[Fic] Heroes - Argus 9/13
Title: Argus 9/13 - Green doesn't suit
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: None
Words: 1,270
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Warning: Character death & implied character death. But death isn't always as final as it might seem.
Spoilers: Up to the end of season three. The story takes place between seasons three and four.
Summary: Sylar the cockroach becomes Sylar the planarian when his cell regeneration ability evolves.
Author's Notes: A HUGE thank you to luckykitty for the beta!
Argus Illustration
[ All Parts to date]
Green Doesn't Suit
Mohinder isn't the sort of person to hold his tongue when there is something on his mind. That he has worked for hours without saying anything makes me nervous. I tap on the glass aquarium containing my arm. It's as disgusting as it is fascinating. The fingers twitch in response.
I wonder if we let the arm grow would the duplicate have my memories? I don't see how it could unless the brain was intact. And yet, my duplicates appear to have my knowledge, experience, and my abilities. Ah, yes, my abilities. I ache to fully understand how the process works but I'm holding myself in check, letting Mohinder find a cure before I start my private experimentation.
I tap the glass harder and watch the acid slosh up against the glass and the arm rock gently in the wave.
"Please stop that," Mohinder doesn't even look up from where he's bent over a microscope. "It's distracting."
I tap the glass again, just to prove I'm in control, then step smoothly beside him to loom oppressively. I lean in close and pitch my voice low. "I'm bored."
"Read a book," he snaps.
"I've read all your books." I haven't, really. I just hate being ignored. He sighs and I smile. I've gotten to him. When he looks at me I'm certain he wishes I were pinned to a specimen board, immobile and silent.
"Has it occurred to you," he says with that self-righteous smugness he does so well, "That there is a strong likelihood you are a duplicate?" Ah, there's the Mohinder I have come to know so well. The combination of his brilliant mind and sharp tongue could cut as deeply as one of my telekinetic slashes.
"Is that what you suspect?" I answer calmly. The best way to keep him talking is to answer his question with a question; and I'm not about to supply him with too many answers. Besides, the game ends too quickly if I get angry right off the mark.
He nods with a thoughtful, faraway look in his eyes. "But I cannot ascertain how you're managing to not only duplicate your physical form but also your personality, experience, emotions... it should be impossible."
Great minds really do think alike. For a brief, paranoid, moment I wonder if he has telepathy. I should be cooperative and share my theory but he does so like coming to conclusions in his own time.
His eyes narrow and I quickly let the smirk that has quietly grown on my face relax back into a neutral expression.
"You know how it's done, don't you?" he asks.
I shrug in reply but when he shows his teeth and they aren't framed by a smile I realize he really has hit a wall, so I throw him a bone. "Angela Petrelli fed me an ability," I run my fingers along the edge of a bookshelf then I tip a book out into my hands. It was a gift to his father from a worshipful admirer; I was such a fool back then. "Do you know what psychometry is?"
"Yes, of course. It's is the field of study concerned with the theory and technique of educational and psychological measurement, which includes the measurement of knowledge, abilities, attitudes, and personality traits."
How irritating to have one term for two very different things. "No," I correct him. "I mean token-object reading. I can touch something, someone, and read its past." Mohinder snatches the book from my hand and slams it back on the bookshelf.
"Angela Petrelli gave you this ability?" He's angry and his body is taut with tension. Oh, Mohinder, what secrets are you afraid I'll discover with a casual touch? Now I want him to lose himself in his work again so I can go through the apartment and touch all his belongings.
Mohinder struggles to contain his anger and address me calmly. "So, you're saying that the combination of your evolved regeneration and token-object reading allows you to not only produce physical duplicates of yourself with your abilities but also gives them your history?"
"It's only a theory." I shrug again, turn my back on him, and go back to examining his bookshelf. I can feel him staring at the back of my neck.
"Truly you have a remarkable ability." Ha! His words and the acidic tone of his voice could not be more at odds. "I only wish it wasn't you who had it," he finishes.
I pull another book off the shelf and flip through the pages. I won't bother acknowledging him if he's going to be facetious. It's fun to spar but he's just being hurtful now.
"Of course," he adds. "Your theory supports the idea that you could be a duplicate."
