2007-03-06: Let's Play A Game


Mara_icon.gif Sylar_icon.gif

Date It Happened: March 06, 2007

Summary: Mara attempts to beat Sylar at his own game. Sylar proves that he plays to win.

Let's Play a Game

Police Station

Once again, the serial killer known as Sylar is sitting in an interrogation room, shackled to his chair. On the table directly in front of him rests the photographs of his dead mother, laid out in the chronological order that they were taken, along with the case file nearby. Sylar ignores these, having no interest in the accidental murder of his mother. He witnessed it firsthand, he doesn't need to see the photographs. Nearby is a small cup of water which remains untouched; although, for some reason, Sylar can't seem to take his attention off of it. His eyes bore into the thin paper cup, his handcuffed fists clenched, the knuckles white with the strain.

The door to the interrogation opens and with an absolute lack of fanfare, Detective Damaris sweeps into the room. For now, she stays back in the shadows, watching the killer in silence.

Sylar remains completely focused on the cup even after the detective enters, and it's a long moment before he finally seems to give up whatever it is he's trying to do. He looks up at Mara and laughs faintly, the wounds on his face glaring in the light of the single bulb. "Come back for more, detective?"

"I want to talk to you." In her nervousness, Mara's accent thickens up. She pulls a chair up on the other side of the table, turning it backward to straddle as she sits. "Just you and me. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"You don't want to talk to me," Sylar responds, his voice low and even. His eyes follow Mara all the way from the shadows to the chair, almost like a predator tracking its prey. "You want /me/ to talk to /you/. That's right. You want me to tell you allll about those innocent people I killed. About how I took their powers. About how I've become stronger with each one. About how.. how you're my /next/ victim." The killer smirks, nodding slightly at Mara, his eyes widening a bit at the thought of the kill. "You /are/ my next victim, detective.. whatever delicious power you have.. it's going to be all mine."

"Aren't you going to be a little disappointed when you discover I don't have any sort of power?" Mara leans forward, something close to amusement dancing in her eyes. "So talk to me… Tell me about each and every one of them." She reaches out to start gathering up the photographs from Virginia Gray's murder. "I want to know how you did it. I want to know why. It's all for a reason, isn't it? You have a.. plan?"

"Plan? It's not a 'plan'," Sylar says, leaning forward as Mara does, his eyes locked onto her, his lips turned up at the corners, "it's my evolutionary imperative. To be special. To be more. To take all of the abilities for myself, until I'm the last one. Until there's no more. Is that what you want to hear? That I plan on killing more innocent people and taking their abilities? That I planning on killing them /all/? That I /will/ kill them all?"

"What are you going to do with all that power, Gabriel?" Mara's eyes flit over Sylar's face, watching more than just his eyes. "What are you going to do once there's no one left?"

Sylar stares at Mara for a long time, eyebrows creased, which gives him a sinister look at he looks at the detective murderously. "Once they're all mine… once I've taken every ability I can… I'm going to kill everything you've ever loved."

"Then. What?" Mara enunciates the syllables, voice lowered to a whisper. "Then what are you going to do?"

Sylar takes a deep breath in, and lets it out very slowly, his smile increasing with every passing moment, the stitches and bandages on his face shifting under the movement of skin. Sylar tilts his head slightly to the side, considering Mara, after which he pulls back and leans into his chair, chuckling softly. "After that… I'll be President and control every single one of you."

"Mmm. Lofty goals." Mara moves the photos from the table to rest on the floor beside her. Her eyes never once leave Sylar through the process, though. "President Gray. Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"Mm," Sylar says, seemingly ignoring the fact she's called him Gray. It doesn't even seem to bother him. Perhaps it's because it was paired up with 'President'. "It does, doesn't it? People will look to me as their leader. They'll trust me. They'll put all of their faith in me.. and I'll control the free world. Only… it won't be so free, will it?"

Mara's eyes fix on Sylar's lips as she speaks, watching his mouth form the words. She slowly lifts her gaze again to his eyes and responds, "I can't imagine it would be, no. A pity. I'd love to see what you'd do with it." The corners of her mouth tug as though she's attempting to fight off the beginnings of a grin.

