CHAPTER 1
The fugitive, and mass murdered, Sylar Gray, just got another power. As he shut the office door behind him, blood seeped out into the carpet. He walked into a bathroom and washed the blood off his hands. He grabbed a paper towel and left.
He spotted a car across the street. He broke in and started it up. He turned onto a busy street, and suddenly his car was impaled with a human body. He stopped and got out. A girl slumped across the hood of his car, with something sticking out of her back. He heard something behind him, but whoever it was, was gone. He grabbed the girl and threw her in the car. He walked back to where she had come from. He thought he saw someone disappear around the side of a building, but it was too late. They were gone. He went back to the car.
She was still breathing. He gave her a second glance, and he quickly sped off.
Sylar wondered how he had gotten here. Here, in a cold motel room, staring at some girl, who, in a way seemed vaguely familiar. He practically ran her down. He could have just kept going, but he stopped. He helped her. Since when did he become the hero? He shuddered at the thought. His thoughts were broken when she started to stir. She was just dreaming. Was she running away in her dream too?
He went to get a fresh bucket of ice. When he returned to the motel room, she was awake. He watched her moan in pain for a moment before coming in.
"What did you do to me?" she asked, panicked, as memories flooded in.
"Nothing." He turned towards the bathroom.
"Who are you?" she asked weakly.
"Your Savior."
"What?"
"I'm the guy whose car you hit when someone shot you. You're lucky I didn't speed up. It was pretty tempting." She had a flash of memory - she remembered running from someone, and being shot.
"What's your name?" He began to question her. Was she sent after him? She stared at him defiantly. "I'm not gonna bite." He chuckled to himself.
"Echo," she replied. He could sense she was lying and placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Your real name?" He squeezed her shoulder tighter. She stared at him, in disbelief.
"What's it to you?" She shook his hand off as she stood up. She suddenly whipped around. Sylar slammed her into the wall, and held her there, telekinetically.
"It's Mira. My name is Mira." He raised an eyebrow. He knew a girl named Mira once. Could it be her? He lowered her to the ground, and loosened his grip a bit.
"I want to know what you're really doing here, Mira...who are you working with?"
"Working with? What the hell are you talking about?" He laughed lowly.
"Is this a set up?" he questioned, point blank.
"Set up? For what?! What the hell is going on? Who are YOU?!"
"Sylar. Don't act like you never heard of me."
"I don't know who the hell you are, or what makes you so SPECIAL, but I'm not here for you! I don't even know how I got here! You brought me here!" She was telling the truth.
"I'm supposed to believe you just ran into me, by chance? I avoid people. I'm not found unless I want to be," he growled. He pinned her against the bed. She struggled to get up, but his will was stronger.
"What's your power?"
"I don't have any power."
"Don't lie to me," he warned her. "I know you're lying."
He tightened his hold on her neck. She could feel the last of air escape her lungs. She choked on dry tears.
"Stop, please..." she choked out. She stared into his eyes, and fear seemed to take over him.
"What are you doing to me?!" he questioned, his grip loosened a little. His hand began to shake and he began to breathe heavily.
"Whatever you're doing, I'm taking." He telepathically began to slice open her head. A trickle of blood crept down her temple. Suddenly, he began to scream. She fell to the ground, exhausted. Sylar slumped against the wall. He felt the wound above his eye slowly close up. He wiped the blood off his brow and tended to her. She was still bleeding. What hell did she just do? She passed out on the floor, and he moved her to the bed.
She was dying. All that work and he wouldn't even get her power. He needed to act quickly - maybe this is the type of challenge his father talked about. He wiped his bloody hand across the wound on her head, and watched it stop bleeding. He found his pocket knife, cut his hand, and rubbed it across her forehead. The edges slowly began to crawl closed.
He stepped away from her, and looked at his hand. What had he just done? He saved her again? What if she got his power, permanently? He looked at the door. Maybe he should just leave - pretend this encounter never happened. She began to stir, moaning in pain. It was time to leave.
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