Everything Goes Dark 7/7
Title: Everything Goes Dark 7/7
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Beta: Matt and Chris
Pairings: Elle/Claire, hints at Sylar/Mohinder, Sylar/Peter, and Nathan/Peter
Overall Pairings: Elle/Eden, Elle/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, Peter/Sylar, Nathan/Peter, Elle/Adam, and Claire/Peter (unrequited)
Characters: Claire, Peter, Hiro, Adam, Mohinder, Parkman, Bennet, Sandra, and Sylar
Genre: Drama, Angst, Dark Future Fic
Rating: R
Summary: An AU fic based on the Five Years Gone Verse
Word Count: A little over 3,400
Spoilers: Light spoilers for Volumes 1 and 2
Overall Warnings: Violence, Character Death, Sex, Incest (Graphic Only In Chapter 2), Non-Con (Only In Chapter 6)
Notes: Dedicated to slavefaith. And a big thank you to ladywilde80 for helping me with the inspiration and to Matt and Chris for giving me the courage to post! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "Everything Goes Dark" by The Hoosiers
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, if I did, well...wouldn't Heroes be interesting?
Author Note 2: I recommend watching this video before reading. I took a lot of inspiration from it, so thank you to obso99 for creating such a fantastic video!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Everything Goes Dark 7/7:
Chapter Seven:
Noah Bennet had opted never reveal any details about the people he'd once worked for. Not out of some misplaced loyalty, but out of fear of retaliation. It'd been strenuous enough to elude their sphere of influence the first time around. Also due to the fact that Bennet, in an odd way, trusted them to appropriately attend to the many mysteries that merited being protected.
The Company held the keys to all sorts of tokens and knowledge that could, in the wrong hands, devastate the world even more than it already was. They had orchestrated Nathan's rise to power, but he'd been more challenging to control than they had first anticipated. He'd escaped their clutches, going 'rogue.' And he was still alive, which spoke volumes in itself.
Bennet would have liked to congratulate him, but, unfortunately, Nathan had turned out to be much worse than any Company master plan had the potential to be.
The Company had panicked and ran, covered their tracks; but in spite of past errors, they tended to stay in familiar territory no matter the circumstances. He knew exactly where they'd gone and he pledged not to tell a soul. Not even Hana knew.
But when his daughter called him on the phone and begged for the information, Bennet found himself faltering. Elle had been murdered. Bob didn't know about his daughter's demise and Claire wanted to tell him personally.
Claire could charm her way around most any obstacle in her path in order to acquire what she sought. When she was young, her innocent talent had bestowed her with a new wardrobe, computer, mp3 player, among other tedious material possessions. But now that she was older, she put it to work on more important endeavors.
Heartsick, Claire told her father that Elle had accidentally exposed herself during one of her bouts of temper. To be honest, Bennet didn't find her fate all that surprising, really.
He preferred to tell Bob himself, as the man deserved to receive the revelation from someone relatively close to him. But, Claire said that it was vital for her so she could get over Elle's death. The emotion in his daughter's voice was undeniable.
In the end, he broke his commitment, and all because he trusted his daughter beyond his own faith in himself.
The Corinthian Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. Once, it had been owned by Mr. Daniel Linderman, but that was until he himself had been caught in the blast perpetrated by Sylar, the very one he and Arthur had instigated.
Bennet was blissfully unaware that he was giving away the position of one of The Company's best kept secrets and most mortifying weapons.
He was also oblivious to the fact that it would be the last time he'd hear the hardened voice of his daughter. Not by any choice of Claire's, but as a result of Sylar and his sycophants.
As punishment for kidnapping Sylar's favorite Scientist and their indispensable test subject, Matthew Parkman broke the tentative agreement between he and Claire Bennet's father. Previously, Bennet's little clandestine business as well as his life had been spared on the grounds of some ill-conceived respect he'd had for the man.
In light of the present, unrewarding scruples with the insurgents, Sylar yearned for comeuppance and Parkman existed to make certain he obtained it. Bandaged and burned, he raided Bennet's offices, killing the man's assistant in the process.
Noah went last. He unintentionally shared with Parkman the whereabouts of Claire Bennet - Midland, Texas. Not only that, but he relished what Bennet's death meant. After reverberating throughout the rebellion's web of allies and sympathizers, it would significantly maiming its dubious stability, inducing a joyously calamitous drop in their morale.
He would be one step closer to wiping out each and every member of the resistance.
------------------------
Before Claire had departed from her old life, she'd been given a cell phone by her father. He had instructed her that the phone was not to be used and the number not, under any condition, changed. No one but her close family had any clue about it. A call could only imply disaster.
