Breaking Point: What It Takes
“What is with them?”
Nathan ignored his questioned and took a step back as the monitor showed a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit, bound down with a tube strategically shoved into his nose. The sedative was rather powerful indeed for this particular detainee.
“The man on the screen is someone that you should know from the intel. We’ve gathered about the Primatech incident. Eric Doyle, he was brought in shortly after the fire itself by agents Simmons and Daniels here and has been with us ever since. He is here because he is a danger to others, Sylar-because these abilities are a threat that only leads to chaos. Time and time again that’s what happens…and this is what I want you to help me with. My team and I are rounding them up and putting them away. There is a facility where they won’t be a threat to anyone and especially, not to themselves.”
Sylar smirked as he watched Doyle on the screen as he replied.
“Hm. I find it really amusing that you would ask me to help you with this when you know that I’m something of a threat myself, Nathan. And that makes me wonder…what am I getting out of this that would make me want to give a damn?”
Nathan shifted, buttoning his suit up again with a deft movement of his hand. He looked Sylar right in the eye after his brother could tear himself away from staring at the screen.
“I can offer you complete amnesty from ending up like Doyle there. All I want from you is your assistance. As I said-I’ve read your file, and there is no one better-suited to hunting these people. I can assure you that you will be given the authority to do it the way you want to and…let me just say that there are certain perks involved for you, if you agree. I mean it; Sylar…no more running and you would become a part of something bigger than the both of us. I’m asking you not as the man running this-I am asking you as the brother you never got the chance to know because of all the secrecy and shame involved in how the Company did things. Well we’re not them, and this is going to happen-I’d like it to happen with someone I can trust to get the job done on my side.”
It was a little strange to hear someone who was mostly unknown to him have such…faith in him and his capabilities. He truly believed that he could do this-there was no tingle that would have denoted a lie. To step outside of it, of course it would be smart to be on this side of things-but that’s not why Sylar looked his brother in the eye and agreed to do it. After being rejected and used by so many outside influences in his life-he could see this is a chance of doing things on his own terms by someone who sought him out specifically, a brother.
“I suppose you really have a way with words, Senator…where do we begin?”
Nathan was relieved, he knew that having a force like Sylar with his team was going to make the takedowns that much easier. Every powerful man has a weakness and Nathan found Sylar’s-he just wanted to be accepted and he clearly wanted something of family. Both facts that Nathan kept in mind as he carefully crafted his pitch for his half-brother. He half-smiled and walked back to the monitor, turning it off again before he lead Sylar back out of the room and into the hall again.
“First…I need you to do something for me and well, for yourself. It’s the second on your right, the code is ‘5-4-4-2’, come out when you’re done.”
Sylar turned and looked at Nathan-what was behind the door that he could possibly need or want? But Nathan just stood there, watching him expectantly. After he stopped at the door and entered the code-Sylar found himself in another room not all that different from the one he woke up in. Though the door was different-it wasn’t reinforced and about three and a half inches thick like his was. The lights were low but he could make out the exact same bound and drugged figure he just watched on the monitor not moments ago. This couldn’t possibly be what he assumed-there was no way Nathan would just open the door and step back to let him do what he must know Sylar would when confronted with this situation.
“…Doyle? Eric…Doyle?”
He moved further into the room and watched with great interest as the man’s head moved then his body flinched. A smile spread over his lips as Sylar moved to walk in front of him. He bent down and crouched in front of him, placing his hands over Doyle’s fingers.
“I’m sure it didn’t take long for them to find you afterward-did it? No, I’m sure it did not…and even with that ability, you were still taken down. Tsk tsk tsk.”
He clucked his tongue against the inside of his mouth while he shook his head, Doyle could start to feel a foreign, bruising pressure on his wrists and it was not from Sylar’s hands themselves as he stood up again and his hands went back to his sides for the time being. Doyle’s bleary eyes tried to focus on the tall man in front of him and his fingers twitched just a little. Though with the amount of drugs being pumped into his system he had absolutely no tether to his central nervous system in order to control or initiate the ability he possessed. Doyle mumbled incoherently as his eyes fluttered.
“Nmm…Got…no…no…supossstabefree…wheressssnathan…?”
Sylar watched him mumble and then smiled again, a low, dark chuckle rumbled out of his chest.
“Nathan? Nathan’s not here…you are going to deal with me. And really Doyle, what were you thinking back at Primatech? That someone as pathetic as you could best me? Shame I have to teach you that lesson again but then really-that ability is too intricate and graceful for you to have. While I’ll admit that I felt it hold me for a moment-you couldn’t keep it. And it’s why you don’t deserve it, not anymore. Many people don’t deserve their gifts, Eric and you know what I do about that? I rectify that and make sure these powers are used in the ways they were meant to be. The difference between me and you and why your power cannot possibly beat mine is this-“
With a sudden flick of his wrist, Doyle found that his hands, bound though they were, twisted around all the way while inside the restraints. His wrists broken on both hands from the awkward angle they were pulled into as he screamed out in excruciating agony. Sylar smiled, pleased with the man’s immediate response.
“-my ability is something I know how to use to its full potential. And that potential includes the capability to cause incredible amounts of pain. I’m sure I’ll be able to find ways to use yours in a similar fashion Doyle, don’t worry. “
As Eric Doyle writhed and rambled nonsense about how much pain he was in, and how Nathan had ‘lied’ to him-Sylar stood before him and raised his right index finger. Another piercing scream could be heard in the room, but not in the hall-soundproof cells were a necessity due to Nathan’s men and their methods. After roughly four minutes, Sylar reemerged from the room and looked at over at his brother who was waiting for him.
“I trust you have a means of cleaning that mess up but if you want to, I can dispose of Doyle personally. I leave it up to you Nathan but I can assume that your men already know how I handle things.”
His arms were drenched in blood as were his hands. He smiled and shook his head while he walked past to find somewhere he could clean himself up. Nathan’s stomach twisted for a slight moment-but there was no other choice in this matter, Peter flatly refused to see anything from a different perspective other than his own. It had to be like this now.
Present Day.
