Seducing a brain-eating serial killer was not the mission I had expected to receive upon returning to The Company, but a Company Man doesn’t complain.
“We need you to do this, Noah.” Bob ordered.
As I approached the pink mansion, so too did I approach my opportunity to bag and tag this murderous loon.
“Murderous loon, huh?” came a familiar voice. I turned to see West Rosen, the mini-Nathan. “So you think this Sylar guy is a duck?”
“Not that kind of loon,” I patted him on the head and stepped inside.
“Greetings,” an elderly man said and reached for my suitcase.
I quickly pulled out my Primatech handgun and fired two slugs into his chest. “Oh, sorry. You’re not Sylar.” As I was searching the old man’s wallet for identification, another old man appeared.
“Greetings,” he said. I pulled my gun, but managed to not shoot him. “May I take your suitcase?”
“Sure,” I said. “What about this guy?”
“I don’t think he would have much use for it.” The old man slowly walked away with my luggage.
Just then, a young homosexual-looking man with fancy eye-wear approached. “Dig the rims,” he said. “Name’s Scott, by the way. So, do they keep your eyes from lasering everything to death too?”
“Um, no. They’re just so I can see stuff.”
He seemed to chuckle as though he felt superior and walked away. I would have shot him, but there’s an unspoken code among us vision-impaired.
“Excuse me, sir,” a hand tugged on my pants leg. I looked down to see an adorable little girl (I hate adorable little girls!) staring up at me. “Are you here to marry the bad man?”
“Are you here to marry the bad man?” I asked back mockingly.
“Hey! That’s mean,” she complained.
“Hey, that’s mean.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, you know what? That old guy doesn’t even work here. He just stole your suitcase.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, you know what? That old guy doesn’t even– Crap!”
“Ooh, you cussed!”
I pushed the little girl aside and began my search for the old man. I couldn’t let this senile luggage-snatcher ruin my shot at bagging Sylar. The Company has wanted a piece of him forever now. A hot-fingered octogenarian wouldn’t stop this mission.
I looked everywhere. Under sofas….nothing but coins. In closets…that Scott guy was there. I looked in various bedrooms. Over and under beds. Over and under the women in Nathan’s bed. But no old guy was to be found.
Then, I saw someone who could help me. She looked like an old man herself, actually. “Agent Hanson,” I called to her.
“Bennet. What brings you here? Came to get in on the action, eh? Sniffing up the Sylar tree, huh?”
“Sure, why not. But listen, I need your help.”
“I’m listening.”
“My suitcase was stolen. You’re an FBI agent. Can’t you do something?”
“Code blue!” she shouted and began dusting for fingerprints.
“What’s code blue?”
“You don’t want to know,” she replied dramatically.
“Well, actually, I kind of would like to know.”
“Oh..well, uh. Truth is I made it up.”
She was silent as the two of us continued our search. My tracking expertise combined with he brains (albeit female brains) of an FBI agent was no match for any henchman Sylar could throw at us.
Soon, we found our man. I kicked down the door, as paper salesmen must often do, and caught him red handed as he was going through my belongings.
“Ron Paul?” I asked, a bit shocked. “Why did you steal my luggage?”
“Hey! What are we arguing over this for,” he responded, “when the real issue is how many men are you going to kill on your destructive path toward Sylar-romancing? That’s my concern. You shot Joe Lieberman for no reason. He volunteered to participate in this contest, and you shot him. How many more are you going to shoot?”
“He has a point,” Hanson said.
“Fine,” I lowered my gun. “I’ll try to be more responsible with my shooting of people.”
“See? Was that so hard? Now if we could only get rid of the IRS we might actually have a country the Founding Fathers could be proud of!” While he was still ranting about policies so sound only a lunatic would consider them, he jumped out the window and rode away from the mansion on a giant bumble bee.
I tried to wave out the window at him, but the handcuffs prevented it. “Hey!” I turned toward Hanson. “What’s going on?”
“You have the right to remain silent…” she began but was cut short by a blast of electricity.
“Don’t worry,” Elle said. “She’s just stunned.” She zapped my handcuffs off.
“Does Daddy know you’re hear?” I asked.
“Somebody has to keep you in line, Bennet.”