outsiderslogs | intro log

intro log

who. everyone!
what. entering omega.
where. landing pads
when. today
warnings. none for now

You’re not sure how it happened.

A minute ago, you had somewhere to go, someplace to be. Maybe something important to do, or maybe you were just going out to buy groceries. Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter anymore.

You’re in some kind of transport -- a shuttle, given the turbulence and the sounds outside. You’re surrounded by strangers, some of whom might not even be the same species you are. There’s no point in asking. They don’t know how they got here either. The cockpit’s blocked off, like someone forgot to put in a door, and not even a glance at your omni-tool -- a holographic interface accessible by merely tapping the sensor on your left arm -- is any help.

You’ve only got a minute or so before the shuttle starts descending. There aren’t any windows -- this doesn’t look like a shuttle meant for long trips. When it finally touches down, the doors open automatically.

Before you are landing pads, abandoned equipment scattered about. There are other shuttles landing, and whether you like it or not, you’re going to have to get off before yours dumps you out the door. Turn around, and you’re met with a hazy skyline, only half the buildings seem to be coming from above.

Welcome to Omega.

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You’re free to expand past the landing area, but please start all threads here. Please remember that your character will not have housing until Aria makes a post granting it; it’ll be on

outsiders and linked here when it goes up.

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[ Peter was in every possible way, horrified.

He looked ten degrees of ill, pale and murky and eyes darkened from lack of sleep - or more accurately, from too much of it - and he'd practically plastered himself to the wall of the shuttle, trying to figure out where he was and if he'd gotten here of his own volition or somebody else's. It hardly made sense when it made all the sense in the world at the same time. He was supposed to blow up New York, why was ending up... well, here, be any different? Maybe not the reason, but the action. Impossible means that had become possible, but neither of them were supposed to happen.

As it landed, Peter was practically shuffled out onto the landing pad on wobbling legs, not wanting to follow the herd of people's movements but not wanting to stay either. Staring at the thing in his hand for a second before he turned and hesitated, Peter tipped slightly and stared towards the horizon, his eyes widening in degrees. He stared for a few long moments before the reality of it nearly bowled him over and he froze, unable to even try and look away. ]

Did I do this?

[ Whipping his attention back to the shuttle and then once more towards the city set into the distance, the roots of buildings as tall as those in New York, Peter stayed glued to the spot, refusing to go any further without a significant amount of encouragement. Because the thing was, not all the buildings were set into the ground -- the tops of others were hanging down like stalactites and none of the others shuttles landed came even close to being distracting enough to rip him away from the sight. Not that he was expecting anyone to push him along, not really, but he wasn't going anywhere until he got his bearings, and that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon. Trying to inconspicuously look at what others were doing, Peter scrambled and started digging into his pockets, looking for his cell phone. ]

This can't be happening, I can't be here. I can't.

Edited 2013-02-03 01:10 (UTC)

[Uh-oh. Panic. Panic wasn't good. He'd seen its effects on smaller, much less confused groups than this, and things got ugly fast. Unfortunately, Tony was not blessed with particular powers of charm or serenity that seemed likely to actually help. He'd have to take a shot at logic, as applied to the muttered speculation he'd overheard.]

You probably didn't. Do this, I mean. I wondered the same thing, but who could do something like this without meaning to?

[Of course, he had no idea whether the guy was another wizard or something else entirely or just crazy. He was just trying to be soothing. At least he was deeply nonthreatening, unless you had a phobia of tired, annoyed little guys.]

[ Lifting his attention and just staring for a second at a guy he'd never seen before in his life, he glanced down at the cellphone he'd pulled out of his pocket before shoving it back, swallowing thickly. He was supposed to be calling the airport right now, supposed to be getting the hell out of dodge. He'd gotten the hell out, at least, he just wasn't where he'd planned on going.

That should have been comforting. Maybe to someone else, maybe if Peter knew that New York wasn't going to happen. But as far as he knew, it was, and it would be his fault even if he didn't mean to. ]

How else do you think it happened?

