paixaorpg | "Homecoming" Indeed [Completed]

Characters: Sylar and anybody else who feels like ~~taking their life in their hands~~ joining in
Setting: Joutenheim Gates
Content: Sylar enters and is more than a little confused.
Time: Midday
Warnings: Bloodstained clothing and mild swearing.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit! Sylar swore silently as he ran. He had never been beaten this badly before.

Damn that cheerleader for being the wrong one.

Damn that Claire for getting away.

Damn that Petrelli for interfering.

Well, Petrelli had gotten what was coming to him. Sylar’s only regret for that one was that he hadn’t been able to saw flyboy’s and cheerleader’s heads off. He hadn’t had the time – nobody with a rap sheet like his could afford to stick around with police sirens going off everywhere.

Speaking – or thinking – of which, where were the sirens? He hadn’t heard them for quite some time now.

That question was soon accompanied by quite a few others as he emerged from the woods into a grassy field. For starters, where’d the field come from? He should have come out onto a freeway.

And why was it light outside? It had been well into the night – somewhere around nine p.m., he’d thought – when he’d entered the woods. There was no way he’d been running for that long.

And – he did a quick double-take to make sure he wasn’t seeing things – what the hell was that? It looked like a football stadium gone horribly wrong. Too many domes everywhere, and a gate with the weirdest design he’d ever seen – two giants crossing weapons.

Oh, shit. He wasn’t dead, was he? Because those gates were anything but pearly.

Not that he really thought he’d be heading up there anyway.

But this place sure didn’t look like hell, either. If it were hell, everything would be on fire.

The whole situation was just too damn weird for him. He turned around to head back into the woods. He’d rather face the police than this…hallucination gone wrong. At least he could kill the police.

But the woods weren’t there. It was just grassy fields as far as he could see, with the exception of the domes and gates.

Well then. He’d just play along with this little game. Then he’d find the person running the show, kill them, and get back to hunting down the rest of the people with powers.

But to do that, he’d need to get through that gate. And attracting attention was not the way to go.

He wiped as much of the blood off his face as he could with a sleeve of his hoodie, then tore it off, turned it inside out, and tied it around his waist. The plain white tee he’d had under the sweatshirt luckily had no blood on it, and the sweatshirt around his waist covered the worst of the red on his jeans. He’d need to get new clothes as soon as possible – hopefully the people in the domes wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Assuming there were people in the domes.

Well, if the line outside the gate was any indication, there were, and they were all blonde-haired blue-eyed morons. Nobody asked questions, and nobody noticed a damn thing that didn’t pertain to them. He probably could’ve killed one of them and none of the others would have noticed. He felt like a wolf amongst cattle and rather relished the idea.

After a long and uneventful wait, Sylar finally arrived at the gate. “Name?” prompted yet another blue-eyed blonde, holding a pen poised over a notebook.

“Robert,” Sylar replied smoothly. “And what is this place?”

“Thank you, Robert,” the man replied, scribbling the pseudonym into his notebook. “And this is the great city of Paixao! If you’ll just go along to the next booth, you’ll get your journal there.” Having completed his job with this stranger, he turned to the next person in line. “Name?”

Paixao, Sylar mused silently, taking the pamphlets and small black rectangle offered to him without another glance and finally entering the city. Couldn’t think of a better name than that, huh.

Well, whoever was at the top of this organization was going down. This wouldn’t take long.