Scientific interest - Rp with fallen_empath
I crouch down next to Peter's prone body, stroking the hair away from his eyes, tracing the line across his forehead where I cut into him. There's nothing there now, just a bit of dried up blood, indicating the injury. I can't wait to see what's hidden in his brain, see what I can take and make mine
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I step further into the apartment, taking a look around while Candice tells Peter to get the hell out and leave her alone. Big words for a girl currently pinned to the wall, but then her ability is very strong. It's a clean apartment, that's about as much as I can say about it. She's left no imprint of herself on it, white walls with no pictures and white furniture. It's the perfect canvas for her illusions, I bet.
She'll have something spectacular in store for Peter if he can't persuade her soon and while I'd like to see what that could be, I don't have the patience. Fuck it, the littlest Petrelli followed my tracks all the way here, the least she can do is to shut the hell up and let us have a chat.
I step out of the shadows, waving a finger at her and crushing her voice-box cleanly in a second. The pain should keep her occupied enough to not use her ability on either of us.
"Why, hello Peter. I'm flattered that you took the time to visit. I didn't realize I'd pissed so hard in your cornflakes that you could follow my scent all the way here." I smile at him, all teeth, advancing and pressing him into the wall, my arm against his throat. "We have to stop meeting like this."
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Sylar’s taunts and his ever-present grin infuriate me even through my fear, but I can’t move, his arm pressed so hard against my throat my vision darkens. Then it occurs to me that I’m still able to get some kind of breath. Physically choking the air out of me isn’t really his style. Struggling against him, I look toward Candice; why isn’t she using her ability to at least save herself from becoming Sylar’s next victim?
Because she’s tugging uselessly at the doorknob, but Sylar is no doubt mentally holding it shut. Tears run down her face, which is twisted in agony, and her other hand clutches her throat, her mouth opening but no sound coming out. What has he done to her? Is he just going to play with us like two little mice, chasing us around until he decides we’ve outgrown our novelty?
I’m not giving up without a fight, even if all I have left is his telekinesis, so I channel all my fear and hatred of him, my anger at my powerlessness, for what he’s done to me. The emotions rapidly build inside of me, and I fight to control it.
He hurt me, took everything inside of me there was to take, and left me with nothing except for this. I need it. I need to touch it, to use it, right now--
There it is.
I release it all and push him back, holding him with his own ability before he falls, and I slam my fist into his face, tearing bloody gashes across my knuckles as they glance against his teeth.
The doorknob finally gives, and I scream, “Candice, go! Run!”
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Candice is running down the hallway, away from us, but with newfound concentration I almost lazily reach out with my hand and drag her in telekinetically again, feeling more than seeing her struggle and more than likely trying to scream. This time I snap her into the closet and slam the door on her, turning my full attention on Peter once that's done.
"You need to stop being such a boy scout, Peter. It doesn't help, in the end it's all fucking futile. I'm still going to kill the bitch and you're still going to lose." I lick the blood off my lip, healed by now. I haven't made a move to pin him down yet, I know that saint Peter is interested in saving the damsel in distress and I'm blocking the path to her. Peter isn't going anywhere.
"Did it feel good to smack me down? I could feel how angry you were, how much energy you were using to do that to me. Why don't you try that again, asshole?" Come on Peter, let me show you real power.
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"The only way you're going to kill her is if you kill me first," I say through gritted teeth, my body shaking from the effort I expended. I can't back up this theory with telepathy, or even my empathy, but something tells me he's not going to do that. He would have already. Sylar got what he wanted from me--everything I had. What does he want then?
Sylar wants me to try my hardest to save Candice while he wears my energy and my resolve down to nothing. Then he'll laugh in my face when I fail, and force me to watch while he takes what he wants from her. He wants to break me, not kill me.
But what other choice do I have? If I give up now and run instead, he'll just drag me back in like a marionette on strings. I have to try.
