Title: Pretty Guardian Sailor Peter!
Chapter: Chapter 1--Sailor Peter!
Word Count: 5000+
Summary: Peter discovers his destiny as Sailor Moon.
Characters: Peter and Mohinder
Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon, Heroes, or much of anything.

~~~

Light chatter, soft clinking of large mugs on tables, the hiss of the cappuccino machine as it froths the caffine with warm milk, the smell of coffee beans from all over the world being ground before being turned into the wakening liquid everyone in the little shop drank and, for some, worshipped. All of this greeted Peter Petrelli as he entered the homey, honey-walled coffee shop. The twenty-six-year-old moved to the back of the line and stood there, his eyes focusing on the menu.

When he got up to the bar, the young man leaned against the counter and said, "I would like a medium caramel iced coffee but with Splenda instead of sugar." The cashier, a sixteen-year-old high school girl, smiled brightly at the cute older man. She stuttered as she told him the price and asked him for his name. "Peter" he said, ignoring the sad attempt at flirty eyes the girl was giving him. He always did. After he paid, Peter went to stand in a corner where three other people were waiting for their respective caffinated drinks.

His back was to a girl, who was wearing a scarf as a bandana and clothes whose style died with the seventies. Though he couldn't see her, he still felt her eyes. Burning two holes into the back of his head. Giving him a feeling that he couldn't shake. Finally, Peter turned around, looking at the hippie woman. She was still staring at him, smiling widely and batting her eyes. Peter walked up to the table she was sitting at. He stood in front of her. She gestured for him to sit down. He did. The hippie woman leaned forward, beads clattering against the side of the table. Her hands were folded together and their was a touch of lunacy in her eyes. She cocked her head to the side, then to the other. Peter stared back. "Is there something you want?"

The woman backed off. She shook her head. "No, not really. I just wanted to feel your aura." The woman leaned forward again, waving her hand over Peter's head. "I saw it and just...wow." The woman pulled her hand back and smiled. "Where do you get it? I can tell that it's been enhanced somehow. And still growing!" The woman leaned closer. She continued in a whisper: "I won't tell the police. Just tell me where the enhancers are and I'll keep it to myself."

Peter's eyes grew. He stuttered, not really understanding what this woman was saying, and fearing what she'd say if he said he didn't know. But God or whatever diety existed was kind to Peter and a male barista called out to the crowd his order and name. Peter got out of his chair, smiling at the woman, whose expression did not change even as the young man got his drink and nearly ran out of there.

(----------)

Peter opened the door to his apartment with his hip, his hands too full of groceries for him to risk opening it with one of them. He kicked the door closed after he walked in. Passing through the slightly cluttered front room, Peter made his way to the kitchen counter. He caught the blipping red light on the answering machine when blue plastic and brown paper bag left his line of vision. He pressed the play button then got to putting away the groceries.

"Hello? Is this Peter Petrelli?" The voice belonged to an Indian man. Though the accent wasn't as heavy as the telemarketers with too-American names. Besides, telemarketers hung up if they got your answering machine. "My name is Mohinder Suresh. I saw your ad in the Classified section of the newspaper."

Peter was putting away cereal when he heard that. In fact, Peter almost dropped his cereal when he heard that. "I would very much like to meet you."

Peter quickly ran through the add in his mind. He did say that he was looking for a woman, right? "Please, call me back as soon as you get this." There was a long, single-noted beep followed by the generic man's voice saying that there were no more new messages. Peter stared at his phone. Should he call...Mohinder...back? Peter leaned against the corner, staring at the phone like if the two of them were having a Mexican standoff. Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger.

Peter reached over and picked up the phone, scrolling through the Caller ID until he found one that he didn't recognize and didn't belong to a telemarketer. Peter pressed the redial button and listened to the ringing. It was after three rings that Mohinder answered the phone. "Hello?"

Peter gave a habitual smile at the greeting. "Uh, hi. Is this Mohinder Suresh?" It was sort of a stupid question, since the voice that answered was exactly like the voice that left a message.

