(no subject)
Title: Define Dangerous
Characters: Sylar, Claire.
Spoilers: Up to Season 2.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3183
Chapter: 2/?
Previously: Chapter 1
Summary: While escaping the Company, Sylar meets up with someone from his past. Together, they must piece together some semblance of normality after years of captivity. Future AU.
The road sign up ahead said Odessa was coming up, only ten more miles down the same highway they'd been following for the past few hours. Sylar would be able to find food there, along with clothes and a new direction to follow. The only question in his mind was would Claire make it there. Despite her regenerative abilities, she looked half-starved and emaciated.
She was slowing him down. He wished he could allow himself to let her go, break this weird connection that was starting to form between them and head out on his own. It would be simpler. It would be something Sylar would have done in the past.
A mechanical noise blocked out his thoughts. A van coming from the direction they'd been walking. It was close, right over the horizon. Sylar looked back down the road, wondering why it was that he hadn't heard it before. His advanced hearing should have picked up the sound of its engine miles ago.
“Come here,” He gestured, quickly breaking away from the road and starting down a nearby gully. They wouldn't be crossing the bridge up ahead, not yet. Not with that van following. Fortunately, there was an overpass they could hide under until it went away. “I don't think it'll see us down--”
Sylar trailed off, his sentence cut off by Claire's frightened silence. She was too busy starring at the sight of the approaching van to hear him. There was a look of horror in her expression, a fear built into her through years of testing and training. The van was painted black, with completely tinted windows. Sylar realized she had good reason to be scared. That same van, or one much like it, had been there when he'd been taken prisoner.
“Primatech.” Her voice was so quiet, Sylar wouldn't have been able to pick up the whisper without advanced hearing. Everything slowed around her as Claire found herself caught like a deer in headlights, until he forced time back into overdrive again.
“Claire, come on, we have to hide. Now.” Sylar pointed down the gully, under the bridge to what he hoped was beyond the sight of the vehicle. When she failed to move, only letting out a startled squeaking noise that was like chalk on a chalkboard as his superhearing started working again, his annoyance only escalated.
He shot a look at the van, then at Claire. Then, wasting no time, he ran over to her, wrapped one hand tightly on her mouth and one arm around her waist. Carrying her off the road, Sylar jumped down the gully and into the river, water splashing up around the two of them.
Under the bridge, he whispered to her, “Will you be quiet? They'll be gone soon.”
This did nothing to calm Claire. She shook while the van came closer on the road, like an animal that had been badly mistreated. Sylar held her pressed up against him, willing her to be quiet. They didn't come this far to be caught only a few hours later. He knew he shouldn't have been traveling with this girl. She was only going to get the both of them killed.
The van bumped onto the bridge, over their heads and Sylar closed his eyes. He counted to himself, in order to pass the agony of that moment. One, two.. the van was right on top of them now.. three, four.. Claire was shuddering against him.. five, six.. he could feel her tears falling on his hand that was still clasped over her mouth.. seven, eight.. he thought the van was stopping and prayed that he was wrong.. nine, ten.. and it was finally gone, heading away from them again. They were in the clear.
“See? They're gone. You can stop your bitching now.” He clipped his words, anger masking his own fear. He loosened his grip on her and Claire relaxed against him, quiet once more. The tension in his muscles slowly dissipated, easing out of his shoulders and back as he sighed in relief. That had been a little too close. “Let's stay down here until we're sure they're not coming back.”
Claire nodded, agreeing as the river soaked her pants up to her knees. They'd survived, for now at least.
“What's your story?” Sylar asked her, filling the silence of the dusty Texan roadside with the sound of his voice. He prodded her for answers, even though she'd only spoken one word since their escape. Primatech. That was about the extent of their conversation so far. It was getting to be late afternoon, judging by the sun and he was getting tired of her tight-lipped attitude.
He didn't expect her to say much, but he still couldn't help picking her brain for knowledge; partly because he wanted dirt on the company and partly simply because he was bored. “How did they catch you? Did they come in the night, steal you out of your bed, away from your sweet little family? Or did Nathan sell you to them. A pretty little science experiment for them to toy with would fetch some nice pocket change for his next presidential campaign.”
