Author's note: AU. Elle-centric. Story currently takes place during Season 1, when Sylar is captured after homecoming. Writing crazy Elle is so fun but extremely exhausting. Plus, this is my first fanfic. Warning: Psychotic, dark themes.
Chapter 7
Elle is sprawled out on her stomach, legs bouncing to a feverish rhythm against the ivory bed. While Agent Andrews is busy doing his computer thing, Elle is trying oh so hard to maintain her patience. Calm the feral, dark beast within. But Elle has never, ever, been a tranquil soul. She is, literally, in every sense - electric. The blue power constantly surges throughout her entire body, impacting the wiring and makeup of her physiology, neurons, and psyche. Her special ability has significantly played a large role into the development of her frenzied, erratic, and wild nature.
Sapphire energy snaps loud and harsh between her perfectly manicured nails. Elle not only lacks natural patience, she is easily agitated. The sound of the suit punching hard on the keyboard causes Elle to involuntarily frown with annoyance. Electricity flashes angrily from her eyes. The lights and electronics in the room flicker as she increases her internal voltage, sparks her energy booming hot in order to drown out the sounds.
Elle sighs at the failed attempt to block out the aggravating noise.
Andrews stops typing and glances over, picking up on her irritation. "It will only be few more minutes. The security system is, well, extremely complex. I almost have it."
Elle rolls her eyes at the comment. This waiting game is killing her. Instead of lying in her room listening to the insignificant worker type away, she could be filling up her cold emptiness with watchmaker's delicious screams.
Sylar's dark chocolate eyes and ghost smile echo within her consciousness, sending strange.... pleasurable sensations throughout her body. Heat spreads between her legs as she reflects on the images of crimson blood splatter and broken bodies, the special presents that he made just for her. Imagines herself showing her gratitude by slowly licking his soft bottom lip, a submissive gesture that Elle has never considered - or fantasized over- until now. She's never met such an dominant, powerful, alpha male. She would love to feel his rough large hands tightly gripping and bruising her delicate neck. Elle needs to feel him underneath her, screaming from both pain and pleasure. Energy vibrates underneath her skin, building up for heavenly release. Elle's fingers tremble with the urge to touch herself lightly. But she balls her hands into tight fists instead, knuckles turning white. Andrews' presence is a buzz kill.
Her need and longing is so incredibly unbearable that Elle decides to distract herself. She knows that if she fixates on him too much, that she may act on her impulsive desires and storm right over to the cell and take the prisoner now. But Elle needs to ensure that all the plans are perfectly in place. And Andrews is the last piece of that puzzle.
She moves her attention away from the fantasies of blood, pain, and sex, and focuses instead on her small bedroom. Observes and describes silently to herself the details of the room. Everything is uncomfortably neat, clean, and orderly. The room would make someone with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder extremely happy. Elle could never suffer from OCD, as it is an anxiety disorder. And Elle lacks any form of worry, distress, or anxiety. The room merely reflects her need for control.
The environment is clinically white, sterile. The pristine room is absent of any decoration or color. Elle does not care such trivial things. Prefers function over form. The place holds no real value. Simply a space to shower, dress, and sleep. She can't really picture her lair all frilly and pink, filled with images of butterflies and unicorns. Sure, she fakes the playful and girly act outside, but within her private quarters she is away from the watchful eyes. Elle does not need to waste her energy here on maintaining the lies and illusions.
Elle's room is not that much better than the prisoners' gray, concrete cells. Elle is quite aware that - in her own special way - she is a prisoner. Unlike the other captives, however, she can come and go as she pleased. But at the end of the day, Elle always comes back willingly to her cage. She knowingly commits herself to the Company. Chooses this life over the so called freedoms of the outside world.
Away from her room and the comforts of the Company, the world is full of complex and strange human interactions that confuse Elle. She can observe and learn the customs, social norms, and expression of feelings. Elle tries to respond appropriately to social initiations and expectations. But she cannot fully comprehend them. It is like being an anthropologist on an alien planet. Most people fake a lot of human interactions, but Elle fakes every one. All she can do is play along at life, and hope that sometimes she gets it right. She pretends the feelings are there, for the world and for the people around her. Who knows, maybe one day they will be. Illusion is everything.
But every time Elle thinks she understands the rules, they change. This lack of insight into human nature makes her feel so alone. Powerless. And Elle's existence is all about power. So she aims to control that what she can understand. Control the prisoners. Control the suits. Control her silly little room.
