There is a bridge off the highway about five miles from here.
Please, I have to speak to you.
I am not joking.
The note was not signed, and the language didn't reveal a particular author's style, but the reader knew exactly who had written it.
"Not joking," he muttered to himself. "I don't doubt that. I am rather worried about walking into a trap though, and I do doubt that I can trust that it isn't one of those." Nevertheless, Mohinder knew that he would meet the writer of the note at the bridge.
Night had fallen as Mohinder reached the overpass. The night was quiet, devoid even of the usual sounds of the outdoors. No crickets chirped, no leaves rustled in the wind. It was as if the world was waiting for the two men, waiting to see what they would do.
The man that Mohinder was waiting for approached the bridge from the opposite side. They stood, facing each other. Mohinder hoped that the encounter wouldn't turn into a standoff. Sometimes being superpower-less had its disadvantages. All thoughts of a fight vanished when the man before him suddenly seemed to collapse, slumping to the ground. Mohinder debated walking away, as retribution, perhaps, though this one life lost surely would not equal all of the lives it destroyed, but in the end, Mohinder couldn't leave, and he ran towards the man on the ground.
There was a deep gash in the man's neck. Mohinder was surprised that it hadn't healed itself, until he noticed the piece of glass still lodged in it. Steeling himself, he pushed the skin of the man's neck away from the wound and reached a finger into the cut, hoping that infection was just as beatable by the regeneration power as a regular injury. There was a squelching sound as the glass came out of the neck, and Mohinder grimaced.
The man on the ground opened his eyes. He grabbed Mohinder's wrist, and Mohinder pulled away.
"You came."
"Obviously," Mohinder replied dryly.
"Why?"
"I don't know," Mohinder admitted. "To kill you I guess."
"Oh."
"You don't seem surprised."
"You won't really kill me. I could kill you long before you'd even try."
"You deserve to die. All those people you killed."
"They're not people. They're freaks."
"You're one of them."
"Yes." Sylar turned away from Mohinder and Mohinder grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around. Sylar's hand flashed with blue flame, but he regained his self-control.
"You didn't only kill people with powers, even," Mohinder said. "What about everyone else? When the bomb went off?"
"I didn't do it."
"Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't."
Mohinder walked to the edge of the bridge and sat down, his legs over the side. Sylar followed suit. To an outsider, it would just look as though two friends had stopped to chat on a walk. But Mohinder was wary. "Why did you want to see me?"
"I needed to talk to you."
"I can't stay long. I'm still trying to clean up your mess. People get rather disturbed when they learn that their president is actually a serial killer posing as a rather well-liked politician."
They sat in silence, watching the sky turn from grey to black. Then, so quietly that Mohinder wasn't even sure that he had heard correctly, Sylar whispered, "I'm sorry."
Without thinking, Mohinder laid a hand over one of Sylar's. They continued to sit as night quietly fell.