Never Trust A Villain

A week later, during which Syndrome had spent more time in his mansion basement sat in front of computer monitors drawing up blueprint designs, Helen returned outside his home, dressed again in her Incredibles super suit. Unlike the last time she visited, she didn't bother to sneak in. She stretched her arms to reach up to the first floor balcony and pulled herself up, before simply opening the balcony doors and letting herself inside. She knew Syndrome would see her on his CCTV. She didn't care.

Helen walked through the mansion, thinking she would find Syndrome in the basement once more, but instead found him in the main sitting room watching a new larger LCD TV; a replacement of the one she destroyed during her last visit. He was sprawled out on the large luxurious red sofa, one arm resting above his head which was propped up with a pillow. His right arm was resting on his stomach, where he was also resting the remote control. He was dressed in a similar manner to the last time she visited: hair tied back in a ponytail, dark navy cargo pants and a light grey long sleeved shirt. Oddly enough, he was wearing one bright green sock and one bright orange sock. The ankle tag was still visible, but this time he wasn't wearing glasses.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw her and said nothing, waiting for her to make the first move.

Helen stared down at him before speaking. 'How do I know you'll hold your side of the deal, and give me the codes?'

Syndrome smirked and repeated what Helen said to him a week prior. 'You'll just have to trust me.'

She frowned at his response. Syndrome chuckled before raising both hands in a gesture of mock defeat. 'Okay, okay, I'll . . . uh, do it after you sleep with me.'

'Not after. Before. You'll do it now.'

Syndrome sighed before heaving himself up. 'Okay, okay, sheesh.'

He signalled Helen to follow him and then walked slowly down to the basement, his socks making a slight patting sound on the cream carpet. Helen followed him, not taking her eyes off him out of distrust, and noticed that he had gained a very slight limp in his right leg. It was almost unnoticeable, but together with Syndrome's need for glasses and the burnt and scarred skin across his face and neck, Helen started to believe that Syndrome's injuries were a lot worse than they had all previously thought.

Syndrome led Helen through the kitchen, which had since been cleaned and tidied. On the counter stood a single empty soda can and a half eaten packet of Twizzlers. As they passed, Syndrome reached and grabbed one Twizzler and continued down the stairs to the basement, the Twizzler hanging out of his mouth giving him a childlike appearance. Once they were downstairs in front of the glass door, Syndrome quickly punched in the door code and the door opened with a slight hiss. He moved to let Helen in first before closing the door behind them.

Sitting down in front of a running computer, he connected the USB pen drive into the computer, put on the pair of glasses that were lying next to the keyboard and watched the screen as it turned white with lines upon lines of specialised codes and numbers running down the screen. Helen stood behind him with her arms folded, watching as Syndrome began typing furiously at the keyboard, chewing absently on the Twizzler as he did so.

As he was typing, he spoke to her without taking his eyes away from the screen. 'So, uh, does this mean you're going to sleep with me after this?'

'Just do it,' Helen snapped. Syndrome smirked again. Elastigirl's refusal to answer the question told him all he needed to know. She was going to sleep with him.

Behind him, Helen's mind was racing at a pace too fast for her to keep up with. Was she really about to do this? Wasn't there any other way she could get these codes unlocked? Violence was out of the question – Syndrome was under house arrest and his house whole was rigged with CCTV, so any damage that might occur to him could easily be discovered to be her doing. There was no one else who had the intelligence and computer smarts to break these codes – the NSA had searched the world over twice frantically looking for a tech able to do so. As much as she, Bob and the NSA disliked it, Syndrome held all the cards. He was the one in control.

Helen tried not to think about Bob. To think she was about to betray her husband, with the man who had two years ago tried to kill her entire family. She felt disgusted with herself and angry at Syndrome for being able to hold this over her. She told herself that what she was doing was for the greater good, that the lives of millions across Europe counted on her. In the end, she reasoned, no one else had to know how she got Syndrome to break the codes.

