A/N: Sorry for the late update.

Wren felt tears fall down her face as her eyes opened. It took her a moment to realize why she was crying.

But when she remembered, the tears kept coming. She'd tried so hard, been so desperate, done her best, but the machines just brought her back, they just kept her alive…

She sobbed; she didn't care if they saw her tears now. They were liars, murderers, they were going to kill her whether she cried or not. Emotions were the only thing she had left; the only thing that proved she was human.

She felt something warm touch her cheek and sobbed louder as soft, comforting words were whispered in her ear. Empty promises and lies, all designed to gain trust, only to kill when trust has served its purpose. They meant nothing to her; they were just an echo of what humans really were.

"Wren…? Are you all right…?"

The voice sounded worried, but what was worry to a machine? What was compassion to an oven, or pity to a toaster? It was emotion, an unsolvable riddle that had eluded machines for years, and would for centuries to come.

"Wren, it's all right, you're safe now. We're not going to hurt you…"

Lies and treachery and deceit! That was all these things knew of human thought! It was all they could comprehend! They were all liars!

Wren curled her hand into a fist and threw it towards the voice. She heard a satisfying crack! as it connected; the fact that she was not in unbearable agony proved that nothing of hers was broken.

A small, dry chuckle sounded behind her. "I suppose I deserved that one." The voice admitted.

Wren didn't dignify it with a response. She folded her arms across her chest. The time for tears was over; now she turned to stubborn, harsh, violent, human anger.

"Can't talk anymore?" He teased. She knew who it was; or rather, who it claimed to be. Sylar, the 'man' who had destroyed a Terminator with his bare hands.

"I don't have anything to say to you." She replied bitterly. "So save yourself the trouble and kill me now."

"Now why would we do that?" His voice was almost kind. Almost.

She didn't reply.

"Wren…" He sighed heavily. "Look, it's been a long time since any of us has seen a… well, a human. I was so used to everyone knowing about us that… I didn't… didn't think about how it would look to someone like you. I'm sorry."

Her lips formed a tight line. Her eyes narrowed, though she was still facing the wall, not daring to look at him. Because if she looked at him, she might be fooled into thinking there may be some truth in his words. She could not fall into that trap. She wouldn't.

"I know you probably don't believe me. But could you just try for a moment?"

"No."

He sighed again, and for a moment, there was silence.

Wren shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, and her hand closed around something. She recognized it instantly, but couldn't understand.

She looked at the little doll. Probably another trap. Another lie. Another way to gain her trust.

That didn't stop the tears, though.

"Wren? Hey, are you all right?" he placed a hand on her arm gently, and she threw it off.

He swallowed as he saw the doll. "Oh… I just sort of… found it in your backpack."

Wren tried to choke off the tears, but it wasn't working. The doll stared at her, watching her cry with an innocent, ignorant smile on its face.

"I'm sorry if it was… the wrong thing…"

The words sounded strange and hollow. He seemed so unused to emotions that he couldn't possibly be human. Emotion confused him. It was strange, unfamiliar territory.

Just like a machine.

Sylar didn't leave Wren's side. He knew how she would take it; she'd think he was guarding her, watching her, making sure she didn't try and kill herself again. Well, he hardly wanted her to kill herself, true, but she wasn't exactly a prisoner.

It just wouldn't be so easy trying to convince her of that.

It wasn't very easy for him to be sympathetic; he'd spent so many years suppressing emotions that it became difficult to experience them again. Of course, they'd all come back when he thought he was the last person alive, but he was still a killer. He still couldn't look on his past with regret; it was still too unfamiliar.

Still he tried, saying comforting words and empty promises of how everything was all right. She would never believe that everything would be ok, but he remained persistent.

Finally, after a few hours of tying to bargain with her, trying to get her to sit up, to eat something, to talk to him, she turned around to face him.

He smiled as genuinely as he could manage.

She sighed heavily. Her tears had dried long ago, and the doll had been shoved into her pocket. She sat up slowly, wearing an expression of unmistakable loathing.

He continued to smile weakly. He waited for her to speak.

She glowered at him for a moment, then gave up, asking, "So, it's still 'Sylar', right?"

"Yes."

She sighed heavily. "So… what now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's up to you."

She rolled her eyes. "I already told you; no matter what you say, no matter what you do to me, I'll never tell you where John Connor is. Never."

"I never asked you to."

She glared at him. "Not yet."

He thought about this for a moment. "All right, Wren. I'll make you a deal. I won't breathe a word about John Connor. I won't ask you about any of the other humans out there."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what do you get in return?"

"I want you to at least consider the possibility that I'm not a machine. Give me one day- just twenty-four hours-to try and convince you that we're not… toasters, as you put it."

She raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't take this deal?"

Sylar considered this. He hadn't wanted to resort to this, but desperate times…

He sighed. "Claire will kill me, but I think… I think it's for the best."

He stood, retrieved something from the other side of the room, and sat down next to her once more. He held the object out for her.

It was a gun.

"A little easier than a knife." Sylar explained. "Now, you and I both know that it would be useless against me. But there's still that option; the one you tried to take earlier. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that a bullet to the brain would make any information you have useless."

Wren stared at the weapon. Her hands began to shake.