I clear the shelf with my mind and remain still while books fall to the floor in a cacophonous cascade of trapped knowledge. "I am Sylar." My voice isn't as steady as I would like. Doubt, is starting to invade my mind and erode my sense of self.
Mohinder's words aren't the source of this doubt; waking up naked in an abandoned apartment marked with yellow, tattered police investigation tape is where the doubt started. His words just feed what was already there.
"Of course you are," he replies smoothly. I don't even need an ability to know he's lying to me but the air shakes anyways. He's convinced I'm a duplicate and Lord knows when he's convinced of something he can't be swayed by mere words.
"Look, Matt should be here soon," he says, trying to change the subject. "Why don't you go pick something up for dinner? We've been working for hours and I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
"And," I reply with a raised eyebrow, "You'd like a chance to talk to Matt Parkman without me in the room." He hesitates for a moment before he nods. "Fine," I sneer. "I can handle the two of you should you decide to turn on me."
"Actually, I'd prefer if you didn't meet Matt, at all."
"Why? Because you two used to play married couple with an adorable, adopted daughter?" A few other reasons immediately occur to me but he's the one who started saying hurtful things. He impresses me by remaining unaffected by my taunt.
"No, because you've been very cooperative and well-behaved and I'd hate to end our working arrangement because you lost control and tried to take his ability."
Well, he's got me there. "What was his ability again?" I ask. Mohinder answers me with a tight-lipped smile. I tap my lips with a finger as if I'm trying to remember then flash him a smile, "I'm sure I don't need it." Need? No. Desire with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns? Yes. If this problem with my duplicating wasn't such a priority I'd be tempted to toss Mohinder's cooperation over in favour of acquiring Mr. Parkman's telepathy. Oh, the things I could do with that ability.
"I will share everything Matt tells me. You have my word."
"I don't trust you." I don't, really, but I do trust him more than I trust most.
"I don't trust you, either," he snaps. And yet, he's willing to work with me.
"Fine, but I'm getting Indian," I say. Before he can respond I quickly add, "and I don't want to hear you complain about how bland it is."
"Fine," he agrees. "Stay away until I call you."
"I'm not your dog," I snarl.
"You came to me for help, remember?"
Slamming a door has never been so satisfying.
-------
[ All Parts to date]
On to part 10
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: None
Words: 1,270
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Warning: Character death & implied character death. But death isn't always as final as it might seem.
Spoilers: Up to the end of season three. The story takes place between seasons three and four.
Summary: Sylar the cockroach becomes Sylar the planarian when his cell regeneration ability evolves.
Author's Notes: A HUGE thank you to luckykitty for the beta!
Argus Illustration
[ All Parts to date]
Green Doesn't Suit
Mohinder isn't the sort of person to hold his tongue when there is something on his mind. That he has worked for hours without saying anything makes me nervous. I tap on the glass aquarium containing my arm. It's as disgusting as it is fascinating. The fingers twitch in response.
I wonder if we let the arm grow would the duplicate have my memories? I don't see how it could unless the brain was intact. And yet, my duplicates appear to have my knowledge, experience, and my abilities. Ah, yes, my abilities. I ache to fully understand how the process works but I'm holding myself in check, letting Mohinder find a cure before I start my private experimentation.
I tap the glass harder and watch the acid slosh up against the glass and the arm rock gently in the wave.
"Please stop that," Mohinder doesn't even look up from where he's bent over a microscope. "It's distracting."
I tap the glass again, just to prove I'm in control, then step smoothly beside him to loom oppressively. I lean in close and pitch my voice low. "I'm bored."
"Read a book," he snaps.
"I've read all your books." I haven't, really. I just hate being ignored. He sighs and I smile. I've gotten to him. When he looks at me I'm certain he wishes I were pinned to a specimen board, immobile and silent.
"Has it occurred to you," he says with that self-righteous smugness he does so well, "That there is a strong likelihood you are a duplicate?" Ah, there's the Mohinder I have come to know so well. The combination of his brilliant mind and sharp tongue could cut as deeply as one of my telekinetic slashes.
"Is that what you suspect?" I answer calmly. The best way to keep him talking is to answer his question with a question; and I'm not about to supply him with too many answers. Besides, the game ends too quickly if I get angry right off the mark.
He nods with a thoughtful, faraway look in his eyes. "But I cannot ascertain how you're managing to not only duplicate your physical form but also your personality, experience, emotions... it should be impossible."
