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watchmakers_sonThere's nothing remarkable about this room, nor anything inside of it.
It's a perfect square lit in sickly yellow and off-white tones, the walls irregularly patterned from years of repainting. One of the fluorescent lights strobes every so often; when it doesn't, it buzzes, almost subaudibly, like a distant insect's whine. The single bed in the corner has a thin mattress and thinner sheets, and medical equipment -- all of it small and carefully cased and free of exposed wires -- arrays around it, holding sentinel.
The shoes by the bedside are the same dingy white shade as the walls. They have no shoelaces.
The window's crisscrossed with thick bars.
On the bed, Sylar makes a small noise -- something between pain and grogginess -- and cracks open his eyes.
It's a perfect square lit in sickly yellow and off-white tones, the walls irregularly patterned from years of repainting. One of the fluorescent lights strobes every so often; when it doesn't, it buzzes, almost subaudibly, like a distant insect's whine. The single bed in the corner has a thin mattress and thinner sheets, and medical equipment -- all of it small and carefully cased and free of exposed wires -- arrays around it, holding sentinel.
The shoes by the bedside are the same dingy white shade as the walls. They have no shoelaces.
The window's crisscrossed with thick bars.
On the bed, Sylar makes a small noise -- something between pain and grogginess -- and cracks open his eyes.
