"Let me explain to you how this is going to work. This little device here will be recording our conversation from beginning to end. It is important that we do not let anything happen to our little friend here. If anything happens to it one way or the other, we will have to do the whole thing over and I don't think that's something either of us wants. There will be no interruptions, no breaks. We will sit this thing through until it's done. Do you have any questions?"

"As a matter of fact, I do have one question. How are we going to do this? I mean, do you want me to randomly pick a name to start with, or would you rather have them in chronological order...? Alphabetical order is also an option, but that would take a lot longer and I will probably have to write them down first... Although, it should be easier if you have to look them up later..."

"Chronological will be just fine. Anything else?"

"Is it only the names of these people or do you also want the matter in which they-"

"Why don't you just get started and we'll see how far we'll get."

"Okay, fine."

"Ready?"

"Let's get this thing over with." Quick, like a bandade. "Brian Davis, Trevor Zeitlan, Chandra Suresh, Martin Walker, Zane Taylor, Dale Smither, Isaac Mendez. Something... Wilcox. I don't know, the cheerleader from Odessa. Eden McCain, Ted Sprague, Candice-,"

"Stop." Agent Reynolds leaned over the table and stopped the tape-recorder. "We're gonna have to start over."

That didn't last long. "Why?"

"These names once belonged to actual people. That probably doesn't mean anything to you, seeing as you're the one who's responsible for their deaths, but could you at least try to show some respect? Pretend if you have to."

A bit too late for that. "So... What do you want me to say?"

"Their names and an explanation of why they died will suffice. There are many people out there who have lost a relative or a friend and don't even know why. We're hoping to give them some kind of closure with this tape."

"They are going to hear this?"

Agent Reynolds tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, obviously finding Sylar's question very inappropriate. "Will it make you uncomfortable if they are?"

"No." Not at all, Sylar almost said aloud. It was just a question. If his name (his 'real' name) was being linked to dozens of murders and brought into the open, he liked to know about it. Not that it mattered. Nothing really mattered anymore. He just liked to know why he had to do the things they made him do. Information was his only posession in this place and he liked to keep a hold on it as much as he could. "So?"

"What happens to this tape is none of your damn business."

Thought so. "Of course. I'll try again."

"One more thing. I couldn't help but notice that you forgot to mention a couple of names. You know what I'm talking about, so let's not pretend otherwise. We want this list to be complete, Mr Gray. Don't think you can fool us. We know everything."

Oh, do you? "Then you also know that you can just record them separately, right? It's pretty simple. Just press that little button over there that says 'record' and pause it whenever I..." Sylar cleared his throat and finished the rest of his sentence with a wave of his hand. He knew that he was crossing the line, again. He didn't mean to sound mean or condescending. Sometimes it was just inevitable with these people.

"You're right. We could. But we won't.'

"Alright, fine. Let's start over."

Agent Reynolds pushed the rec button on the tape recorder and gestured for Sylar to start again.

Sylar took a long, deep breath and tried to come up with a way to confess to these murders, without sounding disrespectful. Maybe I should try being a bit more sentimental... "Brian Davis was the first one." He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes as he tried to recollect his thoughts and feelings of the day he took his first ability. It was such a long time ago. Almost a decade if he counted the years he had been living inside his own head.

"I remember being nervous, like... like a first date kind of nervous," he said, unable to stop himself from smiling at the truth of his own words. "By then I didn't know what was going to happen. All I had was a name, a phone number and the knowledge that this person could have something special." And special was an understatement. Taking telekinesis was like winning the jackpot. Maybe even better. He had never felt so good after doing something so bad.

"He came to my workshop and this was quite strange, but I knew it the minute he opened that door. That guy had something. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at the time. There was this wall," his skull, "that wouldn't let me see it, but I needed to see it. I had to know what it was, so I asked him to show it to me."

Sylar opened his eyes and stared at the table as he pictured Brian's face, moments before he died. The guy was afraid of it. He actually feared the one thing that made him special. That was something Sylar would never understand, how it was possible for someone to be so afraid of something so beautiful. "I saw him move that cup with his mind and that's when it happened. Like... Like a switch suddenly flicked inside my head." Sylar breathed a puff of laughter and shook his head. "He said he didn't want it. He asked me if I could take it away from him. Can you believe that?"

