Peter and Sylar in a Jail Cell
A/N: I was surfing around and saw one of those little "expression" gifs that meld different Heroes scenes and make them look like characters who weren't together, were. This one took Peter from Season 1 jail and put him in a cell with Sylar, who was looking out a window. My mind began to wander. What would have happened if, after Sylar threw Peter off the Odessa High School Stadium in season 1, and Sylar was captured by the Company, if both were snapped up by the Company and confined together? What if the Company had been a shady government agency instead of the autonomous group led by twelve that we saw in the show? What if there was a totally different past and future spun off from that one scene?
Anyway, I got to writing a bit. Don't know if it will go anywhere, but I was bored whilst playing D&D and thought I'd jot down the scene while it was in my head.
The man who had been calling himself Sylar woke up blearily on the floor. He had a weird metallic taste in his mouth. He jerked, blinking his eyes open as quickly as possible, sitting up. The room spun badly and he listed to one side, catching himself. The scuff of a chair caught his attention and he looked up at the other occupant of his cell. And it did indeed appear to be a cell, perhaps even a concrete bunker. A single glance gave him plain grey concrete walls for two sides, a large glass window into an equally austere concrete hallway, and a lone, narrow window of heavily frosted glass. Getting his bearings, he rose.
His cell mate was outfitted as he was in a thin, white cotton t-shirt and drawstring pants. No socks, he noticed, which was the first thing that pinged in his mind that they were in a similar situation and this was not his captor. The other was the copious amounts of blood matted around the man's ear and in his hair. He was pale and looked like warmed over death, not dissimilar to how Sylar felt. The man had started to rise when Sylar had sat up too quickly and almost fell, but now he had settled back down and was trying very hard to keep an eye on Sylar while pretending to ignore him. The guy looked vaguely familiar.
Sylar gave him a once-over. He was white, in his 20s, sitting in one of two metal chairs next to a small table. He had his elbows up on the table, fingers interlaced, resting his forehead against his raised, joined hands. He was sitting with his feet just a little drawn up, so they weren't on the cold concrete floor. Sylar's mind finally placed him - the guy he'd thrown off the stadium, before he'd fled into the woods and then ... darkness.
He narrowed his eyes at the man briefly, then wandered over to look out the viewport on their little jail cell. There was no visible jailer, but he could see a camera. There was nothing much else to see of interest, so he turned back to the man. "Didn't I kill you?"
The man shot him a look from over his hands that let Sylar know he was just about as unhappy to be in here as Sylar. "Didn't take," he said with a slight sneer, before directing his eyes elsewhere.
Sylar tilted his head. "You're like I am." That earned him another second-long glance, to which Sylar elaborated, "Special."
The other man blew a little air from his nose and said nothing.
That was annoying. Enough of the game. Sylar twisted his wrist, flexed his fingers and tried to reach out with his ability to sieze the man and fling him against the far wall. Nothing happened. He raised his hand and looked at it as though it were the source of the malfunction. "My powers - they're gone!"
That got the other man's attention, who regarded him for several seconds this time before saying, "I don't have them."
It was a ridiculous statement and Sylar snorted at it. "Of course you don't. You can't do that."
The other man shrugged slightly with such nonchalance that Sylar immediately realized the man thought it was possible. Sylar's brows pulled together and he reexamined him. Whoever this was, he definitely had a power. Sylar had crushed him hard when they came off the stadium, making sure to break every major bone in the man's body, yet here he was looking ... well, he didn't look good, but he didn't look like anything was broken. Sylar considered the lingering chemical taste in his mouth and the odd ringing in his ears. It seemed more likely there was a drug that was obstructing his abilities, as well as whatever abilities this other man had.
