Complete and utter chaos.
Women, children, grown men falling over each other and clawing towards a nonexistent escape.
Sylar stands up in the middle of it all; powerless and confused from unwanted sleep that had been forced on him earlier that day.
Teeth gritted, he watches everyone fight in desperation for an exit from this giant concrete prison.
His legs are shaky, the drugs in his system weakening his muscles and blanketing his abilities.
Sylar shoots an arm out to grab the bicep of a passing man who looks just as annoyed as him.
"What the hell is going on?" he demands.
"I woke up here! I can't fly anymore!"
The man's expression turns even more panicked, eyes watering as he wrenches away and pushes through the crowd.
Sylar growls, dipping and dodging from hysterical bodies, pausing over a small child that is sobbing on the ground. He tilts his head at the defenseless mess, cursing before bending to scoop it up in his arms.
Brown eyes search frantically and land on a mop of dark curls weaving through a sea of heads.
Why is he here? He must've been taken from the apartment as well, Sylar thinks.
He pushes forwards, shoving strangers out of his way, and meets Mohinder with a hug that would have taken his breath away at any other moment.
Mohinder pulls back kissing Sylar's jaw, and glances at the huddled mess of a child clinging to his shoulder.
"They've gathered everyone with abilities!" Mohinder shouts.
Sylar should have guessed.
He shifts the child to his other shoulder and glances down at the floor as his feet soak through with something wet.
Water is slowly rising from tiny drains and as realization spreads the noise level in the tomb increases.
"They're going to drown everyone," Mohinder breathes out in disbelief as the water rises past his shoes. "Come on!" He grabs Sylar's hand and pulls him towards a wall.
There is a small door there with a mass of people huddled, scraping at a minuscule keypad.
Sylar peels the child from his side and hands it to Mohinder.
"Move!" He growls, shoving the useless men and women away.
He crouches to examine the keypad, Mohinder pressed against him as more people flood towards the door.
Sylar's natural ability begins to work when he breaks the plastic face. Wires and connections come together and his brain deciphers how the machine opens the airtight portal.
The child on Mohinder's shoulder is whimpering softly and not a second after the door clicks open, Mohinder thinks of Molly.
Just as quickly as the first few people have escaped, the doorway is clogged.
"One at a time!" Sylar yells, yanking two burly men back and clearing the obstruction.
"Did you see Molly anywhere?!" Mohinder panics, standing on tiptoes to look over the crowd.
"No. We have to get out of here."
Sylar places a palm to Mohinder's back and pushes, but the twisted expression on the darker man's face halts Sylar's breathing.
"I have to find her!"
He scans the sea flooding towards them, water sloshing up to his knees as more liquid death starts pouring in from drains on the walls quicker than it can rush through the door.
"Go," Sylar says to Mohinder through gritted teeth.
"Go! I'll find her."
Mohinder doesn't have time to protest before Sylar kisses him harshly and turns on heel, prodding his way through the crowd.
He watches Sylar disappear, then slips into the line bellowing the excuse that he has a child in his arms.
Sylar wrenches his knees up and down out of the water as he trudges through, examining every little girl he sees.
"Molly Walker!" His voice booms. Sylar's fists clench, feeling the power start to trickle back in as the last remnants of drugs leave his system.
"Molly?" he questions, spinning a small thing with long brown hair that instantly clings to its mother's leg. The woman yells at him to back off and he wastes no time moving on.
He turns his hearing up as much as weakened abilities will allow, listening for all the tiny noises he's come to know her to make when frightened.
The water is up to his waist now, blisteringly cold, and he hears a feeble sputtering cough on the same frequency as her familiar voice.
Sylar trudges forwards and yells out, "Molly!" only to hear the coughing stop.
He spots tiny, pale hands clinging to the farthest wall; sopping brown hair barely peeking up over the water line.
Sylar doesn't think his legs have ever worked that hard or moved that fast.
Molly is pulled up and out of the water, gasping for air, and rests her chin on Sylar's shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
He doesn't understand why he even cares about this...thing...that always takes Mohinder's attention away.
Molly's only response is a weak head nod, in shock at the man she is clinging to. The man that just saved her from drowning.
He jumps and spins towards the door as gunfire rings out from its direction and their escape route slams shut.
