heroslayer | for muses_gonewild: is that clock right? (Reply)

The foreman just wouldn't shut up. He supposed, on some level, that it was understandable -- the man was proud of what he and his construction team had managed to accomplish in the few short months they'd been given to build the office complex and their benefactor was nothing if not demanding -- but it was still irritating.

So much so that he's spent the last twenty minutes wondering what would happen if he dropped Nathan Petrelli's face and just destroyed the place. He planned on doing it later anyway, after all -- his own little contribution to the economy when he blamed terrorists and commissioned a new crew to build bigger and better -- and the cameras weren't hooked up just yet. No one would see him for who he truly was but the foreman, and he would die tragically as the building came down on his head, its supports mysteriously collapsing.

It was a tempting idea truly, and the only thing that was stopping him was the fact that people knew that he would be here. They knew that Nathan would be here. It had been all over the news that the good senator had planned on visiting his shiny, new business complex, and if he escaped the devastation, it would appear suspicious. Nathan just dropping dead wasn't on the agenda either, unfortunately; he needed his position as much as he hated his face.

He also apparently needed another way out of this ridiculously one-sided dialogue.

Sighing, he shot a glance over the foreman's shoulder, hoping his eyes would fall on something that would save him, and it seemed he was in luck. There, mounted on the far wall, was a clock, ticking away quietly. He turned his attentions back to the construction crew chief and offered him a thin smile.

"Not to rain on your parade, since you guys did what looks to me like a hell of a job, but uh ... " A casual gesture to the clock, which the foreman followed as he fell silent. " ... is that clock right?"

The other man nodded and Sylar offered him another smile, this one sheepish, before excusing himself for a minute. He took a handful of steps away, towards the clock, reaching to fish his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket, and turned himself into the corner as he dialed Elle's number. He allowed himself use of his own voice when she picked up a moment later. "Get me out of here."

"You're still at that stupid construction thing?"

"Yeah." He swallowed thickly, the muscles in his throat slithering in riot to reclaim Nathan's voice. "Our friend had some interesting things to say about the building and his crew."

It was a diplomatic way of saying he'd barely let him get a word in edgewise and they both knew it. Elle sighed heavily into the receiver. "Okay, look. Just tell him that -- "

Whatever she had in mind was lost to the sound of something splintering loudly behind him. Perhaps a little too quickly, he wheeled on his heels to find the source of the sound, and the room greeted him with a backhand of heat and light as something exploded far too close to his face.

He dropped the phone, all but shrieking as pinpoints of pain lanced through his shoulders, dulling the burn that lapped at his skin. Nails, he thought hysterically. Whatever had exploded (the bomb, fuck, the foreman had been stalling him) had had nails in it. Not that that was a problem, or wouldn't be when his body decided what it wanted to try healing first, but the pain was enough to take his feet out from under him if the force of the blast hadn't done that much on its own. In the haze of agony he couldn't quite tell.

Taking a shuddering breath, he struggled to his feet only to have his footing stripped from him again as something else exploded, this firestorm no less distant. He had a moment to hope that Elle would use the terrorists excuse, even if it wasn't really an excuse at this point, and have him brought home to the family doctor (the one they'd paid to keep quiet that Nathan could heal) and to register something collapsing on top of him (his legs were broken; he was screaming again) and then the world went black.

Later, he would think it was a miracle he'd managed to hold the shift even through his unconsciousness.

Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 752
Note: Elle is