(no subject)
Who: Shego and Sylar; later, Kirk, Ten
When: Sunday evening, after this post
What: Sylar finally gets the taste of blood he's been longing for
Warnings: Violent death, possible language (and emo).
It had been too long.
The hunger, the addiction settled deep down inside Sylar had been eating away at the man. The itch had become a compulsion, the compulsion a desire, the desire a need. Now here he was, ready to make his move. Because Elle was right. He had gotten soft. Sylar had forgotten for awhile how good it felt to be a killer. That power, that freedom. That control. It was.. well, special. He was special and he needed to become special again. Needed more abilities, more power. Trust could be built later. Right now, there wasn't much of anyone he cared to trust him anyway. Claire, Prefect, Sam. They were all the same. As soon as he got angry, they gave up on him. Abandoned him.
Shego was exactly what he needed. She was his first choice on the list Elle has presented to him. Strong, capable. Her ability was one he had a good chance of understanding, unlike Tony's. Besides, the present injury that made her incapacitated? While, it just made it all the easier. He was almost regretful that she was Kirk's inmate, though, as part of him wanted to help the man just to thwart Sam. But petty grudges were nothing compared to the potential for abilities.
A palm-sized and relatively sharp piece of glass was tucked into his pocket, a souvenir from the snow globe he had broken so many months before. It was the closest he might ever come to a weapon, unless he wished to bloody his watchmaking tools. The mere idea was disdainful. Stepping onto the fourth floor, the killer knew exactly where he was going. Once Elle had provided the floor, keeping an eye out for room in the few days prior had been easy. Without hesitation, he walked directly to it and quietly tested the handle. Unlocked. Apparently he was lucky, as rumor was she was usually more careful. Maybe it was the painkillers, maybe someone else had forgotten after checking on her. Whatever the case, he slid silently into her room and forward to waste no time.
This particular inmate? She would be a victim of suffocation if he had his way. It reduced noise, kept the brain relatively in check. If that didn't work, face smothered in a large pillow, he would simply break her neck. No room for failure; no ability to cope with that outcome.
When: Sunday evening, after this post
What: Sylar finally gets the taste of blood he's been longing for
Warnings: Violent death, possible language (and emo).
It had been too long.
The hunger, the addiction settled deep down inside Sylar had been eating away at the man. The itch had become a compulsion, the compulsion a desire, the desire a need. Now here he was, ready to make his move. Because Elle was right. He had gotten soft. Sylar had forgotten for awhile how good it felt to be a killer. That power, that freedom. That control. It was.. well, special. He was special and he needed to become special again. Needed more abilities, more power. Trust could be built later. Right now, there wasn't much of anyone he cared to trust him anyway. Claire, Prefect, Sam. They were all the same. As soon as he got angry, they gave up on him. Abandoned him.
Shego was exactly what he needed. She was his first choice on the list Elle has presented to him. Strong, capable. Her ability was one he had a good chance of understanding, unlike Tony's. Besides, the present injury that made her incapacitated? While, it just made it all the easier. He was almost regretful that she was Kirk's inmate, though, as part of him wanted to help the man just to thwart Sam. But petty grudges were nothing compared to the potential for abilities.
A palm-sized and relatively sharp piece of glass was tucked into his pocket, a souvenir from the snow globe he had broken so many months before. It was the closest he might ever come to a weapon, unless he wished to bloody his watchmaking tools. The mere idea was disdainful. Stepping onto the fourth floor, the killer knew exactly where he was going. Once Elle had provided the floor, keeping an eye out for room in the few days prior had been easy. Without hesitation, he walked directly to it and quietly tested the handle. Unlocked. Apparently he was lucky, as rumor was she was usually more careful. Maybe it was the painkillers, maybe someone else had forgotten after checking on her. Whatever the case, he slid silently into her room and forward to waste no time.
This particular inmate? She would be a victim of suffocation if he had his way. It reduced noise, kept the brain relatively in check. If that didn't work, face smothered in a large pillow, he would simply break her neck. No room for failure; no ability to cope with that outcome.