snowblindrpg | [log] Murder and Meet-ups at the Hospital- Day 165 [open]

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[log] Murder and Meet-ups at the Hospital- Day 165 [open]

Characters: Mohinder Suresh, Sylar, anyone arriving at the hospital
Location Building 131 (the Hospital)
Date: Day 164 to Day 166? Mostly focusing on Day 165.
Summary: Mohinder discovers Sylar's secret and it doesn't go well. Hopefully it'll go better with anyone Sylar meets afterwards.
Warnings: Violence and death.

131: The roof of a large, square hospital. At first, it seems like this is as far as you can go--but actually, there's a door on the rooftop. It's locked, but there's a card key reader attached. As for what spared it from having its parts stripped? It was frozen over with ice, though not any longer. The building can now be entered from the rooftop.

The hospital is eerie in its silence, and snow presses in against many of the windows, keeping much of it in sterile darkness. It still smells like a hospital; the antiseptic is fresh, and there isn't much dust. Someone must be cleaning it, and yet it's clear no one is here. The hospital is four stories high with one basement, all connected via the elevator lobby and staircase.

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Sylar had been in a terrible mood since they tested his blood. Actually, he'd been in a pretty bad mood since everything was covered in static. He'd been hoping to get here before he had an obvious 'spider injection', in hopes that it would show them something new. But no, everything was the same as what House had shown Mohinder. Even Mohinder's reassurance that this was a part of science didn't help much.

He had spent some time looking through the morgue until the air became oppressive and he decided to search the first floor instead. He found the hole that people had talked about Jia Xu being in. He frowned at it for a few minutes before leaving to check on Mohinder.

"How's the shoulder feeling?" he asked as he came upon the man, with a gentleness he didn't feel.

"Much better," Mohinder said, glancing up from what he was doing. Trying to cobble together a centrifuge was impossible. They had s lot of parts but neither of them were engineers or craftsmen. Or at least that was what Mohinder thought. He sighed as he put down bent wire and slid his arm back into his tshirt sling for protection.

It wasn't too terrible here. It was warmer thanks to how large and insulated the building was. He still had to keep on his coat but his fingers didn't feel about ready to fall off at least.

"Did you find anything useful?"

Sylar's ears were still a sickly-looking yellow color, but he was starting to get some feeling back in them. It was good to stop, even if they weren't getting any further on the mysteries of the town.

He knelt down in front of all the parts Mohinder was messing with and sighed. "Of course not. Everyone's been through here a dozen times, the only portable item I've found so far is a poster."

He gave up and sat stiffly down. "Trying to make a centrifuge? We don't have anything stable enough to spin. We find that, I can try to piece together a hand crank, but it's probably not going to be fast enough. We need a motor." And three guesses on how easy that would be to find.

"I don't know honestly," Mohinder said as the parts fell from his hands. "I feel like we're not going to be able to anything useful. If we suffer another attack or if the static starts up again..." Mohinder was trying to be strong for them both. Zane seemed to be growing more and more distant. He took longer walks. They didn't talk as much. Was it a protective mechanism or was he finally tired of him?

Mohinder didn't like to feel isolated. Each time he was forced to be alone, he grew uncomfortably nervous. Zane's return didn't really push the paranoia away though.

It was only a matter of time before he left again.

"Are you hungry?"

"Starving," he replied, with a bitter smirk. "But then, we all are, aren't we?" He'd been eating half portions of the rations he'd been receiving. He didn't do well without sugar. It only made him more annoyed with everything.

And Mohinder's mention that they wouldn't be able to do anything useful grated on him, too. "Who knows if our 'useful' help would even be, though? Apparently we can't trust our eyes." His mind went back to a conversation he had with House a few days ago. "A lot of people think it's supernatural. What chance do we have, in that case? Or if it really is some telepath setting up a torture session for one of us?" Oh, did he not mention that thought back during the static, Mohinder? Whoops.

It sounded like his theory that they weren't actually here. That he was in a coma or being tested and the rest was part of his imagination. The static had almost solidified that. And then... Well this. This news that Zane was thinking about the same thing he had been from the start. It made Mohinder soulful eyes like a basset hound, lips pressed together.

He stood to fetch their packs. They hadn't been eating well. Their rations were thinning out. That time spent without being able to move had caused them to eat into their supplies. And with nothing to be found here--

Mohinder was afraid.

He offered a brightly wrapped breakfast bar to his friend and drank some water himself. He wasn't feeling dizzy yet but he had been urinating less. "What do you want to do? You said you heard someone whispering to go East...?"

And they had gone south.

