Isaac Mendez. Claire Bennet. Elle Bishop. Mohinder Suresh. Peter and Nathan Petrelli.
Sylar was starting to think that every brain he'd ever coveted had gotten sucked into this place - unfortunately with all corresponding bodies attached. It was a good thing he'd never been on board with the idea of "getting home" so much as "getting free," because at this point, he had to wonder if there was much at home for him to get back to. It looked like Landel was keen on collecting people with abilities almost as much as Sylar was, and given what they'd tried to do on that operating table...
He shook his head, pointing his thoughts in a different direction. Despite the significant percentage of patients whose talents ventured into the realm of "abnormal," there were a good chunk of normals who'd turned up too, Noah Bennet included. Did that mean there were particular dimensions that Landel and his cronies zeroed in on? It sure seemed like more people here had a buddy from home than not...
And maybe now was exactly the time to start mulling over these things. As much as Sylar had wanted to spend a therapy session catching up with Nostradamus da Vinci, their meeting had ended abruptly with an announcement from the intercom and a couple of soldiers busting through the door.
Forget egg on his face: Landel was in some seriously deep crap if his nurses weren't the ones shuttling patients between their daytime activities. Sylar didn't have the inclination or the stupidity to try challenging the soldiers when they rushed him into the hall - without Mendez - and as they escorted him back to the patient blocks, he spent his time studying them rather than making small talk.
'Professional' would be the hundred-dollar word to describe them. Sylar didn't know much about what the stripes and buttons on their uniforms were supposed to mean, but there definitely weren't enough for them to be high-ranked. Grunts, then, which meant that this level of discipline must've been even more intense in their commanders.
Who the hell were these people?
Sylar rubbed his arm and glared back at the door as soon as the soldiers were done tossing him into his room. At least the usual orderlies had never man-handled him hard enough to bruise.
He looked over at Spock, for once too preoccupied with current events to go through his routine unease.
"What's going on? It's like a whole army of you out there."
Spock looked up from his partially-eaten meal in time to see a soldier closing the door, leaving Gabriel behind. He gazed at him for a moment, noting that there were no new injuries, and returned his attention to his meal. That was not to say he was in perfect health, of course (there was still his experiment from several nights ago to consider), but there was no way for Spock to learn those sorts of details without Gabriel agreeing to speak more freely.
When his roommate said something, however, the Vulcan's gaze momentarily returned to him, and he raised his eyebrow. "Hardly," he answered. "Although it is true I am a military officer, we conduct ourselves in different ways. I would not have seen a need to unnecessarily hold onto your arm while escorting you to your quarters, for example."
As for what had transpired last shift to warrant such a drastic change, however, Spock was as uncertain as Gabriel. Yet, given what they already knew, assembling a reasonable theory was not difficult. "It would seem as though whoever came to inspect the institute is dissatisfied with the way Landel has been conducting himself."
Sylar raised an eyebrow as Spock delivered his counter with all the deadpan delivery of a trained comedian - and none of the humor. But... okay - fair. That was fair. Which just served to underline how even the damn soldiers would've been more interesting company at dinner than Sylar's current roommate was. How did Spock handle prisoners on his spaceship, then? Did he logic them into incarceration?
At the comment about Landel's conduct, Sylar snorted and raised both eyebrows.
"You can say that again." He pulled out his chair and fell into it, glancing at his plate of spaghetti before looking back to Spock. "Here I thought that the show they put on for us is company policy."
He frowned, his mind wandering back to the strange intercom announcements throughout the day and the sudden transparency with which Landel had handled the day's events. If anything, it'd seemed like Landel was covering up his usual antics for the sake of the inspection, which meant he was probably even more of an idiot lunatic than anyone had thought. Sure, Sylar could completely understand the fun in toying with people's lives and powers, but he was beyond sick of Landel's blunt, joyless torture... and all the irritation that it tended to bring.
Focusing back on Spock and the rigid way in which he sat, something else occurred to Sylar.
"If you are military," he ventured, leaning back in his chair, "you probably figured out more from watching them than I could. Anything... useful?"
Sylar was starting to think that every brain he'd ever coveted had gotten sucked into this place - unfortunately with all corresponding bodies attached. It was a good thing he'd never been on board with the idea of "getting home" so much as "getting free," because at this point, he had to wonder if there was much at home for him to get back to. It looked like Landel was keen on collecting people with abilities almost as much as Sylar was, and given what they'd tried to do on that operating table...
He shook his head, pointing his thoughts in a different direction. Despite the significant percentage of patients whose talents ventured into the realm of "abnormal," there were a good chunk of normals who'd turned up too, Noah Bennet included. Did that mean there were particular dimensions that Landel and his cronies zeroed in on? It sure seemed like more people here had a buddy from home than not...
And maybe now was exactly the time to start mulling over these things. As much as Sylar had wanted to spend a therapy session catching up with Nostradamus da Vinci, their meeting had ended abruptly with an announcement from the intercom and a couple of soldiers busting through the door.
Forget egg on his face: Landel was in some seriously deep crap if his nurses weren't the ones shuttling patients between their daytime activities. Sylar didn't have the inclination or the stupidity to try challenging the soldiers when they rushed him into the hall - without Mendez - and as they escorted him back to the patient blocks, he spent his time studying them rather than making small talk.
'Professional' would be the hundred-dollar word to describe them. Sylar didn't know much about what the stripes and buttons on their uniforms were supposed to mean, but there definitely weren't enough for them to be high-ranked. Grunts, then, which meant that this level of discipline must've been even more intense in their commanders.
Who the hell were these people?
Sylar rubbed his arm and glared back at the door as soon as the soldiers were done tossing him into his room. At least the usual orderlies had never man-handled him hard enough to bruise.
He looked over at Spock, for once too preoccupied with current events to go through his routine unease.
"What's going on? It's like a whole army of you out there."
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When his roommate said something, however, the Vulcan's gaze momentarily returned to him, and he raised his eyebrow. "Hardly," he answered. "Although it is true I am a military officer, we conduct ourselves in different ways. I would not have seen a need to unnecessarily hold onto your arm while escorting you to your quarters, for example."
As for what had transpired last shift to warrant such a drastic change, however, Spock was as uncertain as Gabriel. Yet, given what they already knew, assembling a reasonable theory was not difficult. "It would seem as though whoever came to inspect the institute is dissatisfied with the way Landel has been conducting himself."
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At the comment about Landel's conduct, Sylar snorted and raised both eyebrows.
"You can say that again." He pulled out his chair and fell into it, glancing at his plate of spaghetti before looking back to Spock. "Here I thought that the show they put on for us is company policy."
He frowned, his mind wandering back to the strange intercom announcements throughout the day and the sudden transparency with which Landel had handled the day's events. If anything, it'd seemed like Landel was covering up his usual antics for the sake of the inspection, which meant he was probably even more of an idiot lunatic than anyone had thought. Sure, Sylar could completely understand the fun in toying with people's lives and powers, but he was beyond sick of Landel's blunt, joyless torture... and all the irritation that it tended to bring.
Focusing back on Spock and the rigid way in which he sat, something else occurred to Sylar.
"If you are military," he ventured, leaning back in his chair, "you probably figured out more from watching them than I could. Anything... useful?"
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