A/N: Heey there! This is just a oneshot about the whole Syathan thing (Sounds like a creepy shipping name, but no XD) I'm thinking about maybe turning it into a multichaptered thing, like one of those 'next season speculation' fics I guess. You think I should? You like it? R&R!


Not My Life

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

There it was again! Senator Nathan Petrelli slammed his fist against the desk, sending his pen skittering across its surface and over the edge, landing with a dull thump. It hadn't used to be like this, he mused as he kneaded his forehead with one hand. It was that infernal clock! Its rhythmic tick-tocking like an itch just out of reach, taunting him with the innate sense that something was wrong.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

His chair skidded backwards as he shoved away from his desk, standing jerkily. Why him? Why now, all of a sudden? He glanced at the door, making sure it was closed tightly before approaching the elegant clock, ignoring the fallen pen nestled in the thick carpet. What's wrong with you? He asked as he gingerly lifted the glass dome away from the clock face with his fingertips, not sure if he was talking to the clock or himself.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

It came to him suddenly, like an epiphany, everything falling into place. The corners of his lips tugged upward in a brief smile, something that seemed so rare nowadays. It made sense. He finally understood.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

He reached out hesitantly, his right index finger pressing the minute hand backwards along the clock's cream colored face a fraction of an inch. There, it was perfect, it was right. A little too quickly he pulled his hand back and the minute hand's sharp edge sliced open the pad of his finger, long and shallow. Nathan simply stared at it for a moment, caught between mild surprise and irritation as a thin line of blood snaked its way into a steady drip that pattered against the dresser the clock sat on.

Thump, thump.

And then it healed, the skin knitting together cleaning. His breathe accelerated, coming out in short, shallow gasps. What was going on? He flew, that was his ability. He wasn't Claire, he was wasn't Peter, he wasn't…

Thump, thump.

It was his heart this time, each pulse pounding in his ears as he fell forward slightly, grabbing the dresser's edge to steady himself. Sylar. No, no. He was dead. He had seen his body go up in flames himself. Half-formed memories surfaced violently, each one coming and going like a painful burst of light. Gabriel Gray. Sylar. Brian Davis. Each name was like someone taking an ice pick to his brain, each one carrying pain, sorrow, guilt.

Thump, thump.

Now came the ones tinged with anger, vengefulness, a horrible hunger that couldn't be satisfied. Angela Petrelli. Hiro Nakamura. Matt Parkman. The first one frightened him the most. His own mother. And Hiro, Parkman, they'd been allies once upon a time. And then his own face, Nathan Petrelli accompanied by a flash of envy and disgust.

Thump, thump.

What was wrong with him? He shook his head violently, his legs feeling like jelly, as if that alone would rid him of whatever was happening. But it didn't, of course. The truth came to him in a terrible flash of intuition summoned by instinct. His eyes flicked around the room, everything unfamiliar and strange as he saw it with new eyes. His hand shook as he reached out and brushed his finger in the small pool of blood and it only got worse as he wrote out in large, ragged letters.

I…

Am…

Sylar…

And this is not my life.


S/N: -looks around- Don't tell McGee I was here. I posted this story. Again. She lazy. Shhh! ^^ -poofs-