1
"So I read to myself, 'a chance of a lifetime to see new horizons.' On the front page, a black and white picture of Manhattan skyline..."
- Manhattan Skyline by a-ha
Waves crashed against the beach as strong winds blew in from the North. Snow was falling lightly, but steadily, and the ground was already covered in a light layer. Even in the cold, people were still out and about, hustling around, trying to get to where they needed to be. Standing in the shadow of a towering skyscraper was a man, who could easily be disregarded, and dismissed as just another citizen carrying on with their life. He leaned up against the wall, newspaper in hand, scanning information about the stocks in between reading the comics section of the paper.
He shifted his weight, grumbling as he did so, and running his hand through his thick hair. He glanced at his watch and sighed before going back to reading articles. He closed the paper and gazed at the front page. It was all pointless junk about the world and such going on in it, and nothing about him. He grunted unhappily and folded the newspaper before tucking it under his arm. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck and filed into the crowds on the sidewalks. He ignored several people as they yelled at him for no particular reason at all, a few of them spitting viciously, teeth clenched as they cursed and growled.
One of them hit him in the shoulder as they walked by, and he glared, increasing his pace so that he could catch up with the offender. He began to walk next to the person, matching him footstep for footstep. This seemed to anger the already aggressive man even more so. The upset man stopped abruptly and grabbed the seemingly nonchalant businessman by the arm of his coat and pulled him towards one of the alleyways. "Listen, buster," he growled to the smaller man, his thick New York accent highly noticeable. "If you don't get your ugly face away from me, I'm going to kick your butt all the way to Timbuktu."
"Really, now, good sir, do you honestly think you'd be able to kick me all the way to Timbuktu? I think someone's exaggerating," the businessman said, his words dripping with venom. A wry smile appeared on his face as he looked up at the red-faced New Yorker.
"Oh, you're just asking for it, pal," the man said, cracking his knuckles and grabbing the other man by the collar of his shirt.
The businessman raised an eyebrow. "Well, since you seem to have your heart set on pounding me into a pulp, I don't think you can exactly call us 'pals'. But, if that was a subliminal way of telling me that you want to put our differences aside and become friends, I'm all for it, really. I don't want to hurt you, you see."
The New Yorker snarled. "Are you stupid or something?"
"No, I'm actually quite smart. Are you stupid or something?"
From outside the alley, pedestrians could hear a scuffle going on in the alleyway. The bystanders gathered to watch the fight, making bets between each other and whispering about possible causes of the fight. There was the sound of glass shattering, and noises that resembled gunshots. Eventually, only one walked out of the alleyway, his expensive coat torn, and his left eye swollen shut. There was cheering, but he just walked on, shoving his pistol into his shoulder holster and smiling victoriously. The crowd dissipated slowly, none of them even bothering to go to a phone and call for the police or an ambulance.
He walked a little more before coming to an apartment building. He pushed on the revolving door and walked up to the desk. A woman with tight lips and her hair in an even tighter bun was leaning over, reading a fashion magazine, not seeming to notice his arrival. He coughed slightly and reached down to tap on the little bell that was sitting on a pile of papers. It let out a little ding and the tight-lipped woman looked up and blinked before grabbing her glasses and putting them on. "Yes, what do you want?" she asked, tapping her nails against the desk surface.
"I lost my keys and I was hoping I could get them replaced. I live in apartment A1-13, my name is Buddy Pine, and here's my photo ID," he said, taking out his driver's license and setting it down in front of the front desk lady.
She didn't even bother to glance at the ID, she just opened her desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys marked '13', and handed them to him. He took them and put them in his pocket, then picked up his license and put it back in his wallet. She stared at his face, looking at his swollen eye, then her eyes drifted down to his torn clothing and she raised an eyebrow. "What happened to you, did you trip and fall over your shoelaces again?" she questioned, "no, no, that wouldn't explain those huge holes in your coat..."
"I got in a fight with some guy who was in a terrible mood. I won, of course," he bragged, placing his elbow on the table and leaning in towards her with a grin.
"That's a nice story, Mr. Pine, but we both know you'd never get in, let alone win a fight," she laughed, "if you don't want to tell me what happened, I'm fine with that."
He frowned. "Alright, don't believe me, but I really did get in a fight. See you later, Ms. Kimble."
"Have a nice evening, Mr. Pine."
