Application: Dr. Mohinder Suresh, "Heroes"

[drmonologue.livejournal.com]

((Okayed by the other Heroes muns!))

An Indian man walks into the Sorting Room, carrying a small duffel bag, a computer bag, and a briefcase. Unlike many other applicants, he doesn't seem particularly shocked by his presence in this room; rather, he looks around with purpose, giving a satisfied nod as he surveys his surroundings.

When he spots the quill and parchment he smiles to himself and speaks in a cultured British Indian accent. "Now, how does this work?" He only registers the slightest surprise when the Dictaquill writes down his words.

"Very well, then." He sits down at the table and begins to attend to his application. "I think I can write it myself, though. Er..." He hesitates. "Thank you anyway?" He picks up the quill and begins to write.

1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

I quite like paneer, which comes from my home country and is somewhat similar to feta. He smiles again, a little sadly this time, fingering the edge of the parchment as he considers his answer. Since coming to America I have to confess I developed something of a fondness for macaroni and cheese, though.

2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

Mohinder stares at the question for a moment before answering. That seems a little... unorthodox. Neither, I should think.

3. What time is it where you are?

He looks at his watch. Seven minutes to twelve. How ironic.

4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.

Again, he finds himself staring. His cheeks darken slightly. I think that's a little inappropriate, really. But... Tonks does remind me slightly of someone I know knew.

5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

He has to think about this for a bit. Bartending is not exactly his specialty. He hardly ever even drinks. Evolutionary Cup of Chai Cura Finally, he writes The List and leaves it at that.

B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

The question is a little odd, but he's on infinitely more solid ground here. Well, the number three is an extremely powerful one in the mythologies of many countries. Many religions hinge on the concept of three dieties acting in tandem -- Christianity, Mithraism, Hinduism. Some mythologies even contain references to threesomes, such as Min, the Egyptian god of lettuce and sex, and his relationship with Qadash and Reshep.

On the other hand, the natural pattern of evolution indicates that one must inevitably choose one mate and not two. But as that relates to bearing children, it may not be relevant to this discussion. Yet I believe that whether homo- or heterosexual, evolution guides us all; therefore Harry might be far happier following those guidelines that nature has set out and selecting one of the two. In this particular case I don't know enough about either of the two to determine which match would be more successful, and of course in the end it must really be up to Harry.

C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

Perhaps you're a professor, and every time you manage to clear your desk your students pile more on. Or if you're in research, you're probably just adding more and more to the pile every day without even realizing it.

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Mohinder has what is probably the natural reaction to this question and bristles slightly. He's just a little sensitive about being called useless! I hardly consider myself to be useless. Until recently I was a professor at Chennai University in Madras specialising in genetics and evolution. Since leaving I've been working on an algorithm to predict the likelihood of special abilities in any given individual as well as globally. Plus I have this list

I also make very good tea.

6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.

Ah. A bribe. Hm. Mohinder eyes his bags and answers aloud. "Yes, well. I do have some things I could part with. On me at the moment I have my wallet, some clothes -- I have a few scarves I could give away -- some packets of chai, my cell phone... My computer, but I'm afraid I need that. Um..." He starts digging through his pockets thoughtfully, pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and a worn photograph, but smiles ruefully and puts them back. "No, I'm afraid I can't give those away. I suppose that's it, then. Oh, and I can certainly teach a lesson or two, if you like. And I'm a very good driver."

He has a few more things in his bag, nestled in among the clothes; but those, he thinks, had best stay hidden.


"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ___MS_________
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ____MS_______.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _____MS______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ____MS_________"

Comments

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Sam smiled at the applicant, eyes hungrily seeking out Mohinder's laptop. "Sure I couldn't get you to part with that?" he asked with a self-deprecating laugh. "Mine got kind of...damaged." Fair way to put it; turns out transfiguration practice and laptops don't mix. "Oh, um, I'm Sam." He held out one hand, trying uselessly to push back his emo bangs with the other. "Sam Winchester. Nice to meet you, professor."

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"It's nice to meet you too," Mohinder said politely, shaking Sam's hand. "My name is Mohinder Suresh. And, no..." He flashed another rueful smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I do need to keep it with me. It has some important things on it, and I'm still using it in my research. Assuming I can get it to work here, at least." Suddenly, he appeared to be keenly interested. "Was yours damaged by the magical field?"

