Chapter 21- Cry for Blood

"If we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor."

-William Shakespeare

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The sun was just peaking over the horizon, shedding reds and oranges across the curvature of the earth's surface like spilling blood and the imagery was not lost on Sylar as he leaned on the railing of the balcony of the rustic cabin, squinting into his destiny. He knew that this was going to be his last day on the planet because if all went well, by nightfall he would be laying dead somewhere.

He wondered if prisoners on death row felt the same on their execution day, and really, he did have a lot in common with them. In the minds of the general public he was a criminal of epic proportion not just because of the people he had actually killed, but he had already been condemned for representing an end to homo sapiens as a branch of the evolutionary tree. It was mass extinction at a very slow pace, but everyone saw it coming and seemed to hold him solely responsible. They hated him for having a trait through no fault of his own- mostly- that he chose to capitalize on. It had indeed been a long and lonely road to achieve all that he had and it looked as though the rest of the journey was going to be even more daunting. As he exhaled heavily in the chilly morning air, he never felt so alone. He wanted people to mourn him, or at least not celebrate his death but he knew it could be no other way. No one outside of a select few could know the truth about what was scheduled to occur. If his death were to have any meaning at all, people had to believe the lie and that meant they had to be given the scapegoat who's blood they cried for.

"Coffee?" Damian quietly asked, holding a steaming mug out toward Sylar. "Thought you might need it after we've been up all night plotting." Sylar took the drink, but gave him a skeptical look. "Alright," the younger man caved with a bashful smile, "I'm used to handing out coffee in the morning. Old habits die hard."

"I see." Sylar smirked. Although it looked like Damian had put cream and presumably sugar in it, he was very particular about how he took his coffee and he doubted it was going to be to his liking, but he could tough it out and just enjoy the warmth of the liquid even if he had to ignore the taste.

"So." Damian sighed with a small shiver, unsure of what to say next. He really didn't know Sylar aside from what he'd read and heard and he was starting to see that it wasn't all entirely accurate, but there was an undeniable air of danger that surrounded him and he didn't want to seem as though he were prying.

Sylar turned toward him slightly and took a sip of his coffee, raising his eyebrow to prompt the shy man to continue. He could plainly see that he was unsure of himself and nervous, but since he started the so-called conversation, he was going to let him finish it and then decide if he wanted to participate. When nothing was immediately forthcoming, he rested his elbows on the railing and reminded, "Whatever it is you're going to say, keep in mind that I can tell if you're lying."

Damian seemed startled at the preemptive accusation. "I…I wasn't. The truth is, I can't think of anything to say."

"But you do have questions." Sylar stated emphatically. "Otherwise you wouldn't be standing out here freezing for no reason."

"Well, yeah. Of course I have questions, everything I thought I knew about the world was turned upside down a few days ago and I don't know what to make of it." He glanced furtively at the man next to him and frowned. "But now hardly seems the time to worry about myself."

Sylar scoffed and shook his head. "You have been spending entirely too much time around Peter."

"Is it really that unusual for people to be concerned about you? I mean, Jesus man! With what's about to happen to you, everyone with an ability should be lining up to ask how they can help."

"Yes," he quietly answered, "it is." Feeling that he had perhaps said too much, he gently smiled. "So, you're an idealist. The 'ask not what your country can do for you' type." With a light shrug he predicted, "Don't worry, you'll grow out of it."

Damian squinted in irritation at being patronized. "If you're not fighting this war because you believe you can make the country better a better place, what the hell have you been fighting for?"

"Me." Sylar said flatly. "I want my world to be better and that can't happen while things like slavery exist. The course of the political flow of power can only be changed by two things: loss of profit or outright force. So long as there is a profit to be made, it won't stop no matter how outrageous the abuse or irrational the law. I thought you would have picked up on that working with Nathan."

"But how is sacrificing yourself making your world better?" He asked in disbelief. "Unless you are so miserable that dying is a better alternative." He had briefly been to that point himself once and he could understand how given the right set of circumstances it could be an attractive option.