Buddy walked over to the elevator and pushed the 'up' button more times than necessary. The doors opened, and he stepped it, looking over to the number pad and pressing the level 'A' button. He waited for a moment, then the doors opened again and he turned left, walking down the hallway towards apartment 13. He pulled out the keys and opened the door, taking in a deep breath and flipping a light switch to illuminate the dark apartment. He noticed the red light on his answering machine flickering on and off, and he pressed the play-back button. At first the message seemed crackled, but eventually he could hear someone's voice.
"Hey, Buddy, this is Ramone, you need to get on the ground, quickly! They're after you again, and they've been waiting for you to get home!" He didn't hesitate in squatting down on the ground, straining to hear the last of the message. "If you can, meet me n' Monica at L'Argent tonight at around eight-ish, until then, keep as far away from your apartment as possible."
"Oh, come on, L'Argent? How many times have I told him I'm sick and tired of eating there every single time we get together." He grunted, crawling on his hands and knees to the door. "Besides, I'm a wreck, and I can't even stay in my apartment long enough to change my clothes!"
He flattened himself as he heard gunshots and his main window breaking. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted it until the door opened, and then he scooted out, picking himself off the floor and rushing down to the lower level again. He ran out the revolving door, getting himself stuck in the rotation for a moment, and then he sprinted down the street, bumping into people and excusing himself along the way. He glanced at his watch as he ran, only two more hours until eight. He spotted his expensive sports car parked on the side of the road, and he quickly jumped in it, grabbing his keys and starting it up.
Buddy decided that he would just simply drive around until a certain time, then he'd turn around and head over to the restaurant. His heart was pounding and he grabbed the wheel of the grab shakily, pulling out into traffic and going as fast as the cars ahead of him would allow, which wasn't really fast at all. He turned down a less-crowded street and increased his speed, driving towards the seedier part of Manhattan, looking to get as far away from the Upper East Side as possible, at least until he was ready to go out to dinner. He heard rapidly fired gunshots behind him as a car sped around the corner, going much faster than he, with many people inside of it.
"Uh-oh," he whispered. He floored it, and went speeding down the street, passing cars and dodging bullets as he went. "I hate Mondays!"
He pulled out his gun and shot at the tires of the vehicle behind him, though this required taking his eyes off the road which made for some terribly sloppy driving. He swerved, trying to shoot and drive at the same time. He heard a loud 'pop' as one of the tires of the perusers' car was blown out. He laughed gleefully, but it was cut short as one of his tires was also shot out. He swore and tried to regain control of his spinning and careening car. He ran over a parking meter and a couple of fire hydrants, wincing as he heard another one of his tires pop. He put up his hands to shield his face as his car ran into the wall of a building.
Buddy blinked as the dust settled. The crash wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. He forced the door open and crawled out, taking a moment to access the damage. It was pretty bad, luckily, he had car insurance to cover him. "I'm having a hard time believing I just made it out of that alive and unharmed," he said to a random pedestrian, who ignored him and just kept walking down the street. "So, someone want to call the police? Those people back there we trying to kill me!" he said to no one in particular. None of them paid attention, they just walked by, carrying on with their lives. "Come on, I know this is New York, but at least one of you must have the time to call the police!"
When they didn't do anything, he grabbed his pistol out of the wreckage and fired several shots in the air. People scattered in different directions, a couple running towards the nearest phone boots, others ducking behind benches and trash cans, all of them screaming. Buddy smiled and put his pistol back in his shoulder holster, leaning up against the wall that he had smashed his automobile into. He looked down the street to see the car that had been chasing him had toppled over and landed on top of someone's parked car. There was no sign of anyone struggling out of the wreck, so naturally Buddy figured they must all be dead.
Serves them right for trying to kill me, he thought.
He turned his head, hearing sirens from a distance away. He smiled and sat down on a bench, legs crossed and head held high. He adjusted his torn coat and combed his hair back with his fingers, trying to look as proper as one could after having been in a fight, a car chase, and a wreck. He tried to open his swollen eye, but found he still could not. He decided he'd have to put some ice on it later; maybe he could ask for some when he got to L'Argent. The police rounded the corner, tires squealing as they came to a halt near the wreckage of the car that had been chasing Buddy. They jumped out, guns in their hands, and a few civilians ran up to them, and started pointing at Buddy. The police walked over and narrowed their eyes.
