Heroes Prompt Table - Writer's Choice
Title: Special
Author:
vampireonearth
Prompt Word: ""In films, murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man."
Main Character(s): Peter, Sylar
Rating: 15
Word Count: 577
Summary: It was an art, what Sylar did
Authors Note(s): x-posted to
sylar_peter and to my own journal
It was an art, what Sylar did. Normally, serial killers would choose to kill their victims by shooting, stabbing or strangling them. The three S’s as he called them.
They never took the time to get to know their victim, they just went straight in there and bang, dead body on the ground, fresh blood on their hands.
Sylar was different. Well, he knew that, but he was different in the sense that he had some sort of relationship with his victims before he killed them.
Which lead him to this moment. Sylar was standing in the middle of Peter’s apartment, the empath in question tied to a chair. It had been so fun to torture Peter, fuck with his mind before he tied him up.
Currently, Peter was screaming for help. Sylar wasn’t worried, in fact he just laughed. "Poor, naïve Peter. Did you really think I wouldn’t have thought this out a bit more? No one can hear you. You’re totally alone. Just you.. and me. How does that make you feel?" Sylar crossed over to stand in front of Peter and looked down at the empath.
Peter looked up, his eyes filled with tears. Tears of anger, tears of pain - it didn’t matter to Sylar. There was absolutely nothing Peter could do, thanks to a handy little power from the Haitian. Peter was powerless.
"Not fun, is it? Being weak, being useless? Now you know exactly how I felt when Bennet captured me. Well, not exactly. I knew that I was stronger than him, that if I had to, I’d kill him."
"You wouldn’t do that, would you? Not Peter, never Peter. Always Sylar. The bogeyman, the big bad wolf, the archangel - so many names for one person."
Sylar stood up and walked behind Peter. He rested his hand on Peter’s head, tucking his bangs behind his ears. "Can’t have you looking less than perfect now, can we?" He ran a cold hand down Peter’s cheek, grinning when Peter turned his head away.
"In films, murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man." Sylar laughed quietly as Peter thrashed about, trying to get free.
With a simple slice of his hand, Peter was stilled. Slowly, his face drained of all emotion as his head began to split down the middle. Blood poured from the deep abyss that was the inside of Peter’s skull.
Sylar stood, perfectly calm. Peter’s blood was splattered across his face, over his clothes, over the walls - everywhere. It took a real murderer to know where the most blood was, how to make the most gruesome murder scene.
Peter’s body slumped forward like a limp ragdoll, still bound to the chair. His body was porcelain white, the crimson blood standing out on his skin. Sylar ran a hand along his own face, the blood smudging up his cheekbone.
Turning, Sylar walked out of the apartment, glancing back one last time before he closed the door. It would be morning before anyone realised that Peter was missing. It would take them a while to find him, still tied to the chair, in the exact same place he died. It would be made known Sylar was responsible for his death.
And that was exactly what Sylar wanted in the first place. To be known, to be feared. They knew who he was, what he was.
He was special.
Author:
vampireonearth
Prompt Word: ""In films, murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man."
Main Character(s): Peter, Sylar
Rating: 15
Word Count: 577
Summary: It was an art, what Sylar did
Authors Note(s): x-posted to
sylar_peter and to my own journal
It was an art, what Sylar did. Normally, serial killers would choose to kill their victims by shooting, stabbing or strangling them. The three S’s as he called them.
They never took the time to get to know their victim, they just went straight in there and bang, dead body on the ground, fresh blood on their hands.
Sylar was different. Well, he knew that, but he was different in the sense that he had some sort of relationship with his victims before he killed them.
Which lead him to this moment. Sylar was standing in the middle of Peter’s apartment, the empath in question tied to a chair. It had been so fun to torture Peter, fuck with his mind before he tied him up.
Currently, Peter was screaming for help. Sylar wasn’t worried, in fact he just laughed. "Poor, naïve Peter. Did you really think I wouldn’t have thought this out a bit more? No one can hear you. You’re totally alone. Just you.. and me. How does that make you feel?" Sylar crossed over to stand in front of Peter and looked down at the empath.
Peter looked up, his eyes filled with tears. Tears of anger, tears of pain - it didn’t matter to Sylar. There was absolutely nothing Peter could do, thanks to a handy little power from the Haitian. Peter was powerless.
"Not fun, is it? Being weak, being useless? Now you know exactly how I felt when Bennet captured me. Well, not exactly. I knew that I was stronger than him, that if I had to, I’d kill him."
"You wouldn’t do that, would you? Not Peter, never Peter. Always Sylar. The bogeyman, the big bad wolf, the archangel - so many names for one person."
Sylar stood up and walked behind Peter. He rested his hand on Peter’s head, tucking his bangs behind his ears. "Can’t have you looking less than perfect now, can we?" He ran a cold hand down Peter’s cheek, grinning when Peter turned his head away.
"In films, murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man." Sylar laughed quietly as Peter thrashed about, trying to get free.
With a simple slice of his hand, Peter was stilled. Slowly, his face drained of all emotion as his head began to split down the middle. Blood poured from the deep abyss that was the inside of Peter’s skull.
Sylar stood, perfectly calm. Peter’s blood was splattered across his face, over his clothes, over the walls - everywhere. It took a real murderer to know where the most blood was, how to make the most gruesome murder scene.
Peter’s body slumped forward like a limp ragdoll, still bound to the chair. His body was porcelain white, the crimson blood standing out on his skin. Sylar ran a hand along his own face, the blood smudging up his cheekbone.
Turning, Sylar walked out of the apartment, glancing back one last time before he closed the door. It would be morning before anyone realised that Peter was missing. It would take them a while to find him, still tied to the chair, in the exact same place he died. It would be made known Sylar was responsible for his death.
And that was exactly what Sylar wanted in the first place. To be known, to be feared. They knew who he was, what he was.
He was special.