Introspection

Fic: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots (Chapter 4)

2009-09-13T20:40:04Z

A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots

Author: Dela26

Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

Summary: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to Electric Firefly and Just Another Day on the Job, though you don‘t necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.

Author’s Note. This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the Heroes Live Journal Big Boom Challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

Executive Operations Meeting Minutes.

“Elle Bishop has made appearances in many of my dreams throughout the years.

And in each version, she plays a different role.

Patient. Company agent. Prisoner. Daughter. Leader. Traitor. Mother. Victim. Reformed savior. Lover. Ruthless killer.

The unifying thread in every vision, is that she is a broken, live wire that is a threat… A threat sometimes towards the Company…to me and members of my family…or to the greater good…but mostly a threat to our end game.

It is my belief, and therefore my vote, that Elle Bishop needs to be executed immediately.”

“Did you ever think that to the nuts inside, the peanut is like their whole universe?

------I mean, they could fall in love and never be together because the shell separates them.

------So close, but their cruel prison- the shell - keeps them apart.

------It’s so sad!

------How they must hate their cruel master, The Shell, caring despoiler of legume romance!

------And then one day, They’re free!

------And it’s like, 'let’s dance, you hot salty nut.'

------Crazy nuts, huh?

------Nuts, get it?”

The new therapist is scribbling notes frantically on his small yellow pad-o-paper. After a moment, he clears his throat and asks softy, “What do you think you have in common with the peanut?”

“Wooooow. I mean, come on, it was a story about peanuts. Peanuts! Don’t read too much into it, doc.”

Diary transcription.

Dear Diary,

Hello. My name is Elle. I am nine years old.

My Daddy says I am special.

“I can’t hear you…My ears are still ringing from the beating. Music…in my head.”

It hurts to talk, my lips are large and swollen, missing teeth. And a broken jaw doesn‘t help much either.

The doctor repeats herself again, this time I read her lips. “My job is to help you.”

“Ri-ght. Who said that I needed any help anyways… you docs are all the same.”

Blood trickles down my forehead, into my left eye, blinding. My hands are bound, I can’t wipe the liquid away. The lack of control is….so fucking irritating.

“I’m here to be your friend. An ally.”

“Wasting your time.”

She changes the subject. “You did not follow protocol.”

I snort. “Obviously.”

“And we need to make sure that you are re-programmed.”

Like a robot. The thought makes me giggle, but I stop immediately. The laughter brings pain in my abdomen.

“But you need to behave yourself. Prove your allegiance before we can send you back out.”

The doctor watches me steadily, “Don’t you want to make your daddy proud?”

Well, that was below the belt.

“You bitch!” My body flails around like an epileptic in attempt to claw her eyes out, but the chains keep me well contained.

My vision blurs from the over-exhaustion, and I feel like I’m traveling down a tunnel.

When I regain control, my lips are moving. I realize that I have been talking for some time, but my mind clearly doesn’t know what my mouth has been doing.

“The medicine you’ve been given will help you heal very quickly. It will make you groggy…sleepy. We’ll talk when you wake.”

Blackness swallows me up as I fall down the rabbit hole.

I wake up to find myself in the place that bad agents go when they die. A place that collects defective operatives.

They pick my brain.

They wind me up.

They find out what makes me tick.

Tick tock.

Turn back the clock.

The doc…makes me talk.

Telephone recording:

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the best.”

“I swore that I’d never go back. Not willing, anyways.”

“I remember. But this is an emergency. If you don’t come here and defuse the situation, I’ll have no choice.”

“There are always choices, mate.”

“Not here, not now. I write my report and they’ll execute Elle Bishop as a dangerous, uncontrollable special. Unless you tame her, Elle won’t see her ninth birthday.”

Using the child’s name twice in a row- manipulation, a tug at the heartstrings. It worked like it was suppose to.

“Bloody hell. I’ll come. It will take me a few hours, but I’ll be there.”

“Thank you Claude.”

Fic: Electric Firefly (Chapter 8)

2009-09-12T23:51:26Z

Electric Firefly

Summary: The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her. Sequel to “Just Another Day on the Job.” Elle-centric. Sylar/Elle. AU.

Author’s Note: Special thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills. And thanks for the support of the Syelle Livejournal Community and all of the reviews and comments help fuel my muse! ;) This chapter is dedicated to lemomina, for all of her support and for keeping me motivated to write. ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh.

Rating: Mature rating for swearing, sexuality, and violence...and the dark mind that is psycho Elle.

WARNING: Blood play, violence, and sex...

“You’re late.”

Elle’s internal, psychotic beast screams a high pitch, wordless sound that echoes within her consciousness. Every muscle tenses in her body in response to his voice. The voltage of her ability jumps to overload her system, she can practically taste the sparks in her mouth.

Sylar turns his head to the side, his profile sharply defined from the illuminating white hot energy booming from his fingers. Elle briefly wonders what ability he‘s picked up that allowed him to spot her so easily. Or maybe, it was just his natural predatory instincts.

After a long, silent moment that seemed to last an eternity, chocolate orbs slowly slide directly to where Elle is hidden in the shadows.

Her lips unconsciously twitch to the side. Elle pushes her petite body up from the crouched position. The Company agent confidently stalks towards her target, hips swaying seductively. Electricity flows behind her dance. She savors each step closer to her target.

“Miss me?” Elle taunts as she enters into the light.

Sylar’s lips curl back in disgust, a silent snarl in response to her show of overconfidence. His arms are to his side, trembling ever so slightly. Anger practically vibrating in waves from his skin.

“What do you want?” He growls, ignoring her question.

“You, silly. I thought you‘d already pick up on that, on account of the pretty pictures you‘ve painted.” Elle coos as she slowly begins to pace back and forth in front of him, never breaking eye contact. Her internal beast purrs, eager and hungry. “One live body, brains still intact. Gonna stop the bomb and be the hero by bringing you in.”

“Hero.” He rolls the word slowly around his mouth, testing it out as if it was foreign.

Elle knows that her eyes were the color of spring skies, that warm pale blue that still manages to look cold. Her face is pleasant, her eyes neutral and watching everything he did. She watches everything impassively, as if everything meant nothing to her. She’s spent her entire life waiting for someone to interest her, and until now, people just didn’t.

Elle brings both her hands into the shape of guns. Blue energy jumps across her skin in anticipation.

“Nobody wants to hurt you, we just want to talk.” The practiced line slips out of her mouth, the memorized dialogue that she gives to all of the big bad specials right before she drags them to their cells.

Sylar makes a face like he knows she‘s lying.

Elle flashes perfect white teeth.

“Except I do hurt people. I guess it’s the way I’m wired.” Her eyes sparkle blue with her power as she further taunts the prey, voice sing-songy and childish. “You’ll never meet anyone as special as me.”

Sylar looks into those sky blue eyes, shining with humor, and feels the threat. The words are subtle, the power that emanated from her is not. The power climbs over Sylar’s skin, raising the hairs on his body, like insects crawling, that faint buzz of electric current. Sylar can breathe in her power, coke on it.

Elle smiles widely, but her eyes do not sparkle anymore. Games are over, Elle doesn't have to pretend to be normal, so she doesn't try. Sylar stares into her eyes, and finds nothing.

Without any warning, Elle knocks Sylar over with a large bolt of electricity, sending him down to the ground. Onto his knees, like all of her victims. Elle lives to make the powerful ones weak. And right now, she has the scariest, meanest special on the floor beneath her. He coughs up blood, wipes his hand across his mouth. The sticky metallic liquid is smeared across his chin. The sight make her nipples harden, pulse speed up.

“Stings like a bitch, doesn’t it?” The firecracker laughs coldly as she creates a dangerous ball of electricity, energy snapping loudly back and forth between the palms of her hands. The internal voltage within her core continues to build, until Elle is confident that she can’t contain all of it for much longer.

Sylar’s eyes widen ever so slightly at Elle’s little display of power.

Elle stares down at her soon to be victim, very aware of the small changes in him. She raises a delicate eyebrow and speaks slowly, full of wonder, “You’re afraid of me, just like all the others.”

Fear means control. It means that Sylar is controllable. Elle’s heart swells at the idea of power over him. She snorts a satisfied sound.

Sylar slowly stands, bringing up both hands to his sides as the nuclear energy begins to radiate brightly. “You should be the one afraid of me.”

Elle can feel the radiation pulsating against her skin, hot and burning.

“Afraid? Please. Just because you can steal powers and go boom?” Elle lifts her head defiantly, “I’m not afraid of anything.”

You can’t be afraid if you can’t feel anything.

Her hand moves in an unnaturally fast blur. Sylar gasps in surprise. Blood pours in a bright red flood down his chest. It splatters on the floor, like rain. The sticky fluid covers her hand and the sharp silver knife between her fingers. Her mouth parts softly at the mark she’s given him, a ghost of a real smile beginning to peak on the edges of her lips, that close, canary-eating grin of hers.

Sylar raises his hand up, pushes Elle telekinetically into the air. For a split second, Elle thinks that he is going to throw her over the edge to tumble thirty stories to her death. Most people would feel panicked, but Elle simply is numb, empty. Instead of being hurdled over the building, her body shifts direction mid-air. With his mind, Sylar slams Elle into the red brick wall, knocking the wind out of her. Her body crumples to the floor like a broken rag doll. For a moment, her vision is blurred and all Elle can see is a white nothingness.

The pain fills her up, a rush better than any drug.

A full throated sound bubbles uncontrollably from her lips from the pure delight.

He’s standing inches in front of her, his eyes narrowing at the sound of her laughter. Elle continues to laugh as she secretly begins to build up electricity in her core, slowly collecting enough power to turn him into dust with a single blast. The energy hums softly across her skin, the beast waiting oh so patiently to strike. Almost…

Emotions flow rapidly across his face, like clouds passing over the sun, one right after another. Anger. Overconfidence. Lust. Sadness. Frustration.

She feels the dark, psychotic beast fill her eyes. That cold part of her where there was nothing but static and silence. Elle watches him look into her face and see the emptiness.

He lifts her from the floor with his telekinesis, bringing her up eye level.

Her eyes leak sparking blue electricity, the power waiting to break free from beneath the surface.

Sylar leans in and whispers into her ear, his breath cold against her skin. “I hate you.”

Before Elle has a chance to respond with a witty comment or a blast of electricity, his full lips crash into her like heat. He kisses her roughly enough to bruise unless she opens her mouth. Elle closes her eyes and takes him in. He kisses her like he was tasting her, as if he’d reach into her mouth with his tongue and his lips and pull her inside out. His large, cold hands cup her face and then slowly slide behind her head into the warmth of her hair.

Something inside of her consciousness clicks open.

Elle wants him. She wants him so badly she can’t think about anything but the feel of him against her. Her skin aches to be touched, body hurting with a need that she’s never known. Her hands move to push back his gray coat, she needs to feel his skin.

Sylar makes a sound that was almost a growl, low and persistent. Eagerness did not begin to describe that sound in the man’s throat, vibrating across her lips. The sound makes her body respond, tightening in warm pleasure.

Elle loses her tightly wound control.

She breaks the kiss and roughly grabs his black shirt, tearing it off into pieces. He watches her with a strange look on his face as she unwraps her favorite prize. Elle is impatient, needs to feel his skin against her own. She rubs her cheek against his chest, across the knife wound she had only momentarily inflected upon him. The blood from the deep cut flows along her skin. It wasn’t so much the feel of the blood as the smell of it. Hot, sweet, flatly metallic, and underneath, the faint scent of fear.

Elle plunges her fingers into the wound, sending a playful jolt of electricity into his body. Sylar moans in response, tries to push her off, but it only heightens her fascination. She watches in awe as the blood flows slowly from his chest. For a moment, she has the fantasy of ripping out his heart and watching the dark blood and life pour out of him until all that is left is an empty shell. Instead, she slowly licks the damage, softly and gently like a cat. Her hands unconsciously move to fumble with his belt, stripping off the remainder of his clothes. Closing her eyes, she takes her time tasting his skin, sweat, and blood, taking in all of him with her tongue.

He tastes like power.

Sylar’s hands are playing tentatively with her blond hair, the gesture seems painfully familiar.

The petite special stands on her toes, moves her mouth to his collar bone, across his shoulders, and neck. She continues to lick along his skin, until she finds the spot she’s looking for. Her teeth come down in a quick sharpness. Elle sighs deeply with satisfaction as she gathers his flesh into her mouth and breaks the skin, blood filling her mouth. Sylar cries out, hands clenching into fists and yanking her head back by her hair.

Elle’s body tingles in excitement at the sight of what she’s done. She’s left a perfect mark on his skin. She smiles lazily, her eyes glazed over.

A blast of energy knocks Sylar down to the ground.

Elle slips out of her clothing in liquid speed, never moving her eyes away from the target. Sylar raises an eyebrow and makes a surprised sound from his throat. Elle has never felt uncomfortable or embarrassed stripping down.

In a blur of speed, Sylar’s hands lift up her body and slam her exposed back against the cold, brick wall, bringing a moan from her lips. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist and she can feel him eager and ready against her skin. Elle’s heart is beating so fast it hurt, pounding in her throat like a trapped thing.

Being close to Sylar was like being close with a wild beast. You could pet it and it seemed to like you, but you knew deep down that if it ever got hungry enough, or angry enough, it would kill you. Kill you and eat the flesh from your bones. The morbid thought excites Elle. Maybe he’ll kill her, maybe she’ll kill him. Elle has always walked a very fine line between pleasure and pain.

She's waited a long time for this moment.

Sylar pushes his way deep inside of her and she welcomes him hungrily. He’s not gentle or soft. There is no love in what they are doing. Simply mating between superior, dominant beasts. He pounds himself into her until all Elle can hear is the sound of flesh hitting against flesh.

He fills her up and makes her feel ...alive.

Although she has no memory of being with Sylar, her body remembers him. It is not the first time they have danced before.

Elle’s finger nails dig sharply into his shoulders and concurrently shoots a bolt of electricity into his skin. Blood and burnt flesh, a gesture to remind him who is really in control. He cries out above her, and his body loses that practiced rhythm and suddenly he fucks her as hard and as fast as he can.

Elle has always been the outsider, the lone wolf... but now... now she finally connects with someone. A union formed on blood, pain, and sex.

Elle can feel the orgasm growing. Filling her up like warm water in a cup, slowly from bottom up. It flows over her in small, vibrating spasms.

Something opens inside of Elle. A warm, rush of power. It spills over her, into her. The electric current raises every hair on her body. For one shining moment, every molecule in her body loses control and all Elle can see is blinding, blue energy.

Sylar screams out in both pleasure and pain.

They collapse onto the ground in exhaustion, breathing heavily.

For a long moment, all she can hear is the loud beating of her own heart in her ears.

Elle slowly nuzzles her lips and cheek against the outline of his jaw, marking Sylar with her scent like a leopard.

Sylar smiles in response and he gently runs his hands through her long, blond hair. His voice is soft and holds a strange tone, “My little electric firefly.”

Elle props her head up with her hands. The laughter seeps out of her eyes, her lips, her face, until she stares at him with neutral, predator eyes.

Her voice is a cold, emotionless whisper, “Are you going to blow up the city?”

Sylar avoids her gaze and instead touches her hand, a tentative play of fingers. With his telekinesis, he brings her back down to the ground next to him. He slowly and hesitantly traces his finger over her skin, a light, exploring touch.

Sylar’s eyebrows furrow in deep concentration and he opens his mouth and closes it twice before he is able to speak.

“You‘ll find out tonight.” He replies cryptically.

Elle knows that he can feel her silent smile against his skin.

Author’s Note: Yay! Am happy that I got this chapter finally up. Real life got in the way. Thanks for being patient and supportive of this story. More to come… Reviews = LOVE!

Fic: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots (Chapter 3)

2009-09-10T02:01:01Z

Title: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots

Author: Dela26

Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

Summary: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to Electric Firefly and Just Another Day on the Job, though you don‘t necessarily need to read them for this fic.

Author’s Note. This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the heroes big boom challenge on livejournal, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

Blood. Sticky, hot, messy, awful blood. The sensation of the thick, warm fluid dripping down her lily white arms makes the newly awakened beast scream a high pitch sound, echoing throughout her consciousness. It’s the first time Elle has truly experienced pleasure. Pure delight from inflicting pain, destruction, and death. She spent hours and hours imagining how it would go. Even the most vivid daydreams do not compare to the reality of the actual, glorious event. Her first kill. It is a beautiful symphony composed of the strange sounds of a dying animal mixed with the snapping current of electrical energy and the sweet sensation of burning. The tiny prey is limp in her hands, transformed into a lifeless blacken husk. Darkness fills the eyes of the nine year old sociopath. Innocence shattered, nothing will ever be the same again.

Cross my heart and hope to die.

Drop down dead if I tell a lie.

People fake a lot of human interactions, but I feel like I fake them all, and I fake them very well. Every smile is a lie.

Liar liar, pants of fire.

Elle was placing tiny gilt-edged chairs around a miniature dining room table when Claude entered. The child ignored him and continued to rearrange the furniture. She seemed completely absorbed in the task, but Claude felt the child’s interest, her power, glide over his skin like a cold breeze.

“Why, ‘ello there, pup.”

Elle looked up at that, one small hand cradling a tiny flower arrangement, narrowing her eyes for a moment at the intruder. “I’ve never met anyone that talks funny like you.”

“I’ve never met anyone who can spark before.”

The child grinned, perfect lips, eyes sparkling. “No, you’ve never met anyone like me.”

Elle had gone back to her dollhouse, ignoring Claude. She no longer considered him a threat.

“You‘re special, lassie, aren‘t you? A little firecracker.”

The child continues to play with the house, humming a soft tune to herself. The pink dress, blonde curls, childish songs and games. Everything she did was perfect, so squeaky normal that it screamed. Too perfect, too ordinary, like an actor that had her role down- to perfection.

“I’m like you.”

“Really?” Her head snaps up in attention, blonde curls bounce around in a delicate dance.

I suppose that I am dead now. Dead again. It’s more comfortable this way. Like I’m in a very warm egg. Like in a womb. A new birth. A world without confusion, without loneness. Deep, deep down, there is a quiet place. It's not the usual static numbness… cold, empty void. But rather, simply pure relief, peace. I image a thousand silk worms wrapping my mind in a cocoon and I decide to hibernate.

I see my mother. She tells me that my journey is over. That I am free. I am squinting, and I think that her empty eyes have become stars. All that remains is her smile. I realize that it is nighttime…and my eyes are open.

My head is lurched back so that I’m staring at the sky. Everything is sticky. And I can’t seem to move. Dried blood has fused my skin to the cement.

There are people scrambling around me. Black suits, white suits, blue suits, green suits. Their mouths are moving but I can’t hear what they are saying. The mute button is on.

Injections of the special blood. Again, and again. Death is never permanent. Not really. Immortality is a gift, Daddy says.

I’m the energizer bunny. All powerful, electrically-charged super agent. I keep going. And going. And going. And going….

I have left my shell, I spread my wings, I welcome hell and other things.

Fic: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots (Chapter 2)

2009-09-09T12:19:48Z

Title: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots

Author: Dela26

Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

Summary: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to Electric Firefly and Just Another Day on the Job, though you don‘t necessarily need to read them for this fic.

Author’s Note. This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the big boom challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

Elle used to envision gathering all of the diagnostic books, throwing them into a large pile, towering high in the air, and rolling around in the paper manuals. Using her special ability, she would spark the paper, covering the books with brilliant, hot flames as she burned with them. Elle always figured that this diagnosis is going to be the death of her anyways. Might as well go out with one glorious act of rebellion.

Mother, mother, I feel sick

Send for the doctor, quick, quick, quick,

Doctor, doctor, shall I die?

Yes, my dear, and so shall I.

How many carriages shall I have?

One, two, three, four…”

Psychiatry Note. Medical Record 00287.

Integrated Summary:

Client is a nine year old girl referred for psychiatry assessment by the Executive Operations department. Upon interview, client presented with flat affect, uncooperative, and had to be sedated after utilizing her mutation towards one of the medical workers. Client recently moved into the Company after the manifestation of her evolved human ability of electricity manipulation. She is the youngest documented individual to demonstrate a genetic evolved ability, other cases typically manifest power during puberty or adulthood in the face of a stressor. Client’s father reports that she had lost control of her ability, setting fire to her home and the client’s mother and grandmother died in the fire accident. Client is unable to recall the incident and lacks memory of the loss of her family members. Client needs to find regular validation through her father and becomes extremely agitated after separation or disappointment from him. Patient demonstrates immature social skills and inappropriate play ability for her age. In play therapy sessions, she shows very violent themes throughout her play that typically revolve around harming others with her ability, specifically “sparking“ other animals, prisoners, and Company agents. During her stay at the program, client has tortured and killed laboratory animals with no evident signs of remorse, she reports that “I wanted to hear what it sounded like when they spark.” It is unclear if client’s psychological instability has been impacted by her genetic condition. Patient’s strengths include her high level of intelligence, language ability, and creativity. Initial plans include for client to live at the facility with her father, continue gathering data via regular psychological and medical tests, begin daily play therapy to help cope with recent trauma of the loss of mother and grandmother as well as develop appropriate social, behavioral, and healthy coping skills. Client to begin genetic test experimentation against the psychiatry team’s clinical advice, team to continue to monitor patient’s psychological, behavioral, and social responses to anticipated stressor.

Initial Diagnosis:

AXIS I diagnosis: 312.81 Conduct Disorder, Childhood-Onset, Severe

R/O Separation Anxiety Disorder

R/O Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

AXIS II diagnosis: 799.9 Diagnosis Deferred on Axis II

AXIS III diagnosis: Genetic mutation (electric manipulation)

AXIS IV diagnosis: Problems with primary support group, problems related to social environment, educational problems, recent loss of mother and grandmother

AXIS V diagnosis (GAF): 21-30

I am moving when my eyes open…I see the other inmates in their cold, gray cells. They are all talking, but I am too groggy to decipher their speech. In a mirror window, I catch a glimpse of someone in a wheel chair escorted by bruised guards. I glide down through a new hall. Traveling effortlessly. Like an out-of-body experience. I recognize the inmates. They see me too…but don’t seem to recognize me. Then I see my reflection in the door window. And I hardly recognize myself. The image of the wheel-chaired person. It was me.

I am here… in motion…unstoppable…inevitable…like time.

All the kings horses and all the kings men… the emperor’s surgeons… put me together again.

Fic: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots

2009-09-09T02:13:15Z

Title: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots.

Author: dela26

Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop:

Summary: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to Electric Firefly and Just Another Day on the Job, though you don‘t necessarily need to read them for this fic.
Author’s Note: This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the heroes big boom challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

Two figures stand overlooking the city landscape on the roof balcony of the old Deveaux penthouse.

After an unconformable length of silence, the smaller man sighs loudly and pulls out a large manila envelop from his brief case.

“This is what you requested, sir.” He shifts his weight nervously, “Most of the information is lost.”

His companion raises an eyebrow.

“It was like searching for a ghost, they nearly wiped out all evidence of her existence. But we were able to gather material from various sources…videos, assignment notes, e-mails, from that tech guy. And then the rest are, well, ah, memories.”

The other man keeps his eyes fixated on the New York skyline. “Memories?”

“Yeah, gathered by precogs, telepaths, dream walkers, clairvoyance. Memories not only of hers but others who interacted with her. It‘s unclear what is the truth and what is…fabricated. And even more confusing with the disjointed timeline, point of views, alternative realities, and….the psychosis, all makes it hard to interpret.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get. I need to know, need to understand.”

“Why now?”

“I have my reasons….”

The sun begins to set, a strange dance of yellow, orange, and red fill the sky.

“You know, this isn’t going to change anything.” The smaller man hands over the package and disappears into the night.

The man stares at the package, holding it gently, almost reverently.

In large black letters, the file is labeled:

THE LOST BISHOP FILES.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Author’s note: Um, yeah. Shall I continue posting? ;) Reviews=LOVE!

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Fic: The Question Game

2009-07-13T13:03:26Z

Title: The Question Game

Author: dela26

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Dirty finger nails mindlessly fiddle with the thick, metal chain that's connected to the cold wall. AU. Luke, Elle.

Author's Note: AU, could be taking place in any of the future realities in the Heroes universe. From the prompt "Shoplifting" at the Elle-Luke Livejournal Community. I wasn't able to get it up in time for the challenge, 'cause I like to take way too much time thinking about an idea prior to writing it out. But, better late than never. Reviews are like candy. ;)

Dirty finger nails mindlessly fiddle with the thick, metal chain that's connected to the cold wall. The torus-shaped links clank loudly together at the slightest movements. The chain is latched on to some form of high tech collar fastened tightly around his neck. The device dampens his abilities, leaving him absolutely powerless.

Luke glances over to the corner of the room. He knows that the other person is there in the darkness, but he can't tell if his cellmate is awake, unconscious or dead.

"What is the worst thing you've ever done?" Luke inquires, voice raw and raspy.

Silence.

Luke sighs to himself and continues with more volume, providing an example to help prompt his cellmate, "You know, like illegal, unethical stuff?"

He hears shuffling noises. Looks like she's still alive after all.

A slow and sad sound emerges, like the rushing of an underground river. It took him several long seconds to recognize it as laughter.

Finally, between the strange noise, her dry and tired voice comes out. "Something that might get you thrown in prison?"

The laughter bubbles louder at the irony of her own words. The sound echoes in the small, concrete room.

"Yeah, like, I don't know...shoplifting?" Luke smirks to himself.

"Shoplifting, huh? Does stealing an expensive car count?" She murmurs, her voice holds a cold bitterness.