"Ah, you've finally arrived," Buddy greeted. "I hate to have had disturbed the peace by firing my pistol in the air like that, but I don't have a phone or any change with me at the moment, and no one would call the police for me, so I had to do something to get you here. The people in that vehicle over there were chasing me, and firing at me. They busted my front right tire, and sent my expensive new car careening into the wall of that office building. What are you going to do about this?"
"Hey, you're Buddy Pine! You're the CEO of that big thing – um – what's it called – er –," the police officer stammered, pointing at Buddy and trying to remember which company it was.
He just rolled his one good eye and snorted. "I know that, already, so what are you going to do about the hooligans who tried to kill me? And I think you're thinking of Syncorporated, that's my company, I own a line of stores, a chain of hotels and resorts, and an airline. The people who tried to kill me were from Arrival Hotel."
"Wait, is that 'a rival', or 'arrival'?" asked one of the officers.
"Both, but it's spelled A-R-R-I-V-A-L," Buddy said, brushing a bit of dust off his coat. "I'm sure you've heard of them, they're the ones with terrible customer service, lousy rooms, and gift shops with tacky items like snowglobes and action figures of their ever-so-narcissistic founder and owner, Celice Marley. If you want someplace good to stay, stay at Pine Hotel, we have convenient locations all across the United States, and several foreign countries. Unfortunately, the nitwits at Arrival built hotels across the street from every single one of mine, but pay no attention to that, the Pine hotels are much better, and they cost less than those at Arrival."
"This guy's a walking billboard," one of the officers whispered to his partner as Buddy continued on about how his chain of hotels was superior to any other. "Sir, thanks for telling us about which hotels are and aren't good, but we need to know some more about these people who tried to kill you."
"They were Celice's minions, I'll tell you that much," he replied, "you should probably go and arrest her for attempted murder or whatever. I really have to be going, a colleague of mine wants to meet me at a really expensive restaurant that I'm sick and tired of eating at, and I really can't be late. I'm just going to go over there and flag down a taxi, if you need more information on those lousy crooks, call me, here's my card."
Buddy handed the officers his business card, and then walked down the street a ways so that he could get a cab. He sighed loudly as he walked, thinking about how hectic his life was, and how he'd give anything just to get away from it. He had many dreams he'd like to fulfill, and one of them in particular was the one where he'd finally get revenge on a certain someone who'd made his life a living hell. That certain someone was Mr. Incredible, and Buddy was going to kill him.
--
Violet brushed her hair to the side and sat down in the chair opposite of the one that an interviewer, smiling politely as she did. He looked particularly frazzled and bothered, which made her nervous. If he was worn out like that, she might easily mess up everything, and she wouldn't get the job she was seeking. She pulled out her resume and pushed it onto the table, letting the interviewer pick it up to look at it.
"So, you have no prior experience in this field, I see," the interviewer grumbled as he flipped through the pages casually, stopping once in a while to look at Violet with disdain.
"This is my first full time job, so yeah, I really haven't done much else except work as a waitress and as a ticket taker at the Metroville Millennium Movie Theater," she said with a nervous chuckle. She really wanted this job, but with the interviewer being so under the weather, she was almost sure she wouldn't get it. She hadn't come to New York just be sent home, she was determined. If she couldn't get a job at Syncorporated, she'd simply go someplace else.
"What makes you think you're right for this job? What makes you think you should be a receptionist here at the headquarters?" the interviewer asked in a bored voice, droning through the required questions as though it was tedious and unpleasant work.
Violet thought for a minute. "Well, I suppose I'm good at taking phone calls and typing stuff, I do it all the time at home and at the library," she said confidently.
"Alright, look, even though you're not the most experienced or qualified person in the world, I'm just dying to get out of here and go home, so you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to give you the job, just keep in mind that if you mess up, the 'big boss' will have your head," he muttered, reaching out to shake her hand. She grabbed it eagerly and shook it.
"You won't regret this!"
"Just shut up while I get out a contract," he spat. "I can always change my mind anytime before you've signed it."
Violet suddenly remembered something her father had told her to ask. "Does this job have health benefits?"
"Ha-ha! No."
"Oh. Well, I suppose that's alright," she said, shrinking back into her chair. "I can deal with that, as long as I can have the job."
The interviewer pushed the contract towards Violet, offering her a pen as well. She grabbed it and signed and initialed in the appropriate spots as fast as she could. "Well, you're in, you start next Monday, good luck with that," the interviewer mumbled. "Oh, and give me back my pen, you were about to leave with it."
