Now Say Ah - Part 2
Title: Now Say Ah - Part 2
Author: takhallus
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: G
Wordcount:
Spoilers: Slight for season 3
Warnings: This one can get a bit intense
Disclaimer: Not mine
Y
ou can plot the time by the depth of the screams. They start off almost sounding like speech, like a man’s screams. The same scream that Sylar gave when Mohinder had plunged in the spinal tap. Fast forward forty minutes, to the end of the first side of the tape, and they’re tired screams, like air being expelled as someone is hit in the stomach. By fifteen minutes into the second side of tape one, the screams come through gritted teeth, as if the man is gagged. By the end of the second side of tape one, the sobs begin, and coughs are heard, wettened by blood. There are twelve tapes.
The only sounds on the recordings are Sylar’s, and the sounds of the implements clacking on their metal trays. The doctors do not recount their progress, nor do they comment for the benefit of listeners. This tape wasn’t made for recording purposes, but for pleasure. Mohinder listened to the first tape in its entirety. He had no idea what was being done to Sylar, only what the man could sketch for him with his cries. The spasmodic gasps seemed to indicate a stabbing motion. Longer moans were possibly from burns or pressure injuries.
Tapes one through three are only screams. Tape four is when Sylar begins to speak, a stream of consciousness which was possibly the result of sleep deprivation. At first he just repeats “No. No. No.” as footsteps are heard approaching him. Then there is a cry of hopelessness as the sounds of his pain build to a crescendo. He is crying, but then abruptly stops. Maybe he sees an instrument which he fears so much that it stops the sound in his throat, or maybe he surrenders to his fate. The footsteps repeat, possibly someone leaving. There is silence for twenty three seconds until he begins to speak. Mohinder can read along with the tape’s transcript, carefully typed and double spaced.
Tape 4/12
5 mins 14 secs
SUBJECT
I can’t …..I can’t. Take me home, I need to go home. Mm. Need to go home now.
(Silence for 8 seconds.)
He’s coming. He’s coming. The doctor’s coming to get me. I need to get ready. He’ll be here soon. When he gets here. (Pause) When he gets here you’ll be gone. He’ll take me away and you’ll be gone.
(Silence for 12 seconds)
Little birds. Birds in the tree.
(Silence for 5 seconds.)
Are you there? I’ve been waiting for (pause) I’ve been waiting for you. Where are you?
(Silence for 5 seconds)
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know. I know.
(Dr H______ enters)
No. No! Please no. Please. I won’t…. (screams) Please! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! He doesn’t know! (Screams). I’m not him. I’m not him, he’s not here. (Screams.)
(End of tape four).
Mohinder goes to rewind the tape, but finds it impossible. Suddenly his stomach lurches and he runs to the bathroom, vomiting hard and allowing tears to run down his face. By this point in the tapes the screams are high pitched and raw, and they are all he hears. He knows that he must listen to everything, must know every second of the torture, and that maybe this will go some way to convincing Sylar that he understands. If that man can live through it, he can listen to it.
With a glass of water and a shaking hand Mohinder replaces tape four and plays tape five. More screaming, more rambling, before a scrap of lucidity slips through.
SUBJECT
I waited and you didn’t come. I know why, but I thought you would.
Mohinder felt every word hit him like cold steel. It was as though Sylar were addressing him directly, somehow predicting that he would hear him. The words were tinged with hurt, and Mohinder felt guilty though he couldn’t explain why. He paused the tape and sat in the armchair of his apartment, feeling it almost unwelcoming now that the soundtrack of a man’s desperation had bounced over its walls. He steeled himself and pressed play.
Tape 5/12
37 mins 54 secs
SUBJECT
Oh God! Oh God! (Screams) Please, please. Stop. Please stop, please. Brockser. (Screams). I won’t. God, I won’t. Brockser. Anything. Anything. Please! (Screams).
Mohinder underlined the word ‘Brockser’ and paused the tape again. It had cropped up in the fourth tape but it had seemed like nonsense. This time it was clearer. He went to the laptop and typed it into google. The scant results came up with random surnames and usernames, but nothing relevant. “Brockser sylar” was a complete dead end with no results. He surmised that it was a doctor’s name, though the letter B did appear in any of the part-concealed names of the men that perpetrated this torture. He filed the name in his memory, and went back to the tapes.
There was barely any more speech from Sylar, and as the clock ticked onto two in the morning the screams ran out. When he realised the tape had stopped and he could still hear the screams, Mohinder stood and tried to walk off the chill that had settled in his bones. It was the fragments of speech that had affected him most - the babbled nonsensities and the half-sobbed pleas.
“Stop….” He had said without hope.
“God…” He had said without faith.
“Gabriel….I’m Gabriel” he had said without conviction.
