Heroes Going Postal Chapter 3: “Let’s Talk”
Star TrekStargate:AtlantisFireflyBy TrinityVixen
The story of Echo DeMille continues. Last week, he killed a second agent of the Company, the Constrictor, another super who was threatening the life of Gina, his girlfriend. We faded away as someone knocked on the front door.
“We’re out of time,” DeMille moans. He pushes Gina towards the back door (way to stake out the joint, Company slackers!), telling her she needs to run. Despite the fact that she’s just witnessed her boyfriend’s super ability for the first time and saw it kill, Gina’s worried for him and refuses to leave without assurance of his safety.
With a calmness bordering on suspicious, DeMille outlines his plan: he’s the one they want, so she should slip out while he distracts them, drive to a café they both know, and wait for half an hour. He pushes the earplugs on her and tells her to put them in immediately. Earplugs will instantly make her useless at driving, if nerves haven’t already. Is he really concerned about her safety?
“How will I find you?” The likewise improbably practical Gina asks when he tells her to take off if he doesn’t show. Somehow, his answer of “I’ll find you” doesn’t spook her or lead her to a fit of scoffing, as it should. Gina, honey, I know this situation is stressful, but you have to recognize two things here: either you’re never going to unite, meaning you’ll never know if he’s okay or if it’s safe to return to your life; or you will find each other, which implies that the man you’re involved with has some extracurricular stalking habits only kept in check by being in a relationship.
The show tries to make him seem adorable. He’ll come find her—rain or shine. Very cute, him being a postman and all. I still call creep vibes. The Company goons knock again, calling out, “Mr. DeMille, we know you’re inside.”
Gina asks him what he’s going to do, a hardness coming into her expression. She already knows. That’s the problem about trying to lie to your lover—they can see right through you. DeMille jokes about telling the crazy kids to get off his lawn; she winces; they kiss; Gina skedaddles; and DeMille goes to the door.
But first, she stops for the cat. I love this. Crazy women in crazy science-fiction stories! They always go back for the cat! I blame Ellen Ripley. Then again, having a cat around is never a bad idea. They sense evil. Or do they? As soon as Gina’s out with Fluffers, the smile falls away from DeMille’s face. Without the slightest trace of affection, he is rather frightening. Was this hiding there all along?
Gina hoofs it to her minivan (are there little DeMilles running around that we should know about?), tosses Fluffers in, and immediately shoves her earplugs in. I’m pretty sure she’s got one lodged in her cerebellum, she pushes them in so far.
DeMille finally opens the door. I’m glad the goons are so chill that they don’t mind sitting on the front step until it strikes the fancy of the homicidal homeowner to let them inside. Most shadowy agencies don’t have a problem busting doors down. The Company can’t be trying to make a good impression; at this point, DeMille has killed two of their guys. It’s not make-nice time.
“I was expecting company,” DeMille snides at the men outside, walking away from the open door. The agents step inside and circle the body of the Constrictor, taking in the blood dribbling from his ears. The taller Company man looks outraged. “We just want to talk!”
“Nah,” DeMille says, smiling in an entirely sketchy way. “You’re going to listen.” The shorter agent has a priceless expression on his face that roughly translates to: “Oh balls…” right before DeMille unleashes another sonic roar. This time, his own voice is entirely lost to the roar as the super-shock moves on. The agents crumble. Outside in her quiet world, Gina somehow knows the shockwave is coming but can do nothing. It hits her and, earplugs or no, she falls down.
Fade to black. Then fade to “13 Weeks Later.” The Heroes webisodes finally get to enjoy the narrative cluster-f*** of the series. Time jumps = stupid. Didn’t they learn this when Hiro spent way too long in feudal Japan?
Fine, “13 Weeks Later,” and…
Heels click along a hallway as the camera pans to show industrial concrete walls with the number five painted on every wall. The heels turn and do that show shuffle-stop that means the woman wearing them knows how to work them. From her point of view, we see Echo DeMille. He is sitting in what appears to be a modified electric chair—high wooden back with padding, straps going around his torso and arms. His head is bowed and heavy. Hilariously, there is a toilet noticeably sticking out of the back wall. Too bad he’s tied to a chair. I bet he gazes wistfully at the toilet when they come to change his catheter and colostomy bag. If they do. How evil is the Company really?
DeMille lifts his head. There’s another restraint across his face. We back off and his visitor…is FRIGGIN MAMA PETRELLI!!?! Everyone do a dance now that a real actress has arrived. Christine Rose is superbly smug and dominant in this scene, taking DeMille’s pathetic state with some delight and a lot of derision. This is a woman who was ready to let her favorite son explode and may have had a hand in her other son being shot. Humdrum murder-for-mere-survival does not impress her.
“Echo, Echo, Echo,” she sighs. (I know, it’s hard, with the obvious name and all, but Christine Rose soldiers through.) “You always were the mouthy one.” Her expression of distaste must be attributed to the dialogue. Where did she learn to do that? Did she suck lemons right before coming on? No, not possible, not with her makeup being pristine. “I guess some things never change.” Too right, girlfriend.
“Welcome home.”
At this, DeMille flips the freak out. He screams, soundlessly, into the gag, which has some sort of device on the end to nullify his ability. He screams and screams, and you can only barely hear that he’s even breathing.
Mama P puts her finger to her lips. “Shh,” she chides, like a good parent quieting a bratty child in church. Except that I doubt she ever had to do more than raise one of her perfect eyebrows at her boys to settle them. There’s also the fact that she might have a power of her own, an auto-suggestive one that is dependent on touch. (Thus birthing the Petrelli Inappropriate Touch Syndrome.) And we’re back to the eclipse logo and another webisode is done.
SO! “Welcome home”? I am vindicated in thinking that Echo DeMille is a seriously sketchy character even if the narrative contradicted itself at every turn. Chapter 1: He can use his power, he just chooses not to! Chapter 2: Or not! It’s all new to him, actually! And murder is terrible! Chapter 3: Actually, murder happens a lot and he might have done it all the time before escaping from Level 5.
I smell the work of lazy continuity editors and possibly the Haitian. Does the Company have a catch-and-release program? Why would they then go back and try to “help” DeMille as though they never knew who he was or what his powers were? Is this some hazing ritual that all low-ranking agents go through before they can get promoted—try and capture a super without any sort of protection whatsoever and live?
Mama P—way more Company than advertised. Awesome. My guess is that she stayed away, let Linderman and Mr. P do their work with Kaito Nakamura and the others. Probably because they didn’t trust that she wouldn’t influence them unduly. (Fair enough. It’s only paranoia when the other guy doesn’t have the ability to rewrite your mind.) I like that the real threat of evil supers breaking out from Company control (or merely existing without it) is enough to provoke her into unleashing her fury of pearls and tasteful, catty put-downs. Go, go, Mama P!
Going Postal Chapter 3: “Let’s Talk” can be viewed here.
Never miss an update. Subscribe to Pink Raygun by Email or subscribe via RSS
About TrinityVixen: There’s an asterisk on TrinityVixen’scollege transcript that assures anyone who reads it that, though there is no specific major, degree, or certificate for it, she did, in fact, complete some kind of creative writing program as an undergrad. Armed with that symbol of irrelevant experience, she has polluted the internet with her opinions and horrible fanworks ever since (and for quite a long while before). Living poor in New York until she finds a means to become independently wealthy, she must subsist on the juicy meat of fandom. Fandom and noodles. And instant soup.
Stumble it!