"It's a shame, then," Sylar responds, his eyes boring into Mara's, "that those pretty eyes of yours won't be around to see it. They'll be dead, glazed over, the life snuffed out of them… you'll just be another body in a dumpster off of Main Street, another victim in my imperative, another worthless person who didn't appreciate what was given to them."

"All right, Gray. I'll play your game. Let's suppose for a moment that I do have some sort of… power." Mara can't help but squirm just a little under the intensity of those eyes. She's been in situations like this before, sure, but it's never been quite like this. "I appreciate the ability I have. I think it's bloody /amazing/. And I think I'm the luckiest woman in the world to have it. None of that matters either, does it? It's not about appreciation at all, is it? It's not about taking from the unworthy."

Sylar just grins, a deep, sinister laugh emitting from his throat as he watches the detective. "You try," he begins, looking down at the floor in amusement, before looking back up at Mara, "to tell me you appreciate it. You're lying. You're scared. If you appreciated it, you would use it to do good. People would know about you. Others like us would know about you. You're ashamed." Sylar nods in agreement with his own statement, leaning forward towards Mara, his voice lowering. "But I'm not. I know why I was given my gift. I /am/ special. I'm going to use my abilities to take yours, to use it for a higher purpose, to use it for my own gain… use it to kill others just like you."

"You wouldn't even—" Mara starts to growl, but catches herself. Admit to nothing. "So very special… And yet here you sit." She smiles faintly, "You used to be so terrifying. But without your powers… You're nothing, aren't you?"

Sylar visibly tenses at the mention of his lack of powers, and he closes his eyes for a few moments, lowering his head as he takes a deep breath. "You'll find," Sylar says, his eyes snapping open and his head up to glare at Mara, "that I have more power than you THINK!" He suddenly lunges forward at her, only this time, his chains don't stop him like before. They were weak already, but with Sylar tugging on them over the course of his interrogation, he has just enough strength behind his lunge to pull them free of the floor. He legs slam into the table, but he's still close enough to reach out towards Mara, and if he manages to get close enough this time, wrap his hands around her throat and begin to choke the life out of her.

Mara is caught entirely off her guard and doesn't have enough time to push back from the table before Sylar goes slamming into it. Her eyes grow wide with surprise and she scratches and claws at her own neck in an attempt to pry Sylar's fingers away. That failing, she beats one fist against his wrist, hoping to cause him to loosen his grip enough to pull away. She never even had the chance to scream.

"Is this the power you were talking about?" Sylar says, remaining far too calm considering the fact he's choking Mara, increasing the pressure on the detective's throat. "Am I /terrifying/ now?" His voice drops to a whisper, leaning forward to speak into her ear. "Are you /scared/ now? I could kill you right here, right now, without my power. I could take your life and toss it aside like it was nothing." When Mara starts beating against his fist, Sylar loosens his grip, and then completely lets go of her, giving her a slight push as he turns around. He immediately lifts his chair into the air, pulls the chains off of it, and tosses the chair aside, after which he whips around and kicks open the door of the room, stepping out into the hall with the intent to escape.

Mara goes tumbling off her chair and onto the floor, gasping for air. Then, she starts screaming. Out of fear. To raise alarm. "Stop him!" she cries, attempting to scramble to her feet and give chase. The process is slow going at best. There's already deep, ugly purple bruises around her throat.

Just before Sylar moves past the door where Mara can't see, he pauses to take one last look at her. His eyes widen as his eyebrows crease, and the smile on his face is clear in its meaning. 'Soon.' He then moves out of view, and down the hallway as the officers in the station begin to respond to Mara's screams. One comes from the right, who Sylar easily shoves into a nearby chair, toppling the guard over. Another screams "Stop!" and begins to pull his gun out, but Sylar grabs the same chair the previous officer tripped over, and throws it at the gunslinging officer, bouncing it off the poor man's chest.

Mara reaches into the holster hidden in her pants pocket and pulls her gun as she runs after Sylar. "I /will/ shoot you!" she calls after him. "Do /not/ make me do that!"

Just after Mara calls after him, Sylar makes a sudden turn down a nearby hallway, disappearing from view. Once around the corner, he waits for a moment, catching his breath. Another officer exits a nearby door, and Sylar immediately grabs him and pushes him towards the hall. All Mara would see is an officer come reeling backwards out of the hall and into a desk, sending a few papers flying.

