IMPORTANT A/N (23/4/08) – Hey guys and welcome to Eviscerate. Some of you may already be familiar with the fic, for others it might be a completely new experience. I started this fic in mid 2005, when I was 16 (as far as my poor maths will tell me) I am now nearly 21 and I realise that, although I definitely intend on finishing this fic, I think it needs a little bit of a reupholster to make it blend from the writing I did then to that I do now. Plus, it'll help in making it easier to read as I've fixed my paragraph break setting (Thanks Lo!) and definitely a little more sensible. So if you've read this fic before, I encourage you to read again, if not to refresh your mind then just to make it flow a little better. Also, some very slight changes have been made to some important background information. Again, thank you so much for your custom and enthusiasm in my crappy writing. –xShocked.

PS- You'll see a note like this one each chapter as I reupholster them. Keep checking back!



A/N
- I know, I know, there are a million Violet-related stories, why not do something different? It's because Violet, despite not having a central role in the movie, is a very complex character. I like messing around with her. It is important that you know my stories focus on either or all of the categories of angst, psychological torture, or putting characters into uncomfortable, depressing and/or torturous situations. If you don't enjoy reading that sort of thing, turn back now. For those of you that decide to read on I thank you for giving me a chance, and hope you enjoy. This will stay PG-13 and will not become R until I figure exactly what is best to add to this story and what is best left to my imagination. First chapters are always boring; trying to explain exactly what's going on. Don't judge it for the rest of the story.

DISCLAIMER- I do not make any profit from writing this piece and all characters mentioned within it, especially that of Violet Parr, belong solely to Brad Bird and the Disney Pixar company. I can only thank them all for making characters that stimulate my brain enough to come up with this drivel.


EVISCERATE

Chapter One- Haven't seen the Sun in Weeks.

"This is your Captain speaking," the Captain's voice, now devoid of every comic tone he had been using during the long flight, could barely be registered over the pandemonium within the cabin. "We're experiencing some engine difficulties but we urge you all to remain calm, fasten all seatbelts that aren't already fastened and remain seated at all times."
The girl beside Violet snorted, giggling shrilly in a paranoid, hysterical pitch. She was most definitely losing her mind in this deplorable situation; Violet supposed that she was not one for confrontations as horrifying as this.

"He may as well just openly say 'hey everyone, prepare for your impending death', god knows it might make the situation a lot better," the girl snorted between short bursts of her inane laughing. Violet opted to disregard the comment, fearing more than anything the horrid truths in the sardonically spoken words. Instead, she focused her attention as far from the frantic girl and her bitter words as she could, which left her little choice but to turn to the small airplane porthole on her left hand side.

She recoiled at a smear of sticky red that lined the top rim of the porthole setting, where the plastic jutted sharply out from the wall. Gingerly brushing the top of her forehead with her fingertips, she registered a damp matting of warm wetness in the tangle of her loose hair. Coming to a surreal understanding, she realised that the blood itself must have belonged to her. She hadn't even known she'd hit her head hard enough to draw blood, let alone that it had cut so deeply into the skin.

Grasping tightly to the top of the setting as to not allow the exact accident to repeat, she peered beyond the thick plated plexiglass. There was nothing of importance to see; acres of fluffy white that inappropriately made her hungry for marshmallows, and a small yet significant plume of ugly dark smoke trailing from the wing of the plane. A lump formed deep in the chasms of her throat.

A sudden explosion from the wing brought a retaliatory scream of fear from the cabin, and Violet herself let out a muted shriek. She threw her body back in instinctual self-defence, releasing her tight grip on the setting in fear. The tight strain of the seatbelt cut deeply into her hips but her body, racing with adrenaline, was numb to the pain. The black smoke thickened and covered the porthole as the plane jerked heavily to the right, causing her to knock heads hard with the hyperventilating girl beside her. The girl held tightly to her temple, crying in pain through her terrified giggles.