It’s difficult to concentrate fully on my objective, to disable Sylar long enough to get to Candice, because something surges up inside of me. Hatred for him. Anger at my inability to stop him. The desire to hurt him, make him suffer like I did. It's a sickening feeling. I don't like it, but it strengthens my control over his ability.
I glance to my right and notice the mostly empty coat rack that’s nailed to the wall just by the front door.
That’ll work. One chance to do it right.
"To answer your question? Yes, it did!" I summon up another telekinetic burst and fling him towards the rack, my intent to impale his skull on one of the hooks that protrudes from it.
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"Is that all you got, Petrelli?" I rip myself free, biting my lip to stop from crying out. At least it's healing right up. "Really? You're using all that energy to kick my ass and you can't even be inventive about it?"
He's working up more steam and I'm watching him, focused on what I can feel from him. It's a strange and disjointed sensation, as if he's not quite right. Or his ability is out of sync.
"You can't, can you? This really is all you've fucking got." He's broken or momentarily shut down, I can't be sure of which without opening him up and looking under the hood, as it were. "Oh Peter..." This can work, it can. It'll make what I had in mind so much easier. It means that I need him to listen rather than charging up to throw me around.
I don't have that need to charge up for anything, simply grabbing a hold of him and slamming him down on the floor, keeping him as pinned as I possibly can. "Listen. I can fix you. I know what's wrong with you." A smile spreads on my face. "You can get all your abilities back, Peter. And you can start with Candice's. Won't that be great?"
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I'm panicking now; his mastery of telekinesis is much more advanced than mine, his hold on me too strong to break. He already has everything he could have possibly wanted to take from me, and Candice is still locked inside the closet, banging pitifully, otherwise silent. I’m still not dead. What does Sylar want? Not to help me, of that I’m sure.
"How can I get my abilities back if I can't even feel anything anymore?" I sigh, the tears of self-pity that I'm trying so hard not to give into showing through the waver in my voice. My limbs go slack, and I try to breathe normally.
I'm not this weak, am I? I'm not emotionless. I still feel sadness, and anger, and fear...all my own. I close my eyes, partially so I don’t have to see the predatory grin that’s currently gracing my arch-nemesis’ face, and I try desperately to reach out for what I can feel outside of myself. Nothing. It's like Sylar and Candice aren't even here.
No...that's not true. I do feel something. His power, what did the files call it? Intuitive aptitude. That I can feel, like a little bug buzzing around inside my head. It registers dimly inside of me at first, but the more I concentrate on it, the stronger it gets. If this is what he means by getting my abilities back, I don’t want it. I’m not like Sylar. I’m not.
So why can’t I stop myself from trying to make it mine?
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I nod over at the closet, though I don't take my eyes away from him. "The girl in there would be perfect to start with. Hell, I'll even kill her and show you the ropes, least I can do for you." I can see his mind working, see the panic and the indecision inside him. This is not the kind of thing that boy scout Petey is comfortable with and I know it. But he's exhausted, he came all this way and he's already frustrated and terrified. He's near his limit and I might get to watch him break.
God, it's beautiful.
"You think I'm a monster, right?" I lean in, lowering my voice. "What I do is born out of need. You're feeling that need now. You're powerless and you hate that. How can you be someone without your abilities, Peter?"
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“That's not true!” I counter, even while his power fills the emptiness inside of me. I’m nothing like him. He feels no remorse for what he’s done. Does he feel anything at all?
I’ve been empathic since I was a little kid; absorbing powers didn’t come until later. The first one I ever used was my mother’s precognitive dreaming, when I was sixteen years old, though I didn’t know that's what it was.
I don’t need abilities to be someone, do I?
Getting to my feet, I wipe the sweat from my face. I’m shaking, but I don’t know whether it’s from exhaustion or something else. My heart is racing inside my chest. I’m drawn to the girl inside the closet. She has something that I need. That I want.
What if Sylar is right? I was nothing before I had my abilities. Just the great Nathan Petrelli’s suicidal little brother. Even in the middle of this fucked-up situation, I can’t help but be angry at him for everything he’s done to me.