"Oh, I'm so sorry about that, it's just that I'm really excited to work here and it's been my dream and – um – yeah! Here's your pen," Violet said excitedly, nearly throwing the pen at the interviewer's face before rushing out of the office in a hurry. She rushed to the elevator, punched the ground level button and stood, tapping her foot. When she got to the lobby, she ran to a pay phone, nearly pushing down several people who were leaving for the day. She fumbled through her purse to find a quarter and put it in the slot, quickly dialing her parent's home phone.
"Hello?" came a deep voice.
"Dad? It's Violet, here! Guess what!"
There was a pause before reply. "You finally found a boyfriend?"
"No, no, I got the job I wanted!" she said with a laugh.
"That's great, honey, what was the job again?"
"Receptionist at the Syncorporated Headquarters in NYC, of course, I told you a couple days ago. You've been really forgetful recently. Are you alright?"
There was a sigh. "I'm fine, Vi, I've just been a little under the weather recently."
"Oh, that's too bad, well, I have to go now, I've got to get back to my roommate's apartment. G'bye!"
She hung up the phone and smiled to herself before walking out of the building in a proud manner. She didn't notice people rolling their eyes at her, but even if she had seen, she wouldn't have cared. All that mattered is that she had achieved her current goal, and that made her happy about her life and herself. She would do her best on the job, and rung by rung she'd climb the corporate ladder until she was at the top! Or at least, near the top.
"Watch it, lady!" someone snorted, pushing her to the side.
"Sorry, sorry, totally my fault," Violet apologized, walking to the curb so that she could call for a taxi. Unfortunately, none of them would stop for her. Finally, she decided to try the 'reveal a little leg' trick, that she'd seen in several movies. She got honks from creeps, but not one single taxi stopped. She sighed and began walking in the direction of the nearest subway. She walked down the stairs past the crowd of people who had just got off the training. I never knew New York was this busy! She was forced up against the side railing as the crowd just kept coming.
She made it to the bottom of the stairs and purchased a ticket. It was much colder underground than it had been above ground, which was saying something because it was cold enough to snow out there, so she pulled her jacket around her shoulders tightly. She waited around for her train to come, reading a couple pages of a magazine she'd found on the ground. Her black hair fell over one eye again, and this time she let it stay there. She looked up as the train she wanted to ride on pulled into the station, and struggled to get on as a new crowd of people pushed and shoved to get into the car. She scrambled to get a good seat, but all of them were taken before she knew it. The only place left was a part of the seat where the fabric had been torn, and trash was littered around. She sat down there and crossed her arms across her chest, looking down at the ground and reading the wrappers of assorted products.
"I didn't know that one had so much sugar in it," she mumbled to herself. She pulled out a piece of paper in her pocket. "Alright, I show up for work at six next Monday, they'll give me a job orientation, and at nine everyone else arrives, and hopefully I'll know what to do. I hope I don't blow this."
Eventually the train came to a halt at her stop and she jumped to get off, once again being pushed by the crowd of rush hour men and women trying to get home. She jogged up the stairs and started walking. Her roommate's place was only a couple blocks away from the subway stop she had come to, so she wouldn't have to walk that far. Unfortunately, it was sort of a 'bad part of town'. Not the worst, but not the best either. Snow had started to fall again and her teeth chattered. She knew she should have worn something heavier than what she had put on. That's what I get for not paying attention to the weather report.
Eventually she came across the apartment building and walked in, heading directly up to the second floor, and scanning the numbers on the doors until she came to the one she was staying in. She used her key to get in and looked around, grimacing at the amount of trash and old food there was on the floor. Her roommate was sitting on what looked to be a brand new couch, surprisingly, eating out of a tub of frozen yogurt and watching television.
"Where'd you get that, Mimi?" Violet asked quietly, taking off her jacket and hanging it up in the small closet.
"Buy n' Large," her roommate rasped, taking another big bite of the yogurt, "they were having a sale on couches, and I got us one."
"Where'd you get the money? You told me you were flat broke," Violet said, suspiciously eying her somewhat overweight roommate as she ate.
Mimi sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "My old uncle died, I got some inheritance, though it wasn't much. It was enough to get a couch, though, and a couple other things, like this new television. Sit down, would you like some frozen yogurt?"