She'd just done up her hair in a ponytail - she'd never get used to being a brunette - and had been making her way out the door when the cells augury cry rang out, alerting her of tragedy. Her father's warning about the phone's sole function echoed in her mind as she, as if in a trance, walked back to the room devoid of the ghost she longed for.
“Hello?”
“Claire. Oh god, Claire, sweetheart...” Her mother's voice would have been welcome at any other time, but Claire was well aware this was not one of those moments. Sandra's voice was deep, as if she was sucking in a breath and trying not to shake.
There were spilled tears underlying every syllable, the darkness of loss tainting the air.
“Mom... What happened?” Claire fought to keep her voice clear even as dread wafted through every pore. Peter stepped inside with a flap of his trench coat, his eyes narrowed and uneasy.
“Your father...”
Claire simply shut off. She knew what her mother was going to say. Noah was dead. Her father, the only one she'd ever really known, the man who'd taken care of her, undeterred by the curse she'd brought with her. The man who had loved her, even if she was not his blood daughter...
And she knew just who to attribute the fault. The same man who had ripped Elle from her side.
Peter grasped her shoulder. She tensed up, eyes closing to lock back the tears.
“Mother,” Claire's voice was surprisingly unbroken, “I'll kill him. I'll kill the man who has done this to you, to us. I swear it.”
It was the solemn declaration of a person who had been driven over the edge of sanity
She didn't waste another second, letting the phone clatter to the ground. Peter's grip on her shoulder finally became stifling and she pulled away, fists curled.
“Claire...”
“Don't. Don't you dare. I can't stand any more empty apologies. I can't do it. I'm ready to finish this.”
Claire was more than resolute in her decision. She'd promised her mother. Sylar would die by her hands.
She slid her sword into it's place and checked for her gun, eyes cold and malicious, "Let's go."
------------------------
“You can't go in there.” Bob implored the five intruders, shielding the fortified entrance to the tombs of The Company's conquests.
“Step aside,” Claire said with a clenched jaw, “Or we'll have to force you.” She no longer cared about her duty to tell Bob his daughter was dead. She had a larger goal to attain. There was no time for propriety.
“I know what you want. You want the Virus to defeat Sylar, is that it?”
The entire foreboding and unsettling atmosphere of this place notwithstanding, Mohinder was as sharp as ever. “The virus?” He replied in the silence, trying diligently to comprehend. It wasn't a 'virus', it was a cure, wasn't it?
Bob targeted his dark eyes at Adam, a resentful smile on his face, “Don't listen to him. It's a Virus. It doesn't cure, it kills.”
Mohinder's eyes narrowed. Peter was not solely exclusive in doubting Adam's pledge now. Hiro was too blinded by idolization and Claire didn't even care. She had wanted to use this cure or virus, whatever it was, to kill to begin with, as they all had.
Adam sighed, shaking his head, “If that's true, then why have you used it against your enemies? Don't try to lie your way out of this one, Bob. Don't make it more difficult then it has to be. It's five against one. You can't win."
Bob visibly wavered, but nevertheless stayed stalwart. Claire was sick of waiting, of being nice. She was tired of being lied to and trampled over. Without having to lift a finger, Peter read her mind - in all likelihood literally - and flung Bob into the pale green brick he stood beside.
Peter's next target was the metal lined door. It was reinforced, and he immediately had trouble. He trembled, power clamoring for hold. The hall was filled to the brim with silence, breaths held. Only Adam remained unperturbed.
It took quite some time, but Peter did not let them down. His triumph was heralded by the spurting of screws and rivets, the squealing of metal, and sharp bursts of mechanisms being unhinged from the inside.
The door didn't fly off as expected. Rather, one half lingered, in tact, while the other leaned to the side, decently cracked for one to wriggle through.
Adam moved forward, mission in mind.
Mohinder, suspicion persistent, advised against the ancient being alone, “Peter, go with him. I want to test the cure... Make sure it's safe.”
Adam tensed, rejecting the good doctor's meddling. He would not ruin this... He peered at Peter, whose apprehension had been triggered as well. The 'leader' agreed with a nod of the head as he followed Adam.
It was a huge room with an assortment of objects in bolted boxes; some visible, others not. A brain, a key, rolled up paintings, odd shapes of metal... Peter had no idea what the meaning behind any of it was.
Adam gazed around, taking him naught but a few seconds to spot his destination. Since alarm systems meant nothing when half of the building was unconscious or even dead, he didn't even contemplate a key.
