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Part Three: Sylar

With old Gabriel out of the way, Sylar was set free to roam. One kill followed the other. Newspapers wrote about a brain-stealing maniac. Interpol was chasing the wind, and all the while seemingly random victims kept appearing in different locations all over the world.

Sylar's never ending quest for abilities took him far from his home, places that young Gabriel Gray had once dreamt of seeing, before it became unreachable. It was ironic that the kid who had given up all the scholarships to work in his father's workshop, was the now the number one wanted by the FBI.

Since each kill had made him more powerful, more difficult to trap, Sylar no longer cared who saw him or how he exposed his powers. The authorities were helpless: Sylar took what he wanted whenever he wanted it.

One particular time almost got him killed in Odessa, Texas. Somehow, everyone seemed to be aware about his coming and what was meant to be an easy kill in the girls locker room ended up being a forty feet fall from the top of a high school building.

What happened next was a blur of pain, needles and test tubes. For most of the time, the serial killer was out cold, unaware of the experiments conducted on him. And that could have been considered as mercy.

"I don't see the reason to keep him alive. The risk far outweighs the gain." Bennett stared at the unconscious maniac. Sylar, tired and tortured, was sleeping like a baby.

"We got our orders from the highest," his colleague argued, sharing the disappointment. "There can be no killing until they say so."

Bennett grunted and turned off the lights.

"I guess the least we could do is make him comfortable," Sylar heard him say as they left the room. The other one laughed and closed the door.

….

Sylar's first attempt at escaping this facility ended with a failure. Eden was dead and her brains shattered into millions of pieces; it was a complete waste. As soon as the Haitian returned, Sylar was moved to another cell, hooked up with tranquilizers and tied to the bed so tight he could not feel his arms or legs.

Late that night, after Bennett had done his magic, he got another visitor. The light was switched on the same way, but the footsteps were feminine. Sylar turned his head, as much as the straps let him, surprised to see a familiar face.

"You," Sylar drawled through the haze. He may have been drugged and delusional, but it was her, Elle, standing there just as real as the straps around his arms.

"You should not have done that, Gabriel," Elle reprimanded, watching him through the glass.

The girly look was gone. Here, she was not an angel, but an agent. A killer, like him.

Sylar wondered if she had known Eden, if they had been friends. He could only hope.

"They're gonna have to put you down for that," Elle stated quietly. He might have heard sadness in her voice. Spots were dancing before his eyes and he was too drugged to tell.

"It's all your fault," Sylar sneered, trying to make eye contact. "You made me into that monster."

Elle pulled back a little and frowned. He found himself wishing there was no glass between them.

"Don't you care that you're going to die?"

Sylar let out a throaty laugh. The straps tightened around each gasp of breath, embracing him with a vice-like clutch.

"I'll see you soon, Elle. I promise."

….

It turned out that Sylar had a hard time with keeping that promise.

For some reason, the Company seemed reluctant to set Elle against him. Starting from Eden, then Candice, they used up all their aces before it came down to her. But when the moment presented itself, it meant guns and bullets and ice-blue flashes. And he under-estimated her, her arm in a sling, her eyes cold and determined. She managed a few hits; he managed a shot before the escape. Sylar had to admit that in the time he spent hating her she had grown fiercer.

Out of all the Company agents, Sylar had never spent as much time trying to leave any of them alive like he did with Elle. There was something that captivated him other than the desire for vengeance or the beauty of the game. She was dangerous and unreachable. He admired her power and wanted it, just as he used to want her. Sometimes he had trouble making the difference between one and the other.

Elle was the law of nature; he was the science that ruled it and used it for his advantage. In the course this game of cat and mouse, he learned to enjoy it, purposefully leaving her last on his list. His voice would follow her footsteps, taunting her, her bewilderment growing with each victim she failed to save. From time to time, he even lingered near the crime scenes, letting their glances cross across the crowd, like old acquaintances, and then he was gone.

He also saw that with each power he took, the circle grew narrower and victims harder to catch. Eventually, it would have to be her.

It would have to be her because he was a serial killer now. Serial killers did not harbor secret feelings, least of all for their enemies who had sworn to take them down.

When it came down to this, Sylar did what he had to do. He survived.