Breaking Point: Protege
Title: Breaking Point:Protege
Rating: Pg-13- R for later chapters
Word Count: 2,582
Parings for the series: Mohinder/Sylar, Mohinder/Peter, hints of Sylar/Luke later on but one-sided
Characters in this chapter: Sylar, Nathan Petrelli, Luke Campbell
Warnings: Some violence, some subtext. So you know the usual.
Summary: AU.It's been approximately two years from the current show time-lime and much has changed. The secret is out, specials are being hunted, Nathan is the president-elect, and a terrible event has set Sylar onto a path that will end in a collision course with his older brother's ambitions. If only Sylar could remember what happened after Primatech and Pinehearst fell...
A/N: Much love to iluvbsbkevin for putting up with my idea spouting and yeah. This idea came about with random bits of information regarding volume four and then my brain just created this AU out of it to play around in.
Disclaimer: Don't own Heroes, I'd love to but sadly it's not mine.
One of the most distinct markers that fall had come could be found not on the branches of the trees themselves, but nestled in heaps on the ground below. Brightly colored leaves of so many rich hues of maroon, red-orange, pale yellow with flecks of the healthy green still clinging on-were fighting the inevitable change of the season as the air grew colder with each passing day. A change that was hardly more apparent than on the East coast. A black Dodge van pulled up about a block away from Stevens High School in Claremont, New Hampshire. The man within took a moment as he sat there, exhausted but wired with adrenaline. Another sleepless night met him the day before, filled with vague flashes of faces and snippets of those faces screaming in terror as a dull siren blared-warning of the impending impact that always ended every nightmare with his bolting upright and panting. A cold, fear-sweat clung to pale skin and soaked the sheets and mattress of yet another motel bed. The man exited the van, black ski mask pulled over his features, and black sunglasses shielded his eyes to complete the ensemble of a SWAT team officer.
The very same swat officer whose blood-spattered body lay splayed out in the back of the vehicle, stripped and exanimate. A door swung open and with ease, the man jumped out. Heavy black combat boots crunched errant dead leaves when they hit the pavement. A newly-acquired Dell tough-book was clenched in his gloved fingers by the sturdy handle while he walked off toward the school itself. The true SWAT officer had been carefully observed then taken out at the opportune moment. The tall imposter strode to where the lead on this particular Op. was waiting. Whispering a few words into the man’s ear then stepping back. They were ready to go in and obtain their target: Luke Campbell-a seventeen year-old student at Stevens High who was wanted in connection with the grotesque murder of the school’s guidance counselor, Phil Roland. As recently as one year ago, a SWAT team wouldn’t have been the way that this boy would be pulled out of class. But so much had changed in that time.
A quick check of the cracked watch on his wrist revealed that it was time to move in. Silently, he signaled with his hand for the three other men to move, and they all took their positions. It used to be common practice for the teachers and faculty to be forewarned that a raid was taking place. But after too many incidents with those men and women sympathizing with the targets-it was deemed that going in cold was the best route, much more efficient. One man was sent in to get a camera functioning for surveillance of the intended room. Once that was established, the team would move in and capture the special, subduing him, and prepping him/her for transport to the nearest detainment facility for interrogation.
Luke’s homeroom was chosen as the best place to grab him and so the men waited in the empty halls until given a proper signal. The door flung open and two of the men went in, a third followed along with the imposter. Guns were aimed as a precaution because…there was no true way of knowing if another special was hiding in their midst. As the third man went toward the average-sized brunette sitting in the back corner of the room-the door swung shut and locked instantly.
A collective gasp and then the lights went out, plunging the window-less classroom into darkness. A shrill scream was heard as chairs screeched and desks shifted, dragging noisily on the floor. But what cut through the sound was a series of grunts, thuds and gurgling gasps. The sounds of bodies falling to the floor in a heap as a strong hand roughly forced Luke Campbell’s face right into the wall next to him, dazing him easily. That made it much easier to quickly inject the sedative into the side of his neck. The darkness of the room was replaced by the darkness of the insides of his eyelids as he was forced unconscious. Luke’s body landed, however, on the man who had forced that sedated state. Easily, the tall man lifted the boy onto his shoulder and hauled him out of the room. The door swiftly opening up and then slamming shut, locked behind them. The tall man strode down the hall leaving carefully controlled carnage in his wake and a room full of terrified students as he moved at a brisk, determined pace leaving the building behind.
