Title: Tame the Sociopath
Author: Raijeria Deamion
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Heroes characters, except for my own Sura Cross (we start off in her point of view). This is set after the 5th season, and empaths are once again forced into hiding because of Claire's showing (but we don't see much of her in this fic )
Setting: Dark cloudy night somewhere in Alexandria, Virginia. Crowds hustle to get inside before the sky unleashed its furious storm against the small town. In the corner on a dark street is where the story begins.
Rating: NC-17 Syler/Gabriel/OC
Chapter 1: Night 3
**Sura's Point of View**
*Tonight is so dead,* I thought as I gazed around my empty bar. The rock music pounded listlessly echoing off the empty walls without the normal loud chatter to absorb it. My eyes roamed towards the two men in towards the back, one was leaning, they'd be leaving soon. I looked back to my work of cleaning already clean shot glasses willing my eyes to stay down but once again I found myself glancing subtly at the only other figure in the bar. He sat at the farthest end of my set in the shadows. Night 3. This was the third night he'd shown up in a row, ordered the same thing. My mind wandered back to night one. As owner of a bar I keep myself multitasked, but when he spoke, time for me stopped. "Excuse me," I looked up from my order of tequilas into his deep dark eyes. "How may I help you," came my reply when I finally found my voice. Amusement rippled underneath his stern features. "A shot of your hardest, and a mix of your darkest. Keep em comin." His voice was mellow, dark…sensual.. but he was frustrated inwardly…something had previously bothered him. I shook those thoughts aside and fulfilled his request. A loud bang threw me from my thoughts. I gazed undaunted at the two drunk rednecks leaned against the cash register. One of them, a short fat man giggled nonstop while the other taller, bulkier man angled his fist and hit the bar again. "You've received my attention," I said calmly with a smile. The taller man grinned showing jagged yellow teeth. "Good, now why doncha get me another round of beers." I shook my head slowly, "I'm sorry gentlemen, its closing time. Call it a night." I looked back down at my shot glasses, jaw set body on guard knowing it wouldn't be that simple. I was right. The fat short man scoffed and threw his weights against the machine, jolting it a bit. "Didya hear tha little bitch Jas, she said we caint have more ta drank!" The word did not offend me, I merely pointed towards the door. "Night gentle-" a clicking sound paused my movements. I looked up slowly down the barrel of a nice handcrafted pistol. My eyebrow twitched in agitation as I dropped the shot glass in surprise. "Not so mouthy now areya!" the fat short man crooned. My eyes flickered towards the man in the shadows. He was gone. Suddenly my head felt an intense pressure. *Duck* came a deep commanding voice. Without thinking I did just that, dropping to my hands and knees behind the bar. It seemed slow motion, there were gunshots as bottles from behind me on the shelves flew off and pelted the rednecks hard and fast. The men screamed of ghosts and witchcraft before shooting their way out the bar. There was silence, except my pounding heartbeat. I slowly rose off the floor to observe my ruined bar. Chairs and tables had been thrown around to accompany the glass shards and alcohol soaked floor. He sat at my blood stained and shattered set, observing me with those dark eyes. I observed the damage, reality setting in. "My bar…" I moaned in disbelief. "Would you rather your life?" he asked matter-of-factly. I turned to him, eyebrows drawn. "How did you do this?" he looked suspiciously at me. "How do you think?" came his reply. I became exasperated. My business was destroyed. "It doesn't matter. But now what am I going to do…" I said mostly to myself. "You're hurt." He said looking at my hand. I looked down, raising my hand in the light. Two thick pieces of glass stood straight through my palm. My eyes widened in shock as I pulled one out, and then the other staring at my hand. "Is that your ability?" he asked. I almost forgot he was there. "I didn't feel it…"I muttered. But I was not scared. The blood was there, the wound was there…only thing missing was the feeling. "What are these abilities?" I asked looking up at him. His eyebrows were drawn together giving him a dark dangerous look. "Obviously yours is that you can't feel pain… mine, well mine are a little more difficult." With a flick of his hand, I felt my body rise in the air and come over the bar to be set down in front of him. I was amazed to say the least. "Wow," I breathed. He took my wrist gently and examined the healing wounds. I looked from my hand to his eyes, his gaze trapped me. Up close he looked older, his dark eyes menacing, alone with his slicked back dark hair, leather jacket and dark attire he could have easily been the bad guy. He caught my wandering gaze and held it with a smirk. I found my eyes flick to his unnatural sharp teeth and back into his hypnotizing stare. "What is your name-" "I'm only 19-" we said at the same time, his smirk grew wider as I revealed my age. "Age is not a name," he joked to me. I also smiled, the nametag I wore read "Simone", he obviously considered different.
"Sura…" I said slowly, "Sura Cross." I gazed at him expectantly. Although his face did not show it, he seemed to be battling something in his psyche. Finally his smile became whole and he pointed to the last remaining intact bottle of liquor. "I am Sylar, and I'd like to buy you a drink."
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