Nathan even tried to take my ability from me too. He lied right to my face until I showed him I could fly, because he could too. To this day, all Nathan’s tried to do is hold me back, keep my mediocrity from tarnishing his glittering perfection. Sylar is right. I’m nothing without them.
I need them if there’s any hope to stop him. He is a monster. He doesn’t need these abilities either; he wants them. Just like I do right now. This is what it feels like to be him.
“I’m not like you,” I say again, trying to convince myself even as I consider his words. Sacrifice one to save many. I know it's what Nathan would do. Play Sylar’s side, and do what I have to do to get what I need. If I take one this way, maybe it'll kick-start all the rest.
When I open the door, Candice almost falls out of the closet and into my arms, crying and shivering. She’s so afraid, I can feel it now. She’s trying to talk, but she can’t get the words out. I don’t know how I suddenly know her voice box is crushed and she’ll never speak again. I can feel her power…it’s so close…I just have to open her head up and take it. Not that hard.
Kill her to try out a theory? But her death could save so many more…I owe it to everyone Sylar could kill in the future.
I was never good at making the hard choices.
“You’re going to be okay, Candice,” I lie, tears streaming down my own face. My hand comes up, but instead of cutting into her skull, I push the hair out of her face. “I can’t. I can’t do this,” I whisper.
I’m nothing, with or without an ability.
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I am not like you, he says, but there's no conviction behind the words.
Fuck. I got him. I got him and he has to be aware that he's breaking. The tears when he's holding Candice, telling her that it's going to be alright... they're beautiful. I'd like to lick them off his face, just to fucking taste how bitter they must be.
He's lying to her, whimpering, and I move in closer. Candice has to have heard our conversation, I'm not gonna lie to her like Peter is feebly trying to do.
"I offered to do it. Don't strain yourself, little Peter." I grab Candice by her dark hair, pulling her roughly out of his grip and throwing her on the floor. She'd be screaming if she could, but instead she's trying to make it for the door. I flip her over telekinetically almost without thinking about it, it's a second nature with me.
"Watch and learn, puppytrelli." I focus my power, cutting into her head, deep enough to split skin and bone. There's a spray of warm blood and Candice starts kicking, twitching as the blood pools under her head. I crouch next to her, gently taking the skull cap off. Her eyes are already glazing over and fuck, how I love watching that light go out in those beautiful brown eyes. I almost forget that Peter is in the room.
But the time has come for him to get involved. "Come here, Peter. Let me show you." My eyes meet his, challenging him. "Nothing you can do for her now, so you might at well join me."
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“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” I moan, swiping at my tears that just won’t stop. God can’t help us here, not a single one of us.
Candice convulses, her eyelids fluttering, and she’s in terrible pain. Only briefly, I hope, because she’s dying right in front of me. I couldn’t save her.
I feel her panic, her fear, her life, all slipping away, but it’s increasingly drowned out by a strange, terrifying need churning inside me. Take what she has. Make it yours.
Sylar’s voice echoes in my ears, and it makes the sensation even stronger.
Nothing you can do for her now, so you might as well join me…
Why shouldn’t I? Candice has no use for it anymore.
All I can do for her is close her eyes once the light in them fades away. Candice’s blood is on my hands, just like in my dreams.
Sylar lifts off the top of her skull, and suddenly, I don’t have to feel anything to know it’s there: raw, unadulterated power right from the source. All I have to do is find it. Get everything back, like he said. Sylar is giving me the tools I can use to destroy him. He must take some kind of sick pleasure in teaching me how to be just like him. Maybe his arrogance will be his downfall, and only then can I win this fight.
Or am I just lying to myself? The need inside of me is overpowering now, impossibly loud inside my head, like a screaming child clamoring to be fed.
“Show me,” I gasp, holding out my hand. My nightmare has come true, as Sylar takes my blood-covered hand and presses my fingers to the soft, spongy surface of Candice’s brain. I don’t feel anything anymore…nothing but the uncontrollable desire that’s consumed me.
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