Sylar didn't know it had a name, but he'd become quite talented at what most would call Parkour. His ability to move across the urban landscape had become nearly unbeatable in his three years of nightly raids. He had routines he'd learned, and one of them was to always raid a store far from his entry point into the sewers, otherwise the Police had a better chance of catching him or figuring out where he went after a raid. He'd crossed a few blocks of cityscape, before finally settling on the top of a corner store. He remained motionless at the edge of the roof, probably looking like a monstrous gargoyle.

However he was no stoic guardian, but a scavenger looking for a meal. His eyes watched the streets, picking up every trace of heat they gave off. The cars, the people, anything that could be a danger to him during his raid was observed. And eventually the activity on the streets became barren enough for him to move. His hands and feet had evolved into deadly weapons, razor sharp claws that could rend just about anything, including the brick of a building. They dug in like knives into meat, gouging out hand holds for him as he moved down the building and vanished into it's shadows. He was sure he'd picked a good time to do it, nobody should have seen him, or at least nobody would be foolish enough to check out a monster climbing down a building.

He never broke in the front doors, a mistake he'd learned long ago. Instead he chose always the back or side doors, less attention that way. And doors were a poor barrier for the Predator, easily smashed aside by his enhanced strength. Sylar clenched his fist and smashed it down against the handle, tearing it away from the door and clearing his path. He was quiet, dealthy so, his armored feet made the softest of clicks as they touched the floor beneath him. This store wasn't the best of places for food, geared more for snacks and quick liquor, but it had enough. Sweets, snack foods, soda, things that were quick energy were his favorite targets. He'd bag up enough to last a day or so, and begone by the time the police came to find another crime scene left by their least favorite sewer dweller.

However he lingered a moment, looking for the one item that wouldn't make much sense to anybody else. He wanted to find cat food, or anything he could give to the cats. A strange relationship, a sewer dwelling nightmare that loved felines, but it'd keep him here for a for extra minutes. His tail began to sway back and forth, glinting in the light from the outside, and giving away his image through the glass to the outside main street.

Alma had the hood of her red pea coat drawn over her ears, her breath coming out in small puffs as she walked. A scarf that was here-and-there inflected with iridescent colors was drawn over her nose, hazel eyes squinting between bangs or hair and scarf. The thick heel of her boots clicked sharply against the pavement as jean-clad legs strolled elegantly over the sidewalk. It had been a few weeks since the private investigator had found her, and her nerves were still a touch frayed. She couldn’t seem to sit still in the Sanctuary, and yet she didn’t want to leave—eventually, her restlessness grew so powerful that she was forced into action. She now ventured down unfamiliar streets (which weren’t too difficult to find in a city as immense as this one) with bodachs trailing behind her like ducklings.

The street was quiet—seemingly unoccupied, which was a rare occurrence, quite frankly. The city was so fast-paced and loud, that the desolation was unheard-of. Even for a small-town girl, it was unnerving. Alma quickened her pace, but the bodachs remained behind. One paused, and let out a delighted shriek. Others paused to look to see what he had seen.

On the other side of the street, the bodachs saw a glimmering in the window of a storefront. It was a large sparkly thing, entrapped by the store—and Alma would certainly like such a large sparkly thing for herself.

“Oooooh,” a few of the smaller creatures cooed, before another chirped, “Hey!” and stumbled into the leg of a larger one.

The human-sized bodach stopped, uttering a faint, inquiring huff, and looking across the way towards the storefront. It, too, spied the sparkly thing, and it began to meander across the unoccupied street. A chorus of “hey!” arose from each, individual smaller bodach, and they soon gave chase, their little legs consuming the ground beneath them as they pursued the larger bodach that was now about to claim their boon. The other big ones soon followed, crossing the street in a mass-migration.

Alma became acutely aware of the fact that the rustling that generally followed her was changing directions and moving away, and she glanced back to see the exodus of bodachs going towards the other side of the street.

“Hey, where are you going?!” Alma hollered after them, turning to follow. Before she, too, could cross the street, the first ones slid through the grates over the door, and through the gaps between the door and the door frame, entering the store where the monster was on the prowl.

“Excuse me, don’t you even think abo… hey! Come back here!” Alma hollered again. But, it was too late. The bodachs were slipping under the door, converging upon their boon.

Sylar had finished his bit of "grocery" shopping, having grabbing a bag full of snack foods and bottled soda, and of course a can or two of cat food. His raid successful, he figured it was about time to escape the building and flee the scene before anything caught wind of his presence in the store. However, before he could make his way from the store, he heard a faint sound, a voice, but not very human, at least not an adult? He wasn't sure, letting his senses scan the area, he couldn't smell anything besides the various oders of the store, couldn't see any heat big enough to be a person. The wind? As he tried to figure out what he was looking for, he felt it. A presence, a grab at his tail, and this immediately caused him to yank his tail back, a defensive with drawl.

The small bodach, the lucky first to find the shiny let out a sound as it's prize was pulled away. Sylar could hear the creature, but his blind eyes couldn't see it. His anxiety grew, as more "oohs" and "hey" and various noises surrounded him. He hissed audibly, a threatening sound completely inhuman in sound. His bag of sweets and sparkly armor however drew them to him like a moth to a flame. Small bodachs grabbed at his bag, while the other came at his tail, with Sylar turning and attempting to dodge the invisible creatures, unable to figure out just what was attacking him.

"What the heck, Back off!" He screamed, loud enough to be heard outside the store's doors. But the last straw was when the larger bodach finally made his way into the Store. Distracted by the little creatures, the Bodach managed to grab the blade of Sylar's tail, pulling hard enough for Sylar to truly freak out. Backed into a corner and frightened, he yanked his tail back hard, pulling the grabbing Bodach forward to fall into his scampering brethren.