He squints his eyes, forces himself to see the hidden figure. After a few moments, a blurry image appears out of the darkness. He's not sure if it's his imagination, or if his eyes are finally adjusting to the lack of light. She's sitting Indian style, legs crossed, upper body hunched forward. Her dirty golden hair is covering her face. He wishes he could move over to her, lightly brush away the damp curls to see her eyes. But he knows that no matter how hard he tries, he'll never be able to touch her. The chains keep them situated in their respective corners.

"You ever kill anyone?" He raises a knowing eyebrow.

She snorts at his question. He can't tell if she's making fun of him or upset.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hall makes Luke freeze completely. He takes in sharp breath through his noise and holds it tightly, careful not to draw any unwanted attention to himself. The stale air fills him up, he can practically taste the sour smell of vomit, piss, and blood that he's been attempting to ignore.

The guards make their rounds regularly, occasionally providing mushy substances that are suppose to be edible. And other times, they drag the prisoners into a special room. In that blinding white chamber, Luke has been subjected to tests and experiments, interrogation, and various forms of torture. His body relaxes as the footsteps pass their cell, safe for at least the time being.

His fingers unconsciously move to inspect his face, hovering over the tender area covering his left eye, forehead and cheek. The last time they took him, they branded him. So, if he ever got outta of this hell hole, the whole world is going to know what he is. Evolved human, genetic anomaly, mutant freak. Elle has a matching mark, but it doesn't seem as severe since she has such an extensive collection of burns and scars scattered across her entire body.

"What about you, squirt? What's the worst thing you've ever done?" Elle uses the distraction to ignore the question, put it back on Luke. And he's okay with that. Sometimes she's in a sharing mood, but most of the time she's not.

"Lemme see...." Luke closes his eyes and really thinks about the question. Decides to take this sweet time before responding. All they have is time.

No longer do they talk about freedom, revenge. The question game fills up their boredom, distracts them from the reality of their doomed existence and the war that's raging on outside of the prison walls.

Fic: Electric Firefly (Chapter 7)

2009-07-13T00:05:47Z

Electric Firefly

Author’s Note: Special thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills. And thanks for the support of the Syelle Livejournal Community and all of the reviews and comments help fuel my muse! ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for a little swearing, sexuality, and violence...and the dark mind that is psycho Elle.

Elle crouches painfully low to the ground beside the shiny metal door. The femme fatale has the urge to brush off the dust and grime on her newly acquired designer black suit. One of the unfortunate realities of hands-on espionage is that it is nothing like how it is in the movies, the hero always gets dirty in real life. She ignores her growing irritation and instead cautiously presses her left ear against the cool metal door, listening carefully for any indication of a very dangerous special looming within. Silence so thick, it was deafening.

The agent closes her eyes gently, takes in a deep and slow breath, and brings her heart rate to a slow and steady pulse. Centers herself, focusing all of her internal darkness and electrical energy to be quiet, the calm before the storm.

With liquid speed and strength, she kicks the door in hard and barges into the precog’s studio, blue sparks blazing hot and ready to sharpshoot her target. She stands in the middle of the entry way, both arms out in front of her, fingers shaped into guns with a dangerous current of energy snapping loud and bright. Icy blue predatory eyes slowly and expertly scan the room for any sign of danger.

Unfortunately, no one is home. Elle had hoped to catch the serial killer in the act, finally have the opportunity to have him under her claws...and maybe stop the bomb in the process. The electrical agent sighs in irritation and brings the deadly weapons to her sides, the intensity of the power wattage decreasing to a soft, vibrating hum.

The smell of dried blood, decaying blood, is thick on her tongue. Once she smelled it, she had to see it. The floor of the studio is dark with blood. Pools of it everywhere. No matter how much blood you see in a movie or on television, it’s never enough. There is so much blood in a human body, and the floor is thick with it. The pool of the metallic fluids looks like some sort of black lake frozen there on the concrete floor.

Her eyes follow the trail of blood to its source.

Isaac Mendez, painter, fortune teller, and junkie, lies dead in his studio. His eyes are wide, glazed, and unseeing. Mouth open in a silent scream. Blood is splashed across the man's face, drops of it delicately scattered across his body.

The head is ripped open, brain missing. Violent, very violent, and very quick. The signature of the watchmaker.

Elle glides silently through the studio, something that requires immense skill in five inch leather stilettos. She kneels and bends in close to the body, unfazed by the blood, gore, and stench of the dead. There is still a faint rank smell where the painter's bowels had let go either during torture or the moment of death. It was pretty common. Death is the last intimate thing we ever do.

She inspects the corpse without any emotion, looking for clues like a good detective, a good Company girl.

An expert in death and destruction, Elle guesses that good old Isaac has been dead for about twenty four hours.

Large, thick paint brushes are staked through the wrists and feet, efficiently trapping the special to the floor. How twisted and pathetic, to have his own precious tools of his special ability turned into torture devices and chains of his death. Isaac Mendez looked so weak and powerless, spread eagle with the wooden stakes through his appendages allowing him to be in a perfect position if you wanted to steal, or eat, the brain.

Elle imagines Sylar tearing his head open with his special ability, can hear the skull being sawed and sound of the victim wailing in terror and pain. Wonders what the last words, or more importantly last visions, the dead precog had. Elle is fresh outta luck and left her Ouija Board and chicken bones at home. Another special agent does owe her a favor, maybe she can get him to reanimate the corpse to find out if the heroin addict can paint her a pretty picture that tells her how to stop the bomb. Zombies, and spirits, and ghosts, oh my! Elle's seen stranger things.

Red nails slowly and seductively move across Isaac's face, starting from the bottom of his scruffy chin, exploring the curves of dry lips, and memorizing the feel of the muscles and bones under the dead flesh. The victim's skin is a strange shade of blue and cool to the touch, the texture slightly plastic-y. The blood is thick and smooth in contrast to the roughness of his face. Deep red drops are splattered across his face that form a morbidly beautiful design. His dark hair is thick and greasy, wet with blood. Elle’s finger moves to trail over the edges of exposed scull. Jerks her hand back in surprise at the unexpected and sudden pain. The ivory bone is sharp as a knife, she accidentally sliced open her own flesh. Elle brings her bloody finger to her lips, sucks on the wound reverently, and the taste of her own coppery fluid, mixed with a hint of death, fills her mouth.

Elle wonders if Sylar would have let her watch or maybe even join in the fun. The body sliced and diced, then burnt to a crisp. She sighs a loud and frustrated sound, disappointed that she missed the show. But guesses that most likely the watchmaker would be unable to stop the serial killing once the start button is turned on. And then they’d have an old fashioned shoot off like in those silly old Western movies. Except it would be much more interesting, sparks versus telekinesis. Elle’s pretty confident that she possesses the superior weapon. She’s never lost a battle thus far anyways.

Behind the smells of death, blood, and decay, the agent picks up on a hint of his scent. A musky smell mixed with a dash of vanilla and strange, exotic spices. Elle has an abnormally acute sense of smell, which makes her an exceptional blood hound. She takes in a long, slow breath through her nose, filling her chest and body with a little part of her favorite prisoner. She is hyper-aware of the tingling sensations throughout her body in response to savoring his scent, particularly the stir of excitement in her stomach and the growing warmth between her legs. The scent is still strong and vibrant, Sylar has been in the studio recently. She’s only just missed him by minutes. Electricity surges between her fingertips with the anticipation that maybe he‘ll be back and they will finally get to have the chance to play…

Elle cocks her head to the side as cold blue eyes notice the bright colors on the floor, beneath the body and the blood. The agent hasn’t had a chance to observe her surroundings, her mind immediately honed in to the death and destruction and the serial killer. A large mural is painted on the ground. New York City skyline. Not just any ordinary image of the city, this one has a beautiful mushroom cloud, the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. Elle stares down at the image without terror or fear or any emotion really, it was simply a pretty picture to her. Elle is not stopping the bomb out of compassion or moral obligation, but simply because Daddy told her that it was important, made it her assignment, and that’s enough for Elle. The heroin addict had visions of the apocalypse. Maybe he can provide Elle with the clues she needs to win this complex chess game.

Elle‘s attention slides to a large painting hanging on display above the body. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow in response to the image of a very dead Pom Pom and the watchmaker looming over the body. Elle slowly stands and moves close to the painting, inspecting it with such intensity as her red nails trail slowly over the red paint. Blood. So much blood. Her internal beast purrs with excitement. Elle definitely would not mourn the loss of the unbreakable teen, she’s spent hours fantasying all of the different ways to pull the plug on Little Miss Perfect. All of her dark day dreams end with the teen's face exploding into an unrecognizable mess. But, didn’t Glasses and Boy Wonder stop Sylar? And if so, does that mean that the future is not set in stone?

Next to the image of the dead immortal are a variety of images. A close up of Claire-Bear, Elle can practically smell the fear of the pathetic child. The cheerleader running away, the shadow of the serial killer following in her footsteps. Two Japanese men stand beneath a blood soaked Homecoming sign. The images come together like a story. Elle is already growing bored of the pictures centering around Pom Pom.

Her interest moves to a destroyed painting on the floor next to the body. Elle picks the pieces up and brings them together to reveal an image of good old Peter Petelli, calmly flying through the air with a peaceful smile. The canvas is sliced not by knives or other sharp objects. Elle knows weapons, and this particular damage is done via telekinesis. Sylar has cut up the image of Peter Petrelli. But why?

The smell of fresh, wet paint attracts the attention of the blond agent. Sharp stilettos clank sharply on the concrete floor until she's standing in front of a half completed canvas. The colors and style of this particular painting is different than the rest. It reminds her of the works by the Impressionist artist Monet, except more rushed and messy and unskilled. The painting reveals two men about to battle in a very familiar square. The serial killer versus the empath in Kirby Plaza. Sylar saw the future and painted it, but must have gotten too emotional at the vision and destroyed the other image of Boy Wonder upon realization that they will be fighting. Sylar and Peter are both power sponges, sucking up the abilities of those around them. Both have acquired multiple special powers over the last six months. Elle's not sure which abilities they now possess, but knows that it would be a battle of epic proportions. Does their dual end with a glorious, big boom?

Elle glances to the slide and notices that behind a large canvas, there is a depiction of an eye the color of cold spring skies that is all too familiar. Elle unconsciously frowns as she makes her way towards the new discovery. Small hands lift the canvas to reveal the hidden image of a blond agent peering through a cell window. A fake smile etched on her face, her eyes are glazed over. She’s drawing invisible hearts on the glass barrier with perfectly manicured nails. Elle can practically hear the dark music that filled her head that night she first discovered Sylar in Level Five. Looks like the precog is a peeping tom, watching Elle’s most intimate moments with her favorite serial killer.

Paranoid thoughts are burning to overflow her psyche. Just how many paintings did the artist create that captured her? How long has he been following her tracks? Who else has seen these images?

She begins to inspect every image carefully. In some paintings, Elle is depicted in the backdrop, hidden in the shadows except for a faint glow of blue, electrical eyes. In others, Elle is the central focus. Paintings, charcoal drawings, and pencil sketches reveal Elle‘s recent activities within the last six months. Sure, Isaac successfully captured her stunning natural features and Elle is even more impressed by his talent of artistically portraying her dark psychotic beast within those cold, empty blue eyes.

There is one painting is different from the rest. Special. Blue dominates the entire canvas, a brilliant mixture of all shades and hints of the color swirl together. A hazy figure is centered, arms spread out, legs together, hovering, almost in a heavenly crucifixion pose. The body is made completely out of pure, glorious energy. Electricity. Elle stares at the image for what seems like eternity. She hesitantly brings a single finger to touch the image, the wet paint is still cool to the touch. Blue slowly drips down her hand. Is this supposed to be her? Is she being depicted in a state of losing control, being consumed by her own ability? The color palette and style is similar to the image of the Kirby Plaza painting. The watchmaker's handiwork.

Is this some sort of sick joke?

Sylar’s trying to manipulate her, just like all the others. She unconsciously bares her white teeth and a low, feral growl rumbles in her throat. Violently grabs the canvas and throws it onto the floor.

Her eyes move to another image, hidden behind a pile of canvases. She tosses the other paintings aside and reveals an older art piece that is covered in dust. This particular one shows Elle on the Deveaux rooftop, energy leaking at of her eyes. She’s depicted in her normal overly confident pose, hands playfully on her hips, a half smirk on her face. The agent is shown wearing a black expensive designer suit over a deep blue collared shirt. The exact outfit that she’s wearing now.

Elle doesn’t believe in coincidences. Is Isaac giving her a secret message, a clue? Only one way to find out…

Elle gathers up all of the images of her, throws them in a pile over the dead body, sparks the canvases, and watches as the images burn bright. She can’t have all of this evidence laying around. Leaves before the last pictures are destroyed, not caring whether or not the flames consume the entire room and burn down the apartment complex.

Elle is surprised when she finds herself at her destination, arriving faster than she had anticipated. She hasn’t been mindful of her surroundings as she traveled through the city in a whirlwind storm, thunder and lightning practically trailing behind her body. Elle’s been too caught up in her head, racing thoughts centering on what the pretty pictures mean and how she‘s going to stop the bomb as well as fantasies of blood, sex, and pain. Elle takes a deep breath as she walks into the grandiose lobby, focusing her mind and energy on the here and now. The hunter cannot be distracted. She kills the man behind the desk instantly and without a second thought.

The elevator smells of copper and cigars, the sides of the metal cage are scratched and thumb-smudged. Elle drums her fingers against the pistolgrip as the cage slows with a gradual hiss. As always, it came to a full stop with a violent jolt, but she is ready for it. Before the elevator doors slowly creek open, Elle already has a large ball of electricity between her fingertips, energy swirling within her core and itching to be released.

There are no lights on within the penthouse, though the rooms are softly illuminated from the Manhattan skyline. Elle walks slowly and cautiously through the rooms, her mind fixated on the roof deck. Without warning, a sudden flare of white light fills the empty halls. So bright, it is blinding. Elle pauses momentarily at the unexpected change, but doesn’t squint her eyes. She’s used to bright sparks. The light dims back for a few seconds and then turns a brilliant white again. The source is coming from outside, the balcony. Elle knows that she is no longer alone.

The agent quickly and silently moves towards the location of her target.

She hisses in a sharp breath at the initial sight of him.

No matter how close two people are, an infinite distance separates them.

Sylar stands on the ledge of the balcony, his back facing her. He is cloaked in all black and gray, matching the dark night sky. His hands are up near his face, he tenses slightly in concentration before brilliant, bright yellow and white energy surges from his fingertips. She watches him, her eyes blank but steady, intense, and neutral at the same time.

"Boom." He growls in amusement to himself, she can practically hear his smile in that one word.

Sylar has stolen Ted's ability of nuclear radiation. He is the bomb. One thing that Elle has learned about the serial killer is that he keeps pulling new rabbits out of his hat. Big, carnivorous bunnies that’ll eat your eyeballs if you’re not paying attention.

Elle is poised and ready to kill, the excitement is perfectly etched across her face. She can be the superhero that Daddy needs and stop the bomb right here and now. Is this what Isaac Mendez predicted? The pupils of her eyes dilate so large, her normally blue eyes are now perfect black orbs. Her heart beats unnaturally fast, pounding so loud throughout her body the sound is almost deafening within her own ears. Electricity surges through every neuron of her brain, spinal cord, and body. The internal voltages heightens to the maximum potential, she can almost taste the boiling hot energy within her mouth.

Sylar’s body stills suddenly, sensing her presence. Without turning around, he welcomes his guest with a deep growl that makes the hairs on her neck stand and the dark beast within her psyche screams a high and wordless sound.

His voice is playful, aggressive, and powerful all rolled into one.

"You're late."

Author’s note: You ask for Sylar-Elle action, you get Sylar-Elle action. But just a taste! ;-) Reviews and comments = love.

Fic: Static Nothingness

2009-07-06T19:20:48Z

Title: Static Nothingness

Summary: “What’s it feel like?” Adam glances up at the intruder, startled by the sudden, unexpected sound of her voice. Adam/Elle.

Author’s Note: I heart Elle. Set in my "Just Another Day on the Job" universe, which includes two stories, though you don't necessarily need to read them to understand this short story. This is a little preview of my upcoming piece A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots, a challenge I‘m working on. Also, I was inspired by the prompt: “What’s it feel like?” from the Sylar/Elle Live Journal Community prompt table. This story is un-betaed. Reviews are love!

Rating: PG-13

“What’s it feel like?”

Adam glances up at the intruder, startled by the sudden, unexpected sound of her voice.

The small figure glides across the room, movements liquid smooth like a large, dangerous predator. Adam fights to keep his face blank, mustn’t let the tiger smell your growing fear.

The petite special moves confidently through the small, gray cell like she owns the place. Perches herself on the metal chair, her blond pigtails bounce around her soft face. Eyes the color of cold spring skies hold such intensity. Adam picks up that something is frustrating her. He watches the dangerous special cautiously, attempting not to have her irritation projected onto him.

So he sits in silence, waiting for the sociopath to clarify herself. Seconds, minutes tick by. She’s staring at the floor, stuck in her head. Adam doesn’t want to know what goes on in that dark mind.

“Emotions,” She glances up, face sparkling with interest, “What’s it feel like?”

Adam stares at the young evolved human, trying to decipher what she‘s really getting at. Was this a trick? Another one of her games?

He speaks slow and neutral, like talking to a person about to jump off a bridge. “Depends on which emotion, love. They are all a little different from one another.”

She cocks her head to the side, golden bangs sweeping over her icy blue eyes. “Sadness?”

Adam bites his lower lip. How do you describe something so fundamental to the human experience?

Elle let's her careful mask slip, her normally playful and childish act is gone, to be replaced by something...unnatural.

Over 400 years old, Adam has never met a sociopath at such a tender age. He knew that she was born broken, but to see it, to see that emptiness stretching inside this lovely little girl, to feel that void... is the most frightening thing he has ever come across.

She looks up at him expectantly. He thinks about his answer for awhile, and she waits for him patiently. It‘s the first time he‘s ever seen her exhibit patience.

Adam sits up and attempts to explain something that is unexplainable, “Well, everyone experiences and understands emotions uniquely. For me, sadness is a pained experience. A lowering of mood related to melancholy, sorrow... helplessness. It is like a thick cloud covering your eyes and all you can see is gray. The polar opposite of happiness.”

“And what is happiness then?” Her small lips press tightly together in confusion.

He sighs to himself. “Happiness is a positive emotional state of satisfaction, bliss, and pleasure. The feeling warms you up, tingling sensations that spread from your toes to your head, that brings about smiles and laughter. Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence.”

She whispers, eyes wide and open. For one shining second, the dark demon looks vulnerable. “And love?”

Adam frowns, knowing that the small sociopath will not understand fully his explanation. How can you love if you can't feel anything? He clears his throat, and the words flow out like memorized poetry, “Love is when another person’s happiness is more important than your own.”

Delicate fingers mindlessly straighten out her black dress. She hasn't done anything extraordinary, but Adam can sense the change in her demeanor. The petite blond is gathering up her thunder and lightening around her body like a shield, or armour. A natural defense mechanism perhaps.

“I don’t feel anything. An empty void of static nothingness.” Her voice is bored. It was like she was talking about something entirely different.

Adam doesn’t know what to say. So he remains silent. Maybe if he stays quite and invisible, she’ll go away.

The sharp snap of electricity makes Adam involuntarily jump. His stomach tightens painfully in fear, his heart is in his throat at the sight of the brilliant blue energy surging between her fingertips.

The child flashes him a wide, empty smile, the mask firmly back in place. Her blue eyes are sparkling like it was Christmas. Her voice is unnaturally high and bouncy, “But it doesn’t really matter. Because I found out how to make it feel…less bottomless. Let's play a new game....”

Author's Note: Reviews are like candy. yum yum yum! ;)

Electric Firefly (Chapter 6)

2009-06-23T18:14:44Z

Electric Firefly

Summary: The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her. Sequel to Just Another Day on the Job. Elle-centric. Sylar/Elle. AU.

Author’s Note: Special thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills. And thanks for the support of the Syelle Livejournal Community. All of the reviews and comments help fuel my muse! ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I am jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for a little swearing and violence...and the dark mind that is psycho Elle.

Elle is a sociopath.

Or at least that's what diagnosis the doctors keep pointing to. Though they use such pretty, professional, politically correct terms these days. Specifically,Antisocial Personality Disorder. The words roll off your tongue like candy. "Antisocial" sounds as if she has problems playing well with others. Which, in fact, is true. Elle Bishop does not play well with others. Though the disorder is much more complex than just issues with social abilities.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a nice big gray book that is the psychiatrist's bible, require that the essential feature of Antisocial Personality Disorder is a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others that begins in childhood or early adolescence and continues into adulthood. This pattern is indicated by the following criteria (of which Elle meets all of them):

1) Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest. Such acts as stealing, aggravated assault, robbery, arson, grand auto theft, and *gasp!* murder. Check, check, and triple check. It's not like she can't follow all rules per se. She listens to Daddy, most of the time. She only really obeys the orders that she can bend towards her benefit.

2) Deceitfulness, as indicated by repeated lying (pretty much every word that comes out of her mouth are lies), use of aliases (what was that name she used recently? ah, yes, Bella, the sexy Southern nurse), or conning others for personal profit or pleasure (her favorite game). Every smile is a lie. Elle is a wonderful actress, so good in fact that every once in awhile she deludes herself into believing the deception. Sometimes, she wonders what life would be like without all of the deceit, illusions. But lying to a sociopath is like breathing, she doesn't know how else to survive.

3) Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead. Sure, she would spend hours planning a mission, but if she wanted a cherry Slush-O, by god, she would snatch it up from a starving child in Africa without a second thought. Elle is ruled by her needs and desires, she acts on immediate gratification rather than thought. Some of her more ruthless behaviors are out of impulse. Killing, for instance, serves to momentarily relieve that nagging itch in her core. Sometimes the killing is precisely planned, but the majority of the time it's more like a natural reflex, it just happens.

4) Irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults. Elle is chronically irritated or annoyed at everyone and everything. External factors, like the silly black suits at the Company or bouncy Pom Pom, could easily cause a headache and ruin her day. Elle's natural aggressive nature, her dark beast, find enjoyment out of attacking others. She loves the smell of burning flesh, watches in awe when the skin peels back in pretty third degree burns.

5) Reckless disregard for safety of self or others. Like fast driving, really fast driving with extremely expensive stolen cars. Or going after crazy big bad specials with her guns (and sparks) blazing. Elle puts herself in the line of danger, but it's just part of her job description. Plus, if anything really went to shit on a mission, they would just pump her full of Adam's special blood. She's died a hundred times and they keep bringing her back. Like a modern day god. Or the energizer bunny.

6) Consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations. Elle doesn't consider herself to be irresponsible, or a failure. But Daddy seems to think so. And likes to remind her, over and over and over. His disappointment is a broken record.

7) Lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated or stolen from another. It's hard to really, truly feel bad for someone when Elle can't feel anything at all. Elle lacks the capacity to empathize with the emotional experiences of others since she doesn't have her own personal experiences to use as a guide.

In addition to the above criteria, individuals with Antisocial Personality Disorder frequently lack empathy and tend to be callous, cynical, and contemptuous of the feelings, rights, and sufferings of others. They have an inflated and arrogant self-appraisal and may be excessively opinionated, self-assured, and cocky (Elle meets criteria for Narcissistic Personality Disorder as well). They may display superficial charm (which isn't her fault really, she learned most of her social behaviors from watching soap operas as a child). These individuals may also be irresponsible and exploitative in their sexual relationships and may never sustain a monogamous relationship (no one is worth it... but perhaps the watchmaker, if he doesn't rip her throat out first). They may be irresponsible as parents (babies gross her out and are extremely irritating). Those with Antisocial Personality Disorder manipulate to gain power-- and Elle's existence is all about power.

As for the causes of Antisocial Personality Disorder, there is much debate. What is known is that there is a genetic component, it tends to run in families (Elle can't really remember Mommy, and Daddy is too squeaky clean, but maybe someone in her family tree had a big bad secret). Biological risk factors for developing Antisocial Personality Disorder indicates that the part of the brain that is primarily responsible for learning from one's mistakes and for responding to sad and fearful facial expressions (the amygdala) tends to be smaller and respond less robustly to the happy, sad, or fearful facial expressions of others and that lack of response may have something to do with the lack of empathy that antisocial individuals tend to have with the feelings, rights, and suffering of others. Plus, Elle's got a fuck load of internal electricity messing up the neurochemistry and wiring of her brain which may have impacted these particular brain structures and functioning. Child abuse or neglect (check), unstable or erratic parenting (check), or inconsistent parental discipline (check) increases the likelihood that Conduct Disorder (aka the kiddy version of a sociopath in which little blond girls burn cats or prisoners for funsies) evolves into Antisocial Personality Disorder. Traumas may influence the development and course of Antisocial Personality Disorder, and if Elle ever experienced a trauma, it's not like she could remember it anyway (a trauma in itself really).

One in one hundred women have Antisocial Personality Disorder. Most of them get caught and then thrown into a small white padded cell or strapped to the electric chair. But Elle's different, special even among the most special. She's rewarded for her condition, it allows her to be the best Company girl. Besides, if they ever strapped her to an electric chair, she would either short circuit the machine or get a power boost from the attempted jolt-o-death.

Many years ago, the Company founders had a meeting to discuss the fate of Elle Bishop. Some had come in with detailed reports and evaluations that the little electric child is dangerous, an uncontrollable special that needed to be executed. No slap on the hand, no solitary confinement for eternity. For most of the meeting, it was assumed that Elle would not see her nineth birthday. But after a lengthy and heated debate, it was decided that they were going to try to tame her. Channel her dark nature to be used for the good of the Company.

Elle became a Company girl. Sure, it wasn’t an easy, overnight process. It had taken a lot of time, sweat, and blood to shape her into one of the best agents on staff.

