Sylar

He glanced down at her wandering fingers, frowning. This was -- odd. When Candace had offered him the chance to play out such a narcissistic fantasy, he'd been horrified and disgusted in equal part, but this didn't seem to bother him half as much. He wonder hazily if it had something to do with the high of the kill or if a part of him had simply decided that this wasn't quite the same, seeing as how she was a woman and how she was him but not quite him, their experiences differing just enough, and then decided he didn't care. If nothing else, he was a hedonist -- the fact that he killed as much for the high as he did the power proof enough of that -- and he had no complaints about what she was doing. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe that would change later.

Finally looking back up, he popped one shoulder in a shrug. "I want her dead more than I want her power. It'll be a nice perk, but if I have to tear the bitch's head off with my bare hands, I will."