In front on her, sat at the desk, Syndrome paused typing, sat back and took a deep breath before reaching over and hitting the 'enter' key. Instantly, the complex codes and long lists of numbers on the screen were replaced with new shorter codes which scrolled down the screen. At the bottom of the screen one final code was flashing. Syndrome let out a small 'heh,' typed some final commands into the computer and pulled out the USB pen drive. He swivelled round in the chair to face Helen, grinning arrogantly, and held out the USB pen drive to her.

'Done,' he said.

Helen snatched the USB pen drive off of him, glaring as she did so. Syndrome stood up from the chair and the two stood facing each other; Syndrome smirking and Helen glaring.

'Time for your side of the deal, sweetheart,' he said, leaning back on the desk. Instead of rebuking him, Helen grit her teeth at his patronising terms of affection. She looked down at the USB pen drive in her hand, clutching it tightly.

'Lead the way,' she said, using every bit of her strength to stop herself smacking the arrogance from Syndrome's face.

They left the basement workshop, Syndrome typing the security code into the door lock to alarm the basement, before they went upstairs. Syndrome led her to the front hallway where a large staircase led up to the first floor of the mansion. Neither of them spoke as he led her towards the back of the mansion, finally coming to a stop outside a pair of cream double doors, behind which was Syndrome's bedroom.

'After you,' Syndrome said as he opened one of the doors to his bedroom, gesturing for Helen to go first. She glanced at him, and then walked in, Syndrome behind her, shutting the door.

Syndrome's bedroom was similar to the overall luxury of the mansion. There was a large kind sized bed with another LCD TV attached to wall opposite the bed. Another door led off from his bedroom into what was no doubt a walk in wardrobe and another one which was probably a private bathroom, and the walls of his bedroom were decorated with framed posters of golden age DC and Marvel superheroes and villains. On the bookcases sat many books about engineering, electronics, computers, and mechanics mixed in with graphic novels and manga. Piled up in front of the TV were DVDs of horror, thriller, action, anime, cartoons and, Helen could just make out, a copy of Mean Girls. The bedside cabinet on what she assumed was Syndrome's side of the bed, was cluttered with yellow pill bottles and empty bottles of water.

'Make yourself at home,' Syndrome said, not bothering to mask the amusement in his voice as he opened to the door to walk in wardrobe and went inside. Helen sat at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap before she took a closer look at the pill bottles on the cabinet. Anti psychotics, anti depressants, anti anxiety, sleeping pills, epilepsy pills, aspirin, caffeine pills . . . Syndrome must be taking a cocktail of drugs a day, Helen thought. Underneath all these pill bottles was a framed photo which had been placed photo down on the cabinet. She lifted it up carefully, trying not to make too much noise as she could hear Syndrome searching for something in the wardrobe.

The photo was of Syndrome and Mirage in a sunny environment similar to that of Southern Europe. Syndrome, wearing business slacks and a white business shirt, had his arm around the waist of Mirage who was wearing a casual summer dress. Mirage was smiling up at Syndrome. Helen put the photo back, feeling slightly sick. She was reminded that, although Mirage may have switched sides and now worked for the NSA, she did have a hand in Syndrome's plan.

'You know,' came Syndrome's voice as he walked out from the wardrobe and leant against the door frame, 'I thought you might like to wear this.' He tossed something black and lacy at Helen and watched for her reaction. She unfolded it and found it to be a laced sheer black lingerie babydoll dress.

'Are you kidding me?' Helen replied. 'What, it's not good enough that you get to do this, you want me to put on a show for you as well?'

'Well, you did agree to this,' Syndrome shrugged. 'It's not gonna be a five minute quickie, you know. I wanna enjoy this.' He winked at her.

'You . . .' Helen spat out, before she was interrupted by Syndrome.

'That door leads to my private bathroom; you can get ready in there. There should be some makeup and perfumes in there, so, heh, doll yourself up a bit, would you?'

Helen glared at him once more before reluctantly walking through the door to the private bathroom. She shut the door behind her, and sat at the beauty table, which was cluttered with expensive makeup and perfumes. Helen knew these must have been Mirage's, and wondered why Syndrome hadn't bothered to get rid of all of her things yet. She looked at herself in the mirror, wondering once again whether she was really going to be able to do this. No matter, she already had the codes and Syndrome was expecting his side of the deal. She could always sneak out, but there were no windows in the bathroom. Besides, Syndrome wasn't stupid. He would have rigged up an extensive security system to prevent her getting away.