He glanced at the agent and the smile faded from his face immediately. There was no response, no emotion, no change of features whatsoever on the other man's face. Sylar was allowed to continue, though. So that was a good sign.

"I got Brian's number from Chandra Suresh." On to the next victim. "You have to understand, agent Reynolds, that my life was pretty much meaningless before I met the professor. When I told him about myself, about how I always wanted to be different, even as a little kid, Chandra told me that I was. He told me I was important. Special. I don't expect you to understand how I felt when he told me this, but trust me when I say that it changed my life for good."

"But after a couple of tests, Chandra still hadn't found anything ability-related and concluded that he had made a mistake." Sylar sat up and leaned forward, his elbows now resting on the table instead of his chair. "It was too late. I was finally someone and no one, not even some geneticist from India was going to take that away from me. I went to Davis, took his power and showed it to Chandra."

"Stop."

Sylar fell back in his chair again and clenched his teeth in frustration. That was the second time he was interrupted and he hadn't even gotten to his second kill. "Why?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"You asked me to explain why they died, so that's what I did." He had been respectful, compassionate and didn't even once use the words blood or brains. "If you wanted me to add the gory details, you should have said so."

"No. You're making this about you. This is not about you. It's about the people who died because of you. Nobody wants to know who you are now or who you were before you started murdering dozens of innocent people. Nobody cares."

Sylar narrowed his eyes at the use of the word 'innocent'. He had a different opinion about some of the people he murdered. Be compassionate, be respectful, talk in full sentences, don't forget anyone, and don't talk about myself. Got it. "I'll try again."

"Whenever you're ready."

Sylar waited for agent Reynolds to start the tape and began for the third time. "Brian Davis, he had an ability called telekinesis, I wanted it, so I killed him for it. Trevor Zeitlas, his ability was to shatter... pretty much anything, I wanted it, so I killed him for it." That wasn't entirely true. His first intention was to show Elle how pathetic that guy was. It was only when he found out that she had been lying to him that he decided to take his ability. "Chandra Suresh, he wouldn't give me more names of people with abilities, so I killed him. Martin Walker, his ability was to freeze... basically anything. I wanted it, so I killed him for it. His wife, she wouldn't tell me wh-"

"Stop."

Fuck this guy. Sylar kept a straight face and managed to hide his frustration, but it wasn't easy. It was getting harder and harder not to think of a creative way to make Reynolds shut up. Like the FBI agent he impaled to the ceiling with a chair when he tried to kidnap Molly Walker. That was pretty creative. "Why?"

"Her name was Monica Walker."

"Okay. Yeah. Sure." Whatever.

"Ready?"

"Always." And so Sylar started over, again. "Brian Davis. I killed him because he had an ability. Trevor Zeitlas. I killed him because he had an ability. Chandra Suresh. I killed him because he refused to help me find more abilities. Martin Walker. I killed him because had an ability. Monica Walker. I tortured and killed her because she wouldn't tell me where her daughter was hiding. Zane Taylor. I killed him because he had an ability. Dale Smither. I killed her because... Because she had an ability. Isaac Mendez. I killed him because he had an ability. The cheerleader fro-"

"Stop."

Sylar dropped his head and dug his fingernails deep into the wooden arm rests of his chair. "Why?" he asked as he looked at the agent from under his eyebrows.

"You forgot someone. Start over."

They've done their homework... "You know all of them?" The agent hadn't brought anything with him when he entered the room, no files, no phone, no weapon (Sylar had checked), only his damn tape-recorder. He must have them all graved into his memory. That's… impressive. "How many?"

"Enough to know that there was another victim between Dale Smither and Isaac Mendez. Does the name Virginia Gray say anything to you, Mr Gray?"

"Yes," Sylar snarled venomously. He had been skipping his mother's name on purpose, not because he thought he would get away with it, but because he didn't want to think about her. Her death was an accident and didn't belong on the list. "Let's start over."

