Fic: Break, rated R, oneshot ficlet.
Hi again, promise I'm not posting to pester this time :)
Just my first few shuffles back into writing fanfic, hope you guys like it :)
Title: Break.
Disclaimer:If I owned these guys, certain annoying gals would’ve stayed dead. All Props to Tim Kring et al.
Rating: R for implied violence & death etc.
Category: Gen, implied burgeoning Mylar.
Summary: My enemies enemy is my friend.
Warnings: Character death (non Mylar)
Break:
He heard the alarm bells and knew, just knew he was coming for him.
He’d heard the guards talking amongst themselves and wondered if it would be the final straw and, going by what sounded like gunfire in the distance, it had been.
Sylar had been there for five months now, day after day of experiments, of torture masquerading as science, of faceless, nameless doctors testing him, tearing his powers away layer by layer like tissue paper 'til they laid him open, frail and raw and… and waiting…
He’d seen him once, just once, when they’d dragged him down into this pit, strapping him down and then there he was, syringe in hand, eyes cast oddly low and the defiance, so well known, so inexplicably appreciated, was missing as he’d momentarily met Sylar’s own, furious gaze.
He hadn’t understood it at the time, had screamed and sworn bloody vengeance to the skies, but as he’d lain, drugged, too weak to do more than breathe, he’d wondered where the man he’d known had gone.
Shame had filled the space left by reckless righteousness and from that day on only lackeys had come to take his blood, to dose him with new variants of the supposed cure until now, until today.
His hearing had wavered, in and out, the last, it seemed, of his powers to get blanketed under the weight of the chemical abomination pouring through his veins and he’d spent his days somewhere between the gaping chasm of unconsciousness and the meandering dialogue outside the walls of his cell.
And then he’d waited.
Two gunshots, closer this time, almost exactly outside… there was a beep and the light at the side of his cell changed from red to green.
“Doctor Suresh,” Sylar rasped as the door swung wide, attempting to not smile at the murderous light now thankfully back in the geneticists eyes, “what an unexpected pleasure. Do come in.”
Mohinder stood, with blood spattered in intricate patterns across his torso and even across his thighs, face bizarrely serene despite the banked well of hatred gleaming in his gaze.
“Sylar.” he nodded.
Mohinder moved forwards into the room, his departure from the doorway giving the serial killer a clear view of the slaughtered guards outside, unable to prevent himself from tensing up as Mohinder produced a needle and abruptly plunged it into Sylar’s arm.
“That should help your body’s natural defences reassert themselves,” Mohinder murmured, gaze cast too low for Sylar to read, long fingered, graceful hands unbuckling and unlacing the many restraints binding the killer in place, “As the synthetic antibodies disperse you’ll find your powers will begin to resurface, rather rapidly in fact, although you’ll need to continue a series of shots to prevent any recurring symptoms in the future.”
Sylar blinked several times in quick succession as blood began returning to the now tingling places where the straps had cut in, grunting as the darker man hauled him upright, bearing his weight as Sylar’s trembling limbs refused to hold him in a sitting position.
“Bob’s upstairs in his office,” Mohinder continued, voice slightly strained as Sylar leaned into him as, together, they attempted to swing the taller man’s legs round, resting long, numb feet against the cool floor, “He’s bleeding rather badly but if you start with him you should find you’ve time enough to take his power - it’s alchemy, by the way.”
Sylar’s eyebrows rocketed up his face at the sudden, intriguing spill of information from the other mans lips, groaning gently as he tested his captivity weakened limbs against gravity, causing both men to concertina to the floor, legs folded beneath them, side by side as Sylar panted from exertion.
“You’ll need to take it easy, just for the moment at least, your body’s weakened but the serum I just gave you should help you feel significantly better within the next few minutes.”
He pressed a smooth, plastic rectangle into the killers, open palm, “This was Bob’s, it should give you access to any room here… Now, you need to pay attention, the Haitian’s dead I’m afraid but I shot him in the chest so if there is no time limit to your consumption of others power then you may still have a chance. Bob sent Elle to the lower levels to prevent anything happening to the other test subjects - I’ve already freed the children so don’t bother searching for them - but there are still several other prisoners there, including a man with regenerative powers who claims to have lived for several hundred years already as well as an invisible man, a psychic and a pyrokinetic.”
