Starring:
Summary: Sylar has an unlikely partner in the Dark Future. One that comes in handy, very much so…even if she does tend to be a bit of a back-talker.
Dark Future Date: August 3rd, 2009
An Unlikely Partner
Lonely Alleyway, New York City
Night has just fallen on the destroyed city of New York. It's a time when thugs, murderers, thieves, and all other types of disgraceful people emerge from their hiding holes, using the night as their cover. While he wouldn't consider himself any of the above, the murderer known as Sylar leans cautiously on a dumpster in a back alley, keeping his eyes, ears, and other sense open to the slightest possible sense of danger. You never know who or what will creep up behind you in the new city. Oh, he has ways to deal with them, of course, but he isn't exactly worried about /his/ well-being in this usual meeting spot. But who is he meeting?
Who /is/ it that Sylar is meeting? That is the question. A thug? A murderer? A thief? Maybe all of the above. Sylar doesn't have long to wait till whoever he's waiting for appears in the mouth of the alleyway. Why bother hiding or making a grand entrance? Hands stuffed in her pockets, the one streetlamp still working on the street turning her into a silhouette with a blonde halo, a young teenager steps fearlessly into the alleyway. "You sure pick stinky places to meet."
"You can never be too careful," Sylar says, looking at the freshly arrived visitor. He looks down at her, leaning forward from the dumpster, his gaze focused intently on her. Whether he's examining her for any signs of being hurt, or just double-checking that it is in fact who he is here to meet (but really, who can mistake /that/ attitude) is up in the air. "Things are different now. The president may be in control, and the Evolved—" From down in the alleyway there's a noise, and Sylar's head snaps that direction immediately, a giant burst of flame escaping his hand and roaring down the alleyway towards the culprit. The immediate shrieking and squeaking identifies the noise as only a (dead) rat, and the killer turns his attention back to his accomplice. "It's not safe. For you. Do you want to die? People will kill you if they knew what you were, without a doubt. Regardless of your age, what sex you are… they'll kill you." Is Sylar being… protective? Or is it he just cherishes his most precious toy and doesn't want to see her die… that is, until he kills her himself?
Molly snorts and approaches Sylar without pausing. The large fireball lights up her face so that it's possible to see her face, totally void of any sort of emotion. "I'm Evolved, I have nothing to worry about." Tilting her head slightly, she comes to a stop just about the time when Sylar starts being 'protective'. "Aw, you're making me think you care. How novel." Who knows what his motives are for this, but she doesn't mind mocking him for it. "You're just worried you're little fortune cookie won't break open and give you more lucky numbers."
"Evolved? That won't stop them. Evolved aren't the most popular right now, it's— you're a child, you wouldn't understand," Sylar says, taking a step toward Molly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Whether I care or not, it would do you well to listen to me," he says, focusing on here, "Well? Do you have it? My fortune cookie hasn't run out yet. It still has life in it."
"There's more than just you looking after your little toy." Molly rolls her eyes and watches him approach. She doesn't step back, all she does is tilt her chin up, a little defiantly, a little like the Molly of yore. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. It's not like it used to be, Sylar. I've got other clients." Clients? Now she's talking like Jessica. "And you made sure it stayed open, but that doesn't mean that other people don't like to get a piece of the cookie."
There's a small flick of the wrist, and while it isn't much, when you apply telekinesis to it, it can become something so much more. The psychic slap hits Molly straight across the face, and the killer's voice drops down to a low, cold tone as he addresses her. "You watch your mouth when you're talking to me. /You/ work for /me./ I may have made sure it stayed open, but that doesn't mean I can't close it easily." He steps forward, hand held open in front of him.
The slap hits Molly right across the face and while she was expecting some sort of retaliation, it catches her by surprise. It's enough to make her stumble to the wall and press her hands against it for some support. Smoothing back her hair with one of her hands, she narrows her eyes at Sylar. Reaching into a pocket, she flings a packet of papers at him. It flutters through the air toward him, where he can either grab it with his powers or let it drop to the ground. "There," she says quietly. Slowly, she gathers herself back up to her haughty teenage pose. "That's the list you wanted so badly. Enjoy your hunt. I'd start with lucky number 3."
Hand still held out in front of him, all of the papers Molly has tossed into the air slowly, but surely, make their way into Sylar's hand, nice and neat. "Thank you," he says, folding them and slipping the stack into his jacket pocket. "I'll be in touch," he says, taking one final look at her and turning away, the shadows of the dark alleyway swallowing his figure until he slowly disappears.