Silver forks clinked noisily against dishware as a waitress flitted about the Riverview Diner with purpose and experienced ease. Greta had been working at the Riverview for close to eight years-she couldn’t imagine any other place for her to come to everyday. There was never a shortage of intriguing patrons who came through. Long-haul truckers, tourists, and the slew of regulars who seemed like they were always there yet never long enough to truly get to know beside a friendly hello and the occasional personal detail.
Greta carried an armload of plates throughout the small space. When there were only two plates left-a turn on her heel lead her to the booth in the corner. She had found out from the elder of the two men-butternut waffles, scrambled eggs with black pepper, two sausage patties, and black coffee-that they were brothers on a road trip to see the historical sites of the country. To Greta, it was refreshing to see two siblings take time out of their lives to spend some time together bonding on the open road-certainly something she’d hoped wasn’t just a dated idea.
She smiled as she set down both of their orders. The older brother leaned forward to accept his plate-a charming smile flashed while he picked up his fork. Sylar held his fork much as he did any small tool-with precision and a steady hand. Sometimes it seemed he would forever carry the habits of his former life in that dimly-lit shop. She gave the last plate over to the younger brother and noted how much more reserved he was.
“Your waffles and here is your short-stack. Can I get you any jam or boysenberry syrup for those, sweetie?”
Luke shifted and glanced up at the perky woman, gave a slight shake of his head as he went for his half-gone milkshake. A loud chuckle from Sylar as he reached over and ruffled Luke’s chestnut hair with his pale, strong fingers.
“Luke, now come on don’t be shy around Greta here. You’ll have to excuse my little brother-he gets quiet around people he doesn’t know, but I’m doing what I can to fix that.”
The boy flinched at Sylar’s hand in his hair then smirked at his ‘brother’ while Greta cackled-a very hoarse, nicotine-laced sound. She smiled and chatted with Sylar for a little bit longer.
“So where is the next stop on your trip, boys? Vermont itself has a rich history but I bet you’re onto something a little grander, am I right?”
Sylar started emptying sugar packets into his coffee as he spoke.
“Something grander…can you read minds, Greta? Because you are spot-“
He next picked up the spoon at his right side; Sylar stirred the substance into his beverage. Sweets were what could be considered Sylar’s any other vice-the man simply couldn’t get enough. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Virginia Gray would do everything she could to keep the tasty morsels of candy from her “son”. Clearly he wasn’t allowed to go out on Halloween either as it was a demon’s holiday. But now what was he? A demon on holiday-taking what he wanted, when he wanted, and he indulged in whatever whims come to him during his days and especially his nights. What else could he be after he almost single-handedly destroyed something so beautiful? When he could not save him. However, after this business with his half-brother was taken care off it was back to the single defining goal of his new life-power and getting more of it. The spoon went down again-a splotch of coffee seeped from the curved dip, and stained his napkin in the shape of a most inviting drop of blood.
“-on. We’re actually making our way to our nation’s capital…there’s so much to see there and to do. I think it will be highly educational for Luke here.”
Luke smirked and looked up from his food for a moment.
“I can’t wait to take a lot of cheesy pictures in front of the monuments and see the Declaration of Independence. It’s going to be a blast.”
His tone started with faked enthusiasm or at least Sylar knew it was faked, in all actuality the boy was talented at playing up faux excitement for the benefit of others. The last statement held a grim bemusement to it, because by “blast” it was literally meant as a blast-an explosion. The current plan for when they arrive in D.C. If they thought he was a monster worth hunting then he’d make sure they were right if it meant revenge for what he may never fully have again. Greta chuckled and smiled.
“See, he’s opening up some already. You boys let me know if you need anything else.”
She gave them each a glance then turned around and went back to the kitchen to pick up another round of orders. Sylar watched her go then turned back to the young man in the booth with him. When he turned back he saw Luke holding his hand over the ball of whipped butter on top of his stack of pancakes. The yellow mass started to bubble and turn and warm, it melted into a spreadable cream that Luke smeared all over his short-stack. Before he had his first bite in his hand he found a fork stabbed through his pancakes, Sylar gripped the handle as he looked into the boy’s eyes.
“Not….here. Use a fork to make it melt just like all of the other customers in here.”
More than a warning flashed in Sylar’s eyes as he slowly leaned back into his side of the booth again. Public shows of abilities that were not based in self-defense were not what they needed to be participating in at the moment. They were so close now-he was so close now. Luke leaned forward hand out to hover over Gabriel’s plate as they sat there.
“I may as well melt yours as well if you’re going to make small-talk with every random waitress and gas attendant we come across. She knows our names now and if they were coming for me-there has got to be posters somewhere. I don’t know about you, but I sort of enjoy not being in chains in a concrete box, Gabriel.”
Sylar lifted a dark brow at the boy’s sureness. He reached out and slowly slid his plate from underneath Luke’s hand. A quick glance behind him and he spoke softly.
“The waitress is not going to cause an issue but if you use your ability in public and some nosy concerned citizen sees it and calls us in… then you are going to become an issue yourself, Luke. Now we’re going to sit here, eat our breakfast, pay, and leave. I want to be in D.C. in the next two days. Where, I will inform you now, we will be shot at and maybe even killed trying. But then you must know that by now, experienced fugitive from the law that you are.”
He scoffed and leaned back again, smoothly grasping the fork between his thumb and index finger-the side of the utensil rested comfortably on the side of his middle finger-and he dug into his eggs. They both ate in silence for a while-well except for the occasional slurp of a vanilla milkshake when the boy had the straw between his lips again. Despite how annoying and talkative he could be at times-Sylar found himself taking a liking to Luke. He reminded him a great deal of himself when he was younger but most importantly-he wasn’t trying to play Sylar. So many others had before him-manipulated him or were disgusted by the real person he was.
Today wasn’t just a necessary pit-stop-it was Luke’s litmus test. Was Luke truly cut out for being by Sylar’s side while he did this? Would he show weakness at the worst possible moment when faced with purposeful carnage? Real blood whose scent stung the air from the second it was released from the warm housing of veins and arteries. Bodies that once lived, breathed, laughed, and loved turned into slabs of flesh and bone once they were of no further use. Could Luke handle it? As soon as Sylar was finished with his waffles-he would find out. He set his fork down and wiped his lips carefully with the napkin next to his plate.
