It was dark, and he was cold. Too cold. He tried to sit up, get his bearings. Then he remembered, the Japanese man. He felt for his wound, there was none. Sylar leaned against the stone wall, remembering. Peter, did he go off? Was New York destroyed? Sylar wanted to be the hero. He had failed. But the sword, he remembered the feel of the metal going through him, how was there no wound… He laid back down and closed his eyes.
"Gabriel", a soft voice said. "My, how you have fallen." Sylar snapped upright, "My name is Sylar", he snarled, peering into the darkness. "Have you forsaken the one you were named after as well?" Sylar turned around, and everything went white.
It was bright, and he was warm. He stood up, looked around. His black coat and pants were replaced with billowing white ones. Sylar tried to think, "No..." The sound of wings came upon him.
"Yes...my stray lamb." He turned around, not wanting to see, but needing to.
"Gabriel?" There it was, the messenger, the angel of death. "Am I dead?"
Gabriel laughed, "There are things more worth your concern, like what to do with you..."
Sylar hung his head down. "So this is my judgement day."
"Yes, and it will be harsh. All those people.." He was interrupted.
"Those people were worth nothing!"
"And what do you think your worth is?"
"They deserved death, they didn't appreciate their gifts, their abilities."
"Neither do you, you weren't content with the gift God had given you. You had to steal more."
Sylar flinched at the sound of God. He didn't truly believe in his life, he was for the first time, truly scared. "Well, then," he started, trying to be calm, "If I'm so undeserving, why are you still bothering with me? Why is the highest of the angels, talking to a lowly cockroach like me?" His calm shattered.
Gabriel placed a hand on Sylar's shoulder. "Because there is still work for you to do in the name of God", he whispered. He fell into the angel's arms, but felt like he was falling forever.