Mara curses under her breath and tears off after the psychopath. Her lungs burn and her muscles scream in protest, but she keeps moving. She narrowly avoids colliding with the officer as he's pushed out into the way.

"Oh, detective!" Sylar calls out from around the corner, taunting Mara. He's enjoying this little game of cat and mouse. He sneaks down the hallway and into another room, where another of the station's officers is. Sylar moves in immediately, punching the man square in the face. He takes the officer's gun, quickly flicks the safety switch off, and steps behind the officer with the gun pointed at the man's head, waiting for Mara to enter the room, if she saw him.

Mara flattens herself against the wall outside the door, flicking the safety of her own gun off. She holds it ready and peeks inside quickly.

"That's right, detective," Sylar says, catching the glimpse of her when she peeks in. "Come in slowly," he calls out the door, forcing the pistol he holds into the side of the man's head, "you don't want me to slip and pull the trigger. Can you handle that, detective? Can you handle the blood of your fellow officer on your hands?"

Mara takes in a deep breath and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling as though the right course of action might be written in the rafters. She raises her hands, but doesn't put away her gun. Into the room she steps, just as slow as he directed. "Let him go. It's me you want." Her tongue darts out between her lips and finally she says it.


Sylar chuckles when Mara finally uses his taken name, and he smiles at the detective over the hostage's shoulder. "Yes, that's right. My name /is/ Sylar. I suppose it didn't take us being in bed after all, did it, detective?" He chuckles once more, and then pulls the hammer of the gun back. "It's too bad I'll have to kill this man anyway. Don't worry. You won't have to live with the guilt long." But right before he can pull the trigger, the cop, fearing for his life and that of a fellow officer, decides to be a hero. He suddenly pushes backwards with his feet, and due to a conveniently placed table right behind them, Sylar goes sprawling. He drops the gun, which falls to the floor and goes off with a shattering bang, embedding the bullet meant for the officer into the nearby wall. Sylar immediately begins to push himself up from the floor, but by this point, it's most likely already too late.

Mara flinches, looking ill at the suggestion of coupling with the murderer. She starts when she realizes he's going to shoot her fellow boy-in-blue anyway, but her cry of protest is cut short when the man fends for himself. It's all Mara needs. She acts much the same as she did the last time she apprehended the man. She tackles him and presses her gun up against his broken nose. "Don't /even/," she growls dangerously.

The serial killer is tackled to the ground by Mara, and once the detective has her gun pressed up against his broken nose, Sylar simply smiles. He doesn't flinch, turn, or look away from the detective, but rather, he keeps his eyes directly on hers. "You won't do it," he says, speaking softly and taking his time. "You /can't/ do it. You're too /scared/… you don't have what it takes to be /different/. You're just like every other one of them. You're simply delaying me from taking what's mine… but I won't be delayed much longer, Detective Damaris. No one can stop me." When he's finish talking, Sylar begins to laugh, the sinister sound rising from deep in his throat and bursting out, his eyes closing as Mara keeps him forced on the ground with the gun to his nose.

Mara's eyes narrow. She doesn't dignify Sylar with an answer. Not this time. She trembles with barely restrained fury as she presses her weight down on the killer and turns on the safety on her gun again, slipping it back into its holster. In a very practiced movement, she's got him on his stomach, slipping the new, and hopefully more sturdy, cuffs over his wrists and fastening them behind is back. Another officer hauls Mara to her feet while two more do the same to Sylar, leading him back toward his cell.

Sylar goes willingly with the two officers, walking back to his cell with his head hanging low, his eyes closed in concentration. There's no use fighting now. He can't escape this time. He'll have to bide his time and put up with the interrogations, until a chance arises. They always do. Somebody, somewhere will slip up, and he'll be free.

Mara manages to keep her brave face on until Sylar is out of sight. But even though he can't see her, her voice echoes in the halls only minutes later. "I'm fine. I'm /fine/!" she sobs, "Don't /touch/ me! I'll go see my /own/ doctor!"

Sylar does indeed hear Mara's sobs echoing in the hallways. He's currently lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, but when the sobs come drifting down, he slowly sits up, gently placing his feet on the floor. His eyes drift downward to a cockroach scurrying across the cement, and slowly, but surely, his lips turn upward in a smile, and he looks up at his bars. "/No one/ can stop me."

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