“So you haven’t really told me why you’re doing this. Why you want to bring down Petrelli-does it have something to do with whatever ‘Mohinder’ means?”
Shards of Sylar’s coffee cup clattered onto the floor and a couple embedded themselves deeply into the vinyl of the booth seat. Hot coffee scalded Sylar’s hand and arm as he groaned; a growl escaped his bared teeth and lips while a few fellow customers got curious enough to look their way. Of course the burns blistered and popped until new skin created itself to mend over his arm. He leaned over, half-standing up over the table as he glared the boy down.
“How…do you know that name?”
Luke’s eyes were focused on watching his skin sew over and the tiny dark hairs that sprouted anew over the flesh-growing out long and once again thickly coating his fore-arm. His eyes moved to meet Gabriel’s again.
“This morning-you said it in your sleep when I was up getting a glass of water. You said ‘Mohinder, I’m sorry’ I didn’t know what it meant…”
He seethed and watched the boy carefully before he sat down again. Sylar checked his own hand back and front when he heard Greta’s voice at his side.
“Oh my…are you okay there son? Did you get burned, let me see…”
She reached for his hand but he politely stopped her with his free hand.
“It’s fine, I just made a mess of the table but I’ll get it.”
He smiled at her but it was clearly a tenser gesture than any prior grins. A wad of paper napkins crumpled in his hand as he wiped up the quickly-cooling liquid. She frowned some and nodded, Greta headed back into the kitchen to get a dish-towel to help better clean the coffee up. Sylar looked at Luke when they were alone again, a pained expression as he sighed at the thought of him. His smile, his voice, his rare honest laugh-so many things he missed and would continue to miss about the man who perished on that plane. The one he could not save. He shook it off and looked over at the boy.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
Sylar stood up smoothly, a cursory glance around the diner revealed nothing he would be worried by. No ‘concealed’ scouts or agents. But they were not going to head off and find a motel for the evening-there was work to do. He reached into his wallet and pulled out two crisp ten dollar bills and threw them down on the table. Greta really was a wonderfully capable waitress.
At the end of her shift, she slowly untied the blue and white apron from her waist, folded it over one arm and set it in her locker. Another long day but no matter anything that happened today-Greta always seemed to have a song playing in her mind that kept her going. It always brought a smile to her face when she closed her eyes and just listened to the music. It was never the same thing twice-sometimes it was a country station. Other times, it was some classical or easy listening. She hadn’t told anyone about this since it began happening because she’d heard talk from passerby in the diner about people who could do ‘things’ being of great interest to the government. Greta had no intention of her life changing in the least so she kept it to herself.
On Wednesdays, Greta was the only one to close the diner down since Fred, the line cook, always had his A.A. meetings to get to. She didn’t mind though it was something to be in a place that was usually so bustling and loud when it was dead-quiet and still. While she closed up the till, a frantic banging on the glass made her drop the keys to the register on the linoleum floor. When her head whipped up to the door-Greta saw the same kid from before…that Luke kid. She eased her breathing and moved over to the door-it unlocked easily and Luke’s wide eyes told her something was wrong.
“Oh God…Oh thank you, I-I need to use your phone, there was an accident-my brother is trapped in the car about a half mile from here. I ran the whole way, please call 911!”
Greta looked at Luke and sure enough there were some lights cuts and bruises on his forehead and cheek. His arm was all scratched up as well. Greta turned to go to the phone as Luke followed Gabriel’s plan to the last detail. His hand reached behind him and he let microwave energy melt the lock into a glob that made it impossible to unlock-didn’t even have a hole anymore and it effectively kept the door shut without the threat of budging. It’s just what Gabriel told him to do and he’d handle the rest.
When she hit the ‘call’ button on the phone-only static greeted her. Oh God, the line could not be dead right now what timing. She tried again and again, smacking the phone to her hand.
“Luke I’m sorry the line is de-“
Greta looked around the room and as if she was speaking to an apparition-Luke was gone and she was alone in the room once more. She blinked hard and glanced around quickly. Huh…she’s got to get home since she’s seeing things now. Greta bent down and scooped the keys from the floor. She moved from behind the counter and toward the back to get her things from the locker room. Before she could even get to her locker, Greta suddenly found that her legs were frozen in place. She panicked some as she thought that there was some sort of sudden muscle issue to deal with. But no, this felt entirely different and before she knew it-Greta wasn’t touching the ground anymore. No, she had started to float and then her body was flung roughly against the lockers. From the force of the impact-her vision blurred and her speech slurred before she passed out entirely. When her body remained still for a few moments-that’s when Sylar emerged from the shadows of the break-room with Luke close behind.
“Isn’t this a bit much if we’re just going to get some cash and go?”
Sylar was already crouched down on his knees at the woman’s side. He regarded her quietly, a hand out to push her hair from her forehead.
“While a theft is going to happen it’s not the kind you think. Come here, Luke.”
He motioned to his right side as he prepared to lift his hand-finger out and aimed at the right side of her forehead. Luke watched, confused but unafraid at this time. Sylar gracefully flicked his finger in a steady, familiar line across the unconscious woman’s forehead. A seam revealed itself that dripped with fresh blood as her sawed through skin and skull. While the look on Luke’s face was shock and maybe even a natural revulsion-he couldn’t help but to get in closer to watch Gabriel as he worked.
“What-what are you doing to her?
“There were times that when I did this I would think about the nature of natural selection. Survival of the fittest while the weak fell. But after what I’ve lived through and what I’ve seen over the past couple years it would seem like so much trite talk. No, this woman was going to die Luke. It just depended if it was by my hand, or the hands of President Petrelli’s men who are scheduled to visit Greta here tomorrow morning at her residence at the Cherrywood Manor apartments on Birch Street. That tough-book I’ve had with us had her name in it because Greta has no idea how special she is.”