Sylar took this moment to leap away, but his mind unhinged from the surprise, all he managed to do was leap into one of the aisles of food, knocking all the racks off and falling amidst the various chips and candies, officially making a mess of the store floor. His frantic actions didn't seem to dissuade the Bodachs from seeking candy and sparkies though, the various chirpy noises of excited bodachs spooking Sylar completely. He stood up,backing towards a wall and slashing at the air. "Where are you! Come out!" He screamed, his voice filled with fear and threatening intent.

The creatures distracted by the various sweets littering the floor, Sylar chose this moment make for the door, his claws shearing away the glass and weak metal frame like paper, making way for the monster's escape. However he was distracted as his eyes finally found a heat signature standing outside the store and making it's way toward him. The figure was small, with the curves of a woman. His fear and rage overtaking his mind he immediately shouted. "Leave me alone!" He only assumed she was the cause cause he couldn't see anything else but her. All that separated him from the outside was the metal grates, and they'd give to his claws in just a moment.

Alma pressed her face against the glass door to the store, cupping her hands around her eyes to look in. Something had drawn their attention—something major enough to make them slip under a door. Not food, certainly. They had food at the Sanctuary. They wouldn’t slip under a door just for that. Hazel eyes thinned slightly, fighting against the darkness. In the darkness, there was a flicker of motion, and an astonished cry of terror.

>> "What the heck, Back off!"

Alma let out a faint “huh” of laughter. Looks like they were actually doing something useful, for once—someone was in there, and judging by how dark the store was, they weren’t supposed to be. The only people who weren’t in stores when they were meant to were robbers. The little pests were interrupting a robbery!

There was a large crash, and the momentary delight settled into unease. Wow, those little freaks were trashing the place. Alma groaned. She’d hate to be the one tasked with cleaning-up the collateral. She couldn’t make-out what was going on within the store, but she could hear the robber screaming at the unseen attackers, and by the sounds within, the flailing. Alma took a hesitant step away from the door, her gaze cutting aside. Yeah, she didn’t want her name attached to that mess. She was half-considering just ditching the beasts—they’d follow her as soon as she got far enough. Alma began to walk away, then stopped to wipe the forehead smudge off of the glass, where she’d pressed her forehead.

It was then that she saw him barreling towards the door. A hunched-hooded figure, charging towards the exit—Alma back-pedaled, and as she did so, his face came into focus.

It was a monster. Having not expected that, and also now fearing for what would happen once he reached her, Alma reacted in a way that was atypical of her—she let out a squeak of alarm. The bodachs were swarming him like flies on scat—and it took the woman a few moments of staring to figure out why. His tail glimmered like a disco ball, and he was toting a rather healthy boon of candy. It was like putting a flashing, phosphorescent sign that read, “Swarm Me!” atop your head and doing a jig in the midst of all the bodachs. The guy was practically begging to be attacked. He tore into the door, practically barreling into the grate that kept most dangerous sorts out. His freakish eyes fixated on her, these eyes that were now livid with terror.

>> "Leave me alone!"

Alma’s mouth gaped dumbly, trying to find the words for an apology, but nothing came out.

“Well, you are robbing a store,” her mouth sculpted the words before the dark-haired woman could stop them. As soon as she’d uttered them, she regretted them. It wasn’t like she was going to call the cops—like, maybe the guy had his reasons. But… for once, the bodachs were doing something that could be considered lawful, from a certain perspective… and she really couldn’t control them all that well. Perhaps it would have been better to inform the young man of this, but instead, Alma just chastised him for thievery. Though, it could be argued that her brain was humming in confusion.

As soon as she uttered this, the creature ripped through the metal grate like it was made of rice paper, which seemed to raise a siren. The young woman let out a small, fearful “eep!” before taking-off down the street, her legs pin-wheeling beneath her. The bodachs, all the while, struggled to hold-on to their newfound victim—the larger ones bolted behind him, trying to snag his tail, while the smaller ones were either left in the dust, or clinging to the sparkly tail or the sugary boon.

(Part One)-Into the Predator's Den

Sylar was generally a creature of instinct, fear of danger, curiosity of the unknown, and the need for food. But this day, his raid ruined by invisible hands, his perfect break in ruined by surprise, and finally spotting a woman who seemed to be behind it all, hiding beyond a metal gate and calling him on robbing the store. These things together did something that hadn't happened to Sylar in awhile, it pissed him off. His claws sliced through the thin metal with the effort of a hot knife through butter. His focus was on the woman, however he was assaulted from all sides by the invisible monsters. Creatures grabbed at his hands, and he could hear a louder sound and feel it's presence on his tail. He turned and twisted, hissing loudly as he tried to find the creatures assailing him, but he could only hear their words and feel their touch.

Frightened and enraged, he slashed the air, trying to find anything to murder, but it was finally when a large bodach nabbed his tail with an excited squeal, that Sylar found a home for his weaponry. The creatures form grabbed his tail, holding on to its price for but a moment, as Sylar turned and dug his hand into the creatures face, an odd feeling, almost like his hand was digging into a weird jello. The bodach released his tail with an odd noise, which seemed to distract the others. Sensing his chance, Sylar jumped away and took to all fours. His body was like a cheetah, lean and efficient as his hands and feet tore into the ground and propelled him towards Alma. She'd had a head start, but she had no chance to hide from the Predator, no could she hope to out run him. The average person might be able to run at 15 miles per hour at their best, but Sylar could easily hit thirty miles per hour when he went all out.

His tail undulated in the air as he ran, his hood catching air and coming off to reveal his face, enraged behind his chaotic sanguine hair. He said no words, only breathing loudly as he barreled down on Alma. She would turn just in time to see her attacker as Sylar lept forward and knocked her to the ground. Sylar was running on rage though, and his tackle hit her harder than expected, smashing her body into the ground knocking the wind from her lungs, and consciousness from her thoughts. Sitting atop her, he realized he'd just attacked a woman in the middle of a street on the surface, causing his rationality to rush back to him. He looked at her "Oh crap...Don't be dead lady, just don't be dead." Sylar acted quickly, standing up and tossing Alma over his shoulder, and searching for a hiding spot. He couldn't just head into an alley, or try to hide atop a building, he had once choice.

