Understanding [9/?]
Title: Understanding [9/?] - Infiltration
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: Seasons 1 & 2, and some of the online comics.
Warnings: Some language.
This Time: Sylar sneaks out in the middle of the night to do some breaking and entering.
A/N: As always, a big thank you to my beta, ladywilde80. ^_^ Love you!!
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
The shrill beeping of the alarm clock at midnight jolted Sylar from his contented slumber. He flicked the alarm off with his mind before rousing to full consciousness. He had set the volume to the lowest possible setting before he’d passed out so that only his enhanced hearing would pick up on it. To him though, it might as well have been on full blast.
Sylar pried his eyes open, drinking in the view before him and taking a few minutes to commit the sight to memory. Mohinder was sprawled peacefully on his back, deeply asleep. His face was so serene at rest. The only word Sylar could think of to describe it was angelic.
Sylar had an arm wrapped around Mohinder’s torso, silently declaring his claim on the other man. They’d both fallen asleep immediately and Sylar was immensely grateful for Mohinder’s continued unconsciousness. Not only because of his plans, which would go most smoothly with Mohinder blissfully unaware, but also because of his thoughts.
He’d had a lot of time to think during his wait the previous day. Sylar had anticipated that the conversation he would have to have with Mohinder this morning would be difficult to say the least. Now that the moment was approaching, however, he realized he had grossly underestimated that difficulty. First there was Mohinder’s strange breakdown, confession and accusations. Then there was what was currently swirling through Sylar’s mind.
He’d expected to find his lust sated. He’d hoped to have essentially fucked Mohinder out of his system, at least for a while. Lying there though, chin hooked over Mohinder’s shoulder, nose nestled in those soft curls, breathing in his exotic scent, Sylar realized that he didn’t want this moment to end.
It was absolutely terrifying.
He wanted to pull Mohinder close and wrap his arms protectively around that lovingly sculpted torso. He wanted to keep Mohinder for himself, keep him close and keep him safe.
It was a disaster.
Sylar didn’t care about anyone. Sylar lived a life on the run, caring about nothing and no one but himself. Mohinder wasn’t a part of the equation. Mohinder couldn’t be a part of the equation. He wouldn’t be.
It didn’t matter what he was feeling at right now, Sylar told himself. He wasn’t some pathetic weakling. He wasn’t controlled by his emotions. Until this moment he’d been sure he didn’t have them any longer.
Most of all, he had to do everything in his power to keep Mohinder from realizing this change. Sylar tried to tell himself that even if Mohinder found out it wouldn’t matter. Yet he couldn’t take that chance. He couldn’t risk the infinitesimally minute possibility that Mohinder could gain even the smallest bit of power over him.
Sylar had to do what he’d planned. He would get what he came for and move on.
For a while, at least.
After some careful study, Sylar determined that Mohinder was deeply enough asleep that it would take a fairly significant earthquake to wake him. Exactly what he’d hoped for. As such, Sylar felt safe in diving into Mohinder’s shower for a quick wash. When he’d finished, Sylar was pleased to note that Mohinder was still absolutely dead to the world, breathing deeply and peacefully. It meant that he wouldn’t have to take steps to ensure the doctor didn’t interfere with his plans.
Sylar stifled a yawn and gathered up his clothing. He got dressed quickly, keeping his ears trained on Mohinder’s room for even the slightest sound. Before he had followed Mohinder and Peter down to Texas, Sylar had been watching Mohinder carefully. He now knew where the Company’s New York headquarters was. He knew that Mohinder had a key card and Sylar had memorized the code he’d used to enter the building. Getting inside was going to be absurdly easy.
It only took a little digging through Mohinder’s belongings to find his swipe-card. Sylar pocketed it swiftly, reassured himself one last time that Mohinder wasn’t going to be waking up any time soon and slipped out the door.
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The power of illusion was a heady tonic. Michelle, Candice, whoever she’d been, had shown Sylar two of its uses. Sweeping landscapes were fun but not really practical. Changing one’s appearance was highly useful, but so far Sylar hadn’t had much need of that either. Instead Sylar enjoyed the more subtle variations.
The first he had initially attempted in Mohinder’s apartment a few days ago. His eidetic memory made it laughably easy to memorize the precise layout of a room. Once he had that firmly in mind he could layer a false reality on top of the real one, duplicating it exactly. The first time he’d done that it had been on a small, simple scale. He’d been lying in Mohinder’s bed and simply placed the illusion of an empty bed on top of the occupied one. Mohinder’s eyes had passed right over him, never knowing he was there. It was intoxicating. That first attempt had been an easy one and Sylar knew he was capable of so much more.
The second variation he’d tried had, so far, proven the more useful of the two. Although at first the two might seem the same, they were actually quite intrinsically different. Sylar could easily change his own appearance in whatever way suited him. The original owner of these powers had used that aspect constantly. That much was made obvious when Sylar had killed her; revealing a large, unkempt woman behind the illusion of a Barbie doll. It wasn’t the potential to appear as someone else that captured Sylar’s imagination, however. The fact that Candice had been able to disguise her true size had shown Sylar the potential for much more.
