heroslayer | the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

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the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

He doesn't like this.

Sylar knows he needs help if he's going to take on Parkman and Petrelli -- he might be smarter than both of them, but they're better armed, and he's never been good at fighting on two fronts -- but people don't just offer people like him help without a catch. Arthur's going to want something from him in return, and as good as he usually is about repaying kindness where kindness is offered, he likes to do it on his own terms. He wants to be the one who decides what and when people get something out of him, not have a debt held over his head, and he knows that's how it's going to go with Arthur. The Petrelli patriarch's already tried it, feeding him some bullshit story about how he's his son to him over the phone to try and make him feel obligated, and he doesn't owe him a damn thing yet. It can only get worse from here on out, he figures, and it's not like he can't find Suresh on his own. He's done it before, biding his time until the heroes let their guard down and move on to more important things, and he's got all the time in the world to wait now. They don't.

Unfortunately, however, neither does Suresh and as angry as he is, he's not too keen on waiting to reclaim what's his and what should belong to him, and that probably explains why, against his better judgement, he gets out of the car and stalks up to the building. If this goes badly, he'll just kill Arthur and go his own way. He makes a show of making sure Arthur knows that's in the cards, too, blowing the door off the hinges as he reaches it in a disturbing display of power. Arthur told him not to kill anyone on his way up here, and he didn't, but he never said he couldn't wreck his little house of cards when he got here.

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Arthur stands with his back to Sylar. He's been having a discussion with the other people in the room. Sylar will recognize most of them. The blonde speedster is here. So is Knox and Flint. Both are on edge, both have their awarenesses up. The fourth Sylar might not recognize, but Arthur will introduce his 'son' to Maury in due time.

"It's all right," he says, lifting a glass from the desk, whiskey his poison as much as it is for his eldest. "Everyone. This is my son, Gabriel."

"It's Sylar, actually," he corrects, his tone conversational and so saccharine sweet there's no way he's being genuinely genial. "You know. That psychopath who's spent the last year and some change killing people like you."

He takes a sweeping look around the room, his eyes dark and needy. He doesn't plan on killing any of them -- not yet, not until they piss him off or refuse him help -- but he wants them afraid. It'll help with his temper, as out of control as it still is at the moment, and he doesn't want them to think they can just push him around because he's the boss's "son".

Arthur's eyebrows shoot upwards as he half-smiles and takes a sip of his drink. He's not afraid of Sylar, that much is certain just by looking at him. The rest of those fathered, however, look prickly. Their hearts thump audibly in their chests even though none possess what Dale, and then Sylar, had.

The reason for this is simple. Maury has crafted a place for them all, the telepath forcing them all inside of Arthur's mind. It gives him control over this place, and control over Sylar's abilities to harm anyone until they've had a chance to talk. There will be time enough to have a snack, for them both, later.

"Sylar then. Gabriel was your mother's idea. I wanted a Junior. Denied three times."

He ignores Arthur, the smile sliding from his face only to be replaced by a look of interest. He shouldn't be able to hear their fear, but he can, and as much as he'd like to believe otherwise, that the powers he'd gathered before the Shanti Virus are slowly returning to him, he knows that's not possible. Something is wrong here and as powerful as Maury is -- more practiced than even his son -- he can't put his finger on what. He just knows that this isn't right. It's not enough to scare him, his rage still much too strong for that, but it is enough to make him tense, readying himself for whatever attack might be coming.

He looks back to Arthur, pressing his lips into a thin line. "What're you doing to me?"

Arthur laughs, truly delighted. He sets down his drink and puts his hand between Sylar's shoulder blades, guiding him towards the window at the back of his office. The others sort of clustered around the broken door.

"You're in my mind, son. You're fine, but you've proven to be a bit unstable in the past and I'm just trying to protect my investment. Those men and women back there? You'll love them, I promise. But first you have questions. Let's consider this the interview. Take a seat."

"You've got a telepath on the payroll." He doesn't peg Arthur as a telepath himself -- his ability feels (sounds) different than that from what he can understand from just studying him. Either way, though, he doesn't look happy. He had no great love for telepaths before and after what Matt did to him, his hate has only strengthened.

He moves away from Arthur to lean over the back of the chair on the other side of his desk, pointedly not sitting down just to spite him. "So, where am I really? In the lobby? Still down in my car?"