Mohinder sighed. "I never want to see snow again."

"I wouldn't mind seeing it from inside a car," Sylar mused. "It was almost pretty when we were headed down the highway, ready to find Dale and see whatever amazing ability he had." He bit into the breakfast bar with intensity, needing that anger to go somewhere. He was so hungry, and not just for food. They hadn't talked about abilities for days at this point, and it was driving him nuts. There just wasn't any to be found here, and it had been his entire life for the last half a year.

He finished off half of the bland bar, then passed it back to Mohinder. "You don't need to conserve water, Mohinder," he reminded him. "We just need to keep refilling the bottles." His head clunked against a wall he leaned back, and realized his mind had been distracted from special abilities again. They didn't matter here.

He arched his back, stretching out further and laying himself on the cold ground in a fit of dramatics. Nothing was comfortable, his squirming said. Nothing was warm. He didn't notice as something fell out of his coat pocket.

"I'm not conserving water. It just... I don't feel well." That would be the stress. All of it was piling up and piling up and though Mohinder tried his best to be sunny about the entire thing, he simply couldn't manage it any more. Even the good guys have to break sometime and Mohinder was just a university professor who wanted to save the world without understanding what that might mean.

He waved away the rest of the bar. He knew he should eat but he was t actually hungry. He would deal with the consequences of that later.

He watched Zane have another of his little toddler tantrums, understanding completely how he felt, and was about to say something when he heard a bit of glass and metal tumble to the ground and felt the black lump hit his foot.

Bending to retrieve it, he blinked in wonder at the watch. It wasn't much. The gears couldn't be used to turn anything and out of morbid curiosity, he turned it around to see the time.

Instead, he saw the manufacturer name emblazoned on the face. It was a name he had heard before and said before-- his heart stopped. "Sylar." There was an emotional betrayal in his voice even if his mind worked to rectify why this was here and why Zane would have it. Surely there was an explanation.

"You need to eat, Mohinder. You're not going to feel any better if you don't eat and drink." The lecture kept him from hearing the watch fall. But never mind- if Mohinder didn't eat, Sylar would eat his portion this time. He really was starving.

He took another bite before he realized what it was that Mohinder picked up. If it had been any other day, he would have at least tried to weave some sort of lie. Mohinder could be amazingly accepting of whatever stories he thought of. But today he was tired of it. He was tired of everything. At least this would be something different.

He stretched, then rose to a standing position. "Whoops," he said, shrugging. "Guess I should learn not to keep evidence in my pocket. That is an amazing piece, even broken like that, though. Recreated it from vintage 1917 parts. Took me seven years. A shame I cracked it when I smashed your dear old dad's head in."

The watch tumbled from Mohinder's fingers as he stood there, looking at Zane-- At Sylar, as if he had two heads. That really wouldn't be any stranger than this moment. For days now they had suffered so much together. They had huddled against each other for warmth, they had laughed to try and keep their spirits up, and they had worked hard to get to this point, to try and save themselves and everyone else in this horrible, God-forsaken town.

"Why?"

Mohinder's voice was a muffled whisper. How could Zane have come to his rescue if he was Sylar? He felt more confused than he had been before. And that was saying a lot. This place brought out the worst in everyone.

"Why would you possibly go to the lengths you have been if..." His eyes widened. Ah, understanding. There is was. "You're after the research." He backed up against the table. Anger flooded him, making his hands shake.

"I was after the research," he corrected. It was amazing how much better it felt to lay this all out there. Honesty was such a luxury. "Now I'd be happy to settle for Admin access."

And Mohinder was already mad. Well, good. Maybe it'd give them something to focus on rather than crushing despair. Sylar shoved his hands in his pockets and continued. "You know that we're probably made up of dead townspeople, right? That someone found or approximated a bunch of brain scans and used the nanites to recreate us from parts? So none of what we know back home- none of it happened. You don't have anything to be mad about, really. Your overbearing father probably hasn't existed for centuries, if he even existed at all."

Sylar was different. He'd lost everything he'd worked so hard for, everything he'd thrown away his life for. He suspected it wasn't even possible to have proper abilities here.

He'd heard about it. He just didn't believe it. It made about as much sense as anything here, sure, but there were holes. Gaps. Mohinder found himself wrapping his fingers around the torch he'd had sitting on it's end beside where he was working. It was nice and heavy and he felt safer having it in his hand.

"Ah yeah, it's easier to believe in advanced technology piecing together our memories, some of which are focused on insanity," they did have aliens here, Sylar. "Than it is to believe in the evolution of human life?" Now was not the time for a lecture, however. "You do not get to speak about my father, Sylar.". The name was poison on his tongue. Betrayal made Mohinder extremely vitriolic it seemed. "And you-- You stay the hell away from me."

