I don't write disclaimers because it seems silly to me when you write a note about how you don't own something on a site where the original idea is not allowed to be yours. Then it would be called an original story, not a fanfiction.

This is really really short. Its the first chapter and I'm struggling with writing more. This starts off after Sylar meets his father. I'm not sure right now if its going to follow the Heroes plot line of go of on its own little tangent. I REALLY enjoyed writing this first chapter. Sylar's inner thoughts are so fun to write and I hope I can do more in the future. I hope you enjoy.

Reviews and suggestions are welcome!


Sylar had been talking to this pathetic rasping old man for an hour now. These flashbacks, the- what he could only call memories kept striking him at wholly inappropriate times. Sylar witnessed as the man he now knew as his father had brought him to a dinner every day of his young life, and it was in that dinner that he had sold him to the watchmaker and his wife. The birth father of the man, who had caused all the wonderful death and destruction not to mention beautifully murdered hundreds of people in cold blood, was nothing more than a cancerous insect. Sylar searched the house for photos, none. He searched the house for letters, none. Sylar was just about to-

"Gabriel…" Sylar's fists clenched when the old man wheezed his forgotten identity. "I was wondering if you knew who this was."

Sylar loosened slightly, it was only the boy. "He's been following me, just ignore him."

Suddenly there was a woman's voice coming from the door, "Dad?" He didn't even think about it Sylar was at door in less than two seconds. His skin crawled with anger as he thought of the possibility that others had acquired his fate through this disgusting slug of a man. She had sandy hair that was tied up in back, and her face was hard and block like with strong cheek bone clearly visibly behind her pale skin. From her physique Sylar would have guessed she was twenty, but her clothes suggested much older. She was wearing a long black skirt that showed no signs of a curve whatsoever, and her shirt looked like a long dark purple knitted blouse. Her arms hung loosely at her sides coming to connect in front of her stomach where her hands held each other firmly.

The old man smiled civilly, "I'm sorry miss but I don't know who you are."

Her silver blue eyes traveled to Sylar. "I see," her voice hummed. There was no emotion about her at all, her eyes were nonchalant, and her voice monotone. There was no movement in her upper body as she turned to leave. Sylar and the old man stared after her as she walked down the unkempt pathway.

Sylar took a step out of the house. There was something about that woman. He watched her walk up to the next house, when the door opened she asked for her father. The door was slammed in her face and she continued.

"What is your name?" he called out. The woman stopped and turned her head over her shoulder, her body followed slowly.

She blinked. Everything about her was so manual.

"Margaret."

Suddenly Sylar collapsed.