The plane then took a dive to the left, becoming almost vertical, bringing Violet's head careening into the porthole window for a second time. The familiar flurry of brightly-lit stars dazzled savagely across her vision. Indignantly struggling to stay conscious from the battering, her eyes gave away the sudden horrifying awareness, as she squinted from her window, that part of the wing had been blasted away.

After a blissful nanosecond of pure, awed silence, the nose of the plane took a deep dive, spiralling dangerously to the left. The silence gave way to heavy screams and she brought her hands defensively to her ears, allowing terrified tears to run across her bloodied cheeks. She could not be completely sure due to the nightmarish quality that surrounded the event, but she was sure she had been screaming too as escaping death suddenly became a futile task in her mind...


"Vi?" Helen Parr leaned apprehensively across her daughter's bed, peeling back the comforter that failed to envelope her toes yet immersed her head completely beneath it.
"Violet," she repeated, "Wake up sweetheart." The girl was twitching at irregular intervals but not moving openly; a troubled frown furrowed deeply into her brow.

Helen touched the girl's slender shoulder, shaking it meekly, unwilling to wake her too suddenly. Her mother had always been superstitious and had believed waking a person dreaming was bad luck; it was only natural that some of these beliefs had rubbed off on Helen herself. When no good came of the gentle movement her hand shifted upward, brushing across the girl's twitching cheek, pushing away the strands of dark hair that clung to her sweated face.

As the thick tresses were relocated, an ugly purple bruise hidden beneath came to view. It lined the base of her daughter's right eye socket, progressing outward across her cheekbone and over her closed eyelid. Pulling the peak of her hair upward, Helen inspected a long, deep slice hidden beneath it, at the place where her hair and forehead almost meshed. She counted the fifteen black stitches that held it tightly in place.
When she had first taken in the messy, blood-clotted wound, hugging to her daughter unconditionally as she planted grateful kisses over her cheeks, it had reminded her of one of the Extreme Makeovers victims from the television, having had a brow lift and an eye job and waiting patiently for the mutilation to make them beautiful. She hadn't known exactly why she had thought something so amusing while clinging to the daughter that should well have lost, but she had.

A sudden shifting from the bed caused Helen to reel in alarm, releasing her grip on the thick knot of hair and taking a heaving stride away. Violet had hurdled upright, a hand pressing furiously to her chest and the other to the back of her head, squeezing tightly at the strands that dared catch beneath her grip. She drew gasp after panting gasp deep into her lungs.

"I tried!" she'd squealed in exasperation as she had thrown herself forward. Sparse, desperate gasps escaped her and the words seemed caught in her throat to Helen, who struggled to take in the miniscule whispers escaping her daughter's lips.
"You've got to... got to believe that I... I..." As the clarity and volume of her words improved it seemed as though they made less and less sense to her. She struggled to maintain their purpose for a grappling second before finally abandoning them, her hand sliding from her chest and resting apprehensively on her lower thigh. Her remaining hand, though, did not budge from its grip at the back of her head, and Helen heard a muted sob escaping the teenager's mouth.

She considered her intrusion at this time and guiltily shifted her weight; a slight creak from the floorboards announcing her location. Violet, overhearing the noise between her small, stifled sobs, looked up with a startled alarm; her tensed muscles only slackening as she took in her mother's face and nothing more. She swiped furiously at the tears that clung to her cheeks, ridding herself of the evidence perhaps before her mother could register it.

Helen had long registered it, though, and to see her daughter suffering so greatly simply broke her heart. She had been improving so well; painstakingly but positively tackling her abysmal self-esteem and self-worth over the passing time. Yet after the accident the process had simply reversed, faster and smoother than it had ever progressed. She had nightmares now, persistent, plaguing nightmares that came to her even during waking hours. She had not touched her newly-coloured wardrobe since she had returned home, opting instead to raid the back of her closet for the stack of greys, blues and blacks she had once solely worn. And the pretty coloured ribbons, hairpins and alice-bands that she had collected in a decorated box beneath the bed all lay unused; she'd once again permitted her hair to fall freely as it wished, allowing her a curtain of protection from the world when she so required it.