It wasn't much of a threat. Sylar outweighed him easily but he was still prone. He didn't have any abilities. And... Well what could he really do to him?

"I'm sure the people here will care as much for you as the Joker. You'll be all alone again. You're a monster."

Sylar watched Mohinder's eyes with a gleaming shine in his own. Getting these reactions, hearing Mohinder say his real name, it made this conversation feel like something was happening, even if it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

And then Mohinder had to toss in that threat at the end, and the muscles in Sylar's throat tightened. His stare became a sharp-as-daggers glare, and it was very clear he wasn't enjoying this anymore. "You'd be dead right now, if it wasn't for me," he growled out. He had saved the man, ultimately, out of that same fear of being left alone, but Mohinder didn't need to know that. "Eaten and spat out by that little monster girl. Remember? No, you owe me. You are not making me a pariah here, Doctor."

His right hand closed its grip over the guitar string rolled up in his pocket. He reminded himself that murder solved far less problems here than usual, but it was still a comforting gesture.

"You would have blackened stumps for feet. You would have no direction--". No, Sylar, Mohinder did not believe that he owed you. Not for even a moment. He ought to have listened to House's warnings. He should have looked closer at Zane, noticed the strangeness to his answers and pick up on the potential, and no oh so obvious lies.

His knuckles paled as he shoved the torch into his bag. The other items he had laid out, the binoculars and the hangers, followed. They might be under lockdown right now but Mohinder wasn't staying here. The hospital was large.

"You killed my father. You used me to attempt to kill other people-- I am through with you, completely." He would march right out of this room with all of his things. And tomorrow...tomorrow he'd tell Norfinbury who Zane really was.

Sylar's jaw set. He couldn't let Mohinder do this. He didn't want to be on the 'list of dangerous people,' having to constantly watch what he did. He reached down- slowly, no need to get huffy, Doctor- and picked up his watch. He slid it back on his wrist, then placed his hands back in his pockets. "Should I tell the network that you're getting the first signs of MN Poisoning?"

He changed his voice again, higher pitched and unsure. "'He's thinking I'm that Sylar fellow, the man who kills people with abilities! He attacked me and ran off. I just hope he's okay...' How about that, Suresh?" he asked, his voice lowering again, full of malice. "Maybe that'd explain it better to people, your family's tendency to get someone's hopes up and then abandon them as soon as you no longer have any use for them."

If Mohinder thought he was leaving Sylar's vicinity today, he had another thing coming. Sylar picked up his bag, ready to follow.

"You can do whatever you like. Some people will believe me, some people will believe you. And that will be more than enough to put you on the watch list," Mohinder said sharply. He had turned in the doorway. He wasn't going to spend another moment with the man that killed his father, who had killed the original Zane Taylor, who likely would have killed Dale when they met him and who knew how many others.

He didn't take the bait about following in his father's footsteps. What would he do, give Sylar more of a reason to-- Wait.

"You killed my father because he wanted nothing further to do with you?" It wasn't over the list or the algorithm to find others? This was just a vendetta? "He saw you for the monster you are. The monster you know yourself to be. I saw the room in your apartment."

Ah. He'd let on a little more than intended there. Mohinder picked right up on it, unfortunately. When did he suddenly get so observant?

The mention of 'the room' made his eye twitch, but it had been so long since he was that man. "Your father was happy to look the other way while I collected powers for him! He got all the information he wanted, made me what I was, and then when he thought it was finally enough he 'discovered' what I was doing. Now that he had his data, he could be as morally righteous as he wanted," he spat. "You're no different, Doctor. Too focused on results to notice your father's murderer walking right next to you. We had to get to the people with abilities. 'Save them,' you said. But all you really wanted was to see what they could do. Prove your Dad's theory."

Now that he wasn't faking it, he stood tall, shoulders up and looming over Mohinder. His eyes held more hurt in them than he would've liked. But honestly, he was the most dangerous when he was feeling pitiful.

"I've never needed proof," Mohinder spat back. "I was happy being a theorist. And why would I need more proof after finding you and seeing what you could do? No, I was a fool. I wanted to keep you from finding them. Everyone is stronger as a group and--". And he was being drawn back into an argument. Sylar was never going to let him go. He would follow him around all night and be more than capable of keeping up with him in the snow.