Sometimes the Company set her teeth on edge, but most of the time it controls the chaos. That darkness within her.

After years of intensive therapy, nothing really changed. You couldn’t kill the monster. It is always there, behind her eyes.

Elle knows that everyone is dark deep down when you scrape the skin away. Even the most squeaky clean, soccer moms and upstanding law abiding citizens are filled with dark fantasies and psychotic thoughts. Inside their heads, everyone hunts, everyone kills, everyone is a monster. Elle simply embraces her darkness.

Elle watches the sea of people like a hungry lion. Her impulses, desires want to play. The dark mind fantasies the stuff of nightmares. All she wants is an unlimited supply of victims to burn into blackened husks of ashes. Blood, torture, and death. Just fun and games in psycho-playland, all in her head...sometimes a reality, god she wishes it was always a reality. She wonders how many she can kill before anyone notices. But instead, and to her disappointment, she sips her cherry Slush-O through the multicolored straw. The cold, sugary substance is the one thing that she finds can momentarily satisfy her psychotic urges.

Business men in black suits, women in designer clothing, and smiling children fill the square. Elle studies the humans with such intensity, considers each of them thoughtfully and without any emotion. Elle doesn’t really believe in other people. They were just amusing things, toys. Not real, not like she was real. She had killed countless times without blinking because she had wanted to do it. It was pleasant, amusing.

No one could make Elle remorseful, sympathetic to other people, especially towards her victims. No one could make her feel things she had no capacity to feel. Her emotions were a great roaring silence.

Besides, they were just humans. Elle curls her lips back in disgust at the thought of the weak, pathetic species. Elle had gotten bored with killing normals. Too easy. Dangerous evolved humans, specials, are her victim of choice. The scarier the better. The hunt, and occasionally the kill, is a sociopath‘s dreamland. She should be satisfied, happy even. But instead, she has that nagging, uncomfortable numbness. The torture, pain, and death fills up her time, make her feel almost alive. Almost.

Elle briefly wonders what it would be like to not be so dead inside.

A world with a happy Daddy and a very alive Mommy and filled with sunshine, rainbows, and real smiles.

Elle rolls her eyes at the twisted thought.

She sips on the plastic straw as the icy drink fills her mouth, savors the experience. Elle takes considerable time to slowly lick the juice from the multicolored straw. She is determined to suck out every last drop. Freud would postulate that Elle has an oral fixation. Something that has to do with unconscious desires and not getting her infantile needs met. A child who is neglected or underfed as an infant may become orally dependent, obsessed with achieving oral stimulation of which they were deprived, learning to manipulate others to fulfill their needs rather than maturing to independence. Maybe she wasn’t breast fed, but plenty of children grow up to be happy, normal people without sucking on their mothers’ tits. Elle can’t remember her childhood. Years of her life have been reduced to a black, burning hole thanks to the mute Haitian.

The straw stays locked between her lips. She knows that she'll end up chewing it to pieces, eventually spitting out the plastic bits to the floor out of habit until nothing remains. And then, she'll have to A.) find another Slush-O, or B.) kill somebody. Elle hums a strange tune to herself as she contemplates which option she should follow in order to occupy the rest of her evening.

Nothing over the last hour has really changed in Kirby Plaza. Elle shifts her petite body in the hard, metal chair, eyes slowly roaming over the moving crowd as she begins to move her attention to upcoming events.

How do you stop an exploding man?

Elle never really got the whole superhero thing. But lately, it does seem that she has a lot in common with them. Tragic beginnings…secret identities… part human, part mutant. Elle fights crime. Polices the other specials and locks up the big, bad ones. And right now, she’s part of something much bigger. The Big Boom Project. Can Elle be the superhero that her Daddy, that the Company needs?

The phone vibrates against her thigh. The annoying buzz makes her want to evaporate the mechanical device into smoke and dust. Instead, Elle flips the cell open and obediently answers.

“Hi Daddy.” Elle's voice is bouncy and playful, representing the exact opposite of her internal state.

“Has the group resurfaced?” Her father inquires.

Elle bites her lip. God, she would do unthinkable things to have another Slush-O at this moment since she's almost done with her current drink. Her voice is steady, cool. “No sign the past hour. I don’t think I should be searching for Team Special." Her voice becomes soft, almost a whisper. "It’s the serial killer. Sylar is involved in all of this. I know it.”

Upon mention of his name, Elle unconsciously lifts her hand to touch a very specific piece of her hair. The tips of of her blond curls are cold, sending tingling sensations in her fingers. The ice has melted, but the cold wetness still lingers. Elle is both impressed and intrigued that Sylar was able to get so close without her noticing.

“You need to focus on your part of the assignment, Elle." Irritation is apparent in Daddy's voice, something Elle has come to expect from him. "We‘ve received new information. You need to be at Manhattan Hospital at midnight. I‘ll be waiting for you there.”

The last bit of information throws Elle off. Daddy’s never been on one of her assignments in the flesh. What does this mean? Is he going to be at the hospital to ensure that she is going to follow orders? Does he not trust her? Or, is she finally going to work side by side with her Daddy. A father-daughter special duo. Her body tingles in excitement at the idea. Elle is going to make Daddy so proud.

And yet…being at the hospital means that she’s going to miss the big boom extravaganza.

“But Daddy, I should be at Kirby Plaza. I will figure it out, I can stop the bomb, and---” Elle begins to whine.

Daddy interrupts, his voice angry and scolding. “Elle. Peter is the key. And we’re going to apprehend him at the hospital. Stop getting distracted. Besides, Candice has been assigned to take care of Sylar in the upcoming events. I need you to do your job. Midnight, Manhattan Hospital, and Elle, don’t be late.”

"But Daddy--"

"Elle, if you fail me again, large or small, there will be consequences." The phone clicks dead before Elle can open her mouth to respond.

Sticks and stones will break your bones, but failure will get you killed.

The beast screams a high and wordless sound, echoing within her dark, psychotic consciousness. Elle stands up and violently throws the plastic drink to the ground. Red Slush-O splatters across the concrete, reminding the sociopath of blood. Sticky, sweet blood.

The fucking illusionist gets to go after Sylar?!?!

There’s finally an emotion that Elle doesn’t have to fake. Today, she feels something real.

Jealously.

It itches throughout her core. Making her uncomfortable and irritated. Elle can’t identify the emotion, she lacks the emotional intelligence and vocabulary. But knows that she doesn’t like this new sensation that she’s experiencing. The sociopath is so used to the numbness and emptiness, the flood of jealousy is enough to bring the beast out and slaughter all of the unsuspecting humans around her.

Instead, Elle looks at her watch, attempting to focus her mind and beast on the mission. Channel that psychotic darkness to be a good agent, a good Company girl. The mechanical device reveals that Elle has five hours before she needs to get to the hospital. Five hours all to herself. It was more…freedom than she’s used to. Normally, Elle has her entire day planned out. Every hour, minute, second is ordered and controlled. Five hours seems like a lifetime. And such unstructured time to an organized sociopath is…unnerving.

Elle brainstorms all the different ways in which she can manage her time. The only thing that would be worth while (and wouldn't cause unwanted attention) would be acquiring another Slush-O. Maybe two. Or three. The ritualistic consumption of the caffeinated beverages is the only thing that is mildly pleasurable (nothing really compares to the satisfaction of torture or killing). Sadly, Elle knows that such an activity involving cherry flavored slushed ice will not keep her occupied for over five hours, maybe three, but definitely not five. Elle needs to use her time more…efficiently.

"Peter Petrelli my ass." She growls to herself. And then an unusual thought hits her like a battering ram: Elle is fully capable of engaging in impromptu reconnaissance work, she can create her own orders and missions. Elle can use her energy towards solving the Big Boom Project, this time without the blessing of Daddy. Once she proves herself, she imagines Daddy beaming with pride at her accomplishments. That, or at least he can promote her.

Unfortunately, Elle has lost Peter Petrelli and the Brat Pack. Fucking telepaths forced her to allow Team Special to slip through her claws. Under normal conditions, she is confident that she wouldn't have lost them, Elle is a superior tracker. It's going to be harder to figure out the mystery if she doesn't have any leads to follow. Daddy is sure that Peter Petrelli is the key.... but Elle has an alternative perspective. She glances back down to her black leather watch and her mind returns to him. The watchmaker. Always the watchmaker.

How can a sociopath find a psychopathic serial killer?

The thought sounds like an opening line for a very bad joke.

Sylar is power obsessed. Surely, the watchmaker is going to kill someone soon, eat the brain and steal a shiny new ability. If Elle is able to find him in the act, she'll be able to stop the bomb. But who will he stalk? There are so many specials that are located within New York City. Hundreds that she’s bag and tagged over the last few years. Thousands more out there. And what ability will be best before the Big Boom extravaganza?

Fortune telling. The visions of the fortune tellers have influenced all of Daddy’s orders, directly impacting Elle’s recent activities. If Sylar had the ability to see the future, he would be able to anticipate the moves of his enemies, determine the best course of action for his advantage. Precognitive ability is a rare talent. Mama Petrelli, who dreams of future events, is well protected being one of the Company founders. The handful of precogs on Level Five are in lock down, forced to record all of their ever-changing and usually conflicting visions in their small cells. The only other special in the area that has the ability to foresee the future through paintings is the heroin addict Isaac Mendez.

Elle internally purrs, satisfied that she's the best agent there is. So much smarter and more talented than all of those silly suits combined. Elle's narcissism truly believes that she is a vital part of this chess game, where checkmate may or may not end with a big boom depending on who wins. And right now, she feels as if she is the one in control, aware of the complexities of entire game and confident that she can figure out the winning move.

Elle smiles a wide, predatory grin to herself. After sparking the precog, maybe she will have time left to paint a pretty picture before saving the day.

Writer's Note: Thanks for your patience and support of this story. More to come soon. Reviews are love!

Fic: Electric Firefly (Chapter 5)

2009-05-22T13:12:53Z

Electric Firefly

Summary: The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her. Sequel to “Just Another Day on the Job.” Elle-centric. Sylar/Elle. AU.

Author’s Note: Special thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills as well as for helping me to talk through the storyline and calm my newbie writer’s jitters. ;) Sorry it's taken me to update my stories- both Electric Firefly and Frequent Flyer... hope to get chapters for these fics up soonish. Promise I'll get to some Sylar/Elle action in this story... Reviews = love.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for a little swearing and mild violence...and the dark mind that is psycho Elle

Spoiler alert: Volume 1 for now

Kirby Plaza isn‘t a particularly special square in New York City. Simply a large open space where suits take their cigarette breaks, mothers with their fat babies go to rest their tired feet, and the homeless beg for spare change. Nothing out of the ordinary. Little did the unsuspecting humans know that this is the hot spot where the shit is gonna hit the fan. The fortune tellers predict a big, glorious boom that will kill millions. People will talk about Kirby Plaza in the same tone as Ground Zero. Elle figures that within the next twenty four hours, Kirby Plaza will no longer be insignificant but rather will be remembered by everyone forever. That is, unless she can stop the bomb.

Elle normally has no problem with death and destruction. She’s always ready for a fun-filled day in Murderworld. Elle is really good at killing. One might say it’s her specialty.

She daydreams of the smell of burning flesh, the sound of terror and pain. Elle could not care less if a couple of the company founders want to go all apocalyptic and wash the world clean. The sociopath secretly wishes that she was on the other side of the playing field….to be a part of the big boom project would be so much more fun. But, her assignment is to prevent it from happening. And Elle is a good agent, likes to follow orders. The mission helps keep her in check. Controlled. And, this specific task aids in taking the watchmaker off of her mind…most of the time anyways.

Eyes the color of pale blue spring skies watch the noisy crowd. Busy little bees buzzing around, moving mindlessly through the motion of their short, pointless lives.

Being in such an open space makes Elle uncomfortable. She is hyperaware of everything and everyone around her. The shifting current of faceless humans moving in such a fast pace gives her a headache. Spending time at Kirby Plaza for most of the afternoon is like Elle’s own personal hell. She can’t keep track of them all. And this lack of control, lack of power, makes her on edge. She wants to crawl back into her room…her own special cage at the Company. That claustrophobically small, clinically white, and pristinely clean personal space is safe. The Company, her room, the prisoner cells… these are places in which she can be in complete control, easily manipulating her environment and toys. Here, everything is so… unpredictable.

Elle leans as close as she can against one of the cool and smooth columns of the building that houses the corporate offices of the Company. Her perfectly planned location allows her to be a part of the crowd but separate at the same time. She mindlessly fiddles with her big Jackie-O black sun glasses. Elle is attempting to blend in, not draw any attention to herself. But it’s hard to completely hide and dull down stunning natural features under neutral clothing and large glasses. The useless black suits cautiously glance up at her as they move with the river of people. Elle resists the urge to growl at them. Mustn’t scare the locals or draw any more attention to herself. She’s supposed to be incognito after all.

Elle’s right foot taps to a fiery rhythm on the dirty payment. The gesture reveals her ice thin patience as she waits for the Brat Pack to make their scheduled appearance.

And just as predicted, the group of very special individuals come into line of Elle’s peripheral vision.

Officer Chubs. The telepath is present. Elle knows that she is going to have to be extremely mindful of her thoughts and dark stream of consciousness. She will need to think and speak in code from this point on. The thick boned cop is the bastard son of one of the founders of the Company - the Mastermind. The papa of Officer Chubs is more powerful and dangerous than the Illusionist, even more than the Haitian. He can tamper not only with your senses and erase your mind blank, but he additionally has the ability put thoughts and delusions permanently into your head. Elle is positive that she has been manipulated by him, though she doesn’t have any evidence…hard to figure out which thoughts and memories are yours and which ones are implanted. Elle hardly thinks it is out of line that she is extremely paranoid. Elle is not a fan the Mastermind and thus she holds disgust and wariness at the sight of the special’s telepathic baby boy.

Blondie. After a month of baby sitting little miss Pom Pom, Elle wants to punch her in the face. She loathes that Blondie has a family, a mommy and daddy that love her. The agent despises that the indestructible girl has the perfect little life filled with happy memories of cheerleading, unicorns, and rainbows. Elle would never admit out loud to herself or to others that she is jealous. Elle openly hates the tween. Not the burning hatred of a normal person, but the cold hate of a sociopath. Cold hate never dies, never wavers. The beast fantasies clawing out her eyes… but Elle figures that the immortal will probably just grow new ones. At least that’s what happened with good ol’ Adam Monroe.

Glasses. Elle has the uncontrollable urge to rip him into tiny shreds and then dance and spit all over his grave. Elle has a nasty history with the dangerous Company Man. He’s such a Y-Chromosome cliché. Glasses will do anything to get the job done, but more importantly he will sacrifice everything, even another’s life, in order to save his little cub. Elle watches as Glasses brings the cheerleader close into his arms, a expression on his face that is foreign to Elle. Daddy never looks at Elle like the way Glasses cherishes his adopted special. Although he holds his daughter in a close bear hug, Elle can tell that he is scanning the square. He is the only one of the group wary of the open space… so close to one of the Company’s offices, what a silly meeting place, really. Elle cloaks herself in the shadows to hide from Glasses’ trained eyes.

Boom Boom. His presence here surprises Elle. She thought he would never leave the side of his dying wife. Guess this means that the cancer ate her up. Poor Sparky. The nuclear special looks more like a lumber jack than someone who can explode at any moment. Elle and Glasses had bagged and tagged the scruffy bearded man over a year back. She was surprised that the higher ups only wanted to mark him instead of locking him up in a nice leaded room on Level Five. At this distance, Elle figures she could sharp shoot him, fry his brain so that he can’t go boom. Elle could be the one that saves the day. Unfortunately, Daddy only wants her to observe, gather information. After studying Boom Boom, all Elle can hear is the soft ticking of a time bomb whispering in her mind. T minus twenty four hours ‘til D-day. And all Elle can do is watch. Awesome.

Boy Scout. The youngest Petrelli is such a disappointment. Elle had assumed that because he’s a power sponge, he would be big and bad and dangerous. It was so unfair that such an unworthy individual would have one of the most powerful abilities that she has ever come across. He can do what Elle can do, stole her beautiful blue sparks without even knowing it. And now being a part of the Brat Pack, the empath is a mind reader, bullet proof, and…. nuclear. Fuck. The game just got more complicated.

Elle speed dials. The phone picks up on the other line and Elle files her report like a good Company agent.

“Did you know that they turn the lights off of the Eiffel Tower at midnight? Yes…Sure thing Daddy. I love sight seeing.”

She clicks her phone shut. Elle loves speaking in code.

Without warning, Elle’s stomach tightens with alarm. Her natural response is so powerful that she has to fight the instinctive urge to throw her body onto the floor. Her mind, body, and beast is focused on one simply, essential thing: survival.

He is here. The watchmaker. Elle knows it for sure. She has not evidence of this, doesn’t see him or pick up his presence with her other senses, but her predatory instincts are never wrong. Her breathing quickens, pupils dilate. A natural adrenaline rush. Her body is ready to fight… or flight…or fuck.

With the knowledge that the watchmaker is somewhere in the crowd, it is now incredibly difficult to focus on the Brat Pack and complete her assignment.

Elle’s eyes glaze over. She fixates on the memories of the watchmaker’s angry eyes, the ghost smile peaking along the edge of his full lips, and the broken bodies he created just for her. She can almost taste him. Elle fantasizes that watchmaker is right behind her, breathing softly across her neck. The hairs on her body stand on alarm and her nipples harden at the thought of him so close. And then, suddenly, without any control, his name echoes loudly within her mind.

Sylar.

Both Matt Parkman and Peter Petrelli’s heads lift in unison in response to her thought.

Elle’s eyes widen. Fucking telepaths. She immediately imagines a brick wall. It is a trick that she has trained herself to do in the face of mind readers. Four by four, red wall in a white void. Focuses every ounce of her attention and energy towards that imaginary wall. Her body trembles ever so slightly as she concentrates, shuts her eyes to block out the eternal stimuli and to focus her mind. Clears the rapid stream of consciousness that is usually overflowing with dark psychotic images and thoughts. She reluctantly cleanses her fixation of the watchmaker from her psyche. She only has attention for one, simple thing. Red. Brick. Wall. She becomes empty of thoughts, emotions, and desires. Her body is now a shell of a white, static nothingness. The emptiness stretching inside this lovely little woman, the void…is the most frightening thing.

Elle controls the beast, but she can feel it stirring underneath her skin, annoyed at the repression of her desires. Time ticks by, seconds stretch a life time. Her internal chaos finally screams, reawakening the mind of the sociopath. Elle’s eyes and consciousness focus back to reality.

The agent scans the scene. Just as she expected, the Brat Pack has vanished. Peachy. The crowd is still moving in a strange rhythm like waves in the ocean. Everything seems like it should.

But, there is a nagging sensation in her chest. Something is terribly…off.

Elle lifts her fingers painfully slow towards her shoulders until they wrap around her blond curls. Her fingers jerk back at the unnatural sharp coldness. Ice frosts the tips of her hair.

Did Elle suspect that someone was hunting her? No. There was one trait of the serial killer that Elle shared: arrogance. The predator never expects to be hunted.

The watchmaker left his mark. He discovered Elle when she was at her most vulnerable state. Probably could have slit open her skull without Elle even noticing. Is the ice a playful gesture… or a warning? Elle is not certain what all of this means.

Killing Elle understands. Relationships, particularly with another psychopath, confuse her.

Author’s Note: Sorry this has taken me FOREVER to update. Been busy graduating, working, and job hunting. Plus, my muse has been MIA. But I think I got her back… Feedback and comments help fuel to muse and are love! Hope to update this as well as my other fic soon. ;)

Fic: Electric Firefly (Chapter 4)

2009-04-19T20:26:06Z

Electric Firefly

Summary: The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her.

Author’s Note: Sequel to “Just Another Day on the Job.” Elle-centric. Sylar/Elle. thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills as well as for helping me to talk through the storyline and calm my newbie writer’s jitters. ;) Reviews = love.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for a little swearing and violence and sexual content...and the dark mind that is psycho Elle Bishop.

Spoiler alert: Volume 1 for now

Chapter 4

Elle slams the heavy office door. Daddy wasn’t happy. But he’s never been very happy with her, for as long as Elle can remember anyways. She was always a disappointment. No matter how hard she tries, she would simply be a failure in his eyes. And yet, she always works for his approval knowing that she'll never get it. It was a hard habit that she couldn't break.

One psychiatrist postulated that perhaps deep down, Elle is unconsciously guilty about the electrical accident…the one that ended with Mommy’s and Grandma’s deaths. He explained that this underlying emotion of guilt forces Elle to continually seek approval from Daddy and most likely is a major contributor to her instability. Elle hadn’t been too keen of the doctor’s opinion and made sure that he knew exactly how she felt about his stupid, psychoanalysis interpretation. She had screamed into his ashes that maybe she is “unstable” because of all of the unnatural tests she underwent as a child, having her memories constantly wiped clean, or simply the electricity fucking up her neurological wiring. And maybe she’s trying to win Daddy over, not because she feels guilty, but because it fills up her time and satisfies her boredom, that nagging emptiness.

Elle leans up against the office door and begins to inspect her nails. Her normally pristine and polished nails are damaged and dirty. Dainty fingers with unusually chipped nails mindlessly straightens out her light gray dress back to its smooth perfection. After the recent undercover work, she is going to have to get a new manicure. Easy to fix…unlike her performance on the job. Although Daddy is disappointed, he didn’t immediately pull her off the case. Which means that this assignment is incredibly important. During her meeting with Daddy this morning, Elle learned that Kirby Plaza is where the shit is going to go down. The Brat Pack is supposed to meet in the public square later this afternoon. At least that’s what the precogs on Daddy’s team have pointed to. The various fortune tellers are having conflicting visions of the future events, but each ending includes a big, glorious bang. Elle is going to have to redeem herself by gathering information from spying on Boy Scout and his new friends. Daddy needs to know what diabolical plans Angela and Linderman have up their sleeves and Elle is going to fetch that knowledge and bring it back to him like a good agent, a good daughter. Maybe then she can acquire Daddy's love and approval. But Elle knows that it’s doubtful.

Elle pushes her body off the door and begins to stalk down the hallway. Her black shiny stilettos clank sharply on the tile floor, creating an eerie rhythm. The electrical agent turns the corner and is greeted by an unexpected surprise.

Sylar.

Elle completely freezes at the sight of the serial killer. Her mouth unconsciously drops open in reaction to this random and spontaneous occurrence.

They both stay motionless, staring at one another in silence for a number of long heartbeats.

Although Elle appears to be calm and stoic on the outside, she is anything but within. Scientists say that the brain chemistry of infatuation and lust is akin to mental illness- which gives new meaning to “madly in love.” The pleasure center of her brain structures light up, releasing dopamine and a number of different endorphins, creating a heightened sense of awareness, intense energy, exhilaration, and focused attention. A million thoughts flood her psyche, incoherent cognitions and images of blood, pain, and sex run fast, repeating, overlapping and swirling together. Not only is there a rapid firing of activity in her neurochemistry and racing thoughts, Elle’s special ability is sparking and circulating throughout her entire core, buzzing in excitement. The increase in excitement… with the combination of her internal predatory beast anticipating a fight-or-flight situation, cause Elle’s pupils to dilate so large that her eyes appear completely black.

“I found you.” The watchmaker growls triumphantly, breaking the silence. His words echo down the hallway. The sound of his deep, powerful voice makes things low in Elle's abdomen tighten in pleasure.

Elle cocks her head to her side, bangs sweeping over her eyes.

She licks her lips and purrs, “What took you so long?”

The waiting made up her existence. A life of always watching him, but never touching. Elle had pondered for countless hours what the world is like on the other side of the mirror. And now, to her surprise and pure delight, she is able to pass through the looking glass.

Before Elle can take a breath in, Sylar is suddenly inches in front of her. His scent hits her like a battering ram, forces her to close her eyes. He smells powerful…musky with a hit of vanilla mixed with exotic spices. The effect of simply his natural scent makes her feel intoxicated, like he‘s putting a spell on her.

Elle’s eyes snap open as the watchmaker roughly grabs her by the waist with his large hands and violently slams her against the wall. Elle hits her head so hard she can almost see stars around the edges of her vision. Sylar’s lips form into a smile as his hands tighten their grip, digging into her stomach. Elle stays still and passive as she allows him to repeatedly hit her over and over against the wall. Her petite body is bruised and broken underneath his powerful hands. Goosebumps spread across her arms.

The sadistic blond has historically been the dominatrix, savoring the pain and screams of her victims. But the new sensations of being the one powerless and in a subordinate position is unbelievably exhilarating. Electricity surges throughout her system in anticipation of the continuous blows. Her energy is humming softly and playfully against the watchmaker’s skin, urging him to continue. His aggression makes her nipples harden.

Elle has always prided herself on being an outsider, the lone wolf... but now... Elle has the chance to finally connect with someone. Connect on a level that most people could never understand. A unity formed on pain and blood and pure chaos. Her beast finally found an equal, a mate, who is just as psychotic and twisted and dark. The beating fills her up with pleasure, temporarily pacifying that hollow numbness in her chest. The watchmaker makes her feel alive, human.

Elle’s breathing is fast, hard, and building up to something more.

Sylar continues to throw her against the wall like a rag doll. Over and over again until Elle is confident that she has a concussion. Elle’s existence has been a strange balance of pleasure and pain, and right now she is welcoming both. She smiles silently and takes the beating obediently. Elle is a control freak, and right now she let’s go of all of her careful control, making her vulnerable and open. It was like willingly walking through a minefield blindfolded. Elle finally feels completely and utterly free.

The experience is orgasmic. The sensation catches Elle in surprise, a burst that bows her spine and makes her cry out. It washes over her in a skin-shifting, nerve-jumping dance as if every part of her were trying to leave every other part behind. For a shining second, Elle feels skinless, boneless, nothing but the warm roll of pleasure and pain.

