The Prison

"I hate to say this, but we need to split up," Bob said reluctantly.

"A little risky isn't it?"

"It's not my first choice, but we have a lot of ground to cover and no time to do it in."

"We have our maps, we'll section it off, explore and meet up."

Everyone got their assignments, Bob elected to take the smaller passages on his own, Helen took the kids and explored the main tunnel.

The first few minutes in the first passage were uneventful, his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, but it occurred to him that in order to adjust, there has to be a light source somewhere.

His suspicions were proven correct a few steps later; there was a glimmer of light coming from just around the shallow bend ahead. As Bob rounded the bend, he saw light coming from an entry to a large room. A little brightness underground he thought, means activity.

"Mmm…this looks interesting," he mumbled quietly to himself.

Bob strained to listen, but there were no sounds coming from the lit room, the only thing he heard in the heavy silence were his faint footsteps…then a soft, metallic 'click'.

-ii-

The floor was out from under him before he knew what was happening, the newly discovered electronic trigger did its job. Despite his fast reflexes, Bob couldn't get a handhold on anything, and was soon on his way to the floor 24 feet below.

He hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of him. Normally, a short fall like this wouldn't have bothered him, but it's different when you can't see the ground coming up to meet you, and he had never fallen in total darkness before.

A few seconds later he was up and attempting to look though the darkness, while giving his body time to take care of the few minor aches.

At first all he saw was total blackness, but a tiny sliver of light, making its way through who knows how much rock, caught his attention. As his eyes grew accustomed to dark, the faint light illuminated surprisingly well, once fully adjusted he could make out a few details of the small room he was in.

Not a room in the usual sense of the word, more of a naturally formed pit, it was a little damp and roughly fifteen by fifteen feet, with a trapdoor for a ceiling. But, natural or man-made, a cell was a cell.

While Bob slowly shuffled around the room feeling the moist walls, he busied his mind with possible escape plans – strangely aware he was being watched.

-ii-

"There's no way out," a voice said. It was weak, but in the absolute silence, it filled the cell as it reverberated off the walls.

Bob turned towards the voice somewhat startled. "What…who are you?" he asked in a low inquisitive voice.

In the dim light, Bob could just make out a figure sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall, drawn up, with his head on his knees and hands tucked in between his body and legs in an effort to keep warm against the cool underground air.

Bob backed up a little, allowing the faint light to reflect off his suit; it wasn't much, but it helped.

The image was vague, the face was scarred from burns and lacerations, his head had short reddish hair on the unburned areas and evidence of reconstruction in the facial area in the attempts to provide some normality. Despite the trauma done to his body, he was recognized almost immediately.

In a mixture of shock and anger Bob uttered a name he thought he would never say again,

"Syndrome!" he spat.

"Syndrome's dead," the broken figure said quietly.

"This is impossible. You were killed in the explosion…you're dead…I watched it happen."

"It wasn't me that got sucked in…my rocket boot was ingested just before my cape started to drag me in. The motor exploded just as I hit the spinner…I was thrown clear."

Buddy paused a second, thinking and recuperating from the exertion.

"That's all I remember."

In a fit of rage Bob grabbed Buddy by the neck preparing to crush it. "Maybe I'll finish the job," he said as he gritted his teeth.

Even if he had the strength, Buddy wouldn't have resisted, preferring a quick death to the cold lingering one promised by his imprisonment.

"I wish…you would," Buddy managed with a wheeze.

But Bob knew he was not the judge and by nature not an executioner.

Buddy was right; the bold, swaggering, egotistical Syndrome was gone. All that was left, if only for a moment, was a broken-down, withering bit of humanity, with no self-worth…or hope.

A strange sense of compassion swept over Bob as he held Buddy's limp body; he knew judgment was being meted out and required no help from him. He lowered Buddy gently back to the floor.

Bob's rage may have been quelled, but anger and distrust remained.

"How did you get here, a little falling out with your boss?" Bob said pointedly.

"Who? The Underminer? No, I came here to destroy his plans – possibly him too," Buddy said without emotion.

"Destroy him! Well it's obvious your weapons don't work like they used to."

"No weapons – just me."

"Oh, so you're a super now."

"No."

"I don't understand. You were the epitome of evil, and now your the good guy?"

Buddy knew Bob would have a hard time believing anything he said. His time was running out and Buddy had a few issues with Mr. Perfect.

He was cold, starved and dehydrated, with hardly enough strength to sit up, but he felt a massive surge of adrenaline run through his worn-out body and he would use the last ounce of it to knock Bob of his pedestal.

"Yeah, I made some bad decisions, after you summarily dismissed me. I could have gone somewhere, helped were I could, and proven myself. Then maybe you would come to respect me…but I didn't."

"Seems like an easy decision to make, why didn't you make it?"

"Because you were the one I could count on, so I thought. No one else mattered – just you. But, you kept rejecting me every time I wanted to help – the fourth time was the breaking point."

"That sounds more like an excuse than a reason."

"I was a kid Bob …" he shot back, "…and they don't always take the best option, but the worst part is, you didn't stay around to help me pick a better one."

Buddy brought his head forward, his eyes narrowed.

"Did you?"

Buddy paused again to catch his breath.

"I was the most intellectual kid this world has ever known, but I still needed encouragement, some kind of support, a...a mentor. I needed help. But, you didn't want to know," he sighed. "Just like everyone else."

"Even so, you should have…"

"Look, I don't need a lecture, especially from you," he spat. Buddy took a moment to collect himself. "I know what I should have done, and I know what I did! Yes, I made some bad decisions...yes, I hated you so much I killed your friends to make you pay – with interest – for what you did to me. And yes, now I hold myself responsible for those decisions."

