Quinto Formaggi
Written by Anakin McFly
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« Chapters 14–16
He didn't know what, exactly, he was doing here; but there was something about the room that was immeasurably soothing. Sylar made his way silently past the sleeping bodies. He paused briefly before each to gaze at them as they slept on, oblivious to his presence.
Smudge. He was curled up in a corner, his face troubled. Sylar felt a twinge of... something he couldn't define. He left Smudge's side and slid down against the wall, leaning his head back on it; resisting the temptation to just fall asleep there, with them, but when the morning came...
He could kill them all. Right now, as they slept. Quietly break their necks, or slit their throats, and walk off, shutting the door on the scene. No one would ever know.
But there would be no point in that. He wanted them to know. He wanted them to fear him, and hate him, and destroy the urge he felt to give in and be one of them. Though it would be too late now; they would never accept him, anyway, and the knowledge sparked a mixture of pride and regret in the battling halves of his psyche: the half that wanted to stand above, and the half that wanted to belong.
Restlessness drove the first ahead. He wanted to be special, he wanted to be powerful. And with each of them he killed, he further severed his ties to the little humanity that remained in him standing in his path to greatness.
The hunger called. He wanted to embrace it.
Paul, Monty, Sasan. Three down by his hand. In their screams he'd heard his past. In their silent begging he'd seen his continued attempts to be good enough for his mother. And as they died, a part of Gabriel Gray died with them, and it made him stronger.
I am Sylar, he thought, and with that went the foolish notion of staying the night.
He stood up, looked them over one last time, and left the room. He could do nothing at this time. But in the morning, when everyone was awake... he could come back.
The android bartender might tattle. Sylar raised a hand and destroyed him where he stood.
#
In the dark, Leo stirred.
He opened his eyes and saw a shadow slip out the room. With a mind fogged by sleep, he wondered who it was.
Leo rubbed a hand over his eyes and rolled over. It was too dark to make out the others beyond vague human forms here and there... Leo slowly sat up. He'd definitely seen someone leave. Leo thought of Mike and feared the worst. Perhaps Smudge had been inspired by him to end his grief.
A little more awake now, Leo scrambled up and out the door. There was no time to check who was in the room and who was not; every second might mean the difference between life and death.
Arthur stood immobile behind the counter, his eyes wide open. He probably shut down for the night, Leo thought, but something about it unsettled him.
At the top of the escalator, Leo saw a figure get off the bottom and into the corridor beyond.
"Hey-" he called out, walking down the moving steps after it, off the escalator, into the corridor, and-
Leo stopped short.
"Sylar," he gasped out. Stumbled back; turned to try and run-
Sylar telekinetically snatched him off the ground and slammed Leo against the wall, his hand outstretched towards him.
Silence.
"You're up," Sylar stated.
Leo swallowed. A dreaded certainty that this was the end fell like a dead weight in his mind. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked.
"I can't let you go, can I?" Sylar asked. "You'd tell your friends I was here, and then you'll move and I won't be able to find you again."
"If you kill me they'll also know you were here."
Sylar considered this. Leo's logic was sound.
"What do you want with us?" Leo cried out.
Sylar twitched a finger. Leo gagged and grabbed at his neck.
"You're in my way," Sylar said calmly. "All of you."
"We're not... doing... anything to you," Leo managed to croak out against the pressure on his throat. "We just... just want to be left alone."
Silence. Sylar stared at him, thinking. Finally, he lowered Leo off the wall, and telekinetically shoved him down the corridor.
"Walk," he commanded.
Leo staggered back to his feet. He turned. Sylar remained impassive. "I said, walk," he repeated, pointing down the corridor. "Don't even think of running away. You know you won't make it."
"Where are we going?" Leo asked.
Sylar raised an eyebrow. "There's only one way to find out. Move."
#
The walk seemed to last forever, though it couldn't have been more than five minutes. Leo staggered on, half-asleep, feeling Sylar's presence close behind. Now and then he would hear a direction: turn right, turn left, hurry up; and the slightest indication of an escape attempt would be met with a sharp prick of pain on the back of his neck. Leo tried to remember the route.
They moved further and further away from the others, past rows of shops with their android shopkeepers and no one else, and then into an area where the shops were void lots filled with boxes or bits of scrap material. Sylar stopped by one of these and picked up a long rope lying on the ground. Leo eyed it warily.
They passed another empty lot, only this one was scattered with things – stashes of food and water – and looked lived in.
"You've been staying here?" Leo asked, turning his head.
"Did I say you could speak?" Sylar asked. He pointed at the toilet cubicle at the end of the corridor. "In there," he said.
Leo looked despairingly at the door. Then he gave a shout as Sylar sent a telekinetic jab at his neck, and he moved.
It was a unisex handicapped toilet. Spacious, though that was the least of Leo's concerns. Sylar flicked the light on and shut the door. Total silence.
"Take off your clothes," Sylar said simply.
"...what?"
Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Which part of that sentence don't you understand?"
"What are you doing..."
"Someone is going back to that room tonight," Sylar said. "And I don't think it's going to be you."
Leo gaped at him.
"Take off your clothes," Sylar said again. "Or do I have to kill you first?"
Sylar grinned. He raised a finger. Leo hurriedly pulled his shirt off.
"They'll know," Leo said, moments later, as Sylar chucked his own clothes at him. "They'll know it's not me..."
Sylar shrugged. He wet his hands in the sink and looked into the mirror, combing his fingers through his hair as he glanced at Leo's for reference.
Leo felt sick. He stared down at Sylar's clothes in his hands and slowly put them on, disgust pricking at his skin.
Satisfied with his appearance, Sylar picked up the rope. "Down," he said, gesturing at the metal bar that ran most of the length of the cubicle. Helpless, Leo obeyed, unable to shake the feeling that he was looking at himself and that, maybe, the others wouldn't be able to tell after all.
Sylar tied his wrists tight to the bar. Snatches of Leo's memories flashed through his mind as his fingers brushed his skin. "For your cooperation," Sylar said, "I'm sparing your life. For now." He smiled, and slicked Leo's hair back. Leo recoiled at his touch, cringing against the wall.
"You could try screaming," Sylar suggested. "Someone might hear you. We're close to the block of dangerous superheroes, and most of them don't like me very much."
Leo gazed at him in despair.
"Good night," Sylar said, because while he might be a serial killer, he still had his manners. He left the cubicle. The door swung shut.