Reluctantly, Sylar made for a manhole, quickly fumbling it open and dropping down into the underground. People had told tales of the Predator taking people into the sewers, or seeing bodies dropped into them to never show up again, but in actuality, Alma was the first person Sylar had taken. Unaware the Bodachs would be in pursuit, and eventually find their Mistress, Sylar took his catch to a place no one had seen in years. An old sewer junction, a circular connection of multiple sewer ways, as well as a busted hole leading into the Subway tunnels, this was the Lair of the Boogeyman.

(Part Two)

The junction had been changed over the years by Sylar, now furnished with a pile of snack foods, empty chip bags, and various bottles of soda. There was also a few backpacks littered about, filled with various things Sylar had stolen, as well as clothes to replace his whenever they finally wore out. He didn't have a bed, instead using a makeshift futon made from various old clothes. For now, he sat Alma down into the pile, which wasn't the most comfortable bed in the world, but far better than the brick and mortar beneath it.

After that, he quickly backed away, hiding himself in the opposing corner of the room. There was little light here, some from a lamp in the junction, the rest ambient light making its way down from the surface. Sylar could see her perfectly well, but when Alma awoke, she'd be alone in a dank, humid place, her bodachs in pursuit, but not quite there.

Sylar sat, crouched down, creating a monstrous silhouette in the dark, his eyes and senses all locked on Alma's form. He waited, only his breathing mixing in with the noises of the sewer. Water run off, trickling into the pool beneath them, various echoes from tunnels afar, and finally as she stirred back to the waking world, his voice.

"I don't know how, but you attacked me!" He accused her, entirely unaware that the bodachs were separate entities and sure they were her power purposely trying to hurt him. "You shouldn't attack a monster, not a normal mutie like you." He wanted to sound threatening, to prove he wasn't to be messed with, but to be honest, Sylar was a little afraid of her, because he couldn't see her power, but he knew she was a mutant, just like him. For now, Alma was in no danger, but in her eyes, this might be most of the most terrifying moments she'd ever had.

The dark-haired woman had been momentarily deluded to believe that she was home-free. She was making good distance between her and the monstrous mutant—all she would need was a vantage point to hide in until he barreled past, and then she could walk home, no problem. The scarf had fallen from over her nose and mouth, allowing for easier breathing. Alma half-considered kicking off her thick-soled boots, so that she could run more freely, but she didn’t have time for that.

The twenty-year-old had not taken running speed into consideration—but, in her defense, no one ever expected something to come barreling after them at the speed of a low-powered motor-scooter. Alma had enough time to turn, intending on gauging how far back the other mutant was, to determine how much time she had to hide, and saw that he was quickly gaining speed, galloping on all fours, and closing in fast.

A stream of Spanish swears left her mouth, and the young woman started to run again. It was futile, and Alma knew this, but she still attempted to outrun him. She looped her bag over her head so that the strap sat across her chest. Alma could hear the footfalls drawing in, and the leap as the creature sprung. Alma turned, as if to dodge, but she was two steps too slow. The creature tackled her, and Alma hit the pavement hard, her skull hitting the pavement with a dull thud. As soon as she made impact, the world exploded into a sea of stars and darkness, before the nothingness steadily overcame the pinpricks of light.

As soon as Alma had slipped into unconsciousness, the bodachs relented in their attack, confused. They sloughed off of Sylar, if any still clung to him, and ventured into intangibility, prodding at their mistress’s arms and legs. Unable to rouse her, they merely trailed behind her as the creature tossed her limp form over his shoulder and retreated into the dank depths of New York’s underside.

An unknown amount of time had transpired. Alma had been laid to rest on the makeshift bed, and for a while, she lingered in the unconscious slumber, scarcely stirring. The shades stood close to her, occasionally prodding at the piles of snacks in search of candy. If they found some, a small quarrel would arise—little shouts of “Hey!” and “No!” would arise, occasionally interspersed by a victorious peal of laughter as soon as one of the spectral creatures had commandeered their prize.

Alma awoke slowly, at first, shifting sleepily in the nest, as if to roll over. She sighed, and inhaled—and the smell that met her nose was unfamiliar and musty. The room was too warm, and the bed was not her own. All at once, her recollection of witnessing a robbery rushed back to her, as well as her memory of the creature, and an eddying terror surged through her body, causing the young woman to sit up with a gasp. Her bag was still stretched across her chest, which meant one thing—she, herself, had not been robbed. This also meant that she was still armed. Alma waved a hand in front of her eyes, to find that she was in darkness.

Since her eyesight was no useless, Alma took to prodding at her legs, from her feet, along her caves and thighs, to her sides. No missing articles of clothing, either. Alma looked around, prying into the darkness with her ears… she heard steadily gushing water, and the sounds of the city were distant. Where had that freak taken her?!

“Guys?” Alma whispered, trying to locate her specters. The call reverberated in the tunnel, and was then echoed, in the squeaks of the little ones, and the murmurs of the large ones. By now, the bodachs had drifted into intangibility, and were therefore wholly unperceivable by the novice kidnapper. They were there, their luminous eyes piercing the darkness, drawing in closer to their awakening mistress. For once, Alma was grateful for the freaky little devils—they were a familiar sight in this unfamiliar place. They would protect her.

A voice shouted at her from the darkness, and Alma tensed. Of course he was there, watching her closely. Though Alma had tried to move about with making as little sound as possible, he had somehow known that she was awake. It was either his eyes or his ears. Alma couldn’t see anything, and couldn’t hear much more than what your normal human would hear.

>> "I don't know how, but you attacked me! You shouldn't attack a monster, not a normal mutie like you."

Alma scowled into the darkness, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. The creature’s voice reverberated off the inside of the tunnel, making it hard to tell where he stood. Alma’s heart was hammering heavily with fear, her form wracked with trembling from anxiety and adrenaline—her expression betrayed none of this, except through the tension in her features. Her lips formed a hard line, framing a smoldering glare. Instinctively, she drew her pepper spray, flicking the safety off of it. He was threatening her by yelling, and Alma was showing that she wasn’t afraid through action. In the darkness, when his garish face didn’t warp her perception of him, he sounded younger. Adolescent, even.