"Yes" Mohinder responded. "Who may I ask is calling?"

"This is Peter. Peter Petrelli. You called me earlier, saw my add..."

There was something joyful in Mohinder's words after that. "Oh, yes. Yes, Peter. How are you?"

"I am pretty good. How are you?"

"I am very well, thank you."

"That's nice." Peter paused for a moment, looking for words. "Uh, I'm really sorry Mohinder, but I would rather not meet you."

"Wh...Why?" Mohinder asked, sounding deflated.

Peter's free hand played with the hem of his shirt. "Well, um, I'm not sure if this was stated clearly in the add, but I am looking for a girlfriend." There was silence on the other side of the line. "I...I mean you seem like a very nice man and everything and...and you, uh--"

"Mister Petrelli. Peter. I am not looking for a date, so you do not have to worry about that at all" Mohinder said, saving Peter a few minutes of rambling.

Peter smiled, relieved. "Oh, good." A thought hit Peter. "But, if you don't want to go on a date, then why did you contact me?"

Mohinder hesitated, looking for an answer to the question. The paused chilled Peter. How could he trust this man, who he's never met? Who wants to meet him somewhere for reasons he might not even know about? Peter's hand clutched his shirt tighter the longer the silence continued.

"Mister Petrelli," Mohinder finally continued, "I know that you are going to think I am crazy, so I will wait to tell you some of the not-as-believeable things till when we meet. But the reason I have called you is for reasons made by destiny."

Peter blinked. "Destiny?"

"Yes." There was a sigh. "Peter, I need you and I to meet. If you don't mind, I would prefer if it was at my apartment. Is that fine with you?"

It could be that Peter was a sucker for anything that involved the concept of destiny, but what Mohinder said really interested him. Struck a chord in him. Peter felt like he could trust Mohinder and what he said. There was also a side of him that thought that Mohinder may not be the nice man he was coming off as. That he truly was a lunatic ready to cut off Peter's head the second he was in his apartment. But the other feeling, the trusting feeling, was much stronger. Peter found a pen and the back of an opened envelope. He uncapped the pen. "Of course. Where do you live?"

(----------)

Though Peter had been born and reared in Manhattan, under the strict eyes of his over-bearing mother and over-protective brother, he had managed to escape into one of the other burrows with classmates. So he had been to Brooklyn before, even though it was years and years ago and it was only that one time. That enough made Peter nervous. The fact that he was going to meet a man he had never met before, because said man thought that Peter was apart of a great destiny he didn't want to talk about over the phone was what made Peter's stomach twist. The words the strange hippie-lady had said earlier rang through his head as well. Would it be possible that the two knew each other? No, not at all. Peter reminded himself that New York was a huge city...the possibilities of them knowing each other, of the hippie tipping Mohinder off, would be somewhere near a million to one.

As he stepped off the subway and followed the directions Mohinder had given him, Peter began to wonder what this man might look like. Obviously, he was Indian, so there was something to build off of. Peter imagined tin foil hats and big telescopes and little UFO memrobillia hanging from the ceilings and walls. Maybe there would be cult symbols and an upside-down cross. There were hundreds of different versions of the apartment Peter could be walking into; hundreds of different men that could have answered the door after Peter knocked on the door. All of which were as far from the man who did answer the door and the apartment he lived in.

The man who opened the door was young. Not as young as Peter, but definitely in his late-twenties, mid-thirties range. He was the same height as Peter and his black hair had natural curls to it. He was clean shaven--probably had a shave before Peter came over--and wearing nice everyday clothes. The Indian man smiled, showing off his bright white teeth. Mohinder held out his hand. "Mister Petrelli, I presume?"

Peter smiled as well, thinking how Holmesy that statement sounded. Peter took Mohinder' hand and shook it. "Please, just call me Peter."