Leo tugged desperately at the rope around his wrists. It only made it cut deeper into his skin. He tried to get off the floor to work it from a different angle; stood up in a half-crouch and tried to wriggle his fingers into a position to pick at the knots, tears of frustration and pain forming in his eyes at the continued lack of progress.
He surveyed the cubicle, looking for some tool that might help, and caught his reflection in the mirror.
Sylar, he thought involuntarily, and a chill ran down his neck. Revulsion rose in his throat. What the hell had Sylar done to his hair... Leo tried to muss it up against his arm, but didn't get too far and gave up.
He looked away from the haunting resemblance in the mirror and went back to pulling futilely at the rope. Maybe if he got down and kicked his shoes off and tried to use his feet to help...
Leo abandoned the idea as soon as it came. He sank back down onto the floor, hands hanging by his wrists.
"Help," he said weakly, thinking of the dangerous superheroes who didn't like Sylar very much and who also probably wouldn't like being awoken in the middle of the night.
He decided that he didn't care. He might have a chance to explain himself. And if he didn't, a quick death was preferable to a drawn out one here... who knew how long he would have to stay? He doubted that Sylar would be back any time soon, unless something happened and he killed everyone and had nothing left to do. It might be days, trapped here, with no food or water...
Don't panic, Leo thought to himself. Don't panic.
He took a deep breath. The light hung dead and silent in the air. The ceramic gleamed. The metal bar shone. Nothing moved but him.
Leo swallowed.
There's nothing to lose, he thought; and so, louder this time:
"HELLLP!"
#
Sylar snuck his way back into the room. Everyone was still soundly asleep. He found the pillow where Leo had been, and lay down on it.
He suddenly felt safe.
Tony muttered something in his sleep. Smudge sniffed.
He belonged here now. For now. Just a day, or two, to know what it was like and satisfy that craving and get it out of the way for good; and to learn about them. Then he could leave. Let Leo turn up dead somewhere, get the credit for it, and no one would ever be the wiser.
From where he lay he could see the stash of sandwiches and water. He could just make out Adam lying nearby. And if he were to make a noise now and they were to wake and see him, they wouldn't do anything. They'd think he was one of them.
Sylar rolled over onto his back.
He was one of them now.
#
Leo pulled at the rope with his teeth. The knot seemed to loosen slightly, but not enough. He released it. His mouth hurt, and he was thirsty, and he was tired.
He thought of Sylar back in the cool darkness of the room with the others, lying in his place, in his clothes, in his identity, on his pillow, and glared at his reflection in the mirror, which he had decided would for the moment suffice for Sylar.
Leo looked away and swore under his breath. He made another angry yank at the rope, which served only to tighten the slightly loosened knot and chafe against his already-reddened skin.
He gave up and collapsed onto the floor, dropping his head back against the wall.
"HELP!" he yelled again, his throat sore from the multiple unsuccessful attempts.
The shout died off and left the cubicle feeling emptier than before.
Leo leant his head against his arm and wept.
#
Dem casually released a button and lifted the base of a small metal cylinder off Sylar's neck as he slept.
Dem smiled. "Enjoy normalcy, Gabriel," he said in a low voice, and disappeared.
#
Think, Leo thought, eyes shut, his head against the wall. Sylar had gone to join them. They had pretty much made plans to wait it out in that room until Kenselton Hotel went live and things changed and perhaps gave them possibilities of escape. Which meant Sylar probably wouldn't be able to leave without a good reason if he wished to keep his cover. Except maybe at night, but there would be the risk of someone waking and noticing. And what reason would Sylar have to come back to him? Leo had nothing he wanted. Information, at the very most, but he doubted it.
What are my options for escape?, Leo wondered:
1) Adam and co. recognise Sylar and this somehow doesn't get them killed. They manage to get my whereabouts and come rescue me.
2) I manage to scream for help loudly enough to get someone here who either doesn't want to kill Sylar and anyone who looks like him, or is willing to hear me out
3) Managing to get the rope off, somehow.
Leo opened his eyes, now with slightly more resolve than before. He inspected the knots the best he could; tried to see where each bit of rope went, and which loop to pull on to get it loose...
He settled on one promising-looking loop, bit down on it, and pulled. He let go, let out a breath, ran his tongue over his hurting teeth to ease some of the pain, and tried again.
The loop got slightly bigger. Encouraged, Leo went at it again, the frenzy of survival instinct soon numbing him to the pain. It's this or almost-certain death, Leo told himself. A slow, drawn-out death...
He yanked at the knot with renewed vigour. Soon, more parts of the rope started to loosen around his wrists; and then, finally, he managed to wriggle a hand out, and then the other, and watch in tired triumph as the rope fell loosely to the ground.
Leo massaged his wrists, relief coursing through him; scrambled up to the sink to let the cool water flow from the taps onto the tender reddened skin; head resting against the mirror as he let his mind go blank for a while, free from his bonds...
"Congratulations," said a voice.
Leo stumbled back from the sink in shock, turning off the tap.
Dem picked up the rope and inspected it. "I wondered how long you would take."
"You knew I was here?" Leo burst out, but any anger soon failed in the simple, joyous sight of another person who wasn't Sylar in here with him.
"I know a lot of things," Dem responded cryptically, dropping the rope. "Look at it this way – the victory is yours. You didn't need my help. Not that I would have given it or anything... but enjoy your freedom. You deserve it."
"Thanks," Leo said warily.
"What are you going to do now?" Dem asked.
"Go back," Leo said, having only vaguely considered the next step. "I thought... Sylar should be asleep by now and I could stab him in the head or... or something and hopefully he won't wake and blow everyone up..."
"Risky," Dem commented.
"You've got a better idea?" Leo asked, defensive.
"Not really," Dem admitted. "But I did take away all of Gabriel's powers." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the metal cylinder. He smiled. "Maybe that would make it easier."
"...." said Leo.
"And this," Dem said, moving closer as Leo backed uncertainly against the wall, "might make it even easier."
In one swift motion, he jabbed the cylinder against Leo's neck and pressed the button.
Leo yelled and fell back, wide-eyed, his head reeling... and he felt power entering him, revealing the world with a sudden, unnatural clarity; noted distantly that one of Dem's watches was running three seconds slow; through his hand touching the wall had brief unwelcome flashes of the people who had entered this cubicle, along with glimpses of Sylar's recent life stored in the memory of his clothes; felt suddenly a connection to everything around him, such that all he had to do was think and they would move as directed... and, beneath all that, he sensed a lurking, creeping desire for more.