She stared at him for a moment, bewildered and gathered her voice. “My father's dead.” Her words seemed to startle her, the memories alone frightening her. Then, changing topics completely, Claire asked, “Why did you rescue me?”
He thought a moment. There was no logic in his actions, no reason for his behavior, no biological imperative to explain this away. Still, that word was out there in the open now, for the both of them to think over.
Rescue.
He wasn't a rescuer, he didn't fit the hero role. If there was one thing Chandra had taught him, it was that. Sylar answered as truthfully as he knew how, “I don't know.”
“It wasn't so long ago you were trying to split my head open and rip my brain apart.”
The rocks of the pebbled road bit into his bare feet. Dust settled where he walked, his shadow falling behind him in the midday sun. “It was a whole other lifetime ago, Claire.” He watched her, wondering how long she had been down in that complex. Her skin had grown pale and ashen, while her weight dropped considerably, dangerously so. “I was.. different. Maybe. I don't know.” He couldn't quite figured out how much of his old persona existed within him or whether a new balance had been found. “Maybe I saw what evil really looked like, what it did to people, how it made them feel small..”
Claire nodded, suddenly understanding. No matter how different their pasts might have been, who had played the hero or who had been the villain, there were some things they both shared. As fresh tears started falling from her eyes, she grew dizzy and put a hand to her head.
“Claire?” Sylar cautiously asked. Then, as he watched her fall heavily to the ground, his voice rose in volume. “Claire?!”
He rushed to her side, all the while telling himself he was stupid to care so much about someone else. He wanted to leave her there, wanted to walk away and forget about this moment of insanity where he had tried to do the right thing. He knew he should keep going, to the next town and onward to continue the murder spree the company had disrupted years ago.
Nevertheless, Sylar found himself testing her pulse and then her breathing. Back when he began acquiring new powers, Sylar read volumes on how the human body worked in order to start fixing himself and jumpstart the evolutionary process. Coupled with his eidetic memory, it made him a decent doctor, good enough for emergencies at least.
When her vitals checked out, he picked her up in his arms and began carrying her, silently promising to get her to safety and hating himself every minute for doing so. The two sides of his personality battled within him during the long walk to town, neither winning for very long.
“Home, sweet home. At least until I can hijack a car and get us the hell out of Primatech-town.” Sylar tossed Claire's unconscious dead weight unceremoniously onto the hotel bed. At first, he thought of taking her to a hospital, to get a thorough examination but the realization that Primatech was probably watching for any signs of the two travelers in official paperwork killed that idea. They had to stay under the radar, remaining hidden until it was safe to come back out again. If that day every arrived.
Thankfully, she'd opened her eyes for a few moments once they got into Odessa and mumbled something he couldn't quite grasp. It was enough for Sylar to tell that she was going to be all right. He ascribed her condition to the stress of escaping the compound and walking too long in the Texas heat. Maybe he'd pushed her too hard, cut down too close to the bone with his comments earlier. Oh well, she'd just have to get used to him because Sylar sure as hell wasn't going to change for this girl.
He collapsed onto the bed beside her, completely exhausted. Sylar had carried her the whole way to a hotel in Odessa, rocks digging into his toes the whole way. The really fun part was explaining to the hotel staff why he was lugging her nearly comatose body around. The looks and stares he received from the tourists who were milling around in the lobby were enough to remind him of the scientists back at the company, just minus the clipboards and note taking.
He spilled out explanations. A little too much drink at a party, she'd be fine.. excuses, excuses.. but they seemed to work. Sometimes he was surprised at what a good liar he could really be. The staff was even nice enough to arrange for him to get a room right away and handle the paperwork connected with checking in later. Gotta love those hospitable Texans. Perhaps that was only to get him and comatose girl out of the lobby though, away from the other guests who were starting to whisper.
It was much easier this way, since he had no forms of identification on him anyway. That was the next order of business, he mused as he rubbed his eyes and sat up on the bed. They would need money and false identification. The best way to go about producing these things would be to mug someone off the streets. He flexed his hand, feeling his powers as they laid dormant within him. “Someone's going to get a nasty little surprise tonight.”
