Characters: Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet
Summary: Patient Zero returns for something he wants back.
Open to those who have a logical reason to be there
Working as a desk clerk was quite possibly the most boring job he'd ever done. No one ever came to this facility and if they did, nine out of ten were people that worked there and therefore didn't need to sign in at the front desk. Technically he was part of security, making sure that no one undesirable got into the facility but he hadn't been presented with so much as one dangerous person.
Except for today.
"Name?" he asked without looking up.
The visitor was silent for a few seconds before saying in an amused voice, "Patient Zero."
His eyes snapped up immediately. This wasn't funny. Whoever thought this was a funny joke was going to get a bullet to the leg if they didn't leave in... oh holy shit
Patient Zero smirked at the guard--Johnson as his nametag read--and tipped his head to the side, pushing the end of his rifle closer to the other man's face. "How about you drop that?" he suggested, eyeing the gun in Johnson's hand for a few moments.
Johnson's hand fell away from the handgun on his hip as he continued to stare at the man standing on the other side of the desk.
"Pick up the phone," Patient Zero said, waving the rifle a little. Johnson's hand went straight for the phone on his desk without question. "Press star. Dial one," he added.
Johnson's eyes went against the impossible and widened even further at Patient Zero's request. "But that's--"
"I know who it is," Patient Zero responded with a calm nod. "Now dial. Tell him the situation."
Not daring to second guess the man again, Johnson did as he was told, praying to whatever god he could think of that the Patient wouldn't shoot him. "S-sir?" Johnson stammered when his boss--and everyone in the program's boss--picked up. "We have a situation."
A sigh. "What's going on?"
Johnson glanced at Patient Zero who arched an eyebrow in return and waved his rifle in encouragement. "It's Patient Zero, sir."
A loud creak as the man upstairs leaned forward in his chair. "What about him?"
A curse. "How--" he started only to be interrupted by: "He's pointing a gun at my head right now."
Patient Zero laughed softly under his breath and shot out his hand suddenly, holding it expectantly for the phone Johnson was talking on. Johnson handed it over without question.
"Chancellor," Patient Zero greeted almost cheerfully, targeting the end of the rifle between Johnson's eyes.
"You remember me, right?" he asked. Rhetorical question. Who could forget their very first subject?
"Because I remember you, Chancellor. I remember every test you ran on me. Every needle you put into my skin. Every word you wrote in that damn folder of yours. I remember everything and I'm coming for you, Chancellor. You're going to turn around and I'm going to put a piece of metal in your head. Are we clear?"
The line was silent but the Patient knew the Chancellor was still on the line and that he understood completely.
"I'm glad, Chancellor," Patient Zero said, handing the phone back to Johnson. He waited until the guard put the phone back on the hook before lifting the rifle from his forehead. Johnson let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to be shot.
Half a second later, Patient Zero twisted the rifle in his hands and slammed the butt of it into Johnson's face. Johnson slumped over the desk, out cold. He wasn't a murderer. Yet.
Patient Zero inspected the rifle in his hands for a moment. He'd taken it off one of the guards outside the facility and hadn't had the time to appreciate it yet. It was a nice gun, well made and if he wasn't who he was, then he'd keep it without a second thought.
But the Patient didn't deal in guns and with a soft sigh, he placed the gun down on the desk next to Johnson. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and moving down one of the corridors, shimmering out of view of the cameras within ten feet. He was going to kill the Chancellor. But not yet.
Today, he was here for something else.