"See you," Dem said cheerily.
"Wait!"
Dem raised an eyebrow.
"No," Leo said, struggling back to his feet amidst the sensory overload. "No, don't... take it back... I don't want this, I don't-"
"Do you want to live, Leo?" Dem asked.
"...yes!"
"Don't you think you have a better chance of survival now?" Dem asked. "You may be the most powerful person in this place at the moment. If you want to kill Gabe, he's helpless right now. You might want to hurry. Good night."
Dem vanished.
Silence. Tentatively, Leo raised his hand towards the door and mentally pushed. The door swung open.
A fearful, excited terror grew in him.
He dropped his hand back down – noting, in a corner of his mind, that the pain and redness had completely gone.
Leo glanced back at the mirror, and to his eyes saw the same person they'd been stalking on the camera feeds.
His stomach did a flop.
He was Sylar now.
Leo threw up in the toilet bowl.
It's okay, Leo told himself feverishly as he washed his mouth out in the sink. Just kill Sylar and get him out of the way, and everything else will fall into place. He's harmless now. It wouldn't be hard.
Leo briefly mucked about with his hair in an attempt to look more like himself again, then decided that there was no time to waste. The sooner Sylar was dead, the better.
He ran out the open door.
From the pieces of Sylar's memory he had absorbed from his clothes, he knew the way back.
#
Leo paused before the door.
Softly, he entered into the darkness with its sounds of sleeping people. Five of them, asleep in their various parts of the room, lost to the conscious world.
Leo located Sylar lying where he himself had been, and a spurt of rage burst in him. And then a deep uneasiness took its place. Sylar was fast asleep; peaceful, unarmed, unawares, the picture of innocence, and looking identical to him in slumber.
Kill him, Leo thought, weakly. You can do it. He deserves it. He killed all those people.
Leo swallowed. He glanced at the others and back at Sylar, suddenly feeling like a dangerous intruder on the scene.
Just do it. Snap his neck, lift him out, get your clothes and your identity back, go to bed, and tell everyone all about it tomorrow.
Leo hesitantly reached out his hand. He felt mental tendrils of thought wrap themselves with gradual firmness around Sylar's neck.
Break it. Quick, before he feels you and-
Sylar jolted awake.
Leo stood paralysed in sudden fear, his hand still outstretched.
For a second they just looked at each other.
Then Sylar screamed, and everyone woke up.
Lights flicked on. They winced at the brightness. Shocked out of his stupor into fresh confusion, Leo released his grip as shouts filled the room, the loudest:
"YOU KILLED SASAN!" Smudge yelled.
"No! I'm not-"
Smudge jumped on him. Leo fell back under his weight, staggering, and his panicked mind hit out and slammed Smudge telekinetically against the wall before Leo realised what he had done.
"Smudge!" he called out in concern as Tony backed away in horror-
"HOW DID YOU GET HERE?" Adam hollered over his voice.
"I-"
Sylar was gaping at him. Leo saw him subtly move a finger, pause, and his face cloud over with worry.
"He was trying to kill me!" Sylar suddenly shouted, changing tack.
Kill him, came the desperate command fighting to be heard over Leo's disorientation. Kill him now.
Leo shot his hand out towards Sylar. Sylar grabbed at his neck, lifted off the ground, as Leo raised his other hand to slice, a prick of blood bursting out-
-and then Spock nerve-pinched him, and Leo collapsed into unconsciousness on the ground.
Smudge stumbled back to his feet from where he had fallen, tears of pain and anger in his eyes as he ran up and delivered a huge kick to Leo's side. "THAT'S FOR SAS!" he yelled. "And THAT! And THAT! And TH-"
Sylar tugged Smudge off Leo. "Smudge," he said softly, "it's okay. He's dead now."
Smudge turned a tear-filled face to him. "No. No. It's not okay! I hate him so much-"
"Shh." Sylar pulled Smudge into a hug. "It's over."
Smudge sobbed into his shoulder, clinging on tight. "I hate him."
"I know," Sylar said. He stroked Smudge's back. "But he's not going to bother you again. Everything's going to be okay."
Adam came back with a knife from the bar, ashen-faced. "He killed Arthur," he said.
Spock bowed his head.
Adam crouched down by Leo. "Base of the skull," he muttered, and plunged the knife in.
Smudge turned to watch, wiping the back of his hand across his face.
Sylar put a hand on his shoulder. "Get some rest, okay?" he said. "You'll feel better tomorrow."
Smudge nodded. He watched Adam and Spock cart the body out, a shaken Tony moving aside to let them pass.
"We'll be safe now, right?" Smudge asked in a small voice. "Now that he's dead?"
"Yeah," Sylar agreed. "We're safe now."
Comforted, Smudge trudged back off to his corner and curled back up on his pillow.
Adam and Spock returned.
"Where did you put him?" Sylar asked.
"Next door," Adam said. He pointed at Sylar's neck. "You're bleeding."
Sylar touched the spot. The wound was small, but it was there. It hadn't healed like it usually would have. He stared down at his bloodied fingers.
"Leo?"
Sylar looked up at Adam's concerned face.
"You all right?"
Sylar wiped the blood off on his jeans. "Yeah. It's just a cut."
But when the lights went back off and the others dropped back into sleep, Sylar lay in the dark with his rediscovered mortality, knowing Dem had to be responsible for it, somehow; and feeling vulnerable for the first time in ages-
He heard shuffling noises and saw a figure approach.
"I can't sleep when I'm alone," he heard Smudge explain. "Not in this place. Can I stay here with you?"
He made out Smudge's earnest eyes in the dim light.
"Sure," he said, and so Smudge settled down by his side, cuddling up to him; and they drifted off to sleep, and the room was silent once again.
Spock rolled over on the floor and gazed into the dark. Something about the kill unsettled him. The attack had been too rushed, confused; there had been no sense that this was the premeditated work of an experienced killer. He remembered the interrupted exclamation: "No! I'm not-"
Not what? Spock wondered. Not trying to attack, not after their lives...
But he had been on the verge of murder, Spock reminded himself. Preventing that was what was important. There had been no time for questions. Stopping and killing Sylar had been the logical thing to do.
But he could not completely assuage the uneasiness he felt.
#
In dreams, Smudge lapsed back to before.
First day. His arrival in Kenselton Hotel, shortly before his bedtime. Getting up, disoriented, being met by a receptionist telling him to go to the seventeenth floor...
"Why did you kidnap me?! Are you rounding up all the bisexual people?"