A recent encounter with a technopath led him to the creation of the deceptively simple-looking sunglasses he now took off in a fluid motion of his arm. The lenses fitted with night-vision capability, leaving the three other SWAT team members open prey once he’d blown the lights out with a single thought. He folded them and fit them into a pocket on his black utility jacket. Next, when he was outside of the building, he moved to wrap his arm around Luke’s back to help steady him against his own body. His free hand slipped underneath the bottom of the soft knitted material of his ski-mask, fingers grasping it and yanking it all the way up and over his head with a gasp. His thick dark strands of hair were spastic from its removal , and slightly dampened by their own natural oils. With Luke on his shoulder still, he confidently made his way back to the team leader of the op, coming up to him from behind as the man frantically yelled into his earpiece.
“Is anyone there?! What the Hell happened…Repeat, is anyone on the frequency?”
A black glove adjusted his own earpiece as he stood not a few feet away from the op leader. Speaking in put-on of panicky, rushed sentences.
“Th-this is Sergeant Hanson…Sir it was a-a bloodbath! The lights went out and…I barely got out with my life. We were infiltrated…the target has been apprehended.”
As the Op. leader listened he realized how close-sounding the voice was, he suddenly felt a tug on his belt as the firearm he was packing released itself and was flung across the grounds of the campus. Knocking into a tree and landing in a pile of fire-orange leaves-sent up into the air in a bright flash then they settled back down into a small pile on the ground. When he whipped his body around because there was no Sergeant Hanson on his team, the man was met with a Dell tough-book right to the face, knocking him out cold and getting spatters of blood all over the laptop’s protective case.
After the man’s body landed on the ground with a dull thud, the man who had viciously assaulted him leaned forward. Sylar tilted his head, regarding him for a moment-debating whether he should live or die. It was decided while he walked away, hauling the young man on his shoulder still, that leaving someone alive to report back what had gone so wrong was the right move. Let them know that not only had he survived…but he was readying his counter-strike. Sylar moved back to the black van, opening the back and he smirked when he pulled out the body of the former SWAT team member and replaced it with the unconscious form of Luke Campbell. He closed and locked the vehicle then climbed back in and exited the scene.
A dull hum was the first thing that Luke could recognize a he slowly lifted his head. It felt twice as heavy as it should, and fuzzy. His thoughts couldn’t quite come to the surface as his limbs pulled against restraints. Duct-tape to be more specific and its presence made his eyes open a little more as he stared down at his bound wrists. There was no outward show of panic as he regarded the tape on his wrists. Luke glanced up at his surroundings, some sort of motel room. Two double beds, one small table with two chairs, and a tiny adjacent bathroom. Then his eyes rested on the black-clad man who sat on one of the beds. A black ski mask on his face but nothing covering a pair of focused, nearly-black eyes.
“I’m not…in one of those cells I’ve read so much about, what gives?”
From the moment the men with guns entered his homeroom, Luke knew who exactly they were after. He made no attempt to hide Mr. Roland’s remains when he was done with him-that man must have had very up to date dental records if they came for him this fast. The silent man slowly arched a dark brow. This kid was…not afraid and that was an extremely intriguing development.
“I don’t work for him. You did it, didn’t you? Murdered that man…”
Luke shifted in the tape and the very shadow of a smile was on his face when he spoke.
“Maybe…The last thing I needed was that man preaching to me about my life not having a ‘direction’. He didn’t know me. “
Sylar leaned forward, ah the undeserved arrogance of youth. He stood up and walked over to the young man.