This power of illusion bent light, showing the world what the bearer wanted to be seen. Conversely, it could hide what the bearer wanted hidden. Sylar found that he could bend light around himself in such a way as to disappear completely from sight. It was like having gained two powers for the price of one, illusions and invisibility.
He’d tested it out when he’d tailed Mohinder after sparing the electric girl’s life. Even going so far as being able to tag along on Peter’s teleportation. Intoxicating didn’t even begin to describe how thrilling this ability was.
Tonight was going to be the ultimate test of its limits.
Sylar cloaked himself in his newfound invisibility as he rounded the corner and took in a seemingly run-down factory. It was, it turned out, nothing of the sort. He hadn’t yet been inside, but he’d trailed the others back here and there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. This was the Company’s New York headquarters.
Grinning to himself, Sylar walked up to the dingy looking side entrance and paused as he fished out Mohinder’s keycard. He had to remind himself before he went inside not to deviate from the plan. As much as he would like to go in with guns blazing, so to speak, it would be the wrong move. He’d planned things this way for a reason. He was entering at one o’clock in the morning when the highest ranking members would be back at their homes sleeping. Taking his revenge out on their hides would have to wait until a more opportune moment. For now they could be of much more use to him in other ways.
Sylar swiped the card and punched in the code he had watched Mohinder use just this morning.
Far too easy.
Without already having the building memorized, there was no way for Sylar to entirely disguise his movements. Security cameras would record doors opening and closing of their own accord until Sylar had gotten a good look at the room on the other side and could cover his tracks properly. It was the only flaw in his plan and one of the reasons Sylar wouldn’t relax his guard in the slightest. Despite his confidence, he was under no delusions. He was in the den of the enemy and would have to act accordingly.
He wandered up and down dim and empty hallways for a long while, getting a sense of the layout, memorizing every last detail and filing it away. He had to restrain the urge to look for the cells. He knew that there would be some here, somewhere. The Texas branch had been, quite unfortunately, well prepared to deal with someone of his power. For a short while, at least.
Sylar could only imagine what fascinating abilities he might find in the depths of this building. Unfortunately he wasn’t prepared to take the risk of bringing himself to their attention just yet, and going after any of their captives would surely set off some alarms. His next visit, however, would be considerably less restrained and he comforted himself with that knowledge, soothed his murderous impulses. He had to get what he wanted and get out. Stick to the plan.
He’d been in the building for about a quarter of an hour when he finally came across what had to be the office of someone in upper management. The placard on the door read “Bishop”.
It was absurdly easy for Sylar to flip the deadbolt lock open.
The room had all the window dressings of a successful businessman. There was expensive furniture and accents, a computer and a ton of files filling the shelves. A picture sat on the desk of a paunchy man on a fishing trip, holding up his prize catch. Sylar sneered in disgust. Oh yes, he was in the right place.
Ideally he would had loved to get into their computer system. All the information he craved, physically itched for, would be locked up in all that hardware. Unfortunately Sylar had yet to meet anyone with an ability that would help him hack inside the computer mainframe. He wasn’t computer illiterate, but everything important was bound to be buried beneath layer upon layer of security.
Sylar hoped this wouldn’t be a problem. There were bound to be paper records of some sort, especially files on their more recent cases. If he was lucky the information he was searching for wouldn’t be protected by more than a lock or two. Locks were definitely not a problem, locks were easy. When his eyes fell upon the rows of neatly labeled white boxes stacked across one wall of the office Sylar was instantly suspicious. It couldn’t possibly be that simple.
He went to the first file box, labeled Paula Gramble, and plucked it off the shelf. He didn’t even have to open it to know it was empty. Still, he took a peek inside, just in case, and only confirmed his original assessment. Sylar slid the box back with a small frown and considered the row of shelves. Why the deception? Surely there had to be a reason. Even if they didn’t trust their own employees, there wouldn’t be a need for it.
The only conclusion Sylar could draw was that they were hiding something else.
The white boxes flew out of the way, coming to rest off to the side, revealing the bare wall behind. Sylar peered closely at the wall for several long moments, searching for anything at all out of place. He wished he had his glasses with him to help make out the finer details. Finding someone with enhanced vision would be handy to say the least.
Sylar caressed the paneling carefully, brushing his fingers lightly over it, searching for the tiniest imperfection. He’d covered almost the entire surface when he finally found it: the slightest, almost imperceptible flaw. Sylar took a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides. Reaching out with his mind he pushed, gently, not wanting to do it with his hands just in case it was booby-trapped in some way. Sylar wasn’t taking any chances.
A small square of wood paneling slid backwards into the wall, just a centimeter deep. Sylar’s enhanced hearing picked up a grating noise as a double-door sized section of the wall slid backwards before splitting down the middle and sliding off to the sides like a pair of elevator doors. Sylar heard the door to the office locking and spared a glance in that direction. Clearly Mr. Bishop didn’t want to be disturbed when he opened this compartment. Sylar wondered idly if the blinds would have closed automatically too if they weren’t already, but quickly pulled his thoughts back to more important matters.