The receptionist remains stoic beneath his volley of questions. She raises an eyebrow when Smudge says 'bisexual'. She presses a button when he refuses to leave after multiple commands to do so. The guards arrive and lift him bodily off the floor as he struggles and yells and hits and kicks and tries to bite; and they cart him off to the seventeenth floor, where they dump him like so much trash and leave.
Panic hits him as he opens door after door into identical rooms and finds no one; he finds the common room, untouched and waiting, and realises that he would probably not be alone for long.
The thought doesn't comfort him. Most people don't like him much. Probably because he is bisexual. Maybe. Smudge doesn't blame them. He doesn't like himself much either.
Rushing back out into the corridor and into the stairwell; climbing, desperately, up the stairs, only to emerge on another floor and face another door that opens to another corridor much like the first.
The despair pulls him back to the seventeenth floor. He returns to the common room and sits on its couch, shaking in terrified confusion. Tears sting his eyes.
Smudge searches the blank television screen before him for answers and finds nothing but his reflection gazing hopelessly back from its grey depths. His head falls back against the couch.
"I'm dreaming," he says aloud, hoping that it would make it true.
Smudge opens his eyes, but the scene has not changed. He closes them again and wishes himself home, only to realise that the thought lacks much more appeal. But he keeps his eyes closed as he sits there, sad, lonely, and bisexual, until sleep finally takes him away.
"Hey."
He wakes at the voice and opens his eyes to meet the identical pair looking curiously at him. The face is his, but older, more refined, and with a quiet friendliness to it. Smudge blinks.
The other slowly moves to sit down next to him, not breaking eye contact.
"Hi," Smudge says, belatedly, still staring.
Silence.
"How... long have you been here?" the newcomer asks.
"Since last night," Smudge says. He almost wants to look away, but finds himself almost hypnotically drawn to the depths of the other's eyes. An undercurrent of fear runs through him as he stares; he senses that there is something wrong about this, something deeply, strongly unnatural. As though this shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't be co-existing in the same room. They shouldn't be looking at each other.
Smudge finally manages, with an effort, to pull away. He gazes down at his shoes. One of his laces is undone. He prods it with his other shoe.
"Do you know... why we're here?"
Smudge shrugs. "I thought it's because I'm bisexual."
In the pause that ensues, Smudge senses some invisible barrier between them has fallen; perhaps from the way the other shifts on the couch... He looks back up.
"I'm not bisexual," the other says. "I'm gay."
"...Oh."
Silence.
"I'm Smudge," he finally says, with a cautiously outstretched hand.
An interval of nothing. Then the other takes Smudge's hand in his own and gives it a squeeze.
"Sasan," he says with a tiny smile.
Their hands interlock perfectly.
#
Adam's watch beeped at eight in the morning, its insistent and repetitive tone cutting through their slumber.
Adam opened an eye and turned the alarm off. He shut his eye again. Why get up? He wondered. The day stretched before him in unending monotony and frustration.
He heard the others stirring. One got up and trudged out the door for the bathroom behind the bar.
We're just trapped here, Adam thought. Why bother.
He buried his head in his pillow.
No one was turning on the lights. Adam heard a sleepy "What time is it?" that sounded like Smudge.
"Eight," Adam mumbled, his face still in his pillow. It was getting hard to breathe like that. He turned over and sighed.
Silence. Possibly everyone was awake.
Tony trudged back from the bathroom and stood in the doorway. "Seriously?" he asked. "It's morning. Get up."
Tony flicked the lights on. Adam wished he would die in a fire.
"Turn the lights off!" Smudge yelled, eyes squeezed shut in pain.
Tony ignored him and went to get a sandwich and compose pretentious poetry in his head.
illumination. met with screams. protest comes not from the enlightened.
Sylar got off the floor, slowly. The world still felt different. He left the room.
Out of sight of the others, he extended his hand towards a glass at the bar and tried to move it with his mind.
Nothing.
He took a breath. Glanced furtively around, as if it would bring him answers and get his powers back, but there was nothing.
There was still some dried blood on his fingers: a painful reminder of his lost immortality. Sylar headed for the bathroom to wash it off.
Water gushed out the tap. Sylar scrubbed the blood off with soap, glanced up at the mirror, winced at his reflection, and furiously wiped the cut on his neck clean. It still hurt, slightly; but the pain was nothing compared to his growing panic.
You're one of them now, he thought, looking desperately at his reflection. Mortal. Weak. No longer special-
Sylar slammed his fists down on the edges of the sink. Pain shot up his arms.
"No," he said hoarsely under his breath. "No!"
I am Sylar. I am Sylar.
Prove it, he thought bitterly, but could come up with nothing. Again he raised his hand and lashed out angrily with his mind in what, hours ago, would have stripped the tiles off the walls; but which now did absolutely nothing.
He stalked out the door. Into the room next to the others. He flicked the lights on. Leo lay there on the ground, completely still.
Sylar crouched down by his side.
"What did you do?" he asked. "What did you do to me?"
The body gave no reply. Sylar's attention was drawn to the knife sticking out his head; he moved his hand to pull it out, then stopped in unfamiliar fear. He was the helpless one now, the potential victim, and Leo had seemed fairly intent on killing him the previous night.
Sylar raised his eyes to address the empty room.
"Show yourself, Dem," he commanded. "I know you did this. I know you're watching-"
But Dem did not appear, and Sylar went back to the other room.
"D'you want to continue the marathon?" Adam suggested, who wasn't in the mood to do anything other than stare passively at a screen.
Sylar recalled vague glimpses of a Heroes marathon from the scraps of Leo's memory he had absorbed. "Sure."
It felt weird, watching himself and people he knew on screen, and also slightly voyeuristic, but Sylar tried to keep his discomfort invisible.
Tony picked up Jach Juan's book and scanned the first page. He looked almost disgusted, but kept reading.
Smudge didn't get up, clutching to the wisps of a dream. Spock was counting sandwiches.
"Hello," Dem said, and appeared out of nowhere.
Sylar gave a start, then realised who it was and glared at him.
"Hi, Leo," Dem said cheerfully. He was munching on a nice piece of cheddar. "What's up?"
Sylar clenched a fist under the table. "We have to talk," he said.
"What about?" Dem asked innocently.
"You know," Sylar said, trying to stay calm and repressing the urge to look overly-angry because Adam had paused the episode and was looking at him.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dem said serenely. "Hey there, you bisexual smudge!" He beamed at Smudge. "I still hate you," he added. "No fault of yours, I just don't like you. Or you," he said at Spock, dodging the sandwich that Smudge threw angrily at him.
