Thap...thap...thap...Sylar sat in the living room of his mother's modest apartment. Walls that were always a most appalling shade of green. It always reminded him of split pea soup. Though, Virginia Gray was far too neat to have ever had even a hint of a spill in her home. Thap...thap...thap... Those walls were lined with racks of shelves to hold her various knickknacks and crafts. Balls of yarn, small Hummel figurines and of course the ever-present snow globes. His amber eyes blinked and took in the sight of the last ones to join the collection, all states he had murdered in. A drop of crimson caught his eye as it slid down on the plastic, rolling then dropping to the floor staining the linoleum. Slowly, he shifted in his seat and turned to meet his gaze with the shining silver handle. From there he traveled up the stains of blood and to the wound itself. A straight, clean shot right to the heart. One that should no longer beat, but Sylar could faintly hear a heartbeat that was not his own as he moved and stood up. Her face seemed especially drawn as she glanced down at her son, her Gabriel. Her lips were a blue-ish hue and just as thin as ever as they quivered some.

"...I know that you're not really Damned, Gabriel. I know that...the person who did this..."

She made a weak gesture to her heart and glanced down, as she quietly continued.

"...that it was all you. I-I know that...you wanted me to die Gabriel."

As he did the day it happened, Sylar moved toward his mother. Once more, she flinched and turned away from the demon her son had become. His pale hands pressed to either side of her upper arms as he tried to turn her back to face him. Though when she did, that look in her eyes chilled him. It was the perfect reflection of the terror his many victims displayed from the iris out, but it was the only one that ever meant anything to him. Her fear struck that chord within him that had so long remained silent, a string that went out of tune from never being played. It allowed Sylar to be able to really and truly understand how far he had fallen. Just looking at her eyes, those hollowed out orbs filled in with shades of horror and regret, he could step outside of himself. Realize that he was a killer, that he was a sinner and such a massive amount of the Catholic guilt that resided inside of him came back to the surface burning at Sylar's very core. He shook his head and felt that weakness of his old life take over the shell he now hid inside of.

"I-I'm sorry…It was an accident I swear, I nev—"

"Stop lying to me! Lying to your own mother—just let the sins pile up like snowflakes …"

Quickly, Sylar turned his back and moved to run out of the house just as he did that fateful day. But when he moved to take his first step, she was there. And when he moved to go past her she was in front of him still. Sylar's eyes widened as he stumbled back a step, his legs never feeling more awkward and gangly than in that moment.

"Please Mom…I'm sorry, I'll go—you won't have to see me again, I'll leave."

Bony fingers grasped onto his arms as she stared right into her son's eyes.

"This isn't something you can run from Gabriel…this is something you must…"

She slowly reached over and grasped the scissors handle, pulling it out with a series of sloshing, wet, sucking sounds. When the scissors were fully retrieved, she offered them to her son with a hard look in her eyes.

"…embrace."

Sylar stared down at the bloodied implement, his own hand finding its way to taking them from his mother's palm. His fingers curled tightly around them and he lifted them up to come dangerously close to his own chest.

"Will the guilt stop—will you forgive me?"

Virginia shook her head slowly, moving to grab the scissors swiftly and forcing them to her son's heart.

"No."

He braced himself for the swift sensation of being impaled. It would be similar to the sword in Kirby Plaza but this blade would be much more instant and despite what his mother said, gratifying. In an instant, when he opened his eyes to expect to see the handle sticking out of his form, he was on his side on a pile of broken floorboards and debris. Near him, a knife glistened dully when it caught the moonlight from the dust-covered windows of the building's basement. Sylar's cheek stung as if he'd been struck, and when he blinked to see the figure of a man standing before him he knew that he had been.

Sylar quickly got his bearings back as he stood up, clattering the boards of splintered wood that fell from beneath his feet a floor above. His hand went up and the figure found itself flung back against the nearest wall, pinned in place.

One heavy footfall after another as Sylar kept his arm raised to keep his apparent attacker in place.

"How did you do that, hm? Telepath—no you're more than that aren't you? I'm dying to know how it works."

"It….it worked. Look at you, Gabriel."

The figure suddenly found itself dragged across the concrete floor and over to Sylar with a flick of the tall man's wrist.

"How do you know that name?!"

Sylar seethed as the figure's face was placed directly into a dim beam of moonlight shining through the dusty window. His hand was raised and that ever-present index finger was out and aimed straight at the forehead of the man before him. The very grace that Sylar possessed when he conducted the man forward was completely absent once he looked upon the man's face. It made Sylar drop the telekinetic hold and take a shaky step backward. The pain in his chest from how much weight he suddenly felt—crushing the organ within the confines of his ribcage. His dark, shapely brows knit together in a combined expression of confusion and frustration. This simply could not be.

"No this isn't—you're digging into my head and making me think this still. My father is not—he's dead. You can't be here, you're dead!"