At first there was nothing to see in the secret room but an inky blackness. Then the doors slid to a stop and a set of overhead lights flickered on. Sylar grinned in pleasure. The room wasn’t too big, really just a large closet, but it was filled predominantly with what looked like very secure filing cabinets and one section of what appeared to be safety deposit boxes.
Sylar strode in, looking everything over at first without touching it. The filing cabinets were organized alphabetically and the lock boxes were numbered. Sylar tapped the first cabinet with a knuckle, listening to the reverberations. It sounded sturdy, probably fireproof and secured against most normal infiltration methods. Sylar could easily rip the drawers open with his telekinesis but the less these people knew about what he’d gotten access to, the happier Sylar would be. So instead he rapped on the cabinet in several different locations, using his enhanced hearing to pick up on the echoes, getting a sense for how the mechanism was set up. It took several more taps, a handful of attempts and some mild frustration, but Sylar finally figured the mechanism out and managed to turn the lock over with his mind.
Success!
He eagerly slid the drawer open and started sifting through the files, committing the list of names to memory. Most of the files were fairly thin and Sylar didn’t waste the time to look too closely at them. If he had time he’d come back and give them all a more thorough look.
It didn’t take long to find the first file he was hoping to discover: his own. It was neatly labeled Gabriel “Sylar” Gray and Sylar allowed himself a moment of pleasure to note that his case file was considerably thicker than the others. It was more delightful proof that he was more important, more special than anyone else.
He slipped the file out of the drawer and flipped through it quickly. It was filled with what various accounts of his history they’d managed to gather together as well as a dozen or so newspaper clippings from his murder spree. Most of the folder, however, was filled with various medical reports. The first looked like the original copies of various documents and forms from when he’d been held in Texas and experimented on. He felt a rising murderous rage at the mere memory but pushed it back down. Not now, not yet. The rest of the medical reports detailed the events after he’d crawled out of Kirby Plaza, information that Sylar was much more interested in.
The most fascinating part of his file, however, was the small tag with a reference number attached to it. Sylar frowned at it for a moment before peering over at the numbered boxes. Sure enough, one of the boxes had the same number as the tag in his file.
Sylar set the folder down for a moment and moved over to box number 17. It took a few minutes to figure out the different locking system but Sylar worked it out easily enough. He pulled the small door open and peered inside.
There was just one small package sitting near the back of the shelf and Sylar slid it out with great care. A small lump formed in his throat as he opened it up and an old friend fell out into his hand. The Sylar watch; its face still broken and its hands still stuck at seven minutes to midnight. It was almost like seeing a ghost.
A small part of Sylar’s mind wondered what it was doing here in New York when it had been taken from him back in Texas. He couldn’t concentrate on those thoughts at present though. He slipped the watch fondly back onto his wrist, thinking of everything it symbolized. He didn’t think he’d be able to wear it around Mohinder. The questions that might arise were ones he didn’t currently have the patience to deal with, but for now the watch was a comforting, familiar weight on his wrist.
It took a great amount of effort to move on with his search.
Sylar moved down the alphabet, keeping an eye out for any Asian sounding names. It was quite the pleasure to be able to add all these names to his mental list, but it was the kid with his fucking samurai sword that Sylar was really after. He was on the top of Sylar’s hit list. Well, right after Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet. Peter was, unfortunately, temporarily off-limits. Claire’s power was the most tempting, but it could wait a little while longer. There were far too many obstacles along that path at the moment.
Sylar closed the drawer he’d been working on and moved down to the next. He’d only just glanced inside when his jaw dropped. This drawer was astonishingly different from all the rest. A whole half of it was dedicated to what, impossibly, seemed to be just one man named Adam Monroe.
Sylar instantly wanted to rip him in two.
A scowl etched on his face, Sylar pulled out the first of many files and started reading. It didn’t take very long for Sylar’s expression to change from one of anger to one of amazement. This Adam had the same ability as the Bennet girl; and what was more, he was supposed to be somewhere around 400 years old.
400 years old!
Sylar’s mind spun with the possibilities. It certainly explained the size of the file. A quick perusal showed a trail of information that went further and further back in time. The last few documents were written in an Asiatic script and were complete gibberish to Sylar, but that didn’t matter. Four hundred years walking this earth. The things Sylar could do with immortality. He hadn’t even considered that the Cheerleader’s abilities might mean eternal life. Somehow he’d never imagined that it might prevent aging entirely, but the small photo attached to the file was proof of that.
Sylar devoured the most recent information on this Adam greedily. Escaped from Company custody with the help of one Peter Petrelli. Now that was an interesting tidbit. What had Petrelli been doing with the Company? It would make sense that they would want to keep him under lock and key. A man that was unstable enough to go nuclear and wipe out half of New York would definitely be seen as a threat. The question was how Peter had ended up in the Company’s clutches.
Sylar shook the thoughts away, now was not the time. He went back to reading the file.