[ Far more strained than frustrated, Peter wanted answers more than anything, as if begging for them from someone who almost looked as confused as he did would actually go anywhere at all. But at least he wasn't staring at the city horizon anymore, taking a little of the edge of shock off -- a few seconds worth of convincing himself it just wasn't there at all. ] I mean- You weren't expecting to be here either, right? You just showed up? Out of the blue?

Nope. Got onto the bus, wound up... wherever this is.

[At least it looks like that was the usual experience. He'd hate to have to be special.]

[He's generally inclined to keep the secrets of the universe to himself, or at least to a small circle of lunatics who help him keep Vancouver from getting eaten by demons, but it's not like people have any justification to think he's crazy under the circumstances. That and everyone who knows a thing about magic pegs him right away, every time.]

Portals between worlds can happen. It's the scale, the purpose, and the caster that I can't figure out.

[ Well, at least he's not the only one, either.

But Peter's not really out to peg anyone, especially not right now. He's never been one to throw around labels if only because they've been dropped onto his head since birth. The name Petrelli came with one too many ideals, and though for once in his life it doesn't seem likely to be thrown into his face while he's here, he's not thinking so much about it. He's just thinking about how he can get back.

He's just thinking about what the hell he's supposed to do about exploding.

Except, wait-- ] Portals? Between the worlds? [ Yeah, he's back to looking somewhere between concerned and shocked. ]

First time i've ever heard about that. Not-! [ He waves a hand. ] Not that I don't believe you. Just never heard about something like that being possible.

[He shrugs away the apology.]

I don't think it's supposed to be common knowledge. I have a weird life. But it's pretty complex, powerful stuff. I couldn't do it on my own even for a regular-sized door. This...

[He tries to gesture to encompass the people the size of the space, the chaos, the utter alienness of it all. It doesn't work very well.]

This is beyond me. And it's deeply weird. Not exactly how I imagined a hell looking, either, so I don't even know what kind of world it is.

[It's actually a little bit of a relief to talk without trying to use awkward code or make up stories about hallucinations and gas leaks.]

[ Peter feels about the same way -- though, he hasn't really had that much experience with trying to lie or come up with excuses. If anything, he's been trying to get people to listen to him when it comes to what he can do.

It doesn't really help that he's not so good at controlling what it is he can do. That might make it easier. In a number of different ways.

But now, at least, he's somewhere between distracted and shocked, leaning towards impressed, though he's not really quite sure what to say. Not that he has any reason not to say it, considering where they are. It takes him a couple seconds though, truly clueing in to what exactly the other guy has just said. Because even though he knows there were a number of things he could do, he knows for sure that he can't make portals between worlds. ]

You mean-- you could do something like that? Or you know someone who could?

...No. Well, it depends how you define something like. The doors I've seen a person open are small and set in one place, and even that's hard. And demons are a whole other story.

[Tony wished he had a better idea of the logistics, but all he could really be sure of was that he wasn't where he should be. The most reasonable explanation would have to be some variant on spells he knew of, but that didn't make it very> reasonable, just better than nothing.]

I made a radio disappear and pop up on the other side of the room once, but I'm not sure I didn't just blink while it moved. And it only gets AM stations now.

[He was very good at dryly sardonic delivery. It made him feel better.]

[ Peter almost snorted, but the fact of the matter was, this was all a little much to take in at once. Says the guy who's probably going to explode in the middle of Manhattan sometime soon -- or, well, maybe not now that he's here. But demons and... portals to other worlds were a whole different story. It was like comparing apples to pineapples and Peter didn't know which one of them was the apple. ]

I died once. Sort of-- I wouldn't really call it dying, since I came back but I've never even heard somebody talk about demons. Definitely starting to believe your whole different world theory.