He had seen Sylar cry, when he himself had strapped him down and hurt him. But these tears were borne of frustration, and they had run silently down his cheeks without the accompanying noises which were so affecting on the tapes. He had broken down, heaving and gasping, hardly able to take a breath. He had cried with the sadness and hopelessness which made any decent human being want to hold, to comfort, to protect. They were cries for mercy when none was coming.
Mohinder stacked the tapes in order, and laid the transcripts next to them. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, and he wanted to see Sylar, see him walking around, breathing, God help him, smiling. He wanted to divorce the animal cries from those cursed tapes from the man who represented something very different to him, who represented power, cunning and complexity. He had no idea where Sylar would be now, he was being kept in a monitored safehouse.
Mohinder paused. Monitored safehouse. There must be a screen somewhere at the Company with a feed to Sylar’s residence. He picked up his coat, and swept the tapes and transcript into his courier bag.
___________________________________
Swiping his card into the security systems wouldn’t arouse suspicion, there had been many times that Mohinder had pulled some late night lab time. He entered the medical room, pulling a laptop over to him in the dark corner, by the screens, and pulling the blinds as he went. He found the monitor lists and scanned them. Sylar’s codename was Lincoln, for the town in Texas, but clicking on the name brought up a password demand. Mohinder tried Sylar, Gabriel, Gray, even patient0, but was rewarding with nothing but the dull beep of ‘Incorrect Password’. Tentatively, Mohinder tried ‘Brockser’. Incorrect. He wrote the word down. Was it possible that the transcriber had misspelled it? He tried the word without the c, but nothing. He tried replacing the ‘ser’ with ‘sa’. Nothing. Frustrated he typed in ‘BROXA’ as a last resort.
Bingo.
A search for what ‘Broxa’ meant would have to wait, as there unfolded a twelve camera monitoring system which showed Sylar in a kitchenette, stirring a coffee listlessly. It wasn’t much, Mohinder thought, but it was life.
Part Three Teaser
Sylar could hear the slight whirring sounds of movement from the cameras like an insect in his head. He stared into his coffee mug, stirring first clockwise, then anti-clockwise and watching the ripples change direction. These small distractions comforted him. He could focus on them and invoke his self-taught meditation. The meditation which had allowed him to hang on; to survive; to play dead. The last few days had brought those memories of the experiments back to him. They danced on the periphery of his consciousness, turning a butter knife into a scalpel, or a pencil into a syringe. He looked directly at the camera over his head, wondering if someone was watching him unravel, and if they would care.
Author: takhallus
Pairing: Mylar
Rating: G
Wordcount:
Spoilers: Slight for season 3
Warnings: This one can get a bit intense
Disclaimer: Not mine
Y
ou can plot the time by the depth of the screams. They start off almost sounding like speech, like a man’s screams. The same scream that Sylar gave when Mohinder had plunged in the spinal tap. Fast forward forty minutes, to the end of the first side of the tape, and they’re tired screams, like air being expelled as someone is hit in the stomach. By fifteen minutes into the second side of tape one, the screams come through gritted teeth, as if the man is gagged. By the end of the second side of tape one, the sobs begin, and coughs are heard, wettened by blood. There are twelve tapes.
The only sounds on the recordings are Sylar’s, and the sounds of the implements clacking on their metal trays. The doctors do not recount their progress, nor do they comment for the benefit of listeners. This tape wasn’t made for recording purposes, but for pleasure. Mohinder listened to the first tape in its entirety. He had no idea what was being done to Sylar, only what the man could sketch for him with his cries. The spasmodic gasps seemed to indicate a stabbing motion. Longer moans were possibly from burns or pressure injuries.
Tapes one through three are only screams. Tape four is when Sylar begins to speak, a stream of consciousness which was possibly the result of sleep deprivation. At first he just repeats “No. No. No.” as footsteps are heard approaching him. Then there is a cry of hopelessness as the sounds of his pain build to a crescendo. He is crying, but then abruptly stops. Maybe he sees an instrument which he fears so much that it stops the sound in his throat, or maybe he surrenders to his fate. The footsteps repeat, possibly someone leaving. There is silence for twenty three seconds until he begins to speak. Mohinder can read along with the tape’s transcript, carefully typed and double spaced.
Tape 4/12
5 mins 14 secs
SUBJECT
I can’t …..I can’t. Take me home, I need to go home. Mm. Need to go home now.
(Silence for 8 seconds.)
He’s coming. He’s coming. The doctor’s coming to get me. I need to get ready. He’ll be here soon. When he gets here. (Pause) When he gets here you’ll be gone. He’ll take me away and you’ll be gone.
(Silence for 12 seconds)
Little birds. Birds in the tree.
(Silence for 5 seconds.)
Are you there? I’ve been waiting for (pause) I’ve been waiting for you. Where are you?
(Silence for 5 seconds)
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know. I know.
