Author: AllyKat PM
Sylar wakes up in an uncomfortable situation. Crossover with Dexter.Rated: Fiction T - English - Sylar/Gabriel G. - Words: 413 - Reviews: 26 - Favs: 39 - Follows: 7 - Published: 09-30-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4567856
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Sylar's limbs felt heavy when he woke. His mouth was dry and his head fuzzy. He hadn't felt like this since Mohinder...
Sylar's mind struggled out of the fog it was in. He looked around wearily and pulled weakly at whatever was holding him down. Plastic, his mind supplied once it started to clear. He reached for his telekinesis to push the plastic away. It didn't even twitch. His power, the first one he had stolen, the one that was as natural as breathing, was blocked. Just like when Mohinder...
"Don't bother trying to escape." The voice came from behind him, but Sylar couldn't turn to look. He didn't have to as the man walked around to the other side of the table. He wore a butcher's apron with plastic covering the clothes underneath. A spatter-guard was pushed up over his head. A small scalpel dangled from one hand. "I assure you you aren't going anywhere."
Sylar tried to say something. His mouth refused to cooperate.
"Ah, yes. Sorry about the drugs. I tend to prefer my guests more...vocal. But I'm afraid that wouldn't be an option with you. You'll have to excuse me though. This is my first time dealing with someone with your...special talents. I wanted to be sure." The man leaned on the table Sylar was strapped to. "I've done my research, Mr Grey. The Code demands it." He reached behind him and picked something up, pulling it in front of Sylar's immobilized head. A picture. A picture of Brian. The one Sylar had stolen telekinesis from. "You remember Brian Davis, don't you?" The man pulled out another picture, and another, and another. "How about Charlie Andrews, Dale Smither, Zane Taylor. There are more," he waved a hand at the wall behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sylar could see photos taped up. "But I'm afraid we're running out of time. The drugs will wear off and then, well," he laughed. "Let's not get into that."
The scalpel rested lightly on Sylar's cheek before drawing down, a line of blood welling in its wake. Sylar tried to flinch away, but the plastic held strong. The man placed a drop of Sylar's blood on a slide and set it carefully aside. He pulled down the faceguard and lifted a small electric saw.