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Sylar hadn't really done much in the past few days, his body had felt...oddly tired lately. A dreadful feeling he had some inkling as to what it was, but for now he'd just been sort of lazy and resting a bit. However as always, the monstrous boy was always driven by his stomach, and eventually a rumble in his belly woke him from his sleep. Megan had seemed a bit out of it, and Roach as usual paid no mind to anything but his unique enjoyment of the world around him. Sylar still couldn't tell if Roach was some sort of brilliant mutant humanitarian, or just a crazy talking bug. Either way he still respected him, and continued to follow his orders.

As he left his room and made his way towards the kitchen, he heard the sounds of movement. So somebody was up, and the lack of extra appendages or clicking probably meant it was Megan, who still sounded entirely human whenever she was doing something, making it easy to identify compared to Roach. He turned into the kitchen and stopped for a moment, just what the heck was this woman up to? She seemed to be ravenously attacking some pile of room temperature and chilled objects on the kitchen table with a vengeance. Did she hate what she was eating, or hate something so much she needed to gorge? Sylar had no idea, considering this behavior seemed quite odd for how the girl usually was.

Megan gagged for a moment, and at that moment Sylar realized he should probably announce himself. He lifted his right hand up, and waved his claw at the girl. "Er hey there Megan...you having some lunch?" The boy mouthed awkwardly, not really sure what she was up to or how to approach her at the moment. Especially when all he really wanted was to snag something meaty from the fridge and go back to his bed for another nap. Even though he was spending more time awake in the day here at Roach's place, the boy still seemed to keep a nocturnal rhythm, always groggy in the day light.

Maybe she was right, though Sylar worried if his inner self ever learned how to properly express itself in the light of day. Telling people they looked like food to be slaughtered wasn't the best sentiment to give off. "Well, maybe they're smart cause they're attached to your head. I imagine a snake brain isn't as intelligent as a humans?" Sylar responded, not sure what else to say. Even as a sewer dwelling monster he could barely empathize with a girl who had snakes instead of hair. Mutations were so vastly different between each mutant.

So he was right, those were Latin names probably. Sylar had skimmed through Dante's Inferno once a few years back, though he didn't remember much besides each sin having a level within hell. He had wondered why she'd choose those names till he explained that she didn't approve of her mutation at first, just as any average person wouldn't have. It was odd, how he and Andrea were so different, but sort of resonated on the oddest situations. She had thought of her hair as a curse, as sins. While Sylar saw himself as a nightmarish creature, and had been named Boogeyman in a moment of charity and kindness.

"It's kind of funny, I just assumed I was some sort of monster when I started changing, and I hid away from everything. And then in a bout of foolishness I found a little girl who was lost, and dropped her off at the police station before running away." He sort of took over the conversation for a moment as he remembered this old story that had led to his "mutant name" that he happened to enjoy oddly enough. "She was terrified of me at first, and thought I was the Boogeyman come to eat her. In the end she thanked me for turning her in, and the name Boogeyman sort of felt oddly comforting when I look like this." He said, his dead eyes doing their best impression of staring at his form.

The Boogeyman was a fictitious being of fear and terror for children, a creature of unknown shape and purpose come to take them away, and yet Sylar felt sort of comfortable being a Boogeyman. The smell of finished food however broke his story and brought him a few steps closer to Andrea, a bit of drool starting to form in his mouth. She asked how much he would like, and unsurprisingly he responded immediately with a gluttonous joy. "Whatever you don't want..." Sylar didn't seem to realize just how absurd or greedy such a response might sound, his mind completely shut off with food within reach.

Sylar could notice a gesture as obvious as a wince, though he didn't really acknowledge it, his lack of tact always at it's best when speaking with women. Medusa was just the only thing he could think of when the girl said her head was covered in snakes, I mean what else could she be but a Gorgon? Maybe Medusa was real, and some distant ancestor of Andrea here? Maybe all mythological monsters were mutants, wouldn't that be interesting. The snake proceeded to eat a spoon, swallowing the utensil to God knows where, as Sylar chose to ignore it.

