If these NSA idiots think they can keep me caged up like an animal, they've got another thing coming.

Although the banter between Syndrome and Mr. Incredible had subsided since the super had removed himself and went ahead of them, Mirage knew well that it would be far from over. She and Syndrome had a short conversation afterwards, and by the end of it she'd helped the now ex-villain to his feet and headed towards the checkpoints, handing over the paperwork that wrote out his freedom in black and white. Syndrome hadn't cared much to speak to any of the inquiring minds, but he'd gone out of his way to give a personal fairwell to one of the old folks he'd eaten lunch with the day before.

"Don't let anybody change ya, Buddy." The old man had smiled, shaking Syndrome's hand. Mirage stood back from the lunch room area, watching curiously. Already making friends, was he?

"When all you do is win, how can you ever lose?" Syndrome smirked from his seat across the table. The man returned the expression, shaking his head.

"I ain't go a clue how yer gonna pull it off, but if ya need anything ya know who to call."

"Don't break a hip while I'm gone." The old man chuckled, nodding. They shook hands once again, and Syndrome returned to Mirage's side in a far better mood than he'd started with. She didn't inquire at first, allowing them to walk in silence towards their next destination. Before they reached it however, her curiosity overcame her.

"And who was that?"

"All part of the plan, babe. You'll see." The response was far more cryptic than she would've liked, but he'd entered the next door before she could question it. Rick stood on the other side of the door, nodding respectfully to both parties. Mr. Incredible was sitting off in a far corner, clearly brooding. Syndrome smiled pleasantly, but something about it had caused Rick to suddenly think twice about what he had agreed with only a few hours ago. He didn't allow Syndrome to see this however, instead putting his hand forward for a shake. It was received gracefully and only caused him further concern. This was a man on a mission, not someone looking for redemption.

"Mr. Dickers, it's a pleasure finally meeting the man behind the.. name."

"Skip the theatrics, kid. You're under a new set of rules now." As if on queue, several body guards appeared, one of which had leaned down to clamp what appeared to be a tracking device around Syndrome's ankle. He peered at it curiously, wondering just what it was made of and how he could take it apart later on if needed. While doing this, he hadn't noticed the needle coming for him until it was in his arm. He turned around with a shout, shooing the guard who'd done it. "From here on out, every breath you take, every move you make-"

"Every bond I break, every step I take, you'll be missing me?" There was silence in the room save for Syndrome's snickering. He stopped, looking around. "Oh, right. Super heroes. No sense of humor. Gotcha. So Dicks, this thing's a tracking device, but it isn't that simple." Syndrome's attention was back on the anklet, leaning down to get a better look and tamper with it. "In fact, it's my own design, tisk tisk. Guess I shouldn't ask what'll happen if I try to take it off."

"I imagine you'd rather be in the company of your own inventions then some second-rate military equipment."

"I get to keep some of my pride, I suppose." He clicked the heel of his shoe on the linoleum, deciding that he'd have to re-adjust it later on for a better fit.

"Back on topic, please. You're under a new code now, so I suggest you familiarize yourself with it. Welcome to the NSA."

"Pretty boring welcoming party." But his comment had been lost upon deaf ears. The guards and Rick Dicker had removed themselves from the room, leaving Syndrome and Mirage with the sulking Mr. Incredible. The lean female wandered off for a moment, coming back with a change of clothes for Syndrome, who gladly obliged to change out of his prison-suit. When he re-emerged from the washroom he was dressed from head-to-toe in his best and looking entirely too full of himself. "Nothing says success like the smell of Armani." He smiled, straightening his tie and leaning over to brush off his shoes and straighten his cuff-links. Mirage shook her head, leading the two men back out to the limo. Before they entered however, Syndrome stopped to take a breath of the air that he'd missed.

In that moment, life was good.

While they traveled in the limo, Mr. Incredible took to glaring at the two seated across from him. Mirage was taking care of paperwork again and Syndrome was leafing through the book he'd been given that covered his new code of ethics and the details of his 'participation'. It took him all of three seconds per page, as if he were skimming the entire thing carelessly. Mr. Incredible scowled, raising an eyebrow. "You could give it a little more respect than that."

"Hm?"

"Do you plan on actually reading the damn thing?"

"I built functioning rocket boots at seven years old from a "rocket propulsion for dummies" book, and you're questioning my reading comprehension?"

"I'm questioning your motives." Syndrome who had previously had the book in front of his face finally lowered it, and the look behind it did nothing but infuriate the super. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was going exactly as he wanted it to. All of these idiots were playing right into his hands! How was he the only one who could see it? A simple anklet wasn't going to keep Buddy Pine down no matter who's design it was of. "What the hell are you after, Buddy."

"I'm surprised, Mr. Incredible. I'm surprised that you of all people would find this new acquaintance so disturbing. Wasn't there a saying somewhere about keeping your friends close-"

"And your enemies closer." Mr. Incredible had finished the sentence, teeth gritted. Syndrome simply smiled. Mr. Incredible didn't know who looked more infuriating; a kid in a costume or a kid in an expensive business suit. He wanted to kill both and the feeling traveled well.

"This may very well be a grand enterprise for you, Mr. Incredible. The NSA is benefiting far more from my compliance than I am and so far as I'm under their jurisdiction, I'm no longer a threat to you. That hurts me to say it, but it rings true. Our rivalry can rot in its grave and leave the rest of Metroville none the wiser. Either you embrace the idea or you leave it behind, but one way or another you can't touch me. Section seven." The look on Mr. Incredible's face had lead Syndrome's smirk to grow wider, causing him to look almost cat-like. "I'm not a fool, Mr. Incredible and while you'd still like to think of me as a snotty ten year old begging to be your sidekick, times have changed. Besides," He snickered, bringing the book back up to his face. "You may very well just learn the secret to being the most successful CEO in Metroville history."

"Deception, fear tactics and a boring monologue?" Mr. Incredible hissed.

"I'd like to call it the gift of gab, my new friend. Good PR will get you places. Places like where we're going right - now."

Oh, but if only you knew what was going on right under your nose.