“I did not attack you,” Alma snapped, her eyes thinned, “You attacked me, and dragged me God-knows-where—“

There was a rustling in the darkness, and Alma turned her head. A sharp twinge of pain followed, and she winced, a hand feeling the tender area on the back of her skull. Man, her head had hit the pavement hard. Her head hurt, as did her spine. Her body felt like one, enormous ache. Alma grit her teeth at the pain, which spasmed across her face momentarily.

“You chose a dangerous woman to kidnap,” Alma murmured, “I bet that you didn’t know that, boy. Lucky you knocked me unconscious, or else they would have really swarmed you. You don’t have just them to worry about, though—oh no, foolish boy—you’ve got me, too. Me y mi familia.”

Alma felt behind her, her hand bumping a slick wall. Alma stood shakily, and leaned her back against the wall, holding the canister out in front of her, slightly lowered. It was cold to the touch, and pointed outward, ready to be sprayed. She was convinced that she was dealing with a petty criminal, and a desperate one at that. Petty criminals were stupid, not like the organized, white-collar crime that Alma knew from her family. They were more dangerous in their stupidity. She was not the sort to assume that she was just dealing with a desperate, starving child.

“What are you going to do to me?” Alma demanded, “Nobody drags someone into an unfathomably dark room just because they want to.”

The sewers, a vast network of mostly ignored and uninhabited tunnels, the home of Manhattan's own monster. This was Sylar's world, a place he'd never brought anyone else on purpose before, and now here he was, staring down the woman he'd brought to his own bed. The junction was dark, nearly pitch, her eyesight useless to her. But to Sylar, she was the lone torch in the room, so bright with body heat she was nearly blinding. He assumed whatever her power was, had yet to follow her here, leaving safe to question his assailant.

He watched as she stirred, confusion obvious in her movements. However, Sylar kept distant, moving no closer to her as she stood and prepared her can of pepper spray. He'd never been sprayed before, but her stance clearly meant it was a weapon to be avoided. A deep part of him felt enjoyment at this moment, the fear that she tried to hide. Sylar could hear the racing of her heart, and smell the building sweat on her, an animal didn't need to see fear in your eyes, because it could taste the fear in your heart, and Sylar, for whatever reason, had enjoyed the taste, if for just a moment.

"You did attack me lady, I was in the store gathering food and you somehow attacked me from outside, grabbing at me and stealing what was mine." He told her, the anger of his voice the only emotion he showed. "Was it a mutant store? Is that why you came at me?" He demanded, still certain she had attacked him on purpose with how the bodachs had "assaulted" him in their lust for attention and sugar. He moved, pacing down the opposing side of the junction, his movements quiet, but a soft clack on the brick as his claws tapped down onto it with each step.

He saw her flinch, and he realized however he'd hit her, was still hurting. He couldn't say so, but he actually didn't mean to hurt her, well he was thinking about hurting her, but now he felt only slightly guilty about knocking a woman unconscious. He wasn't sure what he'd do with her, but for now he just wanted to know why she'd come at the store when he was raiding it.

Kidnap? Sylar hadn't kidnapped her...or had he? He just realized he'd assaulted a woman, and carried her back to his home like some thug...or maybe more like a cat taking it's kill home. "I didn't kidnap you...er well I mean I did...but I didn't want to." He was stuttering, confused as to exactly what he was doing now. It'd all be an in the moment sort of event, his rage leading to the attack and his fear of police involvement leading to him making a run for it with the woman. Hopefully he could get out of this without murdering a mutant. He wasn't sure what she meant with her threats, his brain seeing the situation as entirely in his favor at the moment.

"You know...I can see you, perfectly in fact. I see you standing up, back to the wall, holding up whatever that is, ready to fight." His voice was calm, emotionless, because Sylar was stating facts now. "If I really wanted to hurt you, I'd have gutted you lady." Sylar really didn't hurt people, or did he even want to hurt anybody, but he took his image as intimidating seriously, because it was his best shield against the normal people above. "This is my world Lady, do you really want to fight the monster in the dark?" His tail whipped downward, hitting the water a few feet behind where Sylar was crouched with a loud splash. A simple distraction to see how she'd react, to see where she'd turn.

He didn't want trouble though, he didn't want to deal with police, or her family coming after him, he just wanted to be left alone. "Look...I didn't mean to knock you out, and I had to run before anybody else showed up." Sylar was far more afraid of crowds than he was some woman mutant. "I can't have cops after me, so I brought you here, where nobody will find you." There was emphasis on the end of his sentence, a threatening heartless emphasis. "So we could talk about this." He didn't move from his spot across from her, watching her, and staying away from the aim of her pepper spray. But his mind began to think about what he'd do if she didn't play nice.

The bodachs milled about quietly, drawing in as Alma silently panicked. Just as the creature could sense her fear, they could as well. She was a bundle of nerves—raw fear scraping against frustration and a steadily climbing fury. He persisted in his inquiries, demanding why the young woman had attacked him, why she’d grabbed him, why she’d tried to steal his stuff.

“I did not attack you!” Alma yelled, the tension in her voice cracking as her voice echoed in the tunnel. He was miffed at her, which made Alma even angrier in return, “Are you deaf, or some kind of stupid?! Listen to the words coming out of my mouth—I. Do. Not. Control. Them. They may be mine, but they do what they want. It’s your fault for having that stupid disco-ball tail and then panicking like some girl when the shadow-beasts swarmed.”

Her arms were noticeably shaking now, with a soup of rage, fear and adrenaline. His voice dropped to a purr, and Alma’s anxiety mounted. Maybe she was wrong to assume that this kid was harmless—maybe instead of being some retarded petty criminal, he was secretly sick in the head. The luminous eyes of the bodachs peered about in the darkness, fixated on a point. Their heads turned in unison, minimally, trained on a point that Alma could not see. Alma inhaled slowly, then breathed a shaky exhale. She couldn’t stop trembling, and it frustrated her. Her gaze followed their line of vision, peering into the darkness, unfocused but directed towards her kidnapper. He could see her, and if he wanted to hurt her, he could.

