[ It feels like a foreign thing, almost, what drives his actions now.
Mutants being hunted down and shipped off for the safety and benefit of humanity didn't bother him particularly for any other reason than that it could become something to directly concern him, that he could be the one rendered defenseless, helpless and locked in a cage when he's sworn to never end up in such a position again. But Charles, perhaps too naïve and willing to see the good in people, yes, but someone who'd been intrigued by gifts Sylar possessed that were not quite his but ones he had acquired nonetheless, shown interest in what he was capable of without an ulterior motive - he mattered, and that was more than could be said for many.
Sylar can, so he will -- it's as simple as that. Whether he leaves whatever plan insignificant scientists might have for the telepath in ruins, he cares as little for, because what he intends to do holds more weight; he's going to break through the door to the facility, twist the metal into something unrecognizeable, and he's going to kill anything he finds on the other side. Charles would likely disapprove, of course, even after the acts these people have committed against him, so Sylar completely disregards his possible opinion on the matter and claims the revenge the other man never would take for himself for him, in a way.
The wall melts along with the door and he leaves the survivors to burn in the rubble, but the corridor isn't empty for long -- the alarm screams overhead and people are rushing both away from and towards him, all dressed in white uniforms and shouting in a panic. There are needles in their hands, but Sylar raises a hand and pushes, and the woman closest to him flies back ten feet to hit the wall. She takes a couple of her colleagues with her and the impact is hard enough to crack the tile and leave blood behind, though more personnel is already approaching so he makes sure he's too hot for them to touch and whoever dares to try, despite that, gets a face full of electricity and ends up on the floor in a shrieking heap.
He snaps his way through locks on doors and throws them off their hinges, searching, wrecking and leaving a trail of bodies behind if attempts are made to stop him. The room he finally finds at the end of the sterile hallway is a science lab of sorts, men and women in the same white coats as the ones dead outside standing by and watching, all emotionless expressions and straight postures, the torture as though it was a particularly eye-catching slideshow at a lecture and nothing more.
You can't be in here, he's told, but Sylar pushes again, and a metal table screeches across the floor to be thrown, along with a few of the scientists, crashing into a wall made of glass on the opposite side. ]
no subject
Mutants being hunted down and shipped off for the safety and benefit of humanity didn't bother him particularly for any other reason than that it could become something to directly concern him, that he could be the one rendered defenseless, helpless and locked in a cage when he's sworn to never end up in such a position again. But Charles, perhaps too naïve and willing to see the good in people, yes, but someone who'd been intrigued by gifts Sylar possessed that were not quite his but ones he had acquired nonetheless, shown interest in what he was capable of without an ulterior motive - he mattered, and that was more than could be said for many.
Sylar can, so he will -- it's as simple as that. Whether he leaves whatever plan insignificant scientists might have for the telepath in ruins, he cares as little for, because what he intends to do holds more weight; he's going to break through the door to the facility, twist the metal into something unrecognizeable, and he's going to kill anything he finds on the other side. Charles would likely disapprove, of course, even after the acts these people have committed against him, so Sylar completely disregards his possible opinion on the matter and claims the revenge the other man never would take for himself for him, in a way.
The wall melts along with the door and he leaves the survivors to burn in the rubble, but the corridor isn't empty for long -- the alarm screams overhead and people are rushing both away from and towards him, all dressed in white uniforms and shouting in a panic. There are needles in their hands, but Sylar raises a hand and pushes, and the woman closest to him flies back ten feet to hit the wall. She takes a couple of her colleagues with her and the impact is hard enough to crack the tile and leave blood behind, though more personnel is already approaching so he makes sure he's too hot for them to touch and whoever dares to try, despite that, gets a face full of electricity and ends up on the floor in a shrieking heap.
He snaps his way through locks on doors and throws them off their hinges, searching, wrecking and leaving a trail of bodies behind if attempts are made to stop him. The room he finally finds at the end of the sterile hallway is a science lab of sorts, men and women in the same white coats as the ones dead outside standing by and watching, all emotionless expressions and straight postures, the torture as though it was a particularly eye-catching slideshow at a lecture and nothing more.
You can't be in here, he's told, but Sylar pushes again, and a metal table screeches across the floor to be thrown, along with a few of the scientists, crashing into a wall made of glass on the opposite side. ]