And so he started over, again. Having to repeat those names over and over again, being interrupted and forced to start over for the most ridiculous reasons wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. First he spoke too slowly, then he spoke too fast. Once he sounded too bored, next he sounded too annoyed. He wasn't even allowed to continue after he had to think twice about that cheerleader's first name. Jacqueline, agent Reynolds reminded him.

"Killing that girl wasn't my intention," Sylar said in all earnest. "I mistook her for someone else." He still felt so damn stupid whenever he thought about that one night in Odessa. He should have known that that girl wasn't the one he was looking for. He should have felt it. He was undoubtedly too focused or maybe even too excited to know that Claire Bennet was right there in that room that night, but it was no excuse. He had made a mistake. He had failed.

"You mean to say, that the girl died because you made a mistake?"

Sylar realized he had been ogling the corner of the table and quickly cast his eyes forward. "Yes."

"Then you should say so."

And so they continued, starting from scratch for what felt like the hundredth time already. It didn't even last a minute before agent Reynolds had to pause again to tell Sylar he had to slow down again.

"It sounds like you're reading the goddamn stock page," the slightly over-weight, middle-aged man gave as an excuse.

And Sylar couldn't help but agree.

He had said the name Brian Davis about a dozen times already, but he was quite proud of himself when he got to Alejandro's murder. Then he got interrupted again. Why? Reynolds wanted to know why he hadn't been able to take Alejandro's ability. He tried to explain that he was infected by a virus that prevented him from using his powers, but it took a very long time before agent Reynolds actually believed him and gave him permission to start again.

Yes, they had done their homework, but the reason why Reynolds wanted him to start over wasn't because of the virus. They didn't know about Alejandro. They didn't know about agent Taub or that waitress he didn't kill because of the deal he made with Hiro. Meaning, they didn't know everything. Of course they didn't. Sylar had been on his own for the most part of his killer career and had killed far more than what they had on record. All those agents, Company, FBI, Homeland Security, all of whom he had no names. None of them were mentioned.

And so, it slowly (but surely) began to dawn on him that it was just another test. Maybe they were going to use it to make the deaths of these people official, or maybe it was just to give those relatives closure. Whatever it was, Sylar knew that they were testing his patience with this one-sided interrogation, and he wasn't going to let them see him fail. It was one of the most annoying things he ever had to do, but it was just another test.

There had been a lot of those.

He had been undergoing test, after test, after test, after test in the past six weeks. It began with a list of abilities, his current abilities which he had to write down for them first. The list wasn't as long as it once was, half of it wiped away because of that damn virus, but still. It was a collection to be proud of, despite of the manner in which he gained them.

They performed a series of tests on each of his abilities. They poked and prodded him in places he normally wouldn't let anyone near, they took samples of his blood, skin, saliva, hair and even his urine on a daily basis. They wanted to know everything, literally everything there was to know about his body and brain, which was usually quite awkward, but it also made him feel pretty good about himself.

He didn't show it, but he actually started to enjoy those tests after a while. The tests were for research purposes only, he knew that, but for him it was the perfect opportunity to show off his skills without coming off as a total douchebag. It was great. He felt great. He was the Government's personal guinea pig and he was having the time of his life.

They started with Telekinesis, obviously the most interesting one and (more importantly) one of the two abilities that somehow remained after being cured of the virus.

And that was when the fun started.

At first, they wanted him to do simple stuff such as lifting books and chairs in mid-air (all without the use of his hands), but with each passing day the tests became more straining and more challenging. They always demanded more from him and he was always more than happy to give it to them. How fast are his reflexes? How precise is his aim? How much weight can he lift? He had to stop bullets in mid-air, move, bend and cut through all kinds of materials and eventually had to lift an entire elevator.

It took them more than a week before they were satisfied with the results and decided to move on to the next ability.

Which was regeneration.

And that was when the fun ended.

Those tests they did on his body were the absolute worst. It was torture, actual torture. They would stab him (preferably in the legs or the arms) repeatedly with some kind of medieval dagger, driving it into his flesh and pulling it out each time just to see how fast he would heal. It was insanely painful.

But not only did they test the speed in which he recovered, they also asked (or rather ordered) him to delay his recovery for as long as he could. If that was possible.

