tampered | log; ongoing

log; ongoing

When; Right after this.
Where; Outside Building 12.
Rating; PG-13, with the possibility of increase
Characters;

makes_you_tick, Buffy Summers(

1inageneration), Kincaid (

notexactlyhuman), Claire Bennet (

adamantined), and Tony Stark (

morethanasuit)
Summary; Sylar's not really feeling like sneaking around on his way back to the Underground.
Log;

The conversation with Eden left him feeling rather conflicted. Zach had asked him if he ever really knew what he wanted- he'd always had his goals in mind, but right now he's beginning to wonder.

He was genuinely glad she was grateful back there. He'd never felt any remorse for her death- he hadn't even obtained his objective with it, and it wasn't technically one of his murders, anyway. Still, when she'd thanked him, it was as if he might have something resembling a chance. One step in the right direction, maybe? Even when he'd run miles the opposite way. Even when he'd still love to saw her skull open and rip that persuasion out of her brain.

It feels like forever since he stole Jesse Murphy's singing voice. How long could he really go without even trying to collect more abilities?

He knows he should just dart back down and settle back into the Underground. He'd done what he'd come to do, and it was time to disappear for a little while again. But it already feels like it's been ages since he's seen the sky, and he's downright tired of hiding- at least back home he had a whole country to travel. Surely a few minutes topside wouldn't hurt. Things change so quickly in the City- it's possible the cops aren't even looking for him by now, right?

He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks around the street for a store with something sweet. He would kill for some Skittles about now.

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Buffy needed out- somewhere. Anywhere. The house was too quiet now with Dawn gone, and the ticking was driving her up the wall. Not to mention the fact that she'd spent the majority of the day under her covers, and Buffy was a creature of habit. Patrol was part of that habit.

So here she was, knowing it was basically futile, roaming the streets with a stake tucked inside the sleeve of her leather jacket.

Giles said that it was good to keep a sense of normalcy. Right- as normal as they could possibly get, and this was normal. She makes her way down the street with no real destination, walking almost absentmindedly until she nearly collides with a man in black.

Her reflex was to reach for the stake, but she pauses when she sees who it is.

"Gabriel?"

The flash of long, blonde hair made him wonder...no, it's Buffy. Well, nice to see her, too, he supposes.

"That's me," he says, licking his lips. This should really be quite awkward, but he's not going to hang his head like a guilty dog. "If you ask the right person, anyway. How are things on the right side of the law, Buffy?"

"I heard about that." Buffy says quietly, her voice a little terse. She was referring to Sylar's murder of a certain Angel Petrelli, of course. And wasn't she supposed to be his mother? The thought makes her want to throw up a little bit.

"We get a lot more sun on this side of the law." she finally responds, wondering if being so casual about this is right.

She'd thought he could be saved, redeemed. Was she wrong?

"I do miss that- I barely get to see the sun anymore, you know. Feel like a vampire or something," he says with a smirk. What he really missed this week was the beach, of all things. It was easier to think when staring at the ocean- he'd gotten used to it.

"So, does this mean we're going to fight, then?" he asks, a hint of a smile on his face.

"That depends. Do you want to fight?" her eyes are wary and she glances up at him, arms crossed against her chest. "Because hey, if you're gonna pull something, at least I'm in my fighting clothes. That's always a plus." she says, reverting back to her usual sarcasm in an attempt to show that she was fine.

But her eyes show that she's deeply unnerved by this. Why? It reminds her of another time, another place- Angelus. There's something about it that echoes parts of her life, anyways.

"I always want a fight, Buffy. I don't think that's something that's going to change." It's almost said sadly, even with the smile.

He pulls his hands out of his pockets, runs them through his hair. "But I've played with a Slayer before, and something tells me that Faith is willing to go farther than you, even if you are serious."

He takes a couple of steps towards her, invading her personal space. "Besides, as fun as that might be- you're no match for me. So we should probably just drop it, right?"

She doesn't like how close he is. Any closer and she's going to have to hit him. Buffy gives him a glance that clearly states, back off. Because she's been having a really bad day, and Sylar probably doesn't want to make her angry at this point.

"I don't see you doing a lot of dropping right now."

He looms pretty well, and at her height he is definitely looming over her now. So even though he backs up a step to show that he's 'dropping this', it doesn't exactly change the looming situation. "You look tense, Buffy. Bad day? Think a fight'll make it better?"

