tampered | log, ongoing;

log, ongoing;

When; Tonight
Rating; Probably around PG-13?
Characters; Gabriel Sylar (

makes_you_tick) and The Sorrow (

spiritofsorrow)
Summary; Time to take a field trip out to the shadow City.
Log;

At the mention of going to see the Clock in this shadow world, Sylar had been ready to go. He'd watched this guy's posts before- the man had been one of the louder ones to notice the crumbling police force after the jail was gone, after Hiro and the other department heads had been pulled back home. Sylar considered confessing his past to this man before they left, but then there was a high likelihood that he'd be turned down for this trip, and he really wanted to go. The Clock was a puzzle he wanted all the pieces to.

So he resolved just to let this Sorrow know about all the helpful, advantageous things about him for now. He could get into the serial killer and failed redemption parts later. He leaned against the nearest wall by the lighthouse and watched for his traveling companion.

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The door to the Lighthouse rattled -- inside, the lock slipped into place, and then the heavy iron panel swung open from its stone base to show a stark white man in monochrome camouflage pants and a black sweater, his hair paler than his skin as it ruffled about in the soft night breeze.

A good night for journeying about, thought Sorrow -- although they wouldn't be seeing much of it soon. The fog, at night, was so thick one could barely see, but the Underground was dark anyway, so it wouldn't be too different. He reached across his chest to the pistol in its holster against his ribs, made sure the weapon was well seated, and then nodded once to himself.

All the while, he sensed a spirit nearby, a disturbance in his psychic view -- Sylar, he guessed, because it didn't have the familiar nature of one of the Lighthouse ghosts. He glanced up, took a few steps around the Lighthouse, and let his eyes adjust to the dark until he could spot the figure.

"Well met, Gabriel. Or should it be Mr. Sylar?" He held out a gloved hand and restrained himself for the time; he wouldn't pry into Sylar's history just yet.

(ooc: stalker!sylar is watching you? :P)

Sylar bounced up to a normal standing position as soon as the door to the Lighthouse opened, uncrossing his arms. He took a few steps around toward the door and found the man there.

Generally, he told people in the City that they could choose what they called him, but right now- "Call me Gabriel. It's good to meet you," he said, as he reached out to shake the man's hand. "What would you like me to call you? Do you go by Sorrow?" he guessed.

[ooc: ...he keeps a little too close an eye on the Network, generally. XD ]

"Yes, that is correct. You are observant. That is one thing we share." Crows' feet gathered around the silver eyes as he took Gabriel's hand, shook it firmly once, and released it. The faint electric ripple of a spirit's contact brushed over his skin, through the glove. "Well, then, Gabriel. Shall we?"

He paused for a moment to let Sylar answer, but then one more thing drew his attention: "Are you armed?"

"Ah-" That's right. He shrugged. "Not technically, but I can hold my own. Super powers, you know."

He held a hand up and it crackled with blue lightning, just in between the fingers. He'd been getting a little better with Elle's power the past couple of weeks, but it was still one of his weakest. Odd that it was always one of the easiest to show off, to get across the very idea of a special ability.

It did make him realize that he had an unasked question. "Just how are you able to get us over there?" he asked, curious. "Can you move through dimensions or is it something else?"

"In a way." Sorrow thought for a moment, smiled to himself, and nodded. "I can transfer the human spirit between this world and the next. Since you effectively are a spirit, as far as the City is concerned, I can take you there. It is a twist, of sorts, on what I could do at home. I am a medium, with a few nontraditional benefits." In response to Sylar's hand-crackling, drops of rain began to fall, a thin blanket of clouds drifted across the sky, and soft thunder rumbled from an ambiguous source overhead.

"Super powers..." He watched the lightning as it faded. "Such magical things that were mostly unknown in my world. And yet here you are."

Sylar smiled in response, the tight, almost shy smile he'd get sometimes at people complimenting his abilities. "It isn't all it's cracked up to be," he said, the statement seemingly coming out of nowhere. "But it can be useful here, at least."

He brightened up to address Sorrow himself. "I've never met a medium, myself. I imagine it must be sort of odd, how it all works in the City. I don't imagine the dead walk in your world either, normally." He shrugged. "So do I need to do anything to help get it started?" He couldn't deny it, he was very interested to see how this man operated. But it was going to stick to observing and that was it.

