care? No.

She ignored me. "I don't get it. What am I doing wrong? Maybe I'll go visit Claire. I wonder if college guys like Kool-Aid...." she trailed off as she began searching through the cabinets.

Moments later we arrived on campus with a tray full of oatmeal raisin cookies and a jug of sweet tea. "I think I'll just set up here," she said noticing the sign that read Football Try-outs, 4:00 pm.

"Ugh, mom! What are you, like, doing?" Claire asked as she stomped over to us.

"You know. I'm just trying to be here to support you," she offered Claire a cookie. "Losing a close, dear friend can be tough."

"We weren't close, and I'm cool with it now anyway," Claire replied. "No, like, seriously, don't embarrass me, or I'll have to throw myself out a window."

Claire's always so dramatic. I'm the one who still hasn't been fed, and she's pouting about being embarrassed in front of all these people who already think she's some crazy murderer. You can't leave a dead schoolmate everywhere you go and not expect people to raise eyebrows.

I on the other hand have no malicious rumors circulating about me. I couldn't afford it. The show life is a tough one. Rumored murder would be the death of me. I'd have to kill anyone who thought I was a murderer.


Lyle had to learn that the hard way. I mean, everyone knows I'm a sweet, compassionate Pomeranian without a bad bone in my cute, little body.

Runnin' Away With the Carnival?

As you lot 'ave likely noticed I've been out of sight (not all that unusual for me) and out of touch. You see, after my last post, those black ops blokes caught up with me, and Lee, and Tarot, as well. In all the confusion, Tarot and I were separated. Thanks to Rebel and his team, Lee and I were set free but not before they'd taken us across the Pond. As luck would have it, circumstances were such that I had the somewhat good fortune to be teamed up with Molly Walker, who can find anyone anywhere, even me. Given that, findin' one barmy seer would be child's play. And yeah, that pun was intentional. But first I needed some less conspicuous clothing. I really didn't need to look like I'd left a psych ward if and when I decloaked, not to mention that the hospital type garb the black ops group had given me weren't terribly warm.

Bein' on the run and invisible, I couldn't exactly just pop into a store and shop. I haven't had a steady job since the Company fired me, literally. Almost actually terminated me for good. But anyway, like I said, I couldn't shop properly, so Molly and I absconded into a store, invisibly, so I could nick what I needed. She didn't like what I was doin' but I reminded her that if I decloaked and tried to buy anything, not only was there the fact I'm likely on an international most wanted list in addition to whatever list that black ops team'd had, and the fact I look like I escaped an insane asylum, there was also the fact that I didn't have any money and neither did she. That got her to stop whitterin' but I could still feel her diapproving looks. Maybe when she's a bit older she'll understand about 'aving your own personal code. When you have a talent for hidin', you're on the run, and have no cash, stealin' is OK. I also nicked a 6 pack of beer while at the store. I was gonna nick Molly some soda but she didn't want any.

My next task was to find a map and a photo of Tarot. You see, Molly needed a picture to find my current partner in crime, which, thanks to the internet wasn't too hard to come by. Molly didn't care to stay with me as she had other plans (plus she doesn't like that I nick things), and I won't say just what young Miss Walker has planned but suffice to say I made sure she was both safe and where she wanted to be, before we parted ways. I also made a mental note to have a good long talk with Tarot about the pics (and other things) that she chooses to put online. While it made my findin' her via Molly easier, no tellin' whom else it may have led to her and it's likely why they grabbed her beyond the fact that she'd been 'angin' about with me.

Between all that's been goin' on, the nagging from Molly about nicking stuff, my gift, and Tarot's gift, there's this carnival, Sullivan Brothers, that I'm thinking the two of us ought to see if we can join. Something besides Tarot's ability tells me we won't be the only specials there. I had a butcher's at them on the way to collecting Tarot, and they seem like a decent bunch. Something I don't often find. I reckon they ought to be good cover for an invisible man and a seer. Whether they want us or not and how long we'll be with them for, I can't really say. Some'ow I think we'll fit right in and besides, who else knows better about hidin' in plain sight than I? I'll let you lot know how it pans out, provided I don't get detained again and provided they don't object to Tarot or I bloggin' about it.