Mohinder nodded. "Of course. Peter, please come in." Mohinder moved out of the doorway and held his arms out, gesturing for Peter to come in. Peter entered, nodding at Mohinder as he did. Peter took in the apartment, this being different from what he imagined as well. The apartment was an excellent size, the front room consisting of a cluttered living room, an open kitchen-slash-dinning room, and doors that led to the other rooms and windows that let in the only light. There was a desk covered in a two-inch-thick pile of papers and a small square for a closed laptop. Behind it was a bookshelf full of large, thick books. Peter walked up to the bookshelf. Most of the books appeared to be scientific journals, texts on the stars, and a few on ancient mythology.

"Do you like tea?" Peter turned to Mohinder, who was in the open kitchen, in front of a stove, a kettle in hand. "I have chai, green, and English breakfast tea."

Peter never enjoyed tea. He always thought it too bitter and almost tasteless. But he still accepted a cup, just to be polite. Mohinder set the kettle on the stove and pulled out a box of tea bags. Then, he turned back to Peter, whose attention was back on the bookshelf. Mohinder approached Peter from behind. "You have a lot of books." Peter pulled one out. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." Mohinder stared at Peter, taking in the lithe man with the draping black hair that was currently engrossed with one of the thicker books. Peter made a face, then smiled. He held the book up and asked what it was. Mohinder took it away from Peter. "This is a volume on a material called dark matter." Mohinder put the book back on the shelf where it had been removed. "Dark matter and dark energy are some of the most prominent substances in the universe, but no one knows what they really are." Mohinder dipped his head, laughing lightly like it was some big joke. "No one truly understands what the purpose is for these substances. It's easy to believe that maybe they don't have a purpose, but if that's true, then why were they made?" Mohinder looked up at Peter, who was no longer smiling. Rather, his expression was curious and amazed. Maybe even a little lost. Mohinder scratched his head. "I'm sorry. I started babbling, didn't I? I tend to prattle when the subject of the universe is involved."

In the kitchen, the tea kettle began to shriek. Mohinder gestured to a nearby couch as he went to fetch the boiling water. As he poured, Peter looked at the wooden box on the coffee table. It was plain, other than some stars carved onto the top and a golden clasp facing him. It also looked a little old. But nothing else about it was very distinctive. Peter looked up when Mohinder came back, holding two steaming mugs. Mohinder passed one to Peter, which the guest took. Mohinder took a sip. Peter mirrored the action, hating the taste but not wanting to seem rude. They both placed their mugs on the coffee table at the same time.

Mohinder leaned back. "Peter," Mohinder started, "do you have any knowledge on the universe? More specifically our solar system."

Peter blinked, dumbfounded. "Um...well, there are nine planets. Except Pluto is a dwarf planet, so...I guess there is eight."

Mohinder laughed. "Sort of true. Dwarf planets included, there are eleven planets. But that's not the point of my asking you here." Mohinder leaned forward, chin sitting on folded fingers. His eyes were focused on the wooden box in front of him. Peter looked at it too, not noticing anything different from before. Mohinder began to speak again. "I'm an astrologist, Peter. A year or two ago, I was studying a meteor shower in my homeland of India. I was in the middle of nowhere, all by myself. There was no city nearby, the closest road was twenty miles away at least. I was the only person to witness a meteor strike the Earth only ten feet away from my camp. When I went to look at it, I discovered a body in the rock. A dead body that somehow reanimated and...and showed me things. A horrible war. A war I believe took place on Earth long ago. Ten thousand years if carbon dating is correct." Mohinder picked up the box on the coffee table. "Since then, I've been looking for the people who can stop that war from happening again."

"Why do you think that the war will happen again?" Peter asked.

Mohinder shrugged. "I don't know. I just do." Mohinder opened the box. He looked straight into Peter's eyes. "Just like I know you are going to be the one who will lead the way to stopping that war." Mohinder pulled out a compact. It was golden, a crescent moon on the top. The curve was lying against the bottom, the two points directed up to the hinge that would allow someone to open it. Mohinder closed the box and handed the compact to Peter, who took it with some hesitation.

"What is it?" Peter asked, holding it up.

