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The Sixth Extinction

Character(s): Gabriel "Sylar" Gray and Claire Bennet
Summary: Building 26 is never shut down. No one convinces the president that it's best to just drop the matter of evolved humans, and Danko is given cart blanche to deal with the super-powered threat as he sees fit. In the next century the Evolved are hunted to the brink of extinction, either out-right exterminated, or imprisoned and exploited for their ability. The number of specials used in this way grows fewer and fewer as time and mishaps progress, but one type is still coveted above all. Exterminating a regenerator is exceedingly difficult, anyway...
Status: In progress/PRIVATE

Shenoy Biotech Industries, the world leader in medical, pharmaceutical, and cosmetic biotechnologies. Branches across the globe in at least one major city in every first-world country and several within the United States: New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Washington D.C. Advances by the company have cured the terminally ill, made the blind to see and the lame to walk and have prolonged human life beyond the twenty-first century's limited reach. ...for those who can afford it.

The price of the best services are astronomical, for though the fountain of health, youth, and beauty never runs dry, the resource is rare indeed and output difficult to optimize. Which makes the D.C. branch's most recent acquisition seem well-worth the long search and countless lives it has cost to obtain it.

Seemingly innocuous on the slab, a man of just-above average height, lean build and slender frame. His pale skin has a bluish cast to it and his brunette hair is matted with his own blood, for all appearances nothing more than a cadaver ready for organ harvesting, but that would be pointless in his current state. The organs could be removed, yes, but the body cavity would remain as empty as any other autopsied corpse with the 6-inch metal spike that's currently lodge in the back of his head.

First, precautions must be taken.

Clothing is cut away, revealing more lavender-cream skin, more dark, soft hair, and more lean, strong, but limp flesh. Tubing and needles are rudely thrust into the uncooperative, seemingly dead flesh, holes bored into bone, restraints applied and tightly locked down. They have him, they are sure, this mythical beast, this Unicorn in human form that has impaled and gored so many hunters, at last taken down and chained in the name of healing (in the name of profit.)

A nod of a head. They try to time it right. To dump their chemicals into his system just as it begins uptake, the spike sliding out of his brain matter with a sickening sound, like a child rudely sucking a too-thick milkshake through a narrow straw.

Machines whir and buzz and beep to life, charts on screens beginning to run, the signs of life returned. His flesh looses its oxygen-starved look, blushes healthy golden-cream.

All is still.

They hold their breaths as machines breathe for him.

Their eyes stare wide as his threatening amber glare remains sealed behind the dark fringe of his eyelashes.


Sylar stood bare and blood spattered in the center of the processing room. The redness of it fascinated him, pooling around and between his toes from the severed bodies of the doctors and nurses littered across the cool linoleum floor. Cold, smooth floor. Hot, sticky blood. The contrast of sensations gave him a cold pleasure, but did nothing to take the edge off the rage boiling inside him. He had been taken. Violated. After all this time evading them and he had found himself back on a cutting table, prepped and drugged, though once again insufficiently, even more so than the last few times so long ago.

Irritated by the whine of the machinery he waved a hand and smashed it all, bits of glass and sparks falling down into the puddle, further empty attempts at catharsis. He picked among the doctors to find clothing suitable to wear on his way out, managing a complete set with only a couple minor stains. Thankfully he'd felt the need to snap one man's neck instead of eviscerating him like the others, and a pair of shoes his size just needed a bit of polishing off.

He left the white, sterile room with that bloodbath concealed behind the tight steel door, the security locked portal swinging shut just before a nurse exiting opposite him could see inside. She didn't even blink at him as she clipped away, nose down toward a chart screen. Her door had just opened as his closed and still remained so for a moment, long enough to see beyond into a room not unlike that he'd just left.

Too bright-white, bleach-clean and bright, brushed steel, unsettlingly chatty machines. Shenoy had never managed to improve on that.

And in the 'bed' in the middle, a form disfigured almost beyond recognition.

Almost, but not quite.


The Intuitive strode forward quickly, slipping through the last crack of the metal door before it swished closed, sealing them inside. Sylar had never been a creature of moderate emotion. Either blazing with hate and anger or numb with cold indifference, this time he felt ice in his blood for a wholly different reason.

This... they'd done this to her, and it was what they'd meant to do to him.


Nov. 30th, 2009 06:32 am (UTC)
The former cheerleader did not know how grotesquely thin she'd become in the care of Shenoy. All she knew was that she was broken and needed a great deal of repairs before she could get away for good. She kept her eyes closed and every time his hand would touch her, a violent shiver of revulsion was sent through her body.

Claire hated Sylar.

His touch remained gentle the whole time and as he washed her, silent and shameful tears spilled over her cheeks buried against her knees. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction to know she was this weak, crying in the bath. No, she was prouder than that.