Love at First Slice

How could I possible explain these urges inside me? I seek redemption, I long for peace but I still gain pleasure from delivering blows with the tip of my blade- my beautiful, sharp Kukri swords that could cut through flesh like a warm knife cutting through butter. But I digress. In seeking redemption it’s easy to fall off the wagon.



With my new and improved look on life I decided to retrieve the compass Samuel desperately wanted. Well, I didn’t actually have a choice since Samuel started choking me with his weird ink and he did it in front of a very semi-naked Lydia.



I knew he was trying to sabotage our forbidden love since he’s just jealous because she finds me attractive and he just looks like he needs to wipe the eyeliner off his crusty old face and get rid of that chipped black nail polish.



And who wouldn’t? Look at me?



You would think that it wouldn’t be so hard to run in, (since I am a speedster) gut Emile Danko (and why in the hell would he keep a key in his stomach) and run out. Except this blonde woman, found me. In fact this blonde woman might be the world’s most perfect woman.



I was able to cut her with my blades and she just simply splashed into water. I had to find this woman, after all think of all the kinky-pretendy-fun-time games we could play and she wouldn’t even get hurt.



First I decided to see if she hung around at any comic-con conventions. But I had to go in a disguise so she wouldn’t recognize me. I couldn’t find her but I was suddenly attacked by Starwars Fan boys who insisted I show them my smooth Jedi Moves. Who did they think I was? Some Starwars Geek? Needless to say she wasn’t at the comic con convention.



I spent the rest of the day stalking this woman just so I could find her. And then it hit me. Why am I wasting my time trying to find this woman when I can just Google? Needless to say I wasn’t disappointed in what I found.

Hokoed on Phnoics

I hvae an addcition. I cna't hlep it.



Yes, I'ev been staeling Matty Rj's Hokoed on Phnoics becuase I hvae a prolbem wiht raeding and wirting. Dlysexai is a disaese, yuo konw.

Tyr as I mya, I jsut cna't kcik teh hbait. I need Hokoed on Phnoics! I treid ohter tihngs: laerning my CBA's, falsh crads, pertending I'm a frogiener. Ntohing hleps.

Btu waht's wrose is taht I hvae a pschyopath insdie my slihgtly-dibsabled mnid.


"Yuo konw yuo wnat to use it!" Slyar mcoks me.

"On! Nevre!" I shuot bcak, frihgtening teh poeple aruond me.

"Yuo msut! Yuo're a pahtetic, oervwiehgt lsoer woh cna't splel. Yuo need Hokoed on Phnoics!"

"OoOoOocooOoOOOOOn!"

Slyar cotnineud as no-lookers ran awya form me, "Yuo tihnk Ryo teh Wtaer Clooer Gyu can splel?"

I thuoght abuot taht and siad, "Wlel...atcually he porbalby cna't."

"Ture," Slyar amditted. "Btu he has lokos! He deosn't need brians!"

Adn so I gvae in to Slyar's tmeptatoin. I sunck itno Matty Rj's room adn garbbed his Hokoed on Phnoics.

"C-A-T," I repaeted. "Cta."

I ma ahsamed.

Redemption

What is this human desire to seek forgiveness for our many sins?

Is it not the very act of sinning that makes us human? Does not sin keep us from being the gods we would otherwise surely be?

And yet, we feel it is our destiny to repent, to beg the shattered bowl for its forgiveness for allowing it to shatter on the cold, hard tile of the kitchen floor. Are we not ourselves hurt, too, by such sin? Do we not lose the opportunity to enjoy our spaghetti, should we err in such a manner? Despite the self-inflicted pains that such sins may cause us, we find inflicted on us guilt ten times as strong. And it is this guilt that motivates us, that presses us forward on destiny's path to become a better person, to create an even superior pasta dish, in the hope that, this time around, we won't let the dream shatter.

Even, I, a doctor and professor and part-time taxi driver, have found myself racked with the guilt of my many sins. By my very definition, I should bring happiness and joy to others: healing their illnesses, imparting on them knowledge and transporting them from point A to point B. Yet, I have strayed from these noble paths; I have sought out personal reward at the expense of others.

There was a time when after shooting a mysterious person to death, I would seek redemption by giving him back life.