When Elle is outside of the Company, wandering the streets, she sometimes likes to pretend that she's alone. Completely alone. Make believe a world post-apocalypse or plague…whatever. No one left to act normal for. No need to hide who she truly is. No more lies. It would be…freeing.
A handful of people know what Elle truly is. The prisoners all get a firsthand taste. The psychiatrists scribble frantically on their notebooks during her sessions. Daddy caught on early after he noticed that Elle responded - uniquely - to the incident. The time when she "accidentally" set her Grandma's house on fire when she didn't get want she wanted, killing both Grandma and Mommy. Little Elle didn't shed a tear or show any signs of remorse. Daddy understood that he couldn't stop what Elle was developing into. A Sociopath. Monster. But Daddy believed he could do something to channel it. Use it for good. Made Elle into a Company girl. They trained her to use her antisocial personality qualities for the greater good of the Company. Allowed her to focus that dark, psychotic energy onto assignments, specific targets.
In a way, the Company is Elle's sanctuary from the outside world. It was a place with simple rules and orders, providing her structure and purpose. It made sense.
Sometimes the Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps her control the internal chaos.
Elle's life is a strange and careful balance of order and chaos.
"Ok, all done." Andrews pikes up.
"Everything that I asked for?" Elle purrs.
"Yes, yes. Of course. Everything." Andrews nods his head extremely fast.
Elle smiles widely, flashing all of her pearly white teeth. "Perfect."
The agent's entire body begins to visibly shake. Elle narrows her blue eyes suspiciously, speaks painfully slow. "Now. Andrews. When I'm off playing with our favorite prisoner… you're not going to do anything silly, right? Like report to Daddy or Bennet?"
Sweat starts to spread across his face. He squeaks, "Oh no, Ms. Bishop, I, um. Never. No, no. You can trust me. I ---"
Elle is a professional liar and she can immediately pick up when someone else is lying. Andrews is going to betray her. Elle never forgave anyone for anything. A character flaw to be sure, but hell, everyone's got to have at least one. Though Elle doesn't see it as a flaw. More of a survival skill.
"Liar!" Her feral growl cuts him off. "I told you I was going to burn your brains so red hot if you didn't do exactly what I say. I hate to waste a good threat."
Elle strikes Andrews hard in the chest, forcing the agent to fly violently across the room.
"Oh God!" He screams while she blasts him again.
Elle can see his pain. On some level, she can understand his pain. She just can't feel his pain.
"Jesus loves you, too," Elle laughs sadistically.
When she needs to back up her threats, someone writhing on the floor in pain is almost as good as a body. Sometime's its better.
"Evil bitch!" Blood begins to flows out of Andrews' mouth. Mmmm. Blood is thicker than water, and much tastier.
The comment combined with the sight of blood gives Elle a twisted idea. She stalks slowly towards the closet, humming playfully to herself. Andrews is frozen on the floor, afraid to move. Elle opens the door dramatically, like a game show host displaying the expensive prize to the contestants. Her voice is sing-songy. "Voila!"
Andrews' eyes widen at the sight of Elle's private collection of special, dangerous toys. The shiny, black objects within the closest are startling contrasts against the stale, white room. Her favorite game of life is torture. Electrocution is one way to play. Elle loves her indigo sparks the best, but, that doesn't mean that she is not open to other forms of fun. A true sadist, she collects anything and everything that causes pain and suffering. Black leather whips, handcuffs, and ropes hang on the hooks. She opens the obsidian drawers to reveal various types of shiny knives, swords, and guns. Weapons of all flavors.
Elle's fingertips gently caress a large, silver knife. The true way to a man's heart is six inches of metal between his ribs. Sometimes four inches will do the job, but to be really sure, Elle likes to have six. Bigger is always better.
"Oh, Andrews. Please. I'm not evil. Just.... misunderstood." Elle stares him down, allows the darkness to come to the surface. She picks up the knife between her dainty fingers, flashing the large piece of metal to her victim. "And evil."
Tonight's the night. Everything has to be perfect. And Andrews is not going to spoil her fun. While silencing the little man's screams, Elle contemplates what she is going to wear for her date.
Note: Reviews = love, they help keep me motivated to continue writing! ;) Hope to get the next chapter up soooon!