Sylar knew those words, they were like deadly sins or character flaws right? "Those are like the deadly sins or something right? I remember that from Dante's Inferno I think..." Sylar sort of droned off into his own world, his mind trying to remember all the literature he had once enjoyed, but struggling to get past his current mind and it's more feral and chaotic memories. He shrugged and let the thought fade. She went on to explain where the food went when a snake ate...which made Sylar wonder if the girl would just spit out a spoon sometime later in a very awkward and funny moment.

The idea of children didn't sound fun to Sylar, he could barely maintain his own life or manage for himself, controlling anything akin to children sounded like a tremendous mistake. It must be interesting too though, to have these creatures connected to her in some way. It was vaguely like Sylar's secondary instincts, an animal mind sometimes rising up to take over, just not as horrifying since Sylar could wake up atop a dead body with his condition. "That must make things interesting. Sometimes I think this..." He trailed off for a moment as he stared at his monstrous arm, clad beneath obsidian plating. "Sometimes I think this has a mind of it's own, though that's not something to explore." Sylar's words were grim, his voice almost afraid as he thought of what mind was behind the armor he now wore for life.

Well maybe trying to process foreign thoughts in a mostly human mind created that strangeness, perhaps Andrea couldn't think in snake yet, and he couldn't think in...monster? "Maybe they just think in snake and you don't speak it yet." The boy said trying to steer himself back into a friendlier conversation and away from the dark thoughts he was starting to let leak out.

Sylar's physical strength was quite impressive, the muscles beneath his skin were far denser and more supple than that of any normal human. He could wrestle a bear, and win pretty easily with his physical strength. However he rarely used it for anything but digging his claws into the stone beneath him, or murdering a hapless animal when he needed a meal. But the danger was always present, just like a caged lion you never knew when the boy might finally snap and show just how dangerous he was.

It seemed Sylar's usual lack of interaction led to an often mix up when people were dealing with him. Clyde assumed Sylar didn't know how to use a microwave, which he didn't, but not because he'd never encountered one, he just couldn't see the buttons. Or press them with the knives he had instead of fingers. "Er no, I know how it works. But I can't read the buttons, I'm blind. And these..." He was cut off as Clyde realized Sylar's claws also made it hard to interact, considering if he tried to press the buttons he'd probably stab the machine and get a nasty shock.

Clyde put some amount of food on a plate and pressed it into the microwave, which soon lit up like a Christmas tree to Sylar's eyes, aware that the food was being cook via a flash of heat. "Wow...electronics are so odd when I'm up close to them." Normal people just saw all the usual bells and whistles of such a device, but Sylar's eyes could pick up on the electrical currents as they powered up, and the coils within the machine as they pumped out radiation to heat the food within, the mostly opaque blob quickly lighting up like some sort of will o wisp. "You guys must spend a lot on food, with so many of you living here...and me stopping by to bum food." He said, feeling a tad guilty about having someone who appeared a child make food for him, but in reality Clyde was older, so it kind of balanced out?

    This had allowed something people claimed impossible to happen, a third party candidate managed to take the polls and win. Peter thought President Simons was a pretty damn good president too. He’d gotten the economy out of the gutter and cut the unemployment rates across the nation by two thirds. He’d worked out deals to get the price of gas lowered to three bucks a gallon for at least five years. He’d also legalized abortion in all fifty one states however, which sent the christian right into a frothing rage. This had caused the first abortion riot months ago, when a local church had set the clinic on fire during the night. Since then, acts of American Testament terrorism had been happening for five to six months now. It was getting worse too, considering at first they targeted just buildings and such. And now they were killing freaking pregnant women. Peter decided he’d wait to see this address, hoping the President could talk some sense into these people. Peter glanced at Andy as the address began.

    Andy said, looking briefly at Peter.