Sylar looked into his mug with a sense of despair. There was a time when he did believe that suicide was his best option after he killed his first victim. If he thought he was a monster then, what would he have thought of himself if he could see what he had become? Finally he muttered, "It doesn't matter because perception is everything. People will go on with their lives believing that a great evil has been conquered. For them, tomorrow will be a brand new day."

"And you?" Damian cautiously inquired. "What will happen to you?"

Sylar turned his large, soft eyes to him and honestly replied, "I don't know." The truth was, he hadn't planned his life much beyond his death because he didn't have all of the factors with which to make a prediction. He trusted Peter insofar as he would watch him and eventually give his powers back, but the space between his death and then was a huge question mark. He simply didn't know what shape he'd be in or how long and under what conditions a recovery might take if there was a hiccup in the plan and Damian couldn't give energy and Peter wasn't immediately available to do it for him. It was a grim prospect, but he had to be realistic with himself that it was a possibility. "Maybe the better question is what will you do?" If he had to face his fate, he would feel better about it if it actually amounted to something for someone.

Damian gave a nervous laugh. "I guess I don't know either. Senator Petrelli hinted that I might get some help from you." Sylar looked at him sharply, prompting Damian to clarify. "I mean 'you' in a collective sense- all of you."

Sylar relaxed somewhat. He was starting to tire of Nathan making plans and promises on his behalf without his knowledge and expecting him to fulfill them without question or comment. "But he didn't outright say it."

"No," he answered with a frown, "I guess not." Nathan did once tell him that if it wasn't written or witnessed, it never happened…

"Then don't believe him." Sylar instructed. "Either he's lying or by 'help' he means locking you away in a dark cell somewhere under the pretense of rehabilitation. Exactly who is being helped should always be questioned, and the most likely answer is going to be him."

"Really?" Damian wrinkled his forehead. It just didn't seem like his boss to do such a thing, but he did indicate that there was a lot more that went on than he knew about.

"Really." Sylar confirmed. "At least that's been my experience. You can't trust a Petrelli."

Damian looked back at the cabin and shrugged. "Peter seems like an ok guy."

"He's the exception." He begrudgingly conceded, also looking back and wondering where the Boy Scout was. "The rest of the family is a ravenous pack of wolves." Even though he knew it was a lie, he still thought he and Peter were switched at birth because he fit in much better with the Petrellis while Peter should have been the one polishing damn snow globes.

"What about yours?" He asked trying to make conversation. When Sylar shot him a vicious questioning glare, he quickly explained. "I didn't mean that they were wolves, I just…I guess I haven't talked to my family in awhile. They don't even know I have an ability. Did you tell your family at first?"

Sylar took a moment to calm himself by finishing off his cold coffee and sidestepping the question with one of his own. "Do you plan on telling them?" He didn't think the kid was purposely trying to push his buttons, but the whole impending public lynching thing had him a little on edge and perhaps just a bit overly sensitive to personal questions- not that he would have answered him on any other given day.

"I guess." He shrugged. "I don't think it will make much of a difference to them, though."

Sylar swished the few drops that remained in the bottom of his cup in slow circles and wished he hadn't finished it so quickly. His voice was passive with just a hint of dark sadness as he commented, "That's nice." He wished that his own mother would have taken it so well instead of screaming that he was possessed by a devil through the locked bedroom door. He just wanted her to see how special he was… If she were alive, what would she think of her precious Gabriel now that he was made out to be the devil himself?

"Guys!" Peter called excitedly as he ran out onto the balcony without his coat. "Get in here, you have to see this!"

