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heroslayerHe'd started watching the Weather Channel sometime in March. It was a random decision, background noise to fill the gaps between Peter coming and going that didn't involve hearing about the special situation and what the government planned to do about it for the hundredth time, but over the course of a month, it commanded his attention. By April, he was watching almost religiously, tuning out reports on whether or not it was still snowing in the Midwest, or what it the travel forecast was like for Florida this time of year, and had focused himself on things that seemed to fit some sort of pattern.
Random fires, burning down fields during a wet season. Lighting storms where there hadn't been a blip on the radar before. Floods. Magnetic disturbances. And so on. The weathermen overlooked it as nothing more than a series of unfortunate disasters, unrelated save for maybe the effects of global warming, but the more he listen, the more two things occurred to him. One, they all seemed to center around a handful of isolated locations around the States, and two, this sounded an awful lot like the biblical apocalypse the priests at St. Michael's had talked about when he was a kid. He couldn't say he believed in anything the priests had spouted anymore, but someone apparently did -- likely someone with an ability, coming out of the woodwork, now that they were all out of the closet -- and they had his attention.
By the end of April, Sylar had whoever it was linked to one of two towns -- Lawrence, Kansas or Cleveland, Ohio -- all of the devastation, all the threads he'd tugged at pointing in that direction, and he'd left Peter a note on the table, promising he'd be back, that he was just restless and needed to get out of the city, that he didn't plan on hurting anyone while he was gone. It was true, mostly -- he was more interested in figuring out why whoever it was needed to draw so much damn attention to himself, when he, personally, had managed to stay under the radar for a good three months -- and it was all Peter needed to know. He'd probably try and stop him or come with him if he knew what was going on.
And so he'd stolen a car -- he'd made no promises about that -- and taken the Holland Tunnel out of New York and into New Jersey, heading west towards Pennsylvania, intent on making Cleveland his first stop. He only hoped he'd find something there, though judging by the tension that pooled in his stomach as he approached the city limits, he was pretty sure he would.
Random fires, burning down fields during a wet season. Lighting storms where there hadn't been a blip on the radar before. Floods. Magnetic disturbances. And so on. The weathermen overlooked it as nothing more than a series of unfortunate disasters, unrelated save for maybe the effects of global warming, but the more he listen, the more two things occurred to him. One, they all seemed to center around a handful of isolated locations around the States, and two, this sounded an awful lot like the biblical apocalypse the priests at St. Michael's had talked about when he was a kid. He couldn't say he believed in anything the priests had spouted anymore, but someone apparently did -- likely someone with an ability, coming out of the woodwork, now that they were all out of the closet -- and they had his attention.
By the end of April, Sylar had whoever it was linked to one of two towns -- Lawrence, Kansas or Cleveland, Ohio -- all of the devastation, all the threads he'd tugged at pointing in that direction, and he'd left Peter a note on the table, promising he'd be back, that he was just restless and needed to get out of the city, that he didn't plan on hurting anyone while he was gone. It was true, mostly -- he was more interested in figuring out why whoever it was needed to draw so much damn attention to himself, when he, personally, had managed to stay under the radar for a good three months -- and it was all Peter needed to know. He'd probably try and stop him or come with him if he knew what was going on.
And so he'd stolen a car -- he'd made no promises about that -- and taken the Holland Tunnel out of New York and into New Jersey, heading west towards Pennsylvania, intent on making Cleveland his first stop. He only hoped he'd find something there, though judging by the tension that pooled in his stomach as he approached the city limits, he was pretty sure he would.