Sorrow spent a few short but noticeable seconds watching Sylar after that first comment, his eyes cool but interested, tracking over the younger face. He reminded the medium of someone else, someone from his world...

"No, they don't, although there are ghosts present in the mortal world at times. It is rather odd, having the dead corporeal here." As he processed Sylar's inevitable question, his eyes gleamed with a quick and flickering blue light that slipped over them like water and then passed by.

"You need do nothing. But be warned, this is often a jarring experience." He reached out with one hand, toward Sylar's shoulder, and paused for only a moment before lowering the hand down. His eyes gleamed silver-blue behind his glasses; a faint crack traced across his left lens; he focused on contacting this Gabriel's spirit and drawing it across to his world, to the gray and silent limbo, once filled with a ghostly river, now a phantasmic city.

As his hand rested on the man's shoulder, the City gave way to darkness, and then to a faint gray mist. It felt like falling asleep, falling away, just for a moment as the spirit blinked out of one world and moved into the next, and Sorrow closed his eyes briefly as he remembered how many times he had transitioned back home. It was much harder to be present in the mortal world there, than here -- a gift, really, given the City's nature.

But in the mist, before the Shadow City faded in around him, he opened his eyes to face Sylar and looked the man in the eyes, a widening of his own reflecting what was coming into view.

Ghosts.

So many ghosts.

Around them both, as if from the ether, shadows and specters trudged about in the mist, their faces clear and sharp.

Elle Bishop, hands crawling with arcs in fits and starts, giving him a sharp glance from the fog as if ignorant of the wound in her head and the blackened flesh across her body.

Nathan Petrelli, his throat torn open, blood streaming down his chest, soft rasping in the silence.

Isaac Mendez, pierced with paintbrushes in a parody stigmata as he limped by.

...Virginia Gray's aged face, in her hands a pair of scissors dangling from her fingers. Concerned gaze still locked onto him. Turning toward him now.

And so many, many more. Along Sorrow's left eye, a trickle of blood that fell across his cheek and over his jaw and vanished into his sweater's high collar. He nodded toward the spirits and then turned to Sylar, hovering an inch or so above the ground now.

Sylar didn't see them at first, letting that feeling of falling asleep overtake him, trying to understand it. But when he opened his eyes again, he did not see a dark version of the City. The only things he saw were his mother, Elle- god, the rest didn't matter, there were so many that they couldn't matter--

He stumbled back, in shock, glancing only momentarily at the man bleeding from his eye. His gaze moved back to Virginia, as if he was afraid she'd disappear- as if he hoped she'd disappear. He wanted to reach out to her and shrink away from her at the same time. The result was a shudder rather any sort of actual movement.

"What- what is this?" he asked, still not looking at Sorrow. His voice completely lacked the confident timbre it had before; now it was higher-pitched and wavering. "Did you bring them here?"

Edited 2010-02-26 04:14 (UTC)

Sorrow closed his eyes, drifting backward, his form incorporeal, Virginia's ghost circling behind him in a hazy shadow that Sylar could see through Sorrow's chest. The scissors dangled...back...and forth...the light shining along its edge in a dull white sliver.

Such despair, fear, terror in them -- who was this man? Sorrow drifted forward at the sound of Sylar's voice, hearing the tone rise, the words tremble. His eyes were locked onto the woman, who stared back through hollow, glazed eyes that stared through him, into him, and her lips move in silent questioning: My son...

Sorrow hovered to his side, placed a hand on his shoulder -- but there was no contact, only a faint electric tingle that Sylar felt across his skin. The hand rippled with blue light, translucent and smoky.

"The souls of the dead follow us wherever we go. They are an image, an imprint, a mark upon the heart. Those that die by one's hand...they never stray too far." He looked up at Elle, who approached from the side, skin cracking and peeling, ashy clothes shifting one step at a time and leaving charred prints on the null-ground below. "Gabriel, there are so many."

A mark on the heart... Sylar used to believe that he collected a part of a person's soul when he killed them. It looked like he was correct, just not in the way he hoped. They would follow him, forever.

His throat was dry. He swallowed, but that seemed to make it worse. At Sorrow's final note, Gabriel finally raised his head and looked at all the others. There were so many. How could he stop? How could he ever think he could pull the pieces of his life together, with so many ghosts to weigh him down?

He moved his head from side to side, desperately searching for something he didn't find. Instead, he found his mother again, and in his mind he was screaming about how it was an accident. In the shadow City, he merely froze, a tear sliding down his cheek. All thoughts of clocks and mysteries are lost to this madness he created. "Can you make it stop?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Please? I- I can't..."

