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2009-12-02
Characters: Sylar
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 382
Prompt: Ilsa: [about to die, to Grigori] Hell will hold no surprises for us.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
scifi_muses
Notes: Quick ficlet I wrote on Twitter last night. Violence, gore....all the good stuff. Set after "The Fifth Stage."
The bar makes the one in Desperado look classy. The stink hits my nose before I'm in the door. It'll cling to my nostrils for hours. I get a beer, in a bottle. God knows where the glasses in this place have been. They probably piss in them to wash them. The bar is sticky.
My lip almost curls into a smile when I feel the other walk past. It's like the Quickening in Highlander. I can always see the specials. He's scrawny, dark circles under his eyes, and I don't think he's seen a bottle of shampoo in months. But he is the one. I can taste it.
Draining the dregs of my beer, I follow the prey, turning invisible as he heads for the mens room. I almost change my mind when I get close. It stinks like a sewer. The walls are so filthy that I can't tell what color they were. Doesn't matter in 10 minutes they'll be crimson.
The prey fumbles with his belt. I don't want to see more than I have already, so I use my telekinesis to plaster his face into the wall above the chipped urinal. His nose shatters and the first flow of blood begins. I flip him around with a flick of my fingers. His feet are a good foot off of the floor, and all he can do is stammer as I begin the cut.
Nothing bleeds like a head wound, and I'm licking my lips as I let his body slide to the crusty floor. My finger slips in, poking, prodding. Into the brain warm and quivering as I seek the secret toy surprise that makes him special. I don't know what it is, and I don't care.
This is for the joy of the kill. To wash away the pain. To remind me who I truly am. But I still beam when I feel the new power become mine.
I leave his cooling corpse on the floor, wondering if any of the roaches on the barstools will notice when they step over him to piss.
When I get outside it's raining, and I tilt my face up to let it wash the blood away. The drops soaking me to the skin as I take the long way home.
Fandom: Heroes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 382
Prompt: Ilsa: [about to die, to Grigori] Hell will hold no surprises for us.
scifi_muses Notes: Quick ficlet I wrote on Twitter last night. Violence, gore....all the good stuff. Set after "The Fifth Stage."
The bar makes the one in Desperado look classy. The stink hits my nose before I'm in the door. It'll cling to my nostrils for hours. I get a beer, in a bottle. God knows where the glasses in this place have been. They probably piss in them to wash them. The bar is sticky.
My lip almost curls into a smile when I feel the other walk past. It's like the Quickening in Highlander. I can always see the specials. He's scrawny, dark circles under his eyes, and I don't think he's seen a bottle of shampoo in months. But he is the one. I can taste it.
Draining the dregs of my beer, I follow the prey, turning invisible as he heads for the mens room. I almost change my mind when I get close. It stinks like a sewer. The walls are so filthy that I can't tell what color they were. Doesn't matter in 10 minutes they'll be crimson.
The prey fumbles with his belt. I don't want to see more than I have already, so I use my telekinesis to plaster his face into the wall above the chipped urinal. His nose shatters and the first flow of blood begins. I flip him around with a flick of my fingers. His feet are a good foot off of the floor, and all he can do is stammer as I begin the cut.
Nothing bleeds like a head wound, and I'm licking my lips as I let his body slide to the crusty floor. My finger slips in, poking, prodding. Into the brain warm and quivering as I seek the secret toy surprise that makes him special. I don't know what it is, and I don't care.
This is for the joy of the kill. To wash away the pain. To remind me who I truly am. But I still beam when I feel the new power become mine.
I leave his cooling corpse on the floor, wondering if any of the roaches on the barstools will notice when they step over him to piss.
When I get outside it's raining, and I tilt my face up to let it wash the blood away. The drops soaking me to the skin as I take the long way home.
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