"Mom I-" Violet reluctantly removed the hand from the back of her head, it joining it's other half at her thigh as she struggled to control her still sleep-laden voice.
"I didn't... know you were in here." Helen shot the girl a compassionate smile, realising her own hand was curled to a tightly balled fist. She released it; a few strands of dark hair that had caught to her wedding band floated to the carpeted floor.

"I should have knocked, sweetie, I'm sorry," she spoke carefully, "but it's getting late, and you have to get ready." She pondered whether she should have enquired about the nightmare, but opted strongly against it, recalling what had happened on previous mornings she had been courageous enough to ask.

There was an awkward, tapered silence that progressed painfully into the following seconds and Helen, flustered slightly, busied herself with picking the odd articles of dirty clothing from the teenager's floor. Violet turned away, abashed.

"Honestly, Vi, what have I said about leaving your worn clothes on the floor. Would it kill you to put them in the hamper? Even Dash does it," She changed the subject in hopes of a reply, waving a dirty sock before her face as she let out a dramatic sigh. The girl did not respond, and only brought her knees up about her chest and hugged them tightly. Helen inwardly cursed her cowardice at skipping around the issues, collecting the remains of the pile in silence before heading to the door.

"I'm sorry to nag you, I just don't know what to say to make you feel any better," she pondered on the truth, parting the door to the hall a little further with her slippered foot.
"I want to say something so badly, but I don't know what you want to hear." Her mouth widened, as though it expected her to elaborate, but she was unable to find suitable words to fill them. She faltered as she left, though, turning back to face the room. Violet had not switched positions.
"You do remember that today is-"

"Yes, Mom, I remember. I'll be down soon." Her voice muttered from behind the curtain of her hair. It was utterly monotonous. It brought a pain to Helen's heart to hear her daughter speak so lifelessly.

"Alright sweetheart," she murmured maternally into the pile of clothing. "I cleaned your uniform. Would you like me to bring it to you?" Violet's Super uniform was in the laundry, freshly washed and hanging crisply in the small locked space she had created from the closet beneath the sink. It was used solely to store their Super Suits when they were not being used. A Super's most precious possession, after all, was their identity, and Violet's identity was no different.

"Its fine, I'll get it myself." Her dulled voice muttered out from between her knees. Helen nodded, though beneath her skin fought the intense urge to let loose a sob of frustration, closing the door to her daughter's room and backing away.


Bob looked up half-heartedly from the Metroville Press as his wife entered the kitchen with an armload of clothing, shooting him a sour look as she passed. Jack-Jack, in the highchair beside Bob with an empty plate before him, let out a squeal of glee at the sight of his mother. Taking a further gulp from the coffee mug he held tightly in his hand, Bob folded the paper neatly in half with the other. She disappeared into the adjoining laundry room and he heard the hamper being emptied viciously onto the floor.

"How is she today?" he called, loud enough for Helen to hear, but not nearly loud enough for the question to travel any further than the room. Her head poked out from around the sliding door, a deep frown plastered across her face.

"The same. Were you expecting any improvement?" she shot sarcastically, her frown growing deeper. "She'll be down to get her suit soon, is there anything in the paper about it today?" Bob's pained expression allowed her all she needed to know before he spoke a word. He flipped it open to face his wife. Jack-Jack, gurgling softly, grabbed for it with his tiny fingers, but his father pulled it from his reach.

"Front page, plus a double-page spread." He flicked the paper with his thumb and forefinger, his brows knit into a tight frown.
"Photographs too, big ones. Of her and of the plane." Helen sighed weakly as she took in a picture of Miss Incredible, of her only daughter, grinning her lopsided grin opposite a slightly pixelated photograph of the twisted remains of a plane wreck floating stoically in the ocean. "What can we expect though, Helen, the media's all over this trial."