Claire snored away on the bed, making him grimace. Why did all his traveling companions have to snore? First Mohinder, then Alejandro and now Claire. At least it was more proof to the fact that she would be okay. She was just tired, but then weren't they all. Tired of this life and these people in it, tired of so many things.. but he would make it right for them.
He stopped in mid thought, wondering how and why Claire had become a part of his plans. She was right. It wasn't so long ago he'd been trying to take her brain and destroy her life. He stood up, eager to leave all of a sudden. There were things in this room he didn't want to think about, things in his life that he tried his best to push away. Before he left, he whispered to a sleeping Claire, “It's probably best if I just go do what I'm good at. I'll be back when I'm done destroying the city.”
Standing in the shadows, the night cast over the quiet city streets, Sylar stood waiting for the first easy mark. It had been long since he had killed anyone but he figured it was like riding a bike, once you learned how it became second nature. Anticipation caused adrenaline to rush through his veins like a drug, energy primed and ready for the target to arrive.
A man stepped out of a bar down the street, wobbling on his tall, thin legs. Already drunk and disoriented, he would be a good place to begin again and restore the wave of killing that was cut short years earlier by the company. Someone called out from the bar a warning and Sylar paused to listen. “Make sure you take a taxi home, John.”
There were no taxis around and relatively few people, just that one dive of a bar. Sylar smiled to himself as he analyzed his opponents strengthens and weaknesses, finding more of the latter. This would be too easy. He started trailing in the man's wake, never getting too close until he noticed a back alleyway.
He flicked his hand, sending the drunk sailing into the alleyway, crashing into a pile of trashcans. After years of lying awake in the company, dreaming of the moment when he would kill again, this where it would all start. After making sure they hadn't been seen and no one would be coming to this man's rescue, Sylar followed him into the alleyway.
Excited by the prospect of finally being able to do some damage, Sylar's powers danced in his mind, ready to play. The man tried to scramble to his feet, but Sylar reached out his hand, grabbing him by an unseen force. Slamming the dunk into the building wall, he said, “Here’s the deal, John. You have money. I need money. I’m going to kill you for it and you’re going to die.”
“Who-- who are you? One of Tony’s boys? He said I could have two more weeks.. with interest.” John seemed oblivious to the fact that he was now suspended in midair. Nevertheless, his fear was palpable, sending the hairs on Sylar’s neck straight upward in a delightful manner. They were coming to his favorite part.
“Tony’s the least of your problems.” Sylar held up his index finger, the gesture practiced and easy. No amount of time spent locked up could destroy all of his instincts. “The name Sylar should be the one you hear in your nightmares. The one that wakes you up screaming.”
The first mark was made. An incision at the side of John's neck dripped red liquid, the blood beginning to flow from the wound. A bit more and Sylar would be cutting into the carotid artery and adding one more person to the list of those he had murdered. A scream bubbled up from John's throat but soon faded into a low whimper. Sylar's powers failed in mid action leaving both of them surprised.
While Sylar could still hold him pinned up against the wall, he couldn’t get his finger to slice the man's neck. He flexed his hand, willing his powers to work and curious that they weren't.
Sylar attempted to bring his powers out once more, sticking his finger out again. John shut his eyes but reopened them when nothing happened. Sylar starred at his hand like it was a foreign object, “What the--?” At that moment, the rest of his telekinesis failed. “What's going on?!”
John noisily dropped down on his ass, falling on top of the wooden crates that lined the alleyway. “Hey, man, whatever you're on.. I don't want any part of it. I'm-- I'm gonna go now,” He scrambled to his feet, inching away from Sylar. He held up his hands signaling that he didn't want to fight. It didn't really matter what he wanted at this point. “If that's okay with you, I mean..”
He stumbled away, getting only about two feet before the drink from that night caught up with him, making him dizzily bump into a dumpster. He moaned, whether it was from the pain of falling into the large metal box or the knowledge that he wasn't going to leave this alleyway intact.
Sylar caught him by the back of his shirt, “I don't know what's going on with my powers, but you are not getting away that easy.”
He'd killed people without his powers before. Back when he was plain, old watchmaker Gabriel and Brian Davis came into his shop seeking a cure for his telekinesis. Or when Candice had been stupid enough to try to force an alliance with him.
