"For the fifth time, save verse as before, I'm not John Crichton. My name is Peter Petrelli," Peter insisted to the blue woman, the deformed man, and the grey girl.
"The Diagnosan said removing the chip might alter his memories...but a new personality?" the blue one asks.
"Maybe it's the trauma of A - her death?" the deformed man suggests.
This is a dream. A very very vivid dream. And what I get for borrowing someone's vision ability. That or I've really cracked up."Died? Who died? Not the cheerleader?" Peter asks, suddenly worried.
The grey girl looks at her friends. "What's a cheerleader?" she enunciates.
-----------------
John opens his eyes to a canvas portraying a blonde hanging upside down sans the top of her cranium and a sea of red spreading down the painting. "What the hell?" he yells as he jumps back, bumping into someone.
"It's the future. It's what I couldn't see," the dark haired man says as he steadies John. He looks pretty strung out like he's suffering from major heat delirium.
Suddenly, a phone rings. John whips around to see a real telephone. An earth phone. "Dorothy, I think we might be in Kansas again."
The man, John can recognize the symptoms of drug withdrawal now that he knows he's not dealing with a Sebacean, waves at the phone. "Ignore it. Some Japanese guy keeps calling."
John grabs it anyways. Can't hurt to be talking to a third party when in the studio of a jonesing psychopathic artist. "Hello, John Crichton's house of crazy weirdo dreams. What's your pleasure?"
no subject
"The Diagnosan said removing the chip might alter his memories...but a new personality?" the blue one asks.
"Maybe it's the trauma of A - her death?" the deformed man suggests.
This is a dream. A very very vivid dream. And what I get for borrowing someone's vision ability. That or I've really cracked up. "Died? Who died? Not the cheerleader?" Peter asks, suddenly worried.
The grey girl looks at her friends. "What's a cheerleader?" she enunciates.
-----------------
John opens his eyes to a canvas portraying a blonde hanging upside down sans the top of her cranium and a sea of red spreading down the painting. "What the hell?" he yells as he jumps back, bumping into someone.
"It's the future. It's what I couldn't see," the dark haired man says as he steadies John. He looks pretty strung out like he's suffering from major heat delirium.
Suddenly, a phone rings. John whips around to see a real telephone. An earth phone. "Dorothy, I think we might be in Kansas again."
The man, John can recognize the symptoms of drug withdrawal now that he knows he's not dealing with a Sebacean, waves at the phone. "Ignore it. Some Japanese guy keeps calling."
John grabs it anyways. Can't hurt to be talking to a third party when in the studio of a jonesing psychopathic artist. "Hello, John Crichton's house of crazy weirdo dreams. What's your pleasure?"