Main Street, Saturday afternoon

[slippedagear.livejournal.com]

He couldn't resist any longer. He'd been so good lately. If you define 'good' as 'self-preservational'. He hadn't tried to open up anyone else's heads. He hadn't even committed any small assaults. He'd lucked out that Pippi hadn't noticed his attempt to open her skull.

Sylar's need to screw with the inscrutable was now inevitable.

So he was taking apart one of the damn clocks on Main street, and trying to make it work. He had to fix something.

[open as open can be, for as long as you want]