Gabriel understood. For a moment, Sorrow regretted showing him these faces, these long-buried spirits, but he wanted to see who the man truly was -- and in doing so, had forced the memories back, the fear, the sadness. He could see the regret on the man's face, hear it in his shaking voice, feel the hollow sense that came over a soul when confronted with its equals on the other side.

His mother was particularly strong, a powerful longing sense that overcame the mind for one who could see into that, feel the imprint left in Sylar's mind from the last encounter, all the emotions like so many flickers before the eyes of the doomed. Why? Why would someone slay his own mother? And the girl with the electric hands -- he reacted to her too, and she seemed to know something, to comprehend, to remember. Who were they? He wouldn't force them to talk, not here, not now.

Can you make it stop, he had asked. His spirit trembled so, and for one who had spilled so much blood of those so near to him, Sorrow was surprised that the man was so clearly knowing of what he had done, so pained, so rueful. Criminals denied, or brushed aside, or laughed, or feared. Few truly regretted, few reacted as this.

"Let it be so." He held out a hand toward the spirits; the mist grew thinner and gave way to hazy moonlight that pierced the ghosts and dissolved them away into the drying fog. The ground grew stable beneath them, dusky rocks and damp earth. The dark frame of the Shadowland Lighthouse towered overhead; a barely-worn path trailed toward the blurry and empty metropolis in the distance. As the final outlines of memory wisped away, Sorrow drew the hand away from Sylar's shoulder. A warmth spread to the man's spirit as the fingers lifted, a sense of empathy and good nature, the only sort of contact he could provide here in the Shadowlands.

He watched, transfixed, as the spirits faded away, saw the details on his mother's face as she dissolved in the moonlight. At about this point, he remembered to breathe, gasping for air. He only later remembered that he didn't have to.

He wasn't sure what to do, how to explain himself. There was no explanation, not really- they amounted only to more excuses. Still, he had to hold down an explanation of his mother's death, the only true accident. That was still his fault, though. If he hadn't been the way he was, she would never have brandished those scissors at him.

He didn't realize that only a few months ago, his reaction to all this would've been very different. Incredibly defensive, yes, but not this sort of pain. If he had realized it, he probably would've preferred to feel less. That was too much, which was why he'd sealed it away in the first place.

After a long period of silence, he looked up to Sorrow and nodded. "Thank you," he said, his voice quiet but no longer shaking. Sorrow didn't have to pull them away- he could've easily kept tormenting Sylar with the many skeletons in his closet.

Sorrow pantomimed walking, moving through the air while giving the illusion that his feet were touching the ground. It tended to alarm others less than simply drifting about as if he were underwater, but then again, how much more could Sylar be alarmed right now?

He moved a few steps away and beckoned Sylar toward the metropolis, wherein lay the parallel Underground and the clock.

"If you would," he reached up a hand to push his glasses back and suddenly the crack in them was gone, "how did this happen, to one who feels such pain as yourself?"

It took him a moment to realize that they had actually come here for a reason. He followed Sorrow and tried to get his mind back on the clock.

At the Sorrow's question, Sylar chuckled. "There's a long story," he said at first, but then he really considered it. Sorrow had already seen the worst parts of his past, he might as well talk about it. "The short of it is that I was weak. I inherited an ability- the ability to see how things work, how they fit together. That ability comes with a...compulsion to fit the pieces together, to learn more, to make more. Not too many people would consider that a bad thing. Unfortunately, the ability applies to people, as well."

He paused for a moment, just following Sorrow on the dark path as he collected his thoughts. "I'd been so far apart from other people my whole life. Just a background piece for other people's lives. When I figured out that I could take the power in another person and fit it into myself...I didn't even hesitate. I tried to stop afterward, but it was pulling me, and there was someone else- she wanted to see how I did it. She gave me that extra push, and then I just gave up."

There was another long pause as he remembered that curse when he had decided to stop there, to keep it from affecting him, and he had managed to pull himself together into something resembling a decent person. How far away that seemed, when the day was done.

"Don't get me wrong, Sorrow. I enjoyed killing most of those people. I still use the abilities I stole from them, because I know they'd go to waste otherwise. If I had it before me again, I might still make the same decisions." He ran a hand up to push back his hair, a nervous gesture he'd developed here in the City. He didn't know if he believed what he was saying, but he knew that it wasn't unlikely. He found out he couldn't trust what he thought of himself a long time ago.