Sylar releases her suddenly and she comes crashing down onto the shiny floor. Warm, thick blood slowly drips down her face. Elle can feel the internal beast’s pleasure from the afterglow like a line of warmth throughout her body. A shudder runs from her toes to head, and her satisfied breath falls out in a long sigh.

Laughter bubbles out of her lips from the pure bliss. Her usual playful, childish giggles are always forced, make-believe. But this is different. This is an uncontrollable… authentic experience. It is a loud, full throat laughter that hurts her stomach. Smile lines form around her eyes for the first time.

Sylar violently lifts her up by her throat and silences the sound with his mouth. Full lips kiss her rough and fast. His mouth searches her as if he were climbing inside. The serial killer throws his weight against her, successfully trapping her against the wall. Elle lifts her legs up and straddles his body, feels him hard and ready even through his pants. The sensation makes her bite down hard on his bottom lip. The taste of metallic blood fills her mouth, bringing a low rumble from her throat. The beast comes full surface.

Sylar jerks his head back and touches his bleeding lip tenderly with his tongue.

Blue eyes interlock with brown. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Elle searches Sylar’s eyes, expecting to see that familiar darkness. That psychotic beast that she has obsessed over the last few weeks.

But something isn’t right. All she sees are chocolate orbs, perfect replications. A perfect lie.

The lucid dream is shattered.

Elle pushes the imposter hard on the chest with an intense surge of electricity.

She screams wordlessly as she burns the image of her desire to smoke and ashes.

The body disappears like magic.

“What’s the matter, baby? Too aggressive?” Sylar laughs from behind her, but it is not the same sound that Elle has fantasized over and over in her mind.

Elle whirls around, curls her lips back and hisses, “Candice.”

The illusion of Sylar crosses his arms and wiggles his nose, like a genie.

Sylar’s form shifts to that of the brunette special in commando boots and a short pleated skirt. Candice is always validating Elle’s inherent mistrust of others. Elle thinks that she should be upset, even feel violated, but she’s not.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” Candice smiles as she closes the distance between them.

“Is this how you get action, by pretending to be someone? You are pathetic.” Elle growls, electricity leaking out of her eyes.

Candice doesn’t react the way that Elle had expected. Instead, the illusionist’s face is suddenly raw. She‘s staring at Elle‘s lips, eyes filled with desire.

“Come on, Elle. Don’t you see, I’m just like you…we‘re the same.”

Elle raises an eyebrow at the illusionist‘s comment.

“Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.” Elle replies coldly. “If I had a Psychos-R-Us store, I wouldn’t let you in. ‘Cause in the end, behind the lies and pretty illusions of a ruthless killer, all you really are is a bitter, fat cow who nobody loves.”

Candice jerks back as if Elle had slapped her. She narrows her eyes, “You know, when you actually come face to face with him, he’d probably fuck you and then rip your head open. Maybe at the same time. Especially after everything you’ve done and all. But considering how sick you are, I bet you‘d like it.”

Elle responds with no emotion, “Perhaps.”

“Sociopathic, nymphomaniac, sadomasochist freak,” Candice screams, loosing control.

Candice throws her hands over her eyes and takes in a breath. When she calms herself down, her lips form into an evil smile, “How about another game? Something more familiar…”

Candice disappears. The hallway shifts into a familiar gray, concrete room. Level five. Elle turns around to find a young child in pig trails and a white dress.

“Please. Make the pain stop.” The young girl begs, blue eyes wide and scared. “Please, help me.”

Electricity begins to leak from out of the child’s eyes, spilling across every inch of her body. The room shines bright with blue sparks.

“I can’t control it. It hurts. I wanna to go home.” The child screams in agony, “Daddy is going to be so mad.”

A group of scientists run into the room and strap the child into a chair.

One of the doctors replies as he prepares a needle, “Don’t worry honey, this is going to make it all better.”

Candice is recreating one of Elle’s childhood traumas that was erased from her memory.

Elle watches the scene and doesn’t feel a thing. Nothing at all.

Elle yells, “You’re wasting your time with the pretty illusions.”

Candice‘s voice whispers throughout the room. “I can make you experience things that will make you tear your own eyes out.”

The younger version of Elle disappears, to be replaced by something out of the painting The Garden of Earthly Delights. Most sane people would probably go insane with Candice’s projections. Elle is surrounded by images of naked bodies being ripped apart by demonic, dark creatures. The stuff of nightmares.

Is this Candice’s idea of scaring Elle? Poor Candice forgets who she is dealing with. The images before her merely match Elle's internal state of being. Chaos.

“Pallor tricks. You should consider performing at birthday parties.” Elle jeers.

Elle stalks the room filled with blood, dying victims, and devils. Although she can’t see Candice, she knows that the magician is nearby. One of the limitations of manipulating how others perceive reality is that you have to be in a certain proximately of the victim. For most people, having one’s senses distorted makes it difficult to find a target. But Elle is not most people. She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, and calms her body and mind until she has come to perfect clarity.

Like a snake, Elle’s hand snaps forward with liquid speed and grabs Candice by the throat. The illusionist’s form reappears while the images of hell fade. She can’t maintain the special effects with the intense physical pain. Elle wants to squeeze tight, needs to hear the sound of her windpipe breaking in half. Candice’s eyes are wide, her face turning an interesting shade of purple.

The electrical agent knows that the illusionist is the new pet favorite of Linderman. And Elle can’t be pissing off the head of the Company, drawing attention to herself and her super secret mission. Elle releases Candice’s throat, the woman falls to the floor, coughing hard.

Candice flashes a defiant smile at Elle. She shifts into the body of a tall, slender blond woman with hard eyes. “As much as this has been fun…I actually have work to do.”

Candice turns on her heels and flees the scene without looking back.

“Consuming five cheeseburgers doesn’t constitute as work!” Elle yells down the hallway.

Elle rubs her temples, a headache forming underneath the skin. She wonders to herself just how mad Daddy and Linderman would be if she turns the illusionist into ashes for real.

Author’s Note: What did you all think? This was Sylar/Elle action…kinda… in a dark, fucked up way. Lol. I heart reviews! ;P

Fic: Frequent Flyer (Chapter 3)

2009-04-08T20:07:08Z

Frequent Flyer

Author: dela26

Rating: pg - 13

Summary: Electricity + metal plane = bad.

Author’s note: AU. Elle-centric. Hints of Sylar/Elle. Sorry it's taken me awhile to update this story, thanks for all of the support! Hope to get the next chapter up soooon, depends on how my muse is feeling. Special thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills. Brainchild of the fanfic challenge by catyuy and di_elle on the sylarelle livejournal community. ;) Review = love!

After sprinting for over thirty minutes, Elle comes to a sudden halt at the sight of what lurks in the clearing of the forest.

The new outlaw grumbles to herself, “Great. Just what I need, white trash.”

Elle slowly and cautiously creeps towards a beat up and rusty trailer home. Perhaps she can find a phone to contact someone, anyone, to help her get the hell out of here. Maybe acquire some food and water to refuel before she continues her journey. She needs to get out of the country, pronto. Elle isn’t too happy with her current lifestyle as a fugitive.

Suddenly, a very familiar tan figure wearing a Where’s Waldo-like striped shirt exits the trailer.

“Fight club!” Elle shouts as she approaches the scientist.

Mohinder jumps in surprise. “Elle? What are you doing here?”

"You don't sound happy to see me." Elle smiles widely. Her smile falters as she comes into better view of her former partner at the Company. "Unless you got some nice cover up… looks like the gross scales are outta the picture.”

Elle has never felt the need to sugar coat it. She just tells it how it is. There is no self editing before she opens her mouth. Her brutally honest tendencies are most likely related to her impulse control problems.

Mohinder shifts uncomfortably. “A strange combination of the eclipse… and red goo.”

“Huh… well, the events of the eclipse left me with some interesting side effects as well.” Elle has the urge to touch her stomach, but doesn’t want to draw attention to her unborn tiny baby. Dangerous information. And nobody is trust worthy at this point. Although Mohinder doesn’t have the scales, Elle still is cautious of the spider freak-a-zoid evolved wannabe. Last time she checked, Mohinder was experimenting on evolved humans and probably taking the weak ones back to his lab to cocoon for a late night snack.

Mohinder makes a strange face at Elle’s comment, opens his mouth as if to ask a question but is distracted when two Japanese men come stomping around the trailer.

Elle immediately recognizes one of the newcomers. Electrical energy surges through her body at the rise of her irritation and anger.

“You!” Elle glares daggers at the short and stout Japanese man. A large, dangerous ball of energy forms between her fingertips. The blue sparks snap loud and bright.

The Japanese man looks startled, brings his hands up in surrender. “Me?!?”

“Yeah, you. Thanks a honey-bunch for teleporting me to doomsday. I got sliced and diced by the serial killer.” Elle moves her pointer finger across her forehead.

“Sylar?!?! No, no! Not my fault, I was, uh, temporarily ten years old at the time.” The Japanese man fiddles nervously with his glasses.

“Ri--ght. That is the lamest excuse I've ever heard." Elle growls.

“Yes, yes, it’s true. Hiro's mind was altered.” The buffer Japanese man with better English jumps into the conversation. He places a hand on the nervous teleporter, relieving some of tension from the jittery man. The two men share a long, compassionate gaze.

"Whatever." Elle rolls her eyes. "Okay, how about this, let's all hold hands, sing kumbaya- and teleport the fuck out of here."

Hiro hangs his head. "I lost my power."

"Awesome. Does your buddy here have a useful ability?"

The other Japanese man creates a ball of red energy in his fingertips. He explains, "I'm like a supercharger. My power enhances other's abilities."

The red energy sparks near Elle and she angrily jumps a foot back. "Woah, get your little sparkler away from me. We don't want an huge electrical blast giving our position away to the enemy. Which reminds me...why are we hanging out here in the open looking like a bunch of targets?”

Hiro shrugs, Supercharger makes a funny face, and Mohinder looks angry.

Elle crosses her arms and gives a disapproving look. “In case it slipped your pea-sized brains, we have bad guys trying to round us up like cattle.”

Mohinder narrows his eyes, voice slightly defensive. “Hiro, Ando, Parkman and I are trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Parkman?” Elle’s stomach turns. She had met the mastermind Company co-founder when she was in pig tails jumping rope in the cold hallways of Level 5. Parkman would play little jokes with her. But the jokes were sick, twisted, and not very funny at all. Elle thought Parkman was toast…but, Elle knows firsthand that specials usually don’t stay dead.

“You know Matt?” Ah ha, the son.

As if on cue, a heavier man walks out from around the trailer, holding a handful papers. Elle assumes that he must be the bastard son of the Maury Parkman. The man certainly looks like a younger version of the evil telepath. Matt’s eyes slide to inspect Elle, he looks down at one of his papers and back up to Elle.

“What?” Elle smirks, “Do I have something on my face?”

“You get, um… well, here… look.” Matt hold out a piece of paper. Elle raises an eyebrow at his stumbling words and walks over to him.

The paper has a drawing that depicts a petite blond woman being held prisoner inside a small glass cell. It appears as if it is raining inside the room. There is a water all the way up to the prisoner‘s knees. The woman is shackled down in metal restraints, looking both exhausted and very wet. The prisoner is screaming in anger or agony, maybe both. Electricity is leaking around her blue eyes.

"You get captured." Hiro squeaks from behind Elle. The powerless teleporter is looking at the picture over her shoulder.

“I look fat.” Elle playfully pouts. But inside, the overly confident woman is struggling inside. She realizes that the image is actually depicting a growing baby bump.

The sound of a phone ring makes the men jump in unison. Elle rolls her eyes at the pathetic weaklings she’s surrounding herself with. Mohinder snaps open his phone, and listens with concentration and mumbles a response. He holds his phone to his chest and reports back to the group, “It’s Peter, he’s given us directions to meet at a nearby church about a mile north of here. Let‘s head out.”

As Elle slides into the old beat-up truck, she overhears Hiro munching on something. “Whatcha got there Pikachu?”

Hiro turns his head towards the electrical woman to reveal fat cheeks full of food, making him look like a chipmunk. The Japanese man chews fast and swallows before speaking, “Uh, Captain Crunch cereal. I found it in the back of the truck.”

The teleporter holds up the cereal box. The sight of the processed sugary food sends Elle in a frenzied state. She realizes that it has been a long time since she has eaten. Days maybe.

Elle holds a hand out and growls, “Gimme. NOW!”

Hiro throws the box at Elle, probably afraid that any delay would be punished with a painful zap. The famished woman begins immediately stuffing her face with the cardboard stale cereal. She purrs in delight as she satisfies her intense hunger. Elle clutches the box tightly, as if afraid that the food might disappear. The evolved human is after all eating for two. The entire car ride, Elle is fixated on her food and is surprised when Mohinder stops the vehicle.

The men slide out of the truck and move over to a picnic bench. Elle stays in the truck. If any government operatives fall outta the sky, at least she has a get-away vehicle. Elle lays across the front seat on her stomach, her body is sore and bruised from running around in the woods. The normally charged and energetic woman is exhausted and in desperate need of a nice long nap, but knows that this isn't the time to sleep. She's still in enemy territory. A cat nap is going to have to wait.

Peter Petrelli gracefully lands onto the scene, right on time.

“Oh great.” Elle mumbles to herself. She makes no move to join the boys' club meeting. Captain Crunch cereal is her number one priority at this moment.

As Elle continues to munch on the sugary breakfast food, her eyes discover an unopened liter of Pepsi on the floor of the truck. Elle immediately bites her nails as her eyes lovingly caress the soda pop bottle. It's been over three months since the mother-to-be has had caffeine in her system. Elle is a caffeine addict. She regularly drank copious amounts of coffee and Slush-O every day before she found out there was a mini-Elle in her belly. The sight of the Pepsi bottle is a major trigger for the pregnant special. Her mouth begins to water, fingers itching to touch the bottle. Elle knows that taking in high doses of caffeine daily during pregnancy, whether from coffee, tea, cola, chocolate, energy drinks, or cherry Slush-O, has long been associated with an increased risk of miscarriage. She learned this vital piece of knowledge her What to Expect When Your Expecting book. The sight of the Pepsi bottle is enough to put her in a state of near panic, forcing her to struggle ungracefully out of the vehicle.

In her attempts to escape the urge to consume the entire liter of Pepsi, Elle ends up falling out of the truck and landing hard on her butt.

"Are you all right?" Hiro asks.

Why do people always ask you that when the answer is obviously no? Elle murmurs, "Just peachy keen."

Peter raises an eyebrow at her entrance. “Elle?”

“What’s crack-a-dackling Petey?” Elle forces a smile. She cocks her head to the side when she realizes that Peter showed up alone and with the ability to fly none the less. "Where's blondie? Did your rendezvous with big brother not end up how you expected?"

"Tracy was captured." Peter states without emotion. The empath sighs to himself and turns to the other evolved humans. “Toss your cell phones. It’s the last time we get together using these things. If we can find each other so can they. We have fifteen minutes.”

“Understood.” Mohinder gestures towards the drawings. “You need to see these.”

“Where did you get them?” Peter looks over the pictures thoughtfully.

Elle sits down on the wooden picnic table. Shaky fingers begin to fiddle with the drawing that apparently is supposed to be about her. Elle tries to put on a confident and playful smile, hide the fact she’s scared shitless of the dark future that the picture foretells.

“Matt. He drew them right after the crash. He has Isaac’s‘ gift.”

“I recognize this building.” Mohinder picks up one of the drawings. “In New Delhli.”

“India?” Hiro stands tall, his eyes are distant. “The warrior must have his sword. I must regain my powers. Help defeat this menace. It is my destiny to go there.”

Elle makes a face at the teleporter, “Really? 'The warrior must have his sword.' Did you steal that line from a fortune cookie?”

Hiro shrugs in response to Elle’s comment.

Matt shakes his head, still absorbed with the prophetic images. “What they are doing to us isn’t justice. It’s stupid. Blind fear.”

Mohinder looks confused, “If you don’t want them punished, what do you want?”

“I want them to pay. For Daphne.”

Elle raises an eyebrow at Matt‘s comment and agitated disposition. She didn’t realize the Speedster would slow down enough to get caught…or killed.

“Matt, that’s not us, not you.” Mohinder pleads.

Peter interjects, voice cool and confident. “Let’s get one thing straight. Our lives as we knew them are over. We can’t go back to anything that we knew.”

“Then what do we do?” Supercharger asks.

“We bring the fight to them. With everything we got.” Parkman suggests.

“Won’t be easy. Credit cards, bank accounts, they’re gone. Homes are going to be watched. Can’t trust the phones. We gotta find a way to defend ourselves. We leave everything. Do what it takes to survive. Do things we can’t even imagine. Remember, they are going to come for us. And when that day comes, we have to be ready.” Peter explains as if he’s a professional resistance fighter.

Elle is already visualizing the duct tape over Peter’s mouth. The other boys listen to Peter with wide, obedient eyes. If he yells jump, they’d most definitely obey. Elle doesn’t like the game of Simon Says. She’s never been very good at listening to orders. Especially orders from a very inexperienced leader.

“Thanks for the motivational speech, Petey." Elle stands up and stretches her arms in the air. “Someday we‘ll look back on all of this, laugh nervously, and change the subject.”

“Elle…” Peter‘s eye brows are furrowed in frustration.

“As much as this has been fun…” Elle smirks, “I’m going to have to pass on joining your little boys' club. Not because I don‘t agree with the mission statement, but ‘cause I gots boobies.“

“Elle…“ Peter continues to plead. The other men look concerned.

“Look, the pretty picture shows that I’m suppose to get in a really sucky situation. And sticking around with you all is gonna get me captured. Unlike Hiro here, I‘m not going to allow this picture to come true because of some mumbo jumbo about destiny. Check ya laters.”

Elle breaks off in a sprint, ignoring their cries. Elle can’t believe she hung around the idiots for as long as she did. The former agent mentally smacks herself in disapproval. She should be miles away from this place by now. Stupid stupid stupid.

Elle is running as fast as her feet allow. Runs and runs until tears are falling down her face from the over excursion. Her body screams for her to slow down, take a break. But she ignores the throbbing pain. Mind over matter.

As Elle approaches a road, she stops to determine if it's safe to cross. The road is still, silent. Too silent. The hairs on the back of her neck stand in alarm. Elle hears rustling behind her. The petite blond whirls around and points her hands in the shape of guns.

Right as she begins to release an intense surge of power towards the government operatives, a large bucket of water is thrown across her body. Electricity flows from her fingertips to her toes. The water makes her short out. Stings like a bitch.

Elle’s own ability knocks her down to the ground. She screams from both the frustration and immense pain.

"Mother fu--” Elle is cut off as an agent shoves a needle into her neck, while another pulls a mask over her face.

Blackness surrounds her. Elle falls back down the rabbit hole.

Author’s note:You likey? Thanks for being patient... my muse is struggling. Shall I continue? ;) Reviews taste like candy!

Electric Firefly (Chapter 3)

2009-04-03T13:11:59Z

Electric Firefly

Author’s Note: Special thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills as well as for helping me to talk through the storyline and calm my newbie writer’s jitters. ;) Sorry it's taken me to update my stories- both Electric Firefly and Frequent Flyer... hope to get chapters for these fics up soonish. Promise I'll get to some Sylar/Elle action in this story... Reviews = love.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for a little swearing and mild violence...and the dark mind that is psycho Elle

Spoiler alert: Volume 1 for now

Elle sighs inwardly to herself. The electrical Company agent feels the urge to massage her sore feet. She’s been running around the city following Obi-Wan Kenobi and little Skywalker lockstep throughout their entire training fest. The femme fatale is in phenomenal physical shape, but running all day long on hard concrete floors and up and down flights of stairs in five inch stilettos is just plain killer. If it wasn’t for their verbal agreement, Elle would have probably fried the Brit to ashes just for the fact that her expensive Italian leather heels are slightly scuffed from the wear and tear of the day.

At the current moment, the young operative is crouched down low on her hands and knees in the greenhouse on the roof of the Deveaux penthouse. She is peering through the foggy glass watching the empath learning the ways of the Jedi. A trickle of sweat is slowly running down her spine from holding the uncomfortable position for hours. Her normally pristine pin-striped suit is covered with dirt and grime, one of the unfortunate side effects of her hands-on undercover espionage. Elle postulates that James Bond probably never ruined his sexy suit while spying on a target.

Fantasies of a warm bubble bath and a very dead Peter Petrelli fill her head while she stares at the master teaching his protégé.

Elle can feel a headache forming. Very unattractive thermo-goggles tightly strapped to her head probably isn‘t helping the pressure building behind her eyes. Daddy had delivered the military eye wear earlier that day when she reported her that the Boy Scout is currently invisible. The handoff of the equipment was something out of a spy movie, the package had suddenly appeared in her hands on the crowded streets of New York City while in the middle of pursuing the invisible duo. Although Elle is fully confident in her heightened senses and tracking abilities, Daddy insisted on Elle utilizing the goggles to ensure that she does not lose the rabbit.

Birdwatcher fiddles with her specialized dork glasses. Electricity itches beneath her fingertips, demanding to be released. Flaring her bright power would both surely momentarily blind her with the sensitive thermo-goggles and alert the target. So the agent bites her bottom lip hard with the hope that the pain will distract from the need to release her vibrant sparks.

Claude has picked up on Elle’s presence, she can see the slight changes in his shoulders when she creeps closer for a better view. The empath is clueless as usual. Maybe Claude can knock some common sense into the youngest Petrelli boy. After hours of careful observation, Elle has officially determined Peter to be an idiot. Such a shame, the empath has so much potential. He was like a lion that doesn’t know how to use his deadly teeth and claws.

The only interesting thing that has happened over the last twelve hours is that Claude threw Boy Wonder off of the roof earlier that evening. The Invisible Man must have hoped that the empath would pull a Peter Pan move, but apparently the student lacked happy thoughts and fairy dust. The lesson forced Peter to call on one of his absorbed abilities of rapid cellular regeneration to heal the damages from falling multiple stories. Elle found the entire fiasco to be absolutely hilarious.

Right now, Elle wishes she could throw Peter off the building herself. Being forced to watch the empath spar with his mentor has been incredibly painful and boring. She would rather consume a "L" pill, a lethal cyanide capsule issued to intelligence operatives to commit suicide. Peter possesses pathetic fighting skills and lacks control of his abilities. Elle doesn’t think very highly of the youngest Petrelli son. Her internal beast figures she could kill him in under one second with a flick of her wrist.

“Dig into that file cabinet of yours and pull something out. Fly, stop time, paint me a pretty picture. Do something unexpected.” The Invisible Man taunts his student both verbally and physically.

Claude attempts to strike Peter with a wooden staff. Peter furrows his eyebrows in concentration and holds out his hand. The staff is violently pushed back with an invisible energy. The wood board snaps in half.

Elle's mouth drops open. Well…that was unexpected. Looks like the Force is strong with the young Jedi.

Both Peter and Claude look surprised. Claude exclaims, “You pushed that away with your mind. Which one of your sorry friends has telekinesis?"

“None of them do.” Peter frowns. “Oh wait. That guy who was chasing Claire in Texas. He sent some lockers flying at me.”

“Texas? And you pulled that little trick out in the here and now? Well, we might just have a chance of stopping you going nuclear.”

The master and his apprentice continue talking, but Elle isn’t listening to the words coming out of their mouths anymore.

Telekinesis. Peter absorbed Sylar’s power during their confrontation at Homecoming. Just seeing her unrequited love’s ability displayed by the empath floods Elle with tremendous longing. She’s never wanted anything or anyone as much as she craves the watchmaker. Her devil danced with his demon and the fiddler’s tune is far from over.

A blue bolt of electricity catches Elle‘s attention back to Peter and Claude. An electrical arch is flowing out from Peter’s fingertips. Boy Wonder keeps pulling new tricks out of his cloak. Elle’s eyes widen, her breathing has completely stopped. A strange sensation is surging throughout her body, filling her up to the point that her hands are violently shaking. If Elle had any emotional intelligence, she would be able to label the sensation as the emotions of fury and anger.

Peter Petrelli took the one thing that Elle loves most- her beautiful indigo sparks. And now, Elle wants to cut out his heart. A bit over-dramatic, but Elle has never been one to share.

“Woah!” Peter gasps. He brings his hands up to his face to inspect the electrical ability sparking from his fingertips.

Elle wants to storm over to the empath and wipe the grin off his face with her fist. Instead she balls her hands so hard that her fingernails are cutting into her palms, forming little half moons filled with blood. The immediate pain helps her to resist the urge to slug Peter. Elle wishes that this assignment was not purely surveillance, but rather a executive action mission....otherwise known as assassination.

“Not sure where that came from. I’ve never seen anyone do that before.” The empath forms a shaky ball of electricity between his fingertips. The loud snaps of power makes him jump in surprise.

Claude glances briefly in the direction where Elle is hiding in the shadows. “Well, mate, perhaps you picked it up from someone you didn’t realize had the power of electrical manipulation. There's plenty of mysterious specials running about the city. Let’s take a break, shall we?”

Peter and Claude move to chat by the pigeon coop. Elle scrunches her noise at the thought of being around such filthy, diseased-filled creatures. Decides to keep her distance.

She’s back in her head, visualizing all of the different ways she can overpower and kill the evolved human. Blood, pain, and death are what the sociopath knows and loves best.

Movement out of the corner of her eye interrupts the fantasy of ripping out Peter's throat with her bare hands. Snaps Elle back to the here-and-now.

The beast in her psyche screams with rage. Elle unconsciously bares her white teeth with a low, feral growl.

Bennet and the Haitian are crashing her party.