"That is what you use to transform" Mohinder explained.

"Transform into what?" Peter asked.

Mohinder stood up, walking away to the bookshelf. He looked up at it for a few moments, then took a book off the shelf. Mohinder returned to the couch, sitting next to Peter and opening the book to a dog-earred page. "This is a myth about Artemis, Greek goddess of the hunt. She's also credited with being the goddess of the moon, but really that title belongs to Selene."

"What about her?"

Mohinder stood up again. "You and Artemis and Selene have something very much in common. You are all, for lack of a better word, royalty of the moon."

Peter blinked. "Huh?"

Mohinder crossed his arms over his chest. "You, Peter Petrelli, can transform into Sailor Moon. The leader of a group of super heroes called the Sailor Scouts, Prince of the Old Moon Kingdom, the last salvation of the Earth." Mohinder sighed and leaned back. "I sound insane, don't I?"

"Yes" Peter said. He stood up. "Sailor Moon? That sounds like a girl. This is even a compact. I think you should be looking for a girl."

Mohinder shook his head. "I'm not wrong. I know that you are Sailor Moon." Mohinder took Peter by the shoulders. "Just...trust me. Take the compact for a day. If you don't think anything happens, then come back and return the compact. But, if you ever feel that you need to use it, then just call on the compact's power."

Peter rolled his wrist. "By..."

"By using the words Moon Prism Power, Make-up."

Peter looked at the compact. Then back at Mohinder. "Would I have to say the make-up part?"

Mohinder nodded. "Yes. That's really the only way to make it work."

(----------)

Sunday morning always meant breakfast with his family. So, after church in St. Patrick's, Peter found himself sitting at a large table, a white table cloth covering every inch of it. There were baskets of freshly baked French bread, bagels with tubs of many cream cheeses nearby, waffles with strawberries on top, doughnuts that were dripping from the amount of glaze on them, toast made a perfect tan-brown, croissants, pancakes, so on and so forth. Peter was sitting next to his brother, who had temporarily left the table because of a phone call. Across from him was his mother, tight-lipped as ever. Heidi was at home, taking care of the boys who had spontaneously contracted chicken pox at the same exact time. Peter had offered to go and help Heidi--he was a nurse after all--but Nathan had brushed the question aside and told him he didn't need to and that Heidi and the nanny would do fine without him.

Mrs. Petrelli took a sip from her tea cup. "So, Peter," she said, "I heard of your add in the Classified." The older woman gave her youngest a smile. "Not having much luck in that department?"

Peter smiled. "No. Unfortunately not."

Nathan returned to the table, his phone clicking close as he sat back down. He didn't excuse himself or say sorry for interrupting; just sat down and began drinking from his coffee mug. Peter poked at the melon on his plate. Mrs. Petrelli continued her questioning. "Have your efforts been successful?"

"Efforts for what?" Nathan asked.

"For finding a girlfriend" Mrs. Petrelli answered.

"Oh...that" Nathan mumbled.

Peter gave his brother a look. He turned back to his mother. "Actually, yes. I got a call from someone yesterday."

Mrs. Petrelli's eyes lit up. Peter couldn't tell if it was from excitement or just general interest in who would call someone they learned about in a newspaper. Peter would bet his life on the latter. Peter would bet that compact on the latter.

Peter remembered what he had promised Mohinder: one day with the compact, and if nothing happens, then it goes right back to Mohinder. A part of Peter was actually pretty upset about that. Peter had begun to believe what Mohinder had said about Sailor Moon and fighting evil and saving the world. The concept was something easily dismissed as ravings by a lunatic, but there was also something interesting, something enticing about it. Maybe because it was crazy that Peter was attracted to the idea. Maybe, later, after breakfast...

"So who called you?" Mrs. Petrelli asked, her voice not showing the interest that was still glittering in her eyes.

Peter pushed the fruit on his plate around. "Actually, it was a guy." Peter gave a smile as his mother stayed stoic and Nathan nearly choked on his coffee. Nathan raised his napkin to his mouth, coughing into it, apologizing.