She doesn't believe his 'dropping' guise for a moment, so don't start thinking that, Sylar. Buffy's still crossing her arms, drawing herself up to her full height- which admittedly, isn't much. Still, it was a good thing, right? No one ever believed that the tiny blonde girl could kick them through a wall.

"Since when did you get so patronizing?" she's shifting her weight between her legs- a classic move to prepare for a fight in all of the styles she's learned.

"Didn't you hear? I'm a nice guy now," he says. He shifts a little as well, but his is a little different. Raising his arm just a bit, he holds it up in the air, mentally preparing his telekinesis. "I'm here to help."

He steps closer again.

“So then why does part of me think that I really, really don’t want your help?” Buffy shoots back, watching him but refusing to step back because that would be like admitting that she didn’t know what was going to happen and it was unnerving her. She doesn’t want to fight, not really.

But if Sylar hits her, she’ll hit right back. Just, harder.

Sylar watches her for a long moment, then sighs rather overdramatically, turning away from her. "You know, Faith is so much better at this."

He's on his way to work. His second job. There's a half an hour to get there so he takes his time with wandering about. Luckily, he ate while he was on duty guarding the Hellsing place. When he had time for it.

Things are pretty quiet so he can do things like that.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices something. A man. Not just any man. That's Gabriel Sylar. The one with the kick ass powers.

He has some time. He only needs five minutes to get there. Going over, he nods. "Yo."

Sylar tenses as he sees Kincaid. He's fairly sure he could take the man if he really needed to, but it'd be unpleasant for both of them.

Really, though, that doesn't sound too terrible. He smiles at him and nods back, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Hey. How's things?"

"They are what they are." Not shitty but not great. He refuses to admit that he misses his charge.

Studying Sylar, he grins. "Where ya goin'?"

He seems to be thinking about it. "Good question," he says idly, pretending that he's not watching every move Kincaid makes. "Probably head down to the Underground soon. How about you?"

"Going somewhere I can beat the crap out of people and get paid for it." Gotta love drunks. His hands are still in his pockets. What's in there is only known to him. He's been able to hide weapons for years.

"Great job."

"Really?" He could go for that. Watchmaking was relaxing, but that's hardly what he needs right now.

"They hiring?" he asks, smiling. Of course, they wouldn't be hiring fugitives, but it's the thought that counts, right?

He shrugs. They were when they hired him. Blue pays well enough. The night hours are good for him. They keep him busy.

"Gotta ask Blue." That's all he can say.

Oh, well- that was encouraging. "Maybe I will. I think I'd appreciate something like that," he says, nodding his head in gratitude.

"Your choice." It would be easier to keep an eye on him. That's for sure. But he wasn't about to tell Sylar that little detail. That would ruin the point of things.

She was out of milk. The problem with having more than one roommate is that you run out of everything too fast to even notice, all the eggs and breads and laundry detergents disappearing without warning. There's a list hanging out of her back pocket and a large cloth bag over one shoulder, full of things she probably doesn't and didn't need, and Claire makes her way by building after building with her headphones in and an open pack of Starbursts in her hand.

Sylar is practically part of the landscape before Claire actually notices him and yanks her ear buds out, the last trailing blast of whatever song she's been listening to fading off as she cranks the volume down. Momentarily, she wonders if she could actually kill a man with a loaf of bread. In the long term, she wonders how long they're going to have to endure each other or if anyone is going to die today.

"Sylar."

All right, that's definitely Claire. And this is suddenly very awkward. He stops in his tracks, raising an eyebrow and looking down over to her with surprise. Maybe he's overplaying the surprise a bit. "...Claire."

This isn't how they were supposed to meet again, but that's all right.

Remembering her earlier demand, he follows that up with, "Nice to see you out and about, unconcerned about what ill might befall you. There are dangerous people out at this hour- didn't you know?" he asks, his tone mocking innocence. He smirks down at her.

Claire makes to cross her arms, remembers that she has a very heavy bag on one of them, and overcompensates by grabbing one elbow with the opposite hand. The stance leaves her looking defensive, and Claire supposes that she is defensive. Defensive, but unafraid. It's hard to be afraid of something when you've already faced it and lived through it, all the terror of it slowly evaporates in the face of consequential rage and preparation. Whatever that might be.