And it was. It was painful, it was humiliating, it was an absolute nightmare to be lying on that table hour after hour after hour, squirming from the intensity of the pain while he fought against the strength of his ability, but he did it anyway. He was determined to meet their expectations, no matter how much pain he had to endure to get there.

And he did. He had been so successful at holding off his own recovery that he eventually died of too much blood loss. Then it was only a matter of seconds before his ability brought him back to life again. It was just an experiment, one that left him disoriented for at least three days after recovering, but an experiment it was. And he had no failed.

Next on the list was Elle's ability.

That was when he caused the blackout.

"Bridget, I killed her," because she was given to me, "because she had an ability. Bob Bishop, I killed him because he had an ability. Elle Bishop, I killed her because..." Sylar cleared his throat and tried to hide his discomfort. Because I wanted to, he almost said. He didn't want to talk about Elle. He didn't even want to think about her. Talking about Elle was almost as uncomfortable as it was to talk about his mother. He didn't regret killing the two of them, it was just that they didn't really have to die. He didn't gain anything from their deaths, apart from a couple of mental breakdowns and even more nightmares. "Can we start over?" he asked as he wiped his sweaty palms on his white pants.

"Whenever you're ready."

I'm always ready. Sylar was determined to make his next try perfect. He just wanted to get it over with and finish the damn list, so he could go back to doing the things he was actually good at. He didn't mind the physical abuse. That was something he had learned to deal with over the years, but he had never been able to deal with people who tried to abuse him mentally. That's what they were trying to do and he wanted it to stop.

"Arthur Petrelli, I killed him because he lied to me. Meredith Gordon, I killed her because I wanted to." Another useless death, just like those Level 5 escapees whose abilities he did not take. It went on and on and on. Until, finally, he reached the name he had been wanting to say out loud for quite some time. He just needed to get it out once and for all. "Nathan Petrelli, I killed him because of his ability."

Reynolds reached for the reset button, but Sylar was faster and pressed pause instead. "There's no way I'm starting over." He looked dead into the man's eyes and repeated, "No way."

"That's not for you to decide."

"You have no records of my involvement in Nathan Petrelli's death, I get that. You wanna know how I killed him? Fine. I will tell you everything you need to know, but first," Sylar took the tape-recorder in his hand and held it close to his mouth. "Samuel Sullivan, I killed him because he was an asshole." He then pressed pause and placed it back on the table. "I'm not starting over."

"We'll see about that."

They're gonna make me do it again. Sylar threw his head back and sighed. Sometimes he really had to ask himself why he was still letting them treat him like that. There were other places he could be, without experiments and without people who saw him as an object rather than a human being. Why didn't he just break out? Run away? Fly to the far end of the world? With a new identity and a whole new life… He had thought about running away about a hundred times, but never really considered it an option. It was a nice way to pass the time, wondering what it would be like if he was out there instead of this God forsaken place, but that's all it was. A way to pass the time.

Sylar closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side until he heard a small crack and looked back at the agent who… was no longer there. The man was gone. His tape-recorder, also gone. The room was empty except for the two chairs and the table between them.

Sylar was alone once more.

It made no sense. He hadn't heard or felt the agent standing up, let alone open the door. Nothing at all. He had always been able to sense even the tiniest movements, but this time... Nothing.

For a moment he wondered if they had broken him after all. Maybe he was losing it. Maybe it was all too much for a person to handle. Lack of sunlight, lack of food, lack of sleep. His body was doing fine. His head wasn't.

The door opened and a group of four people (suit and tie, as always) entered the room. Sylar stood and didn't even respond when two of the four agents grabbed his arms and cuffed his hands behind his back. That's what they always did. For safety reasons undoubtedly.

As if he needed his hands to hurt anyone.

They dragged him to the door where the two other agents (both female) were waiting for him. Both were quite short and had to look up at him, which made Sylar feel a little more powerful, despite of the fact that he had just been manhandled by two guys who weren't nearly as strong as he was.

"You have a visitor," one of them told him.

Yeah, right. "I never have visitors," Sylar said in return.

"Well, now you do."

And so they dragged him out of the room, into the hallway, off to meet whoever had come to visit him.

Next chapter: Thirty Minutes