"Put that thing down, I don't want to see that godforsaken wreck anymore. It reminds me we could have lost her, Bob, she could have been killed." She exited the laundry, tightening her dressing gown about her waist in the process. Gripping tightly to the ledge of the bench as if for comfort, she slid across from Bob's seated position. Leaning her lower back against the sink, she folded her arms defiantly across her chest, though Bob could clearly take in the helplessness screaming from her eyes.

"You'd think they had better things to write about than pick on her like this!" she muttered furiously. "She's just a girl, a girl that's been put through hell. Can't they show any compassion at all?"

"It wouldn't matter if she was seventeen or one hundred and seventeen, Helen. She's a Super in the eyes of the public. You know what they're like with Supers at the moment." Bob propped a large arm against the back of his chair, shifting his weight to face his wife. Helen, who had grown weary of Jack-Jack's persistent gurgling, had scooped him into her arms. He pulled incessantly at her earlobes as she listened.
"Even though we can use our powers without hiding anymore, you know how afraid everyone is of doing something wrong. They were waiting for us to mess up, just once. They wanted us to do something wrong, because it was something to write about. And Violet was the first to blunder."

Sighing dismissively she twisted to the sink behind her, releasing a surging jet of lukewarm water and proceeding to dampen a washcloth.
"Well regardless, you'd better get rid of the rag before she comes down. I don't want her reading that kind of filth, especially when it's about her. Especially today."

"It's okay, you don't need to hide it, I already know what they're writing." Violet entered the room to the utter bewilderment of her parents. Jack-Jack let out an enlightened squeal from behind the washcloth, calling "By-et, By-et," his pronunciation of her name in his infantine voice. She ignored him, not even allowing him the closure of a glance for his callings. She shuffled across the linoleum floor, shooting her parents a look of unenthused despondency before disappearing from view behind the laundry door. A small scratching and a click announced she was retrieving her suit from the closet beneath the sink.

"It's probably something along the lines of 'Miss Incredible should be punished for her blatant disregard of numerous rules in the newly-written Supers Code of Conduct'," her voice could have been registered as an almost good-humoured drawl, had it not been the awfully flat tone it was administered with.
"Or maybe it's more like 'these strict new conduct guidelines were created so that Supers like Miss Incredible could resume their work openly and not attract a recurrence of the suing disasters that spelled the downfall of her Super predecessors'..."

Violet returned to view as she wandered back into the kitchen, the cheery hues of her freshly-washed uniform pressed tightly against the faded gray of her oversized pyjamas; a stark contrast.
"It's all quite funny, kind of, in a really screwed up sort of way." Her vague grin grew sour and melted from her face as swiftly as it had appeared.

"Death is never funny, Violet," her father intervened. He slowly pulled the folded newspaper toward him with his thumb and forefinger. His daughter's picture smiled warmly face-up on the front page. Violet shrugged her miniscule frame, turning away from her sombre parents' view. Her head dipped, raven hair collecting about her downturned face.

"I really don't think it's funny at all, dad. I tried to help them. I did everything I could, but I just wasn't s-strong enough," her voice grew distraught and wavering, and as she turned once again to face them, her parents took in the fat swell of a tear developing in the visible, bruised eye.
"I just don't know... don't understand... how th-the forcefield-"

"It's alright Vi, we trust your judgement. If it was your forcefield that failed, we believe that. You don't need to keep torturing yourself like this." Helen stumbled compassionately toward her daughter, raising her available arm to embrace her deeply. Violet, however, seemed repulsed by the display of kindness and shrugged her mother and Jack-Jack away.

"Please don't hug me!" she moaned, taking a stumbling pace away from her mother. "Murderers don't get to-"

"Violet!" Helen's exasperated voice cried at full volume as she, in turn, took a frustrated step toward her daughter. "You're not a murderer. You didn't kill anyone! It wasn't your fault! Stop saying awful things like that!"