Luke’s brow remained knit in confusion as Gabriel spoke, the blood seeped out of Greta’s wound a little more slowly than when the first cut was made.
“Okay so…you don’t want Petrelli’s men to get to her? Why couldn’t you just find some other way to kill her?”
His eyes were fixed on carefully separating the skull cap from the incision point. Fingers poised to set the discarded scalp aside. As his fingers probed and searched for the precise piece he softly spoke.
“This isn’t a mercy killing of some sort-Greta has what I need. This ability to know how things work-and that’s what my true ability is, Luke-allows for an understanding of one of the most complex systems imaginable. When I look at this woman’s brain-sift through her very core-I’m able to see it. Everything that makes her unique-special. And then I…I….hmm.”
Sylar’s own mind was reconfiguring itself to make it possible for this ability to become activated and useable. What Greta didn’t know is that the reason she always had a song in her mind was entirely practical. The reason why the type of song was always different also could be explained by the fact that she was picking up on the signals sent over the airwaves by two different radio stations. Greta had the ability to receive wireless signals. She didn’t know that not only could she pick up these signals-she could manipulate them. Any signal sent over the airwaves-radio transmissions, wireless internet communiqués-would have been at her direct attention if only she knew how to harness it.
When Sylar took her ability, he felt it almost instantly. Hundreds then thousands of messages fought their way for space in his mind. Luke watched as the man’s eyes fluttered and his blood-soaked hands slipped from the floor as Sylar leaned over to one side then flat on the ground with a pained grunt.
“Gabriel? Gabriel, wh-what are you doing?”
Luke carefully walked forward and watched as Gabriel muttered and twitched. He looked quickly over both shoulders. They needed to get out of there before someone showed up and gave them exactly the kind of attention neither needed.
“Gabriel. Seriously…”
Gabriel hadn’t moved except for the occasional twitch all while Luke spoke to him. What seemed like another life ago, when Sylar had acquired Dale Smither’s ability, he experienced excruciating head-aches. He was receiving more sensory information than one was supposed to. In this case, Sylar received such an abundance of information that was constantly changing and being sent back and forth that he had no way to stop the initial onslaught. It was simply too much for his mind to handle all at one time. He was still breathing as Luke moved and gripped his hands to drag him away from the body of the waitress. Luke cursed the entire way back to the stolen pick-up truck, and even more so when he had to try and shove Gabriel inside of it without his lanky form falling back out before he could slam the door shut. Admittedly the first time resulted in Gabriel’s leg being crushed between the door and the frame of vehicle but as Luke watched it heal, he knew that it wouldn’t even leave a mark for the morning.
Once inside of the vehicle-Luke leaned over and carefully slid Gabriel’s arm away from his jacket-pocket. His hand searched the pocket until he grasped the small silver key on a black metal 8-ball keychain. The truck started without incident as he tried to figure out where everything was on it. After he turned on the windshield wipers and not the lights-Luke corrected himself and pulled out while he thanked God that it wasn’t a stick-shift.
For a good ten minutes or so, they drove. Luke couldn’t help it as he constantly glanced over at his passenger-the man who saved his life and now had him in this world that he couldn’t possibly have conceived of weeks ago. The idea that Luke easily could have died in the motel room they met in because of what he could do but he was spared-it was impossible to put into words how that made him feel. He did however know how the sudden siren that started up behind the car made him feel.
“Oh shit….”
There was no other option, Luke pulled off to the side of the road and killed the engine. He shifted in his seat some as he quickly considered his options. But when the final boot-crunch of gravel occurred out of his window-Luke knew what had to be done. The trooper tapped on the window and asked for both license and registration. Luke looked at the man as he tried to emulate the same cool, confident charm that Gabriel used to such effect with anyone they came across.
“Officer, please…my brother had an accident and I’m just trying to get him to the hospital. I’m sorry if I was speeding, but look at him! Look at all that blood, he needs HELP!”
The officer remained calm as he clicked his flashlight on and shone it straight into the cabin of the truck. The beam moved over from Luke himself over to the body of his passenger who with his pale face and bloodied hands…
“Son, you think I don’t know bullshit when I hear it? County medical is that way.”
He pointed with his thumb in the opposite direction.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the car right now.”
Of course Luke knew that the act wouldn’t hold up-it was worth a try though. He carefully stepped out of the truck and held his hands up. Palms out as he slowly turned and set his hands behind himself so that his palms faced the highway patrol-man. From the second the first silver cuff latched onto his wrist it started to become soft. When the trooper realized that the handcuff had actually started to melt-it was too late. He screamed as he felt the intense heat-Luke gave it all he had as the man’s skin became a dripping residue that poured off his scorched bones.
When his remains were just an unrecognizable mass in semi-liquefied clothes-Luke turned back around and walked for the truck. He took a few breaths to calm himself again then started the engine up again. That wasn’t like the only other time he let his ability do such damage-that was an accident. This was premeditated, it was survival. Once more, the truck pulled away and set off down the road.
About twenty minutes later, the truck was idle in the parking lot of the Rest-A-Bit Motel and Gabriel was on the bed. Unfortunately they could only get a room with one bed-which was awkward but he’d just have to adapt to it. Gabriel was still mostly out of it as he lay there, the occasional mutter of a repeated piece of information that his brain picked up on were all that Luke listened to all night as he slept with a pillow in the small chair in the corner of the room. From his grasp of Gabriel’s hands earlier, Luke had blood on his. Until he dozed off in the chair-he studied the look of that blood on his own hands. None of it belonged to the highway patrolman-it was all the waitress’s blood. He was now fully a part of what Gabriel was doing, and he fell asleep with that thought on his mind as the blood stained the pillow under his head.
Luke was so exhausted that he didn’t even hear Sylar’s first utterance of Mohinder’s name. Flashes of sparks, twisted metal, and the ground racing to meet his falling form played through his head like they had every night since he woke up in the that hospital room a John Doe from a field. When he realized that months of his life were wasted in that stiff bed. All while the man he could have loved surely had died in the crash because Sylar couldn’t save him. It would haunt his dreams until he died but making Nathan pay for it would help ease the screams slightly. Or so he hoped.