Damian and Sylar joined Peter in front of the television and watched as images of tanks and devastation filled the screen. Peter turned up the volume to better hear the dialogue. "The government today launched an offensive against rebel strongholds in an effort to locate Sylar. Acting on intelligence reports, troops have focused their efforts on migrant camps, believing him to be hiding among the tight knit group of specials. It is their hope that the pressure will lead to his turnover." The announcer was calm and dispassionate despite the footage showing graphic carnage of bodies and burning buildings. "In a joint statement released today, Senators Petrelli and McCaskey praised the efforts of the intelligence community, saying quote: We have received credible reports on the whereabouts of Sylar and we have acted swiftly to locate and capture him. It is our hope that he can be found and the conflict ended without further loss of life. We are committed to pursuing every lead until he is in custody and we appreciate the hard work and dedication of our intelligence teams in gathering information."

"Oh my god." Damian breathed in horror. "McCaskey wants all specials eradicated. I doubt there ever was an official report."

Peter sat glumly in his chair, defeated both by the images he saw and the fact that his family name was once again associated with distasteful practices and deceit. He would have changed his name long ago if it weren't such a hassle and it didn't feel like outright betrayal. His cell phone jumped and nearly danced off the table as it buzzed to alert him to incoming messages. He picked it up and read the screen with a frown before bolting to his feet.

"On call?" Sylar guessed darkly. He wondered if Peter had the same reaction the one time he sent him an urgent text message.

"Yeah, they need me out there." He growled half in anger and half in frustration. "They're getting slaughtered." Sylar gently nodded and picked up his coat from where he dropped it on the couch the night before, causing Peter to pause and look at him curiously. "Where are you going?"

"With you." Sylar quietly responded as he slipped it on. "You asked me to go with you when you went out because you needed someone to watch your back, remember?" The corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly into a hopeful smile. "I assume the offer still stands." In some small way he felt slightly obligated because he not only agreed to Peter's initial suggestion, but given the enormous service he was about to provide in the way of protection made him want to give him a reason to want to do it to the best of his ability. It was quid pro quo at its most basic.

Peter was stunned speechless. How or why Sylar remembered that particular moment was beyond him. It seemed so long ago that he had forgotten it entirely. "Yeah, but should you?" He asked hesitantly. "Things have changed a lot since then. They all have S2 now and if something happens to you out there, who will take over?"

Sylar cast his eyes to Damian as though he were unofficially promoting him in his absence. "He's just as good at strategy and he knows all of the plans. The fact that they have S2 is all the more reason I should go. What good will it do for you to fall over dead on your patient if you get shot?" His smirk faltered just a little. "Besides, if something does happen, it will just hasten Nathan's plans."

Sylar tried valiantly to pretend that it didn't bother him, but Peter knew better by the hopeless sadness that pervaded the space between them. The sense of dread and despair was entirely depressing and Peter wanted to reach out and try to offer some kind of comfort, but he didn't know how he could tell someone that being torn apart and put on display was going to be ok. His time as a hospice nurse taught him to accept death, but all of his patients died of terminal illness, not by needless political circumstance and he had no words for him other than a sincere, "If you still want to go, I'd feel better knowing you've got my back." He almost sighed with relief when the oppressive melancholy lifted somewhat at his invitation and his partner gave him a determined nod. "We have to make a stop first."

"Wait, what about me?" Damian asked nervously. "You can't just leave me here."

Sylar squinted his eyes and scoffed. "Of course we can."

"And we will." Peter added firmly. "You have no idea what you're asking, and it's too dangerous for you to be out there." He wanted to qualify his statement with 'unsupervised' but it sounded pejorative and Damian was probably already feeling like the runt of the litter.

Damian was irritated and showed his displeasure with a deep scowl. "Look," Sylar sighed patiently, "think of this in logical terms. If we take you, then the only three people who know the full set of plans are at risk of being captured or killed. Because of our abilities, Peter and I statistically have a better chance of returning, so the smart thing to do is to have you here in the unlikely event that both of us are eliminated so the show can still go on. We're just hedging our bets."

Peter was impressed with the way Sylar presented his immutable logic without being condescending. Personally, he would have just outright told Damian he didn't want him to go because he was inexperienced, but Sylar's explanation sounded much better. Apparently Damian thought so as well because he didn't argue. One quick stop to pick up Emma and one final stop at a familiar haunt that made them all uneasy.