Last seen at the Primatech Paper vault in Odessa Texas. Subject stormed the plant with the help of Peter Petrelli and broke into the vault. The two were intercepted by three other persons of interest: Matthew Parkman, Nathan Petrelli and Hiro Nakamura. Nakamura teleported himself and Monroe out of the vault. Current whereabouts unknown.
Hiro Nakamura. Oriental name and the ability to teleport. Now he had a name to go with the face. Better still, Nakamura could possibly lead him to this Adam Monroe. Killing Bennet’s daughter would be sweet revenge against the man who had tortured him, but if he could get his hands on that wonderful ability without having to deal with Petrelli, well he’d be an idiot to pass up the chance.
Sylar slid the files back into place and skipped forward a few names to Hiro Nakamura. A feral grin spread across his face. He now had a home address and place of employment, everything Sylar would need to track the sword-wielding asshole down. The details on his ability were sketchy. Reports of teleportation, theorizing that he could fold space and -Sylar’s eyes swam with sudden hunger- the possibility that he could manipulate time as well. They weren’t certain, but Sylar could find out for himself when he had Nakamura’s brain in his hands.
Satisfied, Sylar slipped Hiro’s file back into its place. The watch on his wrist was broken and he didn’t have another, but Sylar’s a fantastically precise internal clock told him that he’d been in the bowels of the beast for over an hour now. As much as he would love to stay, he had what he’d come for and the longer he lingered the greater the chance that someone would catch on to his presence.
With great reluctance he slid the drawers shut, locking them back up with his mind. They would know he’d been here once they discovered what was missing, but the less they knew about what he’d seen and done the better. Knowledge was a powerful weapon and Sylar didn’t intend to arm his enemies if he could help it.
Sylar plucked his own file back off the top of the cabinet where he’d left it. They were bound to have electronic copies of the information inside the file, but his intent wasn’t to deprive the organization of the information. Instead, he wanted to know exactly what they’d done to him. If they hadn’t been smart enough to keep copies of all the information within the thick folder, all the better.
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The man once known as Takezo Kensei, though more recently known as Adam Monroe, was drowning in agony. Starvation and oxygen deprivation were two of the worst deaths imaginable and Adam could only wish they had stayed in his imagination. He’d died more times from oxygen deprivation in this hell-hole then he could count. His lungs constantly burned and his stomach had all but wrapped around his spine.
The splatters of blood he knew stained the ripped silk he was entombed in were evidence of his weaker moments when he’d thrashed and clawed at the walls of his prison, desperate for escape. He had even managed to crack his own head open once. Now he had a pool of dried blood on the pillow making the back of his head itch to add to his long list of complaints.
Hiro Nakamura was going to pay and pay dearly when he escaped from this dark abyss of horror. Adam had already known the man to be a vile, thieving scoundrel, but now he knew the full the extent of his old friend’s cruelty. Cruelty he intended to pay back a hundred fold. He could only hope that he got to administer that pain himself, and that the virus didn’t get to Hiro before Adam could.
Sometimes, when it all became too much but he hadn’t completely lost grip on his sanity, Adam would pull out of himself and imagine the world above. He had to admit that there was a chance, however small, that Peter had wised up in time to stop the vial from hitting the ground and releasing his divine justice, his purge of the unworthy. But Peter was a sentimental fool, easily deceived, and Adam amused himself by picturing death, chaos and destruction raining down on the world above.
Fear always brought out the worst in people.
No matter how arduous or torturous this existence was, Adam never lost that shred of hope, the last shard of his sanity. He would be rescued, eventually. His latest wife, perhaps the last and greatest of them all, would find him eventually. Of this he had no doubt. How long it would take, well that was another story.
Only one of his previous wives had accepted him for who he truly was. She had lived out her entire life with him, helping to conceal the fact that he never aged. Those had been some of the best years of his life and he’d mourned her passing for a long time afterwards. Those memories were one of his very few small comforts as he suffered in his tiny prison.
Adam had 400 years worth of memories and experiences, both good and bad. This was by far the worst. He’d died many times over his long life. He’d gotten into some rough situations and had even spent the last 30 years locked away in a concrete cage. It all paled in comparison to this. For all Adam knew he hadn’t even been trapped in this coffin for very long, but it was more than long enough for him to have wished more than once that death would take him permanently into its sweet embrace. Constant agony will do that to you.
It was only the thought of Patricia that managed to drive the despair away. Patricia who hadn’t even known him that long, but he knew she would never abandon him to this fate. She knew how badly things could go wrong if he’d miscalculated in his plans even slightly. She knew he might end up back in the hands of the Company, his Company. Scum of the earth! Vile betrayers, weak hearted fools and soft minded imbeciles! Death hadn’t been punishment enough for those traitors.
Patricia wouldn’t abandon him. She knew that only the worst could keep him out of contact for more than a day or two and she was prepared for the worst. They had made plans while Petrelli was off playing amnesiac in Ireland. Finding him here, buried deep underground in a Japanese graveyard would be tricky, but she would do it. She simply had to.