[ Wanting to hit the pause button was about all Peter could think of doing, but there was no way to wave his hand and make it all stop for just a second or two. It was all he wanted, some time to process where it didn't feel like the world was being tugged out from under his feet. He shook his head, trying to backpedal just a little and catch his breath. ]

What's your name?

Oh, well, don't worry about that. My boyfriend died once, and he's pretty much okay these days.

[And ghosts and vampires are somewhat relevant, too, but he probably shouldn't try to get into that now. A much fun as it was to jut go ahead and explain things without hedging and coming up with sneaky excuses, he did have a target, here, and that was... Well, mostly it was keeping anyone from panicking. Small steps.]

I'm Tony.

Pretty much, huh. Guess it's better than not really okay.

[ Peter kind of can't help but snort, because it's all getting so ridiculous that it's funny. At least, in the kind of way where you have to laugh just to get on with it all, except Peter's still just a little too exhausted to do much of either -- getting on with it or laughing, and names are easy because he's told his a million times just because he's a Petrelli. ]

Peter. [ And yet this time he leaves off the last name, because he's trying to be his own person. The kind of person that doesn't need their namesake to be someone. ] You got any idea where we're supposed to go next?

Well, I mean, it's not like he was pleased about it, but he handled it pretty well...

[Right, Lee's emotional life isn't necessarily very relevant.]

And no, none. I have no idea who did this, why, or how. But I know it's a thing that could happen, and it's done wonders to keep me calm. Nice to have a way to deal with things, you know?

[ The last time anyone had done anything like this to him, it had involved a time traveler, the best pancakes in town, and a young woman with a brain tumor. One moment he'd been heady on the victory of his latest kill, and then he'd been in a cramped shuttle, distinctly aware of how alien everything seemed, and restraining himself from simply killing his way to freedom. Until he knew where he was and who had brought him here, he couldn't afford to lose sight of any of the others around him.

Which naturally became something of a problem when they dispersed on the vast landing pads.

It was soon after he'd given up and begun to study his omni-tool with the interest that only intuitive aptitude could afford, when his attention was caught by a familiar sound in amongst the others, a voice he'd heard last almost seven months ago. He focused on it quickly, head raised up toward the moving bodies around him, listening through the crowd the way he once had on a busy street in Manhattan.

Peter Petrelli?

The only natural route from his discovery was pursuit. Finding Peter suddenly became his priority, and before the crowd dispersed and he disappeared with it. When Sylar did find him, he almost emerged right on top of him, with no people left to guard his approach.

But if he came at Peter straight on, how could he be sure they wouldn't end up fighting right there? Surrounded by all these people--that wasn't anything either of them wanted.

Don't do anything stupid. ]

Peter.

[ This could only end in disaster. ]

[ Flicking open his cellphone, it was almost as if Peter was hoping for reception back to his homeland. The damn thing had no bars though - unsurprisingly - and Peter was half inclined to chuck it as far as he could, just so he didn't have to think about Nevada and testing facilities and doing everything he could to keep from exploding. To learn how to control his abilities, even if the possibility seemed so out of reach that it hurt. The sight of the murky city in front of him stopped him, however, reminded him that he had no idea where he was, or how he'd gotten here.

Instead, he shoved it back into his pocket, keeping it just in case. In case of what? He didn't really know, but he didn't want to get rid of one of the few things that he still had with him that connected him to him -- granted he only had it because it had come with him from the hospital.

The hospital, right. He'd only just gotten out of that coma, that was probably why he felt like shit, or maybe it was the interglactic travel--

And there was his name.

Glancing up, Peter's eyes widened further and he skittered back a few steps simply out of surprise before he forced himself to stand a little straighter and try to narrow his gaze. As if he could even try and hold his own at this point, or even try and look threatening. Maybe if he was threatening to vomit on somebody's shoes, but Sylar would've killed him before he even got close enough to. ]

Sylar, you-- You did this, didn't you?

[ It was easy to blame someone else when that someone was Sylar. When snarling forward was reactionary and hate could fuel his reaction because at least that was easier than trying to figure out what the hell was going on. ]

This is your fault.