"No thank you, I'm going out to eat later to celebrate getting a new job. Say, can I borrow some of that money? I really want to treat myself," Violet asked, keeping her voice as sweet and polite-sounding as possible.
"Sure thing, kid, it's all in the jar on the counter, knock yourself out," Mimi said, taking yet another large bite of frozen yogurt. "In return, could you do me a tiny favor?"
"Of course, Mimi, what is it?"
"On your way home, stop by the drug store and pick me up some of those tablets that help with cold symptoms, I think I'm coming down with something, and I've got a nasty headache, so some aspirin or something would be nice, too," Mimi rambled, continuing to drone on and on about feeling ill long after Violet had stopped listening.
"Alright, I'm going to go change and look in the phone book for some good place to eat," she told her roommate, despite the fact that Mimi was still talking. Violet put on some heavier clothing to keep her warm, and pulled out the phone book from inside the drawer. She counted the money she had got out of Mimi's jar quickly, and found she had enough to go to some place very fancy. She would finally have herself a great meal instead of having to eat fast food and frozen dinners. She jotted down several places so that she could call for a reservation. She dialed them one by one, only to be rejected time after time. The last restaurant she had on her list was L'Argent. If their name is 'money', I'm guessing the food there is super expensive, Violet thought.
She dialed the number and requested a table, and was surprised to find that there was actually room left. According to the man on the other end of the line, it was an oddly slow night, mostly because a new restaurant had opened just down the street from them and everyone wanted to go and try it. She hung up the phone, taking in a deep breath. "Mimi! Guess where I'm eating!" she yelled.
Mimi's response came after a few seconds of thought. "Dorsia?"
"No, better, L'Argent!"
"The rich folk's restaurant? How did you get a reservation there?"
"Luck, I guess."
"Great, well, you have fun with that. I'd come, but my soap is on, and it's a marathon," Mimi said, craning her neck to look at Violet as the young lady walked into the room. "Don't talk to strangers, and if some guys start hitting on you, hit on them, with your fist."
Violet nodded and smiled. "Alright, Mimi, I'll see you later!"
She grabbed a warmer coat and rushed out the door, running down the stairs, through the door and into the cold. She headed back down towards the subway, and went through the motions again, buying, boarding, getting off. She found herself in the glorious Upper East Side, the 'Silk Stocking District', the 'place where all the rich people live and thrive.'
"It's beautiful," she gasped. She'd never been there before, but she'd heard and read a lot about it. It was just as she had imagined, maybe better. She looked around, hoping this time she'd actually be able to flag a cab, and that the fare wouldn't be too much. She yelled and whistled for a taxi, using her thumb the old hitchiker's way. To her surprise and delight, one of them stopped, and she opened the door and got in.
"Take me to L'Argent, please."
"Sure thing, dollface," the driver said, adjusting his mirrors so that he could look at her and then pulling out into traffic again. Violet looked around in awe. This was the kind of life she wanted.
--
"And I'll have this unpronounceable dish right here," Buddy Pine said, handing the menu to the scantily clad waitress as he did. "Hey, Ramone, here's a novel idea: how about we eat at some other place next time? How about that new restaurant that just opened not too far from here? I've read reviews about it, they say it's a great place."
"Eh, we couldn't get reservations if we tried," Ramone replied, twirling a lock of his dark brown hair and taking a sip of red wine.
Buddy scowled. "Maybe you couldn't, but I'm sure I could. I can do anything."
"I've said it before, and I'll say it again: you have an ego as big as this city, Buddy Pine," Monica remarked, nibbling at her long, red polished nails.
"You going to eat all of those, or can I have one?" Buddy growled sarcastically, glancing at her as she chewed at her fingers. "Ramone, your girlfriend is a real snot. Oh, and you'd better restrain her before she bites off her own hands."
Monica glared at him and put her hands down in her lap. Ramone just took another sip of wine and rolled his eyes. Buddy picked up a roll, and broke it apart, chewing on one piece of it thoughtfully. "Thanks for warning me about those would-be assassins, by the way, I'd be in the morgue about now if not for you," he said to Ramone, "I swear, tomorrow, Arrival's headquarters goes up in flames. I'll bomb the place, I will bomb it!"
"Not so loud, hotshot, we're in a public place right now," Ramone warned, looking around nervously. "You can be psycho when we're alone, but not in the middle of the restaurant."
Monica sniffed, and wiped a dibble of champagne off of her lower lip. "You're a real loony, Buddy Pine," she commented.
