2008-02-05: Tempting Hands



Guest appearance by:


Charlotte breaks into Senator Petrelli's office:

February 05, 2008:

Tempting Hands

Fort Lee, New Jersey. Pinehearst Facility: Senator Petrelli's office

Night has fallen over New Jersey. The scene? The Pinehearst Biotechnical Firm, which is half lit, and still half unlit. There are a few skeleton crews around, working on the lights, but for the most part the building looks like it's winking. One eye open, and bright. The other closed, and dark. Tonight, it is the dark eye that is interesting. For inside the dark eye is a room. This room is the office of Senator Nathan Petrelli. Inside this office are cameras. And lights. And a heater/air conditioner.

But none of them are on.

Thank Elle Bishop's little finger for sticking itself into the metaphoric socket of Fort Lee, New Jersey. The circits are still fried in this section of the building.

Fix the wiring in the morning. Charlotte heard that, this evening, of the workers talking about Nathan Petrelli's office. There's no power in there now because the wiring hasn't been fixed. And she almost fell over, as she had not thought of it before. No cameras. The office is a sitting duck. She teleported in crouching, just behind the desk. The power, she knows, will be out in this area for another few days. So she was able to step out, checking to make sure the coast was clear, and slip right into Nathan's office.

Charlotte knows where the camera is in this room, she's been here before. At least, she knows where it is in general. Just to be safe, she wore a hat to cover her hair, gloves and no ID badge, and does her best to keep her back to where the camera is. She doesn't look up, hoping to keep her face covered. As she moves, she accidently kicks the desk. Still, no sound escapes her, even as she wants to scream as her shin throbs. Still. Moving on. Kneeling quickly behind the desk and hiding from the camera, a pen flashlight comes out. It's screwed lit, and held in her mouth as drawers are open. Her heart is pounding so loud she can hear it.

The files shuffle. She has no idea what she's looking for. Well, yes she does. Something, some proof that this Peter Petrelli isn't lying to her. That Nathan really is up to no good. She herself has found nothing but good from the company, if Nathan is the problem, it must be isolated. And they can fix him. But it's the ifs that are getting to her. So files are flipped open. The first are just rental papers: it seems the senator has a new address. From the breast pocket of her black jacket, the girl withdraws a pen and a pad. She scribbles down the address. The file is replaced where she found it. She keeps searching.

Outside the office and a couple hallways down, another flashlight plays this way and that, followed by the dark outlines of two men walking side by side. "Hell of a mess, isn't it?" muses George, looking around. "Never realize quite how much you rely on something till it's taken away for a while." The other, a short Chinese mop-top wearing a lab coat, nods and starts rambling about portable battery backups.

A sound. Was it? She can't be sure. Her heart stops, and her hands stop, and her breathing stops. She just listens. Footsteps. A worker, it msut be. She curls up a little, not sure what to do. Hide, hope they pass? Teleport out now, leaving the drawers open? What to do? The footsteps, however, seem to pass. Just a night worker, moving along. Why should he check in here? This is just another office, waiting to be repaired. She opens the next drawer and nearly falls backwards as a small handgun stares up at her face. She just sits there, on her knees behind the desk, staring down at this gun, with the pen light in her mouth. Shit, she thinks to herself, slowly closing the door. Hurry up and get out. Really, now.

The next drawer also has some files, files that she withdraws and begins to flip over. They're experimental papers, and Charlotte is no doctor. She begins copying down words in her little notepad that appear to be english. Regenerative properties. Healthy subject. Tests. Future tests to replicate. Charlotte doesn't perspire, but if she did, she would be right now. That gun is still fresh in her mind.

Time to get out. She'll figure out what it all means later. The pen and pad are tucked away, the drawers carefully shut to be left as they were found. The penlight off, the girl doesn't even bother to stand. She simply teleports away. In the darkness, she just fizzles into nothing. It was as if she was never there….

…and, having exchanged final pleasantries with Dr. Chen, George heads one way while the research associate heads another. He was planning to just find the nearest exit, but one of the doors along the way draws his attention— was there someone else moving around? Slipping into the office, he promptly bangs his right knee into one of the drawers that slid back open after Charlotte closed it, due to being weighted just slightly wrong. The flashlight drops on top of the paperwork, and he crouches down to retrieve it. And wait for the pain to run its course.

Petrelli. Placebo. Parkinson's disease. George blinks, looking to make sure he's reading this stuff right. Yes, there's that familiar name again. Regeneration? Human trials? This must be the company behind those samples he was recently asked to transport on short notice. New York, Washington, and now New Jersey… his boss really is stretching himself thin. Making a mental note to ask about it during their next status update, he pushes the drawer closed again - propping a chair leg against it for good measure - and heads back out.

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