He broke the glass, shards of silver and droplets of blood dribbling from his skin as it healed over.
The precious liquid he'd been imprisoned for was awaiting him, bound in a plastic container. Next to it, he found yet another surprise. One syringe, already prepped. Unwittingly, a smile of debased elation crossed his lips. He was lucky he had his back to the empath.
When he took out the large container, it was instantly snatched up, flying to meet Peter's open palm.
“I'll take this.” Peter watched for any hint of anger to cross Adam's face, but there was none, resorting to crawling into his thoughts.
No need to be so frightened, Peter. I'm not going to harm anyone... Nothing.
Peter nodded, satisfied, “Come on. Let's get out of here.”
Adam followed him out, but not until he had reached in, clenched his prize, and pocketed it. He was well on his way to getting everything back under his control.
Once Mohinder tested the original cure, he would conclude that Bob was indeed correct. At its foundation, it was a Virus, not a cure. Adam simply had to act quickly.
When they all returned to the warehouse, he found Lady Luck had so suitably intervened.
Sylar was there waiting for them, lounging as if he were at home in Peter's favorite, cushy red chair.
When they appeared, Peter took his conventional position in front of the group. Claire stood right by his side. Hiro stayed back, Mohinder behind him; the scientist needed the protection only he could provide.
Peter's eyes narrowed, cocking his head to the side, overly gutsy, “No Haitian?”
Sylar smirked. No Parkman either... He had gone to Midland to find Claire. Sylar had known better, and the situation did not require his Director of Homeland Security to shadow him anyways.
He rose from the chair with an obscene grace. “Of course not. He isn't my bodyguard, Peter. He was reserved for those less fortunate...” Sylar peaked around Peter's shoulder to catch Mohinder's gaze.
His lips twisted, conveying sick delight “Hello Mohinder,” he purred, “Tell me, Peter,” He abandoned the scientist for his next favorite plaything, “Are you treating him properly?”
Each word was laced with poison and glowering purpose, honeyed in such a fashion that only Mohinder and Peter, and perhaps the ever attentive Adam, were capable of realizing what he was hinting at.
Peter snarled, the trespass he'd temporarily exchanged for concentration on a beneficial ambition sinking deep once more, “Enough talk!”
Deviating from his typical disposition, Peter was fighting selfishly; not for the equity and rectitude he so fervently believed in. He could never win while his heart pounded in wrath and animosity disorientated his mind.
Coordination off, Sylar easily tossed him aside as if he were an anemic, crumbling leaf. Hiro tried next, shouting something heroic but it was lost in the crackle of ice and energy.
A bullet suddenly ruptured the ligaments of Sylar's shoulder, and although it was a negligible injury, he still roared with displeasure at the alien sensation. He caught the culprits eyes across the room.
Sylar scoffed, wearing an imitation of a petulant glare, "Oh Mohinder... You shouldn't have done that." He had planned on letting him off with just a warning, but he'd taken up arms against him... The penalty wouldn't be light for such a transgression.
Mohinder recognized the familiar tingle as telekinesis threw him back, gluing him once more to an unoriginal partition. He was also separated from his weapon, a distressing loss of weight in his grip. He despised being so disabled; however, he understood that there was nothing he could feasibly do to remedy his predicament.
“Claire!”
The voice belonged to Adam as he tossed her glinting quartz. Sylar, engrossed by Mohinder and the others, failed to notice the syringe filled with the only thing that could end him slicing the rigid air.
Claire caught it, looking down at it prior to returning her stare to Adam. He wore a determined expression, lips tight. He gave her an adamant, encouraging nod. There was no plausible rational for refusing the girl her revenge; he still had his form of retribution safely tucked in his pocket.
Claire took the cap off and squeezed it, watching as the fluid squirted out. No air bubbles... not that it mattered.
She let out a breath. This tiny syringe would change everything.
It wouldn't fix it, but Claire didn't expect that. She'd vowed to kill him for her mother. But also for herself.
Elle... He'd killed Elle. Murdered her father; whether he'd committed the act himself or not.
In her mind, she recalled every minute of happiness that Sylar had obliterated, amplifying rage and bloodlust with each bitter memory.
Elle's blue eyes gazing at her, incarnating all of her naive hope and innocence - or lack thereof , the touch of her smooth flesh, threading her fingertips through that impossibly golden hair. And how she'd loved that hair. A reminder of what she'd given up for a better life.
A life which had supplied her with a timeless love, a soul she would forever be intertwined with. The life that Sylar had blighted.
