Pure crack.
I need to stop trying to write fics at 3 o'clock in the morning. It almost always comes out full of teh Crack.
Title: Sylar's Supplicant.
Rating: PG
Pairings: *slight* references to Sylar/Mohinder, but mostly gen.
Summary: Sylar did not really expect anyone to apply to his ad.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you can recognise from your t.v. screen.
The doorbell ringing slowly awakened Sylar, who at first wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d been drinking the night before again, and the whole world seemed fuzzy. Slowly, he sat up from where he’d passed out on the dingy floor of the run-down apartment where he was currently staying while in New York, then made the even more impressive effort to heave himself up and stagger towards the door. When he opened it, wincing against the light in the hallway, he was somewhat surprised to see not the landlord (whom he was planning on killing in a really bloody way the next time he barged in asking about rent) or some super-powered do-gooder intent on making him pay for his sins, but a completely average looking stranger, with brown hair, glasses, a short-sleeved shirt and- Sylar peered blearily down at his feet- Birkenstock sandals. The man was clutching a stack of paper and was staring at him with intense seriousness.
“Are you Mr. Sylar? Answer quickly, anyone might be listening. If They found out that I was defecting to your side……..it would not be pretty. Much like a woman during PMS.” Sylar blinked. The man was talking gibberish, and he was too hung over to deal with this.
“Do you work for the Company?” Maybe he was some crazed assassin. He wouldn’t put it past those bastards. The stranger shook his head.
“Alas, my service to them has ended. It’s time that I choose a different path then the art of paper-and you can help me down that path.” He shoved a newspaper clipping into Sylar’s hand. It took a moment for him to remember, and then it hit him. A few days ago, Sylar had been drinking, and while smashed on vodka he’d started to rage against those in opposition to him, especially Mohinder. Sylar had felt a connection with the man, had wanted to work with him, but Mohinder had responded by trying to kill him. He was seen as an evil monster by people too limited to understand that he was doing this to improve the entire human race. Those people he’d killed didn’t deserve their powers, he did. Simple evolution, and yet he was reviled. In a fit of pique Sylar had posted the following ad in the newspaper:
VILLAIN SEEKS ACCOMPLICE TO AID IN THE
PURSUIT OF VARIOUS HEINOUS CRIMES,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
MURDER, THEFT, AND KIDNAPPING
IN THE NAME OF GENETIC PURITY.
Even drunk, he hadn’t expected anyone to apply. It was just his way of lashing out at his antagonists while getting a good laugh as well. He stared at the man standing calmly in the hallway.
“Are you here to apply for the position?” Maybe he was still drunk.
“Yes. Here is my resume,” the stack of paper was dumped in Sylar’s arms. “You’ll find that I am skilled in the use of nunchucks, throwing stars, stun guns, boomerangs and pepper spray. Also, laser tag and paint balling. May I come in?”
“Huh? Oh, yes, come in.” Sylar led the applicant-this man was so serious, it had to be real- into his living room and motioned at the couch covered in beer cans. “Sorry about the mess, Mr……..?” He hesitated before answering.
“Call me Agent K for now. If you accept my proposal to join forces, I shall reveal my true identity to you at that time.”
“Oh, alright. Like I was saying, sorry about the mess. I’ve been a bit……busy lately.” Agent K nodded.
“Fact: No rest for the wicked.” Sylar shuffled through the intensive résumé he’d been given and tried to clear his head. If someone had gone to the trouble to apply to his ad, he might as well go ahead and give them an interview. Who knows, he might not even end up killing the guy, he might use him for some of the many tasks to be done in his never-ending search for the ultimate self-improvement. Having a minion might be kind of fun. He rubbed at his pounding head.
“You appear to be feeling unwell. Is it tape worms? That is a common ailment afflicting those who live in lower class apartments such as these. I've never suffered from them myself, given that I live in an environment filled with fresh air and a diet heavy with carbohydrates and well-cooked protein, but I know an old German cure for them. Do you have any lamb’s blood or fermented vinegar?”
“No, no, it’s not tapeworms. Definitely not. I just have a headache. So what made you decide to apply?” K’s face fell a bit.
