Peter was still shaking. Sylar. The living nightmare. The evil that had plagued his life, his world, ever since that fateful Homecoming Night in Odessa, Texas. Charlie. Ted. Isaac. Candice. Nathan. The names of the dead he knew burned in his mind. He could remember the way Sylar had laughed that night in Kirby Plaza.
"Turns out you're the villain, Pete. I'm the hero."
The last thing Peter had heard that night before the world had been lit aflame.
You're the villain, Pete.
No, Peter told himself. I'm killing the villain.
He wanted to. He wanted to lash out. To let the power tear out of him and destroy this... this monster, this hateful thing... that was sobbing at his feet.
"The blood would make a horrible mess in the carpet, Peter."
"I don't give a shit about the carpet," Peter hissed. "I'll bask in the fucking carpet if he's--"
His words stopped, throat seizing. He wanted this. He wanted Sylar dead so badly he could taste it. But the man was a whimpering mess at his feet, and standing beside him was the proof, the goddamned proof, that Gabriel and Sylar were not one and the same.
"Get out," he snapped. "Get out. And I swear to God, if I ever see you again, if I ever sense you anywhere near me or my family again, you won't live to know that you fucked up."