“But you know that it doesn’t-have direction. Purpose. Something to look forward to, or work towards. You’re unfocused, Luke.”
It was the absolute sureness in the way that this stranger spoke about him that gave Luke a minor moment of pause. But that moment passed quickly as the silver bands of duct tape on his wrists began to melt from his skin. The sudden crackling, popping sound of the duct tape literally being fried made Sylar move closer to the boy. He was absolutely fascinated watching it, it was similar to Zane Taylor’s ability but as he got close enough, he realized that there was an incredible amount of heat involved as well. Something he became well acquainted with as the heat seemed to be transferring over from Luke and to Sylar himself. When he looked down again, the young man’s eyes were wide while they watched Sylar’s sleeve melt away, skin started to rise and burst in tiny bubbles that soon spread over his then-bare arms.
“You sound like him…that I don’t have any goals, well I do right now. To watch you fry…”
What Luke Campbell’s ability entailed was the capability to emit beams of micro-wave energy. Concentrated heat that could virtually obliterate an object, in this case a person, in minutes or seconds depending on the strength of the waves used. With Sylar, he took it slow at first, skin melting away and revealing tendons of muscle, and the very slightest hints of bone. Luke watched with an emotionally detached awe at the dissolution of the human body. Unlike Mr. Roland, this man could certainly give voice to the process as a guttural, growling scream echoed throughout the room. After he was just a pile of…remains, Luke stopped sending any more waves out. He slowly stood up and dusted off his brown corduroy pants. He wondered vaguely if his parents were the ones who reported him-they never did understand that he was old enough to handle himself and didn’t need their wrongly-placed concern. As Luke moved across the room and set his hand on the knob, he was taken aback at the fact that the door would not budge. A couple quick shakes of the knob, and it really felt like it was stuck-tight.
“What the Hell…”
Before he could finish that thought, Luke found himself flung across the room, his body slammed roughly against the wall. The wind knocked right out of him as he coughed and gasped, blinking quickly then looking over to see an immensely grotesque sight.
Sylar’s skin-less hand, fresh tendons sewn over vulnerable bone, was out in front of the rest of his slowly reforming body. Scraps of the SWAT uniform clung to newly-formed flesh as he slowly stood up, keeping the boy in place. The mask that once covered all but his eyes was gone completely and now Luke could truly begin to see the face of his captor and assailant. And while it wasn’t one that he knew, it suddenly gave Luke a stronger sense that maybe he couldn’t’ be the one in control here. Blood continued to rush and flow into Sylar’s face and out to his other limbs as he walked over.
“I believe you’ll find that what was easily a quick-fix way to avoid confrontation may work with others but it’s not going to with me. I meant what I said about your lack of purpose-there is a potential there but you need to have such a wonderful skill honed so that it will become the force to be reckoned with that it deserves to be. And if you’ll let me…I can help you. You can help me. I won’t lie to you and say there isn’t any sort of danger in it, because there is. You’re a wanted man now Luke…and so am I. But Nathan Petrelli-“
Sylar’s jaw tensed a little after saying the name. One single name that was the reason behind so much of his own misery from the lost months of his life, and one that could strike fear into the hearts of other specials like himself. Of course the exact depths of Nathan’s betrayals were much deeper than Sylar would let on at that time.
“-can be stopped. So…are you with me on this?”
Because if he wasn’t, then Sylar had absolutely no problem with making a quick slice and putting that power into his own capable hands. However, he knew that at least having someone else to throw into the line of fire, should the time come, and it was a smarter tactical move to make. When he’d intercepted the file from the database in D.C. two weeks back, Sylar took a special interest in this boy. They shared a very similar upbringing and Luke had an openness to engage in the use of his gift that one didn’t find often even before the laws were created and on their way to approval.
Luke listened carefully to the man who was clearly like him. They both had breached the laws of physics and some would surely say of God as well. At this point, he could only take the chance and agree with the offer-he couldn’t go back out there alone and risk being found and detained.