Nathan ignored his questioned and took a step back as the monitor showed a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit, bound down with a tube strategically shoved into his nose. The sedative was rather powerful indeed for this particular detainee.
“The man on the screen is someone that you should know from the intel. We’ve gathered about the Primatech incident. Eric Doyle, he was brought in shortly after the fire itself by agents Simmons and Daniels here and has been with us ever since. He is here because he is a danger to others, Sylar-because these abilities are a threat that only leads to chaos. Time and time again that’s what happens…and this is what I want you to help me with. My team and I are rounding them up and putting them away. There is a facility where they won’t be a threat to anyone and especially, not to themselves.”
Sylar smirked as he watched Doyle on the screen as he replied.
“Hm. I find it really amusing that you would ask me to help you with this when you know that I’m something of a threat myself, Nathan. And that makes me wonder…what am I getting out of this that would make me want to give a damn?”
Nathan shifted, buttoning his suit up again with a deft movement of his hand. He looked Sylar right in the eye after his brother could tear himself away from staring at the screen.
“I can offer you complete amnesty from ending up like Doyle there. All I want from you is your assistance. As I said-I’ve read your file, and there is no one better-suited to hunting these people. I can assure you that you will be given the authority to do it the way you want to and…let me just say that there are certain perks involved for you, if you agree. I mean it; Sylar…no more running and you would become a part of something bigger than the both of us. I’m asking you not as the man running this-I am asking you as the brother you never got the chance to know because of all the secrecy and shame involved in how the Company did things. Well we’re not them, and this is going to happen-I’d like it to happen with someone I can trust to get the job done on my side.”
It was a little strange to hear someone who was mostly unknown to him have such…faith in him and his capabilities. He truly believed that he could do this-there was no tingle that would have denoted a lie. To step outside of it, of course it would be smart to be on this side of things-but that’s not why Sylar looked his brother in the eye and agreed to do it. After being rejected and used by so many outside influences in his life-he could see this is a chance of doing things on his own terms by someone who sought him out specifically, a brother.
“I suppose you really have a way with words, Senator…where do we begin?”
Nathan was relieved, he knew that having a force like Sylar with his team was going to make the takedowns that much easier. Every powerful man has a weakness and Nathan found Sylar’s-he just wanted to be accepted and he clearly wanted something of family. Both facts that Nathan kept in mind as he carefully crafted his pitch for his half-brother. He half-smiled and walked back to the monitor, turning it off again before he lead Sylar back out of the room and into the hall again.
“First…I need you to do something for me and well, for yourself. It’s the second on your right, the code is ‘5-4-4-2’, come out when you’re done.”
Sylar turned and looked at Nathan-what was behind the door that he could possibly need or want? But Nathan just stood there, watching him expectantly. After he stopped at the door and entered the code-Sylar found himself in another room not all that different from the one he woke up in. Though the door was different-it wasn’t reinforced and about three and a half inches thick like his was. The lights were low but he could make out the exact same bound and drugged figure he just watched on the monitor not moments ago. This couldn’t possibly be what he assumed-there was no way Nathan would just open the door and step back to let him do what he must know Sylar would when confronted with this situation.
“…Doyle? Eric…Doyle?”
He moved further into the room and watched with great interest as the man’s head moved then his body flinched. A smile spread over his lips as Sylar moved to walk in front of him. He bent down and crouched in front of him, placing his hands over Doyle’s fingers.
“I’m sure it didn’t take long for them to find you afterward-did it? No, I’m sure it did not…and even with that ability, you were still taken down. Tsk tsk tsk.”
He clucked his tongue against the inside of his mouth while he shook his head, Doyle could start to feel a foreign, bruising pressure on his wrists and it was not from Sylar’s hands themselves as he stood up again and his hands went back to his sides for the time being. Doyle’s bleary eyes tried to focus on the tall man in front of him and his fingers twitched just a little. Though with the amount of drugs being pumped into his system he had absolutely no tether to his central nervous system in order to control or initiate the ability he possessed. Doyle mumbled incoherently as his eyes fluttered.
“Nmm…Got…no…no…supossstabefree…wheressssnathan…?”
Sylar watched him mumble and then smiled again, a low, dark chuckle rumbled out of his chest.
“Nathan? Nathan’s not here…you are going to deal with me. And really Doyle, what were you thinking back at Primatech? That someone as pathetic as you could best me? Shame I have to teach you that lesson again but then really-that ability is too intricate and graceful for you to have. While I’ll admit that I felt it hold me for a moment-you couldn’t keep it. And it’s why you don’t deserve it, not anymore. Many people don’t deserve their gifts, Eric and you know what I do about that? I rectify that and make sure these powers are used in the ways they were meant to be. The difference between me and you and why your power cannot possibly beat mine is this-“
With a sudden flick of his wrist, Doyle found that his hands, bound though they were, twisted around all the way while inside the restraints. His wrists broken on both hands from the awkward angle they were pulled into as he screamed out in excruciating agony. Sylar smiled, pleased with the man’s immediate response.
“-my ability is something I know how to use to its full potential. And that potential includes the capability to cause incredible amounts of pain. I’m sure I’ll be able to find ways to use yours in a similar fashion Doyle, don’t worry. “
As Eric Doyle writhed and rambled nonsense about how much pain he was in, and how Nathan had ‘lied’ to him-Sylar stood before him and raised his right index finger. Another piercing scream could be heard in the room, but not in the hall-soundproof cells were a necessity due to Nathan’s men and their methods. After roughly four minutes, Sylar reemerged from the room and looked at over at his brother who was waiting for him.
“I trust you have a means of cleaning that mess up but if you want to, I can dispose of Doyle personally. I leave it up to you Nathan but I can assume that your men already know how I handle things.”
His arms were drenched in blood as were his hands. He smiled and shook his head while he walked past to find somewhere he could clean himself up. Nathan’s stomach twisted for a slight moment-but there was no other choice in this matter, Peter flatly refused to see anything from a different perspective other than his own. It had to be like this now.
Present Day.