“My demons are here…” Alma warned, feeling to the side with her foot, and edging away from the spot where the bodachs were watching. She didn’t have to stay there, didn’t have to be immobilized by her fear, and wait for him to do something, “My demons are here, and they can see you. If you do anything stupid—try to hurt me or kill me, they will react accordingly. I may not be able to see you, but they can—they’ll attack you just like they did in the store, but much worse… because this time, they’ll be protecting me. Don’t be so certain of your precious darkness.”

There was a loud splash, and the noise caused Alma to jump, her foot slipping off of the edge of the bed and connecting with the ground. Her knee buckled slightly, and Alma stumbled, her hands thrust out to catch her. The pepper spray can skittered from her hand. It was not an attack, but it was enough of a panic to get a small reaction from the bodachs. One of the larger ones caught the skittering pepper spray can, slightly warmed by Alma’s touch, and picked it up, surveying it. The monster was monologuing about how he hadn’t wanted to be found, and was thus hiding her where no one would ever find her… His request to talk about things was cut short by the flying canister, which sailed into the darkness and connected with the monster’s shoulder. There was a sharp, surprised hiss.

That was the signal to move. Alma scrambled off of the makeshift bed, digging into her bag for her cell phone. It wasn’t a lot of light, but it would have to do. She kept one hand trained on the wall, while the other dug into her bag, searching for a cell phone to see by, and perhaps the hunting knife that was buried towards the bottom of the bag. In the event that she would need to defend herself, she would need to be prepared. Finally, her fingertips met the slick surface of the cell phone, fishing it out. Alma turned the front screen outward, the backlight illuminating the tunnel in front of her. She could not outrun him, she remembered that much—but she was small. She could hide.

The bodachs, all the while, were uprooting whatever they could grab from the nest and hurling it at the unfortunate mutant. Clothes, food, anything—some hit the mark, others skittered into the churning water below.

Alma rounded a series of corners, her breaths coming out raggedly. She was following a trail of pipes, hoping that they would eventually lead her to an opening. The sounds of the city seemed no closer, but no more distant, so that was not yet a governing force of directionality. Alma slipped on the slick ground, catching the brunt of the fall on her tailbone. She sucked air through her teeth, looking around in a panic. She hit the power button again, reawakening the backlight. She was by a bunch of pipes, under which there was a foot of a gap. The wall receded a few feet, there, creating an alcove that was semi-protected by the series of pipes that stretched in front of it. She could pause here.

Alma got onto her belly and slid into the alcove, ignoring the sliminess of the ground. While it did not conceal her scent, the smell of the filth helped to deaden it. Alma drew her hood, protecting her hair, as she wriggled under the pipes and into the cramped space. The bodachs wouldn’t be able to hold him off forever. She would wait for him to barrel past, wait for him to give-up and return… and then, she could continue her flight at a much slower pace. That was her plan of attack. Alma looked at the screen of her cell phone, checking the time—it was three a.m. Tears were welling-up, and she bit her lip. No service. No calling for help. What a nightmare.

She pressed her forehead to her knees, swallowing the sharp, short, hyperventilating breaths. She couldn’t panic. She had to get away, keep it calm. She couldn’t panic now, and couldn’t sleep. She had to be alert. Alma wouldn’t rest until she was back at the Sanctuary. Alma closed her eyes, hugging her knees closer to her chest. This was why she had never been cut-out for the criminal lifestyle. She slid the cell phone back into her bag, and fished-out her knife. She pressed the handle to her forehead, without opening, ears straining against suffocating silence, as if to perceive the progress of the fight.

Sylar wasn't stupid, he'd been attacked first, and he'd make her tell him why. He refused to accept her words. She was talking about control, like little creatures just did what they wanted. He could see no such creatures, but he had heard them. Perhaps they were invisible? Invisible monsters would be a terrifying power. His senses remained glued to her, picking up every bit of information she gave up, holding it like a sponge. Their game of words was slowly turning useless, as he could easily tell how she felt about the situation. She was afraid of him, and that meant he had power over her.

She threatened him, spoke of demons here to protect her. Fine, so she was a witch, but he was a monster. Sylar spoke slowly, the sound of his voice softer than a man, but with malicious intent beyond any man. "You sound so defiant." A hiss escaped his throat, as he finished his statement. "But I can taste your fear." With that, his tail hit the water, frightening Alma and causing her to stumble. Preventing any more talk, her Bodach reacted and tossed her pepper spray at him, the can too difficult to make out as it smacked him in the shoulder, surprising him.

She bolted from the junction into one of the tunnels, as Sylar stood confused and suddenly assailed by various pieces of his lair. He hissed out in anger, pulling his arms in close to block, and then starting to slash at the air around him. Sylar cursed, swearing at the foul creatures he couldn't see that pestered him with junk. "I'm going to tear you apart!" He screamed into the tunnels, his words echoing after Alma as she made her escape.

In the time it took Sylar to peel away from the angry Bodachs, Alma had made her way to a hiding spot, a hole in the wall hidden behind a trail of pipes. Sylar bolted into the sewers, following her deluded scent. The biggest issue for Alma was as Sylar had already told her. This was his world, his natural environment. The scent of her body, and the sounds of her actions were both foreign down here, and that meant eventually Sylar would find her. She'd attacked him, accused him, threatened him. She had to be dangerous, she'd get to the police, or somebody, she'd come after him, she'd kill him. Sylar was slowly becoming terrified by this entire night.

The sounds of his claws digging into the sewage and brick of the tunnel grew louder, he was coming her way, following the trail she'd left as she escaped. She'd made a clever choice, concealing herself behind the pipes, and in the hole. The pipes were warm, creating a heat source to help break up her own. His claws clacked repeatedly as he barreled to where she was. Her smell was in this tunnel, he knew she'd been here, now where had she gone? He was hunting her, Alma was now prey, alone in the dark. He lingered for a moment, his body visible beyond the pipes, his breathing was heavy, from exertion and anxiety. He continued down the tunnel to an intersection, sniffing the air and looking for where she'd gone. He cursed again, anger and fear mixed in his voice.