Claire was certain he deserved this and more. This minuscule tube of man-made serum served as a medium for his downfall. She'd inject it, let it ravage and teem, rending his strength, and then she would take his life as he had taken hers.
While Sylar was distracted with Hiro - slumped on the floor, struggling just to stand as Peter rose to aid him - Claire made her way forward. She didn't even seek to conceal her will. Arm at her side, braced and clutching her vindication. Her head was held high, eyes murky with murderous intent.
Naturally, Sylar noticed her. How could he not? It was as if she'd transformed into the very epitome of vengeance. All too confident, he didn't utilize his telekinesis right away. He wanted to have some fun.
Frost nipped at her skin, tightening and freezing the flesh, even as her body activated endless stores of heat to melt the screen of ice. A little cold would not hinder her.
So close now...
She reached up through the chill, grabbing Sylar's hands and shoving them down as her other arm shot towards his neck. The needle entered and without any adieu, she propelled every last drop into his vulgar and corrupt veins.
The premier indication of the transition arrived as Mohinder fell, liberated from his intangible shackles.
Sylar gasped, from pain at first, then from shock as his azure appendages thawed. He reached out to clutch at most prized ability and found no traction. Nothing. There was just... nothing. A void where there was once a fastidiously cultivated myriad of power.
Weakness overwhelmed him, a sense of mortality he had not felt in months. No. He could not die. He was special. Incapable of comprehension, he stared, bug eyed, at Claire.
She smirked victoriously. She had him just where she wanted him. Defenseless... Vulnerable.
She tossed the syringe aside, callously punching him in the face with her now free fist; once, twice, three times. It was gratifying to smell his blood in the air, see it painting her digits and distorting his face.
Not allowing him the relief of leaning on all fours, she lifted him up by his collar and punched him again before kneeing him, comforted by the melody of crunching bone and tendon. Her fingers ached as they consistently healed, reconnecting as if they'd never met with another's flesh where Sylar was so marvelously cut and bruised.
He was sprawled on his back, a whining, gurgling sound caught in the back of his throat as he scrambled for something that didn't taste so wholly coppery and devastating.
She could tell he had carelessly refrained from teaching himself how to physically fight. This was almost disappointingly easy. Perhaps she should give him a chance?
She laughed to herself. “Nah,” She slammed her boot into his chest. He cried out and attempted to crawl away. Tired of playing around, she unhesitatingly reached for her gun and aimed it directly at his head.
Peter was calling her name, as was an obviously wounded Hiro, but she heeded not a word. They didn't want to stop her, they wanted the same thing she did. Perhaps they did not wish to see her kill him, therefore crossing a line she never had before.
Reasoning overlooked, if one of them dared to touch her, so help her, she'd remove their damned hand. This was what she'd been waiting for. It was not to be spoiled.
Mohinder was silent. It seemed that years of being manipulated had caused the humanity he ordinarily allowed to dictate him to dissolve, not that she could blame him.
Adam, too, was quiet. His presence was condoning of her actions. She reserved a moment of gratitude for him. If it wasn't for his contribution, this presentation of restitution she now employed mastery over would never have occurred.
She cocked the gun, a macabre resonance that would have frightened anyone else, but one that induced Sylar into laughter. It seemed his illusion of immortality had ushered him into acting like himself again.
“You won't kill me, Claire. You can't. You're not a murderer.”
“Want to bet, Sylar?” She leaned down so she could look into his eyes all the better, holding her gun steadily and without even a hint of indecision, mahogany pools decadent and savage.
Her face glowed with degenerate pleasure and it was wrong, so wrong for her to want to kill him so fucking much. But who had taught her right and wrong? Her father. He was dead now, because of this monster.
And Elle... Sweet, beautiful, possessive, unhinged Elle. He'd murdered her without a second god damn thought.
“You took everything from me!” The truth of the statement ripped from her the existence of the righteous, hard-working, normalcy desiring young girl, replacing her with a cruel and caustic creature.
This new Claire straightened her back, taking profane recompense in the image of crude justice Sylar currently portrayed.
The authenticity in her assurance finally settled as reality for Sylar and as a consequence, despair defiled any contingency of survival. He gazed into her maddened eyes through a crimson haze, petrified and diminished.
She pulled the trigger, thoughtlessly spraying herself with a laurel of carmine lifeline. He grappled for oxygen, spewing out his own blood as he fought to regain a breath he would never again be blessed with.
His death was not quick; which though a consoling reparation, was still not enough to smother the pulsating lesion on Claire's heart.
Synchronous with Sylar's destruction was the expiration of the world as glass shattered behind her, releasing a scourge that only the immortals and the worthy could conceivably endure.