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"Yeah, I hear that." Well, it'd been worth a try! "Mine had tons of research on it: notes, files, websites. It's going to be a pain to try and replace all of that." God, just thinking about it gave Sam a headache. "Um, what's your research in?"

Oh, right, a question. Sam wrinkled his nose and shrugged, laughing ruefully. "Kind of. It got in the way of my trying to turn a teacup back into a turtle. Um, I actually asked one of the professors here for help - she made it so my room let actual technology work. She wasn't too keen on actually touching my computer, though." He grinned. "Seemed to think she'd make something explode. But I'm sure she'd do the same for you. Your room that is. Not the exploding computer."

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"Specialized genetics," Mohinder explained. "Applied, you might say. Before he died, my father was doing research into people with... certain special abilities. People who he thought -- who I think -- are the next step in human evolution. I'm carrying on his work now." He tipped his head to the side, regarding Sam with genuine curiousity. "And what are you researching?" The boy seemed quite young, but perhaps he was a graduate student. He certainly didn't envy him in his task; of course, if Mohinder lost his work, there wasn't much chance of recompiling it. There was something to be said for not being the only person in the world working on something.

The explanation was enormously helpful. Mohinder looked grateful. "That's very good to know, actually, thank you. It would certainly be difficult if I arrived here only to find that half my material was useless." He grinned. "I'll have to look into that issue."

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Sam paused, freezing almost like a hunter who'd spotted his prey in the woods and doesn't dare breathe for fear of spooking it. "Special abilities," he repeated slowly, scarcely believing it. After all this time - the months he'd spent, uselessly going over the same information, desperate for a breakthrough - was it possible that this man might have some answers?

A grin, almost giddy, crossed Sam's face, but he quickly tried to hide it under a short laugh. "Um, supernatural things, actually." Here came the hard part - since coming to Hogwarts, the rigid code of silence had become almost moot. But it still cut against twenty some years of training to just blurt out what they did. "Demonology. Ancient religions. That sort of thing."

Smiling back, Sam ducked his head slightly. "Hey, no problem. Um, her name's Professor Evans. She teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just tell her Sam sent you."

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Mohinder, of course, couldn't help but notice the excitement that flashed across Sam's face. Consider his curiousity piqued. Sam Winchester, he thought. Had that name been on the list? No... he was certain that it wasn't. After everything that had happened, and what with Sylar and Primatech's attempts to get their hands on it, he had made himself memorize the entire thing. Sam Winchester appeared nowhere on it, he was sure. So what, then? Had his as-yet-unperfected algorithm missed one?

He gave Sam a sharp, narrow look, but the smile remained on his face, albeit slightly subdued. "I'm afraid I know very little about that sort of thing," he admitted. "Only what I learned from my grandmother as a boy. But are you looking at these... abilities from another angle, then?" He cocked a brow. "Or is there another reason you're interested in my work?"

He realized how aggressive he must have seemed, suddenly, and his demeanor quickly softened. "I can help you, I mean," he offered. "If you're... is there something special you can do?"

The name he noted, but filed it away for later. Right now, he was far more interested in Sam himself than any connections he might have had.

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Hands fairly trembling with excitement, Sam folded his arms across his chest and tried to remain calm. To not get his hopes up. This could be nothing, or could be something completely unrelated to Sam and the other 'special children'.

Or it could be everything.

Glancing around, Sam lowered his voice, trying to make sure Mohinder was the only one who could hear. "I..." Swallowing, he glanced up at the man, then back down at the floor. It was easier to explain if he wasn't looking at the guy's face when he decided Sam was crazy. "I have visions. Sometimes. Of things that happen. And sometimes I can...make things move."

He paused and rubbed one hand over his face. "I can't control it. And I...I want to. I've been trying to." Beseeching eyes raised once more to Mohinder. "Can you help with that?"

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So, this was kind of like Christmas for Mohinder. He leaned in as Sam did, looking excited; at the confession he positively lit up. "Maybe," he said softly. "That is, I can't promise anything, but I might be able to." His eyes scanned Sam's, his expression inscrutable. God, what luck! The second person he should run into-- and Sam was infinitely preferable to Sylar simply by virtue of not being a raving, murderous psychopath.