Helen was well known for the shortness of her fuse in the family and, out of her sheer infuriation at her helplessness, she grasped and held tightly to the first part of Violet that she could catch in her free hand; Violet's right wrist became the target of her anger.
"It was an accident, Vi, snap out of it! Stop doing this to yourself!!"

It was Jack-Jack's squealing cries from her arm and Bob's sturdy hand pulling her forcefully from the girl that made her realise exactly how hard she had been clamped to her daughter's wrist, and that she had been shaking it forcefully.

She took a step back, releasing the wrist. Violet pulled it immediately to her chest, clamping her uniform tightly beneath it. The room quietened to tense silence, although Jack-Jack continued to cry in large, wailing sobs. Violet did not cry, but merely subjected her mother to a wide-eyed, spacious stare as the moments agonizingly passed.

"What I can do is nothing but trouble. Maybe if they make me normal the world will be a lot better off," Violet mumbled into the thick air, lowering her eye line miserably before turning on her heels and trudging to her room, leaving her distraught mother, unbelieving father and bawling brother as far behind her as she possibly could.


"I know this is scary, but it's something that you have to do." Violet, from the passenger's seat of the neat little car, turned apathetically to the man driving. He was wearing a clean-cut and pristine suit, his thinning head of hair slicked back and clinging tightly to his skull. The newly-formed Superhero Safety Foundation had appointed him as her representative during the painstaking ordeals of court appearances and public speaking. He was to act as her attorney at her final court hearing. She thought his name might have been Greg, but she hadn't really taken any notice during the ordeal.
"I'm sorry that your parents couldn't be here, but just to see other Super's could incite more publicity than we need right now. Your people need to keep a low profile." She hated it when he said 'your people,' implying that she was different, inferior, to him.

"I understand," Violet murmured tonelessly, twining a strand of hair about her gloved finger as she stared from the front passenger window. Her parents would indeed be at the court appearance, they merely wouldn't be Mr and Mrs Incredible. It was an open courtroom after all. No, that was the least of her infinite worries. Greg sighed awkwardly after a minutes silence, adjusting the high collar of his starched white shirt.

"Miss Incredible," he said, "you do know and understand the full extent of the punishment being pushed by the prosecutor. You do realise what they're asking of you to the court?" Violet lowered her head, clearing her throat. She had seen a news report about it once when her parents had been sleeping; she knew exactly what the punishment was to be for her if she was found guilty. It terrified her to no end.

"Yes. I know what it is," was her tiny reply. The man beside her nodded in one fluid motion, not wishing to elaborate on the issue until it was absolutely vital.

"I must admit you're the calmest Super I've had to deal with in a long time," he laughed inappropriately, spinning the wheel of the expensive car beneath his firm grip. She peered across the dashboard as they sharply turned the city corner; the Courthouse stood proudly a mere block or so before them. Thick masses of people were seated and standing on the large marble-setted steps; some had signs, some had cameras and microphones, but most had nothing. Those that were seated stood as they witnessed the car lurching ever closer to the building, those that had signs holding them proudly above their heads.

"Now I know we've talked about this before, Miss Incredible, but just do your best in there. Tell the truth and don't bow under the pressure the prosecutor is going to subject you to, because you don't deserve that kind of shit. Excuse the language." The car pulled to an awkward stop outside the steps and the people angrily moved ever closer to the windshield.
"They'll try and twist your words, make you even doubt yourself. Just don't lose your dignity. No matter what happens in there you know truly what happened that day, and you can only do your best to convey that to the jury," Greg spoke thoughtfully before he unbuckled his seatbelt, taking hold of his briefcase that now lay sprawled around Violet's ankles and hesitantly parted the car door in his firm grip. Violet, though dreading the day and despising the man with every fibre of her being, took a solace of sorts away from these words.

