Armed guards circle around her. Angela glares at the agent in charge. "Good heavens, stand them down. I can do this alone."

After a tense moment, the agent turns and nods at one of the guards. The guns lower slowly and exit the cell one by one. Angela gives the head agent a tense smile. He turns and follows his men.

Alone at last. It's silent, save for the steady beep registering Sylar's pulse.

The cell is a stark white room, and at its center, Sylar lies naked on a metal table. A titanium bar fits across his chest, while two other titanium cuffs are locked around his wrists and ankles. IV lines on either side of him leak their contents into either arm. The skin around the catheters is a blotchy red and purple. He's unusually pale.

Angela focuses her gaze on his features. So calm…handsome even, she realizes. Her cheeks flush. Back to business.

"Hello, Sylar."

His eyelids snap open. The lights flicker overhead. Angela wants to believe that it is just a random unrelated electrical surge, but she knows better.

She steps closer to the table. Tries to ignore the youthful, masculine curves of its occupant.

Sylar's fingers twitch. He's still fighting, she realizes. She cannot fault him for it. Honestly, it's rather exhilarating to watch a cornered animal snarl.

Angela stops and the head of the table and leans down, her lips tantalizingly close to Sylar's ear.

"Before you opt to treat me as you did my son, I must remind you that my death will serve you no benefit. You are in the lion's den."

Sylar doesn't answer. His mind, like his body, is numb. Reality and dreams are indistinct. But he listens.

"I can stop this. I can get them to let you go," Angela purrs.

Sylar blinks and stares at the ceiling. This was the sensation he remembered as a kid before having a cavity filled. The dentist hooked him up to the gas, told him to breath slowly in and out, and then…this.

He recognizes Angela's voice, her presence somewhere in the fog.

"You can do what other people only dream of doing," Angela continues, "you are unique."

Yes, he is. Was. Long live the cheerleader.

Angela runs her fingers through his dark hair. Sylar closes his eyes, almost as she would expect a cat.

"There are others out there—others that don't have your control. They are dangerous, foolish. I need someone with your abilities to subdue them." Her hand traces along the curve of his neck to his jaw line.

Someone with my abilities. Sylar feels his way through the mental haze. There aren't many.

"Help me, Sylar, and I will help you."

Bullets. Starvation. Imprisonment. Petrelli.

Peter.

The haze disappears. Eyes wide, Sylar bucks against the titanium bars. The catheter strains and pulls out his arm. Warm blood seeps onto the table.

"Where…am I?" he growls. God only knows how much time has elapsed, he seethes.

Angela tries to slow her racing heartbeat. The discarded IV lines continue to pulse fluid onto the floor. She takes a deep breath and grabs Sylar's arm threateningly. His blood oozes between her fingers.

"Yes or no, Sylar. I'm not playing games."

Neither is he. Sylar glares at her, recalls her worthless flattery and request. He will not be her pawn.

"I..have…no…intention… of ever…helping…you." It takes effort to cough out each word. He continues to struggle against the restraints. Angela's eyes narrow. Her grip tightens painfully on his arm.

She smiles daggers. "I have the power to strip everything from you that you hold dear and ensure that you will never regain it. You will be inconsequential. "

The table begins to shake. The bars creak in protest. Oh God, he's healing, Angela realizes. She drops his arm and backs away. Hits the intercom on the wall.

"Get in here, now!" she orders, and heads for the door.

Sylar opens his hand. Angela finds herself sliding backwards toward him.

"Sylar!" she yells. The invisible pull stops as the guards come pouring into the room. Angela strides back toward the table and hits Sylar as hard as she can. For Peter. For herself. Because she hates and desires this animal. Sylar's head snaps back against the table.

The agent jabs the catheter and IV line back into his flesh.

"What's in the IV?" Angela pants. Her hand stings.

The agent keeps his gaze on Sylar. "Propoflo at the moment."

Angela turns the drip up the maximum rate. The heart monitor's pulses slow. Sylar's gaze clouds over. The long beep sounds as he flat lines. The agent stares wide-eyed at her.

"Pump him full of embalming fluid for all I care," Angela snaps. "Just keep him like this."

She exits the room. Two guards escort her. As she walks, she looks down. Sylar's blood drips from her fingertips.