A/N As always, Sylar can't pass up the opportunity to have some fun and terrorize a few people along the way. It IS a game, after all...

(Btw "Adam" refers to Adam from Saw, not Adam Monroe from Heroes - just in case anyone was confused!)

SYLAR PLAYS A GAME (SAW)

Unfortunately, regeneration doesn't come with built in painkillers.

Sylar flinches a little and grits his teeth at the pain, leaning back heavily on the grimy tiles below him while he waits. Claire moans about not being able to feel pain anymore, but he wishes that he didn't always have to experience the agonising limbo-state between obtaining the injury and starting to heal.

Thankfully it doesn't take long before the aching in his ankle subsides and his foot begins to grow back.

His unwitting companion just stares and stares from across the darkened room, face hilariously slack and as he watches Sylar heal. It's highly amusing, and the ever-present urge to declare his greatness makes him stretch and fake a yawn, as if just to prove how easy an action this is for him. Finally he can wiggle his newly re-grown toes and, satisfied, stands up in one smug, fluid motion. It feels great to be free.

"Not that this hasn't been fun, but there comes a point when a game just drags on too long, don't you think, Adam?" He screws up his face in pretend pity, perfectly hiding his pleasure at seeing such terror in those eyes. "Enough is enough and all that." He's sick of the dirty, smelly, slimy tiles that have encased him for hours, and being trapped in one place for too long is beginning to drive him stir crazy.

Adam finally breaks out of his stunned stupor, and stars to whimper, pointing a trembling finger at where the blood stops in a straight line where Sylar's calf meets his new foot. After a few seconds of enjoying instilling such fear, the sounds just get annoying. "Relax. It's not the weirdest thing out there." Sylar drawls, then walks slowly into the centre of the room towards the body lying on the floor. He stops right at the rim of the pool of blood spilled from the blown open head. Sylar is already soaked in the stuff, but his own blood is one thing: someone else's, when not driven by the hunger, is quite another.

"Hmmm." He purrs, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet and allowing a smirk to sharpen his face. "I'll bet you're dying to be able to peek right about now, aren't you? You're probably wondering why there was no screaming? And why I'm able to stand right here next to you on my own two feet...?"

"Wh... who're you talking to...?"

Sylar rolls his eyes at Adam and kneels down in a jovial manner. "Our buddy here! See, you thought I was hiding the best secret this whole time? Really, we should be applauding John on his excellent work! Isn't that right John?" He reaches down and shakes John's shoulder cheerfully, pleased to hear the pulse quicken accordingly. A dry chuckle rumbles into the room, and Sylar just can't resist the urge to monologue. It's just too satisfying, and these poor suckers will never have any idea what hit them if he doesn't spell it out simply for them.

"You see John... I've been onto you since the beginning. You might be able to dress like a corpse, you might be weeks away from actuallybecoming a corpse, but until your heart stops beating so loudly, you can't hide from me..." He pouts mockingly down at the still motionless body. More seconds tick by and he's beginning to lose his patience. "C'mon John!" He prompts, followed by a sharp prod to the back of the neck. "The game is up! You lost! I played by all the rules, I put on a good show, and still I came out on top. So who's the real winner here...?" He then leans right down to whisper gleefully into John's ear, so close he can smell the costume prosthetics on his face. " I am ."

Sylar loves winning. Almost as much as he loves asserting his superiority.

Finally, the not-dead body stirs, and the old man gets shakily to his feet, out-smarted, scared and most of all, dumbfounded. This time there is no faux-friendly air around Sylar and he glowers at John icily, talking over Adam's gurgle of fear. "Next time, make sure you know who you're dealing with before you willingly lock yourself in a room with them."

With a few simple flicks of his fingers; John is telekinetically dragged to the shackle that Sylar has easily bent open in waiting, it then slams shut around the old man's ankle, and the hinges are welded shut with a quick blast of radioactive heat. There's no way to escape without taking the saw-to-bone route, and Sylar takes the time to briefly admire his handiwork before turning his back on the two men and sauntering to the door.

"You - you won't get away with this! I invented the rules! You can't beat me!" John wheezes and coughs, and Sylar would almost feel sorry for such a pitiful specimen if said specimen hadn't just attempted to kidnap and trap him here.

Sylar tuts. "You're going to play a game... and if you play by the rules like a good boy, I see no reason why you can't survive this." He gives the discarded saw a pointed look, then flicks the door open with one finger and a twitch of his eyebrows. "Have fun..."

The door slams shut heavily, the noise reverberating along with another rumbling chuckle that lingers in the room behind him.