Silver forks clinked noisily against dishware as a waitress flitted about the Riverview Diner with purpose and experienced ease. Greta had been working at the Riverview for close to eight years-she couldn’t imagine any other place for her to come to everyday. There was never a shortage of intriguing patrons who came through. Long-haul truckers, tourists, and the slew of regulars who seemed like they were always there yet never long enough to truly get to know beside a friendly hello and the occasional personal detail.
Greta carried an armload of plates throughout the small space. When there were only two plates left-a turn on her heel lead her to the booth in the corner. She had found out from the elder of the two men-butternut waffles, scrambled eggs with black pepper, two sausage patties, and black coffee-that they were brothers on a road trip to see the historical sites of the country. To Greta, it was refreshing to see two siblings take time out of their lives to spend some time together bonding on the open road-certainly something she’d hoped wasn’t just a dated idea.
She smiled as she set down both of their orders. The older brother leaned forward to accept his plate-a charming smile flashed while he picked up his fork. Sylar held his fork much as he did any small tool-with precision and a steady hand. Sometimes it seemed he would forever carry the habits of his former life in that dimly-lit shop. She gave the last plate over to the younger brother and noted how much more reserved he was.
“Your waffles and here is your short-stack. Can I get you any jam or boysenberry syrup for those, sweetie?”
Luke shifted and glanced up at the perky woman, gave a slight shake of his head as he went for his half-gone milkshake. A loud chuckle from Sylar as he reached over and ruffled Luke’s chestnut hair with his pale, strong fingers.
“Luke, now come on don’t be shy around Greta here. You’ll have to excuse my little brother-he gets quiet around people he doesn’t know, but I’m doing what I can to fix that.”
The boy flinched at Sylar’s hand in his hair then smirked at his ‘brother’ while Greta cackled-a very hoarse, nicotine-laced sound. She smiled and chatted with Sylar for a little bit longer.
“So where is the next stop on your trip, boys? Vermont itself has a rich history but I bet you’re onto something a little grander, am I right?”
Sylar started emptying sugar packets into his coffee as he spoke.
“Something grander…can you read minds, Greta? Because you are spot-“
He next picked up the spoon at his right side; Sylar stirred the substance into his beverage. Sweets were what could be considered Sylar’s any other vice-the man simply couldn’t get enough. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Virginia Gray would do everything she could to keep the tasty morsels of candy from her “son”. Clearly he wasn’t allowed to go out on Halloween either as it was a demon’s holiday. But now what was he? A demon on holiday-taking what he wanted, when he wanted, and he indulged in whatever whims come to him during his days and especially his nights. What else could he be after he almost single-handedly destroyed something so beautiful? When he could not save him. However, after this business with his half-brother was taken care off it was back to the single defining goal of his new life-power and getting more of it. The spoon went down again-a splotch of coffee seeped from the curved dip, and stained his napkin in the shape of a most inviting drop of blood.
“-on. We’re actually making our way to our nation’s capital…there’s so much to see there and to do. I think it will be highly educational for Luke here.”
Luke smirked and looked up from his food for a moment.
“I can’t wait to take a lot of cheesy pictures in front of the monuments and see the Declaration of Independence. It’s going to be a blast.”
His tone started with faked enthusiasm or at least Sylar knew it was faked, in all actuality the boy was talented at playing up faux excitement for the benefit of others. The last statement held a grim bemusement to it, because by “blast” it was literally meant as a blast-an explosion. The current plan for when they arrive in D.C. If they thought he was a monster worth hunting then he’d make sure they were right if it meant revenge for what he may never fully have again. Greta chuckled and smiled.
“See, he’s opening up some already. You boys let me know if you need anything else.”
She gave them each a glance then turned around and went back to the kitchen to pick up another round of orders. Sylar watched her go then turned back to the young man in the booth with him. When he turned back he saw Luke holding his hand over the ball of whipped butter on top of his stack of pancakes. The yellow mass started to bubble and turn and warm, it melted into a spreadable cream that Luke smeared all over his short-stack. Before he had his first bite in his hand he found a fork stabbed through his pancakes, Sylar gripped the handle as he looked into the boy’s eyes.
“Not….here. Use a fork to make it melt just like all of the other customers in here.”
More than a warning flashed in Sylar’s eyes as he slowly leaned back into his side of the booth again. Public shows of abilities that were not based in self-defense were not what they needed to be participating in at the moment. They were so close now-he was so close now. Luke leaned forward hand out to hover over Gabriel’s plate as they sat there.
“I may as well melt yours as well if you’re going to make small-talk with every random waitress and gas attendant we come across. She knows our names now and if they were coming for me-there has got to be posters somewhere. I don’t know about you, but I sort of enjoy not being in chains in a concrete box, Gabriel.”
Sylar lifted a dark brow at the boy’s sureness. He reached out and slowly slid his plate from underneath Luke’s hand. A quick glance behind him and he spoke softly.
“The waitress is not going to cause an issue but if you use your ability in public and some nosy concerned citizen sees it and calls us in… then you are going to become an issue yourself, Luke. Now we’re going to sit here, eat our breakfast, pay, and leave. I want to be in D.C. in the next two days. Where, I will inform you now, we will be shot at and maybe even killed trying. But then you must know that by now, experienced fugitive from the law that you are.”
He scoffed and leaned back again, smoothly grasping the fork between his thumb and index finger-the side of the utensil rested comfortably on the side of his middle finger-and he dug into his eggs. They both ate in silence for a while-well except for the occasional slurp of a vanilla milkshake when the boy had the straw between his lips again. Despite how annoying and talkative he could be at times-Sylar found himself taking a liking to Luke. He reminded him a great deal of himself when he was younger but most importantly-he wasn’t trying to play Sylar. So many others had before him-manipulated him or were disgusted by the real person he was.
Today wasn’t just a necessary pit-stop-it was Luke’s litmus test. Was Luke truly cut out for being by Sylar’s side while he did this? Would he show weakness at the worst possible moment when faced with purposeful carnage? Real blood whose scent stung the air from the second it was released from the warm housing of veins and arteries. Bodies that once lived, breathed, laughed, and loved turned into slabs of flesh and bone once they were of no further use. Could Luke handle it? As soon as Sylar was finished with his waffles-he would find out. He set his fork down and wiped his lips carefully with the napkin next to his plate.