(Dr H______ enters)
No. No! Please no. Please. I won’t…. (screams) Please! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! He doesn’t know! (Screams). I’m not him. I’m not him, he’s not here. (Screams.)
(End of tape four).
Mohinder goes to rewind the tape, but finds it impossible. Suddenly his stomach lurches and he runs to the bathroom, vomiting hard and allowing tears to run down his face. By this point in the tapes the screams are high pitched and raw, and they are all he hears. He knows that he must listen to everything, must know every second of the torture, and that maybe this will go some way to convincing Sylar that he understands. If that man can live through it, he can listen to it.
With a glass of water and a shaking hand Mohinder replaces tape four and plays tape five. More screaming, more rambling, before a scrap of lucidity slips through.
SUBJECT
I waited and you didn’t come. I know why, but I thought you would.
Mohinder felt every word hit him like cold steel. It was as though Sylar were addressing him directly, somehow predicting that he would hear him. The words were tinged with hurt, and Mohinder felt guilty though he couldn’t explain why. He paused the tape and sat in the armchair of his apartment, feeling it almost unwelcoming now that the soundtrack of a man’s desperation had bounced over its walls. He steeled himself and pressed play.
Tape 5/12
37 mins 54 secs
SUBJECT
Oh God! Oh God! (Screams) Please, please. Stop. Please stop, please. Brockser. (Screams). I won’t. God, I won’t. Brockser. Anything. Anything. Please! (Screams).
Mohinder underlined the word ‘Brockser’ and paused the tape again. It had cropped up in the fourth tape but it had seemed like nonsense. This time it was clearer. He went to the laptop and typed it into google. The scant results came up with random surnames and usernames, but nothing relevant. “Brockser sylar” was a complete dead end with no results. He surmised that it was a doctor’s name, though the letter B did appear in any of the part-concealed names of the men that perpetrated this torture. He filed the name in his memory, and went back to the tapes.
There was barely any more speech from Sylar, and as the clock ticked onto two in the morning the screams ran out. When he realised the tape had stopped and he could still hear the screams, Mohinder stood and tried to walk off the chill that had settled in his bones. It was the fragments of speech that had affected him most - the babbled nonsensities and the half-sobbed pleas.
“Stop….” He had said without hope.
“God…” He had said without faith.
“Gabriel….I’m Gabriel” he had said without conviction.
He had seen Sylar cry, when he himself had strapped him down and hurt him. But these tears were borne of frustration, and they had run silently down his cheeks without the accompanying noises which were so affecting on the tapes. He had broken down, heaving and gasping, hardly able to take a breath. He had cried with the sadness and hopelessness which made any decent human being want to hold, to comfort, to protect. They were cries for mercy when none was coming.
Mohinder stacked the tapes in order, and laid the transcripts next to them. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, and he wanted to see Sylar, see him walking around, breathing, God help him, smiling. He wanted to divorce the animal cries from those cursed tapes from the man who represented something very different to him, who represented power, cunning and complexity. He had no idea where Sylar would be now, he was being kept in a monitored safehouse.
Mohinder paused. Monitored safehouse. There must be a screen somewhere at the Company with a feed to Sylar’s residence. He picked up his coat, and swept the tapes and transcript into his courier bag.
___________________________________
Swiping his card into the security systems wouldn’t arouse suspicion, there had been many times that Mohinder had pulled some late night lab time. He entered the medical room, pulling a laptop over to him in the dark corner, by the screens, and pulling the blinds as he went. He found the monitor lists and scanned them. Sylar’s codename was Lincoln, for the town in Texas, but clicking on the name brought up a password demand. Mohinder tried Sylar, Gabriel, Gray, even patient0, but was rewarding with nothing but the dull beep of ‘Incorrect Password’. Tentatively, Mohinder tried ‘Brockser’. Incorrect. He wrote the word down. Was it possible that the transcriber had misspelled it? He tried the word without the c, but nothing. He tried replacing the ‘ser’ with ‘sa’. Nothing. Frustrated he typed in ‘BROXA’ as a last resort.
Bingo.
A search for what ‘Broxa’ meant would have to wait, as there unfolded a twelve camera monitoring system which showed Sylar in a kitchenette, stirring a coffee listlessly. It wasn’t much, Mohinder thought, but it was life.
Part Three Teaser
Sylar could hear the slight whirring sounds of movement from the cameras like an insect in his head. He stared into his coffee mug, stirring first clockwise, then anti-clockwise and watching the ripples change direction. These small distractions comforted him. He could focus on them and invoke his self-taught meditation. The meditation which had allowed him to hang on; to survive; to play dead. The last few days had brought those memories of the experiments back to him. They danced on the periphery of his consciousness, turning a butter knife into a scalpel, or a pencil into a syringe. He looked directly at the camera over his head, wondering if someone was watching him unravel, and if they would care.