[ Sylar stood his ground, even if Peter's sudden doubling back took him toward the edge of the platform. He'd end up going over the edge if he wasn't careful, and Sylar couldn't help him then. Peter would probably even put up a fight if he tried.

The shock subsided into something else. Anger. Now that was more like the Peter Petrelli he knew, the one who'd pounded him to the pavement in his cold fury. It was enough to make Sylar raise a hand defensively, several meters still separating them, even if that by no means made either of them safe. Sylar still wasn't going to face down a tone like that without holding his proverbial 'gun' up in self defense, even if there was only implied threat there. ]

I'm as much a victim of this as you are.

[ That implied something too. If he was here, Peter, and all these people, many of whom seemed confused or lost themselves, then there was a reason. Perhaps they all had powers - Sylar hadn't looked yet, but some of them certainly looked odd. In any case, blaming him for the kidnapping was a little far fetched, even for Peter. ]

The last time you placed all of the blame on me, you turned out to be devastatingly wrong, Peter. You don't want to make that mistake again.

[ It would be a good line under normal circumstances.

He looked away briefly, gesturing to the people around them. ]

You don't want to fight me. Not here.

[ Swallowing hard as Sylar raised a hand at him, Sylar didn't have to say anything so much as impress upon the point of what he could do. That he could blow Peter back with a simple telekinetic push and all Peter could do was scramble and pretend that he knew what he was doing when he didn't have the slightest damn clue. His abilities had just knocked him out of the water and Peter couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't control what little he could do and Sylar had already showed him exactly the kind of precision he possessed.

An accuracy, a control he could only dream of. And while it made Peter jealous, he had other things to worry about right now. ]

What're you talking about?

[ Holding his ground, Peter only leaned forward a little, as if he was shouting into gale force winds, trying to get his point across without letting himself truly get any closer. ]

The last time I blamed you for anything, I was right. [ At least when it came to Claire, Peter couldn't think of anything else that he was blaming Sylar for. He had to save the cheerleader, and while it hadn't saved the world quite like what he'd wished it would, at least blaming Sylar for that possible death had been right. But something else? Peter didn't know about anything else and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to ask what Sylar was talking about.

At least not yet. ]

Doesn't matter if you're a victim or not. Just because I don't want to fight you here doesn't mean I won't.

[ But it would mean that he would lose, and his gaze skittered off, as if he was looking for somewhere he could run when things got bad. He couldn't win, not right now, and apparently Sylar was unaware of that. Peter was brutally aware of it, however, and he was more than a little bit scared. No matter how angry he was, it wouldn't save him, and all he could do was tell himself he had a way out. ]

[ Well this was curious enough. He'd expected Peter to hold his ground the way he did, but perhaps he expected him to at least raise a hand in his own self defense. He knew what to expect, after all, but there was no fight in him, at least with anything but words. That was fine.

Sylar had nothing for or against the other people on the landing bay, but he didn't exactly want to kill any of them either. He raised his hand just a few inches higher, watching Peter, then quite deliberately drew his hands back and slid them into his pockets, apparently disarmed. If Peter attacked him now, it'd be the equivalent of attacking an unarmed man. Or at least that was what Sylar was trying to put across.

So with his 'hands up', as it were, Sylar concentrated on what Peter had or hadn't said. He hadn't blamed him for New York, seemed almost confused by his insinuations. Was it possible that the trauma of exploding had made him lose his memory?

Sylar's head tilted toward his left shoulder, curious, eyes fixed in study. There didn't seem to be anything broken there. Fractured, unconnnected - maybe - but not broken. In conclusion, Peter hadn't changed much from the last time they'd seen each other. ]

Neither of us would have anything to gain from that. [ Well, not much. ] Right now, Peter, you're much more use to me alive. And I to you.

