[truth_or_dare] Do it again
Week 24. Dare: Do it again.
The first time Mohinder killed, it had been out of necessity. Or, as close to necessity as killing could ever be. He had been running, for his life and for Sylar’s, and in that moment death seemed to be the only way to escape from the clutches of the Company. He had barely thought through his actions as he had wrapped his hands around the guard’s throat, twisted until he brought death with a sickening snap. Others followed, that night, gunned down at his own hand, but still there was the possibility of explanation. Of some reigning morality.
He could have walked away. Once he had Sylar free, he could have turned his back. If the Company caught up with him, he could have begged that his behaviour had been borne of panic for his own life. He could have gone back to his own life, always with the knowledge that there was a killer inside of him, but also with the satisfaction that he could keep that part of himself safely restrained. He could have done all of that.
Instead, he followed Sylar. Like always, he and the other man seemed to be bound together. Something invisible that made them feel just less than whole when they were not in each other’s company. So, Mohinder embraced the killer within himself, let Sylar cultivate the darkness lurking in his soul.
And he killed again. Not just the man who gave so much more than just his car to their cause, but also people that Mohinder had once aimed to help. The girl - Monica - and then Maya. He had done little more than watch Sylar as he had opened up Monica’s head, but Maya… he had helped. Her death had been as much his fault as Sylar’s, and he felt no remorse or regret. The darkness within him was rising, all the time, feeding on his sanity and stoked by Sylar’s admiration.
When he lay still at night, in motel room after seedy motel room, he felt no guilt plague him. All he felt was the warmth of the body wrapped close to his side, and Mohinder could not help but believe that what he and Sylar had together was the sheer embodiment of perfection. How could something that felt so right be bad? For the first time in his life, he felt powerful, wanted and appreciated. And if becoming a murderer, embracing insanity, darkness and bloodlust, were what it took to make him feel so utterly content? Then he would do it all over, kill again and again, to keep this man at his side, this smile on his face, this contentment in his heart.
The first time Mohinder killed, it had been out of necessity. Or, as close to necessity as killing could ever be. He had been running, for his life and for Sylar’s, and in that moment death seemed to be the only way to escape from the clutches of the Company. He had barely thought through his actions as he had wrapped his hands around the guard’s throat, twisted until he brought death with a sickening snap. Others followed, that night, gunned down at his own hand, but still there was the possibility of explanation. Of some reigning morality.
He could have walked away. Once he had Sylar free, he could have turned his back. If the Company caught up with him, he could have begged that his behaviour had been borne of panic for his own life. He could have gone back to his own life, always with the knowledge that there was a killer inside of him, but also with the satisfaction that he could keep that part of himself safely restrained. He could have done all of that.
Instead, he followed Sylar. Like always, he and the other man seemed to be bound together. Something invisible that made them feel just less than whole when they were not in each other’s company. So, Mohinder embraced the killer within himself, let Sylar cultivate the darkness lurking in his soul.
And he killed again. Not just the man who gave so much more than just his car to their cause, but also people that Mohinder had once aimed to help. The girl - Monica - and then Maya. He had done little more than watch Sylar as he had opened up Monica’s head, but Maya… he had helped. Her death had been as much his fault as Sylar’s, and he felt no remorse or regret. The darkness within him was rising, all the time, feeding on his sanity and stoked by Sylar’s admiration.
When he lay still at night, in motel room after seedy motel room, he felt no guilt plague him. All he felt was the warmth of the body wrapped close to his side, and Mohinder could not help but believe that what he and Sylar had together was the sheer embodiment of perfection. How could something that felt so right be bad? For the first time in his life, he felt powerful, wanted and appreciated. And if becoming a murderer, embracing insanity, darkness and bloodlust, were what it took to make him feel so utterly content? Then he would do it all over, kill again and again, to keep this man at his side, this smile on his face, this contentment in his heart.