She took off her super suit, feeling what little confidence she had left just drain away. She slipped the babydoll on, not bothering with any makeup or perfumes. She looked at herself in the mirror again, hating the person she saw back. A woman who betrays her husband with his enemy.

'You done yet?' Syndrome called out, and she walked back into the bedroom. Syndrome was stood by the bedroom door and had taken his shirt off.

The true extent of his burns was revealed to Helen. The burns didn't just cover the right side of his face and neck, but travelled all the way down, covering the right side of his torso and stomach. His right arm was scarred with cuts and burns as well, from the jet engine explosion. Syndrome stood, looking Helen up and down as she stood looking at his scars.

Syndrome nodded for Helen to get on the bed, which she did so slowly. She sat up, leaning her back against the headboard, her eyes straight ahead not blinking. Syndrome moved to stand by the side of the bed, before sitting down, his back facing her. Helen could see the burns moved round to cover his back as well. The left side remained relatively undamaged, revealing pale freckled skin. Syndrome moved down to take off his odd socks, scratched his head and then moved to climb on top of Helen.

Helen led down in the centre of the bed with Syndrome on top of her. She avoided looking at him, keeping her eyes fixated on the ceiling. Syndrome was stroking her cheek, his other hand running down the side of her body, before coming to rest at her hip. Her rested himself on his knees and took hold of the babydoll, untying it to leave Helen wearing only her plain underwear. He reached around her back and unclasped her bra, pulled it off and smirked as he pulled down her plain black panties, leaving her naked. Helen fought the urge to scream and cry.

Syndrome placed back his hands on her shoulders and moved down to cup her breasts before undoing the belt on his cargo pants and taking them off along with his boxer shorts, tossing them to one side. He led on top of her now, his breath hot against Helen's neck. He let out a slight grunt and Helen gasped as she felt Syndrome force his way inside of her. Helen pushed down the urge to scream in her stomach. She wouldn't allow Syndrome to see her crying at what she had been reduced to.

Helen allowed her mind to wander, her eyes threatening to cry as she busied herself thinking of anything to take her mind off what was really happening. She thought of Bob and how different he was from Syndrome. Bob was gentle, loving, had warm skin and smelt of shampoo, clean clothing and aftershave. Syndrome was different. He was rough, focusing on his own enjoyment (not that Helen wanted to enjoy herself) and smelt slightly of sweat and motor oil. He was making small grunts against her neck, his hair falling over her neck and face, his hands holding tightly against her hips.

Helen thought of Mirage and how she and Syndrome had been together romantically as well as working together. She wondered whether Syndrome had hired her first, then had a relationship with her, wondering how it was that Mirage had fallen for Syndrome. She wondered whether Syndrome had been this way with Mirage as well, and whether she had enjoyed it. Mirage had always seemed so calm, collected and patient and it made Helen wonder how it was that Syndrome, who was loud, arrogant, cocky, impatient and full of hatred, could have possibly managed to convince Mirage to be his girlfriend. Helen wondered if the two fought, if they did, did they fight often, and what about. She wanted to know if the two had loved each other, or whether it was just casual. She thought of Bob, who was strong and protective about her and their children, and fought back another sob as she thought of how Bob would feel if he could see Helen now.

Syndrome let out a large gasp as he made his pace quicker and harder, and Helen tried to ignore the pain spreading throughout her pelvis area. Syndrome lifted his head up to look at Helen, taking one hand and cupping her chin and kissed her. Helen didn't kiss him back but didn't stop him either. He tasted of coffee, Twizzlers and soda and Helen closed her eyes.

She thought then of Syndrome, the boy who had been rejected by her husband, and what he made of himself since then. She thought, had Syndrome not been so consumed with rage and hatred, of how great he could have been. He had built up a massive company from scratch, becoming one of the youngest billionaires on the planet, and yet, had thrown it away in the question for revenge against Bob.