“This isn't as fun, but it'll do.” Sylar pushed the man against the dumpster, bashing head against metal. He grabbed John's coat, repeatedly slamming him into the metal until the back of his scalp started bleeding. Eventually, he stopped, letting John fall to the ground. The man brought his hand to the back of his head, pleading incoherently.
“Oh, I'm sorry, you'll have to speak a little louder.” The man lay there begging for his life, which only amused Sylar all the more. Sylar kicked him in the stomach, breaking ribs with the force of his boot. “I can't understand a word you're saying.”
Little by little, he snuffed out the man's life, beating him until John collapsed in unconsciousness. All the rage he'd felt those past years, stuck in that cell without the usual release of murder, fueled his rampage. Humanity had taken years out of his life and this was payback for their species.
When there was little sign of life left, Sylar bent down. Rifling through John's jacket, with his hands covered in blood, Sylar retrieved his wallet. He flipped through the photos, finding pictures of a little girl and an older woman, with John standing with his arms around both of them. “So, you had a family, did you?” He glanced down at the corpse, which still smelled of whiskey. “If it's any consolation, this is probably for the best. They don't have to deal with your drunk ass anymore.”
He pulled out a driver's license, checking to see what name he would be using from now on. John Tyson. It wasn't bad, but it still didn't have the name ring to it that 'Sylar' did. When you're on the run you had to make all sorts of little compromises. Lastly, he pulled out a few hundred dollars, surprised the man had that much on him, what with his debt to Tony and drinking habit.
Sylar took the id card and the money, tossing the rest of the wallet into the dumpster. He didn't even bother cleaning up the scene or moving the body. He left it there to rot and turn to food for the rats and mice that ran abundant through this part of the city. Once Sylar figured out what was wrong with his powers, the rest of the world wouldn't be able to touch him.
“Bye, John.” Before he left the alleyway, Sylar smiled a twisted little smile. The corpse starred up at the sky, eyes still open, as if it was waiting to be delivered by God himself. There was no god here, only a killer touched by evil. “Thanks for the loan. The money will certainly come in handy.”
..to be continued..
Characters: Sylar, Claire.
Spoilers: Up to Season 2.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3183
Chapter: 2/?
Previously: Chapter 1
Summary: While escaping the Company, Sylar meets up with someone from his past. Together, they must piece together some semblance of normality after years of captivity. Future AU.
The road sign up ahead said Odessa was coming up, only ten more miles down the same highway they'd been following for the past few hours. Sylar would be able to find food there, along with clothes and a new direction to follow. The only question in his mind was would Claire make it there. Despite her regenerative abilities, she looked half-starved and emaciated.
She was slowing him down. He wished he could allow himself to let her go, break this weird connection that was starting to form between them and head out on his own. It would be simpler. It would be something Sylar would have done in the past.
A mechanical noise blocked out his thoughts. A van coming from the direction they'd been walking. It was close, right over the horizon. Sylar looked back down the road, wondering why it was that he hadn't heard it before. His advanced hearing should have picked up the sound of its engine miles ago.
“Come here,” He gestured, quickly breaking away from the road and starting down a nearby gully. They wouldn't be crossing the bridge up ahead, not yet. Not with that van following. Fortunately, there was an overpass they could hide under until it went away. “I don't think it'll see us down--”
Sylar trailed off, his sentence cut off by Claire's frightened silence. She was too busy starring at the sight of the approaching van to hear him. There was a look of horror in her expression, a fear built into her through years of testing and training. The van was painted black, with completely tinted windows. Sylar realized she had good reason to be scared. That same van, or one much like it, had been there when he'd been taken prisoner.
“Primatech.” Her voice was so quiet, Sylar wouldn't have been able to pick up the whisper without advanced hearing. Everything slowed around her as Claire found herself caught like a deer in headlights, until he forced time back into overdrive again.
“Claire, come on, we have to hide. Now.” Sylar pointed down the gully, under the bridge to what he hoped was beyond the sight of the vehicle. When she failed to move, only letting out a startled squeaking noise that was like chalk on a chalkboard as his superhearing started working again, his annoyance only escalated.
