What is this Aspiration to Coalesce with Mohinder for the Favourable Advantage of his Father's Research?

It seems that I have become a boon, a Holy Grail of Hero-Hunting, the object of so many a person's desire.

And yet am I not but a commodity? As it is human nature to seek out resources and to devour, to use, to strip plunder and pillage, to ransack the riches, depleting them indefinitely, leaving them vacuous and lost forever, surely I am in grave danger of a similar raping of my bountiful booty.

Though I will not stand for it! Indians, especially the overly eccentric wealthy semi-British ones, are renowned for their persistent parrying of peril. And I plan to parry like no other. As a radical wheat monkey perplexes its vicious prey, the rabid Tibetan feline, and escapes from doom, so shall I.

Svetlana the Hefty is en route to my abode. Would she not merely be satisfied with any man? Why is it that she seeks me, a man of nominal girth and a strong distaste of all things sugary? Yet despite the obvious, she finds herself enamored by and infatuated with me, like a raging rhino ravishes toward a Japanese lacquer tree with no regard for its uninviting branches of bothersome turmoil waiting to afflict a disease of uncanny trepidation.

And as though it was not enough for Destiny's cruel joke to cast an adhesion-bound behemoth of blubbery paunchiness in my wake, also on my trail is a vicious villain vying for my affection. And yet am I not the good guy? While it is true that my religious beliefs are questionable and I often liken God to a cockroach, can it not be said that I still fight the proverbial good fight? Why then would such a vile and preposterous man seek out my help? In his vain attempt to coerce me into cooperating, the man in glasses merely exposed his own lack of progression. I will have no part in the cruelty of his paper-making organization sans initials.

Also on the arduous adventure seeking my knowledge and my father's theories as his prize is a man who may very well be Patient Zero. This particular person is the only obstacle with which I'll consider collaborating. It is likely he is the very key to this treasure trove of genetic gems.

With all these happenings in one's life, how can a man still find time to help a narcissistic politician find his sexually-repressed and emotionally-fragile brother?

It seems that there is only one Mohinder, one who is not adequately prepared to sufficiently be rationed amongst the many mouths seeking fulfillment of their voracity. And yet, my destiny lies in their greedy palms. For only through them can I see my father's theories come to life. I must use them like a library patron uses his library card to obtain books. I shall check them out, two at a time, and return them in a timely manner, lest I be indebted a nickel.