"Mohinder," he growls and Molly suddenly perks at the name.
Sylar wades through the now chest-high water, forcing his shivering limbs to traverse a familiar path.
Molly's grip tightens as the freezing wet creeps up her dangling legs and it somehow makes him walk faster.
With a shove of renewed telekinesis, he pushes aside the remaining few that didn't make it out the door, and holds them back with his mind.
Molly closes her eyes; Sylar can hear the soft flutter of wet eyelashes as he raises his palm out in front of them and flicks his fingers, shattering the door off its hinges.
The water recedes a little down his body and he follows its flow into a shock white hall filled with more panicking people, each struggling to use their abilities on advancing company military men.
Some are successful, most are not.
Sylar waves his arm and sends several crashing against a wall.
He spins and gracefully stops a slew of bullets from hitting everyone around him.
A few, nearly as powerful as him, step up next to his display of perseverance and fight back.
"Mohinder?!" He roars, using his mind to fling an armed man advancing on a glowing woman.
These people; confused, frantic, scared, distraught; are unable to control their abilities. Water is rushing past their tired feet from within the death chamber and they scramble to stay up.
Sylar can't help them all, nor does he want to. He only cares about one.
"Mohinder?" He calls again, worry creeping into his mind.
Molly shifts in his arms and draws back to look Sylar square in the eye. Her bravery catches him off guard.
"He's in another hall," her tiny voice shakes out, eyes closing tightly to see her most beloved person. " That way, to the right, halfway down."
She points behind him before falling back onto his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
Sylar winces at the contact, unsure of how to internalize the neediness of this child.
Waiting not a moment longer he whirls and throws a couple of guards back, turning right down the hall just as Molly had directed, calling out Mohinder's name again. This time he hears his own in response.
"Molly!" Mohinder gasps, almost in surprise that Sylar was able to find her, and cradles the frail, shuddering form as she hops into his arms.
"Thank you," he breathes to Sylar who is looking even more annoyed than before.
Sylar nods in return. "Where's the kid I gave you?"
"I found his mother."
Sylar feels relieved. Why is he relieved?
They both duck as gunshots ring out impossibly loud through the hall and Molly reaches to cover her ears. They watch a guard struggle with empty air in front of him, thrashing wildly before passing out. An invisible man turns visible, looks left and right, then runs past them down the corridor.
"How do we get out?" Sylar asks, gripping Mohinder's arms.
"I don't know, it's a series of hallways. People have been running back and forth, but the halls can't go on forever."
Sylar grits his teeth in frustration and looks down once again at the water streaming past their feet.
"I't's draining somewhere. Follow it," he commands.
They hurry along, Sylar staying close behind Mohinder. His eyes meet with Molly's own; large, brown, and begging for protection. As long as she is attached to Mohinder, she will have it.
Mohinder keeps his gaze trained downwards, turning where the flow of water banks.
The trio pivots into another hall and Sylar calls out when the barrel of a guard's gun meets the back of his head.
"Sylar!" Mohinder gasps, letting Molly slide down to her feet before he lunges at the armed man who is preparing a dosage of propofol for their most dangerous captive.
With surprising vigor, he wrestles the man to the ground and throws a right hook into his jaw, dazing the guard long enough to grab the gun and search his body for anything useful.
Sylar groans, feeling a small hand press against the wound on his head. He pushes onto hands and knees away from the cold water lining the floor and Molly steadies him as though she is strong enough to hold his weight.
"Can you get up?" Mohinder asks, grasping Sylar by the hips. He helps pull the man to his feet and out of anger Sylar flings the dazed guard down the hall.
Molly stands with a finger through Sylar's belt loop, looking up at the two as Mohinder holds out a keycard and a badge, proposing that they might be beneficial.
Sylar studies the items before taking them and slipping them into his pockets. Mohinder cocks the gun as the taller man bends down to retrieve the small life they are responsible for.
He forgets where he is momentarily; forgets what is happening to them when he sees Molly lay her tiny, soaking head against Sylar's pale neck.
Mohinder snaps back to reality when a trickle of red blood creeps down the pallid skin from Sylar's head wound and he quickly wipes it away with the pad of his thumb, just before it can meet Molly's brown locks.