"And what did you tell him?" Mrs. Petrelli asked.

"That I wasn't interested in men at this time" Peter said. He turned to his brother, who was wiping the coffee away from his mouth. Peter looked back at his mother. "But I did get to talk to him, and he does seem like a nice man."

"It's cruel to bait people when you have no interest" Nathan said, no longer choking and not looking at anyone.

Peter glared at his brother. "I thought I'd be nice and start a conversation with him. After all, it takes a lot of bravery to call up someone you don't know very much about."

"Do you know anything about the man that called you?" Nathan asked, trying to keep his annoyance towards Peter out of his voice. Many years of being a lawyer had taught him how to do that very well. But sometimes, when a family member, especially a sibling, was the cause of your annoyance, anger, pity, whatever emotion, keeping the feeling hidden was a very hard task.

"I know enough." Peter defended. "I know he's Indian and that he's an astrologist and--"

"An Indian astrologist?" Nathan repeated, unbelieving. Peter nodded, pouting just a little. Nathan looked off towards the distance, finishing off his coffee. He looked at the now-empty ceramic mug, still sitting there. Nathan stood up. "I'm getting more coffee. Does anyone want me to get anything while I'm up?"

(----------)

Peter's apartment wasn't far from his family's mansion, only a few blocks really. No need for a taxi, no need for a ride on the subway. No, it was much more sufficient--monetarily and environmentally--to just walk back to his apartment. He had traveled from the two points so many times that he could do it backwards, with his eyes closed, and on one leg. Okay...maybe not that, but it had been pounded into his head, so that he could exagerate.

Peter ducked under some tarped scaffolding and hurried down the avenue. His hands were stuffed into his pockets. There was a round, cool thing pressing against one of his hands. Peter clutched it. The compact slowly began to warm, thanks to Peter's hand. But there seemed to be something else to the warmth. Peter pulled out the compact. It looked exactly the same way as it did when Mohinder gave it to him the day before. Peter blinked at it. He stopped walking. The man twisted his hand to get a better look at the compact. It was glowing. It was bright out, yes, but it was glowing. Peter's eyes widened.

Suddenly, Peter's body jerked as something ran into him. Peter toppled forward, the compact flying from his hands and scattering a few inches from his hand. Peter got on his knees, checking his mouth to make sure it wasn't bleeding. It was. Peter looked up, hearing the laughter of the punks who had knocked him down. The two boys were wearing hoodies with the hoods up. One of them was playing with something in their pocket. "Hey, buddy, you got money on ya? We need some cash, and fast."

Peter spit some of his blood onto the ground. "Then get a job."

The one, whom Peter assumed to be the leader, frowned. He shook his head. "Ain't got no time for a job. So why don't ya just hand over your wallet?"

"Because it's not on me" Peter said. It wasn't. The only things he had on him was his clothes, the keys to his apartment, a watch, and the compact. Peter's eyes darted to the compact. It was still there, and the punks didn't seem to notice its existance.

"What if we say we don't believe ya?!" asked one of them accusingly. Acting tough, but really just coming off as obnoxious.

Peter turned and ran, dipping to the ground to pick up the compact. The two punks yelled at him and started chasing after him. Peter didn't look back to see how close they were. He could only assume that they were still close by, being two desperate teenagers wanting money for hell knows what and Peter the only person on the street they know to be unarmed.

Peter made a sharp turn onto another sidewalk that had scaffolding there as well. That was when he turned around and looked for the two boys that had been following him. Peter was huffing and puffing, feeling sure that he had finally gotten rid of them. Then he heard the pound of rubber soles on concrete. Peter looked up and saw the two punks again. This time, though, they were considerably more dangerous, the gun the one had been hiding now front and center and pointed at Peter. Peter felt his heart stop momentarily.

The one with the gun nodded his head at Peter. "Get up and give us all your money." Peter didn't move. "Now!"

