Isaac's loft, November 7th

[watchmakers_son]

[From here.]

Take your hand. Tighten it into a fist, as hard as you can. Hold it.

Keep holding it.

Hold it even as the muscles seize up, fingertips starting to tingle from lack of blood, cramps spreading down your entire arm and into your shoulder; hold it without the slightest change in pressure, knowing that if you let go -- even for a second -- you might bleed to death.

Add in the searing pain from the wound itself every time he moves or so much as breathes, and it may be understandable why Sylar's progress through the bar is labored at best.

He's several feet from the front door when a loud clatter catches his attention; he turns his head, watching Kaylee slam open the lake door with a gurney in tow.

He's still watching when the white-haired doctor sprints into the infirmary.

Comments

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

"If he's willing to murder to pick up new abilities," Claude says, "and he's willing to murder people who've got things he's already got -- what makes you think he wouldn't murder anyone who tries to tell him how what he's doing is wrong?"

He stops in front of a door, under an awning. "This is it -- "

Through the front door, and they're in a foyer, with a closed door off to the left, and an open door in front of them. Through that door are shelves of what look like plastic glasses, capes, and flashlights.

Claude nods to the closed door. "You'll be going through there. Do yourself a favor and carry around a can of mace or something."

[bannion_sight]

"Or something," she says, a little dryly, but then Kim hesitates.

"Um. Thanks. For everything." A sudden, quick smile. "Will I see you again?"

[invisanthrope.livejournal.com]

Claude snorts. "Right."

He opens the door.

And he lets go of her hand.







Nobody's there.