Bob was taken aback by what Buddy said, changing his attitude somewhat. "So, you take on the Underminer unarmed."

"Not totally, no."

"With what then?"

"I told you, me. The body's not much, but there's nothing wrong with my mind."

Bob looked around, it seemed impossible to escape this place. So it didn't matter how strong or intelligent you were, you were pretty much stuck.

"I guess it doesn't matter, I don't see any way to leave this place."

"You can leave; there's no way out for me," Buddy said, in a way that revealed both the psychological and physical situation.

It was obvious to Bob, that Buddy knew something and was willing to help, even though the information was no use to himself.

"You're willing to help me get out of here?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"You're the good guy remember? But, unlike last time, maybe you'll actually let me help you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Remember sixteen years ago…Bomb Voyage? I was going to fly off and get the police for you?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well, if I were anyone else – anyone else – you would have shown some gratitude; but not to me…not only do you stop me from going, but you handed me over…"

"Listen, Buddy…" Bob interrupted.

"…and if that wasn't bad enough," Buddy continued, totally ignoring Bob, "you humiliated me. 'Take him home, tell his mommy and daddy how naughty he's been'," Buddy paraphrased sarcastically.

"Buddy, that's…"

"Worst of all, blaming me – publicly – for you letting Bomb Voyage get away. Do you have any idea…"

"Buddy, will you shut up!" Bob snapped, his voice thundering off the walls."Look, back then I worked…"

"Alone. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I knew that. I respected that and I respected you enough to accept it. But I still wanted to do something, without being in the way. I went to get the police…for you…to help you…Mr. Incredible. But Mr. 'I-got-to-work-alone' thought I wasn't good…"

"I saved your life!" Bob shot back loudly in defense.

Buddy was stunned, perplexity replaced the anger on his face. He sat thinking about the events, his eyes following his thoughts, but couldn't come up with anything that would support Bob's statement.

"Huh? How?" he asked suspiciously.

"I was grateful Buddy, very grateful. But when you turned to leave, Bomb Voyage tossed a bomb on your cape, he knew I would do anything to get it off and give him time to escape – it worked."

"I didn't know, you could have warned me."

"Warn you? You've got to be kidding me. I tried. I yelled 'Buddy don't'…that didn't work, 'No. STOP. There's a bomb. I'm trying to help' ," Bob explained, punctuating his words with animation.

"None of it worked," he continued. "What else could I do? I used simple words Buddy, no more than two syllables each. I figured you were smart enough to understand them."

"I guess I didn't hear you."

"Yeah, because you were too busy yakking…hey, you want to be a super? Ya' got shut up sometimes and listen; pay attention to people."

"Just like you paid attention to me – right?"

Bob paused a moment.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. What happened to the bomb?"

"I finally got it off, no help from you – it landed on the tracks."

"The tracks," Buddy mused. "The el."

"Yeah."

Reality hit Buddy hard; sixteen years of hatred based on misconceptions was gone, historical truth thrust Buddy from hopeless into the most unyielding, darkest kind of depression. He sat there, head down, hands tucked in, rocking side to side, talking more to himself than Bob.

"So it was my fault…Bomb Voyage…the train…everything," he started to sob as reality set in. "You save…I murder. All I ever wanted to do, was help. They should have let me die."

As Bob watched Buddy's agonizing and self-hatred, he started to understand the part that he himself played in the creation of Syndrome. Historical truth didn't stop with Buddy; it came straight for Mr. Incredible, bringing with it the heavy burden of guilt, and when it got done with him, the super hero would have first-hand understanding of humiliation and the painful process of accountability.

They both learned an important lesson in the last ten minutes…

Life, death and truth can be harsh.

Bob's voice was now a little softer; more concerned.

"Buddy, sometimes people try too hard and don't think things through. It a…it wasn't all your fault…I was the adult, you were the kid…I'm just as respon…?"

"The door you fell through is easy to get to and take out, it's only an inch or two thick, should be easy."

"Buddy, I…"

"There's nothing more to say. Go…just go."

"If I break through, the door could land on you."

"It doesn't really mater any more, does it?" Buddy's voice was hollow, almost an inaudible whisper.

Bob knew there was nothing he could do, he's always had a hard time dealing with people; this was a quantum leap past any people skills he may have. But, it was time to make a decision.

Weighed down by guilt, he turned to leave.

"Bob."

He stopped and half-turned his head towards the voice.

"Yeah, Buddy?" he said quietly.

"I didn't have your understanding or support when I needed it. Don't make that mistake with your kids, please – they have nowhere else to go."

Looking at the ground, Bob thought about it for a second, and unseen by Buddy, nodded his head slightly, then climbed the wall.

The door ripped off its hinges easily. Bob let it swing down on its latches, where it swayed precariously, a second later he had hoisted himself up to the cave floor. As he was getting to his feet, he heard the latches give way and what was left of the door hit the ground 24 feet below.

He had heard twisted metal striking hard surfaces before, but no sound made him sick like this one.

Bob stood there for a minute, looking down, thinking. He turned his head slightly towards were the door had been, as if trying to remember; playing the last few minutes over in his mind.

Something was eating at him, something so obvious he couldn't see it...what was it?

If he had heard of Buddy's survival, that would have been traumatic enough, but face to face blew his mind, it would take a while to get over the shock. Maybe when everything settles down a bit and he's able to get his mind around the events, whatever it is he's trying to remember will come to him. But that will have to wait.

A decision had to be made now, but unknown to Bob, there was only one right option; if he failed to choose it, and soon, his family would be destroyed and in the not too distant future, the world.