    The President walked out slowly from the White House, surrounded by men in black. He took to his podium naturally. A crowd had gathered before him, of reporter and civilians, and of course, dozens of protesters. They clung around the White House lawn like the pews of a church to the President’s cathedral.

    The President said with awe like poise.



    Was the only sound that followed the powerful speech as the sniper’s bullet entered President Simons’ head and splattered his brain matter across the White House lawn like a visceral halo. His guards went into a panic, knowing it was far too late to save the great leader’s life. The crowd stared in panic, half of them screaming out, the other half dead silent. The first atheist President had been assassinated, just like a scene in a movie. A man who saved the economy, ended a aimless war peacefully with the capture and imprisonment of terrorist leaders, and even begun talks at NATO of reconstructing Palestine. He had been killed with a single shot, in but a moment.
Peter gasped aloud, he couldn’t believe he’d just seen this. A man who wanted nothing but good for America, who strove to make life better for all at the cost of his own time and effort. A hero to millions, maybe billions, and his lifetime of benevolence was brought to an end like that.




    Andy said, his world shattered as well by the death of President Simons.
 The world stopped for a moment, as billions of people stood in shock from the event. A man ran from the bushes, a heartless buffoon who shouted with glee.

    Was the last thing the assassin ever said as his body was riddled with righteous bullets from the Secret Service. They swarmed the body of the killer, meanwhile the crowd had broken upon hearing gunfire, sliding straight into a full blow panic and starting a riot. The news station began rerolling the footage and repeating the line.


    Andy said, staring at his employee, his mind still reeling from the reality of the situation.


    Peter replied to Andy.



    Peter wasn't sure what to think, he’d always thought of Christians as this sort of hateful hypocritical group, but never as straight murderers. He watched the footage again, the image of the President’s head exploding would never leave his brain. A flash forever burned into his mind’s eye. The new stations were all exploding now with coverage. Some ran bits of information on the killer, others the footage of the death. And one managed to run a release from the leader of the assassin's church. An American Testament church.

Peter nearly vomited at the hateful bullshit leaving the man’s mouth. The Pastor began talking about the assassin, a personal member of his congregation.



    The Pastor went on.


    Peter felt himself wanting to vomit as this man spewed his ignorance onto national television.


    The Pastor finished with a straight face. Even the reporter looked like he wanted to break the man’s jaw.



    Peter screamed at the television with pure contempt.

Andy stared in disbelief.

    Andy said to Peter, feeling just as much anger as him.
 Peter didn’t even respond, he simply walked off and out the door. He had to get home, away from all of this. His mother, he wanted to see her. She always knew how to make him feel better, when the world was a dark place, she was the angel on his shoulder showing him where to go to get away from it all. He passed Tommy without a word, and quickly hopped into his car. He revved up the blue mustang, trying to drown out the world around him, and pulled out speeding, heading for home.

    As Peter drove away from the office in silence, feeling nothing but contempt. A gold star appeared in the sky, and fell towards the Earth somewhere in the distance.  Peter was coming up on the Hospital, Angel’s Mercy, police cars were still about, and he could see the aftermath of the riot. As he stared, remember the event which eventually lead to the death of America’s greatest leader, a twinkle appeared in the corner of his eye. He turned to look, but his world was rocked by a massive explosion as a meteor smashed into Angel’s Mercy, demolishing the hospital. Peter stared in disbelief.


    He shouted as he pulled off and sped away from the carnage. He watched in his mirror as the hospital was licked with flames, and burning down to the ground, a few cops running around in a panic. He careened for home, only to look into the sky and see more stars appear, and then fall. He couldn't see them hit, but knew that something impossible was happening. His phone suddenly went off, and he jumped, scared of even that annoying sound that so reminded him of his alarm clock in the mornings. He was about ten minutes from home as he answered the phone.


    He started to say but was quickly interrupted.


    She questioned, crying, he could hear her tears and panic.


    He tried to comfort her, he’d never heard her cry, never heard her panic. For the first time, his mom had been shaken, her will broken. And Peter was terrified.


