Mohinder frowned when Sylar verbally poked him over how optimistic he could be. "In this case, hope trumps caffeine," he said pointedly, thinking back to that day. "And you deserve to be here. While I may deserve some form of punishment for the things that I did, this is not right." He wasn't an animal.
"But I'm not being punished for murder, Doctor. As far as they're concerned, I was doing them a favor. Can't you gather that much from the very existence of the Games? They reward the person with the highest body count in there, or at least pretend to.
"I'm just in here to be controlled, to have my power stripped from me, same as you. Your ethics are about as valuable in here as a parachute on a sinking ship," he grinned mirthlessly over his oatmeal.
The Doctor scowled at him. "Any discomfort you suffer in here, you deserve. That's all I'm saying." He finished off the last of his oatmeal and then drank his sub-par coffee.
"...Have you seen Peter in here?" Another hope of Mohinder's was to find his old friend and form some kind of a plan. No, Mohinder's optimism would never die. "He disappeared last year but I didn't hear if he was captured or not."
"No," Sylar shook his head confidently. "So far it seems like all the heroes have managed to slip through the cracks. Just about everyone I've met has been a new face for me. There may be one or two off your old list, but like I said, my memory isn't perfect any more."
He didn't react openly to Mohinder's taunts of deserving this place, but he didn't discount the jabs and barbs, either. He wasn't about to cause problems here in the open, but Mohinder might just come to regret such things, later.
He should have been glad for it. This was no place for someone like Peter Petrelli. Mohinder stayed quiet for a few minutes and he was about to ask Sylar something personal when the alarm sounded for them to go out on their morning yard time.
He stood and got rid of his tray in the long line, staying close to Sylar on their way out. They didn't make it more than a few feet from the door before someone barked, "Hey! Suresh! You're that doctor!" Great.
Sylar had traded nods with a couple inmates once they reached the yard, but glanced suspiciously in the direction of the shouting as soon as it started. He didn't want people getting ideas about his Indian. Mohinder was pretty. Too pretty for a place like this.
It wasn't that women didn't make it into the Games, but they were definitely housed separately. Their facility was entirely separate, a few miles away from the men's prison.
Some one with such finely sculpted features might very well draw the wrong sort of attention in a place bereft of the fairer sex. No one would make an aggressive move, here in the Yard, but that didn't mean they might not try to solicit the geneticist.
Samuel dug between his teeth with his tongue as he strolled over, some of his fellow inmates following closely behind. They were much larger than him and Mohinder could tell right away that they were to act as his goons should something go down. "Yes?" the doctor asked curiously.
"Ah, then my suspicions were correct." The former leader of a freak-show carnival smirked, glancing between Mohinder and Sylar as he came closer. "Welcome to the jungle, Doctor." Sylar was right to be concerned. They were all men. Men with needs. Aggressive needs, and suppressed powers that only acted like boiling water beneath their skin. Most of these people were men who had once used their powers to control others and without them, they had to assert dominance in other ways.
"...Thank you. If you'll excuse us we were just about to take a stroll around the perimeter."
"I was wondering if we could have a chat, just you and I," Samuel asked, holding up a finger to keep him where he stood.
Sylar's instincts could not have been more on the nose. The sound of the voice had probably tipped his brain off in the right direction, for as soon as he took in the visage of the smaller, scrappy looking man his hackles raised.
"Looks like you're already in good company, Sully. Why don't you just let the good doctor and me be on our way?" Sylar stepped up next to Mohinder, staring down the lecherous carney.
Samuel held up his hands to show he meant no harm...even though he meant a hell of a lotta harm. "I just wanted a minute. I'll catch him another time." His smirk was full of promises as he took a step back, the two men behind him sliding aside so that they weren't bumped. "Doc, trust me, you want to chat with me. I can help you." With that, he turned and swaggered towards his usual spot in the yard.
Mohinder huffed and rolled his eyes. If he knew what the man was implying he would have looked more horrified, though he quite liked the warmth of thick wool pulled over his dark eyes. "That was pointless."
Sylar shook his head, put a hand to Mohinder's far shoulder, and steered him away for that walk around the fence. "That's Samuel Sullivan. He used to run a carnival, made up of people like us. They were pretty good at staying under the radar, while his brother was alive to keep them in check, but afterward they got too conspicuous. Nearly the whole carnival was taken in a raid, and many of them came here, simply because they were so successful at being evasive for so long.
"Sully's used to living outside of society's rules, being an outcast and a freak. A lot of the men here are, but he doesn't even try to blend in. The nick-name is telling. It's what he does to pretty little things like you. Sully them. Don't let him or his goons get you alone."
Mohinder shrugged Sylar's paw off of his shoulder when he was called pretty by the one man he loathed most of all. "Oh, please. I'm fairly certain that I can not only take care of myself, but that nobody will be sullying me." It was a safe world, there in delusion-land.
Sylar thought he was pretty? Hm. Not going to blush.
"I mind my own business. As long as they do the same, there won't be a problem." Mohinder closed his eyes and tipped his head back, feeling the sun on his face. He was definitely drawing stares, both for his fame and for the way he seemed to float next to Sylar.
Sylar stared at Mohinder incredulously for a moment. The man obviously did not understand how dangerous this place was. Well, he'd wise up sooner or later, probably under less than ideal circumstances. It played in Sylar's favor though. Let the man think he was safe. Samuel wasn't the only one with designs on the geneticist.
"Well, in spite of what we're all in for, basic genetic traits, racism still runs rampant. Stay out of the way of the group on the bleachers there," he nodded his chin in the direction of a pack of tattooed, and notably pale-skinned prisoners.