"Why are you here?" Adam asked, wanting him to go, mostly because he wanted to know what was going to happen to Caitlin next.
"Why not?" Dem asked. "I like this room. It's exciting. Congratulations on the kill next door. You're getting better at this. Maybe the next time you'll be even better." He smiled and took another bite of cheddar. Sylar gave him a death glare.
"You came here to praise us?" Adam asked sceptically.
Dem shrugged. He wandered over to Sylar. "Having fun?" he asked, with a subtly raised eyebrow that only Sylar could see.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sylar quoted back at him.
"That's good," Dem said, meeting his gaze. "Me neither."
They stared at each other for a few seconds, Sylar hostile, Dem happy.
"What's... going on?" Tony asked.
Dem broke eye contact and stuffed the rest of the cheese into his mouth. "Well, you guys look all right, so I guess I can go. Cheers."
Dem vanished. Sylar continued glaring at the spot where he had been.
"...What was that about?" Adam asked warily.
Sylar blinked and with an effort forced himself to snap out of it. "It's a long story," he muttered. He gestured at the screen. "Just continue."
"He's still been appearing to you alone?" Adam asked.
"Yeah," Sylar said shortly.
"...Look, if he's... blackmailing you or anything..."
"It's nothing."
"Okay."
They continued watching.
Spock went out to the bar to examine Arthur. Smudge followed after, and watched in silence.
"He appears to have been destroyed from the inside," Spock said. "There's no external damage visible."
"Maybe his battery wore out," Smudge suggested.
"I doubt he runs on batteries."
Smudge slid onto a barstool and hunched over the counter. "Maybe he can be fixed," he said, and then, more quietly: "He's a robot. Not a person."
He buried his head in his arms.
#
Collapsing with laughter on each other, high on the success of their joke.
"Did you see his face?" Sasan manages through giggles.
They have no idea what they're playing with, and they don't care. All they know is that strangers sometimes give them – Sasan, mostly – terrified looks, and making scary faces in response has hilarious effects.
"He said 'don't take my brain'," Smudge adds, laughing.
"Why would he say that?" Sasan asks in incredulous mirth. "I don't think I look like a zombie."
"Zombies don't take brains," Smudge says wisely. "They eat them."
Other people are staring. Smudge smiles.
"Okay, I'm totally doing that again," Sasan says, catching his breath. "This time I'll ask if I can have their brain."
"Let's go this way," Smudge decides, and tugs a willing Sasan down the corridor by his hand.
It gets less funny when a spanner is thrown.
Smudge yells and tries to run after them, but Sasan holds him back. "Smudge, it's okay, let's go-"
"HE HIT YOU WITH A SPANNER!"
Sasan's free hand clutches the side of his head, and it surprises Smudge how much it affects him to see Sasan hurt. But Sasan insists that he's all right, and they make their way back to the seventeenth floor of Block J. Smudge casts concerned looks at Sasan every few seconds or so.
Sasan lies down on the couch. Smudge frantically raids the common room for anything that might help; finds ice in the mini-fridge and knocks out a few cubes, carrying them over to Sasan in his cupped palms. Smudge rubs them on the bruise. The cold numbs his fingers but he doesn't care.
When most of the ice is melted or on the floor, Smudge flings the water off his hands and joins Sasan on the couch. Sasan shifts slightly to make way, and puts an arm around him.
And Smudge feels safe.
#
As time ticked towards lunch, Sylar found himself more and more incapable of dragging his gaze away from the sandwiches. Finally, he got up in the middle of an episode and went over to the stash.
"Get me one," Adam said, eyes still glued to the screen.
Sylar grabbed two sandwiches and went back. He held one out and waited for Adam to notice its presence.
Smudge came into the room looking despondent. "Spock says he can't fix Arthur," he stated.
"He's not a mechanic," Sylar said, watching Smudge trudge sadly back to his corner.
"Yeah, but he's smart."
Adam finally noticed the presence of the offered sandwich in Sylar's hand and reached out to take it-
"Intelligence alone isn't enough to fix a machine," Sylar said.
-and Adam did a double take. He stared.
704270/006/GRA, said the serial number on the wrist tag before him.
His blood ran cold.
Slowly, Adam raised his eyes. Sylar was still chatting with Smudge. He hadn't noticed anything.
Heart on edge, Adam furtively searched the profile of his face for markers of identity, trying to figure out who-
Sylar turned. Adam quickly turned back to the screen and clicked the pause button with fingers almost paralysed by fear, and hoped that Sylar didn't hear the tightness in his voice:
"I'm going to the bathroom for a while."
"Okay." Sylar sat back down and unwrapped his sandwich.
Adam willed his legs to un-stiffen and move. Out the door. Just get out the door...
He managed it out of the room, terror breaking free across his face once out of sight; stumbled into the next room and almost fell by the body on the floor, scrambling for its wrist, reading the serial number on the tag:
704270/006/FUL.
Adam let go, cold horror sliding up his neck. He forced himself to calm down. He shot a wild glance at the door when he thought he heard a sound, but it was only his imagination.
But he had powers, Adam thought furiously. Only Sylar has them...
Adam tugged at his own wrist tag. It was seamless. Those things couldn't just be taken off. He didn't even know how they had been put on. There would have no reason for a swap, unless Sylar had done it before he died in hopes that this exact thing would happen; that someone would notice, and...
What would be easier to swap? Special powers or three printed letters?
Adam bent his head to better examine the motionless face. He couldn't tell who it was with any certainty. Not when dead. It seemed to lack that characteristic evil that he'd just observed in Sylar in too many Heroes episodes, but it could have just been wishful thinking.
You're running out of time, he thought. Sylar – if it was him – would get suspicious soon.
Adam threw another nervous glance at the door.
Don't forget what happened the last time, he thought. Remember what happened when Mike pulled the knife out.
704270/006/FUL.
What if you can't trust it? What if it's just another one of Sylar's mind games? What if he planned this all along?
Adam grimaced. He sat down and buried his face in his hands.
He remembered Dem's brief appearance. "Having fun?" he had asked the guy-who-might-be-Sylar.
What other reason would he have to say that...
Adam took a deep breath and steeled himself, and pulled the knife out.