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Beta: Matt and Chris
Pairings: Elle/Claire, hints at Sylar/Mohinder, Sylar/Peter, and Nathan/Peter
Overall Pairings: Elle/Eden, Elle/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, Peter/Sylar, Nathan/Peter, Elle/Adam, and Claire/Peter (unrequited)
Characters: Claire, Peter, Hiro, Adam, Mohinder, Parkman, Bennet, Sandra, and Sylar
Genre: Drama, Angst, Dark Future Fic
Rating: R
Summary: An AU fic based on the Five Years Gone Verse
Word Count: A little over 3,400
Spoilers: Light spoilers for Volumes 1 and 2
Overall Warnings: Violence, Character Death, Sex, Incest (Graphic Only In Chapter 2), Non-Con (Only In Chapter 6)
Notes: Dedicated to slavefaith. And a big thank you to ladywilde80 for helping me with the inspiration and to Matt and Chris for giving me the courage to post! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "Everything Goes Dark" by The Hoosiers
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, if I did, well...wouldn't Heroes be interesting?
Author Note 2: I recommend watching this video before reading. I took a lot of inspiration from it, so thank you to obso99 for creating such a fantastic video!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Everything Goes Dark 7/7:
Chapter Seven:
Noah Bennet had opted never reveal any details about the people he'd once worked for. Not out of some misplaced loyalty, but out of fear of retaliation. It'd been strenuous enough to elude their sphere of influence the first time around. Also due to the fact that Bennet, in an odd way, trusted them to appropriately attend to the many mysteries that merited being protected.
The Company held the keys to all sorts of tokens and knowledge that could, in the wrong hands, devastate the world even more than it already was. They had orchestrated Nathan's rise to power, but he'd been more challenging to control than they had first anticipated. He'd escaped their clutches, going 'rogue.' And he was still alive, which spoke volumes in itself.
Bennet would have liked to congratulate him, but, unfortunately, Nathan had turned out to be much worse than any Company master plan had the potential to be.
The Company had panicked and ran, covered their tracks; but in spite of past errors, they tended to stay in familiar territory no matter the circumstances. He knew exactly where they'd gone and he pledged not to tell a soul. Not even Hana knew.
But when his daughter called him on the phone and begged for the information, Bennet found himself faltering. Elle had been murdered. Bob didn't know about his daughter's demise and Claire wanted to tell him personally.
Claire could charm her way around most any obstacle in her path in order to acquire what she sought. When she was young, her innocent talent had bestowed her with a new wardrobe, computer, mp3 player, among other tedious material possessions. But now that she was older, she put it to work on more important endeavors.
Heartsick, Claire told her father that Elle had accidentally exposed herself during one of her bouts of temper. To be honest, Bennet didn't find her fate all that surprising, really.
He preferred to tell Bob himself, as the man deserved to receive the revelation from someone relatively close to him. But, Claire said that it was vital for her so she could get over Elle's death. The emotion in his daughter's voice was undeniable.
In the end, he broke his commitment, and all because he trusted his daughter beyond his own faith in himself.
The Corinthian Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas. Once, it had been owned by Mr. Daniel Linderman, but that was until he himself had been caught in the blast perpetrated by Sylar, the very one he and Arthur had instigated.
Bennet was blissfully unaware that he was giving away the position of one of The Company's best kept secrets and most mortifying weapons.
He was also oblivious to the fact that it would be the last time he'd hear the hardened voice of his daughter. Not by any choice of Claire's, but as a result of Sylar and his sycophants.
As punishment for kidnapping Sylar's favorite Scientist and their indispensable test subject, Matthew Parkman broke the tentative agreement between he and Claire Bennet's father. Previously, Bennet's little clandestine business as well as his life had been spared on the grounds of some ill-conceived respect he'd had for the man.
In light of the present, unrewarding scruples with the insurgents, Sylar yearned for comeuppance and Parkman existed to make certain he obtained it. Bandaged and burned, he raided Bennet's offices, killing the man's assistant in the process.
Noah went last. He unintentionally shared with Parkman the whereabouts of Claire Bennet - Midland, Texas. Not only that, but he relished what Bennet's death meant. After reverberating throughout the rebellion's web of allies and sympathizers, it would significantly maiming its dubious stability, inducing a joyously calamitous drop in their morale.
He would be one step closer to wiping out each and every member of the resistance.
------------------------
Before Claire had departed from her old life, she'd been given a cell phone by her father. He had instructed her that the phone was not to be used and the number not, under any condition, changed. No one but her close family had any clue about it. A call could only imply disaster.