    

    Peter stirred lazily in his bed. His alarm clock was going off, screaming the most annoying sound in the world repeatedly, urging him to wake up for work. Peter groaned, silently cursing the clock he so hated. He rolled over, his arm snaking outward from beneath his blanket to slap the off button on the clock.


    Peter hated that clock, or maybe he just hated mornings. Probably both. Peter didn't go to school for four years, and get a degree in computer engineering to have to sit in a cubicle all day long helping idiots learn how to not get a virus from opening spam emails. He sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes heavy and bothered by the sunlight shining through his window. Peter yawned and got up from his bed, wearing only plaid boxers and began his morning ritual. He walked slowly to the bathroom.

    Peter flicked the light on, blinking repeatedly as the bathroom light hit his iris’s. He definitely wasn't a morning person. It always took awhile for him to wake up. He grabbed his dull, blue tooth brush, and used the same crappy mint toothpaste he’d had all his life to brush with. He spit, almost spitefully as he finished with the old brush.


    He was referring to his Mother, whom he had moved back in with shortly after college. She always told him the same thing when he asked her why she bought the same toothpaste every time.

    Peter was always surprised at how easily his mom took things, even dad’s death. A car accident on the way home from the factory one night, hit by a drunken idiot. Both of them died in the resulting crash. Peter had been furious, cursing the man’s family for his mistake. But his mom was calm, and tried to calm him.


    She told him with a smile, but even he could see the pang of sadness in her eyes. No matter what went wrong, she was always strong like that. Peter had trouble understanding how she managed to do that. Her faith was like some well of infinite strength and patience for her.

    Peter stared into his mirror, as he buttoned his shirt up. He mixed two buttons up, and had to redo them. But as he dressed for work, he continued to think of his mom and her religion as he got ready. He thought of it as her religion because Peter had given up on religion along time ago. Sure Peter went to church when he was younger, and believed. But just like the rest of his generation, Peter grew away from religion as he realized that god never acts in your life. He never does anything for you, he’s simply another empty ideal that doesn’t put food on the table. Peter shook his head, snapping back to reality from his thoughts. He grabbed his cell phone to check the time. Eight thirty, he needed to leave or he’d be very late for work. He left his room, dressed and ready for work. He walked downstairs, his mother was already up and in the kitchen, making coffee.



She said with a smile.

    He shook his head and chuckled, she always knew how to improve his mood. He grabbed a cup, and drank the semi bitter fluid. She had put some sugar in, but not too much, just the way Peter liked it. He smiled and felt better, finally ready to leave for his dreaded job. He stepped outside, staring into the drive at a gorgeous blue Mustang. Peter would never not be excited to see this car, a graduation gift from his dad and grandfather. It was the greatest thing he’d ever own. He hopped into his car, and headed off to the office.

    As he drove through town, Peter happened to notice a large mob outside the Hospital he passed every day on the way to work. He slowed down a bit, staring at the signs the people held. “God hates whores!” “Abortion is Murder!” “Atheists want dead children!” Oh god, a christian hate mob. Peter remembered a few months ago, he’d heard a news report saying that Angel’s Mercy Hospital would start providing abortion services at a new clinic, and the Christian right had ignited like wildfire. These people, definitely from the American Testament church, were here to protest and heckle innocent people. Peter didn’t really care about the clinic, he was a single guy and thought what did he have to worry about unplanned pregnancy for? But he hated these people, and how they came out just to harass the doctors, or worse, the woman coming here for what was their business and theirs alone he thought. Peter couldn’t believe people would treat each other like this, with pure contempt and hatred, no matter the reason. He sighed and sped up, this had cost him time and he was running late. He pulled into the lot at Revelations Tax Incorporated.

    What a lame name for a tax company, Peter thought. Who would associate a biblical term with money and their taxes? He sighed and left his car in the lot, heading for the door. He saw the guard, Tommy, who greeted him as he usually did.