Peter stood. He was still breathing heavily, knuckles nearly white as his hand clutched the compact even harder. The boy with the gun gestured to the compact. "What's that? Something for your girlfriend or something?" The boy smiled. "How much is it worth?"

Peter felt his face grow red. The other boy commented, "It looks like gold, man. We could totally get, like, a hundred bucks at a good pawn shop for that thing."

Peter, without any conscious thought, raised his hand, the one with the compact, into the air. "Moon Prism Power, Make-up!"

The world seemed to stop as Peter realized what he had just done. The two punks stared at him, gun now at the one boy's side. The three of them had a staring contest. Finally, "Dude, what the hell?"

"I think he's crazy."

"Seems like it."

Peter lets his hand fall. He looked at the compact, sitting in his palm, pretty and pretty useless. Peter closed his eyes. Why didn't it work, Peter thought to himself. I really, really thought--

"Holy shit!"

Peter opened his eyes, seeing the compact open. That alone would have freaked him out, considering he had not even opened it until now, never even figured out how. If it had only been that, Peter would have had the same esclamation as the boy. Instead, he stood in silent shock and almost fear as an innumerable amount of pink ribbons casscaded out of the compact's mirror, flailing out around Peter's body. Some caught onto his arms, one around his waist, another couple around his chest. Peter's eyes widened, then slowly closed. Everywhere the ribbons touched, Peter felt good. He sighed and almost leaned into the comforting touch. The ribbons carressed his covered skin, making him feel warm, loose, energized, clear. Peter smiled as the ribbons transformed his clothing into something else, something lighter and more airy. When Peter opened his eyes, the ribbons were gone and his clothes were not the jeans and tee-shirt they had been before. Instead, they were a white leotard with a short, very short blue skirt, white gloves, red high-heel boots, a big red ribbon with the compact at its center, and a gold tiara with a red stone in it.

The punks couldn't move. Their mouths were handing open. One of them pointed at Peter. "H-Huh?" he managed.

Peter put his hands on his hips. "I am Sailor Moon." Peter threw a hand out into the air. "And in the name of the moon," Peter's free hand fisted into a thumbs-up and was pointed at his chest, "I will punish you."

The two punks screamed. They turned around and ran, afraid of the freak in the skirt and wondering whether they had gone insane and whether this was a dream and about a hundred other things that would later lead to many months in therapy.

Peter returned to a normal stance. He looked at the costume he was wearing. He smiled. He did look ridiculous, didn't he? That's when the thought struck Peter. "How am I going to return back to normal?" Peter looked around him. This wasn't good. If someone caught him dressed like this, it would be disastrous. He would be committed or sent to jail. How would he save the world in jail?! Peter had to make a run to his apartment. He couldn't go back to his mother's dressed like this, even though it was closer. Nathan wouldn't approve of his little brother dressed like a female superhero. A pretty skanky female superhero at that.

Peter slowly ran to the turn in the curb. He pressed his back to the wall of the building that was there. After this turn, there was no more scaffolding. So he would be out in the open, free to be mocked and judged and reported to the police. Peter looked around the turn, seeing no one there. Silently, Peter prayed for this little bit of fortune and continued to pray for continued luck such as this.

(----------)

 Mohinder was almost asleep when the phone rang. The book that had been on his chest fell off when he sat up. The phone rang a second time. Mohinder rubbed his eyes and stood up. The phone rang a third time. "I'm coming" Mohinder said, still working away the last threads of sleep from his mind. He picked up the receiver, pressed the "talk" button, and said in it, "Mohinder Suresh."

"Mohinder?" Mohinder blinked at the sound of his name. He stood a little straighter and spoke a little more clearly. "Peter Petrelli. It's nice to hear from you again. Has...has there been anything?"

"Yeah" Peter said. He sounded a little angry or out of breath or a mixture of the two. "I just ran five blocks in heeled boots and a miniskirt, and a pair of kids are going to be scarred for the rest of their lives!"

Mohinder blinked. "Pardon?"