She'd just done up her hair in a ponytail - she'd never get used to being a brunette - and had been making her way out the door when the cells augury cry rang out, alerting her of tragedy. Her father's warning about the phone's sole function echoed in her mind as she, as if in a trance, walked back to the room devoid of the ghost she longed for.
“Hello?”
“Claire. Oh god, Claire, sweetheart...” Her mother's voice would have been welcome at any other time, but Claire was well aware this was not one of those moments. Sandra's voice was deep, as if she was sucking in a breath and trying not to shake.
There were spilled tears underlying every syllable, the darkness of loss tainting the air.
“Mom... What happened?” Claire fought to keep her voice clear even as dread wafted through every pore. Peter stepped inside with a flap of his trench coat, his eyes narrowed and uneasy.
“Your father...”
Claire simply shut off. She knew what her mother was going to say. Noah was dead. Her father, the only one she'd ever really known, the man who'd taken care of her, undeterred by the curse she'd brought with her. The man who had loved her, even if she was not his blood daughter...
And she knew just who to attribute the fault. The same man who had ripped Elle from her side.
Peter grasped her shoulder. She tensed up, eyes closing to lock back the tears.
“Mother,” Claire's voice was surprisingly unbroken, “I'll kill him. I'll kill the man who has done this to you, to us. I swear it.”
It was the solemn declaration of a person who had been driven over the edge of sanity
She didn't waste another second, letting the phone clatter to the ground. Peter's grip on her shoulder finally became stifling and she pulled away, fists curled.
“Claire...”
“Don't. Don't you dare. I can't stand any more empty apologies. I can't do it. I'm ready to finish this.”
Claire was more than resolute in her decision. She'd promised her mother. Sylar would die by her hands.
She slid her sword into it's place and checked for her gun, eyes cold and malicious, "Let's go."
------------------------
“You can't go in there.” Bob implored the five intruders, shielding the fortified entrance to the tombs of The Company's conquests.
“Step aside,” Claire said with a clenched jaw, “Or we'll have to force you.” She no longer cared about her duty to tell Bob his daughter was dead. She had a larger goal to attain. There was no time for propriety.
“I know what you want. You want the Virus to defeat Sylar, is that it?”
The entire foreboding and unsettling atmosphere of this place notwithstanding, Mohinder was as sharp as ever. “The virus?” He replied in the silence, trying diligently to comprehend. It wasn't a 'virus', it was a cure, wasn't it?
Bob targeted his dark eyes at Adam, a resentful smile on his face, “Don't listen to him. It's a Virus. It doesn't cure, it kills.”
Mohinder's eyes narrowed. Peter was not solely exclusive in doubting Adam's pledge now. Hiro was too blinded by idolization and Claire didn't even care. She had wanted to use this cure or virus, whatever it was, to kill to begin with, as they all had.
Adam sighed, shaking his head, “If that's true, then why have you used it against your enemies? Don't try to lie your way out of this one, Bob. Don't make it more difficult then it has to be. It's five against one. You can't win."
Bob visibly wavered, but nevertheless stayed stalwart. Claire was sick of waiting, of being nice. She was tired of being lied to and trampled over. Without having to lift a finger, Peter read her mind - in all likelihood literally - and flung Bob into the pale green brick he stood beside.
Peter's next target was the metal lined door. It was reinforced, and he immediately had trouble. He trembled, power clamoring for hold. The hall was filled to the brim with silence, breaths held. Only Adam remained unperturbed.
It took quite some time, but Peter did not let them down. His triumph was heralded by the spurting of screws and rivets, the squealing of metal, and sharp bursts of mechanisms being unhinged from the inside.
The door didn't fly off as expected. Rather, one half lingered, in tact, while the other leaned to the side, decently cracked for one to wriggle through.
Adam moved forward, mission in mind.
Mohinder, suspicion persistent, advised against the ancient being alone, “Peter, go with him. I want to test the cure... Make sure it's safe.”
Adam tensed, rejecting the good doctor's meddling. He would not ruin this... He peered at Peter, whose apprehension had been triggered as well. The 'leader' agreed with a nod of the head as he followed Adam.
It was a huge room with an assortment of objects in bolted boxes; some visible, others not. A brain, a key, rolled up paintings, odd shapes of metal... Peter had no idea what the meaning behind any of it was.
Adam gazed around, taking him naught but a few seconds to spot his destination. Since alarm systems meant nothing when half of the building was unconscious or even dead, he didn't even contemplate a key.
He broke the glass, shards of silver and droplets of blood dribbling from his skin as it healed over.
