During the days of neglecting his growling stomach, tired mind and parched lips, Isaac had done so much thinking. If only he could paint a mural of the past. His future mattered naught to him. The only thing weighing on his mind was the last thing he had ever said to the siren he had mistakenly slain.

“I would do anything for you Simone. Anything.”

He remembered that what was left of his heart had turned to ash as she scoffed and demanded that he “Find Peter.” The sweet, friendly nurse Peter that saved me when I ODed? Or the dangerous man  who just tried to kill me Peter? Isaac thought bitterly.

“Look at me Simone!” he cried at no one in particular, picking up an old paint bucket and unceremoniously chucking it across the room. “I got clean! I changed! I wanted to help you; I started believing that I was meant to make a difference! And what did he do? He betrayed us! He abandoned you, he abandoned his brother, and he doesn’t give a damn about anything we’re doing!”

Isaac crumpled to his knees, hot tears pouring onto floor mural of New York going nuclear. However long his tears rained on the painted flames, nothing could ever extinguish the orange and black mushroom cloud rising up from the middle of the city. He wanted to blame the whole thing on Peter, the traitor who stole the woman he loved away from him, yet he couldn’t deny that it was entirely his fault for pulling the trigger.

Two short deafening bursts. Bang. Bang. Simone was the most beautiful and delicate thing in his world, but the sight of her bleeding torso sickened him as though she was a scale skinned kraken. And if this wasn’t enough, the vision that ripped Isaac’s heart out the most was seeing Simone falling backwards…right into Peter’s arms. The love of his life died in the embrace of a saboteur, before Isaac could reach her and apologize for everything he had ever put her through. He pitied himself, for she had not believed that he had risen above his problems, grown into a better man. A good man, finally worthy of her kiss. Just as she hadn’t believed that Peter could ever do something terrible, or ever walk the line between heaven and hell. Peter Petrelli was in an emotional limbo, creeping closer and closer to damnation with every strike he took.

Simone was an alluring enchantress, but she was stubborn. Isaac did allow himself this one negative thought about her, for its truth was undeniable.

“What did they offer you Isaac? Money? Drugs?” Peter had spat.

He was the boy who cried wolf. So many times he had claimed to be clean, just spiriling back down again with the numbing shots of liquid cheer. “They” hadn’t offered him drugs. They had offered him freedom from the addiction. Without the help of them, Isaac would have been stuck, penniless, heartbroken and dying.

Then again, he was still penniless, heartbroken, and dying of his own lost will to live. Peter was the enemy now, and all Isaac could do was paint a grim prophecy. How could he ever face a god? Isaac scoffed. Peter always had been an impossible match, even when he was powerless. Simone didn’t want a heroin addict pulling her down. She wanted a provider, she wanted more then just the heart and soul of a broken man, and that’s all Isaac was able to give to her at the time.

Still on his kneels, Isaac howled, releasing the agony in his heart, the desire to touch Simone’s smooth skin and silky hair just one more time. Peter should have been hunting him like he was a dog. He had shot the pistol. He had sent two bullets slamming into the most lovely but indecisive heart on the planet. Peter had every right to rip out Isaac’s throat, yet it was the artist who yearned for revenge. It was Isaac who wanted to hear screams ringing in his ears, finally overcoming his rival.

In the beginning, Isaac was weak, and Peter was lost, yet Peter still won the battle. In the next act, Isaac was stronger, healthier, but at the same time, Peter had risen above human nature, and won the battle.  Gritting his teeth, and bringing his ragged body to its feet, Isaac looked to the spot on his balcony where Simone’s blood was spilled.

He swore on her, and everything that they had ever done together, that he would win the war.