Character: Sylar, Fox Mulder
Fandom: Heroes and X Files
Word count: 450ish
Prompts: Mojo Jojo: All right, you flea-bitten curs! Heel! I, Mojo Jojo, am your master, and you shall obey my commands like the dogs you are! Because I am your master, it is I who you will obey! Obeying commands is what you will do! I will give you commands, and you will obey them! scifi_muses
Notes: This was written for rp_shadesofgray
is trying to get the FBI off his ass. This is a crack crossover.
Killing the painter had been easy. Taking his power had been a nice afternoon bit of fun and games. Getting paints to try my new power wasn’t as easy. I went to Isaac’s studio, but it was obvious someone else had been there. There was a shit load of bad paintings that I knew the artists formerly known as Isaac Mendez, now known as pigeon food, couldn’t have done. They were rough. They were crude, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say I painted them, which in this fuck-o-rama was entirely possible.
The hardest part was finding a clean canvas to work with. The worst part was the only paint I could find in abundance was yellow. I peeled off my coat, drank down a Coke from the fridge, and turned on the power. Unlike Isaac I knew what I wanted to see. The generic future wouldn’t do for me. I needed to see who I had to get out of the way to take out Peter Petrelli once and for all.
My hands flew over the canvas, pausing only to dab the brush into the smears of paint on my palette. The power made my ears ring, and I was pretty much blind was it was working. I didn’t like that at all. When I was done, my vision suddenly cleared, and I stood back to take a look at my handiwork.
“Mulder,” I snarled. That surprised me. I was expecting to paint the Cheerleader. He always seemed so concerned about Claire.
I called the FBI field office, doing my best impression of a cop. It’s amazing what you can talk people into telling you over the phone if you’re smooth. Mulder’s hotel wasn’t far away, and I flew there quickly. Using telekinesis I unlocked the door and waited inside, snooping around the entire time while I listened for his return. Fox Mulder had some interesting reading materials, and it was no surprise that when I turned on his TV it was on the house porn channel.
“Pervert.” The sound of Mulder’s footsteps coming off the elevator made me shove Miss April back into his suitcase, and I waited behind the door. The second he opened it, I shut off the blood flow to his brain, and he hit the ground like a stone.
Mulder came to easily enough, chained to a heavy metal chair in the back of Isaac’s loft. I’d taken the trouble to bolt it to the floor too, and there was no way he was getting free. Then I added a nice layer of duct tape across his mouth and woke him up with a very cold hand on the inside of this thigh.
“Hi, Mulder, my name is Sylar. Heard you were looking for me.”