“So you haven’t really told me why you’re doing this. Why you want to bring down Petrelli-does it have something to do with whatever ‘Mohinder’ means?”
Shards of Sylar’s coffee cup clattered onto the floor and a couple embedded themselves deeply into the vinyl of the booth seat. Hot coffee scalded Sylar’s hand and arm as he groaned; a growl escaped his bared teeth and lips while a few fellow customers got curious enough to look their way. Of course the burns blistered and popped until new skin created itself to mend over his arm. He leaned over, half-standing up over the table as he glared the boy down.
“How…do you know that name?”
Luke’s eyes were focused on watching his skin sew over and the tiny dark hairs that sprouted anew over the flesh-growing out long and once again thickly coating his fore-arm. His eyes moved to meet Gabriel’s again.
“This morning-you said it in your sleep when I was up getting a glass of water. You said ‘Mohinder, I’m sorry’ I didn’t know what it meant…”
He seethed and watched the boy carefully before he sat down again. Sylar checked his own hand back and front when he heard Greta’s voice at his side.
“Oh my…are you okay there son? Did you get burned, let me see…”
She reached for his hand but he politely stopped her with his free hand.
“It’s fine, I just made a mess of the table but I’ll get it.”
He smiled at her but it was clearly a tenser gesture than any prior grins. A wad of paper napkins crumpled in his hand as he wiped up the quickly-cooling liquid. She frowned some and nodded, Greta headed back into the kitchen to get a dish-towel to help better clean the coffee up. Sylar looked at Luke when they were alone again, a pained expression as he sighed at the thought of him. His smile, his voice, his rare honest laugh-so many things he missed and would continue to miss about the man who perished on that plane. The one he could not save. He shook it off and looked over at the boy.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
Sylar stood up smoothly, a cursory glance around the diner revealed nothing he would be worried by. No ‘concealed’ scouts or agents. But they were not going to head off and find a motel for the evening-there was work to do. He reached into his wallet and pulled out two crisp ten dollar bills and threw them down on the table. Greta really was a wonderfully capable waitress.
At the end of her shift, she slowly untied the blue and white apron from her waist, folded it over one arm and set it in her locker. Another long day but no matter anything that happened today-Greta always seemed to have a song playing in her mind that kept her going. It always brought a smile to her face when she closed her eyes and just listened to the music. It was never the same thing twice-sometimes it was a country station. Other times, it was some classical or easy listening. She hadn’t told anyone about this since it began happening because she’d heard talk from passerby in the diner about people who could do ‘things’ being of great interest to the government. Greta had no intention of her life changing in the least so she kept it to herself.
On Wednesdays, Greta was the only one to close the diner down since Fred, the line cook, always had his A.A. meetings to get to. She didn’t mind though it was something to be in a place that was usually so bustling and loud when it was dead-quiet and still. While she closed up the till, a frantic banging on the glass made her drop the keys to the register on the linoleum floor. When her head whipped up to the door-Greta saw the same kid from before…that Luke kid. She eased her breathing and moved over to the door-it unlocked easily and Luke’s wide eyes told her something was wrong.
“Oh God…Oh thank you, I-I need to use your phone, there was an accident-my brother is trapped in the car about a half mile from here. I ran the whole way, please call 911!”
Greta looked at Luke and sure enough there were some lights cuts and bruises on his forehead and cheek. His arm was all scratched up as well. Greta turned to go to the phone as Luke followed Gabriel’s plan to the last detail. His hand reached behind him and he let microwave energy melt the lock into a glob that made it impossible to unlock-didn’t even have a hole anymore and it effectively kept the door shut without the threat of budging. It’s just what Gabriel told him to do and he’d handle the rest.
When she hit the ‘call’ button on the phone-only static greeted her. Oh God, the line could not be dead right now what timing. She tried again and again, smacking the phone to her hand.
“Luke I’m sorry the line is de-“
Greta looked around the room and as if she was speaking to an apparition-Luke was gone and she was alone in the room once more. She blinked hard and glanced around quickly. Huh…she’s got to get home since she’s seeing things now. Greta bent down and scooped the keys from the floor. She moved from behind the counter and toward the back to get her things from the locker room. Before she could even get to her locker, Greta suddenly found that her legs were frozen in place. She panicked some as she thought that there was some sort of sudden muscle issue to deal with. But no, this felt entirely different and before she knew it-Greta wasn’t touching the ground anymore. No, she had started to float and then her body was flung roughly against the lockers. From the force of the impact-her vision blurred and her speech slurred before she passed out entirely. When her body remained still for a few moments-that’s when Sylar emerged from the shadows of the break-room with Luke close behind.
“Isn’t this a bit much if we’re just going to get some cash and go?”
Sylar was already crouched down on his knees at the woman’s side. He regarded her quietly, a hand out to push her hair from her forehead.
“While a theft is going to happen it’s not the kind you think. Come here, Luke.”
He motioned to his right side as he prepared to lift his hand-finger out and aimed at the right side of her forehead. Luke watched, confused but unafraid at this time. Sylar gracefully flicked his finger in a steady, familiar line across the unconscious woman’s forehead. A seam revealed itself that dripped with fresh blood as her sawed through skin and skull. While the look on Luke’s face was shock and maybe even a natural revulsion-he couldn’t help but to get in closer to watch Gabriel as he worked.
“What-what are you doing to her?
“There were times that when I did this I would think about the nature of natural selection. Survival of the fittest while the weak fell. But after what I’ve lived through and what I’ve seen over the past couple years it would seem like so much trite talk. No, this woman was going to die Luke. It just depended if it was by my hand, or the hands of President Petrelli’s men who are scheduled to visit Greta here tomorrow morning at her residence at the Cherrywood Manor apartments on Birch Street. That tough-book I’ve had with us had her name in it because Greta has no idea how special she is.”
Luke’s brow remained knit in confusion as Gabriel spoke, the blood seeped out of Greta’s wound a little more slowly than when the first cut was made.