The precious liquid he'd been imprisoned for was awaiting him, bound in a plastic container. Next to it, he found yet another surprise. One syringe, already prepped. Unwittingly, a smile of debased elation crossed his lips. He was lucky he had his back to the empath.
When he took out the large container, it was instantly snatched up, flying to meet Peter's open palm.
“I'll take this.” Peter watched for any hint of anger to cross Adam's face, but there was none, resorting to crawling into his thoughts.
No need to be so frightened, Peter. I'm not going to harm anyone... Nothing.
Peter nodded, satisfied, “Come on. Let's get out of here.”
Adam followed him out, but not until he had reached in, clenched his prize, and pocketed it. He was well on his way to getting everything back under his control.
Once Mohinder tested the original cure, he would conclude that Bob was indeed correct. At its foundation, it was a Virus, not a cure. Adam simply had to act quickly.
When they all returned to the warehouse, he found Lady Luck had so suitably intervened.
Sylar was there waiting for them, lounging as if he were at home in Peter's favorite, cushy red chair.
When they appeared, Peter took his conventional position in front of the group. Claire stood right by his side. Hiro stayed back, Mohinder behind him; the scientist needed the protection only he could provide.
Peter's eyes narrowed, cocking his head to the side, overly gutsy, “No Haitian?”
Sylar smirked. No Parkman either... He had gone to Midland to find Claire. Sylar had known better, and the situation did not require his Director of Homeland Security to shadow him anyways.
He rose from the chair with an obscene grace. “Of course not. He isn't my bodyguard, Peter. He was reserved for those less fortunate...” Sylar peaked around Peter's shoulder to catch Mohinder's gaze.
His lips twisted, conveying sick delight “Hello Mohinder,” he purred, “Tell me, Peter,” He abandoned the scientist for his next favorite plaything, “Are you treating him properly?”
Each word was laced with poison and glowering purpose, honeyed in such a fashion that only Mohinder and Peter, and perhaps the ever attentive Adam, were capable of realizing what he was hinting at.
Peter snarled, the trespass he'd temporarily exchanged for concentration on a beneficial ambition sinking deep once more, “Enough talk!”
Deviating from his typical disposition, Peter was fighting selfishly; not for the equity and rectitude he so fervently believed in. He could never win while his heart pounded in wrath and animosity disorientated his mind.
Coordination off, Sylar easily tossed him aside as if he were an anemic, crumbling leaf. Hiro tried next, shouting something heroic but it was lost in the crackle of ice and energy.
A bullet suddenly ruptured the ligaments of Sylar's shoulder, and although it was a negligible injury, he still roared with displeasure at the alien sensation. He caught the culprits eyes across the room.
Sylar scoffed, wearing an imitation of a petulant glare, "Oh Mohinder... You shouldn't have done that." He had planned on letting him off with just a warning, but he'd taken up arms against him... The penalty wouldn't be light for such a transgression.
Mohinder recognized the familiar tingle as telekinesis threw him back, gluing him once more to an unoriginal partition. He was also separated from his weapon, a distressing loss of weight in his grip. He despised being so disabled; however, he understood that there was nothing he could feasibly do to remedy his predicament.
“Claire!”
The voice belonged to Adam as he tossed her glinting quartz. Sylar, engrossed by Mohinder and the others, failed to notice the syringe filled with the only thing that could end him slicing the rigid air.
Claire caught it, looking down at it prior to returning her stare to Adam. He wore a determined expression, lips tight. He gave her an adamant, encouraging nod. There was no plausible rational for refusing the girl her revenge; he still had his form of retribution safely tucked in his pocket.
Claire took the cap off and squeezed it, watching as the fluid squirted out. No air bubbles... not that it mattered.
She let out a breath. This tiny syringe would change everything.
It wouldn't fix it, but Claire didn't expect that. She'd vowed to kill him for her mother. But also for herself.
Elle... He'd killed Elle. Murdered her father; whether he'd committed the act himself or not.
In her mind, she recalled every minute of happiness that Sylar had obliterated, amplifying rage and bloodlust with each bitter memory.
Elle's blue eyes gazing at her, incarnating all of her naive hope and innocence - or lack thereof , the touch of her smooth flesh, threading her fingertips through that impossibly golden hair. And how she'd loved that hair. A reminder of what she'd given up for a better life.
A life which had supplied her with a timeless love, a soul she would forever be intertwined with. The life that Sylar had blighted.
Claire was certain he deserved this and more. This minuscule tube of man-made serum served as a medium for his downfall. She'd inject it, let it ravage and teem, rending his strength, and then she would take his life as he had taken hers.