"Wait here," he muttered, clutching tightly to the briefcase handle and striding in large, confident steps from the vehicle. Peering inconspicuously through the rear view mirror, Violet observed as he was immediately bombarded by news crews and angry people flapping posters as he made his way painstakingly around the boot of the car and to her passenger door. He opened it and she looked up hopelessly to his stony face, caught in a mere second of terrified weakness. He seemed to soften slightly and placed a hand on her shoulder as if for comfort. Her long hair caught under his grip and she grimaced in pain. He removed his hand, coughing awkwardly.

"Just stay close to me, don't answer any of their questions and walk as fast as you can," Greg murmured, shooting her a weak grin. She nodded, breathing deeply through her nose and blinking away the tears that had settled viciously at the corners of her eyes. She had never imagined that this is where her powers would land her; she'd never thought that she could be so hated for them. But she would need to be strong about the ordeal, just for today. There had been and would be plenty of time in the future to cry, but now was her time to be Miss Incredible. To be confident of her ability, but most of all to be proud of herself.

With these thoughts freshly impregnated into her brain she swung her legs from the car, standing and allowing Greg to drape one large arm across her shoulders as they began to push through the thick knot of human bodies. Though she endeavoured not to look up at the crowd as they progressed through it, she could not help taking in the noise; the hissing, the jeering, and the incessant questioning of the media. Through the ruckus she was hit in the face many a time with a microphone, consistently lost her footing on the slippery and human-infested marble steps and could hear Greg persistently stating "Miss Incredible has no comment at this time."

Greg guided her lightly by the shoulders up the remaining steps as it seemed she had lost direction of her footing; stumbling clumsily on the jutting marble peaks as she attempted to ignore the commotion taking place about her. The last stinging voice she heard before being forced through the heavily guarded doors was that of a television reporter calmly standing at the very top of the marble stairway, stating into a video monitor "-the sight here today at the Metroville vs. Miss Incredible hearing is astounding. It seems as though citizens of all backgrounds, ages and opinions have banded through one common denominator today; to bring this young Super to her Justice over the horrifying Flight IZ4296 tragedy, claiming the lives of over one hundred passengers and crew aboard the flight when it took a crash landing into the sea off the Californian coast-"

Greg nudged her through the doors before himself and into the Metroville Courthouse. She lifted her head, shifting the dark curtain from her eyes slightly. It smelled of leather and air deodorizer, she thought, as the hermetically sealed doors snapped shut behind them, sealing out the unwarranted human noise from outside. Greg slid his arm from about her shoulders and, taking in a balding Clerk ushering them hurriedly from a hall to the left, hastily subjected the girl to a shove in the small of her back.

"You're late, the trial started ten minutes ago," the Clerk tutted, scooting them along the thin corridor he had been standing diligently before. Violet took in the numerous pictures of Judge's lined like straight-edged dominoes along the wall. Her breath caught in her throat as a brick of emotion settled itself tightly in the pit of her stomach. She finally knew what fear tasted like as she shuffled along the dimly-lit corridor, reluctantly tailing her representative, whom of which was shuffling through crumpled papers in his briefcase, a fat bead of sweat trailing along his temple.

"We could hardly get near the place as it was, have you looked outside in the last few hours? Those people are relentless," Greg's voice was partially muffled by the lid of his briefcase and the Clerk did not take in the slight hint of derision in his voice that Violet clearly did. The Clerk took a sharp right and they followed; a lushly decorated door now stood solemnly before them.

"The media will be the media, I suppose. You should be used to it by now," the Clerk retorted unamused as he approached the door. Violet felt the panic rise unwontedly like mercury in her throat as the door came ever closer to their pounding footsteps. She supposed this may have been what it felt like on Death Row.
"The jury will be the jury, too, and god knows they hate the job already without being held up like this."

With that the Clerk yanked the heavy wooden doors apart in his grip and ushered the duo hurriedly inside.


A/N- Okay, I think I'm the only one I know who can write a eight-page opening chapter that doesn't convey ANYTHING AT ALL. Please note that the reeling feeling of 'what the hell is happening here?' that you get from this chapter will be resolved in the next chapter as more details of the flight accident are revealed. Please take the time to R/R this piece of crap.