He couldn't find her trail in either direction of the intersection, and turned back, slowly making his to the pipes. His nervousness showed, his fear starting to overwhelm his anger. He spoke to himself, the anger in his voice gone, revealing again the adolescent sound he naturally had. "No no no no!" He repeated, becoming frantic. "She's gonna get the cops, and they'll come down here. Oh god I'm gonna die." He steeled himself, and tried to psyche himself up for what he'd have to do. "I can't let them get me, I'll find her, I'll end her." He said solemnly, before he turned to the warm pipes and dropped his body down to the ground, staring directly toward Alma in her hiding spot, his dead eyes staring at her. He sniffed the air, her scent concentrated here, but not aware she was stuffed into the hole. If she made a noise now, she'd have her back to the wall, and an angry predator to fight, however, Sylar still didn't know she was there. Finding nothing, he'd rise back up and turn back towards the intersection, picking the left path and creeping around looking for Alma.

As the creature charged past the bodachs, their attack relented—Alma was gone, the creature was gone… therefore, in their minds, the threat was removed. They did not once consider that the monster was now charging towards their mistress, only that he was no longer attacking her. Even now, Alma’s pulse was declining towards only a little higher than usual. Alma sat in her alcove, her hands curled into her hood, eyes pointed towards the gap in the pipes that she had slid under. She was under the impression that the darkness was deeper where the pipes interrupted the mouth of the alcove, but she couldn’t be sure. Still, her eyes pointed downward, wide with fear, while her ears pried for signs of movement.

The creature’s threat still wrung in her ears, in her skull, sinking into her brain—life or death, that was the ultimatum. He was going to rip her to shreds if he got his hands on her. Alma pressed the knife to her head, feeling the cool handle against her skin. Her uncle had never taught her how to fight monsters, only men. She had to be smarter than the creature if she wanted to make it out alive. Her ears perceived the scratching of claws against stone—it was too large to be natural. It had to be him. Alma set the knife in her lap, dragging her hands over the slimy surface of the floor. She wiped more goop on the front of her legs, and on the front of her coat.

When he drew in close, she fell silent. She breathed shallowly, slowly, fearful of making too much noise. His footsteps drew in, pausing at the mouth of the pipes. Alma didn’t move a muscle. She could hear him breathing. He stalked away, slowly, but then circled back. He was tracking her scent—Alma had eyesight and scent to worry about. There was a faint swear in the other direction as he turned, pacing back. His footfalls returned.

Alma remembered back to a time when she’d played hide-and-seek with her sister, and she’d hid in the corner of the coat closet. Her sister was home from Xavier’s on Winter Break, and she was playing hide-and-seek with the older neighborhood girls. Alma managed to tag along and, being the youngest, had the biggest advantage. She’d tucked herself in the coat closet, and her sister’s friend had looked in there three times. Eventually, they gave-up on looking for her and went to do something else. Alma had emerged a half-hour later, hungry and confused, yet victorious.

Shaking the recollection from her mind and refocusing on the task at-hand, Alma listened as the footsteps returned, pausing in front of the mouth of the alcove once more. This time, the boy spoke, his voice cracking with anxiety. The human sound tricked her, momentarily, allowing the young woman to forget that she was dealing with a monster. Unbeknownst to him, she wasn’t really in the position to turn anyone in to the cops. Given the fact that she was directly related to a family of gang-bangers, and residing in a houseful of homeless and criminal mutants, Alma really couldn’t turn the guy in. He was second-guessing himself, convinced that Alma would somehow escape, and that he’d then die… but not if she died first. The kid was desperate and dangerous—and therefore, not trustworthy.

Still blind in the darkness, she did not notice that he’d leaned down near the pipes in an attempt to pick-up her scent: did not know that he was staring straight at her without really seeing her. It wasn’t until he inhaled that Alma became how acutely aware of how close he was. She held her breath, closing her eyes tightly. All it would take was one glance to the side. All it would take was one misstep, and he would be on her.

She waited in silence, and finally, he rose once again, his feet shuffling off. How long could she stay there, she wondered? When would it be best to run? Alma slid thick-soled boots, and slid off her socks, tucking them into the leathery recesses of the shoes. It would better to run sooner, rather than later. And she’d need to be as swift and as silent as she was able. While the boy was preoccupied with following a nonexistent trail, Alma could steal-off in the opposite direction. She’d swallow her qualms with the slimy floor against her bare feet, if it meant living. She could hear the bodachs moving closer, murmuring placidly amongst themselves now that, to them, the threat was no longer imminent.

Alma slithered out from her alcove, slowly getting to her feet. Her ears pried into the darkness for the sound of return, but she heard nothing. Alma righted herself and, in the darkness, retraced her steps, her hand never leaving the wall. The air changed as she left the serpentine tunnels and returned to the cavernous room where the creature nested. She flicked her cell phone on, surveying the nest. God knew how long she would be down there—it would be best to take along some of his food. Alma flicked on the backlight of her cell phone, to get a general idea of where things were, and then shut it off again. She’d need to be smart with the battery. She grabbed canned goods and plastic bottles, tipping them into her bag. Once her bag was reasonably stuffed, she took it off of her shoulders, and set it off of her feet. She ditched the boots and socks, her coat, and her shirt, fishing out garb from the pile. Stuff that wouldn’t smell like her. Alma raked her fingers along the walls, dredging up goop, and she spread it on her arms. It was gross, sure, but what choice did she have? Clothes were replaceable and life was not. Alma picked her bag up once more, rubbing it against the wall as she went.

