MAY 2518

I've been hunting him for ages, and I mean that quite literally. Empires have risen and fallen while I've chased him, looking for the opportunity I need to finish him.

I remember my birth. I lived in what was then the United States of America. It was one of my favorite empires, and one of the longest lasting ones. My favorite thing about America was the ease with which you could find a person once you started looking. In this new nation, finding someone without the aid of an ability has become nearly impossible.

Of course, he has no problem finding me when he wants to. Every ten or so years he shows up on whichever doorstep I own at the time and solicits me. I always refuse, usually by stabbing some random part of his body with the ever-present blade I carry. I've gotten quite good with my knife in the more than 500 years since I took it from my father's corpse. I figure that eventually, I'll stab him in the spot and he'll be gone for good. At that point, I'll be free to stick a spike in the back of my head and take a very long nap.

Given the relative regularity of his visits in the last half-millennium, his recent absence has set me on edge. Of course I know it's probably just him screwing with me, but when you get used to seeing someone on a schedule and then they just don't show up, it's unsettling, no matter how irrational you know it is.

It's been seventeen years since the last time I saw Sylar, and as much as it thrills me to not have to look into those sociopathic eyes, I wish he would stop by just so that I can have another shot at killing him. If I'm being practical though, it'd be better if he had just gotten unlucky and fallen off a cliff, getting spiked by a sharp rock right in his proverbial Achilles' heel.

"Such uncharitable thoughts, Claire. Makes me wonder just who the bad guy in this situation is." I freeze, the breeze in the dark alley brushing my long blonde hair into my face.

"Sylar, so nice to see you again. I was getting worried. You're late for our decadal sparring match." He chuckles and the sound wraps around me, reverberating in the narrow space and bouncing off of the high building walls. The K-bar is in my hand before I even realize it and I'm spinning on the spot, springing forward and sinking the blade five-point-two inches into yielding flesh.

"Forgive me," he says, grunting through the pain he's not past feeling. I feel one strong arm come around my waist, hitching me up and pulling me bodily against him. My ribs are close to cracking as he presses me into the hilt of the blade, pushing it even deeper into himself to show me he's still alive. I begin to feel his blood seeping onto my shirt and shiver at the thought. "I had some other things to take care of."

"Oh really?" I groan as he releases me, feeling my ribs pop back into place with a sickening thud against my skin. "Too busy inspiring fear and loathing in the lives of mere mortals to keep our standing appointment?"

He shrugs, yanking my blade from his abdomen and hissing as he holds it up to the light coming from the gas lamp to his right. "You know me, Claire," he muses, "I'm a very busy man. You maintain this blade very well."

He throws it lightning-quick, lodging it in my outstretched hand. The steel blade glistens with our mingled blood as it protrudes from the back of my hand.

It stings more as I withdraw it than it did going in.

He grins at my short intake of breath. "Someday you're going to make that sound for me in a completely different situation, Claire." He says the words softly, relishing the sound of his own voice on his lips.

"Right," I say. I don't wait for the flesh of my hand to re-knit itself before I take off again, whirling around and bringing the blade down into the hollow above his collarbone. He sinks to his knees, gurgling slightly as he looks up at me, eyes glazed with pain before his lips curve into one completely soul-killing smile.

As I look down at him, kneeling on the pavement, an unexpected feeling shoots through me. I like having him on his knees. I want him to kneel before me; that's where he belongs.

"You can have that, if it's what you want, Claire," he tempts me as he yanks my knife from his body. I am reeling from this sudden desire for control, and he takes advantage of it, moving his hand and pinning me against the far wall, my feet dangling a good foot above the ground.

I am furious with myself. I let myself get distracted, and now I'm unable to move or get down. Damn it.

"You know I can give you everything, Claire," he continues, pressing his advantage, "and you know we're good together."

"I want you to die, Sylar. That's all I've wanted for a long time," I spit at him, so mad I can hardly see. He caught me off-guard to begin with, and then I had to go and make an amateur screw-up.

He tilts his head to one side, studying my face. His eyes grow serious as he replies, "No, I don't think that's right. You're lying to yourself if you think that's what you really want. Or at least, the only thing you want."

He allows my body to slide down the wall until I am standing on solid ground again. He steps forward until I can once again feel the heat of his body. I am still frozen as he burns me with his dark eyes.

"Everyone breaks once, Claire."

And I am released after he has disappeared, leaving me with only anger and confusion.