He shot a look at the van, then at Claire. Then, wasting no time, he ran over to her, wrapped one hand tightly on her mouth and one arm around her waist. Carrying her off the road, Sylar jumped down the gully and into the river, water splashing up around the two of them.
Under the bridge, he whispered to her, “Will you be quiet? They'll be gone soon.”
This did nothing to calm Claire. She shook while the van came closer on the road, like an animal that had been badly mistreated. Sylar held her pressed up against him, willing her to be quiet. They didn't come this far to be caught only a few hours later. He knew he shouldn't have been traveling with this girl. She was only going to get the both of them killed.
The van bumped onto the bridge, over their heads and Sylar closed his eyes. He counted to himself, in order to pass the agony of that moment. One, two.. the van was right on top of them now.. three, four.. Claire was shuddering against him.. five, six.. he could feel her tears falling on his hand that was still clasped over her mouth.. seven, eight.. he thought the van was stopping and prayed that he was wrong.. nine, ten.. and it was finally gone, heading away from them again. They were in the clear.
“See? They're gone. You can stop your bitching now.” He clipped his words, anger masking his own fear. He loosened his grip on her and Claire relaxed against him, quiet once more. The tension in his muscles slowly dissipated, easing out of his shoulders and back as he sighed in relief. That had been a little too close. “Let's stay down here until we're sure they're not coming back.”
Claire nodded, agreeing as the river soaked her pants up to her knees. They'd survived, for now at least.
“What's your story?” Sylar asked her, filling the silence of the dusty Texan roadside with the sound of his voice. He prodded her for answers, even though she'd only spoken one word since their escape. Primatech. That was about the extent of their conversation so far. It was getting to be late afternoon, judging by the sun and he was getting tired of her tight-lipped attitude.
He didn't expect her to say much, but he still couldn't help picking her brain for knowledge; partly because he wanted dirt on the company and partly simply because he was bored. “How did they catch you? Did they come in the night, steal you out of your bed, away from your sweet little family? Or did Nathan sell you to them. A pretty little science experiment for them to toy with would fetch some nice pocket change for his next presidential campaign.”
She stared at him for a moment, bewildered and gathered her voice. “My father's dead.” Her words seemed to startle her, the memories alone frightening her. Then, changing topics completely, Claire asked, “Why did you rescue me?”
He thought a moment. There was no logic in his actions, no reason for his behavior, no biological imperative to explain this away. Still, that word was out there in the open now, for the both of them to think over.
Rescue.
He wasn't a rescuer, he didn't fit the hero role. If there was one thing Chandra had taught him, it was that. Sylar answered as truthfully as he knew how, “I don't know.”
“It wasn't so long ago you were trying to split my head open and rip my brain apart.”
The rocks of the pebbled road bit into his bare feet. Dust settled where he walked, his shadow falling behind him in the midday sun. “It was a whole other lifetime ago, Claire.” He watched her, wondering how long she had been down in that complex. Her skin had grown pale and ashen, while her weight dropped considerably, dangerously so. “I was.. different. Maybe. I don't know.” He couldn't quite figured out how much of his old persona existed within him or whether a new balance had been found. “Maybe I saw what evil really looked like, what it did to people, how it made them feel small..”
Claire nodded, suddenly understanding. No matter how different their pasts might have been, who had played the hero or who had been the villain, there were some things they both shared. As fresh tears started falling from her eyes, she grew dizzy and put a hand to her head.
“Claire?” Sylar cautiously asked. Then, as he watched her fall heavily to the ground, his voice rose in volume. “Claire?!”
He rushed to her side, all the while telling himself he was stupid to care so much about someone else. He wanted to leave her there, wanted to walk away and forget about this moment of insanity where he had tried to do the right thing. He knew he should keep going, to the next town and onward to continue the murder spree the company had disrupted years ago.
Nevertheless, Sylar found himself testing her pulse and then her breathing. Back when he began acquiring new powers, Sylar read volumes on how the human body worked in order to start fixing himself and jumpstart the evolutionary process. Coupled with his eidetic memory, it made him a decent doctor, good enough for emergencies at least.
When her vitals checked out, he picked her up in his arms and began carrying her, silently promising to get her to safety and hating himself every minute for doing so. The two sides of his personality battled within him during the long walk to town, neither winning for very long.