He froze with his hand on the hilt, ready to jab it in again if he had to. Fresh blood welled up in the re-opened wound, and Adam watched, wide-eyed, as the skin crept over that and re-fused into a whole; and watched the face for signs of life, and saw the brown eyes open and turn to him, and blink:
"...Adam?"
Adam swallowed. "Leo," he said. "Please say it's you. Unless it's not," he added quickly, but instincts were telling him that it was, now that he could watch him free from panic; taking in the subtle mannerisms, the way Leo moved, and looked at him, and Adam wondered how he had ever been fooled...
"Yeah," Leo said. "It's me. What happened?"
"We thought you were Sylar and killed you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Leo gazed thoughtfully at the knife. He rubbed the back of his head and looked at the blood that came away on his fingers.
"How..." Adam started, "...You had powers."
"That old man," Leo said, still staring at the blood. "He said he stole Sylar's powers and wanted to give them to me. Where's Sylar?"
"Next door," Adam said. "He's pretending to be you. I don't think he suspects anything yet."
Leo nodded. "I don't want this," he said. "I don't want these abilities. I... I don't feel like myself anymore." He hesitated. "I don't know if you can trust me."
"Why wouldn't we?"
"I get thoughts," Leo said, looking up straight at Adam. "Of killing people, and slicing their heads open to see how they tick... I'm trying to ignore them, but it's hard. I got some of his memories, somehow. I remember watching people, making lists of the special ones whom I could go after at night. I can remember their faces and what they can do and where they are, and..." He paused. "I remember killing Sasan."
"It wasn't you," Adam said forcefully. "Okay? I don't know what that old man did to you, but you're not responsible. And I still trust you. So just kill Sylar now while he's mortal, and you can worry about that other stuff later."
Adam and Leo returned to the room. Spock stopped mid-bite in sandwich. Smudge and Tony stared. Sylar stood up and opened his mouth to speak-
"Hi Gabriel," Adam said.
Reflex kicked in. "My name is Sy-"
Adam gave a wry grin.
Smudge gaped.
"What are you going to do?" Sylar asked. "Kill me?"
"No," Leo said. "Because I'm not like you."
"Noble," Sylar commented. He picked up his sandwich and took a jaunty bite.
"Get out," Leo said. "Before I change my mind."
Sylar laughed to himself. "Who do you think you are, Leo?" he asked, ambling up to them, chewing on his sandwich. "You're still a nobody. You can steal my powers and get your fifteen minutes of fame, but when it's all over we'll be right back where we started." Sylar grinned.
"I could kill you," Leo said. "Right now."
Sylar shrugged. "I don't believe you," he said, close enough that Leo could feel his breath on his face. "Because if you give in to this, you'll become a killer. And then there'll be nothing stopping you. Do you feel the Hunger yet, Leo?"
Leo tensed. "Get out!" he said again.
Sylar smiled. "If you say so," he whispered, and walked out the door.
The door clicked shut.
Smudge ran up to Leo and grabbed him in a hug. "I thought he was you," he cried.
"Smudge-"
"Let me kill him!"
"No-"
"I SLEPT NEXT TO HIM!" Smudge yelled. "HE KILLED SASAN, AND... and I let him..."
Leo grabbed Smudge by his shoulders. "It's not your fault, Smudge, all right? It's not."
"I hate him I hate him I hate him-"
"We all do," Leo said, and tried to ignore the absorbed memory of Sasan begging for life before the red burst out from his neck and cut his pleadings short-
"Welcome back," Spock said. Smudge had gone to burying his face in Leo's shirt as he continued his uninterrupted strain of declaring his hate for Sylar.
Leo nodded. "Thanks."
Tony ate his sandwich, feeling alone.
serial killer kills. bisexual guy's vocabulary. down to just three words.
A noise from hidden speakers in the ceiling suddenly drew their attention upwards:
"This is an announcement to those of you holding Keanu Reeves hostage on the fourth floor of Block F. Please release him, and then we'll talk about why we cannot let you go home. To show that we are serious about this, we have halted all food and water supplies to Kenselton Hotel.
"To everyone else, if this makes you unhappy, you know what to do: Go get 'em."
The speakers clicked off.
They looked at each other.
"...it's a good thing we have sandwiches," Leo said.
"Man cannot live off bread alone," Tony intoned.
Smudge wondered what he had been doing when he was interrupted. He remembered.
"I hate him I hate him I hate him..."
"There are people running this place after all," Spock said.
"Do we just stay here?" Leo asked.
"For now," Adam said. He gazed at the closed door. "Hopefully not for much longer."
Leo looked at the Smudge on his shirt. I killed your boyfriend, he thought with a sudden flash of uncharacteristic malice; and then, rushing over that thought: No. It wasn't me. It was Sylar, not me, not me...
And he tried with all his might to push aside the thoughts that said otherwise.
"Could you fix Arthur?" Smudge had asked; and now, standing before the damaged android, Leo could sense every part of him: damaged bits and pulled out wires, pieces out of joint... and he could feel them with his mind. He knew where each was supposed to go. He saw how everything worked.
He could fix him, Leo thought with growing conviction that dragged fear in its wake. This wasn't him. He did not know this stuff; Sylar did, and it was that part of his mind that guided the whole process as Leo reached out mentally to fix Arthur.
It was that part of his mind that glowed with satisfaction whenever a cog or screw moved back into place or a broken circuit board rejoined into one working whole. It was that part of his mind that revelled in the success as Arthur blinked and experimentally moved his limbs; and it was that part of his mind that once again felt the Hunger grow as Leo desperately tried to push it back.
The speakers came on again. "We have an important announcement to make," a voice said. "Please listen carefully."
They listened carefully.
Rick Astley music blared through the speakers.
"YOU ALL JUST GOT RICK ROLL'D!" yelled the announcer. "HAHAHAHAHAHA..."
Leo raised a hand and blew up the speakers. The music cut short. Tony's mouth fell open.
"What happened to me?" Arthur asked.
"You died," Smudge said. "Leo fixed you." He gestured at him.
"Thank you," Arthur said to Leo, and then with a curious glance at his clothes: "That other guy was wearing that," he said.
"Yeah. He..." Leo let out a breath. "Long story."
"That other guy won't be bothering us again," Adam muttered.
"We cannot know that for certain," Spock pointed out.
"We can never know anything for certain," Arthur said.
Tony climbed onto a barstool. "What drinks do you have?" he asked.
"What would you like?"
Leo gazed down at the bar counter where he sat, his fists clenched on his knees.
