Virginia Beach. Zane Taylor, a pasty young man wearing a Ramones t-shirt, sits in a chair, nervously wringing his hands. He keeps repeating, "Please hurry... please hurry" to himself. The walls of his house are covered in plastic sheeting, as if he's doing construction or trying to re-enact the bathtub scene in E.T. The Extraterrestrial. The doorbell rings, and Zane leaps over a bunch of what look like plastic shapes strewn across his floor. He opens the door and says, "Dr. Suresh?" Outside, Sylar turns and rasps, "Yes." Zane's terribly happy to see him, even though, as he invites Sylar inside, the smile on his face drops a few degrees because Sylar's really bad at pretending to be a human being, and Zane totally gets a vibe off him that suggests that Sylar might not be all that bad at killing kittens or running old ladies over with a motorcycle.
I think I speak for pretty much everyone when I say that that movie Wild Hogs looks like hot buttered ass with cockroaches sprinkled on top. Who green-lit that piece of crap? Fat Travolta? Fat Lawrence? Fat Allen? And William H. Macy? What the fuck is he doing in there, paying for his kids' college educations? The fuck? That movie needs to go directly to hell and stay there.
Back from the break, Sylar creepily enters Zane's house as Zane gibbers at him about what he's been "living with" and how he's never been special or someone people would look at twice while walking down the street. Sylar: Stare. Stare stare. Stare some more. Zane's creeped out enough as it is, dude, why can't you just normal it up for five fucking minutes? Zane pulls at the chain on his jeans and tugs at his sleeves and generally unnerves himself all over the damn place. Finally, he says that he should show Sylar his special ability and Sylar agrees. Zane grabs a pot, puts it down on the plastic sheeting and tells Sylar to step back because "it can get a little messy." Then he bends over and we hear a whooshing sound, but we don't see what Zane can do.
Cut to Petrelli Headquarters, where Mama Petrelli is in the process of ripping Nathan a new asshole. "We reap what we sow, Nathan," she spits at him as she futzes with her huge diamond ring. "You have no one to blame but yourself." Nathan draws the blinds and says that he'll go down to Texas and handle the situation. Mama Petrelli thinks this is just about the dumbest idea ever. It's too close to the election, and she doesn't want this getting out to the press. "I cared about Meredith once, Mom," he rasps. "I owe her more than a phone call. I owe them both. Besides. I'm this girl's father, come on!" "You're a glorified sperm donor," she shoots back. "Don't get emotionally attached." Wow. Mama Petrelli could give Angela Lansbury in The Manchurian Candidate a run for her money.