“I worked for the side of Good for a long time, attempting to use my skills and wisdom to aid others. But all that ended when I was scorned by my true love over a trifling matter. After she left me, I decided that in my pain and rage I would turn to the Dark Side. She thinks I’m a villain, so I might as well become one.” He looked so sad for a moment that Sylar was reminded of certain events in his own life, mostly those involving a certain Indian scientist.
“I know how you feel. The people you love always let you down, by being incapable of seeing the true you. Can I ask what you did?”
“I killed ……..someone very close to her. She didn’t understand that I did it for the right reasons, not out of some desire to hurt her. It needed to be done. And now I’ve made my choice. I’ve gone from Gryffindor to Slytherin.” The man’s strange words echoed eerily with Sylar’s own dealings with Suresh, making him feel just a bit more inclined to listen to the man. There was a short pause, and then Agent K changed the subject.
“In addition to the skills listed on my application, I am also skilled in karate, and would be very useful in the event of a ninja attack. My sleek and powerful figure lends itself well towards the fighting of these ancient deadly assassins.” Sylar made a note of that-he didn’t intend on getting stabbed through by a samurai sword again-and continued questioning.
“A large part of my belief concerns the struggle to improve yourself by any means necessary, striving towards a goal of superhuman perfection that surpasses human limits. Do you think that you can meet my high requirements?” Agent K responded with an off-hand assurance.
“Of course. My family has been working towards that very goal for generations, by the use of good breeding techniques, hard work and harder punishments, the development of a perfect immune system, and the elimination of several major emotions. Also, I am a farmer, which means I have a high tolerance level when it comes to death.”
Sylar thought for a moment, and then made his decision. “Well, Agent K, it would seem that you could be a valuable asset to me, which is not something I’m going to pass up. Will you join me in my crusade?”
“I would be glad to. A partnership would be beneficial to the both of us- I could be the Butch Cassidy to your Lex Luthor.” They stood and shook hands on it.
“Now that we are working together, might I know your real name?”
“Yes, you have proven yourself to be a true master at your art with your apt questioning. My name is Dwight K. Schrute. May we both live long and prosper, unlike our enemies.”
END.
Title: Sylar's Supplicant.
Rating: PG
Pairings: *slight* references to Sylar/Mohinder, but mostly gen.
Summary: Sylar did not really expect anyone to apply to his ad.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you can recognise from your t.v. screen.
The doorbell ringing slowly awakened Sylar, who at first wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d been drinking the night before again, and the whole world seemed fuzzy. Slowly, he sat up from where he’d passed out on the dingy floor of the run-down apartment where he was currently staying while in New York, then made the even more impressive effort to heave himself up and stagger towards the door. When he opened it, wincing against the light in the hallway, he was somewhat surprised to see not the landlord (whom he was planning on killing in a really bloody way the next time he barged in asking about rent) or some super-powered do-gooder intent on making him pay for his sins, but a completely average looking stranger, with brown hair, glasses, a short-sleeved shirt and- Sylar peered blearily down at his feet- Birkenstock sandals. The man was clutching a stack of paper and was staring at him with intense seriousness.
“Are you Mr. Sylar? Answer quickly, anyone might be listening. If They found out that I was defecting to your side……..it would not be pretty. Much like a woman during PMS.” Sylar blinked. The man was talking gibberish, and he was too hung over to deal with this.
“Do you work for the Company?” Maybe he was some crazed assassin. He wouldn’t put it past those bastards. The stranger shook his head.
“Alas, my service to them has ended. It’s time that I choose a different path then the art of paper-and you can help me down that path.” He shoved a newspaper clipping into Sylar’s hand. It took a moment for him to remember, and then it hit him. A few days ago, Sylar had been drinking, and while smashed on vodka he’d started to rage against those in opposition to him, especially Mohinder. Sylar had felt a connection with the man, had wanted to work with him, but Mohinder had responded by trying to kill him. He was seen as an evil monster by people too limited to understand that he was doing this to improve the entire human race. Those people he’d killed didn’t deserve their powers, he did. Simple evolution, and yet he was reviled. In a fit of pique Sylar had posted the following ad in the newspaper:
VILLAIN SEEKS ACCOMPLICE TO AID IN THE
PURSUIT OF VARIOUS HEINOUS CRIMES,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
MURDER, THEFT, AND KIDNAPPING
IN THE NAME OF GENETIC PURITY.