Part 10
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: Seasons 1 & 2, and some of the online comics.
Warnings: Some language.
This Time: Sylar sneaks out in the middle of the night to do some breaking and entering.
A/N: As always, a big thank you to my beta, ladywilde80. ^_^ Love you!!
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
The shrill beeping of the alarm clock at midnight jolted Sylar from his contented slumber. He flicked the alarm off with his mind before rousing to full consciousness. He had set the volume to the lowest possible setting before he’d passed out so that only his enhanced hearing would pick up on it. To him though, it might as well have been on full blast.
Sylar pried his eyes open, drinking in the view before him and taking a few minutes to commit the sight to memory. Mohinder was sprawled peacefully on his back, deeply asleep. His face was so serene at rest. The only word Sylar could think of to describe it was angelic.
Sylar had an arm wrapped around Mohinder’s torso, silently declaring his claim on the other man. They’d both fallen asleep immediately and Sylar was immensely grateful for Mohinder’s continued unconsciousness. Not only because of his plans, which would go most smoothly with Mohinder blissfully unaware, but also because of his thoughts.
He’d had a lot of time to think during his wait the previous day. Sylar had anticipated that the conversation he would have to have with Mohinder this morning would be difficult to say the least. Now that the moment was approaching, however, he realized he had grossly underestimated that difficulty. First there was Mohinder’s strange breakdown, confession and accusations. Then there was what was currently swirling through Sylar’s mind.
He’d expected to find his lust sated. He’d hoped to have essentially fucked Mohinder out of his system, at least for a while. Lying there though, chin hooked over Mohinder’s shoulder, nose nestled in those soft curls, breathing in his exotic scent, Sylar realized that he didn’t want this moment to end.
It was absolutely terrifying.
He wanted to pull Mohinder close and wrap his arms protectively around that lovingly sculpted torso. He wanted to keep Mohinder for himself, keep him close and keep him safe.
It was a disaster.
Sylar didn’t care about anyone. Sylar lived a life on the run, caring about nothing and no one but himself. Mohinder wasn’t a part of the equation. Mohinder couldn’t be a part of the equation. He wouldn’t be.
It didn’t matter what he was feeling at right now, Sylar told himself. He wasn’t some pathetic weakling. He wasn’t controlled by his emotions. Until this moment he’d been sure he didn’t have them any longer.
Most of all, he had to do everything in his power to keep Mohinder from realizing this change. Sylar tried to tell himself that even if Mohinder found out it wouldn’t matter. Yet he couldn’t take that chance. He couldn’t risk the infinitesimally minute possibility that Mohinder could gain even the smallest bit of power over him.
Sylar had to do what he’d planned. He would get what he came for and move on.
For a while, at least.
After some careful study, Sylar determined that Mohinder was deeply enough asleep that it would take a fairly significant earthquake to wake him. Exactly what he’d hoped for. As such, Sylar felt safe in diving into Mohinder’s shower for a quick wash. When he’d finished, Sylar was pleased to note that Mohinder was still absolutely dead to the world, breathing deeply and peacefully. It meant that he wouldn’t have to take steps to ensure the doctor didn’t interfere with his plans.
Sylar stifled a yawn and gathered up his clothing. He got dressed quickly, keeping his ears trained on Mohinder’s room for even the slightest sound. Before he had followed Mohinder and Peter down to Texas, Sylar had been watching Mohinder carefully. He now knew where the Company’s New York headquarters was. He knew that Mohinder had a key card and Sylar had memorized the code he’d used to enter the building. Getting inside was going to be absurdly easy.
It only took a little digging through Mohinder’s belongings to find his swipe-card. Sylar pocketed it swiftly, reassured himself one last time that Mohinder wasn’t going to be waking up any time soon and slipped out the door.
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The power of illusion was a heady tonic. Michelle, Candice, whoever she’d been, had shown Sylar two of its uses. Sweeping landscapes were fun but not really practical. Changing one’s appearance was highly useful, but so far Sylar hadn’t had much need of that either. Instead Sylar enjoyed the more subtle variations.
The first he had initially attempted in Mohinder’s apartment a few days ago. His eidetic memory made it laughably easy to memorize the precise layout of a room. Once he had that firmly in mind he could layer a false reality on top of the real one, duplicating it exactly. The first time he’d done that it had been on a small, simple scale. He’d been lying in Mohinder’s bed and simply placed the illusion of an empty bed on top of the occupied one. Mohinder’s eyes had passed right over him, never knowing he was there. It was intoxicating. That first attempt had been an easy one and Sylar knew he was capable of so much more.
The second variation he’d tried had, so far, proven the more useful of the two. Although at first the two might seem the same, they were actually quite intrinsically different. Sylar could easily change his own appearance in whatever way suited him. The original owner of these powers had used that aspect constantly. That much was made obvious when Sylar had killed her; revealing a large, unkempt woman behind the illusion of a Barbie doll. It wasn’t the potential to appear as someone else that captured Sylar’s imagination, however. The fact that Candice had been able to disguise her true size had shown Sylar the potential for much more.