Sylar stretched his legs out, mind whirling, swallowing against the strange sensation of Mohinder’s oddly careful touch as he pressed gentle fingers to the pounding pulse at Sylar’s throat.
“I’m sorry.” he said quietly, the guard’s conversation still fresh in his mind.
‘…Couldn’t believe he did it, truth be told. Always seemed like the Doc was too valuable to risk upsetting…’
‘Yeah well its his own fault, he knows what we’re about here and if he was so attached to her then he should have taken the kid with him.’
‘To Panama?’
‘Whatever man, he’s the one who oversees all this testing and shit. He should have known better than to leave her with the Boss, he damn near killed his own daughter - like he’s gonna take any better care of Suresh’s kid?!’
‘Well I still say it was a dumb move, gonna be hard to keep him sweet once he finds out.’
‘Doesn’t matter, sweet or sour, he’s company now. You’ll see....’
Mohinder’s eyebrows quirked upwards, “Well, that’s new…” he muttered darkly.
“About the girl,” Sylar’s eyes were on Mohinder’s clenched jaw, his flaring nostrils, “I’m sorry about Mol -”
Strong, long fingers squeezed tight at his throat setting spots dancing before the killers eyes, more hard digits digging into his jaw as Mohinder jerked Sylar’s face to meet his gaze dead on.
“You. Do. Not. EVER. Say. Her. Name… Understood?”
“I understand.” Sylar croaked, dropping his gaze to where the geneticist wet his lips over bared teeth, snarling as he leaned in suddenly, forehead pressed tight to the taller mans, breathing hard, one hand still gripping his jaw, the other falling from Sylar’s throat to his chest.
Mohinder’s eyes squeezed shut as the banked up rage swept suddenly into grief, his eyelashes catching at Sylar’s as they fluttered past.
Sylar lifted a hand, awkward, as he felt soft, rhythmic tremors course through the slighter man, brushing tight coils of silky hair away from overflowing eyes.
“Mohinder,” he heard himself whisper, the word sweeping over both their lips, as his hands cupped the doctors heaving ribcage “What do you want me to do?”
Mohinder trembled, both hands now clutching at Sylar’s shirt front, body weight leaned in close, noses pressed tight.
“Lay it,” he breathed, “… to waste.”
Sylar wet his lips, feeling his tongue tip graze the other mans mouth, a tiny guttural noise spilling from deep in Mohinder’s chest as the murderer nodded his assent.
Sniffing slightly, Mohinder pulled back and away, reaching jerkily for the gun he’d discarded upon entering the room and pressing it into Sylar’s hands, clearing his throat as he stood.
“Good, that’s…” he nodded, eyes anywhere but on the man still reclining at his feet, “…you’ll need to wait another minute or so - you’ll feel it, I think, when you’re ready but I have to…” he gestured behind him, stepping away and pulling another gun, tucked into the back of his trousers.
Mohinder stalked to the door, eyes finally meeting Sylar’s and Sylar swallowed, unnerved by the realisation that the hate now simmering in the good doctors gaze had, for once, nothing to do with him.
“When you’re done,” Mohinder spoke, voice clear and direct with purpose once more, “I’ll be…” he gestured sort of upwards and away, eyes dipping low before swinging back up to meet Sylar’s own black gaze once more, “I have a car.” He concluded softly, tilting his head slightly, a soft flush staining his cheeks and Sylar nodded, once.
A small parody of a smile briefly twisted the darker mans beautiful features and before Sylar could do more than sit and marvel at the difference, Mohinder had gone.
Closing his eyes, Sylar tilted his head back, enjoying the echoing sound of Mohinder’s footfalls walking away, the sound becoming clearer as his blood coursed faster, cleaner and Sylar moaned softly, his body, his powers re-awakening to his control for the first time in far too long.
He sit and let the steady thrum of power build in his veins, formulating plans, a schedule to work his way down through and then out, out of the building and the pathetic clutches of those trying to hold him there.
He hauled himself upright, muscles creaking and protesting from disuse but he forced himself out of the door, gun clenched in his hand even as he telekinetically shoved the guards to one side, ignoring the extra effort it took as he pushed himself onward.
There was no more time to lose. He had a Company to wipe out, new powers to acquire and Mohinder…
Mohinder was waiting.