The silver eyes glanced his way, pale flickers in the dim gray light. That...made sense, now. Sylar was a victim of his own desires, morals against need, conscience against starving hunger. He wasn't like Colonel Volgin, who killed for play and sport, but like a famished beast who killed for food and enjoyed the resulting meal. Place the prey before him, and he may leap for it again...

"Your only inherent power is that of recovering others' powers." The white head nodded. "And in doing so, you must kill them." He said it out loud partly for confirmation and partly to reiterate it to himself. This one was a man he should remember, and that the rest of his covert force should know about. Sylar's modus operandi was very specific -- many of the spirits had their brains ripped out -- and recognizable.

He couldn't help a faint mirthless chuckle at the end of Sylar's last sentence. "Still you try to convince yourself that you are the monster you once were." His head turned fully now, the blood on his cheek gone entirely, glasses clean as if nothing had taken place.

Sylar was vaguely annoyed at the blunt way Sorrow put it- it wasn't the only thing he could do with his intuitive aptitude after all- but...really, it was true. What had he used that power for, after all? Watches and murder, and he hadn't even known about the watches. He didn't deserve any kinder description than that. Still, he replied, "I don't have to kill them. There's a push to, a desire. There are always other ways."

He was a little surprised by the laugh, humorless as it was. He raised his eyebrow to look at the man. In doing so, he realized the blood was gone, and figured that must be an indicator of this man's ability. He looked away just as quickly, because as soon as his attention had turned toward Sorrow, so had that desire to know how it worked. Considering their conversation, it would hardly do for Sylar to start slavering over Sorrow's ability. It wasn't even something he particularly wanted- he had more control than that.

Instead he replied to Sorrow's statement. "It'd be dangerous not to. Every time I've tried to convince myself I'm better, it falls apart," he said quietly, sticking his hands in his pockets. He looked up and around at the streets they were coming to, finding the architecture hard to see but still interesting. He shook his head. "I'm dead because I didn't trust myself to go home."

That made him pause. Didn't trust himself... "You allowed yourself to die, so that you could never go back?" He allowed himself just a moment to think -- Sylar was dead, and in being so Sorrow could, when not in the Shadowlands, employ his spirit and experience his abilities firsthand. But it seemed rude to ask now, especially given the pain that it caused the man. Was it like the cannibalism curse, where Sorrow had become a ravening monster who lusted for food? Or was it more of a quiet seething, a temptation, a serpent with a blood-red apple? It seemed the latter now, a nagging worm that wrapped around the mind and gnawed until it was satisfied, then started up again.

"But one must try again." He resumed walking towards the center of the grayed-out City, buildings looming up around him, hazy and drained of life like ancient husks from some civilization gone by. "You are fighting a more worthwhile and intense battle than so many in this -- in any of our worlds, I believe."

At Sorrow's question, he just looked to the man and nodded, once. That was the point of that fight- well, the most important point, anyway. He had to die, and he didn't even trust himself to do it on his own. That hadn't worked before. Besides, he owed Claire and Peter their revenge, and Faith some closure. Everyone got what they needed, in some fashion.

He closed his eyes and laughed bitterly when Sorrow said he was fighting a worthwhile battle. "It's something that should never have been a problem in the first place. Most people don't have to fight- maybe they have to worry about hurting people's feelings, yes- about taking advantage of others. But it isn't difficult for most people to avoid opening people's skulls." He frowned deeply at that, but only for a moment. He reined it back into a thoughtful expression very quickly. "I have so many reasons why- but they're just excuses, and every time I try, I trip over one of them..."

He shook his head, not really looking at Sorrow. It was easier to stare straight ahead. It was good to be able to get this out, regardless of whether the other man cared to hear about it. "You're right, of course, I have to keep trying. My ability makes sure of that. I keep hammering away at it all until it's perfect- or completely destroyed. I'm far more capable at the latter, as it turns out."

"Destruction of both self and other is in the nature of man, one way or another. I fought in the second World War, for the Soviet Union. Even after death, soldiers still want their revenge, and so did I allow it...even when I knew I should not." He nodded to himself, lips flattening, the faint rueful smile tugging them back. "Men have done terrible things, because their own nature demands it at the time. We are not kindhearted creatures, not at a subconscious level. You are...pronounced, but perhaps it makes you admirable, that you continue the battle." He brought a hand to his chest, fingers wrapping about his holster's straps for a moment before falling away.