“Yeah…I’m with you. I’m glad that someone out there seems to want to take care of the problem in Washington. Um…you can let me down now, really.”
Sylar smirked and lowered his hand, Luke falling off the wall and nearly onto his face until he caught his balance at the last moment. His eyes met those of the man, standing there rather unabashedly scantily clad from the waist up where he suffered the brunt of the attack earlier. Luke crossed one arm over his stomach, scratching his other arm idly, nervously.
“So…you never told me your name.”
Another flash hit him, a screeching grinding sound filled the air until what cut through was that normally steady, cultured lilt of Mohinder Suresh screaming his name. The last thing he could remember before it all went black. He came back out of the memory and looked again at the young man, smirking gently.
“Gabriel.”
He’d seen the tape seven times and was in the middle of the eighth when Nathan angrily stood up. Pacing the Oval Office, with his arms wrapped tightly around his middle-how could this have happened? One simple acquisition. He’d lost four good men in the process as well as the target himself, and now he was watching the surveillance tape that had been run through a night-vision filter. A masked figure slaughtered easily, some of the country’s very best. Such an affront to his nascent administration could not be taken lightly as Nathan reached over and picked up the phone from his polished mahogany desk. He spoke with his assistant briefly then waited behind his desk.
Three minutes later, Lieutenant Stevens walked in, his face was marred with contusions and cuts from the injury suffered by the mysterious man. He walked in and stood in front of the President-elect’s desk.
“Stevens…you said you saw something before you incurred your injury. Any information you have in this matter could possibly make up for your complete inadequacy. “
Nathan leaned forward expectantly as Stevens looked down while he spoke.
“Yes Sir. Before the uh-incident, I saw the man’s face who slaughtered my men. I’m not quite sure how to go about telling you this Mr. President but…it’s your brother.”
Nathan looked right up into the man’s eyes, his heart stung at that thought. He’d always suspected but could it actually be that Peter was alive?
“My brother Peter? He committed this attack?”
Lt. Stevens met Nathan’s shocked glance and slowly shook his head.
“No Sir…your other brother…”
Rating: Pg-13- R for later chapters
Word Count: 2,582
Parings for the series: Mohinder/Sylar, Mohinder/Peter, hints of Sylar/Luke later on but one-sided
Characters in this chapter: Sylar, Nathan Petrelli, Luke Campbell
Warnings: Some violence, some subtext. So you know the usual.
Summary: AU.It's been approximately two years from the current show time-lime and much has changed. The secret is out, specials are being hunted, Nathan is the president-elect, and a terrible event has set Sylar onto a path that will end in a collision course with his older brother's ambitions. If only Sylar could remember what happened after Primatech and Pinehearst fell...
A/N: Much love to iluvbsbkevin for putting up with my idea spouting and yeah. This idea came about with random bits of information regarding volume four and then my brain just created this AU out of it to play around in.
Disclaimer: Don't own Heroes, I'd love to but sadly it's not mine.
One of the most distinct markers that fall had come could be found not on the branches of the trees themselves, but nestled in heaps on the ground below. Brightly colored leaves of so many rich hues of maroon, red-orange, pale yellow with flecks of the healthy green still clinging on-were fighting the inevitable change of the season as the air grew colder with each passing day. A change that was hardly more apparent than on the East coast. A black Dodge van pulled up about a block away from Stevens High School in Claremont, New Hampshire. The man within took a moment as he sat there, exhausted but wired with adrenaline. Another sleepless night met him the day before, filled with vague flashes of faces and snippets of those faces screaming in terror as a dull siren blared-warning of the impending impact that always ended every nightmare with his bolting upright and panting. A cold, fear-sweat clung to pale skin and soaked the sheets and mattress of yet another motel bed. The man exited the van, black ski mask pulled over his features, and black sunglasses shielded his eyes to complete the ensemble of a SWAT team officer.