This power of illusion bent light, showing the world what the bearer wanted to be seen. Conversely, it could hide what the bearer wanted hidden. Sylar found that he could bend light around himself in such a way as to disappear completely from sight. It was like having gained two powers for the price of one, illusions and invisibility.
He’d tested it out when he’d tailed Mohinder after sparing the electric girl’s life. Even going so far as being able to tag along on Peter’s teleportation. Intoxicating didn’t even begin to describe how thrilling this ability was.
Tonight was going to be the ultimate test of its limits.
Sylar cloaked himself in his newfound invisibility as he rounded the corner and took in a seemingly run-down factory. It was, it turned out, nothing of the sort. He hadn’t yet been inside, but he’d trailed the others back here and there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. This was the Company’s New York headquarters.
Grinning to himself, Sylar walked up to the dingy looking side entrance and paused as he fished out Mohinder’s keycard. He had to remind himself before he went inside not to deviate from the plan. As much as he would like to go in with guns blazing, so to speak, it would be the wrong move. He’d planned things this way for a reason. He was entering at one o’clock in the morning when the highest ranking members would be back at their homes sleeping. Taking his revenge out on their hides would have to wait until a more opportune moment. For now they could be of much more use to him in other ways.
Sylar swiped the card and punched in the code he had watched Mohinder use just this morning.
Far too easy.
Without already having the building memorized, there was no way for Sylar to entirely disguise his movements. Security cameras would record doors opening and closing of their own accord until Sylar had gotten a good look at the room on the other side and could cover his tracks properly. It was the only flaw in his plan and one of the reasons Sylar wouldn’t relax his guard in the slightest. Despite his confidence, he was under no delusions. He was in the den of the enemy and would have to act accordingly.
He wandered up and down dim and empty hallways for a long while, getting a sense of the layout, memorizing every last detail and filing it away. He had to restrain the urge to look for the cells. He knew that there would be some here, somewhere. The Texas branch had been, quite unfortunately, well prepared to deal with someone of his power. For a short while, at least.
Sylar could only imagine what fascinating abilities he might find in the depths of this building. Unfortunately he wasn’t prepared to take the risk of bringing himself to their attention just yet, and going after any of their captives would surely set off some alarms. His next visit, however, would be considerably less restrained and he comforted himself with that knowledge, soothed his murderous impulses. He had to get what he wanted and get out. Stick to the plan.
He’d been in the building for about a quarter of an hour when he finally came across what had to be the office of someone in upper management. The placard on the door read “Bishop”.
It was absurdly easy for Sylar to flip the deadbolt lock open.
The room had all the window dressings of a successful businessman. There was expensive furniture and accents, a computer and a ton of files filling the shelves. A picture sat on the desk of a paunchy man on a fishing trip, holding up his prize catch. Sylar sneered in disgust. Oh yes, he was in the right place.
Ideally he would had loved to get into their computer system. All the information he craved, physically itched for, would be locked up in all that hardware. Unfortunately Sylar had yet to meet anyone with an ability that would help him hack inside the computer mainframe. He wasn’t computer illiterate, but everything important was bound to be buried beneath layer upon layer of security.
Sylar hoped this wouldn’t be a problem. There were bound to be paper records of some sort, especially files on their more recent cases. If he was lucky the information he was searching for wouldn’t be protected by more than a lock or two. Locks were definitely not a problem, locks were easy. When his eyes fell upon the rows of neatly labeled white boxes stacked across one wall of the office Sylar was instantly suspicious. It couldn’t possibly be that simple.
He went to the first file box, labeled Paula Gramble, and plucked it off the shelf. He didn’t even have to open it to know it was empty. Still, he took a peek inside, just in case, and only confirmed his original assessment. Sylar slid the box back with a small frown and considered the row of shelves. Why the deception? Surely there had to be a reason. Even if they didn’t trust their own employees, there wouldn’t be a need for it.
The only conclusion Sylar could draw was that they were hiding something else.
The white boxes flew out of the way, coming to rest off to the side, revealing the bare wall behind. Sylar peered closely at the wall for several long moments, searching for anything at all out of place. He wished he had his glasses with him to help make out the finer details. Finding someone with enhanced vision would be handy to say the least.
Sylar caressed the paneling carefully, brushing his fingers lightly over it, searching for the tiniest imperfection. He’d covered almost the entire surface when he finally found it: the slightest, almost imperceptible flaw. Sylar took a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides. Reaching out with his mind he pushed, gently, not wanting to do it with his hands just in case it was booby-trapped in some way. Sylar wasn’t taking any chances.
A small square of wood paneling slid backwards into the wall, just a centimeter deep. Sylar’s enhanced hearing picked up a grating noise as a double-door sized section of the wall slid backwards before splitting down the middle and sliding off to the sides like a pair of elevator doors. Sylar heard the door to the office locking and spared a glance in that direction. Clearly Mr. Bishop didn’t want to be disturbed when he opened this compartment. Sylar wondered idly if the blinds would have closed automatically too if they weren’t already, but quickly pulled his thoughts back to more important matters.