Great minds really do think alike. For a brief, paranoid, moment I wonder if he has telepathy. I should be cooperative and share my theory but he does so like coming to conclusions in his own time.
His eyes narrow and I quickly let the smirk that has quietly grown on my face relax back into a neutral expression.
"You know how it's done, don't you?" he asks.
I shrug in reply but when he shows his teeth and they aren't framed by a smile I realize he really has hit a wall, so I throw him a bone. "Angela Petrelli fed me an ability," I run my fingers along the edge of a bookshelf then I tip a book out into my hands. It was a gift to his father from a worshipful admirer; I was such a fool back then. "Do you know what psychometry is?"
"Yes, of course. It's is the field of study concerned with the theory and technique of educational and psychological measurement, which includes the measurement of knowledge, abilities, attitudes, and personality traits."
How irritating to have one term for two very different things. "No," I correct him. "I mean token-object reading. I can touch something, someone, and read its past." Mohinder snatches the book from my hand and slams it back on the bookshelf.
"Angela Petrelli gave you this ability?" He's angry and his body is taut with tension. Oh, Mohinder, what secrets are you afraid I'll discover with a casual touch? Now I want him to lose himself in his work again so I can go through the apartment and touch all his belongings.
Mohinder struggles to contain his anger and address me calmly. "So, you're saying that the combination of your evolved regeneration and token-object reading allows you to not only produce physical duplicates of yourself with your abilities but also gives them your history?"
"It's only a theory." I shrug again, turn my back on him, and go back to examining his bookshelf. I can feel him staring at the back of my neck.
"Truly you have a remarkable ability." Ha! His words and the acidic tone of his voice could not be more at odds. "I only wish it wasn't you who had it," he finishes.
I pull another book off the shelf and flip through the pages. I won't bother acknowledging him if he's going to be facetious. It's fun to spar but he's just being hurtful now.
"Of course," he adds. "Your theory supports the idea that you could be a duplicate."
I clear the shelf with my mind and remain still while books fall to the floor in a cacophonous cascade of trapped knowledge. "I am Sylar." My voice isn't as steady as I would like. Doubt, is starting to invade my mind and erode my sense of self.
Mohinder's words aren't the source of this doubt; waking up naked in an abandoned apartment marked with yellow, tattered police investigation tape is where the doubt started. His words just feed what was already there.
"Of course you are," he replies smoothly. I don't even need an ability to know he's lying to me but the air shakes anyways. He's convinced I'm a duplicate and Lord knows when he's convinced of something he can't be swayed by mere words.
"Look, Matt should be here soon," he says, trying to change the subject. "Why don't you go pick something up for dinner? We've been working for hours and I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
"And," I reply with a raised eyebrow, "You'd like a chance to talk to Matt Parkman without me in the room." He hesitates for a moment before he nods. "Fine," I sneer. "I can handle the two of you should you decide to turn on me."
"Actually, I'd prefer if you didn't meet Matt, at all."
"Why? Because you two used to play married couple with an adorable, adopted daughter?" A few other reasons immediately occur to me but he's the one who started saying hurtful things. He impresses me by remaining unaffected by my taunt.
"No, because you've been very cooperative and well-behaved and I'd hate to end our working arrangement because you lost control and tried to take his ability."
Well, he's got me there. "What was his ability again?" I ask. Mohinder answers me with a tight-lipped smile. I tap my lips with a finger as if I'm trying to remember then flash him a smile, "I'm sure I don't need it." Need? No. Desire with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns? Yes. If this problem with my duplicating wasn't such a priority I'd be tempted to toss Mohinder's cooperation over in favour of acquiring Mr. Parkman's telepathy. Oh, the things I could do with that ability.
"I will share everything Matt tells me. You have my word."
"I don't trust you." I don't, really, but I do trust him more than I trust most.
"I don't trust you, either," he snaps. And yet, he's willing to work with me.
"Fine, but I'm getting Indian," I say. Before he can respond I quickly add, "and I don't want to hear you complain about how bland it is."
"Fine," he agrees. "Stay away until I call you."
"I'm not your dog," I snarl.
"You came to me for help, remember?"
Slamming a door has never been so satisfying.
-------
[ All Parts to date]
On to part 10