Even drunk, he hadn’t expected anyone to apply. It was just his way of lashing out at his antagonists while getting a good laugh as well. He stared at the man standing calmly in the hallway.
“Are you here to apply for the position?” Maybe he was still drunk.
“Yes. Here is my resume,” the stack of paper was dumped in Sylar’s arms. “You’ll find that I am skilled in the use of nunchucks, throwing stars, stun guns, boomerangs and pepper spray. Also, laser tag and paint balling. May I come in?”
“Huh? Oh, yes, come in.” Sylar led the applicant-this man was so serious, it had to be real- into his living room and motioned at the couch covered in beer cans. “Sorry about the mess, Mr……..?” He hesitated before answering.
“Call me Agent K for now. If you accept my proposal to join forces, I shall reveal my true identity to you at that time.”
“Oh, alright. Like I was saying, sorry about the mess. I’ve been a bit……busy lately.” Agent K nodded.
“Fact: No rest for the wicked.” Sylar shuffled through the intensive résumé he’d been given and tried to clear his head. If someone had gone to the trouble to apply to his ad, he might as well go ahead and give them an interview. Who knows, he might not even end up killing the guy, he might use him for some of the many tasks to be done in his never-ending search for the ultimate self-improvement. Having a minion might be kind of fun. He rubbed at his pounding head.
“You appear to be feeling unwell. Is it tape worms? That is a common ailment afflicting those who live in lower class apartments such as these. I've never suffered from them myself, given that I live in an environment filled with fresh air and a diet heavy with carbohydrates and well-cooked protein, but I know an old German cure for them. Do you have any lamb’s blood or fermented vinegar?”
“No, no, it’s not tapeworms. Definitely not. I just have a headache. So what made you decide to apply?” K’s face fell a bit.
“I worked for the side of Good for a long time, attempting to use my skills and wisdom to aid others. But all that ended when I was scorned by my true love over a trifling matter. After she left me, I decided that in my pain and rage I would turn to the Dark Side. She thinks I’m a villain, so I might as well become one.” He looked so sad for a moment that Sylar was reminded of certain events in his own life, mostly those involving a certain Indian scientist.
“I know how you feel. The people you love always let you down, by being incapable of seeing the true you. Can I ask what you did?”
“I killed ……..someone very close to her. She didn’t understand that I did it for the right reasons, not out of some desire to hurt her. It needed to be done. And now I’ve made my choice. I’ve gone from Gryffindor to Slytherin.” The man’s strange words echoed eerily with Sylar’s own dealings with Suresh, making him feel just a bit more inclined to listen to the man. There was a short pause, and then Agent K changed the subject.
“In addition to the skills listed on my application, I am also skilled in karate, and would be very useful in the event of a ninja attack. My sleek and powerful figure lends itself well towards the fighting of these ancient deadly assassins.” Sylar made a note of that-he didn’t intend on getting stabbed through by a samurai sword again-and continued questioning.
“A large part of my belief concerns the struggle to improve yourself by any means necessary, striving towards a goal of superhuman perfection that surpasses human limits. Do you think that you can meet my high requirements?” Agent K responded with an off-hand assurance.
“Of course. My family has been working towards that very goal for generations, by the use of good breeding techniques, hard work and harder punishments, the development of a perfect immune system, and the elimination of several major emotions. Also, I am a farmer, which means I have a high tolerance level when it comes to death.”
Sylar thought for a moment, and then made his decision. “Well, Agent K, it would seem that you could be a valuable asset to me, which is not something I’m going to pass up. Will you join me in my crusade?”
“I would be glad to. A partnership would be beneficial to the both of us- I could be the Butch Cassidy to your Lex Luthor.” They stood and shook hands on it.
“Now that we are working together, might I know your real name?”
“Yes, you have proven yourself to be a true master at your art with your apt questioning. My name is Dwight K. Schrute. May we both live long and prosper, unlike our enemies.”
END.