Stolen from senseofliberty

Sylar took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Intense, vital, and animated, taking a delight in ..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

How accurate.

rp for genetic_fate: a beginning

It had all gone according to plan. Well, mostly.

While, true, he hadn't been expecting Elle to come flying through the door of Suresh's workshop and try to kill him, he'd still made his escape. He'd lived. He'd managed to protect the case with the vial of the cheerleader's blood, even as he'd gone through the glass. And, though an alley just blocks from that whole mess hadn't exactly been his idea of the best place to reclaim what the Company had taken from him, it was enough. He had his powers back. That was all that mattered and hitches in the plan were the least of his concerns.

Or so he thought.

Sylar hadn't been expecting them to coming looking for him. Not so soon, he'd thought, as the Company had miles of red tape and rules and regulations concerning this sort of thing. And they wouldn't dare, not when the electric bitch ran home and told them he'd reclaimed his Godly mantle. They had seen what he'd done to Bennet and his doctor friend. They wouldn't risk it, and as such, he hadn't so much as turned his head to see who was coming down the alley.

He should have. If he had, he might have seen Elle. As it was, however, all he managed was a flash of blonde hair, the scent of ozone, and a roll of thunder. His vision went blurry as she hit him the first time, and then black as she struck him again. And when he came to, it was a nightmare made real.

The cell was too familiar, all white-gray walls and confining space. They'd taken his clothing, replaced it a standard issue t-shirt and pants and nothing more. They hadn't even bothered with shoes. Too dangerous, as he might use them as a weapon to break the glass of the observation window that sat just inches from the bed. Ridiculous, since when he'd pulled Eden through that very same glass last time, he'd been fairly sure nothing short of a bullet would have pierced it, but he understood.

He understood all too well that he was the Company's prisoner. Again.

Raising a hand to the glass, he pushed every violent thought in his head - and there were so many of them - in the direction of the window, willing it to shatter. Nothing happened. He'd been expecting as much, but it didn't stop some bastard child of panic and rage from uncoiling in the pit of his stomach. He'd just gotten his powers back. This wasn't fair. He'd kill them all, the second he was out of here, just to prove a point. But first, he was intent on slamming his mind up against the glass again and again until mental exertion and lack of a result made him dizzy.

He didn't know how they were doing it. There were no IVs this time and he didn't feel as physically ill as he had when they'd given him the virus. He didn't know, but it didn't matter. He'd just wait until someone came along to see him, and then he'd break out and he'd make everything fine again.

And that in mind, he settled down on the slab of the bed they'd given him, pulled his knees up to his chest, and watched the door.