"We wouldn't be able to bring you back. You'd stay dead this time; no return, no way to betray the humans."

Her trembling hands reached for the gun, her fingers closing around the cold metal.

"If there's absolutely no doubt in your mind that we're all machines and nothing more, then take it."

She did as told, bringing the gun closer to her, staring at it. She quickly made sure it was loaded. This was it. Her way out.

Sylar's heart was drumming crazily as he tried to find exactly the right words to say. He was playing a dangerous game, and Wren could easily die because of it.

Wren brought the gun to the side of her hand, still shaking. A determined light shone in her eyes as she pressed it ever closer.

"But if there's a possibility that we're not lying…" Sylar continued. "If there's the faintest chance that we're just like you, people who are on your side, people who are fighting the machines…"

She closed her eyes.

"Isn't that one little bit of hope worth living for?"

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Sylar didn't even breathe. They just sat there, waiting for that one decision.

Finally, Wren's lips opened, and two words slipped out.

"Twenty-four hours?"

Sylar nodded, though her eyes were still closed. "Yes."

"And no one will ask me about John Connor?"

"No one."

Her eyes opened, though the gun remained firmly pressed to the side of her head. "And if I decide that you are machines?"

"Then I'll give you the gun again."

She looked at him. "Tell me. If you're human, why wouldn't you just let me out of here? You don't seem to want me dead; why wouldn't you just let me go? Set me free?"

Sylar smiled wryly. "You're good."

"That's why I'm alive." Her finger tightened on the trigger. "For now."

He sighed heavily. "All right. If, by the end of the day, you don't have enough doubt to stay, I'll personally show you where the exit is."

"But you won't show me where it is now."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm stubborn, just like most humans out there."

Wren had to smile; she couldn't stop herself. She lowered the gun and handed it back to him.

"All right. You have twenty-four hours." She crossed her arms. "Convince me."

Sylar smiled. He was really starting to like this 'Wren'.

"Are you insane?"

Sylar shrugged. "Maybe."

Claire shot a death glare at him. "You gave a gun to a person who was suicidal?"

Sylar rolled his eyes. "She's not 'suicidal'…"

Claire waited for him to realize the stupidity of his statement.

"All right, so, technically, she's suicidal! But it worked, didn't it? We've got twenty-four hours before she demands to be shown to the exit, and that's a lot better than keeping her prisoner!"

"Twenty-four hours? It'll take weeks! That girl is too paranoid for her own good!"

"It's kept her alive, hasn't it?"

Claire sighed. "Look. I just… I don't want the one human we've found to die, all right?"

Sylar looked at her understandingly. "It's all right, Claire. I'll handle it. She'll be fine."

Claire chewed her lip. "All right, Sylar. We'll do this your way. But if she dies, or if she kills herself, I'm personally blaming you, understood?"

Sylar smiled and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes and walked away.

Sylar had said that he would be back in 'just a minute'. Wren figured that meant sixty seconds, give or take.

And there was a lot a person could do in sixty seconds.

As soon as the door had closed and Wren was left alone, she searched the room. The gun was the only visible weapon at first glance, but there was a rock or two on the floor that looked sharp enough to slice through skin. She tucked one into her pocket. She was unable to take the gun- that theft would be noticed- but old habits died hard. Despite the fact that the rock would likely be useless, she felt better having it with her.

After that was finished, she sat down and tried to look innocent. She was very good at that.

Sylar entered the room a few seconds later. She looked expectantly up at him.

Sylar chuckled. "All right, Wren. Give up the rock."

She raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He rolled his eyes. "I was just in the hallway, you know. I could hear you walking around."

"No human could hear that." She pointed out.

"True. But I'm not… entirely human. I'll explain; after all, I have twenty-four hours. But the point still stands; could you please put the rock back?"

She glowered at him and pulled the rock out of her pocket.

He smiled. "Not that I really care about it, but I really don't want you to get hurt."

She rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "Are we just going to sit here all day?"

His smile widened. "No, no we are not. Just for a little longer; just while I explain what we are."

Wren placed her chin in her hands, listening intently. Now this should be interesting.

Sylar sat down next to her, and she moved a little farther away from him. He smiled and allowed the action without comment. "Long before the machines took over, there were… special people out there. People could do… strange things. Extraordinary things."

"Such as?"

He smiled wryly. "Well, such as healing from a gash across the throat."

She raised an eyebrow, remembering her reaction to Claire.

"Or telekinesis." He continued. "Or telepathy. Radioactivity. Technopathy. Pyrokenisis. Manipulation of Electricity. Painting the future. Extreme strength."

Skepticism was written across her face. "Uh-huh. And these magic people, did they ride unicorns and spread rainbows across the world?"

Sylar smirked. "If you don't believe me, see for yourself."

The rocks that were scattered across the floor begin to rise into the air. Slowly, they hovered above the ground, drifting towards each other.

Wren's eyes were wide as she stared at them, watching as they floated across the room. Gently, delicately, she touched one. It remained where it was, unmovable, solid.

She sucked in a deep breath, then forced her face to go blank. "This isn't possible."

"No. It's not." Sylar replied. With a wave of his hand, the rocks clattered to the ground, scattering away.