Sylar moved carefully around the darkened basement amid the ransacked cabinets and glassware dusted for fingerprints in the lab of Maria's house. It all still felt so surreal that she was gone and that just a few days before he was laying on the floor with her next to him, offering forgiveness for his sins in exchange for his actions. He glanced uneasily at the cold, stainless steel table, remembering the circumstances that led to his resting on it, but also recalling the calm sense of safety that washed over him knowing that after months of enduring physical and mental punishment from the constant running, he could finally rest in the comfort she provided- comfort that he would never experience again, and a small twinge of guilt lodged itself in his mind like a shard of glass.

Emma was also in the basement to gather what medical supplies remained and she couldn't help but notice the way that Sylar moved so slowly and carefully around the space as though it were sacred in some way. Although the lighting was dim, he wore an unmistakable mask of sadness and his features were much softer than she'd seen before. Gone were the piercing eyes and brooding expressions and she couldn't imagine what would prompt such a drastic change in his demeanor. He obviously thought she was occupied and therefore oblivious to his unguarded moment, but she was very aware and a small part of her felt sorry for a man who appeared to be at a loss. Peter told her when he and Sylar came that Maria had been killed, but she couldn't have imagined that Sylar would be so affected by it, unless his careful movements were meant to hide any trace of his being there.

"Got everything?" Peter asked as he jogged down the steps. "We really shouldn't spend so much time here. The agents are gone, but who knows when they'll come back."

"Were you able to find any S1?" Sylar asked anxiously. The cabinets were stripped bare and all the chemicals confiscated, leaving little hope that any remained.

Peter smiled and produced one syringe from his pocket. "Maria had some in her desk drawer the first time she told me about it and I tested it. There's probably just enough here for what you need. I'll tell Mohinder to try and get the stuff he needs to make a little more just in case." He looked around the hastily gutted lab and frowned. "I don't think he's going to find much here." So much important work had been done in the lab, both on the biotech front as well as medical rescues and he was about to turn his back on it all. It was as though a door were closing on a very important part of his life and he couldn't help but feel a little despondent.

"We should probably go." Emma suggested meekly. She could tell that Peter was also upset in addition to Sylar and the idea of robbing a dead woman's home was staring to unsettle her as well. She was already nervous about her first foray into an active battle zone, but her current situation wasn't helping and she hoped it wasn't an omen of things to come, but it was.

Peter took them all directly to the center of a small city, but exactly where she couldn't tell. She stood in the middle of a rubble strewn street looking around her in shock at the damaged buildings and devastation while the air swirled with the brilliant colors of sounds mingling together in a reflection of the chaos that surrounded her. Down the street, a tank rolled toward them in a hazy cloud of deep burgundy, chewing up the pavement with its tracks while her very body vibrated with the low rumbling of the engine. The massive machine paused as the gunner repositioned the cannon and the most blinding flash of pure white light announced to her that they were being fired on.

The shell detonated in the small office building behind them with an impressive explosion. Both Sylar and Peter instinctively repelled the cascade of crumbled brick and glass shards with their telekinesis, protecting a stunned Emma in between them. "We have to get out of here." Peter unilaterally decided, hoping that Sylar's ears weren't ringing from the blast so as to render him nearly deaf. "Grab her hand and I'll get us to that building over there." He tossed his head toward a grocery store that was only partially decimated. They formed a human chain with Peter leading and providing a cover of invisibility and Sylar protecting them from stray bullets and flying debris from behind.

Inside, they found a small group of people huddling together, bleeding and obviously afraid for their lives. They looked ragged, starved, and tired. The siege had only lasted a few hours, but the inhabitants had likely been in hiding for quite some time prior to that, barely surviving. Peter looked around the store at the empty shelves and realized that it had been looted long before they got there. The only thing that remained was the putrid stench of the few remaining vegetables that were far too rotten to eat and the heavy and unmistakable scent of decay- the decay of dead bodies. At the back of the store where the refrigerated section was supposed to hold gallons of milk and packages of meat, bodies of the dead were stuffed into the deli cases and stacked on the floor when there was no more room. It might have been a fine solution were it not for the fact that the building's air conditioning system was destroyed at some point, leaving the dead to decompose at room temperature.