Although Claire doesn't know what makes her angrier: the fact that Sylar did what he did or the fact that now he'll live forever like she will, the two of them standing on opposite sides of the line forever.

"You don't scare me," she says, taking a step in his direction, the big bag swinging. "Especially because I might be one of those dangerous people you're warning me about. What are you doing out here? Is it Stretch Your Legs Day down at the zoo?"

"Oh, are you dangerous now?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "What are you going to do, break your arm at me?"

She scowls, pinching her mouth together and tightening her shoulders. "I could rip it off and beat you to death with it," she replies, though that's probably less than sanitary and less than a good idea, considering there are people around.

That gets something that's somewhere between a snort and a chuckle out of him. "And here I thought people'd make the zombie jokes at my expense."

He crosses his arms and tilts his head at her, wondering if she'd actually try anything, unprepared as she is. "Go home, Claire. I won't make your life any harder tonight."

Claire almost drops the bag she's carrying, almost drops her candy, and if she hadn't put her iPod away, she probably would have nearly dropped that, too. A comment like that feels like a slap in the face, like a bucket of hot water dumped all over her, if she could feel any of those things at all anymore. And that's his fault, too, all of this is his fault, and all those feelings of hatred and rage and yearning to shove something of the sharp and pointy variety into the back of his head, right into the sweet spot, come rushing back.

"Any harder? Any harder?" Her voice is a near scream, and she bites it back, down to a near-whisper, fierce and infuriated. "Do you have any idea what you did to me? How could you possibly make things any harder?"

He stares at her for a very long moment, blank-faced. He knows, some of it. It had hurt more than he'd expected, and less somehow- but it was the feeling of utter helplessness as Peter rooted through his brain that he couldn't ever shake off. It was so wrong, that day. Everything had been wrong, and he'd never really gotten over that, just shoved it off to the dark corners of his mind. It lay with memories of his mother's death and the aftermath of his first murder.

"It can always get worse, Claire," he says, void of emotion. He's staring a hole in her head- the same way he looked right before he attacked her, the last time. "If there's anything I've learned, it's that I can always make things worse."

That day feels so long ago, back in Costa Verde, lying on the table and feeling nothing. It's like she's trying to reach for it through a television screen, separated by distance and pixels and static. If she tunes herself into it enough, the picture comes in clear: she's back on the table, back in the closet, in her house alone with him. The look on his face doesn't scare her. It reminds her of everything that he did, all the damage that he caused.

"Worse?" she asks, knotting her brow, raising her voice. "The only way you could make things worse is by taking away everything that ever mattered to me. You've already done a good job of removing my father from the equation just by being alive, and you actually killed my grandmother, too?" Her tone is sardonic, scathing, borderline subdued-hysteria. If he touches Peter, Eden, Zach, Claire will kill him, and that's a promise.

She swallows. It's not worth it to get upset, especially not when she wants to ask him things she's needed answers to for a long time now. Why get upset when you have anger in your arsenal?

Claire steps up, steps close, close enough to grab his arm. It's terrifying and thrilling all at once. "What did you do to me? Why can't I feel anything?" she asks, desperate and determined all at once.

He blinks, eyes widening as she asks. "What?" He narrows them again, peering closely at her. "That wasn't me- nothing's wrong with you, Claire, not physically..."

He sounds somewhat uncertain about that as he continues blinking down at her. He's trying to figure this out- he hadn't expected the numbness to last. "You can't feel any pain?"

Claire's face crumbles and collapses on itself, any and all hope that she had dissolving instantly. Mohinder is her last resource, and she doesn't even know how she's going to broach that topic with someone she just punched in the nose and watched murder her father. She hadn't wanted to come to Sylar, but circumstances are circumstances, and now her hand is bare and empty.

She lets go of his arm, hoists her bag over the rise of her shoulder. "No," she says, simple, resigned, numb. "Not anymore I can't. You messed me up."

He sighs, leveling Claire with a brief look that says 'of course I did'.

"It won't last," he says, much more sure of himself this time. He almost sounds certain. The surprise is entirely wiped away. "Nothing ever does, with you."

"Don't pretend to know anything about me," she hisses as she wraps her fingers around her bag, adopts that same defensive pose as before. Claire almost turns to run, but something stops her, holding her back. For a moment, she considers him, almost pensively. Are they the same?