Peter sighed. "I used the compact, and it worked. I transformed into Sailor Moon." The last sentence was said with a little chuckle of disbelief and excitement.

Mohinder smiled broadly, showing teeth that clashed with his dark skin. "You did?" Mohinder asked, a little surprised himself. He knew that he shouldn't, but this was important. This was Sailor Moon he had found. "This is great, Peter! Incredible! What was it like? Transforming, I mean? Were you attacked by someone? Did you see their face?"

"I was attacked by someone" Peter answered, a little angry. "A pair of kids looking for my wallet. I transformed right in front of them. They ran away after I transformed and I'm sure they aren't going to be looking for me or saying anything about what happened for a while. But now I have a problem."

"What?"

"I can't turn back to normal. Do you know how I return to normal?"

Mohinder rubbed his forehead. "Yes. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before you left. You push the broach at the center of the bow and that deactivates the power, returns you to normal."

There was silence over the phone. Mohinder held his breath as he waited for Peter to return to normal. It was pretty stupid of him not to tell Peter how you change back. Then again, the question was never presented to Mohinder. A simple human mistake, was all it was. "Wow" Peter said after a minute. "It worked." Mohinder smiled. "I can't believe I didn't think of that before."

"We normally don't think of the simple things." Mohinder looked out a nearby window. "I'm very glad you gave the compact a try, Peter."

Peter sounded humble with the next few words. "Well, I figured that maybe what you said wasn't as crazy as you thought it sounded."

Mohinder chuckled. "Right. Well, I guess you and I are going to be working together now."

"Why?"

"To find your teammates. The Sailor Scouts. You need them to defeat the evil that is trying to take over the world." Mohinder began to walk over to his couch.

"Speaking of that, do you know anything on this enemy so, you know, I don't go running in completely blind?"

Mohinder sat on his couch, staring at the plain wooden box. He ran a hand down one side. "Nothing whatsoever."

"Well, if you don't know anything, how are we supposed to defeat them?"

"Faith" Mohinder said simply, opening the box. Green, red, and blue wands sat side-by-side at the bottom, the symbols of the planets Mercury, Mars, and Jupiter in gold. Three marbles--a yellow, an indigo, and a violet one--sat between them, showing the progress Mohinder has made.

(--------)

A group of five sat at a long conference table in a conference room in some nondescript building in some business district in some big city. The leather chair at the top had its back to the four, which consisted of four girls and one man. One girl was childish and cute, with short brown hair and big, expressive eyes. The girl next to her also had brown hair, but hers brushed against her shoulders and her face was a little more mature and thinner. The man across from her was large, dark, stoic, and bald. The woman next to him was pretty, with curly brown hair and a big upper lip. They all wore a similar blue-gray uniform, designed to match their tastes and styles.

"Is there" the man in the big leather chair at the top started, "any new information."

The big-eyed girl stood up. She held her hands in front of her, lying flat against the knee-length skirt she was wearing. "There is word that Sailor Moon has been located and contacted."

"Has Sailor Moon tapped into his or her power" the leader asked.

The big-eyed girl paused for a brief second. That alone gave the leader his answer, but he always asked for a vocal answer. "Yes, he has, sir."

The leather chair twisted a little, but didn't completely turn around. "That's not good."

The big-eyed girl shook her head. "No, it is not, sir."

 There was a longer silence as the man in the big leather chair thought of what to decide next. The girl with the big eyes had sat down by the time the leader began to speak again. "I guess this isn't too horrible an event. We just need to get to the other Scouts before those two do. Eden, I want you to keep an eye on Sailor Moon and whoever he comes in contact to. And Celeste. Keep a very close eye on Celeste."

The big-eyed girl, Eden, nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Simone, I would like you to stay in New York and check up on Eden every so often and then report back to me whenever you believe it to be necessary."

The big-lipped girl with the curly hair nodded. "Yes sir." The woman gave the girl across from her a challenging look. Eden gave her a hateful one.