"You're not alone, Sam." He reached out to put a hand on Sam's shoulder, though he gave Sam enough time to pull away if he so chose. In his experience, if a person with powers didn't want to be touched, you did not touch. "There are thousands of others like you. Maybe even more. I've been finding them all over."

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A quick grin lit up Sam's whole face before he forced his expression sober. But the hint of a giddy smile still lurked around the edges of his mouth. There was hope. And right now - with Dean hovering right on the edge and the demon bastard wandering around the school and with his research going nowhere - Sam desperately needed some hope.

At the mention of others, Sam's face fell slightly, though. "Yeah, I know. My brother and I, we've been looking for them. For the others. We've only found a few, but..."

Ava. Max. Ansem.

"There's something after them." No matter how much Mohinder might know about the kids with special abilities, Sam wasn't sure the man was quite ready for 'and it's all because of a demon' speech. "Something evil."

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Mohinder's smile, too, fell. Of course he knew -- he'd been with the monster himself, even led him right to some of his victims unwittingly, a fact which still wrenched at him. Did Sam know about Sylar from before Hogwarts, or had Sylar really been making that much of a name for himself here? The bogeyman, Molly had called him. Evil, indeed. A monster.

He nodded, lowering his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I know... I've been trying to stop that as well." Or at the very least to warn the others.

Wait, if Sam and his brother had been looking... "But you said you found some?" He looked up again, hope dawning. "And you-- what? Did you warn them? Did you come across him?" Between the Petrelli brothers and himself and Mr. Bennet (who was technically powerless, but far from helpless) and these young men, if he had them on his side, perhaps Sylar wouldn't be that hard to contain after all.

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Sam's eyes went wide. "You know about him?" It. Whatever. The demon. "He's here." God, those two words were painful to even get out. To admit. "I think he followed me. Followed us." Because the demon wasn't just going after Sam this time. No, the slimy bastard seemed focused on Dean, for whatever reason.

"Of course we warned them. But..." Sam's jaw tightened and he looked down. "He got to some of them. The others...I don't know. They were warned. Not much else we can do, right?" Almost as if looking for absolution, Sam raised his eyes back to Mohinder. "And you - you found some, too? How many?" A brilliant ray of hope, the longing for someone who would understand, made Sam add, almost little-boy in his tentative excitment, "Are any of them here?"

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"Followed you?" Mohinder's brows knit together. How was that possible? "I saw him just before you got here..." And Sylar hadn't said anything about any Winchesters. Mohinder was sure he would have mentioned it if he'd had a new... if he'd had something new to go after. Sylar, for all his stealth and secrecy, wasn't always that good at actually hiding things, especially when he was excited about them. And he didn't have the list, although if Sam had exposed himself to Sylar then Mohinder supposed Sylar wouldn't need it for this.

Still, that was really very odd.

He was musing on that still when Sam went on. "Well, in theory," he explained tentatively, "I've found hundreds, even thousands. In practice, I've only been able to see a few myself. But some of them are here, yes. Others..." Others had died. Been slaughtered by Sylar, or found by Primatech, or other terrible fates.

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Eyes going wide, Sam immediately stiffened, head turning quickly as he swept the room, fingers itching for the gun he didn't have. When you mentioned the very thing he had literally spent his life hunting, the goblin that crawled into his childhood bedroom and effectively ended his family, reducing his brother to a fellow solider and his father to a commander, the response was instinctual. Heart quickening, breathing slowing, Sam slid frighteningly easily from boy to hunter.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked, quick, harsh. "Did he hurt you? What did he say?" Damn it, couldn't he go one day where the good news outweighed the bad? Where the edge was actually in their favor?

Sam didn't see the demon, though; although, really, that didn't say much. He could have already ditched his old body and possessed a shiny new one that Sam wouldn't recognize on sight. Fuck, but he hated this thing.

He was distracted, slightly, by Mohinder's next words. Despite Sam's apparent tension and worry, that light was back. Sam loved his brother (not like that!), he did. But Dean didn't really get the whole 'freak show' aspect of Sam's life. He couldn't. So the thought that there might be others like him, other people he could talk to who wouldn't look at him like he'd escaped from the circus or gone crazy or might snap at any second? Well, it was pretty overwhelmingly good.