A teenage girl runs past them, fire spitting angry orange in her palms with an all-too eager look on her face to fight her way out.
Sylar and Mohinder share a glance before sloshing after her.
It's a funny thing, Sylar notes, that he thinks he hears a familiar voice before turning the corner. He believes his eyes to be deceiving him until he hears Mohinder whisper the name of the last person he expects to see.
Peter Petrelli stands under the bright luminescence of an emergency light with a man pinned to the wall, sputtering angry words into a terrified face.
"Where is my brother?!" Sylar hears Peter grunt out as they rush up to him.
"Petrelli," he snaps, followed by a more relieved "Peter," from Mohinder's lips.
Peter jerks his head towards them in utter disbelief, a mumble of confusion leaving his mouth. He steps away from the man and glares at Sylar.
"You too, huh?" Sylar asks with a grin. The situation is all-too amusing now that his nemesis is also a victim.
"Why are you here, Mohinder?" Peter asks, ignoring Sylar entirely.
"Your blood," the man pinned to the wall pants out. Mohinder suddenly recognizes the battered, torn face as Bob, his former boss and former tormentor.
"My healing blood isn't an ability."
"You can save them from the virus. We can't have that. It's time to rid the world of dangerous - "
Peter punches the man, knocking him out, without a second thought.
"I'll get you out of here, Mohinder," Peter states firmly.
Molly stares at Peter from behind a stray piece of hair, head still resting against Sylar's collar bone.
"We all need to get out of here, Peter."
Sylar smiles at Mohinder's tone.
"I have to find Nathan."
"Are you sure he's here?" Sylar asks. He doesn't want another 'Molly' incident that could potentially be a waste of time.
"I haven't seen him."
"He is the President of the United States, Petrelli. There's a possibility that they left him alone."
"I can't take that chance!" Peter yells, taking a step towards Sylar.
"Stop!" Mohinder pushes between the battling Gods and takes Molly from Sylar's shoulder.
Sylar's brow quirks in amusement.
"You're an empath, Peter. Use Molly's ability to find Nathan," Mohinder says.
"Just close your eyes and think about him," her meek voice instructs.
Peter does as he's told.
Sylar taps his foot annoyingly in the inch-deep water while their new companion concentrates. Mohinder shoots him a disapproving look.
"I see him in his office," Peter states flatly.
"Then he's not here. Good job wasting our time."
"What?! I told him they wouldn't kidnap the President!"
"They are trying to exterminate hundreds of people here, I don't think they care about Politics!" Peter yells in Sylar's face.
"Apparently you're wrong."
Mohinder groans in frustration and grabs Sylar by the arm, tugging him down the hall.
"Let's just get out of here, all four of us, alive. Please?"
"Of course, Mohinder."
Peter speeds ahead of them to check the hall before they turn down another unknown. What he sees makes him halt.
It isn't until Sylar comes up next to him that Peter let's out a cuss.
The hallway is barricaded; several armed men pointing weapons at them and a few dead bodies lying in their own watery blood at their feet. Failed attempts at liberation.
Behind them is a window - bright sunshine streaming through and escape painting the outline of company guards willing to shoot them on the spot.
"They're no match for us, Petrelli," Sylar states matter-of-factly as if they are old comrades.
Mohinder stands between them, Sylar's arm stretched out across his waist protectively, pushing him back.
"Go wait around the corner," he instructs. Mohinder swallows before retreating with backwards steps to safety, hugging Molly tightly.
Both Sylar and Peter hear one of the men give an order that solidifies the battle to come.
"They leave only in body bags."
An eerie calm settles, and Sylar smiles.
Peter is the first to speak.
"There's more. Behind us."
"You take them, I've got these bastards."
Sylar is stunned by the words, but refuses to show it. He assumes Peter let it slip as he succumbs to the adrenaline of an anticipated war.
"Just make sure they get out."
Mohinder closes his eyes as the first blinding flashes of red and blue light bounce off the shock-white wall in front of him.
He fails to see Sylar running past the hallway, hands glowing, bullets whirring past his invisible protective shield.
He covers Molly's ears and whispers quiet prayers in Tamil.
I have absolutely no idea what this is...just a weird one-shot I think.