The more helpful and endearing Sylar could be, the more likely Mohinder was to let his defenses down.
That caused Mohinder to pause. He looked in their direction and made a face before turning his eyes down onto the grass in front of them. There was no excuse for racism or prejudice in this day and age, yet it ran thicker than ever.
"Lovely. I knew coming into this that I'd have to lay low, I suppose I thought there would be more of a comradery in here." They were all in the same boat, after all.
"Camaraderie?" Sylar snorted softly. "There are nearly three hundred men in this facility, and each one knows that in just a few short weeks, ten of us will go into that Arena, and never come back. Six months after that, another ten. And again. And again.
"How do you make friends with people who you're either going to have to watch die, or who might very well be the one whose going to put you in the earth? Oh, there are exceptions, to be sure, but most use whatever means they can to make it easier, come that day, when they have to chose their own life over the people they've served time with."
Sylar gazed out over the yard, picking out groups and individuals at random, "They're black, they're Nazi pricks, that one's probably not even American, he probably jumped the fence. Maybe that one touched little girls, for all I know, and me? I've already killed dozens. Any little thing to make your opponents just a little less human. Anything to make sure you come out the Victor."
"So I should consider you just as evil as ever, then, should we both be chosen for the lottery? That way it'll sting less when you chop my head off out there, right?" Mohinder crossed his arms over his chest, secretly taking notes on what Sylar pointed out.
After a minute he admitted quietly, "I refuse to believe that this is it. There has to be more to it than this, and then death, for me." There was no arguing that Mohinder wouldn't last long here and in the Games.
"Maybe you'll get lucky and win by default. There's always the very slim chance that all the other opponents will kill each other off before they can come after you. Unlikely, but not impossible," Sylar smirked, his own hands folded behind his back, casually.
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"I'm just in here to be controlled, to have my power stripped from me, same as you. Your ethics are about as valuable in here as a parachute on a sinking ship," he grinned mirthlessly over his oatmeal.
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"...Have you seen Peter in here?" Another hope of Mohinder's was to find his old friend and form some kind of a plan. No, Mohinder's optimism would never die. "He disappeared last year but I didn't hear if he was captured or not."
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He didn't react openly to Mohinder's taunts of deserving this place, but he didn't discount the jabs and barbs, either. He wasn't about to cause problems here in the open, but Mohinder might just come to regret such things, later.
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He stood and got rid of his tray in the long line, staying close to Sylar on their way out. They didn't make it more than a few feet from the door before someone barked, "Hey! Suresh! You're that doctor!" Great.
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It wasn't that women didn't make it into the Games, but they were definitely housed separately. Their facility was entirely separate, a few miles away from the men's prison.
Some one with such finely sculpted features might very well draw the wrong sort of attention in a place bereft of the fairer sex. No one would make an aggressive move, here in the Yard, but that didn't mean they might not try to solicit the geneticist.
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"Ah, then my suspicions were correct." The former leader of a freak-show carnival smirked, glancing between Mohinder and Sylar as he came closer. "Welcome to the jungle, Doctor." Sylar was right to be concerned. They were all men. Men with needs. Aggressive needs, and suppressed powers that only acted like boiling water beneath their skin. Most of these people were men who had once used their powers to control others and without them, they had to assert dominance in other ways.
"...Thank you. If you'll excuse us we were just about to take a stroll around the perimeter."
"I was wondering if we could have a chat, just you and I," Samuel asked, holding up a finger to keep him where he stood.
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"Looks like you're already in good company, Sully. Why don't you just let the good doctor and me be on our way?" Sylar stepped up next to Mohinder, staring down the lecherous carney.
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Mohinder huffed and rolled his eyes. If he knew what the man was implying he would have looked more horrified, though he quite liked the warmth of thick wool pulled over his dark eyes. "That was pointless."
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"Sully's used to living outside of society's rules, being an outcast and a freak. A lot of the men here are, but he doesn't even try to blend in. The nick-name is telling. It's what he does to pretty little things like you. Sully them. Don't let him or his goons get you alone."
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Sylar thought he was pretty? Hm. Not going to blush.
"I mind my own business. As long as they do the same, there won't be a problem." Mohinder closed his eyes and tipped his head back, feeling the sun on his face. He was definitely drawing stares, both for his fame and for the way he seemed to float next to Sylar.
Reply
"Well, in spite of what we're all in for, basic genetic traits, racism still runs rampant. Stay out of the way of the group on the bleachers there," he nodded his chin in the direction of a pack of tattooed, and notably pale-skinned prisoners.
The more helpful and endearing Sylar could be, the more likely Mohinder was to let his defenses down.
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"Lovely. I knew coming into this that I'd have to lay low, I suppose I thought there would be more of a comradery in here." They were all in the same boat, after all.
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"How do you make friends with people who you're either going to have to watch die, or who might very well be the one whose going to put you in the earth? Oh, there are exceptions, to be sure, but most use whatever means they can to make it easier, come that day, when they have to chose their own life over the people they've served time with."
Sylar gazed out over the yard, picking out groups and individuals at random, "They're black, they're Nazi pricks, that one's probably not even American, he probably jumped the fence. Maybe that one touched little girls, for all I know, and me? I've already killed dozens. Any little thing to make your opponents just a little less human. Anything to make sure you come out the Victor."
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After a minute he admitted quietly, "I refuse to believe that this is it. There has to be more to it than this, and then death, for me." There was no arguing that Mohinder wouldn't last long here and in the Games.
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