Even the thick material of the coat couldn't compete against the piercing coldness of the November air. It bit at places that were covered by three layers of clothing and froze the tips of his glove covered fingers. His numb feet made a slapping noise as the soles of his, newly purchased, shoes made contact with the concrete. Ice air filled his lungs with every breath, yet Sylar didn't seem to take notice of any of these things. The only thing that interested him was the still figure before him. The night time backdrop was all too familiar to Sylar as he took the final steps towards his opponent. Peter, even with most of his glare being shadowed by his draping hair, still managed to look quite menacing. This being an amazing feat considering how much fear was shining in his eyes. Every little noise echoed ten times louder in the silence between the two. The sound of Sylar's voice, however, only barely carried itself over to Peter's ears.
"We're the same, you and I." Peter didn't even have to look up to know a smug smile was being sent his way. His left leg lifted and crossed over in front of his right leg gracefully, fully intending to start circling.
"No we're not, you're a murderer." Sylar followed Peter's lead and took a steady step to the side before answering back.
"We both want these powers. We both steal them." His voice was at a dangerous low and his movement had slowed almost to a stand still. "We are both special."
Just as the words left his mouth a painful pressure constricted his chest. His back made a sick crunching noise when it slammed forcefully into the solid stone wall behind him. Aftershock rippled up his spine and neck; the Peter-like figure blurred before reappearing again, this time, up close and personal.
"Special!?" All the feelings of fear that had accumulated, during their meeting, escaped in that single word. Anger overtook, overpowered him. Peter was sure mild hysterical laughter was sure to follow; and it probably would have, had Sylar not regained control of his limbs at the very same moment.
Every bone in Peter's body screamed in silent agony, as an invisible force gave him a taste of his own medicine. Sylar's knee came down heavily into Peter's stomach, driving all the air out of him and although Sylar's hands were so softly holding his pressed against the floor, they might as well be caressing them; Peter found it impossible to move. Later, he'd blame it on telekinesis though Sylar knew differently, only he never felt the need to correct him.
The concrete was slowly but surely numbing Peter's back and the knee in his stomach wasn't exactly pleasant either. A dry chuckle escaped Sylar's mouth when he saw Peter gasping for air underneath him. Knowing the pain he was bringing about only made him press harder. Obviously enjoying the power of control, he had acquired, over the smaller man. Lowering his winter damaged lips to Peter's ear, careful to keep a weary eye on the struggling form, a gravely, hoarse voice breathed out.
"We are the same, Peter." For a second, the thrashing increased. Maybe it was the thought of being similar to a murderous psychopath that got to him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way the murderer had softened his voice slightly for the last word. "Accept it. The sooner you do, the better your life will be."
Sylar's words seemed to be sucking the life and resistance right out of Peter. As he drew back he took his time in searching Peter's face. The resolute look, he had wore minutes ago, was shattered. Destroyed beyond repair. All that was left was Peter. Not Peter the world's savior, but Peter, Sylar's new play thing. The gutted feeling of how easily he was broken continued to bug him as he removed his knee and placed it beside Peter's leg. However, Sylar decided to ignore it. In favor of promised fun.