"What do you mean 'in theory'?" he asked after a second, brows coming together. That sounded...not so good.

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Mohinder was startled by Sam's sudden energy, so much so that he took a step back, blinking widely. Well, this new young man was certainly gung-ho, wasn't he? It was actually kind of a nice change from Mr. Bennet's pragmatism, but still, from someone that Mohinder hadn't even known had met Sylar, it was all something of a surprise.

"Say?" he repeated dumbly, then shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. Really, their conversation, as frightening and enraging as it had been, had been a great deal of the usual. I'll kill you, I'll kill you first, you won't get away with this, I'm extremely crazy, and so forth. Sylar had told him about Hogwarts, not being able die, that sort of thing, but that was all rather informative and probably not what Sam wanted to hear. "I, ah... well, he threatened me a bit, but I'm afraid that's par for the course. He didn't actually hurt me, no." Not this time.

Something really strange was going on, here, but Mohinder could not quite put his finger on it. Something wasn't quite adding up for him with this boy. At least, Sam's next question gave him an opportunity to provide some answers, even if they weren't to the questions he was asking. "Well, you see, I've been working on a code -- a genetic algorithm to detect people with special abilities all over the world based on DNA samples and probabilities. The list is quite vast and, as I've said, I've only met a few of the people on it, but so far it's checked out every time."

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That was... Huh. "A list?" A code? Not some demon seed, then, but actual honest-to-God genetic manipulation? To anyone else that might not sound like a good thing, but when you've been walking around, thinking a demon somehow twisted you, infected you, well the idea that it might have some natural cause was pretty damn exciting.

"Can you fix it?" The words tumbled out before Sam could check them. He didn't even really know if he wanted to be 'fixed'. But the thought of no more nightmares, no more Dean staring at him as if he was some scary bomb ten seconds from blowing, to have the demon not be able to hold this over their heads... God, that sounded like heaven.

Losing the 'helping people' thing? Maybe he could live with that. He didn't need visions to hunt, after all. They could still do their job, and he'd have all traces of the demon out of his skull. Yeah. Fixing this whole mess sounded like a great plan to Sam.

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Mohinder's eyes softened slightly. He had surmised, long ago -- in fact, he'd even mentioned it to Sylar -- that not every person born with abilities would actually want them. While Sylar had decided that those people didn't deserve their powers, Mohinder felt rather more sympathy for them. Some people didn't want to deal with the possibilities, nor with the consequences of having such powers; and Sylar others, of course, really should not be allowed access to such devastating abilities.

As such, he had almost immediately begun work on a power inhibitor. Unfortunately... "I have been working on something that may, ah... limit one's access to one's abilities, but I'm afraid it's nowhere near completed yet. It still needs a great deal of work."

And something Sam had said was concerning him a bit. "But, Sam, you shouldn't see it as fixing anything. There's nothing wrong with being able to do the things you can do. It's a natural genetic mutation, and as long as you're not harming anyone..."

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It's not that Sam didn't want the abilities. In a general sense, psychic visions, telekinesis, both were pretty damn cool. They definitely could help with his job, especially if he could get a better handle on them. But the price they demanded, especially on Dean, was higher than Sam thought he could pay. The constant threat of the demon, never quite knowing if he was under his own control or its, just the damn uncertainty, all of it was too much at times.

Face falling, Sam shook his head, rubbing his face with a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Limiting won't help. They either need to be gone or I need to use them better. The in between is what's killing me."

Brown eyes, sad and far too old for a 22-year-old's face, raised to Mohinder's. "Nothing wrong? My mom died because of what I am. My girlfriend was murdered. My dad gave up his life. My brother's driving himself crazy, worrying himself sick, all because I'm different. I'm special. And I just...don't want to be!" Throwing his hands up in the air, Sam laughed, darkly, "I just want to be normal. For once in my life, I want to be normal. So yeah, actually, I think I need to be fixed. Because everyone around me gets hurt by this. And I can't control it enough for it to be worthwhile." And if the abilities couldn't be shut off, maybe the rest of him should be.