It hits him quite unexpectedly. He wakes in a motel just off the interstate, opens his eyes and knows.

He barely makes it to the bathroom, retching violently. He ends up, finally, sitting on the floor, head against the wall. There's a waterstain on the ceiling, spreading across the faded, and chipped paint like a spider's web. He focuses on one spindly line and tries not to think about it.

But there's no way to avoid it.

*

He started this for his father, searching for answers, explanations. Proof that this meant something.

He's not ready for the something he found.

*

He wants to blame it on Sylar, but really, he can't. The man's just the first. DNA does not dictate morality, for every Peter Petrelli, there can easily be another Sylar. Each of them will have to choose what they will do with the power they're given.

And that's the problem. The world will not see the Peter Petrellis and the good they can do.

Mohinder considers the bodies left in Sylar's wake and knows that humanity will see only the blood and the death. Look into the face of an innocent child and see only see the power capable of such destruction.

He knows only too well the consequences of such fear.

*

It becomes his own personal sword of Damocles, constantly hanging over his head. The ever-growing awareness that Humanity's promise is about to be broken, it is not irrational to see genocide on the horizon. He knows the science, understands enough to know what these powers mean.

Mankind no longer created equal, a fissure within the species. Survival of the fittest would dictate those with powers be the ones to survive.

Unfortunately, he suspects Darwin never thought to factor in the power of pure, irrational terror. Fear of what the other might do. Of course, the ability to manipulate the space-time continuum certainly never occurred to the man either.

Just as well, knowing what Mohinder knows? Darwin would've crawled into the nearest liquor bottle and never came out.

It's a tempting enough thought.

*

In his whimsical moments, Mohinder wonders how they'll deal with it. A return to the underground railroad, a thousand modern day Anne Franks sheltered by sympathizers, or, perhaps, a full-blown conflict for their very survival?

When whimsy passes and the image of brave men and women fighting and dying fades, Mohinder reaches for his papers.

He has time yet to plan.

*

"The world will hate you," he warns Peter. "Fear you. Look at everything you can do."

"I know," says Peter, no arguments, no hesitation. "They won't be alone. I scare me, Mohinder." He looks out at the skyline. "I should."

Mohinder rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezes. "No," he says. "Respect the power, don't fear it." He waits for Peter to look at him, then smiles."Save a few kittens, rescue some little old ladies...make sure it ends up on film at 11."

"All in the spin, huh?" Peter smiles, wry. "You been talking to my brother?"

It isn't a bad idea, though Mohinder doesn't say.

*

"You've the look of a man with a plan."

The room is empty, save him, but Mohinder hears the voice anyway. Ah, of course, there would have to be an invisible man.

"I don't know what I have," he says, looking at the papers spread before him.

"Seems to me, it's quite a mess." A man appears, leaning over him. "You think Sylar is your problem?" He grins cheekily. "How little you really know."

Mohinder jabs him with a pencil. "So enlighten me."

*

Claude does and the next day, Mohinder wakes in that motel room and knows.

*

The day after that, he starts planning for the apocalypse.

*

One that has nothing to do with Sylar.

 

 

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