Gabriel "Sylar" Gray (godlikesin) wrote in parabolical, @ 2009-11-04 22:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | gabriel "sylar" gray, lindsey mcdonald |
WHO: Gabriel "Sylar" Gray & Lindsey McDonald
WHAT: Memory Extraction
WHEN: After Sylar & Lindsey's conversation
WHERE: The captured mystic's house
RATING: PG-13, possibly higher
STATUS: In Progress
This was child's play. The man had already been worked over rather sufficiently so anything that he could do to him would almost be overkill. It was a nice job: efficient without being overly bloody, thorough without being deadly. He'd have to compliment Lindsey on his handiwork after this was all over and done with. Sylar stood in the doorway, analyzing the man's defiant posture even as his stance wavered as the concussion he was suffering sent a ripple through his vision. Sylar was sure that the only reason he was still in the chair was because he was tied to it.
Closing the door behind him, allowing it to go slowly so that as the door closed, a distinct click sounded in the air, attracting the man's attention from where his eyes had zoned out on a spot on the far wall. A smirk spreading over his face, Sylar tilted his head to the side as he stepped into the room, folding his arms across his chest as he stepped towards the man, "So, I hear you're being difficult," He said. The statement didn't seem to effect the man. If only it turned a defiant expression that much more so, a hint of arrogance in the man's eyes. Oh, that was a mistake. Pride remaining meant that there was something left to be destroyed in him. "That's not a very good strategy, not if you value your own health and welfare."
"What do you care about my welfare?"
And the bait was taken, Sylar snorting and casting a hand dismissively over his shoulder, "Not at all. Neither do either of the people out there waiting for me to be done. You see where I'm going with this, right? What's there to stop us from killing you?"
"You need me."
It was a predictable rebuttal, disgustingly so. Sylar circled, stalking the man in the chair even though he was hardly about to move. The more closed in he felt, the more likely he was to get anxious and thus sloppy. Hands settling on the back of the man's chair in a sudden movement, Sylar smirked, "And how long will that last? A week, a day, a couple of hours, or will we be able to dismiss you in a few minutes time? It's all up to you, you know. And we're likely to go easier if you just give the information up. You know what we want. I'm not going to make any promises if we have to take it from you."
"You're not going to do anything. I'm just a middle man. You White Hats only ever go after the head."
Sylar smirked, hands gripping the back of the chair tighter as he pulled it back, setting the man off balance as he leaned forward, hissing in his ear, "Didn't anyone tell you? The White Hats aren't handling this, and I'm..." Sylar said, arching his finger and slicing a thin line along the man's collarbone, careful not to cut anything vital in the process, "just as bad as you are."
He'd almost forgotten how much he enjoyed that sound. Even pride couldn't cover pain, and the man's screams, his vain attempts to thrash away, and the way that his head lulled forward in defeat as soon as the cut ended, posture slouching as blood soaked through his shirt. As much fun as this was, taking his time with this one like he had with Simmons wasn't in the schedule. He was sure that he had done all he needed to do now as he slinked around in front of the man, jerking his head up with telekinesis, holding his eyes forward and up so that he could look square down into them. "Where is she?"
"Go to hell."
Sylar's hand ghosted out in an instance, his memory flickering and filling with all of the information that he needed as it was pulled directly to the forefront of this man's mind. His face twisted into a grim smile as he flicked his finger, cracking the man's neck and knocking him out, "Close. But not quite."