Jacob looked down as he spoke; the voice itself twisted Sylar's insides to hear after all these years.

"That was the idea…but had I known that it worked, that you became so much more—I would've taken you with me. I'm amazed they don't know, do they know?"

As soon as Jacob realized that Virginia was in the boy's nightmarish dreamscape, he knew something was wrong. And when he realized that the man who started trying to locate him after the girl stopped doing so was his son—Jacob prevented Gabriel from taking his own life. Neither man had seen each other in years and it showed. Jacob noted that Gabriel grew into himself and he had his grandfather's eyes.

Sylar could look past the creases in the man's skin, the dullness of his once vibrant and sharp eyes to see the same man who looked down on him. Who he could never be enough for—who when he left, Virginia made the remainder of his life a living Hell.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Do you realize what life was like when you went away? How mom lashed out at me—my dreams all because she was bitter that she was alone. And it turns out that you were alive this entire time…was it worth it? Ruining your family, was it worth it?"

It took so much self-control for Sylar not to shout in this man's face. To use every rage-filled thought currently occupying his mind as his guiding force and slash him into pieces. But he managed to stay calm enough to watch his father's rather paranoid motion of darting his eyes back and forth before he replied.

"It was necessary, if I hadn't have left they would have killed you all. They must not know it worked because…well look at you!"

Jacob raved like a lunatic and Sylar couldn't help but think that as powerful as his father clearly was—he was also completely insane. It seemed that a tendency for mental imbalance ran in the family in varying degrees. He sighed and decided to focus on one thing at a time.

"Who…are 'they'?"

Jacob lowered his voice when he said it, when it became a little more clear to his son why the man felt the compulsion to leave.

"The Company. Primatech. If those people knew that it worked—there is no end to the harm they could cause, Gabriel…no end."

Sylar glanced down and shook his head. Worked—if what worked? Why did it seem like he wasn't amazed by the fact that his son could move objects with his mind?

"Do you know why I can—why I am the way I am?"

Jacob sighed heavily and nodded. Their eyes met once more as he revealed the truth.

"Gabriel when you were a child you were—I took you to be given a series of injections. The doctor who 'treated' you was murdered by the Company he had a formula that coul—"

He should have heard the bullet before it even traveled the length of the barrel. Sylar should have made sure his father was safely out of range but the sharp-shooter situated on the roof next-door placed that bullet directly into Jacob Gray's heart. Stopping it instantly as his chest caved in from the impact of the wound. Blood burst from his body and sprayed Sylar in a dousing of crimson that sickened him instantly. So unlike the blood of his many victims he would almost wear as a badge of his conquest.

Sylar stared in shock for a moment at the body of his father, sprawled in a rather undignified manner on the floor. Limbs out all over the place, mouth hanging open. Grimly, he realized that this time he was at least sure that his father was dead. Another bullet zipped past Sylar's head and this time all he could hear were the men rushing into the basement and shouting orders at each other. Were they police—Primatech operatives? It didn't matter because Sylar had already come back from the brink and he wasn't going to be gunned down like an animal. Not when he had a chance at a future waiting for him back in Brooklyn.

Quickly, he shot out his hand to telekinetically send as many of the bullets back where they came from as he could before he made his way past the corpses of the first wave of men to get out of the basement. Sylar now had answers but as answers tend to do—he also had so many more questions.

The stolen cab was abandoned and he walked the rest of the way back to Suresh's apartment building. That face—everything would be worth it when he saw Mohinder's face again. It would be his next great challenge to open that chapter of his life and convince Suresh that all they needed was each other. There would be pain—blood and bruises would be common in the beginning. But it was his dire hope that one day it wouldn't be necessary.

Apartment number 613's door quietly unlocked and the door swung outward. Sylar moved through the hall and into the apartment as he manually closed the door behind himself. A heavy sigh rumbled his lungs as he made his way back to the bedroom. His hand gripped the knob, it felt oddly warm but he didn't think much of it as he walked into the room.

"I hope you're not too sore Mohinder, but I couldn't trust you to wait for me on your own…"

The smirk on his face dissolved when he looked down at the chair Suresh was strapped to. Shreds of duct tape were scattered along the floor by the chair's legs and on the back of it. The pattern did not follow from what it should look like if it had been cut off and made to fall where it may. Someone placed it that way. He took a step forward and narrowed his eyes on the small slip of paper underneath one of the curls of tape. It had nothing written on the front of it but as Sylar unfolded it and scanned the contents—he knew that his desired life with Suresh would be put on hold. The note was burned to ashes in the tightly-clenched palm of Sylar's hand. Enduced radioactivity seemed to be an ability that came out when his anger was at its most uncontrollable. Just as immediately as Sylar entered the apartment, he was gone again to keep the appointment on that note.

To Be Continued….