After finding out about one of the agents being a telepath, Sylar had been fighting very hard to shield his thoughts from her. He liked to think that he was still strong enough to keep her out of his head, but there was just no way for him to know for certain anymore.

There was a time when nobody had that kind of power over him, a time when he was truly invincible. Like when Hiro had tried to stop time in his attempt to kill Sylar, but failed. Or when Eden had tried to persuade Sylar into blowing his own brains out, but failed. Even the Haitian had failed to use his ability in Sylar's presence, something that even Arthur hadn't been able to do, and Sylar always considered Arthur as someone who was almost equally as powerful as he was.

But ever since the whole personality switch happened, Sylar never felt the same again. He became weak. He no longer had full control over his abilities, his fears and anxieties were stronger than ever. Becoming more powerful was just no longer important to him. Living the good life... that suddenly seemed to offer so much more.

Giving life instead of taking it. Selfless deeds instead of selfish deeds. Being the hero instead of the villain. The feeling that came with doing such a good deed, like saving those people in New York City, turned out to be surprisingly satisfying. Sylar didn't know exactly what that feeling meant for him future-wise, but whatever it meant, he knew he wanted more of it. A lot more.

And so he started thinking about how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He knew he couldn't undo any of the mistakes he made in the past and frankly, he didn't want to. Those mistakes had made him into the person he was today, and despite of all the times he had been called a serial killer or a psychopath, he still preferred that person over the old one.

Resuming his killer career was out of the question. The hunger was as good as gone, the life of a fugitive was not as interesting as it used to be, and he didn't really want to risk his one chance of having a brighter future. That was basically all he wanted. A future worth fighting for. He was prepared to give up everything to have a better life, a life that offered more than just death and damnation to the people around him. Maybe even the kind of life Peter once told him about, in which he had a home and a family.

The only obstacle to achieve such goals, was his past. It was very difficult to show this new side of himself when everybody only ever saw the old one. It would have been a lot easier if the whole world hadn't seen his face on the news repeatedly, but that was just something he had to deal with somehow. He had been able to live a normal life in a different timeline, so there was his proof that it was possible.

Because if there was something he had learned over the years, it was that anything was possible. He never once in his entire life hoped nor dreamed it was possible to possess these abilities, and yet here he was, sitting in a car, in a different body, next to someone who was probably listening to his current thought process as if it was one of the most normal things in the world.

If all that was possible, then surely there was still hope for him...

"What do you think of the suit?"

Sylar snapped out of his thoughts and turned his head away from the window. "What can I say?" he replied casually. He stretched his arms to check the length of his sleeves and then did the same with his legs. There was nothing wrong with the suit. It was perfectly tailored, not that he expected anything less. He knew that being an agent always came with certain benefits. "It fits."

"What about the body?"

He looked down to survey the body instead of the suit, but the longer he looked, the harder it was for him to think of something positive to say. Agent Reynolds' body was the exact opposite of his own. His limbs were short, his eye-sight blurry, his voice hoarse and heavy. He was a small, bald man. His hands were sweaty and he had a mole under his right eye which Sylar was constantly able to see, no matter in which direction he looked. It was just there all the time. "I suppose it'll have to do."

"I know it's not ideal, but we'd rather not raise suspicion with a body that people might recognize. Reynolds is the safest choice as far as we know."

"I guess." Sylar was pretty certain there were other, less complicated ways for him to travel without raising suspicion, but there was no point in arguing about it at that moment. It wasn't like he had a say in anything they made him do anyway.

"You're not comfortable, I get it. But there's no need for you to worry. You can change back to the way you were as soon as we get back."

"Great." Sylar couldn't help but steal a few glances at his chaperone every once in a while. He couldn't quite explain it, but her face was starting to look familiar. It was as if he had seen her before, many, many years ago. He vaguely remembered being scolded by this woman.

"Don't you wanna know where we're going?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know where we're going." Washington fucking DC, Sylar sneered at her in his thoughts. He had seen the signs on the side of the road and concluded they were heading in that direction. The idea of going back to the place where he once lost all of his memories was highly unpleasant. He wasn't looking forward to it, at all.

"Don't you wanna know why we've chosen to ride in that particular direction?"

Sylar turned his head back to the window and watched as the car passed by a deserted gas station. "I'm gonna find out soon enough," was his response. The telepath had mentioned doing a couple of tests, so he guessed that that was something they had to do in DC. He didn't even bother to ask what kind of test it would be. Whether it was going to be painful, humiliating, or boring as hell, it was just another debt to be paid.

