Author's Note: This is a based on a crazy dream I had. It's awesome. Except that in the dream, Sylar was in a wheelchair, a giant three headed sandworm attacked one of the cabins, and I had a cameo in the store room, trying to climb the shelves to reach some dog food for the little kid that could turn into the shaggy dog. Needless to say, Sylar won't be in a wheelchair (I'm not clever enough to figure out how to fit that one in), but the sandworm might show up. I don't know. I'll have to think about it.
Sylar's Camp for Gifted Children
Prologue: "Insatiable His Appetite"
It was far too easy to slip through their fingers, to overpower them, and to be denied death.
And it was far too easy to drift into Mohinder Suresh's apartment like a shadow and breach the firewalls on the geneticists laptop. He thought he wouldn't need Mohinder's list after all, when he consumed the power to paint the future. But many of his paintings were too obscure to take anything from; the faces were vague and the scenery unfamiliar. Maybe the clarity would unfold in time, but he could not choose what future he saw, and he grew hungry and restless.
So he did what he had always done when lost or confused: he made a little social call of sorts to an old friend. Of course, his last visit ended a little... violently, but he tried not to dwell on the consequences of his ruined reconciliation with his mother. It seemed that everywhere he went death followed, but it was done. He would not be tied down with regret; he would become so powerful that nothing would be able to tie him down.
An hourglass icon with a percentage sign drifting beside it appeared as Mohinder's list downloaded. The professor's laptop was nice, but a little old– downright ancient in electronic time. After all, it's not like it was an ilaptop. What else could he do? The serial killer waited patiently with his fingers clasped in his lap as the hourglass flipped idly.
A few minutes later, there was a 'plink' sound, and Sylar felt the sting of disappointment as three profiles shifted onto the screen. Mohinder had clearly been distracted by Primatech Paper and Molly Walker to not have gotten farther in his efforts to rebuild the list. Still, Sylar was practically salivating as he scanned the names and addresses. Paul Ruben, 45, California; Maye Roe, 16, Louisiana; Alexis Garrett, 21, Connecticut. Sylar smiled with morbid satisfaction. He had not been to Connecticut... yet. A familiar voice closed in on the apartment, moving away from the elevator in the hallway, and Sylar quickly snapped the laptop closed. It beeped irritably at him as it automatically logged off, its light blinking twice. Sylar could hear Mohinder argue with someone on his cellphone about who was in charge of what and smiled. Mohinder had always thought he was in control of the situation, but could never see anyone else's intentions until he had already been used. Sylar willed the window open and levitated down to the balcony below, pulling the window closed behind him with his mind. The apartment in front of him was bare of furniture and occupants; apparently it had not yet been leased. Fortune was a strange thing. The doors opened and closed behind him with the smallest amount of effort as he strode through the empty rooms and into the apartment complex hallway. Five minutes later he exited the building like nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
So, a short little prologue to whet the appetite. I hope. Anyways, reviews a adored, and will overwhelmingly speed the process. Unfortunately, however, they are not required.