[ If there was something Peter really wanted to do right now, it was run. Book it in the opposite direction and get as much space between himself and the guy who had killed him as humanely possible. But that didn't mean he was going to do it.

Staying and fighting was all Peter knew. Stubbornness was imbedded into his blood and no matter how terrified he was of Sylar, he was so much more afraid of himself. And even if he and Sylar were like oil and vinegar, he needed to stand his ground if he wanted anyone to listen to him. He'd just come out of a coma with people still refusing to believe him when he'd gone in, and though Peter was still desperate to understand what he could do, he didn't want to stop and try to understand Sylar. He didn't have time for that, and he didn't have time for whatever this was between him and Sylar.

Even if the other man put away his 'weapon', Peter didn't trust him for a second. ]

I don't know what you're talking about, you're not useful to me.

[ His hands were clenched into tight fists at his side, and while that might have made him look like an overly aggressive kid on the playground, it meant nothing apart from the fact that he was holding himself back from.... nothing at all. ] So you're the only person here I know. Big deal. I could sure as hell make sure everyone else around here knows who you are.

[ Peter wasn't going to attack him. If he was, he'd have taken a swing at him already, but it was obvious that they were keeping each other at arm's length right now because the risks involved with actually fighting were too high. Sylar wanted answers, and Peter wanted - no doubt as usual - to protect other people.

That didn't mean Peter didn't want to hit him. He could see in his eyes just how much that was the case. ]

You could tell them. Whether or not they'd believe you is another matter. I'm not asking for a friend, Peter. I'd kill you. I've done it before.

[ His eyes rolled back to Peter from the skyline, taking in the minimal changes in him since he'd looked away. The impotence in his closed fists, his attempts to look bigger than he actually was. He was all hackles and no fight. He'd be easy to play, if all he wanted was to make him angrier, but Sylar was beginning to wonder what the risks involved with that were. Last time he'd made Peter angry, he'd almost blown up the center of Manhattan. He didn't have proper control of his powers. ]

You need me. Whether you accept it or not, I'm the only one here who knows what you are. What you're capable of. I'm the only one who can stop you.

[ He stepped deliberately toward Peter, eyes on him. ]

There's no big brother to fly in and save the day this time. Just me.

[ There was a strangeness to all of this that Peter couldn't put his finger on -- it wasn't just the fact that he'd been plopped onto some other planet and told to figure it out all on his own. It wasn't showing up here from out of nowhere, or the shuttles, or whatever creepy city lay in the distance. Granted, that was strange all of its own right, but there was something in what Sylar was saying that didn't make sense.

And it might not have terrified Peter more than Sylar himself, but it set him off balance. Not that that was particularly hard right now. A strong breeze probably could have done the same thing. ]

Nathan's not going to fly in and save me from anything. Nathan doesn't even believe me.

[ But the idea of Sylar being the only one who could help him was terrifying. He didn't want Sylar's help, and he didn't want Sylar thinking he even could help. Most of all, he just wanted Sylar gone and Peter gritted his teeth, frozen to the spot and practically snarling, like a dog trying to guard his territory, but one that felt far too small to attack. ]

I'll find somebody else to help, I don't need you for anything.

You tell yourself that now, but how long will you last? How long can the city last?

[ Maybe Peter didn't understand it yet, but Sylar was beginning to pick the threads up, even though he didn't have all the details yet. Peter still didn't have control of his powers, he didn't have anyone to help him, anyone to stop him... A normal society would lock him up--or kill him; and consequently the world would be a much safer place.

They ought to build statues to the person who did it.

But Sylar was curious in his own right about just where Peter's breaking point would be, and more importantly he wanted to see this city, and he wasn't about to let Peter and his broken powers be an anchor about his heels. Peter would have to survive on his own, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't come crawling back at some point or another. There'd be something in it for Sylar then, a chance to hold some kind of true power as Peter swallowed his pride and asked for help.