It was his choice. Experimenting with his abilities had been his idea. He wanted to contribute. He had taken those abilities to satisfy his own selfish needs, and figured that offering himself to science was the only form of repayment. That was after his first suggestion had been denied.

It was the perfect solution. Sylar had mentioned Parkman, he had mentioned the kind of power Parkman possessed to put him in a place where he could hurt nobody. He even mentioned how hard it would be for him to escape once he was inside, how hard it had been the last time he had been there, but his idea wasn't approved. Maybe it was because he had suggested it or maybe they found it inappropriate to give him such an easy way out, but putting him into an artificial coma was out of the question. Period.

So he came up with 'plan B'. If they wouldn't allow him to be dead or unconscious, then he had to start thinking about his future. He had to find a way to make up for the things he did, the lives he had taken and the pain he caused. It was either that, or a life in solitude, with no one and nothing to live for. Living like that... would be worse than death.

"That's true. Although, you should be given a heads up, just in case. You need to know what's expected from you when we get there."

"Alright, shoot."

"It's quite simply actually. We've had to do deal with a few problems lately, a few ability-related problems, and we need you to use your abilities to fix them for us. You can hardly do that looking like yourself. The less people know it's you underneath that suit, the better."

"Thank you," Sylar said without even trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "I wasn't aware of that." He blamed the body. He wasn't comfortable in someone else's skin. He never had been. It made him feel cranky. "You told me I could have a look at that watch of yours."

"That I did."

And that's when it happened.

Sylar had waited patiently for the agent to open the latch on her watch's wristband, but she never had the chance to give it to him. All he remembered was the car suddenly making a sharp turn to the left, the squeaking of tires on asphalt and a loud scream, just moments before it crashed against the rail and drove right off the bridge they were just about to cross.

His death was painless, his resurrection painful and confusing. Getting out of the car resulted in him falling facedown into the water, after which he just drifted along with the current for a while, until he found enough strength to swim towards the other side of the river.

And now he was sitting on the bank of the river, watching as that same car went up in flames and he wondered why every single thing he ever wanted in life, had to be so damn hard to get. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong. It was the driver who suddenly lost control over the steering wheel just when they were crossing the bridge. He had nothing to do with it. He had done everything by the book. He had used his ability to take on another man's appearance, he had stepped into that vehicle with zero intention of making a run for it, he never once complained and followed out every single order they gave him.

For a moment he considered the possibility that maybe the car crash wasn't real, that it was all happening inside his head. But that was just one moment before he realized that it must have been real. Because if it wasn't real, he definitely would have known. He would have known, because the car did fall off the bridge and he did pass out for a little while when it hit the ground below. If it was all happening inside his head, then surely he would have woken from the impact alone? And also, both the telepath and the driver were still in the car when Sylar left it, and he never saw either of them leave anytime between the crash and the explosion that followed, which meant they were both still inside when it happened. Which meant they were both as good as dead now.

Damn this life. Sylar grabbed a handful of sand and watched as the grains slipped through his fingers. The sand seemed like the perfect metaphor for all the times he really wanted something and how hard it had been to hold onto, once he had it. Today was a good example. He felt like he was finally heading somewhere. It was far from redemption, but he had a real chance. A chance to finally prove himself.

Then the car crash happened and he was right back at square one.

One thing was for certain, though. The car crash was definitely not an accident. The driver didn't just 'happen' to lose control. It was obviously a set-up. Someone knew he was inside that car and knew exactly where it was going. The only question was: who?

"You okay?"

And there was the answer to his question.

Sylar dusted the sand off his hands and stood. He knew that voice far too well. "You ruined my suit," he said without turning around. It wasn't just the fall that ripped his outfit. The seams had teared as soon as he changed back into his own body, which was right after he resurrected.

"Then get a new one."

"It was kind of expensive."

"Who needs money when you have what you have?"

Sylar took a long deep breath and turned around. There he was, on the top of the riverbank, a little older and taller than Sylar remembered, but still with the same attitude and smugness as when Sylar first met him. "What the hell do you want, Luke?"

Luke sloped down the hill a lot faster than was necessary, until he was standing beside Sylar and then looked at the car wreckage on the other side of the river. "I'm helping you," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Are you?" Why does everyone suddenly wants to help me? First the psychologist, now his... biggest fan, apparently. Again, it was great to see that there were people who actually wanted to help him (even though he didn't deserve their help, at all), but nobody seemed to consider the possibility that maybe he did not need their help. They just assumed that they were doing him a favor, that they had his best interest at heart, but what they didn't realize was that they were doing it for themselves. They needed him more than he needed them. "How did you find me, Luke? You haven't been following me, have you?"

