AN: Written for a request on livejournal, for Claire/Sylar, "people nowadays thought that they were just myths"
By 2150, there were no more specials. The recent eclipses had produced nothing unusual but dogs barking and a lack of wind.
Soon people said that the whole "specials" thing was just a product of water pollution making genes mutate in unusual ways.
There were legends, of course. Of specials from the old days who had the power of regeneration. But after all the roundups and assassinations of specials, it was hard to believe anyone could survive.
There were rumors about a killer. She was ruthless and unforgiving and too good at her job not to encourage legends. When she killed off some brutal criminals, she became something of a folk legend, and murals of her started popping up in cities everywhere. Through some pop culture filter of sexism and sexual fantasy, the renderings always portrayed her as young - too young to be that good at what she did - with long, flowing blonde hair, and wearing, inexplicably, a cheerleader outfit.
When it became clear that she had bullets ready for a lot of other people too, they washed over the murals with more positive civic messages.
One man claimed to see her. He was a security guard for the Prime Ambassador, the only survivor of the assault besides the Ambassador himself.
The guard claimed that the woman got into the building by jumping out of a helicopter, crashing through the glass dome at the top of the world parliament, and falling twenty stories to the floor. And then she got up and started shooting.
The guard was lying there bleeding when he saw the woman - who looked, somehow, young as a girl - walk right up to the Amassador, who was calmly standing there, smiling. She shot him point blank in the head.
And then, according to the guard, the Ambassador didn't fall. He healed. His face reappeared, whole, undamaged.
And then, it changed. Into someone else, some other man, with a different face and a predatory grin. And he grabbed the woman - the girl - and kissed her.
She responded by slamming him on the floor. But then she leaned over and kissed him, violently.
"I should have known it was you," she spat when she stood again.
"You should have," the man - who wasn't the Ambassador - responded, smiling, half threat and half flirtation.
"You're not a very good Ambassador. Too hesitant to put down your enemies," she said, mocking.
"Some of us like to control our worse instincts."
"Some of us like to use them to make us stronger. Remember what that was like, Sylar? New power, new possibilities?"
"You can't tempt me, Claire, and you can't kill me either."
"I'll do one or the other, one of these centuries."
"Always happy to give you an excuse to visit."
She laughed, barely, but the glare didn't quite leave her face. She left then, running from the backup detail that came in shooting, and as the Ambassador turned around, he somehow shifted back into his normal face.
At least, that's how it went down according to the guard.
Who, according to the professionals, was likely hallucinating from blood loss and bumping his head when he landed, shot.
The Ambassador told everyone the assassin ran out of bullets, and she couldn't reload before backup arrived. The backup detail saved his life. Not some ridiculous healing power that no longer existed.
The guard left the security detail a laughingstock. No one knows where he went.
Quietly, the Ambassador sent out new security protocols to his regular haunts. They were full of strange requests, things that seemed to be intended to keep out someone who was a little more than human.