for philosophy_20: orientation
Oct. 4th, 2008 07:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heroslayerIt's all so familiar. The same. The scenery changes, every time, true--
--but it's all the same. Right down to the sudden needling in his chest, making it hard to breathe, that Bennet doesn't even notice. He's too busy to notice, brushing him off, snapping specially-made handcuffs on the pyrokinetic, and Sylar thinks that he won't ignore the feeling. That'll teach his mortal enemy turned reluctant partner to ignore him. To treat him like he's no better than them. Useless. Weak. Unimportant.
He sucks in a handful of sharp breaths through his teeth, heart hammering and lungs too tight in anticipation of the kill. The one with the power he can't pin down runs, like he knows the shit's about to hit the fan, but he doesn't care. He has what he wants, and Bennet's far enough away that he can slam the glass doors shut with a gesture, putting a barrier between apparent master and servant.
Bennet's back at the door in an instant, and Sylar can't help but wonder why. If it's because he let one of their marks get away, or if it's because he knows what's coming, but either way? He lets it fuel his words, without ever looking at him--he's too busy watching the worm at his feet try and scurry away. He's too busy soaking up the fear--
--that he's been so long denied. So long gone from him that he doesn't even answer Bennet when he tries telling him that he doesn't have to go through with this, because Angela is right. Because he's not a killer anymore.
What Bennet doesn't realize, though, is that that was a mistake. The fact that he hasn't killed anyone wasn't a choice of his, but something forced upon him, by the very same Company that's trying to help him now. And he's not going to wait a second longer to reclaim what they've been trying to deny him for so very long.
He grins, flicking his fingers with enough violent thought behind the action to nearly splinter the glass as he pins Jesse against it. He hits home with a dull thunk, and Sylar lowers his hand, stalking over to him, watching his face as his life flashes before his eyes. He knows what he's going to do just as well as Bennet does, it seems, even if he's never seen him in action.
Bennet tells him to fight it--
-- and he tells him he doesn't think he can. He leaves out the part where he doesn't want to.
--and he tells him it's the hunger, even if he'll never understand what that means.
--and he raises a hand with intent, head tilted to one side as he focuses on the corner of Jesse's forehead, his mind a dark place.
Keening fills the air, like razors on a chalkboard, as he cuts through skin and bone, blood spattering against the glass as he jerks his finger to one side. Jesse doesn't scream, nor does Bennet, even though he can hear the horror in both their hearts, but it's enough. This is what he needs--what he craves--the feeling sharper than anything he's ever known before.
Sharper than his lusts have ever been before. Sharper than his need for approval--
--he doesn't need Bennet's, that's for sure. Even as he pounds on the glass, the sound counterpoint to the sick, wet sound of bone splitting.
--he doesn't need Angela's. She gave him Bridget Bailey, after all, so surely she won't mind if he takes something from a dangerous lunatic.
--has ever been.
It is that sharp, isn't it? He doesn't need other people, does he? He never has, but with his whole world reeling around him in uncertainty, he's not sure anymore. And his lack of knowing what he's doing anymore stills even the singing in his blood.
He drops Jesse, and doesn't even notice when he crab-walks away, wanting to get away from his would-be murderer. His eyes are too busy finding Bennet's on the other side of the glass. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to, as Bennet knows what he's looking for. What he needs is--
--confirmation that his world is still as he understands it.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 841
A stock room in a restaurant in Odessa, so dark it feels like a gift.
A mechanic's shop in Montana; he swears the smell of the oil is going to make him sick.
Isaac Mendez's loft, paintings of the artist with his head cut open all around, watching him.
A mechanic's shop in Montana; he swears the smell of the oil is going to make him sick.
Isaac Mendez's loft, paintings of the artist with his head cut open all around, watching him.
--but it's all the same. Right down to the sudden needling in his chest, making it hard to breathe, that Bennet doesn't even notice. He's too busy to notice, brushing him off, snapping specially-made handcuffs on the pyrokinetic, and Sylar thinks that he won't ignore the feeling. That'll teach his mortal enemy turned reluctant partner to ignore him. To treat him like he's no better than them. Useless. Weak. Unimportant.
He sucks in a handful of sharp breaths through his teeth, heart hammering and lungs too tight in anticipation of the kill. The one with the power he can't pin down runs, like he knows the shit's about to hit the fan, but he doesn't care. He has what he wants, and Bennet's far enough away that he can slam the glass doors shut with a gesture, putting a barrier between apparent master and servant.
Bennet's back at the door in an instant, and Sylar can't help but wonder why. If it's because he let one of their marks get away, or if it's because he knows what's coming, but either way? He lets it fuel his words, without ever looking at him--he's too busy watching the worm at his feet try and scurry away. He's too busy soaking up the fear--
She's not afraid
She's not afraid.
He's not afraid.
She's not afraid.
He's not afraid.
--that he's been so long denied. So long gone from him that he doesn't even answer Bennet when he tries telling him that he doesn't have to go through with this, because Angela is right. Because he's not a killer anymore.
What Bennet doesn't realize, though, is that that was a mistake. The fact that he hasn't killed anyone wasn't a choice of his, but something forced upon him, by the very same Company that's trying to help him now. And he's not going to wait a second longer to reclaim what they've been trying to deny him for so very long.
He grins, flicking his fingers with enough violent thought behind the action to nearly splinter the glass as he pins Jesse against it. He hits home with a dull thunk, and Sylar lowers his hand, stalking over to him, watching his face as his life flashes before his eyes. He knows what he's going to do just as well as Bennet does, it seems, even if he's never seen him in action.
Bennet tells him to fight it--
She doesn't fight, because she never sees it coming.
-- and he tells him he doesn't think he can. He leaves out the part where he doesn't want to.
She doesn't fight because she can hear the intent in his heart.
--and he tells him it's the hunger, even if he'll never understand what that means.
He doesn't fight because he knows this is meant to happen.
--and he raises a hand with intent, head tilted to one side as he focuses on the corner of Jesse's forehead, his mind a dark place.
Keening fills the air, like razors on a chalkboard, as he cuts through skin and bone, blood spattering against the glass as he jerks his finger to one side. Jesse doesn't scream, nor does Bennet, even though he can hear the horror in both their hearts, but it's enough. This is what he needs--what he craves--the feeling sharper than anything he's ever known before.
Sharper than his lusts have ever been before. Sharper than his need for approval--
The police and that fucking Japanese kid didn't approve.
--he doesn't need Bennet's, that's for sure. Even as he pounds on the glass, the sound counterpoint to the sick, wet sound of bone splitting.
Mohinder didn't approve; his only friend tied him to a chair afterwards.
--he doesn't need Angela's. She gave him Bridget Bailey, after all, so surely she won't mind if he takes something from a dangerous lunatic.
The woman he thought was his mother didn't approve, and she ended up dead.
--has ever been.
It is that sharp, isn't it? He doesn't need other people, does he? He never has, but with his whole world reeling around him in uncertainty, he's not sure anymore. And his lack of knowing what he's doing anymore stills even the singing in his blood.
He drops Jesse, and doesn't even notice when he crab-walks away, wanting to get away from his would-be murderer. His eyes are too busy finding Bennet's on the other side of the glass. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to, as Bennet knows what he's looking for. What he needs is--
He needs to know that his world is still as he understands it.
--confirmation that his world is still as he understands it.
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 841