After a small shrug, Arthur gestures toward the large, pudgy man in the corner, the oldest out of the four by the door. "Maury Parkman. I believe you know his son Matthew? He'd be a bit older than you. Nearly the same ability, but that tends to happen. I'm not all that 'hip' to the proper way to describe it, but it has something to do with paternal DNA. You, Peter and I share very similar abilities as well. And you're in the elevator actually." He chuckles, picking up his drink once more. Sylar doesn't have to sit. His father will.

"Elevator," he repeats. That's good to know. If he needs to try and get out of this in a hurry, knowing where he is in reality should help him to find the seams of this illusion. "Right."

He glances back at Maury, then returns his attentions to Arthur. "If your ability's similiar to mine, why bother bringing me in? You want something from me, right? My price for you helping me get to Peter and Matt. So, why bother when you can probably just do whatever it is you want yourself? And what stops dear ol' dad back there -- " Another look back at Maury. " -- from telling either of us that his son's off limits?"

"There's a plan, son. A plan that's been in motion since before you were born. We've gone off course here and there it seems. And quite a lot of that is my fault."

He ticks his fingers against the glass.

"I don't need you, Gabriel. You'll forgive your old man for using that name?" He sighs as if this, all of this, is such a burden. "Your mother had one of her dreams when you were born. She saw what you'd become. I was almost too late. By the time I got upstairs, you were at the bottom of the bath tub. I gave you to Virginia to care for. A good woman. Perhaps too selfish. When you came more fully into your powers, just about the time my youngest did as well, I tried to seek you out again. It was too late. My wife decided it was time to put an end to me too."

His smile seems almost half hearted.

"I'm sorry we were never there for you. My attempt to bring you here has nothing sinister about it. There's no strings attached, Gabriel. If I wanted to, I could have stripped you of your ability a long time ago. I didn't."

He stands again, looking out the window.

"No. I guess I do want something from you. I want you to help me get my sons back. An old man needs his family more at this age than at any other time."

Arthur stands up and he finally moves to sit down, sprawling out in the chair the other man offered him earlier, taking up much more space in it than is strictly necessary. It's meant to be a show of disrespect as much as not sitting down when he was offered this seat in the first place was, lounging in the chair rather than sitting in it like a sane person, properly and attentively, and all because he doesn't buy a word of Arthur's story. He's not his father -- he can't imagine his mother being so overbearing to a son that was never really hers -- and he has to want more than he's letting on if he's playing that long lost son crap in the first place.

As much as he'd like to tell him as much, though, he stops himself and sits up a just a touch straighter. If Arthur wants to play house, he'll let him, so long as he gets what he wants, and when it comes to doing what Arthur wants in return? Well, no one ever said he can't just stab him in the back for lying to his face. "Help me get Suresh back first. Then we'll talk about your little broken home."

"He's at Peter's apartment right now. Your friend is important to me too. We could use his skills here at Pinehearst, if he wants to give them. He's a scientist. He needs research. And people like us can benefit from a man like him being part of the team."

He turns towards the people at the door.

"Daphne knows where Mohinder is being held. Take her and Flint with you." He ignores how guilty Daphne looks. "And please don't kill them. I'll give you something better when you come back."

"Something like what?" If it's worth it, he might consider leaving Peter and Matt alone. If not, he'll be telepathic and empathic by the time he gets back, if he comes back at all.

Arthur puts a hand on Sylar's shoulder and leans inward. "Maury's son is a nuisance. What he can do...the things he can do now, we can't have that." Maury says nothing. If he can even hear the whispering at all. "But you bring him back here first, you understand me. I believe your scientist might like to continue with his brain mapping work. We have the equipment here."

He has a feeling that Arthur's lying -- if he's going to give him Matt, why not just let him do it when he drops in on them? -- but he doesn't call him on it. If it turns out he's right, he'll find a way to get at Matt or his father on his own later. It's not like either of them will be particularly hard to find if they're both here. If not, he'll just have to be pleasantly surprised. Either way, his priority right now is getting Mohinder back, and he still needs help to do that, so he can at least play along until he gets what he wants.

He offers Arthur a sick grin, just to make sure he thinks he's sold him. "Fine. Let me out of here and we'll be on our merry way."

They're waiting for Sylar in the lobby, Daphne and Flint, as promised. The girl looks nervous. Flint just looks bored. "Can we hurry it up please?" he asks, frowning, throwing away a ball of blue fire.