Peter wanted to retch. He had never quite faced death of that magnitude nor had he been in the presence of so many decomposing bodies, but he had a job to do and he couldn't afford to let his senses be overwhelmed and limit his ability to help those that he still could. He tapped Emma on the shoulder and gestured for her to follow him to the group of frightened strangers while Sylar remained at the entrance, solemnly on guard watching the chaos rage outside and trying to catch every fresh breeze that drifted his way. He was perhaps a little more accustomed to mass death than Peter was, his exposure having been earned in facilities by his own hand, but there was something about it all that was disturbing even to him. He may have been desensitized to loss of life, but he always made it a point to make his exit while the corpses were still fresh and warm and the bodies in the back were anything but.

Peter gently smiled as he approached the group slowly in an effort to let them know that his intentions were good and they had nothing to fear. "We're medical professionals," he announced gesturing to Emma, "we're with the rebellion and we're here to help. Does anyone need attention?"

"My baby!" A woman at the back of the throng cried as she clutched a small child desperately to her body. "Please help my baby." Tears streamed down her dirty face, but the light of hope burned bright in her eyes.

"Let me see." Peter nodded in acceptance, gesturing for her to hand the child over to him. He should have known by the way the small body was hopelessly limp that it was too late, but he felt as though he had to try for the distraught mother's sake. He placed the little boy in his lap and attempted CPR, but unseeing, unblinking eyes stared back at him- his brown irises nearly entirely engulfed by his blown black pupils, likely the result of his crushed skull. Blood trickled out of his left ear and it was a sure sign that he was dead. Peter gave the woman a deeply apologetic look and she fell to her knees in front of him, wailing and shrieking in her grief.

Sylar looked back and frowned. While he understood the woman's reaction on some level, her hysterical screaming would draw attention to them and the soldiers were closing in as it was. He once flipped an armored truck, but he wasn't so sure he could do the same to a tank. If she didn't quiet down he would soon find out. Perhaps misinterpreting his concerned expression with annoyance, the woman turned her fury on him. "You!" She yelled furiously. "You did this! You killed my son!" She lunged at him, but he put up his hand and held her at a distance with his telekinesis while he looked blankly at her. He didn't want to hurt her because she was completely irrational, but he was certainly going to protect himself from her misplaced rage until she came to her senses.

"He's trying to help us." Peter said softly, trying his best to mediate the situation. Sylar was showing remarkable restraint, but he didn't know how long his patience would hold. "He had nothing to do with your son's death."

"Yes he did!" She insisted, still struggling to break through Sylar's field and claw his eyes out. "The soldiers wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. We've all suffered because of you!" She seemed to run out of energy and began to sob uncontrollably. "My husband died two weeks ago in a raid and now our son." The hopeless pessimism and contempt was clear in her eyes as she asked him, "What have you done to help us? You haven't done anything but bring death and misery to every special and we have to suffer because you won't turn yourself in to end this. My son died for you so you can stand there breathing and not giving a damn about any of it! Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?"

Sylar glanced at the tiny, lifeless body that lie on the floor and at the crowd that seemed to be on the woman's side in blaming him for the entire war. Of course he never wanted any of it, but rather than waste his ill gotten breath and logic on explaining his position and rationale for all of the madness that raged outside, he just remained stoic and didn't respond. She and the others had already formed their opinions of him and nothing he could say or do would change it. Like so many others, it was easy for them to see him as a monster and he would simply let them believe what they wanted- he wouldn't fight it.

"Bastard!" She spat at him, forcing Peter to physically restrain her before she too joined her family in the afterlife. "It should be you that's dead instead of getting to bathe in the blood of innocents!" She cried as Peter drug her away.

Sylar slowly let his hand drop to his side and blinked as though he were in a daze. She had no idea that in a matter of hours she would soon get her wish.