It'd happen. It was practically a certainty. When he realised just how alone he was; how afraid; how incredibly far from home. ]

Don't worry, as soon as those doors open, I'll let you be. No matter how big the city, fate has ways of bringing us back together again. I have no doubt I'll see you again soon, Peter.

Fate doesn't have anything to do with it, Sylar. You just think it does, because you want to be the one to know how it all turns out. You want to be right.

[ Everyone seemed to want to know how it would all turn out; that wasn't to say that Peter didn't. Peter wanted to understand, wanted to stop it, wanted to get a hold of himself and control what he could do so that he could change fate. Peter wanted to prove that not everything had to be set in stone. Just because he was a Petrelli didn't mean he had to be a lawyer, just because he was born in Nathan's shadow, didn't mean he'd have to stay there.

Just because he was supposed to explode in New York, didn't mean he would for sure.

But Peter was still terrified of the prospect. Mostly, he was terrified that he wouldn't be able to learn how to do this all on his own. He'd be lost, forever, tangled in his own abilities until he had to find someone to help. But Peter knew that it wouldn't be Sylar. And he was already backing away from this, stuffing his hands into his pockets and staring at Sylar hard, his gaze flicking around as if he was trying to find someone to tell. ]

And you know what -- the only reason you'll be seeing me again soon is i'll make sure everyone knows who you are. They'll know what you can do and then you'll be the one wondering how long you'll last.

[ He wasn't about to delude Peter of his fantasy, to tell him that he didn't just want to be right, that he inevitably would be, simply because his mind was capable of seeing those infinite possibilities and guiding himself down the right path. He lost his way on occasion, but he always got to exactly where he needed to be, exactly when he needed to be there--and no, it wasn't fate. It was him, pure and simple. He made his own fate.

And Peter, by being Peter, made his too, and it would bring them together. Whether it would be in battle, or as allies in their attempt to return home, it didn't matter. Either was a possibility, and there was still much about this world left to be discovered, to be worked into the equation that they made of it together. More to see.

That was only one of many reasons Sylar didn't kill Peter right now. Oh, he wanted his power - the hunger ate him up - but something outside these doors could be better, and he valued his freedom when it came to that pursuit.

Freedom that wouldn't last if Peter had his way. Sylar knew better than to suggest that Peter keep his mouth shut--if he did, then it would only be certain that Peter would tell everyone; anyone who could listen. He was petulant, over-ambitious in his childish lust for heroism. He wanted to save the day. ]

If that's what you want. We might both be seen as monsters, or perhaps instead as gods. I might actually enjoy being worshipped.

Do you remember what kept you from telling the world about your powers before? The fear of being experimented on? Locked up? Tortured? We might never get home. You'd never see your brother again.

[ In Peter's mind, it still didn't matter who was right. Who could see far enough into the future to determine what would happen between them. Because all Peter knew right now was that they were both equally a dangerous. Sylar, because he was a serial killer, and Peter because one wrong move and he'd detonate. He'd go off and take everyone else out.

In a way, he was the dangerous one, and Sylar was the key they'd all be looking for to turn him off. To make Peter go away.

That was all he'd ever be. Something that couldn't be controlled, and telling the world that Sylar was a threat meant saying that he was an even worse one. That while Sylar had already killed a few, Peter could kill millions. Even if he couldn't really be killed himself. ]

People aren't even gonna care about what we are -- look around, Sylar. We're not exactly a majority here, either. Nobody's gonna think we're gods when we're on an entirely different planet. Nobody's gonna care, they're just gonna want to get rid of you.

You'll be a threat. And i'll just-- [ Be a nuisance? Even more of a threat? Peter swallowed hard, moving further away, his breaking point just on the horizon. ]

I'll find another way.

[ Lying to himself was easier than anything else right now, and Peter held a palm up as if he could use it to telekinetically push Sylar away but there was nothing there, just air hanging between them, still as it was. And just like that, Peter was running, fleeing the scene of a crime that hadn't been committed -- his own life, the one that needed to be stopped before it could start something far worse. ]

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