"The place is practically empty, anyway, because they're all off eating good food," Buddy muttered.
"I happen to really enjoy eating here," Ramone said with a bit of a glare in Buddy's direction.
Buddy glared right back at him. "I used to enjoy it, until we started coming here every single time we got together. I'm going to get some new friends sometime, friends who aren't afraid to go out and eat something different for a change."
"All you ever do is complain, Buddy Pine."
Buddy looked furious. "For the last time, Monica, stop using my full name every single time you refer to me! I swear, I want to kill you sometimes, and if you keep this up, one of these days I might!"
"Hey, look over there, that chick's a real bombshell," Ramone said, pointing to a shy-looking black-haired young woman who walked nervously into the restaurant, waiting for the waiter to show her to her table. Buddy turned his head and observed before turning back and nodding.
"Yeah, she's pretty hot, I suppose," he said with a shrug.
"You should ask her out."
"No thank you."
"Come on, we could all go clubbing later on tonight, it'll be fun," Ramone insisted.
Buddy shook his head. "I'm not going clubbing on a Monday night, I have lots of work to do tomorrow."
"Have a little fun, Pine, it's your company, they can't fire you for missing a day."
"But I'll get behind on everything I have to do. I remember the time I caught a cold, and when I got back to the office, I had a stack of papers as tall as I am on my desk. It wasn't fun to go through all that, Ramone, I was ready to tear my hair out," he sighed.
"The least you can do is ask her! Come on, don't be chicken," Ramone continued persistently.
"Where would I take her to? And when?" Buddy asked.
Ramone looked up as the waitress arrived with their food, setting the platters down in front of them. "Well, you did want to try that new place down the street, right? Take her there this Friday."
"It'll be impossible to get a reservation there, especially on a Friday," Buddy informed him.
"You're just scared. You don't think she'll go out with you," Ramone teased.
Monica scowled at them both. "Just pick one way or another, if you keep arguing, your food is going to get cold."
"Fine, fine, I'll do it," Buddy said, exasperated, throwing his hands in the air.
"'Attaboy, Pine!" Ramone praised. "If you don't screw it up, you might have a girlfriend in your near future."
"If she's anything like Monica, I don't want her."
Buddy got up and pushed his chair in, walking gingerly towards the black-haired lady's table. "Um, excuse me," he coughed.
Violet looked up, startled. "Oh, hi! Are you a waiter? If you are I want --"
"No, no, no. You see, my friend the matchmaker over there wanted me to ask you out on a date," Buddy said, pointing to his table as Ramone gave a quick wave.
"Wow, really? I mean, really? You're a big time rich guy, why would you be interested in me?"
"What do you mean by that? You've got to have some big amount of cash on you, too, or you wouldn't be eating at a place that means 'money' in French," Buddy interrupted, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he stood uncomfortably.
"Oh, never mind about that, I'd love to go out on a date! Um, where and when exactly?" Violet asked, getting out a notepad and a pencil.
"How about this Friday at eight-ish? Meet me outside that new restaurant – um – what's it called – Pier's or something. We'll eat there, it'll be nice to eat someplace other than this trashhole for once," Buddy responded.
"Alright! By the way, my name is Violet Parr, what's yours?"
"Buddy Pine."
"Really?! Oh my goodness, I'm going to start working for you next Monday!"
Buddy raised an eyebrow. "What an amazing coincidence! I'm assuming you're the new human resources director, no?"
"Well, actually, no, I'm the receptionist," she said, blushing.
"Oh. Uh, well, that's fine, too. I suppose I'll see you on Friday, then," Buddy coughed, beginning to think twice about asking the young lady out. Parr? That's Incredible's alter-ego last name. Ah, well, just another coincidence, I'm sure.
He had no idea how wrong he was.
A/N: If you're a bit confused about what is going on, I'll explain it. In this story, most of the events of the movie never happened, save for the Golden Age part. Buddy (Syndrome) noticed too many fallibilities in his Operation Kronos plan, and therefore never went about carrying it out, and instead decided to occupy his time with being a CEO of a large company in New York. Superheroes are still banned in America, and Buddy Pine still wants to get his revenge on Mr. Incredible for wronging him when he was a child. Also, I haven't abandoned my other Synlet fic, I'm just a little stuck on it, so I'm working on this in the meantime. I'll be switching back and forth between writing the two.