Fin.
Just my first few shuffles back into writing fanfic, hope you guys like it :)
Title: Break.
Disclaimer:If I owned these guys, certain annoying gals would’ve stayed dead. All Props to Tim Kring et al.
Rating: R for implied violence & death etc.
Category: Gen, implied burgeoning Mylar.
Summary: My enemies enemy is my friend.
Warnings: Character death (non Mylar)
Break:
He heard the alarm bells and knew, just knew he was coming for him.
He’d heard the guards talking amongst themselves and wondered if it would be the final straw and, going by what sounded like gunfire in the distance, it had been.
Sylar had been there for five months now, day after day of experiments, of torture masquerading as science, of faceless, nameless doctors testing him, tearing his powers away layer by layer like tissue paper 'til they laid him open, frail and raw and… and waiting…
He’d seen him once, just once, when they’d dragged him down into this pit, strapping him down and then there he was, syringe in hand, eyes cast oddly low and the defiance, so well known, so inexplicably appreciated, was missing as he’d momentarily met Sylar’s own, furious gaze.
He hadn’t understood it at the time, had screamed and sworn bloody vengeance to the skies, but as he’d lain, drugged, too weak to do more than breathe, he’d wondered where the man he’d known had gone.
Shame had filled the space left by reckless righteousness and from that day on only lackeys had come to take his blood, to dose him with new variants of the supposed cure until now, until today.
His hearing had wavered, in and out, the last, it seemed, of his powers to get blanketed under the weight of the chemical abomination pouring through his veins and he’d spent his days somewhere between the gaping chasm of unconsciousness and the meandering dialogue outside the walls of his cell.
And then he’d waited.
Two gunshots, closer this time, almost exactly outside… there was a beep and the light at the side of his cell changed from red to green.
“Doctor Suresh,” Sylar rasped as the door swung wide, attempting to not smile at the murderous light now thankfully back in the geneticists eyes, “what an unexpected pleasure. Do come in.”
Mohinder stood, with blood spattered in intricate patterns across his torso and even across his thighs, face bizarrely serene despite the banked well of hatred gleaming in his gaze.
“Sylar.” he nodded.
Mohinder moved forwards into the room, his departure from the doorway giving the serial killer a clear view of the slaughtered guards outside, unable to prevent himself from tensing up as Mohinder produced a needle and abruptly plunged it into Sylar’s arm.
“That should help your body’s natural defences reassert themselves,” Mohinder murmured, gaze cast too low for Sylar to read, long fingered, graceful hands unbuckling and unlacing the many restraints binding the killer in place, “As the synthetic antibodies disperse you’ll find your powers will begin to resurface, rather rapidly in fact, although you’ll need to continue a series of shots to prevent any recurring symptoms in the future.”
Sylar blinked several times in quick succession as blood began returning to the now tingling places where the straps had cut in, grunting as the darker man hauled him upright, bearing his weight as Sylar’s trembling limbs refused to hold him in a sitting position.
“Bob’s upstairs in his office,” Mohinder continued, voice slightly strained as Sylar leaned into him as, together, they attempted to swing the taller man’s legs round, resting long, numb feet against the cool floor, “He’s bleeding rather badly but if you start with him you should find you’ve time enough to take his power - it’s alchemy, by the way.”
Sylar’s eyebrows rocketed up his face at the sudden, intriguing spill of information from the other mans lips, groaning gently as he tested his captivity weakened limbs against gravity, causing both men to concertina to the floor, legs folded beneath them, side by side as Sylar panted from exertion.
“You’ll need to take it easy, just for the moment at least, your body’s weakened but the serum I just gave you should help you feel significantly better within the next few minutes.”
He pressed a smooth, plastic rectangle into the killers, open palm, “This was Bob’s, it should give you access to any room here… Now, you need to pay attention, the Haitian’s dead I’m afraid but I shot him in the chest so if there is no time limit to your consumption of others power then you may still have a chance. Bob sent Elle to the lower levels to prevent anything happening to the other test subjects - I’ve already freed the children so don’t bother searching for them - but there are still several other prisoners there, including a man with regenerative powers who claims to have lived for several hundred years already as well as an invisible man, a psychic and a pyrokinetic.”