Tall guy. Faux mohawk. Conjures stuff out of thin air. Block C, 41st floor. Brunette kid. Yellow shirt. Joins things together; anything. Block E, 33rd floor-
STOP IT, Leo thought, shaking as he forced down the rising excitement-
Emo boy. Peter-hair. Doesn't go through walls; they go through him. Block J, 5th-
"NO!" Leo yelled.
The others stared at him.
"...Leo?" Adam asked.
"I can't... I can't get these thoughts out... I want them to stop..."
Leo got off the barstool and with erratic steps went to the wall and rested his forehead against it. He trembled with dry sobs, his palms quivering on the wall.
Smudge went hesitantly up to him.
"Stay away from me," Leo whispered. "I'm not safe."
Smudge hugged him.
"Smudge-"
"Leo," Adam said from the bar, his eyes intent. "Don't let it beat you. You can fight it."
"Prove it," Leo breathed, his eyes shut in distress. "You don't... know... what it's like... Let go of me, Smudge."
"No," Smudge said stubbornly.
Leo opened his eyes.
Kill them, came the casual thought. Kill all of them. They'll never understand. It'll only take a minute and then you'll be free to do whatever you like and you'll never have to worry about anything again-
"You let Sylar go free when you had every reason to kill him," Adam said. "That says something."
"It's getting worse," Leo said quietly. "It's too strong. You know the things Sylar did; now I know why. We're not that different after all."
Just raise your hand and blow them up. You don't need them. You'll be free to take all the powers you want and nobody will be able to judge you. You can rule this place. Because you are special.
"Sylar embraced the temptation," Spock said. "You're fighting it."
You could do anything, kill anyone. No one would be able to stop you. You wouldn't need to hide. There would be nothing to be afraid of. Masses will run when they see you. Even the people who brought you here will fall to their knees and beg for mercy. Even Gabriel; poor, helpless Gabriel, the watchmaker's son. He will cower and tremble before you and know without a doubt that you are Sylar now...
"No-"
Kill them kill them kill them-
Leo shoved the thoughts aside with an effort and turned to Spock with a sudden feverish desperation. "Do that neck pinch thing on me. Please."
"I don't think-"
"Please," Leo begged. "Before I hurt someone, I don't know how long I can control this, I..."
"What would you do when it wears off?" Adam asked. "You can't stay unconscious forever."
Leo gave a wry grin. "Then kill me."
"NO!" Adam said, getting up. "You've done nothing to deserve being killed, and some old guy playing with us doesn't change that."
"It's not the same anymore," Leo said.
"We're not killing you again," Adam said.
"Do it before you absolutely have to and you can't."
"No," Adam said. "We stick together, remember? We'll pull through this. Together."
"I could kill you," Leo said. "Right now. All of you. Just like that. And you wouldn't know a thing."
"I don't believe you would," Adam countered.
"Try me. I can't even think of anything else, and every second I resist it, it hurts." Leo gave a pained laugh. "You don't know how much I want to kill you right now. Then I won't need to have this conversation and I can go slice some heads open and the pain will stop-"
Smudge hugged him tighter.
"It's like a thirst," Leo said. "A hunger. I can't ignore it, it needs to be fed-"
Adam came over. "Smudge, get off him."
Smudge reluctantly agreed.
Leo stared. "What are you-"
Adam pushed Leo against the wall and held him there, gazing firmly into his eyes. "Your name is Leo Fulton Jr.," he stated with clinical force. "You're not a killer. You're not Sylar. You're a good guy, and you're one of us."
"Adam-"
"You're not going to hurt us," Adam continued, ignoring him. "Because that's not what you do. You are stronger than this. You're going to hold out. You're going to conquer it."
"Adam, let go of me."
"You could push me away at any moment and you know it. But you're not going to, because you're still-"
Leo shoved Adam off him with telekinetic force. Adam fell over to the ground, the others looking on in shock....
Sudden malice flashing in his eyes, Leo jerked a finger up towards him. Then he closed his hand again and forced it down into a fist, the pain written on his face. "Run," Leo said through gritted teeth.
"We're not leaving y-"
"RUN!"
They ran.
Leo grabbed the bar counter, sliding down its side to the floor as he clutched on tight; raised his eyes towards Arthur-
"Sir?"
"Kill me," Leo said.
"That's not within my job description."
Leo buried his face against his arm.
He heard Arthur move to the other side of the bar and offer drinks to a pair of newcomers.
"No, it's all right," came the familiar voice in reply. "We won't need you here for a while. Why don't you take a rest."
Arthur shut down.
Leo opened his eyes.
Dem smiled charitably down at him. "Hello," he said.
Leo stared at the other person with Dem. A young girl, about four or five, clutching wide-eyed to Dem's hand. He recognised her. She was special. Bounced off any surface, from any height; the world was her trampoline.
The Hunger lashed out painfully in his mind. Leo gripped on more tightly to the bar counter.
"This is Misha," Dem said pleasantly. "She's special."
Leo shook his head. "Don't do this to me, please-"
"Today's lesson," Dem continued, "is self-control."
"I don't need lessons!" Leo yelled. "Why are you doing this? Why are you picking on me?"
Dem let go of Misha's hand and took a packet of peanuts from the bar. He tore it open and chucked a few into his mouth. "Because life gets boring when you are immortal, and I thought I might as well use the time to better some members of your pathetic human race." Dem smiled. "Don't worry; it's nothing personal. You were a completely random choice."
Leo tried to turn his face away from the girl, but it was already taking all his effort not to slice her head open.
She stood there, confused and paralysed by fear, looking from Dem to Leo and back to Dem. Dem gave her a peanut. She ate it and went back to staring at Leo.
"Give in, Leo," Dem said. "Just give in. Look at it this way; if I hadn't done anything, Sylar would have killed dozens in the time since then. You've already lowered the death rate by a whole lot. Just one or two kills wouldn't hurt. Lessen the pain a little, you know. Want a peanut?"
Leo didn't want a peanut, so Dem gave it to Misha, who gladly took it. She liked peanuts.
"I'm not going to kill her," Leo said as evenly as he could manage. "I'm not playing your sick games."
Dem gave Misha the rest of the packet, saying something in another language that brought a smile to her face. She climbed onto a barstool and ate.
"Here are the rules, Leo," Dem said calmly. "You have five minutes, after which I'll... release you, and you can be yourself again. I'll leave Misha here with you. If at the end of those five minutes, she's still alive, nothing else will happen. However, if you kill her..." Dem smiled. "After I take your powers away, I'll bring Sasan back to life."
