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In Metropolis, there is a man in a dark suit. He's of a sort of non-descript middle age, not specifically young but nowhere near old.

As for what he's doing?

He's looking around. Learning. Absorbing local color. Picking up the lingo (which isn't as hard as it should be) and the customs. Occasionally having a meal somewhere and libating to that ever so beneficent monarch of the dead, Hades, just so he can explain the custom to curious onlookers. Carefully working minor miracles wherever it'll do the most good-- and once again, advertizing for the once and future Lord of the Underworld. Looking at maps, trying to figure out where he can start an underworld on this continent.

It's not his world. There's a lot to learn.

Good thing he got the brains in the family.

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"Not very," he says flatly.

Sylar is willing to accept diamond-encrusted pony rockets. Any kind of divinity? That was his mother's business, and his mother's business hasn't been his in more than half a decade.

You know. Considering he killed her and all.

"And this place hasn't pulled the whole 'more things in heaven and earth' schtick at you yet? Soon as I popped in, I met a dead chick, a flying robot, and a psychotic rabbit. I figure some god's got a sense of humor about this." Or is drunk. Or buggered off for a cosmos that isn't getting holes ripped in it on a regular basis.

Hey, more room for Hades. And apparently Mort.

"There are," excuse him while he counts, "four of me here. Yes, I'm aware that this world is strange."

He hasn't met Gray.

"But strangeness doesn't automatically lead to religion."

See above re: Mom.

"Who said anything about religion?"

Hades might have. Eventually.

But he hadn't, is the point.

Very, very dryly: "You mentioned gods, I believe."

"Hey, just because they're there doesn't mean you have to worship them," he points out.

Granted, if the god in question is powerful enough or pissy enough, it could get you smote. But you don't have to.

"Alternately, just because someone else claims they're there..."

Does he have to finish that sentence?

"... Doesn't mean you have to believe there might be more things in heaven and earth yadda yadda I'm repeating myself?"

Dang, why didn't anyone ever tell Hades how amusing atheists can be?

Oh, right, nobody in his world questions the existence of gods. Whether or not they can get away with filing paternity suits, yeah, but not their existence.

"You certainly are," Sylar agrees.

It's possible he does so mockingly.

"I'd offer proof, but I get this feeling you'd just, you know, rationalize it away." There's a fluttering sort of gesture there. Shoo, proof. Clearly you are not as proofy as you think you are.

Possibly Hades is a little less inclined to show off divine power on a not-quite-deserted street.

... Possibly this would, in fact, be a good idea. Good publicity.

Eh. He'll keep thinking about it while he plays Poke The Atheist.

"That depends," he says with an insufferable smirk, "on the nature of the proof."

"Well," Hades says, setting aside his coffee cup, "Why don't we start small. Coffee?" He holds out a hand as though plucking a mug out of thin air-- there's a swirl of smoke and by the time his fingers close, there's a cup there, full of steaming coffee.

Black, of course, and far too sweet, but hey, that's how Hades likes it. "Praise be unto Hades for this miracle."

It's small.

It's quite possible nobody but Sylar saw that.

"You have the ability to produce coffee out of nothing," Sylar notes, raising his eyebrows again. "Impressive, practical, but so far nothing leads me to conclude divine."

It is, you must admit, a reasonable conclusion. If you're an atheist who doesn't know much about the way Greek gods run things.

"As a mere mortal, I have no power." This would totally be true, if Hades were a mere mortal. Suffice it to say a mere mortal has no power, so that works out. (And, of course, some mortals aren't quite so mere.)

"What little I can do has a divine source." This is entirely true! However, it is also true (and probably more apparent to Sylar) that nothing Hades did had any kind of external source whatsoever.

So there are two conclusions to draw here.

Either he's lying or he's a god.

The steady heartbeat suggests the latter. Actually, come to think of it, Hades' entire body is working far, far too well. Not a single system out of whack.

Those eyebrows? Yeah, they're doing their thing.

"I would contest," Sylar says slowly, "the label of 'mere mortal'."

Because it's becoming clear that Hades is nothing of the sort.

"Well, nobody likes to think of themselves as a 'mere' anything," Hades agrees. Probably. It's said in an agreeable 'sure, the mileage is a little high, but these German-made things just go forever' tone, anyway. "But humility's a good thing to have. Gotta know your strengths and weaknesses, right?"

It's a perfect body, really. Like he's never had a broken bone or been sick a day in his life or pulled a muscle or gotten cut or dislocated anything or ingested an artificial preservative. Really, at his age (which is hard to determine, as he could be a well-preserved fifty-something or a mature-looking thirtysomething, at least), something should be giving him trouble.

He's either a deluded regenerative with some extras, or a deity in disguise.

Not enough information to decide.

On the other hand... Sylar frowns.

"If you're faking mortality, you're not doing a very good job of it."

Hades raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?" That's a challenge, there, and not a request for tips.

"You're too perfect."

And what's the point of a disguise if it doesn't gain you power? Sure, Sylar hid himself for five years. But he got a Presidency out of the bargain. What's a god want with mortality?

"Not a singly system out of place. Hardly realistic."

Information. Unobtrusive interaction. To be able to have a nice long shower without putting his hair out.

"I've been blessed with good health." Piety shouldn't be quite so snarky. (Which is not to say that godly blessings don't work that way.)

Sylar says nothing.

He doesn't have to.

Hades' own mortal face raises an eyebrow at him pointedly.

He thought Sylar had a different feel to him.

Ah well. It's not like it's Hades's actual face, just one that's... fairly close. If Hades were, say, Zeus or Posiedon or Demeter, even Hera if she had her peplos in a twist that day, it'd be enough to set him off. As it stands, Hades isn't quite inclined to smite the guy for being a dickweed-- at least with an audience.

"Nice trick. There was a guy back home who could do that. Related to Posiedon somehow, I think..." Sprawling family. Where did Proteus fit into the family tree? Damn, now it was going to bother him.

Dismissing the illusion, "It's certainly effective."

Hmph. Mythology.

He finds this conversation irritating.

To be fair, where Hades is from, mythology is current events.

"Bet it's useful. Although, of course the gods can take any shape they choose. Mostly you just hear about Zeus, though, because he shows off." Bull, swan, shower of gold. And as has been shown, this guy is going for the whole 'devotee of Hades' thing.

His arms are crossed. His fingers are tapping against his elbow.

The tips are glowing.

That's a very concentrated, very fatal dose of radiation headed your way, Hades.

It isn't going to touch anyone else in this city, because that would be inefficient. But Sylar has had just about enough of this gods and miracles crap. If there's a god watching over this guy closely enough to provide him with coffee, a little induced radiation shouldn't be anything to worry about. And if, as Sylar suspects, the man is the god... well, then things are going to get interesting.

Sylar can handle interesting.