At first there was nothing to see in the secret room but an inky blackness. Then the doors slid to a stop and a set of overhead lights flickered on. Sylar grinned in pleasure. The room wasn’t too big, really just a large closet, but it was filled predominantly with what looked like very secure filing cabinets and one section of what appeared to be safety deposit boxes.
Sylar strode in, looking everything over at first without touching it. The filing cabinets were organized alphabetically and the lock boxes were numbered. Sylar tapped the first cabinet with a knuckle, listening to the reverberations. It sounded sturdy, probably fireproof and secured against most normal infiltration methods. Sylar could easily rip the drawers open with his telekinesis but the less these people knew about what he’d gotten access to, the happier Sylar would be. So instead he rapped on the cabinet in several different locations, using his enhanced hearing to pick up on the echoes, getting a sense for how the mechanism was set up. It took several more taps, a handful of attempts and some mild frustration, but Sylar finally figured the mechanism out and managed to turn the lock over with his mind.
Success!
He eagerly slid the drawer open and started sifting through the files, committing the list of names to memory. Most of the files were fairly thin and Sylar didn’t waste the time to look too closely at them. If he had time he’d come back and give them all a more thorough look.
It didn’t take long to find the first file he was hoping to discover: his own. It was neatly labeled Gabriel “Sylar” Gray and Sylar allowed himself a moment of pleasure to note that his case file was considerably thicker than the others. It was more delightful proof that he was more important, more special than anyone else.
He slipped the file out of the drawer and flipped through it quickly. It was filled with what various accounts of his history they’d managed to gather together as well as a dozen or so newspaper clippings from his murder spree. Most of the folder, however, was filled with various medical reports. The first looked like the original copies of various documents and forms from when he’d been held in Texas and experimented on. He felt a rising murderous rage at the mere memory but pushed it back down. Not now, not yet. The rest of the medical reports detailed the events after he’d crawled out of Kirby Plaza, information that Sylar was much more interested in.
The most fascinating part of his file, however, was the small tag with a reference number attached to it. Sylar frowned at it for a moment before peering over at the numbered boxes. Sure enough, one of the boxes had the same number as the tag in his file.
Sylar set the folder down for a moment and moved over to box number 17. It took a few minutes to figure out the different locking system but Sylar worked it out easily enough. He pulled the small door open and peered inside.
There was just one small package sitting near the back of the shelf and Sylar slid it out with great care. A small lump formed in his throat as he opened it up and an old friend fell out into his hand. The Sylar watch; its face still broken and its hands still stuck at seven minutes to midnight. It was almost like seeing a ghost.
A small part of Sylar’s mind wondered what it was doing here in New York when it had been taken from him back in Texas. He couldn’t concentrate on those thoughts at present though. He slipped the watch fondly back onto his wrist, thinking of everything it symbolized. He didn’t think he’d be able to wear it around Mohinder. The questions that might arise were ones he didn’t currently have the patience to deal with, but for now the watch was a comforting, familiar weight on his wrist.
It took a great amount of effort to move on with his search.
Sylar moved down the alphabet, keeping an eye out for any Asian sounding names. It was quite the pleasure to be able to add all these names to his mental list, but it was the kid with his fucking samurai sword that Sylar was really after. He was on the top of Sylar’s hit list. Well, right after Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet. Peter was, unfortunately, temporarily off-limits. Claire’s power was the most tempting, but it could wait a little while longer. There were far too many obstacles along that path at the moment.
Sylar closed the drawer he’d been working on and moved down to the next. He’d only just glanced inside when his jaw dropped. This drawer was astonishingly different from all the rest. A whole half of it was dedicated to what, impossibly, seemed to be just one man named Adam Monroe.
Sylar instantly wanted to rip him in two.
A scowl etched on his face, Sylar pulled out the first of many files and started reading. It didn’t take very long for Sylar’s expression to change from one of anger to one of amazement. This Adam had the same ability as the Bennet girl; and what was more, he was supposed to be somewhere around 400 years old.
400 years old!
Sylar’s mind spun with the possibilities. It certainly explained the size of the file. A quick perusal showed a trail of information that went further and further back in time. The last few documents were written in an Asiatic script and were complete gibberish to Sylar, but that didn’t matter. Four hundred years walking this earth. The things Sylar could do with immortality. He hadn’t even considered that the Cheerleader’s abilities might mean eternal life. Somehow he’d never imagined that it might prevent aging entirely, but the small photo attached to the file was proof of that.
Sylar devoured the most recent information on this Adam greedily. Escaped from Company custody with the help of one Peter Petrelli. Now that was an interesting tidbit. What had Petrelli been doing with the Company? It would make sense that they would want to keep him under lock and key. A man that was unstable enough to go nuclear and wipe out half of New York would definitely be seen as a threat. The question was how Peter had ended up in the Company’s clutches.
Sylar shook the thoughts away, now was not the time. He went back to reading the file.