“Home, sweet home. At least until I can hijack a car and get us the hell out of Primatech-town.” Sylar tossed Claire's unconscious dead weight unceremoniously onto the hotel bed. At first, he thought of taking her to a hospital, to get a thorough examination but the realization that Primatech was probably watching for any signs of the two travelers in official paperwork killed that idea. They had to stay under the radar, remaining hidden until it was safe to come back out again. If that day every arrived.
Thankfully, she'd opened her eyes for a few moments once they got into Odessa and mumbled something he couldn't quite grasp. It was enough for Sylar to tell that she was going to be all right. He ascribed her condition to the stress of escaping the compound and walking too long in the Texas heat. Maybe he'd pushed her too hard, cut down too close to the bone with his comments earlier. Oh well, she'd just have to get used to him because Sylar sure as hell wasn't going to change for this girl.
He collapsed onto the bed beside her, completely exhausted. Sylar had carried her the whole way to a hotel in Odessa, rocks digging into his toes the whole way. The really fun part was explaining to the hotel staff why he was lugging her nearly comatose body around. The looks and stares he received from the tourists who were milling around in the lobby were enough to remind him of the scientists back at the company, just minus the clipboards and note taking.
He spilled out explanations. A little too much drink at a party, she'd be fine.. excuses, excuses.. but they seemed to work. Sometimes he was surprised at what a good liar he could really be. The staff was even nice enough to arrange for him to get a room right away and handle the paperwork connected with checking in later. Gotta love those hospitable Texans. Perhaps that was only to get him and comatose girl out of the lobby though, away from the other guests who were starting to whisper.
It was much easier this way, since he had no forms of identification on him anyway. That was the next order of business, he mused as he rubbed his eyes and sat up on the bed. They would need money and false identification. The best way to go about producing these things would be to mug someone off the streets. He flexed his hand, feeling his powers as they laid dormant within him. “Someone's going to get a nasty little surprise tonight.”
Claire snored away on the bed, making him grimace. Why did all his traveling companions have to snore? First Mohinder, then Alejandro and now Claire. At least it was more proof to the fact that she would be okay. She was just tired, but then weren't they all. Tired of this life and these people in it, tired of so many things.. but he would make it right for them.
He stopped in mid thought, wondering how and why Claire had become a part of his plans. She was right. It wasn't so long ago he'd been trying to take her brain and destroy her life. He stood up, eager to leave all of a sudden. There were things in this room he didn't want to think about, things in his life that he tried his best to push away. Before he left, he whispered to a sleeping Claire, “It's probably best if I just go do what I'm good at. I'll be back when I'm done destroying the city.”
Standing in the shadows, the night cast over the quiet city streets, Sylar stood waiting for the first easy mark. It had been long since he had killed anyone but he figured it was like riding a bike, once you learned how it became second nature. Anticipation caused adrenaline to rush through his veins like a drug, energy primed and ready for the target to arrive.
A man stepped out of a bar down the street, wobbling on his tall, thin legs. Already drunk and disoriented, he would be a good place to begin again and restore the wave of killing that was cut short years earlier by the company. Someone called out from the bar a warning and Sylar paused to listen. “Make sure you take a taxi home, John.”
There were no taxis around and relatively few people, just that one dive of a bar. Sylar smiled to himself as he analyzed his opponents strengthens and weaknesses, finding more of the latter. This would be too easy. He started trailing in the man's wake, never getting too close until he noticed a back alleyway.
He flicked his hand, sending the drunk sailing into the alleyway, crashing into a pile of trashcans. After years of lying awake in the company, dreaming of the moment when he would kill again, this where it would all start. After making sure they hadn't been seen and no one would be coming to this man's rescue, Sylar followed him into the alleyway.
Excited by the prospect of finally being able to do some damage, Sylar's powers danced in his mind, ready to play. The man tried to scramble to his feet, but Sylar reached out his hand, grabbing him by an unseen force. Slamming the dunk into the building wall, he said, “Here’s the deal, John. You have money. I need money. I’m going to kill you for it and you’re going to die.”
