| Fanfic: "The Mechanism" |
[May. 24th, 2007|11:04 am] |
Title: The Mechanism
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Heroes is the fault of NBC and Tim Kring.
Character: Sylar.
Word Count: 400
Spoilers: ‘Six Months Ago’
Summary: Okay, I think we’re all in agreement that Sylar isn’t any conventional kind of sane. But just what might be going through his head? (Inspired a little by the Carol Anne Duffy poem “Circe”.)
Author's Notes: This just sort of tumbled out of me. I worry myself sometimes.
First, select a human. The age, gender and other variables do not matter, so long as you ensure beforehand that they are special.
The second step is to determine to quality of the specimen. Peruse his skill at your leisure: he has told no-one he is here. Watch his fingers tremble with the effort as the glass slides across the table. Watch his worried eyes crease into a frown. Watch his face, and see through it to the gently ticking mind.
Ah, now you see that the ticking is broken.
He has a power which he does not want. You do not have it, but must. The equation is simple; you are, after all, a restorer of timepieces.
A human is really nothing more than an especially complicated watch.
Dispatch the specimen by applying blunt force to the neck or upper back. Under no circumstances cause death via force to the head: the risk is too great of damaging the mechanism inside.
It is here that the most serious obstacle is reached: the skull. It has evolved to be a barrier against attack, evolved to repel predators and accidents alike. But evolution favours you. Never forget that.
There are a pen-knife and small saw in the drawers near your desk. Go. Fetch them.
Slide the scalpel cleanly through the skin, cutting a circle about level with the tops of its ears. Raise the shape slightly at the front to bypass the staring eyes. See how red oil blossoms out, but do not stop.
Now the skull is revealed, like an eggshell, though you must not open it like an egg. Rather, many small incisions, overlapping and adding to each other, will reward the diligent worker with a clear path to the brain.
It no longer ticks, but the breakage is clear.
In its purest state, everything God made is a mechanism. Large or small, simple or complex, that is where your skill lies.
Men panning for gold out of worthless sand will look… so look. Breeders selecting a pedigree dog from mongrels will touch… so touch. Gourmets probing for a quality vintage amongst cheap wines will taste… so taste.
It tastes of blood and power. I know.
Now raise your hand. Do not let it tremble. Do not let yourself frown. Smile as the glass slides across the table. Smile, because you are the next step in evolution.
Now.
Repeat. |
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