Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes and I never will. Such a bummer, right?
I could've been anything, anyone. I could've been famous. As my mother always said, I could be president.
I chose to be infamous.
But not the name. I shed the name Gabriel Gray when I got rid of the shy, nerdy watchmaker, with the parted hair, huge glasses, and sweater vests. I'd used the name with Maya, because that was who I was without my powers. I used the name with Elle because that was who she'd originally saved, fell in love with.
And then betrayed.
Powerless, betrayed. That was Gabriel. I am not. I am powerful, and I don't get close enough to anyone anymore to be betrayed.
As you might have guessed, the rank of serial killer doesn't quite appeal to many people. Unless you're sadistic, power-hungry, masochistic, or crazy. I do enjoy that type of company.
That's why I chose an alias. SYLAR. From a watch. The only remnant of my former life. I'd fixed the watch, was working on it, when I met Brian Davis. It had been the link between the two sides of me.
It's odd, when the entire world is moving, changing around you, and you're not a part of it. I almost felt sorry for Claire, immortal as she was. When I had her, in that D.C. hotel room, and reminded her that everyone she knew and loved was going to die, while she just stopped growing, stopped aging, just...stopped, I could almost see her terror at the realization. I was the one who had enlightened her to the extent of her powers. Even her dear old dad, who worked for Primatech for about two decades, didn't know about Adan, the four-hundred-year old with her power. Or maybe he had, but didn't want to tell her, to frighten his precious, innocent, protected little Claire.
But I understood. I got it. And I told her. Warned her. Although why you wouldn't want that is beyond me. Why give up a gift, a good thing?
Now I'd been brought to my knees by my former brother, the pathetic paramedic, the do-gooder who was always trying to rally against me. If he hadn't been working against me, he'd still have his power. What good is a power if you can't hold onto it? Yet he'd still found me out, discovered my ruse, and pumped me full of drugs. Even my impervious body has to work to flush out and kill toxin from the blood stream.
Then what had happened? How had I ended up in the mind of the mind-reader? And more importantly, where was my body? I couldn't exactly be immortal without a body.
Meanwhile it seemed like everyone had forgotten about me. I used to be the bringer of terror, the boogieman. I had been invisible, unstoppable, and menacing. If I was there, you were dead. Now I was a joke. My body was still out there somewhere, I could feel it. So how had anyone involved convinced the rest that I was truly dead?
I needed to find out the answer to these questions. I need to regain my status, gain even more powers. Identity crisis? I don't think so. I know exactly who I am. I am Sylar. I am powerful. I am the most special. I am infamous.
Aren't I?