The carousel loomed in the distance, spinning in lazy monotonic rounds as it stirred the haze. Sorrow paused, only to have Sylar's arm brush through his "skin"; his outline rippled, and he piffed out into a flicker of blue light that disappeared.

About ten seconds later, he reappeared five feet from Sylar and shrugged. "No one else seems to be inside, even in the buildings. One wonders if this place is supposed to have life at all...as time goes on, one gets so weary of the fog and the heavy air."

The man had a point. Sylar had never fought in a war, but he imagined it would change people's perspectives on a great many things. Still- this man was likely the only one in the City who would ever find Sylar admirable. Sylar found himself hiding a smile at that. So few people cared whether he tried- and with good reason, considering all the things he'd done. But at least one person thought it mattered.

He turned his attention to the carousel once it came into view. That's right, they had plenty to investigate. He was a little surprised when Sorrow disappeared. Sylar kept his eyes open in case that wasn't intentional. He was slightly defensive- he'd known since they got here that Sorrow leaving him trapped her was a possibility, but surely they'd both gotten over tha- ah, there he was. Sylar relaxed as he listened to Sorrow speak.

He regarded the foggy City almost as if he were sizing up a person. "It feels like an echo to me. Just an echo of the real City, although it persists. Maybe it can still tell us something about the inner workings of our City...it's always good to have another angle." With that he located an entrance to the Underground and finally smiled a little, nodding toward it and taking a few steps in that direction.

"Perhaps. And if there are any threats down below...I apologize, but in this state I will likely not be able to affect anything with this weapon. I have another trick or two, but my storm summoning can only affect areas that a storm would normally affect -- in a cave, does not go so well." As they approached the Carousel, Sorrow craned his head to look up at the horses. Their outlines gleamed in the moonlight, the haze dispersing the lines into fuzzy trails as they turned.

"Perhaps..." He rose off the ground, hovering now at the height of the horses' heads. "Can you climb on?"

He followed Sorrow toward the Carousel, and realization dawned on him as they got closer. The Carousel itself was the visible part to the City's movement. It was probably directly above the most important parts.

So he wasn't too terribly surprised when his traveling companion asked him to climb onto it. Sylar did so immediately with an easy, relaxed hop. "I'm not worried about the monsters. None of them have ever been able to get near me. As long as my abilities work, I have nothing to worry about." And even if they didn't, for whatever reason, Sylar was fairly well practiced at passing undetected.

"What is the most direct way under the Carousel?" Sorrow hovered past the horses and facing the centerpiece of the ride. It was seamless...he couldn't see any gears, or inner workings, or even a maintenance door. Of course -- if the City deities didn't need to open the thing but instead modified it from underground (if at all), there would be no particular reason not to seal it up. Maybe Sylar could see something.

(ooc: We should probably poke the mods to ask what happens if we stare at this stuff?)

Ah, too bad. He sighed a bit. "Generally, a long series of tunnels Underground. I've been to the Clock mechanism under the carousel, quite a few times, but it's a difficult journey. Less so with me around, of course."

To be honest, he hadn't often looked at the carousel. It was almost like the Major, when that thing had been around. It was so perfectly constructed, it almost hurt Sylar to stare at it. He thought maybe he could discern something out of it, if he was closer, but unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case.

"Come on," he said, jumping off the rotating amusement ride less smoothly than how he got on. "I'll show you the way."

[ooc: They actually answered questions (http://community.livejournal.com/polychromatic/207414.html?thread=14972470#t14972470) about that in their post before! So we can just follow that? :3 ]

Sorrow flickered out again, reappearing just beside Sylar and returning his incorporeal boots to the ground. "Let's go." As they set off, he recalled the first statement, and realized that he hadn't ever gone far enough Underground to see anything of mechanical interest. "Did you see anything, when you went to the City-side clock? What does the mechanism look like?"

(ooc: sure thing; although like most things the mods say...that really doesn't tell us anything worth going here for. >< The characters will likely just be very disappointed. I wish they would reward people for making trips like this, even if it's just some dumb little thing they notice about the clock that doesn't matter that is still tangentially interesting. Alas.)