The very same swat officer whose blood-spattered body lay splayed out in the back of the vehicle, stripped and exanimate. A door swung open and with ease, the man jumped out. Heavy black combat boots crunched errant dead leaves when they hit the pavement. A newly-acquired Dell tough-book was clenched in his gloved fingers by the sturdy handle while he walked off toward the school itself. The true SWAT officer had been carefully observed then taken out at the opportune moment. The tall imposter strode to where the lead on this particular Op. was waiting. Whispering a few words into the man’s ear then stepping back. They were ready to go in and obtain their target: Luke Campbell-a seventeen year-old student at Stevens High who was wanted in connection with the grotesque murder of the school’s guidance counselor, Phil Roland. As recently as one year ago, a SWAT team wouldn’t have been the way that this boy would be pulled out of class. But so much had changed in that time.
A quick check of the cracked watch on his wrist revealed that it was time to move in. Silently, he signaled with his hand for the three other men to move, and they all took their positions. It used to be common practice for the teachers and faculty to be forewarned that a raid was taking place. But after too many incidents with those men and women sympathizing with the targets-it was deemed that going in cold was the best route, much more efficient. One man was sent in to get a camera functioning for surveillance of the intended room. Once that was established, the team would move in and capture the special, subduing him, and prepping him/her for transport to the nearest detainment facility for interrogation.
Luke’s homeroom was chosen as the best place to grab him and so the men waited in the empty halls until given a proper signal. The door flung open and two of the men went in, a third followed along with the imposter. Guns were aimed as a precaution because…there was no true way of knowing if another special was hiding in their midst. As the third man went toward the average-sized brunette sitting in the back corner of the room-the door swung shut and locked instantly.
A collective gasp and then the lights went out, plunging the window-less classroom into darkness. A shrill scream was heard as chairs screeched and desks shifted, dragging noisily on the floor. But what cut through the sound was a series of grunts, thuds and gurgling gasps. The sounds of bodies falling to the floor in a heap as a strong hand roughly forced Luke Campbell’s face right into the wall next to him, dazing him easily. That made it much easier to quickly inject the sedative into the side of his neck. The darkness of the room was replaced by the darkness of the insides of his eyelids as he was forced unconscious. Luke’s body landed, however, on the man who had forced that sedated state. Easily, the tall man lifted the boy onto his shoulder and hauled him out of the room. The door swiftly opening up and then slamming shut, locked behind them. The tall man strode down the hall leaving carefully controlled carnage in his wake and a room full of terrified students as he moved at a brisk, determined pace leaving the building behind.
A recent encounter with a technopath led him to the creation of the deceptively simple-looking sunglasses he now took off in a fluid motion of his arm. The lenses fitted with night-vision capability, leaving the three other SWAT team members open prey once he’d blown the lights out with a single thought. He folded them and fit them into a pocket on his black utility jacket. Next, when he was outside of the building, he moved to wrap his arm around Luke’s back to help steady him against his own body. His free hand slipped underneath the bottom of the soft knitted material of his ski-mask, fingers grasping it and yanking it all the way up and over his head with a gasp. His thick dark strands of hair were spastic from its removal , and slightly dampened by their own natural oils. With Luke on his shoulder still, he confidently made his way back to the team leader of the op, coming up to him from behind as the man frantically yelled into his earpiece.
“Is anyone there?! What the Hell happened…Repeat, is anyone on the frequency?”
A black glove adjusted his own earpiece as he stood not a few feet away from the op leader. Speaking in put-on of panicky, rushed sentences.
“Th-this is Sergeant Hanson…Sir it was a-a bloodbath! The lights went out and…I barely got out with my life. We were infiltrated…the target has been apprehended.”
As the Op. leader listened he realized how close-sounding the voice was, he suddenly felt a tug on his belt as the firearm he was packing released itself and was flung across the grounds of the campus. Knocking into a tree and landing in a pile of fire-orange leaves-sent up into the air in a bright flash then they settled back down into a small pile on the ground. When he whipped his body around because there was no Sergeant Hanson on his team, the man was met with a Dell tough-book right to the face, knocking him out cold and getting spatters of blood all over the laptop’s protective case.
