Mohinder's hand tightened on the blade handle of the long steak knife. Nothing Sylar said was inherently wrong. Nothing he said could be reconciled with truth though either. Mohinder stared at the edge of the blade as if trying to see if he could divine his destiny from his own distorted reflection.

"If this is fifty years into the future, you're not getting home. If this is some other, alternate timeline, you're not getting home. If this is just some projected reality into a body of an innocent... Well that is a philosophical question. Is the person still innocent? Does the body matter? What does the sinning? Hand or mind?"

He slid the drawer closed. The knife stayed in his hand.

"If you aren't really here and I'm hallucinating, it's too late. If you find a way home before I do, it's too late. If you find a way to claim the abilities of all those here and I do not stop you, I am responsible for their deaths."

Mohinder could probably talk for days. It might feel to Sylar as if he had been already.

"If... If I weigh out all of the options there is truly only one choice," he said and then lunged.