Now that she was bathed in the scent of the pipeline, Alma flashed her cell phone on again. The walkway wrapped around the pool where the water gushed, leading to another platform on the other side of the room. This platform was enclosed on two sides, the third wall bearing a door into another tunnel. Alma flicked the light off and, using the wall to guide her, walked around the pool, towards the next tunnel. Her bare feet padded against the floor in a hush, and Alma carefully made her way through the doorway, and into the other tunnel.

She flicked the light on again. The walkway was the width of a sidewalk, with a shear drop into the churning water below. Alma sighed, flicking off her phone, and resumed walking. Her hand remained a foot in front of her, her fingers perceiving turns before she went headlong into the walls. All facts considering, she was doing pretty well… she didn’t hear the monster, she was on the move… perhaps she’d even escape and be able to forget this whole nightmare.

Alma was so preoccupied with navigating the tunnel, and keeping her ears perked for the sounds of larger animals, that she was not attentive to the sounds of smaller creatures. Something small and warm skittered over her exposed foot—more than likely, a rat—and Alma did what any reasonable person would. She let out a horrified, disgusted shriek.

“Ugh, ¡rata!” she screamed, jumping and kicking at the offending thing. She heard an eeeek! and a plunk! as the rat was punted into the nearby stream—but, though her immediate problem was resolved, the young woman had now more than likely alerted the creature of her vague whereabouts.

Sylar crept along the tunnel, moving briskly but focusing on the smells and sounds of the tunnels. Once he found the tunnel she was in, his vision would seal the deal, but now he had to depend on the senses that had most saved him through his monstrous life. His nose wrinkled repeatedly as he moved, searching for any trail, but he could no longer find her scent anywhere past that intersection. How could she have just lost her scent? It was impossible...unless she hadn't gone past the intersection, had he missed some other turn or hole in the walls? He cursed himself for trying to talk to her, he always knew he might have to get ruthless to protect himself, but he'd grown to soft since meeting other mutants.

He turned back, making his way to the intersection and preparing to head down the right tunnel, but then he heard it. Alma was lost in a labyrinth, a vast network of stone tunnels that acted like a big amplifier for any sound down here. Her curse, her scream, her jump, the rat hitting the water, even the rat's frightened squeak, they all bounced along the bricks, and made their way to Sylar. He hissed, turning his head back toward his lair, "Reservoir." She had to be heading towards them. He bolted down the tunnel, making his way into his lair. Her scent was still here, but didn't leave the room. He didn't know how she'd covered her tracks, but he wasn't giving up. Her escape, her efforts to hide, she was stimulating Sylar's instincts, specifically his instinct to hunt. It was getting hard to think, harder to keep his thoughts away from grisly ideas. He found himself trembling when he realized he was starting to wonder, just how would the woman taste?

He crossed the water in his lair and made his way down the same path Alma had taken, following the pathway to the door, and making his way inside towards the reservoirs. He quickly surveyed every path as he came into it, scanning for her, hunting down her heat signature with a growing hunger. As he grew closer, the sound of his claws tearing into the stone would be growing louder, a distant clack turning into a murderous pounding as he closed in. He passed through an archway and turned to what he guessed was the source of the echo he heard. And a hiss escaped his throat, further down the tunnel he could see her, a humanoid bloom of yellow, thinner than than before, and smelling of the sewers, but quite obviously the prey the monster was hunting. His voice echoed down the tunnel, giving Alma moments to think of her reaction to giving Sylar her location. "Found you..." The words were cold, with no hint of the previous anger or fear Sylar had possessed. Instead, he spoke with a hollow tone, oozing cruel intent. "I can't...I can't stop..." He whispered into the musky air, his voice echoing off the stones, "I think I'm gonna...eat you"

Sylar was losing himself, the chase and fear having backed him into a corner, spurring his instincts to take over, and causing the boy to struggle internally, his mind terrified, but his heart pumping so hard his blood was boiling. Alma was about to have a fight on her hands, or she was going to have to figure out how to cage the Predator in his own world. Less than twenty feet separated them, and both Sylar and Alma were aware how quickly he could cover distance.

Alma knew that his catching-up would be inevitable. Her luck was coming in spurts of good and bad—she’d get a strike of luck, but before she could get too comfortable, her luck would diminish and would be replaced by misfortune. Alma heard him coming, but rather than bolt, she turned, looking into the darkness. She knew she couldn’t outrun him. As she had expected, he came galloping, his footfalls audible against the floor. They fell rapidly, claws scraping against stone as he closed-in. He’d announced that he’d found her, which earned a wry, uneasy line from the young woman.

“Funny, here I thought I was being chased by a freakishly-large sewer rat,” Alma quipped. Her nerves were frayed, and the young woman was so frightened that, in an insane way, she knew her inevitable end was drawing nearer. She might as well get a few good lines in beforehand. He murmured about how he couldn’t stop, how he wanted to eat her… and Alma closed her eyes, breathing a sigh. Hot, angry tears were streaming from her eyes. She, too, was getting desperate. Alma half-considered pitching herself into the surging stream down below, leaving her fate to the churning waters. Drowning seemed such an unpleasant way to go, though… and she really didn’t want to die. Alma turned back towards the source of the voice, eyes probing the darkness.

“…fine,” she grunted, “Let me… just let me do a few things, first.”

Alma scarcely believed the words coming out of her mouth—this had a very slim chance of working, if it worked at all, but it was worth a shot. Alma moved slowly, purposefully, sliding her cell phone into her bag. She wouldn’t need a light to see by if she was dead. She closed her knife, but did not slide it into the bag. She then raised the bag up over head, and set it on the ground beside her. All of her motions were placid, steady—she wouldn’t try to bolt.

“You know… why I came to New York?” Alma inquired, taking a seat on the ground and crossing her legs, “I was running away. People tried to kill me, because I was a mutant, and they did not like mutants. They stabbed me in the stomach. Presumed me dead… and I ran… I couldn’t tell the cops, either. My family has a reputation. They are very powerful criminals, and I would be held by the cops if they got a hold of me…”

Alma looked at her knife, which was cradled in her hands.