But why have I not redeemed myself for supergluing my misguided moronic neighbor to the wall of my lair? Why have I not made my peace with an attractive Mexican immigrant I so callously committed romanticide against in cold blood?

Perhaps that is what I am doing now; perhaps this new path that I am on is truly a path to redemption. Could it be that every action I take, every thought that comes now into my mind, is simply my subconscious driving me to achieve, to become worthy of, forgiveness?

Then, perhaps we are all on that path, together.

Could it be that behind a senile woman's sock-thievery exists some greater need to find forgiveness?


Maybe it is the power of redemption that allows an overweight loser to forget the death of a woman far, far out of his league with whom he miraculously had a shot, and instead settle contently with the homely mother of his child.


And, if there truly is a God, then perhaps it is his will to use the need for redemption to lull a pubescent young cheerleader into the throes of lesbianism as her subconscious attempts to reconcile her dismissive mistreatment of her homosexual childhood friend.


If revenge is a dish best served cold, then redemption should surely be served à la mode. We are each a shameful chef in the kitchen of destiny, being driven to serve up meals by the ungrateful patrons of our lives, those we've wronged and those who have wronged us. Do we create a world-class cuisine for their enjoyment or simply spit into a plate of cold ziti for ours? Time shall reveal to us all the answer, but perhaps the first step, the pre-heating of redemption's oven, will start today.

I await in anticipation what our search for redemption has to offer. Will we succeed , finding forgiveness and a better way of life? Or will we fall back into old habits of greed and destruction, turning this Earth into a brutal arena of self-interested gluttonous gladiators?

Back to the Grind

Work. It's all I ever seem to do. Even in the six week vacation I managed to talk Angela into giving me, I found myself hard at work training a new apprentice. This thing never ends.

Of course, when you work as hard as I do, it can become difficult to balance a good family life with the work life. Divorce helps.

You remember how I used to have that annoying little cheerleader girl that I had to protect and take care of twenty-four seven? And she wouldn't go away to boarding school, and I couldn't kill her, and her IQ was too high to join the circus. Well, she's her mother's problem now.


But then I saw this. Yes, I still have The Haitian follow my Claire Bear around and report back to me on her behavior. Just in case.

"Sandra, how can you let her hang out with that thing?" I demanded over the phone.

"That thing?" she replied puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That thing! Don't you know he's Sy--uh, a Republican?"

"Oh, honey," she said in that uninformed housewife voice of hers, "we're upper-middle class White Christians. We like Republicans."

"But he's," I hesitated. "A politician!"

"Good. She'll get real world experience and meet important people to help her in life," Sandra responded.

"He's a philanderer!" I blurted out.

"And thank God for that," she said, "or we wouldn't have our sweet little Claire at all."

I hung up the phone realizing Sandra was no longer going to blindly help me control Claire's life. I would have to blindly help myself to do that.

Meanwhile, I had Angela harping about the new Company. "We have to do this, and this, and I need new socks, and then there's this, and this needs to be copied, and fax this to this, blah, blah, blah...." She never shuts up. I thought she would simply be a figurehead, and I'd get to be the man in charge. After all, I'm the only one of this entire operation with any real knowhow, any real ingenuity.

Suddenly, Angela interrupted once more, "Noah, since you're the only one with any real knowhow, any real ingenuity, I need you to get coffee for Congressman Wilson."


I hurried back from Starbucks with a Pumpkin Spice Latte for the Republican from South Carolina. "Oh, looks like an important meeting," I said noticing all the big wigs gathered in Nathan's office.

"Very important, Noah," Angela replied, as she closed the door on me.

"Perhaps I could offer my expertise?" I quickly shouted through the closing gap.

"Ugh!" she sighed. "Fine." I entered the smoke-filled room as she introduced me, "Everyone, this is our operations manager and receptionist, Noah Bennet."

I smiled politely and took a seat in the corner.

"Go on, Nathan," Angela said.

Nathan continued his speech to the handful of important politicians. "As I was saying, these new developments must be contained, but in a humane and civilized manner. Human rights cannot be violated. I assure you, under this plan we will provide them with the protection and support they need. We're not trying to harvest their brains."

"You lie!" I shouted.