"I can't get a look at the whole mechanism," Sylar replied. He always enjoyed talking about the Clock, even if he sometimes got frustrated with the little he knew. "But I'm fairly certain it's run with a number of different technologies and magic, all knit together to form a cohesive whole. That's why none of us can look at it specifically and say we know what it is. The barrier is another problem- it protects the movement from being entirely seen." The barrier was obnoxious. Sylar hoped that the Master could figure out a way to disable it someday. He hated to admit it, but it was beyond him.

Sylar headed down the stairs, annoyed but not terribly surprised to see that the fog followed them in. "What I can tell with my ability is that it's perfectly constructed. Even the ticking gives that much away. It's the most perfect clock I've ever seen, and that includes the ones I've built." Which is really saying something.

[ooc: awww. Well, at least Sylar is pretty used to this? AND he found someone who knows what he's done and doesn't automatically denounce him as an irredeemable monster- that means a lot to him. >_> ]

"Man has never created anything perfect." Sorrow furrowed his brows, drifting with the fog that flowed down behind Sylar. "But if we can't see its flaws -- or, well, I suppose I cannot truly say that the deities are men, and so it may be perfect -- then at least it can never break down." The faint ticking lurked in the back of his mind, so quiet he could barely hear it except when they both fell silent, like a pocketwatch hidden somewhere in the bottom of a stuffed pack. "Barrier? If there is a barrier, in theory I can pass through it, but who knows with the City. This place seems tailored to deal with special abilities."

The weight of the Underground felt so real as it pressed in, as if the caverns were crushing the air and him with it. He didn't even have to breathe, but the air still felt heavy and thick, and hovering about took actual effort. Dark. Dank. Misty. Hollow. Like a midnight full of smoke and hollow silence on the far side of Stalingrad.

(ooc: d'aww. ^_^ )

"Can't say I care much for the fog machine down here," Sylar said suddenly. He must've been thinking something similar, because he was quickly scowling at the walls around them. He led Sorrow down a path that he thankfully could walk blindfolded.

As they walked into the caves proper, he figured he'd better go into the barrier itself. "You probably won't be able to pass through that barrier, but it'll be interesting to see. No one I've ever traveled with has been able to get through it. It responds to contact as well as physical attack. It'll either shock you or teleport you out of the Underground." The last was seriously annoying. "Magic seemed to affect it more, but- to be honest, I doubt we've made any real headway on it."

"Has anyone considered stopping the carousel? I apologize to your watchmaker's skills, but if we, for example, thrust one of the City residents' huge machines between the horses, perhaps we could damage it." He brought a hand to his chin for a moment, idly scratching at it -- his beard hadn't grown since years ago, but nonetheless it reminded him of sitting at camp covered in dust and stubble and thinking over the most recent information. This place was as dangerous as any field camp location, anyway.

"People have tried to stop it once or twice," Sylar replied with a shrug. "That was a couple years ago. Felt kind of bad for them, actually- their giant mech was apparently no mach for the ride."

Sylar was ignoring the fog as well as he could, now. It bugged him, even though he didn't have to breathe- but he wasn't going to let that ruin the conversation. "I've only seen it stop once, and that was of it's own accord. All the clocks stopped, actually, even mine." He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. "I think that's when the zombie infection showed up." He shook his head. "Anyway, everyone thought we'd reached the end of the countdown, up until the fireworks. It was just another prank, apparently."

"It just dragged the beast around in a circle?" He listened in disbelief, brows creeping up. "At least this demonstrates that the worlds do not end when the clock stops moving. Do we have anything larger? A -- I never fail to surprise myself by saying -- starship, a steel building, anything that something with enough strength could use to put far more mass against its motion than it should ever be able to handle?"

"A building," Sylar said appreciatively, perking up at that idea. "Haven't ever tried that before. It could be a possibility. I know there's no starships, but they can't exactly take away the buildings." He was glad to get off the topic of the Clock stopping- when it happened, it had honestly rather scared him.

Another topic-changer started to make noise down their path. Something skittering, a sound generally accompanied with things that had too many legs. Sylar listened for a moment, then shouted down the tunnel- unlike a normal yell, this one was ten times louder and held concussive force behind it. As the sound faded, Sylar shrugged and said quietly to Sorrow, "It usually turns them over." He suspected it was a big spider-creature, or a giant scorpion if they were less lucky. Either way, he took his hands out of his pockets and practically skipped down the tunnel, eager to see what he'd soon be taking apart with his telekinesis.

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