“Since then, I’ve had nightmares of that day… that my friends actually succeeded, that I didn’t escape to see another day...” She mopped her eyes, shoulders shaking as she tried to keep her voice steady. “I haven’t told anyone, yet. About how I cheated death. Figured someone should know, though. It’d be damned lucky to cheat it twice, though.”

Alma looked up, staring into the darkness. Her eyes were flickering over the creature, though she did not know this.

“What I hold in my hands is the blade that I use to defend myself,” Alma informed the unseen creature, “A knife, just like the one that I nearly died by. If you insist on killing me for my mutation, or to defend yourself against unreal threats, we will do it on my terms.”

Alma’s tone quivered. It wasn’t an easy thing to say, giving instructions to a blindly furious mutant on how it was that he was to end your life.

“You will take the knife from my hands,” Alma said, her tone trembling but resolute, “I will guide your dominant hand to where the old scar is. You will complete the job that my former friends could not. Your other hand, however, will be for me to hold onto. You will not release my hands until I am dead, though. Because I want you to feel the weight of what it means to take the life of an innocent woman.”

Alma inhaled, and exhaled. By the sentence’s end, her heart was hammering, but her voice was steady.

“These are my conditions.”

Sylar was giving into his instincts, his urge to maim Alma was nearly intoxicating. He flexed his muscles, prepping his body to launch forward at her until she changed her stance, and became defiant. Her acceptance confused him, holding him still for a moment. Life was a series of fight or flight responses, even when he'd kipnapped her in confusion, and planned to end it without violence it ended up like this, but now she had changed her stance, her indomitable stature reaching Sylar and unnerving him. Part of him listened to her words, intimidated by her voice, but the other part crept forward, crawling forward slowly, each step echoing a soft clacking sound into the tunnel.

Sylar was terrified of normal people, and to be honest, he was still even afraid of mutants since they could look just as normal as everybody else. But he knew, all mutants shared in the pain and fear he had these past three years. Her speech was reaching that part of him, creating a split between his mind and his instincts. But still, he advanced, coming ever closer to Alma as she made her last stand. Though Alma couldn't see him, Sylar felt too exposed, meeting her head on like this, all predators were really quite timid at heart, never able to stand up to prey that had a chance of winning a fight with them. And Sylar was no different, he was a creature of shadows, thriving in the solitude his image protected him with, but Alma was standing her ground, demanding his attention.

Sylar came within killing distance, his tail could easily strike Alma down even from five feet away, but instead he stood up, walking the last distance between them instead of crawling. At this point, he was close enough, she'd be able to sense it, hear his ragged breathing, his steps, the swish of his tail in the air. He reached forward, her words dominating his actions, but his hand was starting to tremble, Sylar wasn't sure who exactly who would be the winner here. His right hand was a weapon far more dangerous than a simple knife, claws sharp as razors, and completely covered in armor, a cool black bone like feel to it.

His mind was reeling, screaming at him to leave this woman away, unnerved at her courage to stand her ground against something that could tear her apart within seconds. Sylar tried to speak, but he stuttered, his voice no longer a cruel heartless animal. No, at this moment, as Alma commanded, Sylar was not but a frightened orphan boy, backed into a corner and unsure how to escape. "I..I...don't" He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, He just wanted to feel safe again, to be done with this woman who terrified him so. His left claw, less morphed than his right, but still an inhuman claw reached toward her other hand, unsure of what would happen next. "I..I'm afraid..." He whispered, Alma's resolve having shattered his haze for a moment.

Sylar could kill her a dozen ways right now, his body a living weapon, but he was an orphan, a kid. Alma was older, and her experiences and acceptance of this situation made her will stronger than his. She'd won this battle, but the war wasn't over, she was cornered, with all of Sylar's weapons right on top of her, even if she calmed the beast, she was still all alone in his lair.

Alma waited, the trembling overwhelming her in bursts, her eyes fixed hollowly ahead in the darkness. Tears were steadily streaming, but they were silent. She did not cry aloud, spare the occasional hitch in her breath. She did not go back on her word, either—she sat, legs crossed, with the knife cradled in her hands like an offering to a murderous god. The creature was drawing in closer, his footsteps padding over the uneven floor. Certain details came into focus as he drew closer—she could hear him breathing, hear him moving. They were practically nose-to-nose.

“Take it,” Alma said simply. She felt the weight leave her hands, the cool texture of his taloned grasp brushing against her palms, “Open it.”

Her left hand lingered on his right, the one that wielded the blade. She waited until she felt it click open.

>> "I..I...don't… I..I'm afraid..."

His voice was weak. Alma exhaled, almost humored by the idea. He was afraid? She was going to get killed and more than likely devoured, and he had the nerve to be scared. That meant that she was getting to him.

“I am, too,” Alma confessed, guiding his knife-wielding hand towards her stomach. She stopped when she felt the blade just barely touching her old scar through the fabric of the stolen shirt.

“There,” Alma sighed, “That is where you need to stab. That is where they stabbed me last time.”

His other hand brushed her free one, and Alma wrapped her right hand around his. Her hands were cool with fear, but they felt warm against the monster’s. Alma’s other hand, the one that had previously guided Sy’s own hand, also latched onto it. She tightened her grip, in an attempt to still the quivering, but she could not.

“I am ready,” Alma murmured, “One last thing, though, before you do it—you need to know who I am before killing me. And I need to know you. We need to know each other as people, and not just as voices in the dark. I will be brief.”

Alma held his hand in hers, looking forward in the darkness.

“My name is Alma Nadine Elizondo,” Alma murmured, her tone low, “I will be rejoining my mother in Heaven when I am only twenty years old. My father is incarcerated. My older sister lives in Boston… she’s twenty-three. I wish that I had time to say goodbye to them… I drink too much coffee, have troubles sleeping, and am secretly a really big nerd. I love video games and comic books… speak two other languages… and have been living in a homeless shelter for almost eight months now. Strictly mutants. I will be sad to never go back there.”

Alma was crying freely now, and she pressed the back of the monster’s hand to her forehead, searching for strength in the touch.

“Y-your t-turn.”