Anger brought forth stupidity and Mohinder grasped for his tablet out of his bag, struggling to do so with one hand. He did not care if Sylar felt hurt, emotionally, but any of this. No, he was pleased that he did. It made him less likable to have that woe is me factor up front on his face.

The looming didn't frighten him. Sylar was larger than he was, but he was also powerless here.

Sylar's eyes narrowed, and he walked away a step so he could position himself behind the man. In one smooth motion he pulled the guitar string out of his pocket and looped it around Mohinder's neck. He left it loose, for now, but the moment Mohinder struggled it was getting tightened. "You really, really don't want to do that," he murmured quietly into Mohinder's ear. "You think I need my powers for this? You think I haven't been waiting for you to turn on me?"

This place hardly helped the feelings of paranoia, after all.

Mohinder had been so distracted trying to get the tablet out of his bag that he had left himself open. He could feel Sylar's breath against his ear (not a new sensation given the way that they had tried to keep themselves warm all the nights shared together so far in a huddle) and it left him angry. A swallow brought the piano wire more tightly to his throat. He barely remembered when the other man had taken that, but it certainly did not matter.

His whole self tensed and the wires tightened. At least he had a remarkable streak of good sense after that not to move so much. That didn't mean that he didn't keep trying to swallow against the wire.

"People don't stay dead here, Sylar," Mohinder whispered. Except...well, sometimes they did. "If you kill me now, the first thing I will do is tell everyone what you've done."

Edited 2016-10-10 14:48 (UTC)

"There's only a 40% statistical chance you'll revive," Sylar shot back. "And if you're going to tell everyone about me anyway, why shouldn't I play those odds?"

The guitar string tightened a little, after that. "I wanted this to go a different way, you know. I thought maybe you'd see sense and realize that this isn't what we should be focusing our efforts on. But sense was never what you were good at, is it? That's why you chased after someone who would always be disappointed in you."

Though some of Sylar's words might ring true, they only had a small frame of time left to figure out how to keep the potential death and rebirth cycle of the possible experiment from being kickstarted, Mohinder would not give the American the satisfaction. He was too hurt, too betrayed, and now he was fighting for his life.

He managed to get his fingertips partially under the wire, but that did no good, the wire was already cutting into Mohinder's skin. Panic, heart already racing like a rabbit, caused him to buck a little, to try to slam his head back into Sylar's face.

Oh, no. They weren't playing that game. As soon as Mohinder bucked, Sylar pulled the wire tight. It dug into his gloves and slid against them, making him squeeze all the harder. No wonder people usually wrapped these around sticks.

"Maybe you'll be more rational when you come back," he told the scientist, sounding disappointed. He was unsure if the man was even alive to hear him anymore. There's been a crack and a squelch, but he no longer had his ability to tell him if he had properly snapped the neck or collapsed the windpipe. His voice took on a distracted tone as he continued. "We have to work together here. This is the only other option."

Sylar wasn't strong enough to break Mohinder's neck and the finger that had managed to get under the wire stopped him from making this a quick kill. No, Sylar. Mohinder was going to bleed out, struggling weakly until he no longer could struggle, until his blood covered the front and back of his shirt, covered Sylar's gloves and his coat.

If there was such a thing as a price to pay for every life taken, it would be the telltale signs of death across Sylar's clothes. At least Mohinder was forced to listen to those goading whispers.

But Mohinder would not be coming back. And Sylar would be alone in this frozen over hell. And all because he was too bored to put a little effort into a lie.

Ugh. Ugh. Usually Sylar liked making a mess, but it was very inconvenient while trapped in a snowy town with no powers. He also wanted this to go quickly, but that was of lesser importance here.

He watched silently (finally) as Mohinder expired. With a sigh, he muttered, "Always gotta make things hard on me, huh, Doc?" But maybe it would be better when he came back. Despite the statistics he spouted at the scientist, he fully expected Mohinder would be back soon.

For now, he needed to cover this up. Thank goodness he picked up that bottle of vinegar back at his first house. Soaking his coat and gloves was not what he wanted to be doing with his day, but he went about it with a singular, detached focus. He scrubbed the blood on the floor out using the vinegar and the shoe insulation that Mohinder had given him. He moved Mohinder's body carefully out of sight.

None of it would get the blood out of the stitched on his coat or any small cracks in the floor, but it was good enough for distracted people whose focus was on the dying, not the dead. Sylar hoped the Joker would keep everyone too occupied for awhile, and resolutely didn't think of the possibility that his only connection to his home universe might not be coming back.

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[log] Murder and Meet-ups at the Hospital- Day 165 [open]

Morning of 165 - closed to Mohinder

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Imagine the icon reverse

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