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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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The libation is pretty simple, really, if definitely ceremonial. A little coffee (he's discovered he likes coffee) slopped into a planter (tannic acid is not bad for plants! The heat might be another story) while his eyes are averted and he murmurs "In Hades's name." Could be fancier, sure, but mortals tend to make things fancier whether you instruct them to or not.

Only then does he look up at the guy with the eyebrows. "Well, a little faith can't hurt."

"I've discovered it's more a hindrance than an aid," he says dryly. "You may have heard otherwise."

Sylar is, of course, right. Duh.

"Only when your patron god doesn't take an active hand in things." He's not from around here, after all. Different universe, different rules. "Hades is a little more hands-on."

"I'm sure."

He pretty clearly isn't.

It's Hades's turn to raise an eyebrow, this time with something of a smirk, as well. "Wow, how new are you?"

Most people are shellshocked, jaded, hopeful that the worst is over, grimly determined, cheerfully looting, despondent...

But skeptical?

Lately if you say 'How strange! Shouldn't everyone be riding diamond-encrusted pony rockets?' the answer would be 'Maybe where you come from.'

"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.)