Someone had clearly been through this house with a fine-toothed comb already. It was as bare-bones as it could be. Sylar just hoped they'd get lucky with the remaining couple of rooms.

If Sylar had his telekinesis, he'd be ripping up the floorboards to make a fire. He'd reduce that chair to kindling. He'd be doing so much better than he was now, reliant on the son of a man he hated and stuck in this useless persona. His jaw clenched as he stared at the cushion-less chair.

"Only one way to find out," he replied, turning immediately and heading towards what he hoped was a kitchen. And it was- but everything in it was broken. Sylar rubbed at his temples to ease the headache that was forming, even as he walked over to the stove. The door wouldn't even open. Great. Sylar let out a long-suffering sigh that was honestly more pitiful than anything he'd ever put together for his 'Zane' creation.