While Sylar was distracted with Hiro - slumped on the floor, struggling just to stand as Peter rose to aid him - Claire made her way forward. She didn't even seek to conceal her will. Arm at her side, braced and clutching her vindication. Her head was held high, eyes murky with murderous intent.
Naturally, Sylar noticed her. How could he not? It was as if she'd transformed into the very epitome of vengeance. All too confident, he didn't utilize his telekinesis right away. He wanted to have some fun.
Frost nipped at her skin, tightening and freezing the flesh, even as her body activated endless stores of heat to melt the screen of ice. A little cold would not hinder her.
So close now...
She reached up through the chill, grabbing Sylar's hands and shoving them down as her other arm shot towards his neck. The needle entered and without any adieu, she propelled every last drop into his vulgar and corrupt veins.
The premier indication of the transition arrived as Mohinder fell, liberated from his intangible shackles.
Sylar gasped, from pain at first, then from shock as his azure appendages thawed. He reached out to clutch at most prized ability and found no traction. Nothing. There was just... nothing. A void where there was once a fastidiously cultivated myriad of power.
Weakness overwhelmed him, a sense of mortality he had not felt in months. No. He could not die. He was special. Incapable of comprehension, he stared, bug eyed, at Claire.
She smirked victoriously. She had him just where she wanted him. Defenseless... Vulnerable.
She tossed the syringe aside, callously punching him in the face with her now free fist; once, twice, three times. It was gratifying to smell his blood in the air, see it painting her digits and distorting his face.
Not allowing him the relief of leaning on all fours, she lifted him up by his collar and punched him again before kneeing him, comforted by the melody of crunching bone and tendon. Her fingers ached as they consistently healed, reconnecting as if they'd never met with another's flesh where Sylar was so marvelously cut and bruised.
He was sprawled on his back, a whining, gurgling sound caught in the back of his throat as he scrambled for something that didn't taste so wholly coppery and devastating.
She could tell he had carelessly refrained from teaching himself how to physically fight. This was almost disappointingly easy. Perhaps she should give him a chance?
She laughed to herself. “Nah,” She slammed her boot into his chest. He cried out and attempted to crawl away. Tired of playing around, she unhesitatingly reached for her gun and aimed it directly at his head.
Peter was calling her name, as was an obviously wounded Hiro, but she heeded not a word. They didn't want to stop her, they wanted the same thing she did. Perhaps they did not wish to see her kill him, therefore crossing a line she never had before.
Reasoning overlooked, if one of them dared to touch her, so help her, she'd remove their damned hand. This was what she'd been waiting for. It was not to be spoiled.
Mohinder was silent. It seemed that years of being manipulated had caused the humanity he ordinarily allowed to dictate him to dissolve, not that she could blame him.
Adam, too, was quiet. His presence was condoning of her actions. She reserved a moment of gratitude for him. If it wasn't for his contribution, this presentation of restitution she now employed mastery over would never have occurred.
She cocked the gun, a macabre resonance that would have frightened anyone else, but one that induced Sylar into laughter. It seemed his illusion of immortality had ushered him into acting like himself again.
“You won't kill me, Claire. You can't. You're not a murderer.”
“Want to bet, Sylar?” She leaned down so she could look into his eyes all the better, holding her gun steadily and without even a hint of indecision, mahogany pools decadent and savage.
Her face glowed with degenerate pleasure and it was wrong, so wrong for her to want to kill him so fucking much. But who had taught her right and wrong? Her father. He was dead now, because of this monster.
And Elle... Sweet, beautiful, possessive, unhinged Elle. He'd murdered her without a second god damn thought.
“You took everything from me!” The truth of the statement ripped from her the existence of the righteous, hard-working, normalcy desiring young girl, replacing her with a cruel and caustic creature.
This new Claire straightened her back, taking profane recompense in the image of crude justice Sylar currently portrayed.
The authenticity in her assurance finally settled as reality for Sylar and as a consequence, despair defiled any contingency of survival. He gazed into her maddened eyes through a crimson haze, petrified and diminished.
She pulled the trigger, thoughtlessly spraying herself with a laurel of carmine lifeline. He grappled for oxygen, spewing out his own blood as he fought to regain a breath he would never again be blessed with.
His death was not quick; which though a consoling reparation, was still not enough to smother the pulsating lesion on Claire's heart.
Synchronous with Sylar's destruction was the expiration of the world as glass shattered behind her, releasing a scourge that only the immortals and the worthy could conceivably endure.