Of course not, what a stupid question.

"You told me before you left that day that I could never die. What did you mean by that? Did you even mean it, or were you just saying it to be a bastard?"

He raises an eyebrow at her, honestly surprised a little by the question. "We can't die, Claire, not permanently. We're both going to live forever- anyone who has this ability will."

That gives them time to smooth all this over, eventually, right? Someday, people won't even remember what he did. Unless it was shocking enough to turn into a legend, of course.

He realizes he needs to learn to be patient.

He shrugs. "I thought you'd want to know, something important like that."

Claire takes a moment to just look at him, really look at him. Her mind races through the files that she's created - the night at Homecoming, Jackie dead on the floor, New York, the relief of knowing he was dead and then the gripping panic of realizing that he was alive, above her, her skull open and exposed, and then this, the City, and him now. It's a collision of confusion, and it only serves to make her angrier and sicker than she's felt in a long time.

Eternity with Sylar is a reality bleaker than all the realities she's experienced before.

"I hate you," she says. She presses her lips together and moves past him, doing her best not to cry or throw up or kill him.

"I know," he says to her as she moves away. "But you're stuck with me."

Unless she finds a way to really end him. Sometimes he thinks he wouldn't mind that too much.

Tony's contacts had mentioned that the man known as Sylar was out and about in a general area. Of course, he had constant reports of this since Sylar fit such a generic description, but he could hardly pass up a tip. Rather than bother to go "himself" Tony just sent the suit remotely. It worked just as well that way and he could still be there in person and Police Headquarters to work on getting the Technology Division up and running.

Flying high over the area his contacts had indicated Tony scanned all the people in the area, discarding various citizens as Sylar potentials based on height, weight, gender, and species. All of them that came up as possibilities he got a better angle on their face to run the recognition software. Thank God for the suit's telescopic vision. When he finally got a positive hit, Tony gave a small smile.

Got you, you bastard.

With a burst of speed to the repulsors, he flew towards the target, landing some ways away. The files were rather incomplete on what this guy could do.

"Gabriel Sylar, you are under arrest for murder," he announced. "Please come with me."

[ooc: Hope that's all okay.]

He hears the words and looks up, rolling his eyes as he does.

"Does the 'please' add anything, really?" he says, holding a hand up and using telekinesis to hold the suit in place. It was time to see how much force he really could put out with that power. "I think I'd prefer a demand."

He should have just gone underground, he really should have. He knows he likely doesn't stand much chance here, but- well, he was tired of hiding. It'll be interesting to see how this plays out.

[ooc: Perfect! Feel free to PM if you have a question about powers. :3 And let me know if I need to edit any actions, or cut Sylar off anywhere. >_>]

"It usually doesn't hurt," Tony replied. He started to take a step further and found the suit resisted the movement. For a moment he thought maybe the other man had found some way to hijack his system but a quick internal diagnostic showed him that no systems were compromised. Something else then.

"But if you'd prefer a demand we can do that. Gabriel Sylar, you will be coming with me, one way or another," he said. He thought about firing a blast from the uni-beam in his chest but decided this might be a good way to find out what this guy could do.

He started to step forward again, this time having the suit exert the more force. The suit could lift thousands of pounds and fly at Mach speeds if he needed it o.

Edited 2009-03-02 01:08 (UTC)

"See? Was that so hard? At least now you're being honest." Sylar pushes his open palm forward through the air, as if he was literally adding more pressure. He'd never really had a challenge to his telekinesis before- he's managed to flip over full semis with ease, cut them open with a mere thought. But this- this is testing him. He grunts as it starts pushing too hard. He knows he's losing it when he has to wipe blood from his nose.

Okay, new tactic- he starts screaming. It's powerful enough to rip skin and muscle from bone, to crumple cars into heaps of metal- he figures the man would be insulated well enough by the suit, but if he could render it immobile or damage it...

The sonic blast was a lot more powerful than Tony was expecting. While the suit was capable of repairing itself over time the damage that Sylar was doing to it was more than he could keep up with. Time to change tactics.

The individual components of the suit flew apart. One moment there was a man shaped suit of armor there and the next it flew apart into separate pieces, moving on individual repulsors and scattering away.

The armor reformed, this time much higher up and Tony immediately sent a blast from the chest of the armor at Sylar. It was time to stop playing around quite so much.