Syndrome was still young, Helen mused, yet he had killed so many Super and civilians alike in his quest for revenge. He had survived being sucked into a jet engine and yet there was something childlike about him. As if he had never truly grown up. He had power and money, but he was reckless and arrogant, which caused his downfall. He was a genius, but he was a sadistic madman.

Syndrome grunted loudly against Helen's cheek before slowing down. He went hard and slow and grunted with each movement. With a few more thrusts, he quickly pulled out of Helen, much to her relief, and came between her legs all over the bed sheets. He remained on top of Helen for a few minutes, breathing heavily, one hand stroking Helen's hair away from her face. He chuckled then, before suddenly getting up to put his boxer shorts and cargo pants back on. Helen sat up, her arms wrapped around her chest and moved to the side of the bed, away from the mess of Syndrome's semen in the middle.

She quickly fumbled around with her bra and panties before going back into the private bathroom to put her super suit back on. In the mirror, she saw her reflection. Her face was flushed and her eyes were puffy from refusing to let herself cry. Her hair was slightly messy and Helen quickly used Mirage's old things to freshen herself up. Helen looked at herself in the mirror but couldn't recognise the person staring back at her. She felt in shock and wanted to get as far away from Syndrome as possible and forget everything that had happened.

Once back inside the bedroom, she found Syndrome taking two caffeine pills and swallowing them dry. He looked at her and winked.

'Marie's gonna have fun cleaning that up, heh.' He nodded towards the bedsheets.

'I'm going now,' was all Helen replied. She made to walk out of the bedroom, but Syndrome followed her after looking up at the corner of the ceiling and smirking.

'You know, this has been a nice visit,' Syndrome started. 'It's certainly made house arrest a little, heh, less boring.'

'I hope you enjoy yourself once you're all alone again.'

'Oh, I will, don't worry,' Syndrome smirked. 'Trust me; this whole house arrest thing has actually done me a few favours.'

'Like what?' Helen growled.

'Well, it's made it a lot harder for all you Supers to come after me, for a start. And, uh, let's see, there's the whole gotta-take-my-medicine thing, which can help every now and then. Stops me from going completely nuts . . . and, uh, what else . . .' they were nearly at the front door now, and Helen had her hand on the door handle before Syndrome grabbed at her to face him as he smirked, 'there's plenty of time to remotely change the codes on Xerek's neutron bomb.' He shrugged.

Helen looked at him intently. 'You wouldn't dare . . .'

'Oh, I don't know, I mean . . . I did design the bomb. Sure, it's an old model, and I'm pretty pissed at Xerek for stealing it from one of my warehouses, but I reckon I could still access it remotely. Xerek's not the brightest crayon in the box, and besides, it'll be fun to see you come crawling back again to, heh heh, beg me to break my own codes. The NSA don't really do much research to find out where these weapons come from and who designed them, do they? And from the looks of it . . . neither do you.' Syndrome glared at her with full cockiness.

Helen could only take so much. She felt a fire burning within her, and before she knew what she was doing, she hit Syndrome with full strength on the right side of his face, the damaged side. Syndrome was knocked to the floor, groaning in pain, clutching the damaged skin. Helen stood over him and with one swift movement stamped her foot down on his lower stomach, narrowly missing his pelvis area. Syndrome was coughing in pain and chuckling at the same time, and Helen, not wanting to spend a moment more in his presence, walked proudly out the door, leaving Syndrome on the floor in pain.

Syndrome lay chuckling on the floor and leant against the door. He was bluffing, of course, he couldn't remotely change the codes as Xerek had already activated the bomb and could detonate it at any time, but it had been worth it to threaten Elastigirl with. The real revenge would be totally different. There would be no weapons, no bombs, and no big plans. All he needed to do was go down into the basement, and pull the CCTV from his bedroom.

'Heh, you shouldn't trust a villain, Elastigirl. Especially one with a score to settle, sweetheart.'

Please take a look at my other Incredibles story. It's an Iron man crossover and deals with Buddy Pine's thoughts regarding a certain other weapons engineer from the Marvel universe.