After the man’s body landed on the ground with a dull thud, the man who had viciously assaulted him leaned forward. Sylar tilted his head, regarding him for a moment-debating whether he should live or die. It was decided while he walked away, hauling the young man on his shoulder still, that leaving someone alive to report back what had gone so wrong was the right move. Let them know that not only had he survived…but he was readying his counter-strike. Sylar moved back to the black van, opening the back and he smirked when he pulled out the body of the former SWAT team member and replaced it with the unconscious form of Luke Campbell. He closed and locked the vehicle then climbed back in and exited the scene.
A dull hum was the first thing that Luke could recognize a he slowly lifted his head. It felt twice as heavy as it should, and fuzzy. His thoughts couldn’t quite come to the surface as his limbs pulled against restraints. Duct-tape to be more specific and its presence made his eyes open a little more as he stared down at his bound wrists. There was no outward show of panic as he regarded the tape on his wrists. Luke glanced up at his surroundings, some sort of motel room. Two double beds, one small table with two chairs, and a tiny adjacent bathroom. Then his eyes rested on the black-clad man who sat on one of the beds. A black ski mask on his face but nothing covering a pair of focused, nearly-black eyes.
“I’m not…in one of those cells I’ve read so much about, what gives?”
From the moment the men with guns entered his homeroom, Luke knew who exactly they were after. He made no attempt to hide Mr. Roland’s remains when he was done with him-that man must have had very up to date dental records if they came for him this fast. The silent man slowly arched a dark brow. This kid was…not afraid and that was an extremely intriguing development.
“I don’t work for him. You did it, didn’t you? Murdered that man…”
Luke shifted in the tape and the very shadow of a smile was on his face when he spoke.
“Maybe…The last thing I needed was that man preaching to me about my life not having a ‘direction’. He didn’t know me. “
Sylar leaned forward, ah the undeserved arrogance of youth. He stood up and walked over to the young man.
“But you know that it doesn’t-have direction. Purpose. Something to look forward to, or work towards. You’re unfocused, Luke.”
It was the absolute sureness in the way that this stranger spoke about him that gave Luke a minor moment of pause. But that moment passed quickly as the silver bands of duct tape on his wrists began to melt from his skin. The sudden crackling, popping sound of the duct tape literally being fried made Sylar move closer to the boy. He was absolutely fascinated watching it, it was similar to Zane Taylor’s ability but as he got close enough, he realized that there was an incredible amount of heat involved as well. Something he became well acquainted with as the heat seemed to be transferring over from Luke and to Sylar himself. When he looked down again, the young man’s eyes were wide while they watched Sylar’s sleeve melt away, skin started to rise and burst in tiny bubbles that soon spread over his then-bare arms.
“You sound like him…that I don’t have any goals, well I do right now. To watch you fry…”
What Luke Campbell’s ability entailed was the capability to emit beams of micro-wave energy. Concentrated heat that could virtually obliterate an object, in this case a person, in minutes or seconds depending on the strength of the waves used. With Sylar, he took it slow at first, skin melting away and revealing tendons of muscle, and the very slightest hints of bone. Luke watched with an emotionally detached awe at the dissolution of the human body. Unlike Mr. Roland, this man could certainly give voice to the process as a guttural, growling scream echoed throughout the room. After he was just a pile of…remains, Luke stopped sending any more waves out. He slowly stood up and dusted off his brown corduroy pants. He wondered vaguely if his parents were the ones who reported him-they never did understand that he was old enough to handle himself and didn’t need their wrongly-placed concern. As Luke moved across the room and set his hand on the knob, he was taken aback at the fact that the door would not budge. A couple quick shakes of the knob, and it really felt like it was stuck-tight.
“What the Hell…”
Before he could finish that thought, Luke found himself flung across the room, his body slammed roughly against the wall. The wind knocked right out of him as he coughed and gasped, blinking quickly then looking over to see an immensely grotesque sight.