Yeah, that wasn't something he'd let a lot of people know about. He watched with satisfaction as the suit started pulling apart, finally stopping the loud scream- but his face fell as he realized there was no one in it. He didn't know Tony could do that- if he had, he wouldn't have stopped.

"You didn't even have the courtesy to come in person? Now that is rude," he yells. Unfortunately, then he realizes the suit's coming back together. It moves faster than he expects and hits him squarely in the shoulder with the beam as he tries to swipe it to the side with telekinesis.

He's rolling up from the ground, already healing by the time it's done. It'll be a few moments before he can concentrate well enough to use anything, though- ow.

Tony noticed the healing, which was rather interesting. It appeared to be rather thorough. Tony had a bit of experience working with healing factors though. Drowning and suffocation worked really well. Unfortunately those weren't very convenient options.

"What can I say? I have a cup of coffee here that I really don't want to get cold," he said.

But, now that he knew that the man could withstand some damage he wouldn't hold back quite as much. He fired another blast from the chest of the armor, not quite as powerful but much broader in scope. Maybe he could find out just how quickly the other man could replace flesh that was being disintegrated.

Pretty damn fast, as it turns out. But the whole flesh disintegrating part? That's pretty freaking painful. He tries to roll out of the way, and somewhere in all that he's reminded of a frying bugs with a microscope- but he finds he's stuck. He can't move fast enough to truly pull himself out of the way.

In a desperate attempt to end this, he holds a (frequently disintegrating) hand out and uses sporadic blasts of telekinetic force to try to break down the source.

Edited 2009-03-02 23:50 (UTC)

Why two out of three occupants of a certain apartment are out could be any given number of reasons. For Claire, it was that they ran out of milk, and for Zach, well, it's just that he's an insomniac and before he settles into his usual default mode of network troll, he's decided to walk around. Having lived in Odessa all his life, he'd never really seen a metropolis setting like this before outside of shiny postcards and doubly shiny television programs. New York always appealed, and L.A. too, but he never really thought he'd make it anywhere that exciting. It didn't seem in his hand, so to speak. Wandering around at a late hour when there are far less people around, he appreciates all the chances this City has given him, in regards to Claire, in regards to worlds he didn't know were as real as he believed they were when he was little.

It's also given him things he doesn't want. He doesn't, for example, want to have to ponder a certain someone's humanity, the guy who has caused so much trouble and pain for the person he cares about most. Unfortunately, being a geek with a lot of time on his hands and a generally good heart, he can't help it. That's not what he's thinking about right now of course, headphones around his neck, echoes of Coldplay's Talk filtering out. The volume isn't that loud but it's very quiet otherwise, so it fills the empty space.

The empty space seems to sharpen and shrink when he spots that certain someone he wasn't thinking about. Zach knows he is unimportant in most ways, will not be a part of Claire's life someday, for a long time, knows she'll have to deal with everything on her own--and if not everything, then more than she should have to. He knows, and it's the one thing he wants to change, but that would change everything. Maybe it's better that he knows he can't, knows his limits.

Still, he can't help but stare. Maybe he's unobtrusive enough here, the same as high school, the same as any given place, that this man won't even notice him. That would be fine. The other thing would be fine too. Despite what terrible things he's done, Sylar interests the geek in a way that most horrifically warped things do. We want to understand. Or we want to get rid of things. Usually.

And Zach has never been very good at getting rid of anything, so he defaults to wanting to understand, not to feel better, not to see Sylar differently because he doesn't know if he can, but just to know more. That, if nothing else about this whole fiasco, is very human. Wanting to know things is maybe the only thing reliably human left in all of it, actually.

So he stares, unafraid, curious, and completely without a plan, should he be noticed, still expecting to slip under the radar.

Sylar does notice him. He'd paid attention to every post, once he rooted out that Claire was friends with him, that Zach was from their world. It was curious- he didn't seem connected to any of this, other than the fact that he was Claire's friend, and yet he was here.

Zach was one of those things that just didn't really fit into Sylar's on-again/off-again idea that this was all some odd coma-induced dream, meant to help him work through things. Why would Zach be here? The anomaly intrigued him.

So when he finally sees the kid there, he nods at him and smiles a little. An acknowledgment of his existence. He won't bother him further.

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