Sylar grins from ear to ear. He doesn't mind the blood staining his new shoes. He could care less about the chunks of brain under his meticulously manicured fingernails. Fuck all that, he's finally killed Hiro Nakamura. He feels like the kid that beats the obstacle course on Fun House, even though that show hasn't aired in almost 20 years. Yamaha keyboards and British Knight trainers aside, he's won the trip to fucking Disney World.
He is the master of time and space. And none of these bitches are gonna roll up on his shit.
He doesn't scrunch up his face like he's taking a dump because he isn't the dead Japanese man on the floor. Instead, Sylar closes his eyes and thinks of a time and place far more awesome than this.
When he opens his eyes, he's greeted with a sight most bodacious indeed.
WELCOME BACK, CLASS OF 1986 is emblazoned across a banner over John Hughes High School. Milling about the campus are teenagers in clothing splashed with bright colors, girls with giant earrings and flashy make-up, bizarre hairstyles, and a Chuck Taylor All-Star on every foot. At least he blends in as far as his choice in footwear goes.
As he scans the busy crowd, he also notices a disturbingly familiar face.
"C'mon, Nate! Knock it off!" Peter cries as his older brother makes an attempt to wipe the eyeliner from his eyes.
"You look like one of those Remedy assholes, Pete. Guys don't wear make-up." Nathan says while wiping a tissue over Peter's now smudged eyes.
"It's the Cure, Nate." Peter protests. "And tons of guys wear make-up. Just look at David Bowie."
Nathan shakes his head at his younger brother. He hates David Bowie. Why does Peter feel the need to emulate British bands anyway? He's worried Peter is becoming something terrible. Something… un-American. Besides, he's so pretty without make-up. "If people see you like this, it's going to kill any chance I have at winning the election for senior class president."
Peter shoves him away. "It's always about what other people think." He puts on his headphones and pulls out the Walkman. "If you need me I'll be in the library, listening to the Smiths." Nathan has no chance to respond as Peter spins on his heel, black trench coat flailing in the autumn breeze behind him.
Sylar's wanted Nathan's power since before he even knew about his own. Flying. What a kick-ass ability. His favorite villain flies. Why shouldn't he? He's as stealthy as he can be in broad daylight when he stalks behind Nathan. He grabs the other man from behind and begins to drag him into the woods across the street. Sylar doesn't even bother wondering why Nathan isn't putting up a struggle.
"So this is where you wanna make up, Pete?" Nathan (sexily?) asks. "We need to come up with better spots or we'll be caught for sure." Nathan turns to face whom he thinks is his brother, only to be greeted with the sight of Sylar. "You're not Peter…" he begins to trail off, but stops himself. "What will it take for you to forget any of what just happened?"
It takes Sylar a minute to realize what's going on. Tricky thing, that intuitive aptitude; you have to think about it to actually be able to use it. It's not on autopilot all the time like Angela's ability. "Are you and your brother-"
"Look, I said forget about it!" Nathan snaps.
"You won't need to worry about anyone knowing anything after I'm done with you." Sylar says, his finger at Nathan's head. "I'll be taking that power of yours now."
"Power?" Nathan has the audacity to ask. "I'm not even class president yet."
Sylar rolls his eyes. "Flying, you moron."
"I can't fly." Nathan says flatly.
When the telltale tingle of lying doesn't tickle behind his ears, Sylar lowers his finger. Shit. Nathan can't fly. He never figured people not having powers into the scenario when he arrived in this Alternate Universe. What a waste of time! Although being an immortal master of time and space excludes you from wasting time, per se… Sylar shakes his head. He's getting off track. He shoves Nathan back toward the school.
Deciding this AU was not worth exploring, Sylar shuts his eyes and thinks of a time and place more suited for him; a time and place where everyone has sweet powers and all the girls are blond and they die without complaining.
"What are you doing, Creepy Old Guy?" A back-from-the-dead voice asks him. He doesn't need to open his eyes to know who it is.
"Trying to leave." Sylar answers, eyes still closed.
"Looks more like you're fantasizing to me. You know, they arrest people like you; trying to get boners out side of high schools."
"Whatever, kid. I'm trying to teleport out of this Alternate Universe and into a way better one. One where people have powers." Sylar informs her of his plan, like all villains do.
"Did you do some really good coke?" She asks. " 'Cuz I'm, like, totally out and need some."
"What? No-" Sylar opens his eyes and is greeted with the sight of a seventeen year old Elle dressed like Madonna in the 'Like a Virgin' video. He doesn't want to laugh, but he almost does. "Go away, I have something to do."
"Uh-huh." Elle answers him, winking. "Something." She backs toward the school's direction. "See ya, Perv!" She makes it across the street in time for the first bell to go off. Sylar feels a little dirty when he catches himself admiring her backside as she runs away.
Once he's alone again, he makes another attempt at getting the Hell out of this AU. Since the first try didn't work, he wonders if he did something wrong. Maybe he really does need to scrunch up his face like he's taking a dump. Sylar closes his eyes tight and grits his teeth, thinking so very hard of a cooler place to be than an alternate 1986. Anywhere!
He's disappointed to find he's merely teleported across the street. Figuring out this power is going to take a lot of work.