Daphne just rolls her eyes. "I can't carry both of you, so seriously? You guys have to hold on or you're gonna get one hellava road burn."

"I think I'd survive." Not that he wants to, though, so he puts a hand to her shoulder, pinning himself there telekinetically, his power stronger than his grip alone. "But whatever. Let's go."

He's apparently as in just a big a hurry as Flint is.

Peter's going stir crazy. It's been three full days of being stuck in here with Mohinder and his sad, puppy dog eyes and Matt's wavering anger at the situation. He's not a licensed therapist and he really doesn't know who to go to for help for this. He's about to suggest another round of poker when there's a knock at the door.

His eyes narrow slightly before he peeks through the peep hole.

His grin is telling. "Matt, your speedy friend's here."

Matt looks up from the football game he's been only partially watching for the last half an hour or so and tries to supress a smile as he gets to his feet. Even if he can't be what Mohinder wants him to be to him, he doesn't want to make him jealous out of fear that he might try getting in contact with Sylar again. "Yeah? Well, uh, let her in."

He doesn't think that's the best idea, again considering Mohinder, but he doesn't want to seem too eager to get the door in Peter's stead, either.

Mohinder's not even paying attention. He's been sitting at the window with a photo of Molly in his hands, one that Matt had given him a day or so before. He's almost rubbed the picture right off. The person at the door doesn't interest him in the slightest, though he glances up to see her standing on her toes to hug man.

Daphne holds on too tight. "Matt," she whispers in his ear, "you have to run."

Matt pulls back, looking at her in confusion. "Why, what's -- "

He never gets to finish that sentence, however, as suddenly he's being ripped from Daphne's arms, thrown back against the wall by some invisible force. He hits his head hard enough to keep him from getting back up again, alive but unconscious, and a second later, Sylar slips into the room, pushing past Daphne with a grin on his lips. His eyes drift over to Mohinder, briefly, then he focuses himself on Peter. "Hello, Peter. I think you have something that belongs to me."

There's no denying the heat that rises on Mohinder's face and in his eyes as he stands only to rush towards Matt to be sure he isn't dead. Sylar's not the sort of man to kill outright when he can take powers. Matt's will be valuable to him and kneeling beside the larger man, Mohinder finds the pulse he's looking for.

Peter and Sylar are squaring off once again, but this time, Sylar isn't alone. Daphne joins Mohinder at Matt's side as Peter flies across the room. He ducks down over Matt to protect him.

He's really very useless in a fight and he doesn't care to help in this one.

Peter has the sense not to bother with his pyrokinesis -- or anything else that might accidentally destroy the building -- this time and that limits him as much as the close quarters and the fact that he doesn't want to kill anyone, on Sylar's team or otherwise. Maybe even moreso. Either way, Peter's fighting a losing battle, and before too long it's over, a shard of glass protruding from the back of the empath's head as he hits the ground. Sylar looks almost disappointed for a moment after he collapses, but it's only for a moment, then he turns to Flint.

"Get him. Daphne can get Parkman."

Which leaves him with Mohinder, though he doesn't plan on knocking him unconscious for the trip. Instead, he moves over to him and offers him a hand up from where he's still crouched over Matt's unconscious form. "I told you I'd come for you, Mohinder."

Mohinder doesn't take Sylar's hand at all, he stand up on his own, graceful in rumbled mismatched clothes that Peter had grabbed from his apartment a few days ago. For a moment, they simply look at each other before Mohinder flings his arms around Sylar's neck.

Flint makes a comment and picks Peter up like a piece of meat to fling over his shoulder. Daphne's not paying attention at all.

Mohinder's lips curl up.

"You're late."

Sylar hums and wraps his arms around the Indian slowly, his chin coming to rest against his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, his eyes slipping closed momentarily as he breathes in his scent, and then he pulls back, a crooked smile on his lips. "Sorry. I got a little sidetracked."

Setting back on on his heels, Mohinder's hands move to Sylar's shoulders before he surveys the damage and winces slightly. "Don't hurt them. What they did, it was horribly stupid. But they mean well. They just don't understand."

He can not be responsible for their deaths. He can't. Bridget was bad enough.

He's about to nose at Sylar's chin when it dawns on him that he's not alone. Both eyebrows raise for that one. "Who...are your friends?"

the enemy of my enemy is my friend (rp for factnotbelief)

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