Her mind is over-flowing with racing questions. What are they doing here? Were they sent to spy on her? Does Daddy not trust her? Are they babysitting to make sure that she's following orders? Did Linderman pick up on her super, secret solo assignment? Are they here to drag her back to the Company? Is the Haitian going to try to wipe her mind clean again? How long have they been following her? How has she not noticed them until now?

Paranoia is like breathing to Elle. She has a pervasive, long-standing suspiciousness and mistrust of everyone. Particularly of Glasses and the Memory Thief. They do not share a squeaky clean history. Elle's very much aware that she has been exploited, harmed, deceived, and manipulated her entire life. Such experiences tend to make one extremely paranoid. And in turn, she exploits, harms, deceives, and manipulates the pawns that she can control. She would never admit to herself or anyone else that one of the reasons she's obsessed with inflicting pain and suffering on others is that it gives her a false sense of power and control within her powerless existence. The caged, battered beast deludes herself that she's still wild and free.

Her initial paranoid thoughts center around herself, as Elle is a narcissist and possesses an excessive sense of self-importance. It is not until she notices the agents strap on matching thermo-goggles that she realizes that Bennet and the Haitian are not here for her. They are targeting Peter and Claude. This is her assignment. And they are going to ruin all of the hard works she's put into her clandestine operation.

She’s almost willing to break the five golden rules and emerge from the shadows. The Haitian is far away enough that Elle knows her powers are not dampened. She could easily knock out both agents with her sharp shooting.

But…lose control and lose it all.

Elle watches helplessly as Claude and Peter continue to be engage in their discussion, unaware of the looming danger. She knows what’s going to happen. Normally she wouldn’t care, but she feels a strange connection with the smelly Brit. Sure, she doesn't remember the coloring books, sing-a-longs, and ability training sessions. Though she still has an unconscious need to protect him, to yell out a warning. It takes an incredible amount of self control to maintain her position in silence.

It was like a terrible slow-motion sequence in a movie. The two agents take aim with their stun guns. Elle holds her breath as Noah Bennet releases the blast of his weapon. Claude and Peter jump in unison to the unexpected firing sound. Claude is hit first, the electricity of the taser shakes his body and forces him to the ground. The Haitian fires to shoot Peter, but the empath uses telekinesis to stop the two small dart-like electrodes in the air. Bennet and the Haitian move forward in attempt to take out the targets. But before they can get close enough, Boy Wonder throws Claude over his shoulder and jumps off the roof.

Elle watches as Peter soars through the sky with Claude on his back. Superman figured out how to fly just in the nick of time. Maybe she had judged Boy Wonder too soon, perhaps he isn't as pathetic and weak after all.

Bennet and the Haitian rush off of the rooftop. Elle rolls her eyes. Like they could really capture Boy Wonder. The empath is probably millions of miles away from New York City.

Elle has officially lost Peter. Another failed solo mission to add to her resume. Just peachy.

Perfectly manicured red nails tap over her cell phone to a panicky rhythm while Elle debates whether or not to make the call. Daddy is not going to be happy. Not one bit. Elle sighs loudly and jerks open the phone.

Her father answers on the first ring.

"Daddy?" Elle’s voice is raw and pure.

"I already know." Bob Bishop’s voice is harsh with the usual disappointed undertone.

"The plan has changed. My office at the Kirby Plaza building, 8 AM sharp. And Elle, don't be late."

Click.

Elle moves towards the edge of the Deveaux rooftop to observe the view of the city, blue eyes gone suddenly cold. There was nothing there, no expression, except that awful coldness. Emptiness. Elle mumbles into the dead phone, “Love you too.”

Author’s Note: You likely? ;P Thanks for being patient... my muse is struggling. Reviews = love!

Fic: Electric Firefly (Chapter 2)

2009-03-21T23:58:37Z

Title: Electric Firefly

Summary: The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her. Sequel to “Just Another Day on the Job.” Elle-centric. Sylar/Elle. AU.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for a little swearing and mild violence...and the dark mind that is psycho Elle

Spoiler alert: Volume 1 for now

Author’s Note: Thanks to faded_facade for betaing, you rock! The story may not make perfect sense unless you’ve read my other story “Just Another Day on the Job”, so check it out here first! ;P Current storyline starts around Godsend of Volume 1, when Peter passes out and goes into a coma. Warning for psychotic, dark themes. Crazy Elle is the best. Reviews = love.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1

NEW:

Electric Firefly Chapter 2

Summary: The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her. Sequel to “Just Another Day on the Job.” Elle-centric. Sylar/Elle. AU.

Author’s Note: This story may not make perfect sense unless you’ve read my other story “Just Another Day on the Job”, so check it out first! ;P Current storyline starts around Episode Godsend of Volume 1 and will probably move through the beginning of Volume 2. Currently only hints of Elle/Sylar- eventually they will get to meet face to face in this specific series, I promise. Special thanks to faded_facade for mad beta skills as well as for helping me to talk through the storyline and calm my newbie writer’s jitters. ;) Reviews = love.

Chapter 2

Following the tracks of a prey, especially in a big bustling place like New York City, is no easy task. Elle is involved in a never ending game of cat and mouse. But this little mouse doesn’t even know that he is part of a dangerous game.

Sleeping beauty magically woke up, screaming in bloody terror. Not exactly how Elle imagined her patient to react when he came back to consciousness. Peter Petrelli had jetted out of the hospital room like a speeding bullet, ignoring the cries of his mother and the other hospital staff. Elle remained calm during the entire fiasco and managed to stay unnoticed in the background. Once his foot touched the concrete sidewalk outside of the hospital doors, the chase began.

Like any game, there exists rules. Elle likes rules, needs them even. Without rules, she would be…lost.

Rule number one: Under no circumstances, is Elle to kill Peter Petrelli.

Elle vividly remembers Daddy bluntly telling her that if Peter dies because she can’t control herself, that Daddy may not be able to prevent the other founders from taking revenge. No slap on the hand for being a bad girl, then shoved into the cold cells of Level Five like when she usually misbehaves. They will put down the rabid beast. Death….there’s no coming back from that one. Most people have a hard time dealing with death, but Elle is not most people. She isn’t scared of anything. Death is death. Though Elle doesn’t want to die on accord of someone else’s plan, especially to someone as pathetic as Angela Petrelli. This little kitten is going to have to display some major self control and not tear apart the little mouse once he’s beneath her sharp claws. Besides, Elle knows plenty of ways to play that doesn’t involve her toy dying. Near-death, sure, but not dead dead.

Rule number two: The target must not know that he is being followed.

Being a purebred Company agent has allowed Elle to easily blend into the crowds, cloak herself in the shadows. Just like the other field agents, Elle has undergone intensive trainings and exercises at the Company. But unlike the other suits, her tracking abilities are far superior. She’s just better than the rest. The internal beast is allowed to come out to the surface when she’s tracking evolved humans. Stalking is the beginning process that usually ends with blood, pain, and death. Elle loves to stalk.

Rule number three: Gather information through observation of Peter and anyone that comes in contact with the target.

No detail can be overlooked, she collects everything into memory, and the ritual is intoxicating. Elle has efficiently categorized every conversation, every tiny observation involving Peter Petrelli into her mind. The hospital staff, Nathan, Mama Petrelli, and that on again off again girlfriend Simone were all examined very closely by watchful blue eyes. She could recite Peter’s experiences over the past two weeks- from the smallest changes in his breathing to the data that was spat out on the ICU equipment. Elle’s memory is impeccable. Well, at least the memories that are not wiped clean by a certain mute Haitian.

Rule number four: Do not make direct contact and disclose the current assignment with other Company agents.

Elle doesn’t much like any of those silly busy bees anyways. The ordinaries, evolved humans, they are all beneath her. Even Bennet. She revels in the fact that her assignment is incredibly secret, special. No one else knows except for her and Daddy. And if Elle does accidentally come across another suit, she’ll kill the disposable ones just for funsies…and with the suits that matter, well, Elle is a pathological liar. Though it’s not like they would believe her real story anyways.

Rule number five: Report all activities and progress to Daddy.

Always checking in, like a good daughter and responsible agent. Like clockwork, she calls in right on the hour. The routine phone calls not only benefits Daddy, but Elle as well. The regular connection with Daddy- with the Company- allows Elle to feel more comfortable out in the confusing real world. Elle lacks the ability to fully comprehend social interactions and human emotions. This lack of insight into human nature makes her feel so alone. Powerless. Though Elle would never admit this out loud. The orderly check ins give the illusion of control. Reminders that when the job is done, she willingly returns to her own cage, her sanctuary from the outside world.

These rules are law, determine the order. And Elle needs order to balance the chaos.

Other than the five golden rules, Elle makes up the game as she goes. This is a game of skill and strategy that involves constant pursuit, near capture, and repeated escapes. In the present moment, it only seems as if there are two players. The agent and target. The cat and mouse.

Elle knows in the back of her mind that this game is much more complicated. The electrical agent and the empath are just small pieces of a larger game of chess. The bishop targets the pawn. More action is going on unknowingly around her, the larger endgame is distant and removed from her objective. Linderman, Angela, Bennet, Sylar, Peter, even Claire Bear. At this point it is hard to say who is who, the king, queen, knights, rooks, bishops, and pawns. And the bigger questions: who is controlling the pieces? And what happens at checkmate? Elle tries to ignore such things, instead focuses on the here and now.

And right here, right now, Elle is in the shadows observing her target. The silly little rabbit. Peter appears almost frantic, attempting to book a flight on the phone. The empath wants to escape, somewhere in Nevada. What is he running from?

Hidden in the shadows, she glides towards her target. Peter is so close, she can practically reach out and touch him. Brilliant blue eyes studies her target with such intensity, she’s surprise that her gaze doesn’t burn a hole in the back of his head. Elle’s fingers itch to touch his skin…. to feel him thrashing in pain on the floor while pumping electricity into his body. The blonde agent licks her lips at the bloody and demented thought. The beast within her mind screams with pleasure.

Suddenly, Peter‘s form disappears from thin air, like magic. Elle’s entire body freezes at the strange occurrence. After a few seconds, she narrows her eyes and growls to herself, “You‘ve got to be kidding me.”

Her psyche is flooded with racing thoughts of all of the possibilities. Peter is an empath. It is unclear which powers he has acquired and developed control over. Teleportation. Shapeshifting. Invisibility. Mind control. Shadow manipulation. Super human speed.

But more importantly: is the mouse on to her? Is her cover blown? Surely not.

Her eyes scan the crowd. The target is gone, probably blocks away by now. Elle rubs her temples slowly, counting down from five in her head. Takes in a deep breath and decides that she’s going to take another approach. The petite blond hails a cab easily and slides across the leather seat of the car. She riffles through her purse and throws a piece of paper at the cab driver. Her voice is annoyed, impatient. “Take me to this address. Now.”

The cab speeds through the city, dodging other cars and pedestrians. Elle is practically bouncing out of her seat with agitation. She’s concentrating hard during the long drive on not blasting the driver, who‘s explaining with a thick accent some historical lesson of the neighborhood. Mustn’t cause any unnecessary attention. After all, she is leading the solo, special, super secret mission. The driver drops off Elle in front of a large, rundown apartment building. He mumbles his gratitude when she flicks a large bill in his general direction.

For someone whose family is worth multi-millions, Peter sure lives like a poor man. Elle runs her hands over anything and everything as she explores the building. The old wooden stair rail, rough flaking eggshell walls, and the rusty copper door handle to apartment number four. Elle presses her ear against the door, eyes squint tight as she concentrates hard. The electrical agent smirks to herself. No one home. She uses her practiced skills with a bobby pin to easily pick the lock without even looking down. The door swings open with a loud thud to reveal a small and cramped studio apartment.

The blond agent moves around the apartment like she owns the place. Energy is radiating from her entire body. Her skin is glowing, almost ethereal. No need to waste concentration in containing her excitement in the privacy of the Petrelli boy’s residence.

Perfectly manicured nails trail over the countertops, bookshelf, and old couch. Elle has to touch everything, the somatic sensation tingles the nerves throughout her body. It is as if the evolved human is unconsciously marking her scent all over the room, claiming her dominance throughout the prey’s inhabitance.

Elle invites herself to curl up in Peter’s small bed. Even on a twin mattress, the agent looks child-like small. She closes her eyes for a half second, her mind moves away from her mission….back to the watchmaker. Always the watchmaker. Her dark obsession.

But it’s hard to daydream of her unrequited love when her senses are on overload. Peter Petrelli. The pillows smell like him, sweet and musky at the same time. The scent is faint, he hasn’t been home since he‘s awakened. Her psyche refocuses on the mission, the watchmaker‘s chocolate brown eyes lurk in the shadows of her consciousness.

Elle moves on her stomach, her legs bouncing to an obtuse rhythm against the soft mattress. Polished red nails draw little imaginary scribbles across the framed picture on the night stand. Peter stands confident, a crooked smile lights up his face. The hopeful politician, Nathan Petrelli, is to the right of the empath, smiling but still looking serious at the same time. The power couple are embracing to the left of Peter, Angela and Arthur Petrelli are per usual picture perfect. A family portrait. Filled with lies, betrayal, and murder. The Petrelli story should be a made-for-television Lifetime movie. Poor Peter Petrelli. He tried to make a life for himself doing good, only to get sucked into the center of the mess his family created.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in alarm.

Something shifts in the room. Elle can’t put her finger to what exactly has changed, but there is definitely an alteration in the energy of the apartment. Her fingers are burning with the need to release her electrical ability. She continues to inspect the picture with her eyes, but her other senses are on high alert.

Elle takes in a deep breath through her nose. A very strong scent, so potent it is almost burning her nostrils. Not Peter, someone new. She smiles softly to herself in anticipation before whirling around onto her back on the bed to strike the intruder. A strong electrical blast flows out of her hands towards the precise location of the mysterious evolved human. The room blazes brightly at the florescent blue sparks. The release of energy brings a bubbling laughter from her lips.

“Ah!” A voice cries out in agony. The form of a man materializes. He’s slumped on the floor, smoke rising from his burnt clothing and skin. The man wipes his gloved hand across his mouth, cleaning the blood that he‘s coughing from the blast. Mmm, Elle wonders if she’s hit him hard enough for internal bleeding.

“Nifty power. But useless ‘cause I can smell you from a mile away.” Elle scrunches her noise to demonstrate her distaste of the potent body odor. The older man has not showered for a long time. She sits up from her lying position and scoots her body to the end of the bed, legs dangling. Fingers form into a shape of a gun and the agent points the weapon towards her new prisoner. Her voice is formal, bored. “I was having such a wonderful evening, and then you showed up and ruined it. Identify yourself.”

The man cocks his head to the side, his eyes hold intelligence. He takes considerable time to weigh his options. Finally, he sighs loudly and gives in. A very gruff voice with a British accent comes out of his lips. “You can call me Claude, deary.”

“Well, well, well. The one and only Invisible Man. I’ve heard stories about you. Legendary. Though they made it seem that you “tumbled” to your death. So, unless you‘re a reanimated corpse….”

“You should know, everything isn’t always what it seems.” He slowly stands up, as if he doesn’t want to provoke her. Elle smiles and thinks to herself that he’s a fast learner. “You’re the Bishop lass.”

“Elle.” She corrects, her voice suspicious. “And how do you know my name anyways?”

“I’ve been watching you, love, very closely. Ever since you were a wee little pup.” His voice is playful, but there is some other emotion hidden beneath the act.

“Really?” Elle smirks, “I know there are some creeps at the company. But a peeping tom?”

Claude laughs as he walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge door. Turns his back on the tiger. Elle is impressed by his display of over-confidence, makes her think even more of the smelly hobo. The older man pulls out a beer bottle, opens the cap with his teeth. He makes a gesture with the bottle as an offer for Elle. She raises an eyebrow at the man and makes no move to acknowledge whether or not she wants the drink. Claude shrugs to himself and takes a swig of the cheap alcoholic beverage.

They stare at one another in silence. Silence for most people is uncomfortable. Neither one makes an attempt to fill the silence with nonsense small talk. Claude downs the first drink and begins to consume beer number two. The electrical agent is amused by the invisible man. Elle studies him closely. Suddenly, a thought forms clearly in her mind: he’s not here because of her. Her voice holds certainty, “You’ve been with the Petrelli boy. Peter.”

“Yes. And what of it?” His answer shocks Elle. Honesty. That is something Elle isn’t used to. She assumed that she would need to do some electrical torture to get the information out of him. The sadistic agent feels a bit disappointed, torture is always so much fun.

"I'm surprised you didn't pick up on our conversation in the middle of the street earlier this evening." Claude smiles as he finishes his second beer. "I was hoping to find him here, instead I found you. Looks like we're both searching for him. What's your fancy with the runt?"

“He’s been a bad, bad boy. And I‘ve come to do a bit of spanking.” She smiles widely at the Englishman, flashing her teeth like a predator.

“Sorry love, I can’t have you do that.”

“Well, you’re going to be a problem then.” The smile becomes even wider. She forms a ball of electricity between her hands, a warning. The man ignores her threat, seemingly unimpressed. The sparks loose their voltage, faltering at his abnormal reactions. He is indeed very strange.

“So, are you going to drag me back to the Company, lassie?”

“You’re not my target, old man.” Elle replies. “Petrelli is the key to a puzzle. The kind of game that ends with a lot of people dead. And I‘m hear to stop it.”

“Oh really? Never thought you were such a bleeding heart.” Claude's face becomes serious. “The kid isn’t so bad. Just needs a bit of guidance.”

“Guidance?” Elle echoes with a mocking tone.

“He never had a very good teacher.” Claude’s voice is warm, softer. “Do you think you coulda controlled your powers all by yourself? Or do you blindly believe that ‘Daddy’ helped you out all these years?”

“What are you rambling on about?”

“Oh, they have really done a number on you, pup.” Claude laughs. “You and me used to be all chummy mates. Coloring books and bed time stories. I have a few third degree burn scars as a reminder of your loss of control when you were still in pig tails. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have been stuck in one of the small glass cages with a tube down your nose.”

Elle narrows her eyes. “So….what? You were a teacher of some sorts? My teacher?”

“Correct, little grasshopper.” Claude replies. "And I'm going to help the runt learn to control his abilities."

Elle realizes that she is not agitated or annoyed at the man during their entire conversation. A very rare thing indeed. Perhaps she did know him in another life. A life that was wiped from her consciousness. It wasn’t like it was the first person to claim to have known her lately. First Sylar, now Claude….

“Fine.” Elle crosses her arms. “You have twenty four hours. And just because you‘re invisible doesn‘t mean that I won’t be watching. You try any tricks, I‘ll give you some more burns to add to your collection.”

“Still so feisty. Like a little firecracker.” Claude laughs full out. “I must be mad to put my trust in a Company agent again. But….we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

“Mad indeed.” Her voice is empty. Elle allows the darkness to briefly peak through the façade.

Like the Cheshire Cat, the evolved human turns most of his body invisible but leaves his smile visible for a moment before completely disappearing. The gesture seems oddly familiar.

Elle is not like most humans. Humans tend to rely on their sense of sight the most. Much like a large predatory cat, Elle has incredibly heightened sense of hearing and smell through both natural ability and rigorous training. Relies on these senses as she follows the Invisible Man out of the apartment in search of Boy Wonder.

The game just got more interesting. Elle enjoys a challenge.

Author’s note: What do you all think? I can never tell if my writing or story is any good, must be the overly critical and insecure newbie writer jitters. Reviews are my own personal heroin. ;P

Fic: Electric Firefly

2009-03-06T01:45:47Z

Title: Electric Firefly

The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her.

Pretty Peter Petrelli. Her new assignment.

Elle runs her hands through his silky long hair, taking in his smell and essence. She trails her fingertip slowly and lightly from his forehead, over the slope of his nose, and memorizes the softness of his full lips. Peter is a special, an evolved human. His file indicates that he is an empath, mimics and duplicates the powers of others. She wonders just how many powers he’s collected over the past few months since he‘s manifested.

The electrically charged agent takes considerable time to contemplate the similarities and differences that potentially exist between the angelic sleeping boy with her favorite power obsessed serial killer.

Elle has always been attracted to power. But looking at the pale man lying lifeless on the hospital bed beneath her, it’s hard for Elle to consider him to be very dangerous. He doesn’t look much like a predator.

Peter Petrelli wasn’t like the other cases that Elle is used to. The petite blond agent has been involved in hundreds of bag and tag scenarios, occasionally dragging back the big bad specials kicking and screaming to the cold gray cells of Level 5, where they end up becoming her toys. Her latest mission is to locate Peter Petrelli and collect any compromising information that could ruin the Company. She's surprised to learn that she wasn't bringing him in. Strictly observation and reconnaissance. Under no circumstances is Elle to kill Peter. Apparently, Daddy strongly believes that Peter is the key to some diabolical inter-company scheme of some of the founders. Daddy whispers his suspicions that Angela and Linderman are still secretly following Adam’s legacy, the one filled with apocalyptic destruction. Elle didn’t jump on board the mission due to ethical or moral considerations. She could care less if Angela, Linderman, and Adam wanted to wash the world clean and push the restart button. The new mission is more about filling up her boredom, that nagging empty darkness in her chest. In addition, Elle needs to distract herself from the new and strange sensations of panging need that had developed from not getting what she wanted from the watchmaker. The bastard abandoned her just when she was about to claim him as her own. Elle's been antsy and on-edge from the lack of...release.

After Daddy handed her the file, Elle focused all of her energy into the assignment. Connected the dots, it was so easy. Nobody gives Elle the credit she deserves. She's got more brains than all of those silly little agents combined. Elle was able to follow the bread crumbs and located Peter within a few hours of getting assigned the mission. But she’s not going to get answers outta him any time soon. The empath’s mind has been MIA since she found him a few weeks ago.

Elle takes a sip of Slush-O, a glorious sugary substance. The caffeinated cherry flavored beverage helps her get through the twelve hour shifts at the hospital. Her fingers play with the multi-colored straw, a practiced habit. Elle savors the taste in her mouth as she concurrently releases a low voltage shock to the comatose man.

She giggles in a childish tone, “Whoops.”

Peter’s body jerks in response to the electrical blast and his heart rate increases for a few seconds. But there is no change to his state of consciousness. Elle watches with awe as the burns on his arms immediately knit back to its smooth perfection. A healer. Just like Adam. Those with regenerative abilities are so much more fun than the rest, they can take Elle’s most deadly and destructive blasts. Elle briefly wonders just how much Peter can take before he passes out. She sighs inwardly to herself, wishing that her target was awake. Hard to get the attention she craves when the new toy is unconscious. His face is slack and peaceful, doesn’t realize that a sociopath is touching him, occasionally pumping electricity into his body. She’s trying oh-so-hard to be patient.

Elle was intrigued to learn that Peter went up against her favorite serial killer and lived. Peter was a hero, saved little miss Pom Pom, and aided Bennet and crew in capturing the big bad wolf. If it wasn’t for the sleeping beauty beneath her, Elle would have never gotten to opportunity to meet Gabriel Gray. Sylar. She feels a strange sense of gratitude towards the youngest Petrelli boy. He unknowingly played matchmaker.

Elle straightens out Peter’s white hospital gown and gives him a playful tap on the nose.

This mission is much more how she imagined undercover work to be like. A million times better than the other solo assignment spying on Claire Bear in the back of the classroom. This time, Elle gets to be up close and personal with her target. Has the chance to utilize her acting talents to the fullest and has fun playing dress up in the process. She has immersed herself into deep cover in the role of a sweet Southern nurse going by the alias Bella.

Elle is a great actress. She’s a professional liar. Lies every time she smiles.

Elle catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She is sporting pink scrubs with little red hearts and colorful sunshines. A thick yellow ribbon is neatly tied in a bow, pulling her straight long hair into a side pony tail. Maybe one day she'll be filled with whatever emotions and experiences go with hearts, sunshines and ribbons. But Elle doubts it. She's come to accept that she is cold and empty inside. Besides, it's hard to miss and long for things that you've never experienced or fully comprehend.

Elle moves to thoughtfully inspect the monitors and updated charts, when the door suddenly swings opens.

“How’s he doing?” The normally confident voice sounds tired.

Elle glances behind her, a southern accent flows easily out of her lips. “Oh, Mr. Petrelli. Peter is the same as he was yesterday, sugar.”

“Please, call me Nathan, I insist. Mr. Petrelli was my father.” Elle smiles at the older brother’s request, flashing all of her pearly white teeth. If only he knew who his father truly was. The Petrelli boys were kept in the dark of their parents’ history and connection with the Company. Elle considers the Petrelli story to be like those ridiculous soap operas of the rich and famous families that she’s been entertaining herself with since she was a young girl.

“Awfully nice of you to spend so much time with your brother, especially with the election and all coming up. But, Mr. Petrelli- oh- Nathan…we’re taking real good care of him. Like I told you before, we’ll call when there is any progress… or updates on his condition.”

“Thank you, Bella.” His eyes linger over her body, appreciating the revealing cleavage, tight colorful uniform, and spiked red stilettos. Nathan may be in mourning over his brother‘s condition, but he is a man after all. Elle fights the internal urge to purr and bask in the warmth of the attention. She flashes a practiced expression on her face. An emotion that she picked up from television shows that seem to fit this particular social interaction. The day time soaps taught her at a very young age how to be human. Probably contributes to Elle's overly dramatic social reactions.

She moves painfully close to the oldest Petrelli brother and gently places her hand on his arm in an attempt to be comforting. Nathan nervously shifts his weight at the sudden closeness of their bodies. Elle doesn't pick up on the newly developed tension. Elle has never been really good at personal space or boundaries. Most interactions she has with others has an underlying sexual energy, whether she’s consciously aware of it or not.

