I [ HOLO ] - ARRIVAL.
The sound Samuels's neck had made when it snapped had been glorious, a sound fit to herald in his term as President. He was so close. Nathan had been properly disposed of, the poor fool, and there was no sign of Peter or Noah. He was going to succeed. He was actually going to...
And it was all gone in a matter of seconds, his vision whiting out and leaving him standing in... well he wasn't sure exactly what he was in, but it wasn't where he wanted to be.
Gritting his teeth, Sylar attempted to quell his rage as he scanned the area he'd arrived in. It looked like something out of some science fiction B movie, a perfectly equipped sterile environment complete with fancy equipment for interstellar kidnapping. Not that he was complaining at all about the equipment. The sheer complexity of what was hanging above him was enough to make his hidden geeky heart flutter, his eyes scanning this way and that over the object to try and make some sense of it, to take in the structure and the design in a way that he wasn't used to having to do. Because for some reason, his ability wasn't telling him exactly what it did. Confusion and a slight annoyance regaining in him, as he pulled his eyes away from the device, it hit him just why his ability wasn't working.
"This is an impressive illusion, Parkman," Sylar called out around him as he started down the steps in front of him. "Exactly how far away from the limo am I? A yard? A foot? Could I reach out and grab the door handle? There's only so long your little mind games are going to work on me. I'll find a way out of this," He drawled, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.
There wasn't really much for him to see here. Nothing to interact with. No nightmares to plague him. It wasn't the type of place that he would have expected the telepath to trap him. And yet still, here he was. Pivoting back towards the platform that he'd just left, Sylar spotted something that he hadn't before, raising a hand and catching the object that raced off the pedestal at the beckoning of his telekinesis. Odd. It didn't look like much. And what was the purpose that it served here?
"I'm not getting your little game, Matt. If you want something, you're going to have to be clearer."
Still no response. Not that he'd expected one. Parkman wasn't the type to toy with people even if he was, from the looks if it, starting to fall victim to the darker side of his ability. Good. The more they made hypocrites of themselves, the less work he had to do to believe that they were no better than him. At least he was honest about what he did.
But this. This didn't make sense. He was in the middle of nowhere with no one and nothing except a phone and...a horrible itch on his wrist. Gaze jerking down to his own body at last it occurred to him that some point between where he had been and where he was (he wasn't so sure this was an illusion anymore), he had reverted back to his original appearance. That was his fingers, his hand, his arm, and yet the juncture where his hand met his wrist had apparently been replaced by a silver metallic plate fused seamlessly to his skin. And it was that skin that was now protesting the intrusion, attempting to healing over the area in which the item now resided.
His first instinct was to cut it out, remove this mysterious technological cancer before it decided to spread. But a momentary flash in his mind, a question of whether or not it would be important and if such hasty actions now would result in far more regret later, steadied the hand that had lifted to slice at his skin. Best to leave it where it was at the moment. Even if the itch might drive him mad.
"Is someone going to tell me what's going on here or not?!"
Please?
And it was all gone in a matter of seconds, his vision whiting out and leaving him standing in... well he wasn't sure exactly what he was in, but it wasn't where he wanted to be.
Gritting his teeth, Sylar attempted to quell his rage as he scanned the area he'd arrived in. It looked like something out of some science fiction B movie, a perfectly equipped sterile environment complete with fancy equipment for interstellar kidnapping. Not that he was complaining at all about the equipment. The sheer complexity of what was hanging above him was enough to make his hidden geeky heart flutter, his eyes scanning this way and that over the object to try and make some sense of it, to take in the structure and the design in a way that he wasn't used to having to do. Because for some reason, his ability wasn't telling him exactly what it did. Confusion and a slight annoyance regaining in him, as he pulled his eyes away from the device, it hit him just why his ability wasn't working.
"This is an impressive illusion, Parkman," Sylar called out around him as he started down the steps in front of him. "Exactly how far away from the limo am I? A yard? A foot? Could I reach out and grab the door handle? There's only so long your little mind games are going to work on me. I'll find a way out of this," He drawled, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.
There wasn't really much for him to see here. Nothing to interact with. No nightmares to plague him. It wasn't the type of place that he would have expected the telepath to trap him. And yet still, here he was. Pivoting back towards the platform that he'd just left, Sylar spotted something that he hadn't before, raising a hand and catching the object that raced off the pedestal at the beckoning of his telekinesis. Odd. It didn't look like much. And what was the purpose that it served here?
"I'm not getting your little game, Matt. If you want something, you're going to have to be clearer."
Still no response. Not that he'd expected one. Parkman wasn't the type to toy with people even if he was, from the looks if it, starting to fall victim to the darker side of his ability. Good. The more they made hypocrites of themselves, the less work he had to do to believe that they were no better than him. At least he was honest about what he did.
But this. This didn't make sense. He was in the middle of nowhere with no one and nothing except a phone and...a horrible itch on his wrist. Gaze jerking down to his own body at last it occurred to him that some point between where he had been and where he was (he wasn't so sure this was an illusion anymore), he had reverted back to his original appearance. That was his fingers, his hand, his arm, and yet the juncture where his hand met his wrist had apparently been replaced by a silver metallic plate fused seamlessly to his skin. And it was that skin that was now protesting the intrusion, attempting to healing over the area in which the item now resided.
His first instinct was to cut it out, remove this mysterious technological cancer before it decided to spread. But a momentary flash in his mind, a question of whether or not it would be important and if such hasty actions now would result in far more regret later, steadied the hand that had lifted to slice at his skin. Best to leave it where it was at the moment. Even if the itch might drive him mad.
"Is someone going to tell me what's going on here or not?!"
Please?