Sylar’s skin-less hand, fresh tendons sewn over vulnerable bone, was out in front of the rest of his slowly reforming body. Scraps of the SWAT uniform clung to newly-formed flesh as he slowly stood up, keeping the boy in place. The mask that once covered all but his eyes was gone completely and now Luke could truly begin to see the face of his captor and assailant. And while it wasn’t one that he knew, it suddenly gave Luke a stronger sense that maybe he couldn’t’ be the one in control here. Blood continued to rush and flow into Sylar’s face and out to his other limbs as he walked over.
“I believe you’ll find that what was easily a quick-fix way to avoid confrontation may work with others but it’s not going to with me. I meant what I said about your lack of purpose-there is a potential there but you need to have such a wonderful skill honed so that it will become the force to be reckoned with that it deserves to be. And if you’ll let me…I can help you. You can help me. I won’t lie to you and say there isn’t any sort of danger in it, because there is. You’re a wanted man now Luke…and so am I. But Nathan Petrelli-“
Sylar’s jaw tensed a little after saying the name. One single name that was the reason behind so much of his own misery from the lost months of his life, and one that could strike fear into the hearts of other specials like himself. Of course the exact depths of Nathan’s betrayals were much deeper than Sylar would let on at that time.
“-can be stopped. So…are you with me on this?”
Because if he wasn’t, then Sylar had absolutely no problem with making a quick slice and putting that power into his own capable hands. However, he knew that at least having someone else to throw into the line of fire, should the time come, and it was a smarter tactical move to make. When he’d intercepted the file from the database in D.C. two weeks back, Sylar took a special interest in this boy. They shared a very similar upbringing and Luke had an openness to engage in the use of his gift that one didn’t find often even before the laws were created and on their way to approval.
Luke listened carefully to the man who was clearly like him. They both had breached the laws of physics and some would surely say of God as well. At this point, he could only take the chance and agree with the offer-he couldn’t go back out there alone and risk being found and detained.
“Yeah…I’m with you. I’m glad that someone out there seems to want to take care of the problem in Washington. Um…you can let me down now, really.”
Sylar smirked and lowered his hand, Luke falling off the wall and nearly onto his face until he caught his balance at the last moment. His eyes met those of the man, standing there rather unabashedly scantily clad from the waist up where he suffered the brunt of the attack earlier. Luke crossed one arm over his stomach, scratching his other arm idly, nervously.
“So…you never told me your name.”
Another flash hit him, a screeching grinding sound filled the air until what cut through was that normally steady, cultured lilt of Mohinder Suresh screaming his name. The last thing he could remember before it all went black. He came back out of the memory and looked again at the young man, smirking gently.
“Gabriel.”
He’d seen the tape seven times and was in the middle of the eighth when Nathan angrily stood up. Pacing the Oval Office, with his arms wrapped tightly around his middle-how could this have happened? One simple acquisition. He’d lost four good men in the process as well as the target himself, and now he was watching the surveillance tape that had been run through a night-vision filter. A masked figure slaughtered easily, some of the country’s very best. Such an affront to his nascent administration could not be taken lightly as Nathan reached over and picked up the phone from his polished mahogany desk. He spoke with his assistant briefly then waited behind his desk.
Three minutes later, Lieutenant Stevens walked in, his face was marred with contusions and cuts from the injury suffered by the mysterious man. He walked in and stood in front of the President-elect’s desk.
“Stevens…you said you saw something before you incurred your injury. Any information you have in this matter could possibly make up for your complete inadequacy. “
Nathan leaned forward expectantly as Stevens looked down while he spoke.
“Yes Sir. Before the uh-incident, I saw the man’s face who slaughtered my men. I’m not quite sure how to go about telling you this Mr. President but…it’s your brother.”
Nathan looked right up into the man’s eyes, his heart stung at that thought. He’d always suspected but could it actually be that Peter was alive?
“My brother Peter? He committed this attack?”
Lt. Stevens met Nathan’s shocked glance and slowly shook his head.
“No Sir…your other brother…”