Elle opens her mouth to recite something comforting, but a cell phone cuts her off. The political hopeful opens up his phone and is drawn into a lengthy and heated conversation regarding his campaign. Elle moves back to care taking the younger brother and shoots Nathan a disapproving look at the noise he’s creating, forcing him to excuse himself into the hallway.

The empath is unconsciously struggling with something again. Elle gently dabs a sponge across Peter’s forehead, wiping away the sweat. Whispers soothing words in his ear in attempts to calm his on-going night terrors. She puts all of her energy into attending to her patient and surprises herself with her natural care taking abilities that seemingly came out of thin air. Elle didn‘t know she had it in her. She assumed that maternal instincts were not part of her innate makeup. Who knew a sociopath could be so…compassionate.

Elle wonders what will happen when Peter wakes up. Will he be grateful, shower her with attention and compliments of her amazing skills as a nurse and provider? Feed into her naracistic need of excessive admiration and further heighten her grandiose sense of self-importance.

Since he’s supposed to be powerful, will he be an alpha, dominant? Or is he just like the rest, pathetic and weak? Either way, she's itching to break him.

Elle's essence shifts... like something clicked, the lights suddenly are turned on in psycho play land. She begins to fantasize what Peter’s screams sound like. Elle's eyes glaze over. She's back into her own inner world, humming a strange tune while dark, violent thoughts fill her mind. Images of pain, burning flesh, and blood darkens her psyche. Fills her up and makes her feel .... alive.

The door swings open, interrupting her dark stream of consciousness. Elle whirls around, her seductive smile is wiped clean when her eyes connect with a familiar face.

Cerulean electricity unconsciously flashes from Elle's eyes.

“Oh, Mrs. Petrelli. Lovely to see you again.” Her accent drawls out. Elle has never been a particular fan of the precog. Her instincts scream whenever in her presence, experiences a strange, strong sensation that she can't quite identify around the older evolved human. Makes her feel on-edge and paranoid... more than usual, anyways.

“Elle Bishop.” The matriarch hisses. Her hard eyes flash to Elle’s outfit. “You look like trash.”

“Now, now. Nathan seems to appreciate the look. Everybody loves a sexy nurse.” Elle’s voice is playful. She suddenly moves close to her patient and begins to slowly stroke Peter’s face gently with her hands. “And I’m sure once your baby boy wakes up, he will too.”

“Stay away from my sons.” Mrs. Petrelli voice is sharp as daggers.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Elle laughs, “Attack me with your pathetic dreams. Please. Don’t waste my time with idle threats.”

“Shouldn’t you be off with the other agents, worrying about that serial killer that put Peter in this state?” The older woman tries another approach. “I’m surprised you aren’t part of that important operation.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Petrelli. The Company has plenty of suits addressing the Sylar case.” Elle smiles widely, though the smile doesn‘t quite reach her eyes.

Elle knows that Angela Petrelli is trying to ruffle her feathers. And it’s working. But Elle doesn’t want to give the older woman the satisfaction, so she ignores the painful urge to blast her into smoke and ashes.

Elle’s current assignment of watching over Peter Petrelli helps keep Sylar off of her mind…at least during the day. His brown eyes haunts her dreams.

“You don’t have to worry about Peter, I'm watching over him.” Angela insists, trying to play the mother. Elle doesn’t trust Angela Petrelli one bit. The woman is notorious for lying, manipulation, and double crossing. Elle strongly believes that Mrs. Petrelli is somehow involved in the lengthy gaps in her memory, further heightening her mistrust and paranoia of the woman.

“We worry about anyone with abilities, Mrs. Petrelli. And don’t even try that song and dance of how Peter hasn‘t manifested. No one has ever survived going up against Sylar. Peter is very special. And I‘m taking real good care of him.”

Angela growls at Elle. The petite blond agent ignores the older woman and begins to attend to Peter’s IV.

Elle speaks with her back to the visitor, the body language indicates that she‘s not intimated or scared of the old hag. The accent has now vanished, her voice is dark and cold, reflecting her inner state of being. “Maybe you should go back to that big, comfy penthouse, Mrs. Petrelli. Take a nap and let us know if you dream of anything… significant.”

The sound of the glass door slamming makes her lips twitch to a smile.

Elle studies pretty Peter Petrelli with such intensity. The beast inside her stirs with anticipation and excitement causing electricity to surge throughout her entire body. Elle begins to hum a strange tune while she twirls a long piece of Peter’s hair between her perfectly manicured nails.

She sings to her patient. "You and me are going to have so much fun."

Author’s Note:I love the idea of Elle dressed up in a nurse’s outfit- scubs all cuties and girly...with red stilettos. Don’t worry, I’ll get to some Elle and Sylar action….soon-ish. I promise. This story will circulate around Elle during the end of Volume 1 and beginning of Volume 2. Oh, and our favorite invisible man may pop up next! ;)

Reviews are like candy. And I love candy. So, reviews = love.

Frequent Flyer (Chapter 2)

2009-02-23T01:31:42Z

Title: Frequent Flyer

Author: dela26

Rating: pg - 13

Summary: Electricity + metal plane = bad. Elle-centric. Hints of Sylar/Elle.

Author’s note: Brainchild of the fanfic challenge by catyuy and di_elle on the sylarelle livejournal community. I completed the first chapter on a plane…and now worked on the second chapter on another plane ride, which is both funny and morbid. ;) Happy that I’ve gotten positive reviews and support to continue the story!

Chapter 2

Elle wakes up face down in the grass, dirt in her mouth. She coughs and spits out the grime. Death shouldn’t be this uncomfortable and gross. Elle isn’t dead. Surprise, surprise. She was so sure that the moment darkness filled her consciousness on the plane - that she was a goner. But…it wasn‘t the first time Elle has escaped death.

The petite blonde rolls over, moaning in surprise to the soreness of her body….as well as the sharp pain throbbing across her face. Moves her tongue across her teeth in order to investigate and ensure that they are all still there. She moves reluctantly to a cross legged seated position and gently rubs her jaw with her finger tips, wondering if it is broken.

Suddenly, a memory forms as clear as day. Fucking Peter Petrelli.

Nobody hits Elle Bishop.

Elle squints her eyes, her mind is foggy and slow. Probably the result of the combination of the strong medications still circulating in her system as well as the trauma of the plane ride…and crash. From the looks of it, Elle has managed to miraculously stay in one piece after being throw fifty feet from the wreck. Broken bodies are scattered across the clearing. Even in the dead of the night, it’s easy to spot the others with their florescent orange jumpsuits. The faceless prisoners unfortunately didn’t share Elle’s luck. She wonders briefly if she is the only survivor. Smiles slightly at the silly thought. Pom Pom surely is alive, she is indestructible and immortal after all. Same with Boy Wonder. They could survive going nuclear, a little plane crash is nothing.

Elle’s attention shifts to study the wreck. The plane is torn in half, smoke and fire blazing into the starry sky. Brilliant yellow, orange, red, and black colors swirl together in a beautiful, mesmerizing dance. Elle stares deeply into the fire, feeling unexpectedly calm and centered. Wonders if Gabriel…Sylar… had experienced a similar awe like state of consciousness while watching the flames burning across her delicate body, eating up her skin and soul to transform into ashes and dust.

The sounds of movement and yelling doesn’t pull Elle out of her transfixed state of mind. Rather, someone’s hands suddenly grabbing her arm with sharp force snaps her back to reality.

“We need to go, now!” Peter. Of course.

Boy Wonder forces her to stand and begins to drag her body while he runs. Elle is barely on her feet, struggling to get balanced both physically and psychologically.

“Let. Me. Go.” Elle growls.

Peter ignores her requests and instead throws her over his shoulder like a rag doll. The unexpected motion makes Elle feel sick in her stomach. Before Elle can even hold back, she throws up across his back all over his orange jump suit. Peter stops running immediately and drops Elle onto the ground with a hard thump.

Elle moans and crawls to her knees. The nausea is too strong and Elle doesn‘t have the energy to fight it. Her body shakes as she continues to throw up. Sweat begins to glimmer across her forehead.

“Peter, what did you do?” Claire is suddenly besides Elle, holding her hair back. Elle is now dry heaving, all of the stomach bile is out of her system. Not exactly what Elle had in mind for Peter’s punishment of punching her in the face with a closed fist. From the disgusted expression across his face, it was worth it. Payback’s a bitch.

“Don’t worry Elle, we’re out of the plane now.” Claire’s voice is soft and kind.

The cheerleader is rubbing Elle’s back in attempts to soothe her. The teen makes the assumption that Elle’s sickness is probably related to both the anxiety from flying and trauma of the crash. Though those aspects are indeed a small part of it, Elle’s been throwing up over the last two months due to a much bigger issue. Elle doesn’t blame the kid to not even consider that she’s prego. At this stage in her pregnancy, it’s not obvious that she’s got a bun in the oven. Not even a little bump. Sometimes Elle thinks that those pink plus signs were a mistake, some sick cosmic joke. But after drinking copious amounts of cherry Slush-Os and peeing on over a hundred tests, she’s pretty confident that there’s a mini-Elle growing in her belly.

Elle is not going to sit here and explain the birds and the bees to the teeny bopper…or the empath for that matter. It’s none of their business. Plus, the information can be dangerous in the wrong hands.

Elle curls into a fetal position on the floor, her head resting on Claire’s legs. Closes her eyes and breathes deep, attempting to calm her body and mind. Her blue eyes snap open to the distant sounds of a helicopter. Fuck. Men with guns are looming about, hunting them. The thought brings a strong surge of energy within her. Elle stands up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her eyes connects with Peter’s annoyed face. Before thinking, Elle blasts him full of sparkling electricity. Apparently, throwing up on him isn’t enough. Anger and irritation is apparent in her voice, “That’s what you get from almost breaking my jaw, you son of a bitch.”

“Fuck!” Peter’s skin is burnt raw, blood everywhere. The smell of burning flesh fills her lungs. Elle raises an eyebrow at the man withering in pain on the floor. Peter isn’t healing. Interesting. Without hesitation or regret, Elle blasts him again, this time with more voltage. It feels good not only to punish Peter for his actions, but also just to use her powers. The plane ride didn’t count, Elle wasn’t in control when her powers emerged. She hasn’t used her powers in months, trying to keep a low profile meant no beautiful blue sparks. It’s exhilarating to finally get release.

“Elle, stop!” Claire kneels next to Peter, interlacing her fingers with his. The empath’s body begins to knit together back to its smooth perfection immediately after the connection.

“We don’t have time for this!” Claire yells. Whoops. Elle momentarily forgot that they were being hunted. She‘s always been a one-minded kinda girl.

The three evolved humans begin running together, trying to hide in the shadows of the night. Hard to do that with bright orange outfits. They look like targets.

Elle’s trained eyes scan the area carefully. Like a large predator, Elle can see easily in the dark. So far no operatives in sight….yet.

“I can’t believe this is happening. My father, your brother.” Claire gasps.

“It’s not just Nathan, it’s the entire government. We need to hide.” Peter whispers.

“Oh god. Are we playing the obvious game.” Elle rubs her head, a headache forming around her temples. Of all people, she can’t believe that she is stuck with the bobsy twins. They are going to whine her to death.

Out of the darkness, Bennet all of a sudden appears and grabs his daughter. “You all need to come with me.”

“Really? I‘m staying far away from you, Glasses. I intend to live forever. So far, so good.” Elle growls.

Noah ignores Elle and brings his attention back to his daughter, pulling her close to him.

“Ah, let me go! Let me go! This is insane, what happen to you? How can you be a part of this?” Pom Pom cries. Elle rolls her eyes at the cheerleader’s continual stupidity. How could Claire not see this coming?

“It’s much more complicated than you know,” Glasses tries to explain himself.

Noah points his gun at Peter and Elle.

“Are you going to shoot me, Bennet? In front of your daughter?” Peter taunts.

“Bennet doesn’t have the balls. Never did.” Elle laughs, forms a dangerous ball of electricity between her fingertips. She’s itching to fry Bennet. Their last rendezvous didn’t end well.

“Dad? What are you doing!?!” Claire cries out with surprise. Elle huffs in response. Now she knows why some animals eat their own children.

“You can’t be on both sides of the war, Bennet. What’s it gonna be, huh?” Elle jeers.

Bennet’s eyebrows furrow together. After a few heartbeats, he finally lowers his gun.

“Run Peter, Elle.” Claire urges.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Let’s bail Peetster. This party sucks.” Elle grabs Peter’s arm and they both begin to run.

The sounds of bombs explode behind them.

“We need to get off of the path, it‘s too open.”

“Oh joy, some cross country running.” Elle sighs. She’s never been a particular fan of nature.

They leap into the trees, sliding down a steep hill full of dry leaves and sharp branches.

When they reach the bottom of the hill, Elle crouches low and turns her head, listening for hints of danger. Elle’s senses have been trained to hunt. She’s not used to being the prey. But Elle hopes that her trained, predatory skills will tip the balance of power. Gain the upper hand and instead of being the weak one, she’ll form those hunters into submissive, pathetic sheep.

Peter’s loud breathing and rustling in the trees makes Elle cringe with annoyance.

“God, Peter. Can you try to be a bit more quiet? You make as much noise as a god damn high school marching band. We need to be stealthy.”

“Stealthy?” Peter’s mouth twitches to a sideways smile.

“Can it, Peter.” Elle rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to start a sarcastic comment but her senses scream.

Elle whirls around with liquid speed and fries two soldiers into blacken ashes. They didn’t even have a chance to scream. Before Elle can smile in triumph, five more appear. They yell orders and begin to circle around Elle and Peter. Peter punches the one nearest him and isn’t slowed down by the bullets that fill his chest.

Elle releases an intense burst of electricity from every inch of her body. All the men, including Peter, fall to the floor in pain. Elle moves her hands to the shape of guns and sharp shoots the soldiers on the floor. Pumps them with enough electricity that she‘s confident that their hearts have stopped.

“Chaos, panic, disorder. My work is done here.” Elle chirps as she inspects the dead bodies, just to be safe. Doesn’t want to get shot in the back by some silly little man.

Peter raises an eyebrow at Elle, smoke still sizzling from his now healed skin. She was surprised that he didn’t use any offensive abilities during the battle.

“So what’s your dealio? You got your powers back, right?” Elle inquires.

“It’s… well, complicated,” Peter sighs.

“Well un-complicate it. I‘m sure I can follow.” Why does everyone assume that Elle isn’t smart? She knows for a fact that she has more brains than the empath, Pom Pom, and Glasses combined.

“My powers… they’re a bit… off, lately. I’m having trouble controlling and bringing up powers that I’ve acquired. Right now, I can only borrow one at a time. Whoever I touched last.”

“Lame. Well, we really need more guns at our disposal.” Peter nods in agreement and Elle grabs his hands. Allows Peter to absorb her powers. Normally Elle doesn’t like to share her ability, she’s inherently selfish. All of this sharing and caretaking, perhaps she’s starting to get maternal. Weird.

“Thanks.”

“Peter?” A woman’s voice calls out.

Elle‘s eyes connect with a familiar face in the shadows. Someone who was suppose to be dead. “Niki?”

“No, I’m Tracy.” The blonde makes a face at the mistake.

Elle raises an eyebrow at the woman. Elle had briefly met Niki at the Company. Gotten acquainted with the other personality- Jessica- as well. Looks like the crazy bitch has more than two personalities. And they thought Elle was the psychotic one. Elle‘s voice is sarcastic, “Oh. Sure you are.”

“Tracy, Elle, we need to continue moving.”

“I can’t do this,” Tracy mumbles, tears streaking down her face.

“What are you talking about?” Peter asks.

“My life was finally getting back to normal….” Tracy begins.

Elle cuts her off. “Buckle your seatbelt, Dorothy. Cause there’s no going back to Kansas, got it?”

Peter makes a face at Elle. Tracy is looking frantic. He tries a different approach with the unstable woman. “If you stay here, they are going to catch you. We gotta go.”

Tracy ignores them both. “Why is he doing this?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to find a way to stop him.” Peter is looking off in the distance, scanning for enemy soldiers.

“This is a nightmare…”

“Oh, get your self together woman!” Elle huffs, she’s heard quite enough. Elle has never been a particularly patient person.

“If you come with us, we can fight.“ Elle smirks at Peter’s tone. He’s gone off his knockers since the last time she’s interacted with him. Punching pregnant women in the face. Talking about fighting back, revolution. After a year of manipulation and lies, one can’t stay golden, innocent, and squeaky clean forever. The empath took forever to learn and adapt.

Tracy accepts Peter’s statement with a slight nod and begins to stand up.

“Wait!” Elle yells at Peter and Tracy. They look around, expecting that Elle has picked up on a coming danger.

Elle’s voice is low, serious. “I have to pee.”

Peter and Tracy look at her funny.

“Fuck you both.” Elle isn’t going to apologize for lacking bladder control or have to explain herself. Increased urinary frequency is a common experience in her condition. Elle has no shame or personal boundaries, she slides out of her orange uni-tard and squats right in front of them. Peter whirls around with lightning speed, red spreading across his face.

“Okay,” Elle announces when she’s done and all buttoned up. “Let’s go.”

Elle, Tracy, and Peter glide through the forest. Soldiers are practically falling out of the sky. Elle easily neutralizes them. She’s happily humming a song while killing them all. Peter frowns at her buzzing energy.

“What?”

“You don’t have to kill them.” Peter murmurs. Elle sighs. Hard to argue with someone with a hero-complex.

Tracy whispers and points to a lurking soldier. “Hey, quiet!”

Peter and Elle hide behind a tree. “Let me take care of this one, alright?”

Elle smiles, “Sure Petey. But just to let you know, if you want to make this a competition, I‘m ahead by 23.”

“Man down. Man down!” The soldier reports into his phone as he approaches his fallen comrade.

Tracy makes noises in the bushes and runs, a distraction. Allows Peter to attack the solider from behind. The empath knocks him out with his fist.

“Really?” Elle giggles at Peter‘s inability to kill. What was the point in giving Peter her ability if he isn't even going to use it.

Peter ignores Elle’s laughter and begins to riffle through the man’s belonging.

“What are you doing?” Tracy whispers.

“I need to go back, find Nathan.” Peter announces. Elle raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“You’re going to go up against all of them?” Tracy questions. “You don’t even know if Nathan’s here.”

“Nathan’s here. Probably sweating bullets, tries not to show it. The program was his idea. It means his ass is on the line.”

Tracy finds a phone. “You go back, they kill you.”

“You got a better idea?” Peter sounds tired.

“Maybe. I know Nathan too, and not like a brother.”

Elle laughs full out. Tracy ignores her outburst.

“I know the way he thinks.” Tracy plays with the phone in her hands.

“Because you slept with him?” Peter smirks. Elle is now laughing so hard she’s almost crying.

“Because I think the same way.” Tracy says with confidence.

Elle leans against the tree and watches silently as Peter and Tracy go back and forth about how they should face Nathan. A ghost smile plays on her lips as she listens with amusement to their planning. Such amateurs. They know nothing of strategic planning in the world of survival on the battlefield.

Tracy moves to a distance and calls up Nathan. Elle and Peter change out of their orange jump suit into the soldiers’ black clothing. Peter looks stunning in the gear. Elle on the other hand looks like she’s playing dress up in her daddy’s clothing. She rolls the pants and sleeves multiple times to ensure that she won‘t trip and fall over the excess material. At least she doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb anymore with the orange onesie.

Elle and Peter move up behind Tracy. She’s finished her call to Nathan.

“What’s the word?” Elle chirps.

“He’s on his way.” Tracy responds coldly.

Everyone is entitled to be stupid, but some abuse the privilege.

“I’m surrounded by idiots.” Elle mumbles under her breath.

“You have a better idea?” The ice queen snaps. Tracy is really starting to get under her skin. Energy boils within Elle, she struggles internally with the urge of blasting the overly confident woman into oblivion.

Tracy‘s voice holds a hint of triumph. “That’s what I thought. Let’s get started.”

Peter and Tracy must have assumed that Elle’s lack of response as indication of a silent agreement to the plan and the duo starts to run. Elle crosses her arms and doesn’t budge.

Peter glances back, stopping in a halt when he realizes that she‘s not behind them. He yells back, “Elle? What’s going on? I though you’re in?”

“Excuse me, but you’re obviously mistaking me for someone who gives a damn.” Elle growls. “I‘m bailing on this pathetic excuse of a resistance. You wanna take down Nathan, those government operatives with the big shiny guns? Go right ahead. I‘m not sticking around town.”

“Elle, no! You‘re crazy to think you can go off alone.” Peter looks at her with confusion in his eyes. It doesn’t take much to confuse him. He’s always been a bit slow.

“I don’t suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it. Besides, I think that my chances of escaping are much greater than sticking with Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb.” Elle laughs.

“If I don’t make it, I’ll send a postcard from hell.” With that parting comment, Elle breaks off into a sprint in the opposite direction through the woods.

“Elle!” Peter pleads, but Elle doesn’t look back.

Elle only cares about herself…and now she has an almost feral instinct to survive. She trails her fingertips lightly over her stomach with reverence. The delicately new maternal bond that is beginning to form with the tiny little baby growing inside her belly brings her internal drive and adrenaline that allows her to run as fast as lightning.

In the land of the fittest, only the strong will survive.

~*~ To be continued? ~*~
Author’s note:
Reviews = Love

Fic: Frequent Flyer

2009-02-18T01:01:33Z

Title: Frequent Flyer

Summary: Electricity + metal cargo planes = bad. AU. Elle-centric. Hints of Syelle.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for a little swearing and mild violence.

Spoiler alert: Volume 3 - Clear & Present Danger

Author's Note: Brainchild of the fanfic challenge by catyuy and di_elle on the sylarelle livejournal community. Thanks catyuy and faded_facade for betaing. Also, the prompt - Peter, you're an idiot - helped develop this story. I completed the fic on a plane today, which is both funny and morbid. ;) Love the reviews!

Frequent Flyer

Shit hit the fan.

Elle has been stupid to think that she could pretend to live a normal life. Ignored Senator Petrelli’s ominous speeches of dangerous people and terrorism on the television. Government operatives along with Noah-fucking-Bennet showed up on her front steps and apprehended her.

Elle wakes up suddenly to the uncomfortable feeling of a plastic tube roughly shoved into her noise. Elle immediately feels weak and dizzy from whatever narcotics they pump through her petite body. They force a thick, black mask over her face. Large goggles and heavy earmuffs complete the outfit. Elle can’t see, hear, or speak.

Seconds, hours, days tick by. It is hard to determine time without any sensory cues. The temporal isolation has confused her internal clock, that natural circadian rhythm is outta whack. Sensory deprivation is a very strange experience, creating an altered state of consciousness composed of heightened anxiety, hallucinations, and bizarre thoughts. Elle is left alone in the darkness haunted with paranoia on the verge of overflowing her psyche.

Elle finds that she has trouble moving her body and focusing her mind. The side effects of strong sedatives. Elle isn’t scared over her own wellbeing, but rather is extremely concerned that the potent narcotics are harmful to the baby inside her.

Out of the darkness, Elle feels someone’s hands on her face. The mask is suddenly yanked off. Elle squints, her eyes take a few moments to adjust to the bright florescent lights.

“Oh my God. Elle? Elle!” A familiar voice cries out.

Pom Pom and Boy Wonder are attempting to bring Elle to full consciousness.

Elle smiles lazily at the ridiculous matching orange jumpsuits that the dynamic duo are sporting. The smile is wiped clean when she realizes that she’s dressed in the same hideous outfit.

Elle’s blue eyes furrow in frustrations when she can’t move her body, she’s shackled down with metal bars and restraints.

“Holy shit, I thought you were dead!” Claire-bear gasps.

“What’s going on?” Elle murmurs, her voice sluggish from the effects of the tranquilizers.

“They’ve taken us prisoner.” Peter explains, he’s shouting over a loud, buzzing noise. “We’re on some government plane---”

Elle’s eyes widen. Plane?!?! Peter and Claire move out of her line of vision, revealing the interior of a large metal cargo plane. A rusting plane flying millions of miles from the ground. Elle feels her stomach clench tight with anxiety as she takes in her surroundings. Her voice is high and shaky. “Mother fucker.”

The firecracker is usually tough as nails. But every superhero…and villain… has their own unique weakness. Clark Kent has Kryptonite. Elle’s own personal Achilles’ heel happens to be flying. Just her luck.

Sure, Elle knows that she has an irrational fear of flying. Flying is safer than driving a car. Considered one of the safest forms of transportation. Even safer than walking. Statistics indicate that a person has a greater chance of dying from falling off of a ladder or drowning in a bathtub.

But those statistics don’t help reduce Elle’s natural physiological response to her fear of flying. Muscle tension. Tremors. Heavy, labored breathing. Abdominal discomfort. Sweating. Dizziness.

And then there’s the psychological response. The mind processes about 1,000 words per minute on average. However, as the anxiety kicks in, the thoughts run even faster - often repeating themselves over and over without end, overlapping and swirling together, each one demanding attention and energy. The racing thoughts repeat, they branch out - making more irrational thoughts. All the irrational thoughts ultimately lead to one terrifying, absolute belief- I am going to die.

Elle not only experiences the heightened anxiety and flooding thoughts that phobic flyers typically go through, her ability adds a unique… complication. Electricity + metal cargo plane = bad.

Nervous energy begins to spark uncontrollably from every inch of Elle’s body. The surge of power forces the plane to freefall for a heartbeat.

“Elle, no! Calm down! Please!” Claire is hovering over Elle. The indestructible teenager grabs Elle’s tiny hands, channeling the electrical current into her own body.

“What do you expect from me, cheerleader? It’s not like I have a frequent flyer card!” Elle tries to put on a confident and playful smile, but her voice is shaking from fear.

