Chapter Two:

Calm

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After Syalr's outburst, he somehow managed to end up back on the bed. It wasn't completely dark, as he had earlier assumed; there was light coming from a grate near the floor and in indents in the wall. It was just enough that he could make out where the four walls were but not much else... and certainly not enough to see if anybody was on the other side of the glass. It was like a mirror, and this irritated him. He looked at the offending article again, and stopped. His reflection was just a pattern of light and dark, with dark hollows where his eyes were, but there was no mistaking it. He reached a slow hand to his head and felt the short bristles.

They cut my hair?! He ground his teeth together in annoyance. That was unnecessary; he was not a sheep for them to shear. What another wonderful point to add to the list of reasons of why he should kill everyone in this damned place. Painfully. But he had to be patient; that was an important key he'd learned long ago.

Not that he had anything to worry about; they wouldn't do anything to him. They wouldn't do anything to him before he escaped, that is. And he would not give them that chance, but being patient did not mean waiting around, it just meant waiting for their guard to be lowered. Even a minute amount would be all that he needed.

But he needed his power too; the extent of his knowledge and expertise could only be watered down so much. Hmm... Time for an analysis? The blankets perhaps; could he do it? He stared at them for a few moments, just staring, almost trying to deny the truth. But he could hardly wait forever, and he summoned the power he knew he possessed and concentrated on it. The current welled in his hands automatically and he smiled. He knew they were still there. They hadn't left him. He was just about to send it into the blankets to make sure he wasn't imagining anything when he felt a tightness around him.

This was so unexpected that Sylar released the energy in shock. Was that what was keeping his powers from him, some kind of force field? A person perhaps? The Haitian. He was doing this. He tried to get the power back, forcing everything he had into getting something back. But that was it, the power did not return. His hands looked normal... no, what was he thinking; this had nothing to do with his hands. He concentrated again, this time looking for the reason he could not expel. But it was just a sense of emptiness, and after a few minutes of these exercises he could no longer feel anything from himself. It was like a lighter with no means of ignition. He knew he possessed the power but his ability to summon said power had been lost. This filled him with a deep frustration and he had to work to calm himself.

When his mind was clear, after an attempt at meditation, Sylar thought logically. What could cause this? The walls, they could be lined with... what? Lead? Sylar doubted that mere lead could stop him. Drugs? Possible. That was almost definitely why he'd been asleep for hours... No, wait, what about the girl? She had a part in this. And the Haitian. He must have the ability, this power... of destroying power? Interesting. They could be using their power collectively as well... There was a though; and a mirror image too, with him on one side and them on the other. Equally matched, so to speak. Although for the moment they were using this against him, keeping him in. The glass. It separated him from them.

But... he needed them. Without them he was nothing. No, don't think like that. There are always others to find, always others to feed off of. And his job would never be done, so there's one less thing to worry about.

Alright. Now to escape.

Sylar checked around the room, assessing his prison. He tapped and prodded, felt and listened, but it was a secure room, he could give that to them, he finally deduced after minutes examination.

But as he did this assessment, he always found himself back at the glass, staring at it or thinking about it. With the lights out on both sides it would be impossible for him to tell if anyone was watching him. Not that he cared as much, but during the long hours of confinement he did spend a good deal of time just staring at that glass. Or not staring at it. Sometimes he felt he needed solitude and would turn his back on it. It was during one of these times, as Sylar tried his hand at rough meditation, that HRG guy came to call.