Last seen at the Primatech Paper vault in Odessa Texas. Subject stormed the plant with the help of Peter Petrelli and broke into the vault. The two were intercepted by three other persons of interest: Matthew Parkman, Nathan Petrelli and Hiro Nakamura. Nakamura teleported himself and Monroe out of the vault. Current whereabouts unknown.
Hiro Nakamura. Oriental name and the ability to teleport. Now he had a name to go with the face. Better still, Nakamura could possibly lead him to this Adam Monroe. Killing Bennet’s daughter would be sweet revenge against the man who had tortured him, but if he could get his hands on that wonderful ability without having to deal with Petrelli, well he’d be an idiot to pass up the chance.
Sylar slid the files back into place and skipped forward a few names to Hiro Nakamura. A feral grin spread across his face. He now had a home address and place of employment, everything Sylar would need to track the sword-wielding asshole down. The details on his ability were sketchy. Reports of teleportation, theorizing that he could fold space and -Sylar’s eyes swam with sudden hunger- the possibility that he could manipulate time as well. They weren’t certain, but Sylar could find out for himself when he had Nakamura’s brain in his hands.
Satisfied, Sylar slipped Hiro’s file back into its place. The watch on his wrist was broken and he didn’t have another, but Sylar’s a fantastically precise internal clock told him that he’d been in the bowels of the beast for over an hour now. As much as he would love to stay, he had what he’d come for and the longer he lingered the greater the chance that someone would catch on to his presence.
With great reluctance he slid the drawers shut, locking them back up with his mind. They would know he’d been here once they discovered what was missing, but the less they knew about what he’d seen and done the better. Knowledge was a powerful weapon and Sylar didn’t intend to arm his enemies if he could help it.
Sylar plucked his own file back off the top of the cabinet where he’d left it. They were bound to have electronic copies of the information inside the file, but his intent wasn’t to deprive the organization of the information. Instead, he wanted to know exactly what they’d done to him. If they hadn’t been smart enough to keep copies of all the information within the thick folder, all the better.
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The man once known as Takezo Kensei, though more recently known as Adam Monroe, was drowning in agony. Starvation and oxygen deprivation were two of the worst deaths imaginable and Adam could only wish they had stayed in his imagination. He’d died more times from oxygen deprivation in this hell-hole then he could count. His lungs constantly burned and his stomach had all but wrapped around his spine.
The splatters of blood he knew stained the ripped silk he was entombed in were evidence of his weaker moments when he’d thrashed and clawed at the walls of his prison, desperate for escape. He had even managed to crack his own head open once. Now he had a pool of dried blood on the pillow making the back of his head itch to add to his long list of complaints.
Hiro Nakamura was going to pay and pay dearly when he escaped from this dark abyss of horror. Adam had already known the man to be a vile, thieving scoundrel, but now he knew the full the extent of his old friend’s cruelty. Cruelty he intended to pay back a hundred fold. He could only hope that he got to administer that pain himself, and that the virus didn’t get to Hiro before Adam could.
Sometimes, when it all became too much but he hadn’t completely lost grip on his sanity, Adam would pull out of himself and imagine the world above. He had to admit that there was a chance, however small, that Peter had wised up in time to stop the vial from hitting the ground and releasing his divine justice, his purge of the unworthy. But Peter was a sentimental fool, easily deceived, and Adam amused himself by picturing death, chaos and destruction raining down on the world above.
Fear always brought out the worst in people.
No matter how arduous or torturous this existence was, Adam never lost that shred of hope, the last shard of his sanity. He would be rescued, eventually. His latest wife, perhaps the last and greatest of them all, would find him eventually. Of this he had no doubt. How long it would take, well that was another story.
Only one of his previous wives had accepted him for who he truly was. She had lived out her entire life with him, helping to conceal the fact that he never aged. Those had been some of the best years of his life and he’d mourned her passing for a long time afterwards. Those memories were one of his very few small comforts as he suffered in his tiny prison.
Adam had 400 years worth of memories and experiences, both good and bad. This was by far the worst. He’d died many times over his long life. He’d gotten into some rough situations and had even spent the last 30 years locked away in a concrete cage. It all paled in comparison to this. For all Adam knew he hadn’t even been trapped in this coffin for very long, but it was more than long enough for him to have wished more than once that death would take him permanently into its sweet embrace. Constant agony will do that to you.
It was only the thought of Patricia that managed to drive the despair away. Patricia who hadn’t even known him that long, but he knew she would never abandon him to this fate. She knew how badly things could go wrong if he’d miscalculated in his plans even slightly. She knew he might end up back in the hands of the Company, his Company. Scum of the earth! Vile betrayers, weak hearted fools and soft minded imbeciles! Death hadn’t been punishment enough for those traitors.
Patricia wouldn’t abandon him. She knew that only the worst could keep him out of contact for more than a day or two and she was prepared for the worst. They had made plans while Petrelli was off playing amnesiac in Ireland. Finding him here, buried deep underground in a Japanese graveyard would be tricky, but she would do it. She simply had to.
Part 10