Leo stared at Dem in despair.
"She's an orphan," Dem continued. "She has no family, and most of her friends are dead thanks to Sylar. She won't be missed much. A lot of people are going to die because of this place, and she'll just be another statistic."
"You're crazy," Leo whispered. "You're a crazy, sick..."
"No one will know it was you, Leo," Dem continued, his face a mask of grave sincerity. "No one will care. But I remember you telling me how much all of you cared about Sasan. Especially Smudge. Smudge cared about him, didn't he? Think of... how happy he would be to have him alive again. The choice is yours."
Trembling where he sat, Leo brushed a tear from his eye.
"Five minutes, Leo," Dem said. He tapped Leo's watch. The numbers started a countdown. 4:59. 4:58. 4:57.
Dem walked over to Misha and said something to her. She smiled and nodded and went back to eating her peanuts.
4:51. 4: 50.
Dem went through the doors and out of sight.
"I'm not a killer," Leo said weakly to himself.
No one will know.
"I'd know," Leo whispered, trying to give voice to anything that would counter those thoughts. "Dem would know."
Sasan, back. No longer having Smudge going around with that vacant, broken look in his eyes...
One life for another.
What would Smudge do in his place?
Leo turned towards Arthur. The android had powered down. Leo raised a hand and telekinetically turned him back on.
Arthur blinked. He saw Misha seated at the bar, finishing the last couple of peanuts.
"Would you like more?" he asked.
Misha looked at him curiously, not understanding his words. Arthur took a packet of peanuts and showed it to her. Her face lit up, and she nodded.
"Arthur."
Arthur gave Misha the packet and looked down at Leo. "Yes?"
"What do I do?"
3:59. 3:58.
"What's the problem?"
Leo told him.
"Do the right thing," Arthur replied quietly. "Don't have the blood of an innocent on your hands."
"What about Sasan? He could be alive again if I just-"
"Sasan's death was not your fault," Arthur said. "His life is not your responsibility. It would be good to bring him back to life, yes. But it would not be wrong not to."
"I remember killing him," Leo said. "I got... some of Sylar's memories, and..."
"-and you feel guilty?" Arthur asked. "Don't put your trust in false memories, Leo. You've done nothing wrong. Don't start now."
3:04. 3:03.
"I could make so many people happy," Leo said. "Sasan has friends and family, and Smudge..."
"Are the loved worth more than the lonely?"
Silence.
"Is their happiness less important than my clear conscience?" Leo asked in return.
Arthur picked up Misha's empty peanut packet and put it in the trash. "There are no correct answers, Leo," he said. "You just do what you think is right, and be prepared to live with the consequences."
2:33. 2:32.
In the silence they heard more announcements coming from speakers too distant to make out.
"This place is going down," Arthur commented.
Leo slowly got back to his feet. He moved over to Misha and stood by her. She looked up, smiled at him, and offered him a peanut.
The Hunger cried out to be fed.
Leo took the peanut. "Thanks," he said. She smiled again.
If only you knew, Leo thought.
He forced himself to sit down.
"What are you going to do?" Arthur asked.
"I don't know," Leo said. "I can't... I can't think of anything. My mind is just... blank..."
He knew only the overpowering urge to turn and kill, justifying itself with thoughts of the reward; and the effort not to, void of similar promises.
Sasan is dead, he told himself. He's been dead for over a day. It's over. Let Smudge grieve. People die. It's a part of life.
Misha held out the rest of the peanuts towards him, her eyes bright with childhood innocence.
"It's all right," Leo said. "You can have them."
She tilted her head in puzzlement. Leo gently pushed her hand back. "For you," he said.
Sparks of her memory flashed into his mind at the contact. Another world, another place. Literally bouncing off the walls. Fantasies of flying away. Gazing down a dreary road waiting for people who never came.
1:47. 1:46.
Leo buried his head in his hands.
Wait it out, he thought. Less than two minutes, and it'll be over. It'll all be over.
The thought gave him strength.
When the numbers hit zero, Leo felt the pressure of a small metal cylinder on the back of his neck.
And then the greatest relief he'd ever known washed over him; and he raised his head to see Dem lift the cylinder from his neck, and take Misha's hand and walk away.
"How do you feel?" Arthur asked.
Leo looked at him and gave a faint smile. "Better." He closed his eyes and lingered in the silence and the calm.
Eventually, he got up. "I have to find the others," he said.
Leo hesitated, then went back to the room they had occupied. It was deserted now, like the seventeenth floor of Block J was. A few sandwiches still lay in the corner. Pillows scattered on the ground. The laptop open on the desk, still running. Leo shut it down-
A broadcast telepathic message cut into his mind.
<There are exits through the roofs. This is our chance. Everyone, get out.>
In the distance, Leo heard shouting and running. He looked at the laptop, lying there, and decided to leave it. They wouldn't need it any more.
He had to find the others now, he thought, running out of the room.
"Joining the exodus?" Arthur asked, with a knowing finality as Leo paused before the bar.
"Yeah. Uh... thanks. For everything."
"If you ever need a drink or a chat, I'll be here."
"I don't think we'll be coming back."
"But if you ever do... I'll be here," Arthur said. "It's not as though I have anywhere else to go."
"All right. Take care, Arthur."
"I will. You too."
Leo nodded. "Goodbye."
He left through the broken doors; down the escalator and out into the corridor-
"Leo?"
He turned. Adam eyed him warily from inside one of the shops, the others with him.
"I'm fine," Leo said quickly. "I'm okay again, the old guy fixed... You waited for me?"
"We stick together, remember?" Smudge said.
"We were going to knock you unconscious and drag you along, but this works too," Adam said.
"Let's go," Tony said. "To the roofs. Let's get out of this place, hurry-"
"There's no need to hurry," Spock said. "It may in fact be safer to wait until the chaos has died d-"
"Whatever," Adam interrupted. "We've been here long enough. Let's go."
And so they ran off to join the crowds.
#
"Go on, Gabriel," Dem suggested after Sylar tested out his regained powers on an unfortunate potted plant. "Escape. There's a whole world out there. Not too many special people, I'm afraid, but it could still be fun. World domination might actually be a possibility for you."
"I don't get you," Sylar said.
Dem shrugged. "I don't get me either. Go say hi to Mr. Quinto or something. Just beware the dog; I hear he wears bandanas."
Sylar raised an eyebrow.
"Have fun," Dem said with a grin, and vanished.
Chapter 20 »
#