“Who-- who are you? One of Tony’s boys? He said I could have two more weeks.. with interest.” John seemed oblivious to the fact that he was now suspended in midair. Nevertheless, his fear was palpable, sending the hairs on Sylar’s neck straight upward in a delightful manner. They were coming to his favorite part.
“Tony’s the least of your problems.” Sylar held up his index finger, the gesture practiced and easy. No amount of time spent locked up could destroy all of his instincts. “The name Sylar should be the one you hear in your nightmares. The one that wakes you up screaming.”
The first mark was made. An incision at the side of John's neck dripped red liquid, the blood beginning to flow from the wound. A bit more and Sylar would be cutting into the carotid artery and adding one more person to the list of those he had murdered. A scream bubbled up from John's throat but soon faded into a low whimper. Sylar's powers failed in mid action leaving both of them surprised.
While Sylar could still hold him pinned up against the wall, he couldn’t get his finger to slice the man's neck. He flexed his hand, willing his powers to work and curious that they weren't.
Sylar attempted to bring his powers out once more, sticking his finger out again. John shut his eyes but reopened them when nothing happened. Sylar starred at his hand like it was a foreign object, “What the--?” At that moment, the rest of his telekinesis failed. “What's going on?!”
John noisily dropped down on his ass, falling on top of the wooden crates that lined the alleyway. “Hey, man, whatever you're on.. I don't want any part of it. I'm-- I'm gonna go now,” He scrambled to his feet, inching away from Sylar. He held up his hands signaling that he didn't want to fight. It didn't really matter what he wanted at this point. “If that's okay with you, I mean..”
He stumbled away, getting only about two feet before the drink from that night caught up with him, making him dizzily bump into a dumpster. He moaned, whether it was from the pain of falling into the large metal box or the knowledge that he wasn't going to leave this alleyway intact.
Sylar caught him by the back of his shirt, “I don't know what's going on with my powers, but you are not getting away that easy.”
He'd killed people without his powers before. Back when he was plain, old watchmaker Gabriel and Brian Davis came into his shop seeking a cure for his telekinesis. Or when Candice had been stupid enough to try to force an alliance with him.
“This isn't as fun, but it'll do.” Sylar pushed the man against the dumpster, bashing head against metal. He grabbed John's coat, repeatedly slamming him into the metal until the back of his scalp started bleeding. Eventually, he stopped, letting John fall to the ground. The man brought his hand to the back of his head, pleading incoherently.
“Oh, I'm sorry, you'll have to speak a little louder.” The man lay there begging for his life, which only amused Sylar all the more. Sylar kicked him in the stomach, breaking ribs with the force of his boot. “I can't understand a word you're saying.”
Little by little, he snuffed out the man's life, beating him until John collapsed in unconsciousness. All the rage he'd felt those past years, stuck in that cell without the usual release of murder, fueled his rampage. Humanity had taken years out of his life and this was payback for their species.
When there was little sign of life left, Sylar bent down. Rifling through John's jacket, with his hands covered in blood, Sylar retrieved his wallet. He flipped through the photos, finding pictures of a little girl and an older woman, with John standing with his arms around both of them. “So, you had a family, did you?” He glanced down at the corpse, which still smelled of whiskey. “If it's any consolation, this is probably for the best. They don't have to deal with your drunk ass anymore.”
He pulled out a driver's license, checking to see what name he would be using from now on. John Tyson. It wasn't bad, but it still didn't have the name ring to it that 'Sylar' did. When you're on the run you had to make all sorts of little compromises. Lastly, he pulled out a few hundred dollars, surprised the man had that much on him, what with his debt to Tony and drinking habit.
Sylar took the id card and the money, tossing the rest of the wallet into the dumpster. He didn't even bother cleaning up the scene or moving the body. He left it there to rot and turn to food for the rats and mice that ran abundant through this part of the city. Once Sylar figured out what was wrong with his powers, the rest of the world wouldn't be able to touch him.
“Bye, John.” Before he left the alleyway, Sylar smiled a twisted little smile. The corpse starred up at the sky, eyes still open, as if it was waiting to be delivered by God himself. There was no god here, only a killer touched by evil. “Thanks for the loan. The money will certainly come in handy.”
..to be continued..