2007-05-05: Never Have Time To Fall



Special Guest Appearance: Marilou

Summary: On route to the Company hospital, Marilou runs into an unexpected roadblock.

Date It Happened: May 05, 2007

Never Have Time To Fall

A lonely back alley.

Building to building to building… Marilou Salonga has no idea what's happening to her. The last thing she remembers /clearly/ is standing in Times Square, trying not to cause a freakin' cyclone, then her sister's big ol' boyfriend had his arms around her and everything went dark. Everything has been dark, and cloudy, since that moment. One minute she was in holding; or was it for a day? She's been so drugged, she couldn't tell you what month it was at the moment. The teenager is stretched out in the back of a van that's outfitted, inside, like an ambulance, while the outside is plain white. It looks like an unmarked delivery van. Nothing special. Its driver is taking back roads and taking no shortcuts through the night. His orders, like his destination, are very specific.

Little does the driver know, his night is about to take a turn for the worst. Waiting around the next bend is Sylar, standing in the middle of the road, dressed in his usual garb of black jeans, black shirt, and black jacket. He's visible, as well, deciding that there's no reason the driver should be unable to see him, because, after all, the driver's life is going to end very shortly. It's not as if he can report this. When the van finally comes into view, Sylar smirks, slowly raising a hand out in front of him. With it, he gives a small push forward; the van reacts immediately, acting as if it ran straight into a brick wall, coming to a dead halt as the driver comes flying out through the windshield, bouncing off the ground and rolling to a stop about ten feet in front of Sylar. Hopefully Marilou was strapped down.

In the back of the Company van, every single object is jostled about violently. An IV stand is hurled toward the front; basic medical supplies fly onto the floor. The bodyguard accompanying the young captive is wrenched with sudden whiplash and hits his head on the edge of a built-in counter, falling to the floor. Marilou, also, falls to the floor — that is, after the locked-in stretcher she was strapped to topples over. She starts to come out of her drug-induced fog, but she's too slow to shriek. So far. "Whh… h-help!" She struggles awkwardly, the straps keeping her on her side parallel with the floor. "Help! H-hello?!"

The killer walks forward, stepping over the limp body of the driver, glancing both left and right as he does. No one seems to be watching, or have noticed the van crashing. Good. The less attention, the better. As he nears the van, he can hear the cries of the girl inside, rounding the back of the van and facing the door. With another, sharp wave of his hand, the doors come bursting open, revealing Marilou inside, along with the bodyguard. "It's useless, you know," Sylar says as he places a foot up on the edge of the van, leaning forward and watching Marilou. "No one can you hear you."

Sylar is right. No one has noticed the van's accident. This part of the city is inhabited, mostly, by the homeless. The driver took the back routes, lined with gutted warehouses, out-of-business businesses, and people who just don't care. Half of the streetlights don't even work. One flickers to the far left of the van. Inside the vehicle, Marilou twists about, her neck hanging uncomfortably off the stretcher, to get a look at the source of the voice. Her dark hair falls in her face. "Who're you?" She squirms and whimpers something desperately in Tagalog. "B-but you can hear me…" Maybe she's not that smart, or maybe she's optimistic. "Hhelp! Please just help, I'm stuck—!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sylar says, and with a twist of his hand, the stretch violently and suddenly uprights itself, so that it's standing on its end. This results in Marilou facing Sylar, still strapped to the stretcher, as he smiles at it. "Of course I can hear you," he says, taking his foot off of the van and placing it on the ground. "That doesn't mean I'm going to help you, though. You see, I'm here to kill you. You have such a nice ability, and I'd like to use it all for myself."

Jolted against her restraints, Marilou emits a squelched little scream when the stretcher is, suddenly, upright. What?! Her dark eyes widen into small saucers. "«I'm just having a nightmare…»" she mumbles in jumbled Tagalog. "No! Wh-what do mean? What abilities?! Where am I? Where's my sister?!"

"Sister?" Sylar says, his attention perking up slightly, and a smile creeps across his face. "Interesting. I'll make sure and send your love." He won't, of course, but why should Marilou have to worry about it? It's almost time. "As for your abilities, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You won't have to worry about them much longer— in fact, you won't have to worry about them anymore starting right now." With that said, the killer raises his hand, curling his ring and pinky finger into his palm, pointing his index and middle fingers at her head. "Time's up," he says as the blood begins to spill from her forehead, down over her eyes and cheeks, almost as if she were crying the blood itself.

"'Dine… n-no." Marilou says in a small voice. "Leave her alone! Leave ME alone! HEEEELP!" She stares wildly in confused horror. Her dark eyes glimmer, tears threatening. They never have time to fall. The teenager, who landed just so recently in America from the Philippines, realizes in some, vague way what's happening to her — that Claudine is nowhere to be found, nor Orion, and it really is about to end. She screams, high-pitched and filled to the brim with terror and agony. /Someone/ is bound to hear that.

But even if anyone in this neighbourhood cared, it's already too late.

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