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Eleven: A Nerd To Fear
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…And now, he's opening the door of his room.
"My pad," he declares, swiping the air energetically, and then looks to her face for a reaction.
At once, she's concerned.
His room is expansive, freshly decorated in modern furniture—all metals and blacks. There are shelves lining the walls, filled with action figures, books, magazines, and imitation weaponry. Video games are placed neatly in a glass case—these are closest to her and she scans the titles: Blood Wars, Generation KILL, Massacre Madness.
She realizes now that he's a nerd to fear. It's all backwards. She should have realized that when she started working there; witnessing him make plans to kill Supers daily, and now two are dead. For some reason, she didn't care about that and she still doesn't. But violent video games? Billions of them?
To her, that's sort of weird.
Her mouth hangs open a little when she notices the posters. Scantily-clad girls holding machine guns with blood spatters on their mouths and thighs on one wall; Blazestone posing erotically in another poster.
He's got Elastigirl and Vectress figurines, and a Stormicide action doll, and Mirage doesn't think they were ever meant to be in the poses they are in now.
"Interesting," she says slowly. She's not certain how to act. Is this how he thinks of her? A super-sleeze? An action figure, a sexy poster to worship but never really have? Something to think about? She feels totally sorry for him all at once, and maybe it makes her love him more.
"Ha, yeah, I have some really strange collections," he shrugs. He realizes he probably shouldn't have taken her here yet. She seems a little put off, and maybe it is distasteful. "Look, I'm not that much of a freak, I'm just a collector."
"I understand," she nods. She doesn't know what to do. On one hand, he's this brilliant genius who's going to reform the world soon—he's going to finally make everyone equal. She thinks that's noble and crafty. Yet, on the other hand, he's just this little kid with lots of toys. (That happen to be violently and sexually explicit.)
Syndrome shifts his weight uncomfortably. "I'm a geek. You knew that all ready." 'She's got some sort of look in her eyes-- I don't know what that is. She's having a panic attack! I knew I should have taken down the Pretty in Pain poster!' He's chastising himself energetically.
"I--…" Mirage isn't sure what to say. She definitely does not want to make him feel bad. She respects him. "Is it just because I'm Super?" she asks, finally.
"Is what just because you're Super? My attraction to you?" he inquires.
She nods.
He laughs.
She cringes.
"Ah, come on, Mirage! No way! You are hot. You're beautiful, and smart, and—you're way beyond Super!" he tells her, his eyes brimming with truth. "You were hot the second you got here. To heck with the rest—they're dead to me."
Mirage's cringe becomes a gentle smile. His words have made their way straight to her heart, to her core. Saying nothing, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply, passionately.
He's a little taken aback at first, but then he runs his hands down her back and presses them against her bottom. This goes on for quite a few minutes, until Mirage steps away to unbutton her suit to reveal sleek, black undergarments.
"Whoa," Syndrome utters, watching her with heightened interest.
And then, suddenly, he sees something out of the corner of his eye. He turns to the left, and on his bed is a very seductive looking Mirage. She's wearing spikes and lifting one leg up in the air.
"What the—" he whips around to where she was just undressing and she's still there. The image on the bed is gone.
Mirage rolls her eyes. "Behold my super power," she says.
"Awesome," he asserts. Completely useless or not, he wouldn't mind seeing that again.
She has to motion for him to undress; he's too caught up in the moment.
He swallows. "I—I'm not sure I'll know…"
"You'll figure it out."