He stared out the viewport for a long minute, then circled the room. Metal door, nothing that counted as a bed or furniture other than the chairs and table, a porcelain sink and something that he supposed was a toilet - no toilet paper. The other man watched his circuit discreetly and silently. Sylar ended on the other side of the table, gripping the back of the other chair. It was heavy enough to be used against the window, but the glass looked very thick and it might not be glass even. No reason to tip his hand quite yet about that. He pulled the chair out and sat down, putting his elbows on the table and matching the other man's position. They stared at each other from across the table.
Anyway, I got to writing a bit. Don't know if it will go anywhere, but I was bored whilst playing D&D and thought I'd jot down the scene while it was in my head.
The man who had been calling himself Sylar woke up blearily on the floor. He had a weird metallic taste in his mouth. He jerked, blinking his eyes open as quickly as possible, sitting up. The room spun badly and he listed to one side, catching himself. The scuff of a chair caught his attention and he looked up at the other occupant of his cell. And it did indeed appear to be a cell, perhaps even a concrete bunker. A single glance gave him plain grey concrete walls for two sides, a large glass window into an equally austere concrete hallway, and a lone, narrow window of heavily frosted glass. Getting his bearings, he rose.
His cell mate was outfitted as he was in a thin, white cotton t-shirt and drawstring pants. No socks, he noticed, which was the first thing that pinged in his mind that they were in a similar situation and this was not his captor. The other was the copious amounts of blood matted around the man's ear and in his hair. He was pale and looked like warmed over death, not dissimilar to how Sylar felt. The man had started to rise when Sylar had sat up too quickly and almost fell, but now he had settled back down and was trying very hard to keep an eye on Sylar while pretending to ignore him. The guy looked vaguely familiar.
Sylar gave him a once-over. He was white, in his 20s, sitting in one of two metal chairs next to a small table. He had his elbows up on the table, fingers interlaced, resting his forehead against his raised, joined hands. He was sitting with his feet just a little drawn up, so they weren't on the cold concrete floor. Sylar's mind finally placed him - the guy he'd thrown off the stadium, before he'd fled into the woods and then ... darkness.
He narrowed his eyes at the man briefly, then wandered over to look out the viewport on their little jail cell. There was no visible jailer, but he could see a camera. There was nothing much else to see of interest, so he turned back to the man. "Didn't I kill you?"
The man shot him a look from over his hands that let Sylar know he was just about as unhappy to be in here as Sylar. "Didn't take," he said with a slight sneer, before directing his eyes elsewhere.
Sylar tilted his head. "You're like I am." That earned him another second-long glance, to which Sylar elaborated, "Special."
The other man blew a little air from his nose and said nothing.
That was annoying. Enough of the game. Sylar twisted his wrist, flexed his fingers and tried to reach out with his ability to sieze the man and fling him against the far wall. Nothing happened. He raised his hand and looked at it as though it were the source of the malfunction. "My powers - they're gone!"
That got the other man's attention, who regarded him for several seconds this time before saying, "I don't have them."
It was a ridiculous statement and Sylar snorted at it. "Of course you don't. You can't do that."
The other man shrugged slightly with such nonchalance that Sylar immediately realized the man thought it was possible. Sylar's brows pulled together and he reexamined him. Whoever this was, he definitely had a power. Sylar had crushed him hard when they came off the stadium, making sure to break every major bone in the man's body, yet here he was looking ... well, he didn't look good, but he didn't look like anything was broken. Sylar considered the lingering chemical taste in his mouth and the odd ringing in his ears. It seemed more likely there was a drug that was obstructing his abilities, as well as whatever abilities this other man had.
He stared out the viewport for a long minute, then circled the room. Metal door, nothing that counted as a bed or furniture other than the chairs and table, a porcelain sink and something that he supposed was a toilet - no toilet paper. The other man watched his circuit discreetly and silently. Sylar ended on the other side of the table, gripping the back of the other chair. It was heavy enough to be used against the window, but the glass looked very thick and it might not be glass even. No reason to tip his hand quite yet about that. He pulled the chair out and sat down, putting his elbows on the table and matching the other man's position. They stared at each other from across the table.