Luke shrugged his shoulders in response. "I knew where they had taken you and I knew where you were going, I was just waiting for you to pass that bridge." He patted Sylar on the back and started walking up the slope again. "We should get going before they find out what happened. Come on, I've parked the car about a mile from here."

But Sylar did the exact opposite. He sat back down in the sand and made himself more comfortable. It was probably going to take a while before anyone found him, so he had more than enough time to figure out how to explain what happened.

"Hey!" Luke shouted from a distance. "Are you coming or what?"

They'll think I did it at first, but I've stayed... so they might think that my intentions are good. He needed prove that he didn't do anything wrong. The telepath could have helped him. If she hadn't just died in that explosion she would have been able to convince the others of his innocence. He should have pulled her out. She was sitting right next to him, but he was still disoriented when he stumbled out of the vehicle himself. Then there was the smell of gasoline and he didn't really feel like dying again...

"Yo, Sylar. Let's go."

Manners. "Luke. Sit down for a second, will you?"

"No. We gotta go." The kid was getting really impatient. He even gave Sylar another pat on the shoulder to get his attention. "Seriously, get up."

But Sylar wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't going to let some obnoxious teenager tell him what to do. And he wasn't going to let that kid ruin his plans either. "What are you so afraid of, Luke?"

"I'm not afraid of anything."

"Then sit down and answer this for me." Sylar pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them while he waited for Luke to sit down. He knew what he had to do to fix everything. He knew what he had to do to prove his innocence. "What's the difference between a good guy and a bad guy?" he asked.

Luke sat down and raised an eyebrow. "Are you seriously asking me this?" He raised both his brows when Sylar didn't respond. "Assuming there are only two type of guys in the world, I suppose it's about moral standards. It's about knowing what's more important. Good guys always put other people's needs before their own. Bad guys do the exact opposite." Luke crossed his legs and leant back on his elbows. "Being the bad guy is so much more fun though," he added with a grin.

Sylar allowed a smile to spread across his lips. Luke's answer was kind of predictable, but there was some truth in it. "I can't argue with you on that," he admitted. "Being the bad guy sure has been a lot of fun. But you know, life is not just about having fun. Sometimes you have to work hard to get what you want."

"You don't. You can take whatever you want. All you have to do is wave your hand around or point your finger at something. And besides, you're not even fighting for anything at the moment. You're just sitting there like a coward who doesn't want to admit what he is."

"Tell me, Luke. What am I?"

"A killer. And not just a killer." Luke sighed and turned to face him. "Come on, man. Look at what you have. I know it's none of my business, but if there's something you want, something you really want, you should just go out there and take it. Nobody's gonna stop you. Nobody can stop you."

Sylar, still not looking directly at Luke, didn't know how to explain himself without telling Luke what he desired most. It was too personal to share with someone he didn't really know that well. Someone whom Sylar still envied for having had a better relationship with his father than he did. "Using violence doesn't always guarantee victory."

"I didn't say,-"

"I know, you didn't say anything about using violence. But I know you, Luke. You wouldn't think twice about taking a life in order to save your own."

"And neither would you. Why can't you see that? We're both the same. We don't need anyone else. We only care about ourselves. It's in our nature."

"See, that's where you're wrong. I do need other people in my life. Without them... I," will end up alone. It was the horrible truth. He had seen a glimpse of what his future had in store for him if he kept making the same mistakes over and over again. He was trying everything he could do to not head in that direction. "I'm not my father. I'm not gonna hide in some caravan and waste away in self-pity, while I can be out here, where I can actually make a difference."

Luke tried to stand, but Sylar kept him in his place. "We're not done talking yet." He felt Luke struggling against his ability, but the boy was not strong enough. Not nearly.

"We've played this game before," Luke said, not showing the slightest bit of fear. "You're not gonna kill me."

"No, I'm not."

"You're just gonna leave me behind again. You may not be your father, but you sure as hell look a lot like mine."

"I'm not leaving you behind. We're just gonna sit here and wait patiently for someone to pick us up." They would find out about the accident sooner or later and when they did, Luke was going to tell them all about how he made that car crash happen from beginning to end. "You're going to be my alibi, Luke. Whether you like it or not."

Next chapter: Second Assignment