Elle‘s eyes shift from the concerned youthful face to evaluate her own personal hell. The plane looks rusty and ancient, the kind that somehow survived World War II. Energy unconsciously snaps wildly, some escaping from the cheerleader‘s control. Elle whimpers to Claire. “Fuck, you won’t be able to contain all of the energy. Please, you need to distract me….”

“Okay, okay.” Claire nods her head a little too fast. Takes one of her hands to smooth back Elle’s tossed hair, in attempts to calm her. “Sylar explained that you were dead. We had assumed he murdered you. How did you survived?”

“Um…” Elle starts, unable to finds the right words. The question wasn’t particularly calming. “Well, a magician can‘t reveal the secret to the trick, spoils the magic and mystery. Really, Pom Pom, at least try to distract me with something not so anxiety provoking.”

Claire smiles widely, “I’m sorry, let’s see…”

The cheerleader’s attention is suddenly shifted down towards to cockpit. Guards with large guns emerge from the door, attacking Peter. Claire lets go of Elle’s hands and runs over to assist Peter in the fight.

“Claire?” Elle screams are muffled over the loud noise of the cargo plane. Energy is leaking out of her body, causing the plane to violently rattle at the electrical disturbance. The turbulence only increases Elle’s anxiety as well as the voltage of her blue sparks. “Pom Pom?!?!”

Elle can’t trust anybody for anything. Claire’s action just reinforced her negative cognitive distortion. The bitch abandoned her in Elle’s time of need. Apparently pretty Peter Petrelli is more important.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Elle chants the mantra over and over.

Elle fights the painful urge to struggle against her restraints, knows that it will only make her more panicked. Elle’s other phobia is being powerless, caged, and not in control. Those fears are obviously strongly connected to her phobia of flying.

Her mind frantically goes over all of the anxiety and stress reducing techniques. She’s read all of the self help books aimed to train the mind and body against phobias.

Elle starts by focusing on her breathing. Tries to apply those deep breathing techniques that she used to make fun of. Hee-hee-hoa. Hee-hee-hoa. Hee-hee-hoa. Oh fuck, Elle realizes that the style she is applying isn’t really the traditional deep breathing for stress, but rather it was the lamaze childbirth method. The idea of giving birth- although something that will soon be a reality- causes Elle to breath increasingly faster and more frantic. Puts her on the edge of hyperventilating.

Elle attempts to count backwards in her head. 10. 9. 8. Damn. Elle has never had a very good attention span. Her thoughts instantly move back to the small, metal machine that she’s trapped in. Lets out a loud yelp concurrently with a intense release of energy. The plane jerks around violently. Elle feels the uncomfortable urge to throw up.

She tries a distraction technique and murmurs out loud to herself. “Oh my, this orange jumpsuit is hideous. Yep, orange doesn’t work well on anyone’s complexion. It should be illegal! I would totally chose style over comfort while travelin--- fuck!”

Elle next tries out a visualization exercise. Imagines a relaxing place, somewhere nice…peaceful. A tropical island, drinking margaritas while sunbathing on a sandy beach… bleeding from the head and being lit on fire by her lover. Elle has not had the best history with beaches. The image causes Elle to surge again.

The masked prisoners scream in unison from the pain of her electricity. Their cries move her attention for the first time to the other specials on the plane. Is Gabriel here? Hidden beneath one of the black ski masks? Elle shouldn’t get her hopes up, knows deep down that he’s probably killing again and going by his other alias. Sylar. And Sylar would not allow himself to get stuck in this situation. The thought of her ex-lover, her baby’s daddy, is not very calming.

Electricity is radiating hot within her core, her power lights up the entire interior of the plane with blue luminance. She is now almost in a full blown panic attack. Elle unconsciously releases an intense electrical burst that she is confident has damaged the plane’s entire navigational system.

“Please, just relax!” Peter is suddenly in front of her.

Elle rolls her eyes at his remark. “You think I’m not trying here? God, Peter - you’re an idiot.”

Hard to be relaxed and cool when the plane is swirling down to her imminent death. Elle really, truly hates flying.

“I’m sorry, Elle.” Peter yells. Before Elle can respond, Peter’s fist connects to her jaw, engulfing her in darkness.

~*~ Fin ? ~*~

Fic: Just another day on the job (Chapter 8 & Epilogue)

2009-02-17T05:03:05Z

Title: Just another day on the job

Summary: Perfect manicured red nails tap on the thick window. Brown eyes interlock with blue. Her lips twitch to a smile, his eyes narrow. A shiny new toy. Syelle.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for dark, psychotic themes.

Author's note: AU. Elle-centric. Story currently takes place during Season 1, when Sylar is captured after homecoming. Sorry it's taken me awhile to update- have been super busy traveling and interviewing for doctoral programs all month, meh. On the plus side, I’ve managed to write this on the plane and hotel. Love the reviews!

Chapter 8

Elle has had a solitary existence in the darkness for a long time. Over the years, her eyes adjusted until the dark became her entire world and she could see clearly. But then Sylar showed up. Turned on the lights and blinded her.

Elle is no longer alone in this world. She has come to appreciate that Sylar is not just a shiny new toy to be used and then tossed aside -but rather he is an equal. A potential rival. It’s both exhilarating and strange for Elle to no longer be the lone wolf. The outsider. Elle considers that since he has entered her territory that either the two dominant forces can join together in perfect harmony, or one will need to be destroyed….throat ripped out. Elle’s not completely sure which path to follow or even which one she prefers quite yet. She is interested to see how the ending of the story will play out.

Shiny black spiked heels clank sharply on the concrete floor. Elle slowly and confidently moves down the hallway, savoring each step closer to her target. Daddy, Bennet, all of the other silly agents - they are not going to get in the way this time. She’s outsmarted them, worked so hard to get to where she is now. Deserves the prize. Of course, Elle knows that Daddy won’t be happy and that there will be consequences. But Elle has never been very good at following all of the rules. The only time she obeys the rules is if she can manipulate something out of it. And right now, Elle is above rules. She yields to no one. Elle has a sense of special entitlement, inflated self interest. Sees herself as superior to everyone and everything. Worst case scenario, she gets stuck in solitary confinement for a few months. It’s not like it would be the first time anyways. He would be worth it.

She trails her fingertips on the walls and windows slowly while humming a strange tune.

Elle finds Sylar laying on his back on top of the metal bed, hands loosely clasped across his stomach and staring calming at the ceiling. He shows no surprised when Elle abruptly appears out of the shadows in front of the glass window. The howls and cries of the guards were a warning of her coming presence.

He doesn’t acknowledge Elle, but rather continues to memorize the imaginative designs on the gray ceiling. The gesture… or rather lack of gesture… makes Elle cringe with irritation. She wasn’t sure what she expected from him, but being ignored is definitely not something she‘s used to. Her narcissism demands attention. Ungrateful son of a bitch- how dare he. After all of the work she has gone through to get to this moment. While Elle taps her perfectly manicured red nails on the window she concurrently flashes her power brightly, creating loud snaps of energy. As if to say - look at me.

Sylar reluctantly obeys and turns his body painfully slow towards Elle. She can see the muscles shifting under his skin with the effort. He moves to lay on his side, head propped up with his hand. He looks comfortable and relaxed, like he is on the beach waiting for the photographer to snap the camera. His body position is so inviting and delicious that Elle wants to curl her tiny body around him. Elle sighs inwardly to herself, strange feelings that she cannot identify flood throughout her entire being.

Dark brown eyes interlock with blue. They stay staring at each other in silence. Seconds, minutes, hours tick by. Time is of no importance.

When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes back.

Her beast recognizes the familiar monster lurking beneath the brown eyes. Eyes are the window to the soul. Elle’s not sure if she believes in a soul. If she had one, her soul would probably burn in hell for a million years. The thought of pain and suffering doesn’t frighten her, though Elle is afraid of nothing. If you can’t feel anything, do you even have a soul? Doesn’t matter either way, if there is a hell - pain and suffering is just one of her versions of foreplay. Elle doesn’t feel bad or guilty for who she is. A leopard cannot change its spots. She has no scruples, no compassion or ability to empathize with the feelings of others; instead she is self-seeking and ruthless--- without conscience. Right and wrong, good and evil, Elle does not care about such trivial things. If she burns for all eternity, at least she knows for sure that she’ll have company. But Elle isn’t concerned about the future or life after death. Her existence is all about the here and now. Fulfilling immediate, primal needs. And right now, she’s thoroughly enjoying the special connection she’s sharing with her favorite serial killer.

They silently acknowledge one another, their bodies unnaturally frozen in a stillness that only an immortal possesses. At the same time, however, there is a sense of evaluation. Sizing up the other. The hierarchy of power and dominance is still wavering and unclear between the two predators.

What Elle does know very clearly is that she intoxicated by his very presence. He was like her own personal drug. Her eyes become glazed over, she’s still looking at him but no longer truly seeing him. She’s back in her inner world, violent thoughts and images of flesh and blood flash within her mind. Energy hums throughout her body with feral anticipation and need. Elle fantasizes all the various scenarios of how she’s going to take him.

The monster waits anxiously, hungrily, for her to do it.

She feels a surprisingly familiar urge to storm over and roughly slam him against the wall. Imagines the pleasure from hearing the sound of his grunt at the impact. She has such as strong need to lace her fingers through his thick brown hair, push her face against his neck and nuzzle. Breathe deep and long so that she can fully take in and memorize his scent. Elle needs to taste his skin gently with her tongue, and then bring her teeth down sharply, marking him as her own. To claim to the world - he’s mine. Though the idea of his teeth against her soft, smooth skin sends a thrill down her spine. The thought snaps her back to reality.

“Hey, you." Elle finally breaks the silence, voice husky, meant only for dark and intimate places. “Wanna play?”

The smile came, a soft curl of lips. The serpent must have smiled at Eve like that. I have this nice, shiny apple for you. She imagines taking the apple from him with reverence. The apple tastes delicious, flavorful and full of texture. The kind that has a fun crunch and sticky juice that runs down your chin. Thirst burns through her throat like fire. Elle wants to sink her teeth in.

"From the looks of it, you’ve already played." His voice is deep and powerful, like booming thunder in the eye of the storm. Elle picks up on a tinge of jealously underneath.

"Oh, this little mess." Elle glances down to inspect her appearance. Her blonde curly hair is pulled back into a relaxed side pony tail set in place with a thick piece of black leather. She's wearing a light gray sheer dress that barely reaches below her waist. The garment slips over liquid tight black leather boots. The boots go so high that the top lightly brushes against her most delicate parts when she moves. It was both painful and pleasurable at the same time - just the way she likes it. Elle guesses that the blood splattered across her dress and porcelain white skin perfectly matches the color of her crimson lipstick, completing the outfit.

"The guards were either very brave, or very stupid. Though I think sometimes bravery and stupidity are almost interchangeable. Don’t-cha think?" She giggles.

Sylar suddenly moves his body into a seated position. From an ordinary perspective, a normal would be amazed by his graceful and liquid movements, smooth like a large cat. But Elle is not most people. She picks up on the slightest hesitations and tension creased on his face- that indicate soreness and pain. The large tiger doesn‘t want to reveal that he‘s broken. His complexion is ghostly white, dark circles under his eyes. The damaging effects of being pumped full of drugs, forced through rigorous tests, and tortured. Even in such a state, he is still beautiful. God-like.

“They say that you're the big, bad boogieman. Stories of heads cut off and brains are scaring all of the little specials in their sleep.” Elle licks her lips and gently glides her fingers slowly and seductively across the glass. “Now what I can’t figure out -- is how does the meanest son of a bitch get captured and locked up?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

Elle wasn’t sure if he was trying not to laugh, or not to frown. Maybe both. She affected a lot of people that way.

“Well, now that I’ve gotten the guards out of the way and the security cameras are playing a fun game on the agents, we’re going to finally get some uninterrupted quality time together.”

This is the moment she’s been waiting for. The beast smiles contently within her dark consciousness as she swipes her Company card on the door’s lock. The security box flashes and beeps at her. Elle raises an eye brow and tries to open the door again. The box beeps a second time.

"NO!!!!" Elle screams.

The worst thing about finally putting together a large, complex puzzle is finding there are missing pieces.

This is absolutely, without a doubt, the worst moment in Elle’s life.

Elle releases a blast of electricity from every inch of her body towards the door. Throws more energy at it then she ever has before. The barrier doesn’t falter, not even a mark. As if the higher ups has expected this. God damn pre-cogs. The intense outburst of power has torn apart and burnt her clothes, revealing matching black lacy undergarments. The tips of her hair are blackened. Smoke steams off of her body- she probably will have the smell of burning on her skin for weeks.

Elle hits her hands against the metal door, willing it to bust open with force. Throws her weight to the punches, clawing in a feral rage. Pounds over and over and over until her tiny fists are bruised and bleeding.

“No, no, no....“ She mumbles softly to herself. Elle slumps against the door, head between her legs. Sweat is trickling down her spine from the exertion of energy.

Defeat and failure are unacceptable. Elle takes a deep breath and counts slowly to five. She doesn’t have the patience for ten. Elle to bounce back onto her feet. The beast begins pacing in front of his cell, her heels clicking fast and dangerous against the concrete. She has a little circuit mapped out that she follows mindlessly.

Elle is back in her inner world, muttering out loud a stream of dark consciousness. “He’s mine. Mine. He belongs to me. They can’t stop me. I’m going to kill them all. Every last one of them. They think they can control me. Keep him from me. Fry their brains so hot, roast their insides, microwave them until they pop. Blood everywhere. I want them to pay. Fucking Andrews, if he was still alive I’d turn him to dust. Daddy and Bennet are behind this. I know it. They are going to pay so dearly. I‘m going to rip them into tiny pieces with my bare hands….”

Sylar watches Elle with such intensity, like she is the center of his world.

"You know that you've walked past the window twenty times. And that's just when I started counting."

"Shut up."

He smirks, knows how to hit her buttons. "You're just angry because you can't get what you want. Daddy won't let you play."

Elle creates a vibrant ball of sparkling power in her hands. A trail of dangerous blue electricity follows her track as she paces. "Maybe they are afraid that I'll tear you apart. Destroy you before you can be of any use to them. Make you into a blacken husk of ashes."

Elle’s little display of threats doesn’t seem to phase Sylar. In the land of predators, the lion never fears the fox.

"I hear the way the other prisoners and agents talk about you." He says softly, stopping her in her tracks.

Paranoid thoughts are burning to overflow her psyche. "And what exactly do they say?"

"That you're dangerous." His voice is raw. "A sociopath."

"Yep, that sounds about right." She smiles widely, flashing all of her pearly white teeth. "And you're a psychopathic serial killer. A monster. The stuff of nightmares.”

Sylar laughs full out. The laugh is like candy, sweet and infectious. If Elle could bottle up Sylar’s laugh, she knows it would be fattening. Or orgasmic.

Elle’s eyes roam over Sylar. “Most women complain that there are no single, straight men left. I’d just like to meet one who’s human.”

“You aren’t human, any more than I am, my little electric firefly.” His eyes sparkle.

Elle frowns at his comment. "Can the pet names, Gray. You don’t know a thing about me."

"Please. You know nothing about you, Elle." Sylar sighs, sadness and irritation apparent in both his face and voice. Unlike Elle, Sylar seemed to be ruled by his ever changing and usually conflicting emotions. While Elle’s existence seemed to be a bottomless void, Sylar’s is overflowing with heightened emotional states. They were polar opposites, sitting on the extremes ends of the spectrum.

Elle wasn‘t quite ready to admit out loud being manipulated and controlled, can‘t show weakness to the big bad predator in front of her. So she changes the subject instead.

"What am I going to do with you now?"

His lips twitch to a smile. "I have a list, but I left it in my other pants."

Elle raises an eyebrow. She sighs with annoyance and then puts on her fake cheerful voice. "Oh well, looks like my Company card expired. That’s what I get for overspending! Daddy always said I was greedy, warned me about too much intimate time with the other prisoners. Guess that means I get cut off from you. It doesn't really matter. I'm starting to grow bored of you anyways."

"You were always a bad liar."

Lying is like breathing to a sociopath. When caught in a lie and challenged, Elle usually makes up new lies and doesn‘t care if she‘s found out. Lying, deceiving, and manipulation are part of her special talents. With his remark, Elle is not perplexed or embarrassed. She merely shrugs indifferently at his comment.

She puts on her bubbly and childish mask, her voice sing-songy. “Don’t want you anyways. Useless to me since Bennet has already broken you. Pathetic, damaged goods.” Elle places her hands on her hips and playfully sticks out her tongue at Sylar.

“Stop.” Sylar lashes out, his voice cuts like sharp daggers.

Elle softly whimpers immediately, her knees feel weak. She avoids eye contact and feels the urge to abase herself in the face of such power. Tail between her legs, begging for forgiveness. Elle manages to stand her ground…barely. She glances up cautiously after a few moments of silence.

His face extremely serious, but his voice holds both longing and anger. “You don’t have to pretend. Put on that act with me.”

“What are you babbling about?”

“Elle…” His voice holds warning.

“Fine. If you insist.” Elle listens to his orders, her mask gone and face emotionless. Her voice is cold, empty...reflecting her true existence. "There. Are you happy now?“

Silence. And then finally, a response. “No….not really.“

Elle rolls her eyes. Decides to shift the power dynamics, gain control - by bruising his inflated ego. Her voice is dark and deep. “Pretty pitiful attempt at escaping this morning. You're going to be here- for-ever. Only way you're going to leave this facility is through a plastic - black - body bag. Deader than a snowman in July. And I mean TV movie of the week, CNN all day coverage kinda dead. I’d be happy to put you in a body bag myself, but I have more important things to worry about."

Sylar looks as if he is considering her remarks thoughtfully, the gears ticking within his mind.

Suddenly, Elle hears commotion at the end of the hallway. The agents have figured out the she’s interacting with Sylar.

“Looks like our play time has ended.” She sighs. "I almost had you."

"Almost doesn't count." He whispers back.

Elle smiles widely, the cheerful mask firmly back in place. Blows him a playful kiss. "Bye bye, butterfly.”

Elle skips off humming a tune to a song that is painfully familiar to Sylar. He smiles in response to the sounds of the agents’ screams. Watches with reverence as the kitten finds temporary satisfaction in massacring the suits, the smell of burning flesh and blood fills the hall. Elle shows Sylar what he’s missing out on.

Epilogue

Elle isn’t surprised that Sylar took her advice. Literally. Died and came back to life. Like a modern day god. But Elle is stunned to learn that he ran off to be with someone else. Well, not exactly in the romantic sense. He tried to overpower the Cheerleader a second time, only to be stopped again by the Haitian and Bennet. The thought of him fixated on that silly pathetic Pom Pom brings foreign sensations through her body, making her tense and on-edge.

Elle prides herself on always getting what she wants. But Sylar is the only one that got away from her clutches. She is antsy because she never truly got her release. All that buildup and no orgasm. Maybe if Elle had gotten her hands on him in the very beginning, she wouldn’t have given him a second thought. But deep down, Elle knows that he’s not like the others. He's different, special. It takes weeks before Elle realizes that she’s suffering from her first experience of a crush.

He’s killing again, stealing powers from the weak and unworthy. The Company continues to put full force into pursing Sylar, though they are keeping Elle in the dark per usual. Some days Elle has the urge to leave the Company, track him down, and demand answers. He is the key to unlocking the secrets, stolen memories. Perhaps she could join him in his slaughtering. Be free to be who she truly is. Though Elle is unclear of the power dynamics between the two of them. Like alpha predators, they could either mate for life or fight to the death when they finally come face to face. Plus, the idea of wandering out into that wild, confusing world holds her captive at the Company. The Company is her… home. Though there is that saying - home is where the heart is. But where do you go when you don’t have a heart?

Now that Sylar is gone, Elle is back to her regular routine. Unfortunately, the normally satisfying schedule is not as fulfilling as before. Instead, she is distracted, he fills her consciousness with tremendous need and longing during the day. When Elle closes her eyes, he haunts her dreams with passion and pain. Elle wakes up in the middle of the night panting and in cold sweat, body aching to be touched. Other nights she wakes up in a near panicked state feeling powerless, clutching her stomach- swears she can hear the echoes of a baby crying out in the darkness. She’s not a fan of those particular nightmares.

Daddy must of sensed a change in Elle. So he gave her a new assignment to keep her occupied, controlled. Track down and apprehend pretty Peter Petrelli. Apparently, Daddy believes that the Petrelli’s youngest son is extremely dangerous and unknowingly part of some diabolical inner Company scheme that Elle is assigned to unravel. The case helps keep Sylar off her mind…at least during the day.

Elle’s life is a careful balance of chaos and order. Elle fills up that void, that cold emptiness with pain, blood, and death. The rules, structure, and routine help control the darkness. Shower. Coffee. Paperwork. Morning victim. Lunch. Meeting with Daddy. Hand out pills. Research potential specials. Dinner. Post dinner victim. Sleep. Just another day on the job.

~ Fin. ~

Author's note: I know, I know, I’m a tease. Many of you expressed anticipation of Elle and Sylar finally meeting up. And I threw in the twist of Elle getting locked out. But, I like the idea of Elle struggling with not getting exactly what she wants. Thoughts/reactions to how this played out?

Oh, and this is not the end of the story. Be on the lookout for the sequel --- it will focus on Elle’s adventures as well as her reflections/interactions with our favorite serial killer during Volume 2. Expect to see exploration of the aftermath of the Season 1 finale - How to Stop an Exploding Man… Elle capturing Peter, Sylar in surgery at the Company after getting stabbed by Hiro, Elle vs. Candice, and much much more! ;)

Just another day on the job (chapter 7)

2009-02-03T19:17:33Z

Title: Just another day on the job

Summary: Perfect manicured red nails tap on the thick window. Brown eyes interlock with blue. Her lips twitch to a smile, his eyes narrow. A shiny new toy. Syelle.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for dark, psychotic themes.

Author's note: AU. Elle-centric. Story currently takes place during Season 1, when Sylar is captured after homecoming. Writing crazy Elle is so fun but extremely exhausting. Plus, this is my first fanfic. Warning: Psychotic, dark themes. Reviews = love, and keep me motivated! Hope to get the next chapter up soooon!

Chapter 7

Elle is sprawled out on her stomach, legs bouncing to a feverish rhythm against the ivory bed. While Agent Andrews is busy doing his computer thing, Elle is trying oh so hard to maintain her patience. Calm the feral, dark beast within. But Elle has never, ever, been a tranquil soul. She is, literally, in every sense - electric. The blue power constantly surges throughout her entire body, impacting the wiring and makeup of her physiology, neurons, and psyche. Her special ability has significantly played a large role into the development of her frenzied, erratic, and wild nature.

Sapphire energy snaps loud and harsh between her perfectly manicured nails. Elle not only lacks natural patience, she is easily agitated. The sound of the suit punching hard on the keyboard causes Elle to involuntarily frown with annoyance. Electricity flashes angrily from her eyes. The lights and electronics in the room flicker as she increases her internal voltage, sparks her energy booming hot in order to drown out the sounds.

Elle sighs at the failed attempt to block out the aggravating noise.

Andrews stops typing and glances over, picking up on her irritation. “It will only be few more minutes. The security system is, well, extremely complex. I almost have it.”

Elle rolls her eyes at the comment. This waiting game is killing her. Instead of lying in her room listening to the insignificant worker type away, she could be filling up her cold emptiness with watchmaker’s delicious screams.

Sylar's dark chocolate eyes and ghost smile echo within her consciousness, sending strange.... pleasurable sensations throughout her body. Heat spreads between her legs as she reflects on the images of crimson blood splatter and broken bodies, the special presents that he made just for her. Imagines herself showing her gratitude by slowly licking his soft bottom lip, a submissive gesture that Elle has never considered - or fantasized over- until now. She's never met such an dominant, powerful, alpha male. She would love to feel his rough large hands tightly gripping and bruising her delicate neck. Elle needs to feel him underneath her, screaming from both pain and pleasure. Energy vibrates underneath her skin, building up for heavenly release. Elle's fingers tremble with the urge to touch herself lightly. But she balls her hands into tight fists instead, knuckles turning white. Andrews' presence is a buzz kill.

Her need and longing is so incredibly unbearable that Elle decides to distract herself. She knows that if she fixates on him too much, that she may act on her impulsive desires and storm right over to the cell and take the prisoner now. But Elle needs to ensure that all the plans are perfectly in place. And Andrews is the last piece of that puzzle.

She moves her attention away from the fantasies of blood, pain, and sex, and focuses instead on her small bedroom. Observes and describes silently to herself the details of the room. Everything is uncomfortably neat, clean, and orderly. The room would make someone with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder extremely happy. Elle could never suffer from OCD, as it is an anxiety disorder. And Elle lacks any form of worry, distress, or anxiety. The room merely reflects her need for control.

The environment is clinically white, sterile. The pristine room is absent of any decoration or color. Elle does not care such trivial things. Prefers function over form. The place holds no real value. Simply a space to shower, dress, and sleep. She can’t really picture her lair all frilly and pink, filled with images of butterflies and unicorns. Sure, she fakes the playful and girly act outside, but within her private quarters she is away from the watchful eyes. Elle does not need to waste her energy here on maintaining the lies and illusions.

Elle’s room is not that much better than the prisoners’ gray, concrete cells. Elle is quite aware that - in her own special way - she is a prisoner. Unlike the other captives, however, she can come and go as she pleased. But at the end of the day, Elle always comes back willingly to her cage. She knowingly commits herself to the Company. Chooses this life over the so called freedoms of the outside world.

Away from her room and the comforts of the Company, the world is full of complex and strange human interactions that confuse Elle. She can observe and learn the customs, social norms, and expression of feelings. Elle tries to respond appropriately to social initiations and expectations. But she cannot fully comprehend them. It is like being an anthropologist on an alien planet. Most people fake a lot of human interactions, but Elle fakes every one. All she can do is play along at life, and hope that sometimes she gets it right. She pretends the feelings are there, for the world and for the people around her. Who knows, maybe one day they will be. Illusion is everything.