“Okay so…you don’t want Petrelli’s men to get to her? Why couldn’t you just find some other way to kill her?”
His eyes were fixed on carefully separating the skull cap from the incision point. Fingers poised to set the discarded scalp aside. As his fingers probed and searched for the precise piece he softly spoke.
“This isn’t a mercy killing of some sort-Greta has what I need. This ability to know how things work-and that’s what my true ability is, Luke-allows for an understanding of one of the most complex systems imaginable. When I look at this woman’s brain-sift through her very core-I’m able to see it. Everything that makes her unique-special. And then I…I….hmm.”
Sylar’s own mind was reconfiguring itself to make it possible for this ability to become activated and useable. What Greta didn’t know is that the reason she always had a song in her mind was entirely practical. The reason why the type of song was always different also could be explained by the fact that she was picking up on the signals sent over the airwaves by two different radio stations. Greta had the ability to receive wireless signals. She didn’t know that not only could she pick up these signals-she could manipulate them. Any signal sent over the airwaves-radio transmissions, wireless internet communiqués-would have been at her direct attention if only she knew how to harness it.
When Sylar took her ability, he felt it almost instantly. Hundreds then thousands of messages fought their way for space in his mind. Luke watched as the man’s eyes fluttered and his blood-soaked hands slipped from the floor as Sylar leaned over to one side then flat on the ground with a pained grunt.
“Gabriel? Gabriel, wh-what are you doing?”
Luke carefully walked forward and watched as Gabriel muttered and twitched. He looked quickly over both shoulders. They needed to get out of there before someone showed up and gave them exactly the kind of attention neither needed.
“Gabriel. Seriously…”
Gabriel hadn’t moved except for the occasional twitch all while Luke spoke to him. What seemed like another life ago, when Sylar had acquired Dale Smither’s ability, he experienced excruciating head-aches. He was receiving more sensory information than one was supposed to. In this case, Sylar received such an abundance of information that was constantly changing and being sent back and forth that he had no way to stop the initial onslaught. It was simply too much for his mind to handle all at one time. He was still breathing as Luke moved and gripped his hands to drag him away from the body of the waitress. Luke cursed the entire way back to the stolen pick-up truck, and even more so when he had to try and shove Gabriel inside of it without his lanky form falling back out before he could slam the door shut. Admittedly the first time resulted in Gabriel’s leg being crushed between the door and the frame of vehicle but as Luke watched it heal, he knew that it wouldn’t even leave a mark for the morning.
Once inside of the vehicle-Luke leaned over and carefully slid Gabriel’s arm away from his jacket-pocket. His hand searched the pocket until he grasped the small silver key on a black metal 8-ball keychain. The truck started without incident as he tried to figure out where everything was on it. After he turned on the windshield wipers and not the lights-Luke corrected himself and pulled out while he thanked God that it wasn’t a stick-shift.
For a good ten minutes or so, they drove. Luke couldn’t help it as he constantly glanced over at his passenger-the man who saved his life and now had him in this world that he couldn’t possibly have conceived of weeks ago. The idea that Luke easily could have died in the motel room they met in because of what he could do but he was spared-it was impossible to put into words how that made him feel. He did however know how the sudden siren that started up behind the car made him feel.
“Oh shit….”
There was no other option, Luke pulled off to the side of the road and killed the engine. He shifted in his seat some as he quickly considered his options. But when the final boot-crunch of gravel occurred out of his window-Luke knew what had to be done. The trooper tapped on the window and asked for both license and registration. Luke looked at the man as he tried to emulate the same cool, confident charm that Gabriel used to such effect with anyone they came across.
“Officer, please…my brother had an accident and I’m just trying to get him to the hospital. I’m sorry if I was speeding, but look at him! Look at all that blood, he needs HELP!”
The officer remained calm as he clicked his flashlight on and shone it straight into the cabin of the truck. The beam moved over from Luke himself over to the body of his passenger who with his pale face and bloodied hands…
“Son, you think I don’t know bullshit when I hear it? County medical is that way.”
He pointed with his thumb in the opposite direction.
“I’m going to need you to step out of the car right now.”
Of course Luke knew that the act wouldn’t hold up-it was worth a try though. He carefully stepped out of the truck and held his hands up. Palms out as he slowly turned and set his hands behind himself so that his palms faced the highway patrol-man. From the second the first silver cuff latched onto his wrist it started to become soft. When the trooper realized that the handcuff had actually started to melt-it was too late. He screamed as he felt the intense heat-Luke gave it all he had as the man’s skin became a dripping residue that poured off his scorched bones.
When his remains were just an unrecognizable mass in semi-liquefied clothes-Luke turned back around and walked for the truck. He took a few breaths to calm himself again then started the engine up again. That wasn’t like the only other time he let his ability do such damage-that was an accident. This was premeditated, it was survival. Once more, the truck pulled away and set off down the road.
About twenty minutes later, the truck was idle in the parking lot of the Rest-A-Bit Motel and Gabriel was on the bed. Unfortunately they could only get a room with one bed-which was awkward but he’d just have to adapt to it. Gabriel was still mostly out of it as he lay there, the occasional mutter of a repeated piece of information that his brain picked up on were all that Luke listened to all night as he slept with a pillow in the small chair in the corner of the room. From his grasp of Gabriel’s hands earlier, Luke had blood on his. Until he dozed off in the chair-he studied the look of that blood on his own hands. None of it belonged to the highway patrolman-it was all the waitress’s blood. He was now fully a part of what Gabriel was doing, and he fell asleep with that thought on his mind as the blood stained the pillow under his head.
Luke was so exhausted that he didn’t even hear Sylar’s first utterance of Mohinder’s name. Flashes of sparks, twisted metal, and the ground racing to meet his falling form played through his head like they had every night since he woke up in the that hospital room a John Doe from a field. When he realized that months of his life were wasted in that stiff bed. All while the man he could have loved surely had died in the crash because Sylar couldn’t save him. It would haunt his dreams until he died but making Nathan pay for it would help ease the screams slightly. Or so he hoped.