Sylar stretched his legs out, mind whirling, swallowing against the strange sensation of Mohinder’s oddly careful touch as he pressed gentle fingers to the pounding pulse at Sylar’s throat.
“I’m sorry.” he said quietly, the guard’s conversation still fresh in his mind.
‘…Couldn’t believe he did it, truth be told. Always seemed like the Doc was too valuable to risk upsetting…’
‘Yeah well its his own fault, he knows what we’re about here and if he was so attached to her then he should have taken the kid with him.’
‘To Panama?’
‘Whatever man, he’s the one who oversees all this testing and shit. He should have known better than to leave her with the Boss, he damn near killed his own daughter - like he’s gonna take any better care of Suresh’s kid?!’
‘Well I still say it was a dumb move, gonna be hard to keep him sweet once he finds out.’
‘Doesn’t matter, sweet or sour, he’s company now. You’ll see....’
Mohinder’s eyebrows quirked upwards, “Well, that’s new…” he muttered darkly.
“About the girl,” Sylar’s eyes were on Mohinder’s clenched jaw, his flaring nostrils, “I’m sorry about Mol -”
Strong, long fingers squeezed tight at his throat setting spots dancing before the killers eyes, more hard digits digging into his jaw as Mohinder jerked Sylar’s face to meet his gaze dead on.
“You. Do. Not. EVER. Say. Her. Name… Understood?”
“I understand.” Sylar croaked, dropping his gaze to where the geneticist wet his lips over bared teeth, snarling as he leaned in suddenly, forehead pressed tight to the taller mans, breathing hard, one hand still gripping his jaw, the other falling from Sylar’s throat to his chest.
Mohinder’s eyes squeezed shut as the banked up rage swept suddenly into grief, his eyelashes catching at Sylar’s as they fluttered past.
Sylar lifted a hand, awkward, as he felt soft, rhythmic tremors course through the slighter man, brushing tight coils of silky hair away from overflowing eyes.
“Mohinder,” he heard himself whisper, the word sweeping over both their lips, as his hands cupped the doctors heaving ribcage “What do you want me to do?”
Mohinder trembled, both hands now clutching at Sylar’s shirt front, body weight leaned in close, noses pressed tight.
“Lay it,” he breathed, “… to waste.”
Sylar wet his lips, feeling his tongue tip graze the other mans mouth, a tiny guttural noise spilling from deep in Mohinder’s chest as the murderer nodded his assent.
Sniffing slightly, Mohinder pulled back and away, reaching jerkily for the gun he’d discarded upon entering the room and pressing it into Sylar’s hands, clearing his throat as he stood.
“Good, that’s…” he nodded, eyes anywhere but on the man still reclining at his feet, “…you’ll need to wait another minute or so - you’ll feel it, I think, when you’re ready but I have to…” he gestured behind him, stepping away and pulling another gun, tucked into the back of his trousers.
Mohinder stalked to the door, eyes finally meeting Sylar’s and Sylar swallowed, unnerved by the realisation that the hate now simmering in the good doctors gaze had, for once, nothing to do with him.
“When you’re done,” Mohinder spoke, voice clear and direct with purpose once more, “I’ll be…” he gestured sort of upwards and away, eyes dipping low before swinging back up to meet Sylar’s own black gaze once more, “I have a car.” He concluded softly, tilting his head slightly, a soft flush staining his cheeks and Sylar nodded, once.
A small parody of a smile briefly twisted the darker mans beautiful features and before Sylar could do more than sit and marvel at the difference, Mohinder had gone.
Closing his eyes, Sylar tilted his head back, enjoying the echoing sound of Mohinder’s footfalls walking away, the sound becoming clearer as his blood coursed faster, cleaner and Sylar moaned softly, his body, his powers re-awakening to his control for the first time in far too long.
He sit and let the steady thrum of power build in his veins, formulating plans, a schedule to work his way down through and then out, out of the building and the pathetic clutches of those trying to hold him there.
He hauled himself upright, muscles creaking and protesting from disuse but he forced himself out of the door, gun clenched in his hand even as he telekinetically shoved the guards to one side, ignoring the extra effort it took as he pushed himself onward.
There was no more time to lose. He had a Company to wipe out, new powers to acquire and Mohinder…
Mohinder was waiting.
Fin.