But every time Elle thinks she understands the rules, they change. This lack of insight into human nature makes her feel so alone. Powerless. And Elle’s existence is all about power. So she aims to control that what she can understand. Control the prisoners. Control the suits. Control her silly little room.

When Elle is outside of the Company, wandering the streets, she sometimes likes to pretend that she’s alone. Completely alone. Make believe a world post-apocalypse or plague…whatever. No one left to act normal for. No need to hide who she truly is. No more lies. It would be…freeing.

A handful of people know what Elle truly is. The prisoners all get a firsthand taste. The psychiatrists scribble frantically on their notebooks during her sessions. Daddy caught on early after he noticed that Elle responded - uniquely - to the incident. The time when she “accidentally” set her Grandma’s house on fire when she didn’t get want she wanted, killing both Grandma and Mommy. Little Elle didn’t shed a tear or show any signs of remorse. Daddy understood that he couldn’t stop what Elle was developing into. A Sociopath. Monster. But Daddy believed he could do something to channel it. Use it for good. Made Elle into a Company girl. They trained her to use her antisocial personality qualities for the greater good of the Company. Allowed her to focus that dark, psychotic energy onto assignments, specific targets.

In a way, the Company is Elle’s sanctuary from the outside world. It was a place with simple rules and orders, providing her structure and purpose. It made sense.

Sometimes the Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps her control the internal chaos.

Elle’s life is a strange and careful balance of order and chaos.

“Ok, all done.” Andrews pikes up.

“Everything that I asked for?” Elle purrs.

“Yes, yes. Of course. Everything.” Andrews nods his head extremely fast.

Elle smiles widely, flashing all of her pearly white teeth. “Perfect.”

The agent's entire body begins to visibly shake. Elle narrows her blue eyes suspiciously, speaks painfully slow. “Now. Andrews. When I’m off playing with our favorite prisoner… you’re not going to do anything silly, right? Like report to Daddy or Bennet?”

Sweat starts to spread across his face. He squeaks, “Oh no, Ms. Bishop, I, um. Never. No, no. You can trust me. I ---“

Elle is a professional liar and she can immediately pick up when someone else is lying. Andrews is going to betray her. Elle never forgave anyone for anything. A character flaw to be sure, but hell, everyone’s got to have at least one. Though Elle doesn’t see it as a flaw. More of a survival skill.

“Liar!" Her feral growl cuts him off. "I told you I was going to burn your brains so red hot if you didn’t do exactly what I say. I hate to waste a good threat.”

Elle strikes Andrews hard in the chest, forcing the agent to fly violently across the room.

“Oh God!” He screams while she blasts him again.

Elle can see his pain. On some level, she can understand his pain. She just can’t feel his pain.

“Jesus loves you, too,” Elle laughs sadistically.

When she needs to back up her threats, someone writhing on the floor in pain is almost as good as a body. Sometime’s its better.

“Evil bitch!“ Blood begins to flows out of Andrews’ mouth. Mmmm. Blood is thicker than water, and much tastier.

The comment combined with the sight of blood gives Elle a twisted idea. She stalks slowly towards the closet, humming playfully to herself. Andrews is frozen on the floor, afraid to move. Elle opens the door dramatically, like a game show host displaying the expensive prize to the contestants. Her voice is sing-songy. “Voila!”

Andrews’ eyes widen at the sight of Elle’s private collection of special, dangerous toys. The shiny, black objects within the closest are startling contrasts against the stale, white room. Her favorite game of life is torture. Electrocution is one way to play. Elle loves her indigo sparks the best, but, that doesn’t mean that she is not open to other forms of fun. A true sadist, she collects anything and everything that causes pain and suffering. Black leather whips, handcuffs, and ropes hang on the hooks. She opens the obsidian drawers to reveal various types of shiny knives, swords, and guns. Weapons of all flavors.

Elle’s fingertips gently caress a large, silver knife. The true way to a man’s heart is six inches of metal between his ribs. Sometimes four inches will do the job, but to be really sure, Elle likes to have six. Bigger is always better.

“Oh, Andrews. Please. I’m not evil. Just.... misunderstood.” Elle stares him down, allows the darkness to come to the surface. She picks up the knife between her dainty fingers, flashing the large piece of metal to her victim. “And evil.”

Tonight’s the night. Everything has to be perfect. And Andrews is not going to spoil her fun. While silencing the little man's screams, Elle contemplates what she is going to wear for her date.

YATA!

2009-01-30T13:13:14Z

Funny NBC Ad. YATA! ;)

Heroes Super Bowl Ad

2009-01-30T01:56:09Z

Interviews and Behind-the-Scene of 'Heroes' Super Bowl Ad - click here for article

mmmmm. What's better then the men of Heroes? The men of Heroes in sexy football uniforms. NBC Heroes promo will ask the question- what happens when the heroes play a friendly game of football? Can't wait for this ad during the Superbowl. Wonder if our favorite serial killer will be part of the team?

Playful.

2009-01-30T01:35:04Z

Playful. Beautiful. Crazy Elle.

Just another day on the job (Chapter 6)

2009-01-28T21:39:45Z

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: PG 13- Mature Rating for dark, psychotic themes.(yay! gotta love the crazy Elle!)

Author's note: AU. Elle-centric. Story currently takes place during Season 1. I have plans to develop the story of Elle's adventures- and most importantly around her interactions with Sylar- over Season 1, 2, and 3. Oh, and it looks like I accidentally switched around the chapters the other day- sorry about the confusion- still getting used to the publisher system on this site. Hope to update this story as often as I can with longer chapters, but with grad school getting uber crazy now I most likely will update only 1-2 times/week, damn. I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoy writing it. Oh, and those that review get a cherry Slusho. ;)

Chapter 6

The morning fiasco has caused quite a stir around the Company. Elle is thoroughly entertained watching the suits frantically scampering about the building in attempt to control the situation. Busy little bees, buzzing about the hive. Cleaning up the mess that Sylar has created. The good spirits that were present early in the break room have been completely eliminated from all of the agents. Their eyes are hollow from the shock of the recent massacre of their colleagues and friends. The event has had the exact opposite effect on Elle. She’s humming a tune to herself, energy playfully vibrating throughout her entire being. A wide smile is plastered on her face as she's inspecting the bloody crime scene. The expression is almost genuine, representing Elle's closest experience to the emotion of happiness. Witnessing his aftermath and power makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It was like being at Disneyland. Well, at least Elle's demented version of Disneyland- a happy place filled with blood, pain, and death.

Elle considers the view with deep reverence. Takes in the details of the blood splatter vibrantly painted across the walls and floor. Breathtaking. The brilliant design reminds her of the works of the abstract expressionist Jackson Pollock, but this contemporary piece just happens to be manifested from the hands of a psychopathic serial killer. Her eyes drift from the crimson stained walls to the victims. Memorizes the beautiful sculptures created out of the medium of disfigured bodies. The scene fills up her emptiness, that strange longing that exists within her abdomen. Elle finds it somewhat of a shame that his creation, his masterpiece, is being destroyed. She guesses that most ordinary people don’t have a similar appreciation for the artistic works of a genius. But knows deep in her dark consciousness that she's not completely alone anymore. One special person shares her twisted idea of fun.

Unfortunately, the response to the recent events has severely damaged all of the work Elle has done over the last twenty four hours. Sylar is no longer contained in his original cell on Level 5. The change is devastating - all of her meticulous planning has gone down the drain. They've moved him to a more secure room. She back to the drawing board and needs to get the ball rolling soon, first by getting her hands on vital information. Squeeze it out with force from an unsuspecting little bee.

Like a wolf watching a herd, Elle’s eyes roam over the men and women moving about the Company. Observes each one, determined to pick out the weakest. The clairsentience chick has the beginning stages of the flu. The fat ordinary has a slight limp in his left leg. They all try to hide their flaws, but Elle can see everything so clearly. Her eyes fixate upon the perfect target.

As Elle walks towards the busy herd, the crowd instinctively parts like water to make room. The energy of the crowd has shifted, Elle can practically smell their anxiety and fear. The sheep attempt to keep their distance from her. Provide her an aisle to walk down- like her own personal red carpet, meant only for the powerful and most special. She silently stalks her unknowing target, follows him to the stairway entrance.

Aw. Agent Andrews extraordinaire. He’s a special. Though even among the evolved humans, he is still pathetic. A runt in the pack. Used and abused by all of those superior to him. Elle knows from prior interactions with Andrews that he has the ability of technopathy. Elle’s not entire sure what that exactly means, but understands that he’s a whiz with computers. The ability is not a very powerful tool to use as an active weapon, unlike Elle's glorious blue sparks. But his ability will be useful in helping Elle acquire the information she craves. The skinny twenty-something is struggling with a large box and having difficulty opening the door with his hands full. Elle moves up painfully close beside him, takes in his scent, and pushes the door open for the oblivious man. Andrews mumbles his gratitude and when he glances up to acknowledge the good Samaritan- he sharply hisses in a breath.

"Looks like you're struggling with that big, heavy box. Here, let me help." Elle purrs and takes the box out of his hands easily and sets it down on the ground. Although Elle is small and petite, she is very strong for her size. It's not only her electricity that makes Elle a dominant.

Andrews looks both confused and scared shitless. He stutters out, "Elle....I....um....well...ya...thanks."

Elle takes both of Andrews' hands into her own gently, in an attempt to soothe the jumpy man. Can't have him make a scene and attract an audience. Her voice is sweet, soft. "I need you to do something for me."

"Oh. Um. Actually, I have to run to the lab to put these samples in the--."

"It was not a polite suggestion." Elle cuts him off, her voice sharp as knives. Fuck it. Elle is too impatient, can't maintain the friendly act forever. She grips his hands with force, making him whimper from surprise. Elle doesn't even need to use her ability to scare him. "Your talents...I need you to access the computer and get something that I've been blocked from. The Sylar file."

"Look, all I know is that you are not suppose to be involved. I'm sure they have a really, really good reason for it. " He squeaks, eyes darting wildly.

"And you're going to help me find out why." Elle forces her right hand roughly over his mouth, muffles his cries as she pumps him with a low dose of energy. "If you don't do as I say, I'm gonna to fry your brain so red hot that--"

"Okay, okay." He mumbles under her hand. Elle takes one step back from the scrawny agent, allows the man to drop to his knees. The submissive gesture gives Elle goosebumps from pleasure. Andrews' breathing is heavy, fast. Looks like he is about to hyperventilate. He gasps out, "Oh God. They are going to take my badge for this."

"Better than the alternative." Elle purrs. She forms an aggressive energy ball, brings it up close to the agent's face. The sparks snap loud and quick, forces Andrews to cower closer to the floor. "Death seems a lot worse, honey."

Elle jerks Andrews up and leads him slowly and cautiously to her lair. Holds his hand painfully tight, nails digging sharp and deep into his palms that will leave little half crescent marks filled with blood. When they enter her room, she violently throws him down on the seat in front of the computer.

"Do it." Elle commands. Andrew immediately obeys and touches the monitor. The computer turns on, images and documents flashing fast on the screen. Andrews' eyes look distant, listening and seeing things that Elle could probably never comprehend. Must be a strange sensation to have ones consciousness connected through a computer system. Probably just a strange as having electricity pulsating throughout ones body.

His voice is soft and hesitant, "I am accessing his file now."

"Get mine too while you're at it." Elle quickly snaps. She doesn't want to be kept out of the dark. Needs to be in control by eliminating all of the secrets.

Andrew's eye brows furrow in concentration. "Ok, I have aquired the Sylar file. But looks like it has been... corrupted. "

"Whatever, read what you have on him."

"Case C004. File ID- Subject: Gabriel Gray.***" Andrew's voice is monotone, almost robotic. "Known Alias: Sylar. Unique Ability: Intuitive Aptitude. Evolutionary Anomaly Class: Cerebral. Detail: Gabriel Gray has absorbed numerous abilities from his prey, including telekinesis, ability to freeze items, and possible other unknown para-evolutionary phenomena. Control Index: 76%. Known persons exhibiting similar abilities: Peter Petrelli. Data Analysis: Biological- 50%. Cerebral-95%. Elemen-"

Elle interrupts, her voice irritated. "Just skip over the medical jargon and numbers and get to the important stuff."

Andrew continued. "History: Gray is the son of a watchmaker who carried on his father's trade for several years before being approached for study by Dr. Chandra Suresh, who termed Gray his "patient zero. " Under Dr. Suresh's inadvertent tutelage, Gray realized he had more than one anomalistic ability; in fact, he came to understand that he could absorb the abilities of others. The specific mechanism of acquiring these powers remain unclear, but we understand that it requires the removal of the victim's brain matter. Agent Bennet and Agent Bishop acquired preliminary data on Gray's ability. [Text deleted.]"

"Wha-? Which Agent Bishop? And what do you mean 'text deleted'?" Elle cries out with alarm.

"In regards to your first question, the file doesn't specify." Andrews sighs. "And text deleted is exactly what it sounds like. Someone erased parts of his file."

"Can you look up who changed the file?"

"Hold on. Wait..." Andrews closes his eyes in concentration. "Username: Bennet."

"Glasses himself." Elle huffs. "Whatever, I'll deal with that later. Keep reading the file."

Andrews clears his throat and continues. "With the incorporation of new abilities into his genetic structure, Gray assumed the name Sylar and began killing individuals on Chandra Suresh's list of "specials." A team of agents captured Gray after the Union Wells High School incident. Under Company protection, Bennet and his team will study into this mechanism to determine Gray's precise manner of acquiring abilities from his victims' brain matter. FBI Agent Audrey Hanson and Matt Parkman's investigation led them to an unsuccessful raid on Primatech Paper while Sylar was in our custody. Under observation, Sylar proved uncooperative and an incident with Agent Eden McCain Eden/Sarah Ellis led to her death. Sylar attempted to escape the Company, killing over two dozen agents, but was neutralized. Sylar has been moved to a more secure cell. Orders are to continue to study the subject and keep him alive. Psychological Profile--"

"The company keeps psychological profiles? Since when?" Elle voice is dark, suspicious. Andrews shrugs in response. Maybe Elle had not noticed that section of the files before, she never really reads the paperwork thoroughly. She was always too busy planning the bagging-and-tagging scenarios. Always let her partners do the boring research. The idea of a psychological profile somewhat bothers Elle. She knew she couldn't trust all of those psychiatrists. Lied when they talked about confidentiality. She's now positive that they recorded her sessions, shared the grotesque details of her psychosis and dark desires to Daddy and the other Company hot shots. Elle crosses her arms and sighs to herself. "Continue the file Andrews."

"Psychological Profile: Gabriel Gray's overbearing mother pressed on him the notion that he was "special" and meant for more than his family's middle-class existence. When he failed to live up to expectations, he fell into the family trade as a watchmaker and grew increasingly frustrated with his life. When he began manifesting abilities, he realized he could use them to fulfill his deep-seated desire to be "special" and thus prove his worth to his demanding mother. However, infusion of foreign DNA into Sylar's genome has corrupted his mind and moral compass. He began seeing himself as vastly superior to average people, which gave him—in his mind—the moral authority to kill at will. He became sociopath and singularly focused on gaining more abilities. His desire to be increasingly "special" will surely compel him to seek out additional victims. Extreme caution must be exercised in any interactions with Sylar while he is detained at the Company."

"That's all they got on him." Andrews looks up at Elle, concern in his voice. "But it looks like your electronic file has been erased. Completely."

Elle frowns. "Who deleted it?"

"Username: Bishop."

Damn. Elle is going to have to deal with both Daddy and Bennet later. Needs to focus on her priority. Satisfy the urgent need. An idea suddenly materializes in her mind with such clarity. "So can you control other forms of technology systems, right?"

"Um... yeah." His eyes widen in fear.

"Wonderful. You're going to help me with a little security issue."

Elle places her hands gently on Andrews' shoulders and then pumps him full of electricity to remind him who's in control. Agent Andrews cries out in pain. He's looking pale and sick. Nods his head a bit too fast.

She lightly pats his head. "Good boy."

Elle smiles darkly to herself. The pieces were finally falling into place, her end goal will be reached sooner than she had anticipated. The internal dark beast screams triumphantly with delight. He's going to taste oh so good.

***Note: Information from NBC Primatech Assignment Tracker website. If you haven't discovered the Primatech Assignment Tracker- check it out, so much funsies. NBC Heroes interactive stuff is awesome.

Io9 is amazing.

2009-01-26T19:13:04Z

Looooove this blog~ io9.

Perfect for lovers of Sci-fi. Hilarious articles. Satifies my fangirl needs. Always start my day with black coffee and Io9 Morning spoilers. Great way for me to geek over Heroes and other wonderful shows, movies, comics, and books.

On Io9, here's an article on Io9 about Fanboys with three new clips. Fucking hilarious. Love Kristen Bell.

Just another day on the job (Chapter 5)

2009-01-25T22:20:10Z

Title: Just another day on the job

Summary: Perfect manicured red nails tap on the thick window. Brown eyes interlock with blue. Her lips twitch to a smile, his eyes narrow. A shiny new toy. Syelle.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Duh. But I'm jelly of NBC.

Rating: Mature Rating for dark, psychotic themes.

Author's note: AU. Story currently takes place during Season 1. Love reviews and feedback. ;)

Chapter 5

Elle sighs into her mug of black coffee, a headache beginning to form behind her eyes. She's never been much of a morning person. All she wants is fifteen minutes of uninterrupted bliss to consume her caffeine. It's part of her daily routine: Shower. Coffee. Paperwork. Morning victim. Lunch. Meeting with Daddy. Hand out pills. Research potential specials. Dinner. Post dinner victim. Sleep. But since Sylar showed up at the Company, her routine has been a bit...off. And he's only been here less then twenty four hours.

The normally empty break room is packed full with agents of all shapes, sizes, and evolution status. Elle frowns in response to the laughter and positive, buzzing energy. Apparently, capturing a big bad serial killer is good for morale. All of the tables are full of suits drinking coffee, munching on donuts, and blabbing away. Well, all of the tables minus the one that Elle occupies. Although she has been at the Company for over sixteen years, Elle has always been very isolated. A lone wolf. Doesn't play well with the other agents, or anyone for that matter. All of the bubbling noise in the break room is putting a damper on her morning, she likes to drink her coffee in the usual silence. The knot forming in her stomach is a warning sign of a developing irritable state. Such states typically end in somebody getting fried.

At a nearby table, an agent is loudly explaining a story to the rest of the suits. Elle's ears perk when she hears his name mentioned.

"- --Sylar, really sick fuck. I was there at the clean up, blood everywhere. We had huge crowd gathered around that was difficult to manage. I guess the psychopath striked during the high school homecoming."

Homecoming?

Elle doesn't believe in coincidences. She gazes into her black coffee, blocks out the sounds around her and contemplates recent events. On Elle's latest mission, Daddy had given her the solo assignment to spy on Bennet's adopted daughter Claire. The Company had suspected that little Miss Pom Pom may have developed an ability. Apparently, both of her bio-parents are specials. Like a pure bred prize dog, the cheerleader has the genetic jackpot for the blue ribbon. But Bennet has repeatedly reported with confidence that Claire has not manifested, making the higher ups suspicious. They decided that Bennet's word was worth baloney, so they elected Elle to do some reconnaissance.

Elle wasn't particularly excited by the idea of babysitting the cheerleader, but accepted solely on the fact that it would be her first assignment solo. Elle hated that One of us, one of them rule. It was pretty common knowledge that she hasn't had the best track record with partners. Majority of them end up dead. It wasn't really Elle's fault that the agents that made up the one of us are...well, human. Makes them weak, easier to be killed. Elle couldn't figure out why the Company had that silly rule anyways. The Company is all about specials- understanding abilities, tracking evolutions, and occasionally locking up the ones deemed too dangerous to be living amongst the sheep. But one of the founders must have had a weird sense of humor to require agents to be paired up in such an odd way- a special with a normal. Fucking normals. Elle is fully aware that she has a superiority complex, thinks less of the non-evolved agents. Elle believed that perhaps someone high on the chain of command must of realized that Elle is completely capable of handling an operation on her own. Espionage work in a high school seemed beneath her, but at least it was a start to prove her talent at working independently.

Elle never went to high school. Pulled out of elementary school after she had manifested. Elle had missed out on the entire school experience- no slumber parties, algebra class, swim team, or dances. Being cooped up at the Company since for as long as she could remember is probably a significant factor in Elle's lack of social skills. A captive and isolated environment is unhealthy for anyone. Throughout her youth, Elle was surrounded by very serious and scary adults. It was lonely at first, but once Elle learned to control her ability she became friendly with the inmates. They make the best playmates and toys.

Even though Elle is twenty four years old, she had no trouble passing for sixteen at the high school. Being naturally short and petite with an innocent face helped. As part of her disguise, Elle replaced the stilettos for a pair of black Converse shoes, lost the red lipstick, and threw on a black Ramones t-shirt over skinny gray jeans. She was to blend in as just an ordinary student at Union Wells High School. Ordinary. The thought made Elle snort in disgust.

While the idea of a solo mission was glorious, the reality of the experience was extremely boring and monotonous. Elle spent most of her undercover work sitting in the back of the classroom watching Claire-bear pass notes to her buddy Zach. Elle probably doodled a million variations of pictures of her electrocuting Claire. For twenty seven days straight, Elle was stuck in an uncomfortable metal desk contemplating terrorizing the students and teachers during the day and then cramped in a rental car recording the cheerleader's lameo after school activities. Elle thought that undercover work would be much more glamorous and suspenseful. Wishes she was in a James Bond flick~ wearing fashionable clothes, sleeping with handsome foreign men, and best of all- having a license to kill.

The only plus of the mission was discovering the wonders of cherry Slusho. The delicious uber sugary substance helped her get through the boring classes and long stake outs. So addicting, she drank three a day.

Over the span of nearly one month, Elle was not able to acquire any indication of the cheerleader being special, so Daddy cancelled the assignment a week prior to the high school's homecoming game and dance. Wonders what would have happened if she stuck around for another week.

Did Sylar attempt to kill Pom Pom at homecoming? Elle is extremely agitated about being left out of the loop. Everyone but her seems to know all of the details surrounding the Sylar case. Energy circulates inside her body, itching to be released. Needs to get some answers. But she'll deal with this later...after her coffee. Elle takes a sip, savoring the flavors in her mouth.

Unexpectedly, a loud alarm sounds, making all of the suits in the break room jump in unison. Elle remains calm, ignores the flashing lights and sirens. She's still determined to finish her morning beverage per usual.

All of the agents leap from their seats, scampering out of the break room with guns in their hands. Elle can hear someone yelling orders over the alarm in the hallway.

A prisoner is attempting to escape.

Elle stays seated alone in the break room, now irritated by the commotion. Every morning on the job, all she wants is fifteen minutes of silence to enjoy her coffee. Couldn't he have waited until after 7:15?

By the time Elle finishes her morning dose of caffeine, Sylar has killed a number of agents- both specials and normals. Unfortunately for the escapee, the Haitian was on the premises, neutralizing his abilities. The Haitian tends to ruin the day.

Elle stalks down the hallway silently, observing the massacre with a smile. Broken bodies are scattered throughout the hall, blood everywhere. Some are literally torn apart, while others are frozen solid. Quite a beautiful scene. Makes energy pulse throughout Elle's entire body. She knows her skin is softly glowing with blue sparks. Sometimes it's hard to cover up her excitement, especially now with such a landscape reeking of death, destruction, and power.

There is a crowd gathered. Twenty plus agents cautiously hover around Sylar, their guns aimed steadily at his head. The Haitian is standing silently nearby, ensuring that the dance is over. Sylar is laying on the floor, face down. Bennet is on top of him, pushing his knee into the escapee's back while yanking Sylar's arms behind him hard. Sylar is struggling wildly to get Glasses off of him. Another agent plunges a needle into Sylar's arm, fills him up with a strong sedative. Elle is sure that the tranquilizer probably has enough kick to it to knock out five elephants.

Elle is impressed by how close Sylar is to escaping. No one has ever been successful, but Sylar has managed to get the farthest.

"The bastard killed Eden." One of the agents cries out.

Elle raises an eyebrow at the statement. Looks like the Wicked Witch couldn't control him with her evil voice. Evidently, Eden had gone against strict orders and over-confidently used her abilities to command Sylar to kill himself. Got herself killed instead. Silly for a weakling like Eden to think that she could control such raw power.

Bennet cuffs Sylar’s hands behind his back. Sylar’s lip is split open, blood slowly drips down his chin. Bruises are beginning to appear on his face and arms. He's conscious, but his body is sagging from the immediate effects of the potent drugs.

“Hand cuffs?” Elle laughs. She is leaning against the wall, playing with a ball of electricity with both hands. All eyes drift to her. She smirks at the attention. “You can't be serious?”

“Somebody get Elle out of here. Now.” Bennet orders. The other agents shift uncomfortably. No one makes a move, they all know the consequences.

Elle glares at Bennet, annoyance apparent in her voice. “What’s your dealio anyways?”

“I don’t have time for this Elle.” Bennet growls, anger fuming from his entire body.

“Well somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Her voice is sing-songy. Bennet ignores Elle and begins barking out orders to the other agents.

Elle’s blue eyes slide to her soon-to-be-victim. It’s the first time that she’s truly acknowledged him during the uproar. For a half second, her aura shifts cold, emotionless. Allows the darkness to briefly peak through the playful façade, gives Sylar a little preview of what’s to come. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. Reveals something akin to recognition mixed with anticipation. Their eyes stay locked as Bennet and the other agents drag him down the hall back to his cell.