Chapter IV

Pandora's Last Treasure

Syndrome entered her cell the next day. "We're taking a field trip," he informed her, indicating for her to hold out her hand. He clasped a white metal band around her wrist. It shined and looked fairly brand new. It snapped together, the seam disappearing as it sealed like everything else in this awful place. No visible means of escape. It had a small screen and two buttons on it, one of which Syndrome pressed. There was a soft beep, and the words SYNCHRONIZED, scrolled across the screen. "This is like mine," he informed her. "It'll electrocute you if you try to run. And if you try to break it off with a shield, it'll set the whole facility on lockdown. Get it?"

Violet's stomach plummeted, both at the idea of being shocked like Syndrome was, and that she hadn't even thought of using her shields in that way. She'd used them to wedge open passageways, but never to break binds. Then again, she'd never been shackled since she was a child.

"Got it," she spat.

"Good. Follow me." No princess, no snide comments. Must still be miffed. Violet concentrated on not caring. It was difficult. It's just different. A break from the norm and it's scaring you. That's all. Don't depend on him, Shadow. Just you. He won't break you.

He stepped through the glass door and with only a slight pause, opened the door to the lab. Beyond it, Violet could see two guards, armed with their tranquilizer rifles, waiting. Her throat closed up in pure reaction to seeing those guns again. But she schooled her features into stony calm. I will get past this.

The hall beyond seemed dark with its drab grey colors and black tile floor despite the bright lighting overhead. She had grown accustomed to the blinding white of the lab, only broken by the colors of Syndrome's hair and the pastel green of the turntable.

Violet shivered as she trailed after the villain, barefoot on the cold tile, the guards thumping steadily behind her. She heard them shift and knew the rifles were pointed squarely at her back. The elevator they piled into wasn't exactly roomy, and Violet tucked herself into the corner. The guards watched her behind their blacked-out visors, fingers resting dangerously on the triggers. They seemed to regard her with mistrust, their mouths turned down. She wondered if Fell hired men who loathed supers, or if they were just leery of her and her unseen means of power.

Syndrome didn't even look at her, instead watched the numbers above the elevator door count down from one to Ground, to OP. Violet didn't like the looks of that.

Her instincts were correct. Down another grey hall, ending in a pair of two-way doors, which an old outdated plaque hung above announced "OPERATING ROOM". Violet stopped dead in her tracks.

She wasn't going to let them cut her. She didn't care if every guard in every evil lab everywhere descended on her at that moment, she was going to fight before she let them dissect her.

Syndrome opened the door and waited for her to step through. "Come on."

But she shook her head.

"I don't have time for your antics, Shadow."

Again she shook her head, leaning back on one foot, readying her stance. She was no longer worried about his coolness, why he suddenly shifted to titles and icy civility. She didn't care about gaining his trust and gaining an out. Violet would leave here whole or she wasn't leaving at all. And neither would they. She was ready for the battle of her life. "No. No operations, no anything. You get nothing from-"

"We talked about that," he snapped, glancing over her head at the guards. "This is the only room big enough for you to practice in where I can observe without you making me your target."

"...Practise?"

"Yes. You're going to work on just what you can do with your forefields." He motioned her to follow again, and one of the guards used the butt of his rifle to push her forward, forcing her to stumble into the room, caught off guard at her sudden switch of expectations. So much for battle-ready experienced Shadow, huh?

It was an operating room, or was, with a two-way mirror covering the observation gallery above. But the bright lights were reeled high into the ceiling, and there was no operating table insight. Instead, the floor was lined in white mats, plastic-covered like in the dojos she had attended. When supers had been made official, the Parr's enrolled their children in any type of self-defense they could find. Dash had taken to boxing, Violet had joined a few of her friends in taking up karate. There was a long party table on the opposite wall with what looked like random objects on it. A vase, a bust of some dead thinker, balls in various sizes, and the EEG machine.

Syndrome walked to the table and picked up a length of rope. "Come here and give me your arms."

Before she could even voice her anger, Violet heard the guards shift. A glance confirmed that they had raised their rifles and aimed again. She obeyed, once again out of options. The villain turned her to face away from him. "Hold your forearms behind your back."

"Why can't you just tie my wrists?"

"You'll still be able to move your arms that way. I want to know if your powers are purely neurological, or if your arms are necessary." He worked on the knots around her arms as he spoke, and Violet felt like kicking him. Humiliation suffused her, but she would not cry. Her face would be red as a beet and easy to hide behind her hair when she bowed her head, but they would never get her tears. She wouldn't break.

His hands were still unnaturally warm, and she pushed the shame away, focusing on that. Working out why he would be so warm was like figuring out a medical problem in the hospital; it kept her mind occupied, let it drift away from the display he made of her. His body was made of metal, not bone. It probably was a conductor for the heat of his organs, whatever he had left. His resting temperature must be something like a fever…

Syndrome jerked the last knot tight, literally shaking her out of her thoughts, and slid a finger between one of the binds and her wrist, testing the ties. There was room, it wouldn't cut off her circulation. But she wasn't going anywhere with her arms strapped to her back.

"Put your back to the wall, and sit."

Violet passed the guards to the wall, leaning against it, sliding to sit cross-legged on the floor. The guards were muttering low, the shorter one smirking now, and she could only imagine what conversation her being trussed up inspired. I will not cry. Shadow didn't cry. Shadow could withstand anything, she was more than human, more than a woman. Violet had to forget herself and become Shadow-because Shadow was super.

Syndrome knelt beside her, combing back her loose locks, and began placing sensors on her temples. With a huff, he gathered up her hair and twisted it into a knot. And Violet had to sit there, like a child, and be handled before she did her parade pony show for this mad man and the sick freaks who liked eyeing the tied super.

I will not cry. I want to go home, I want to be back in my room and wake up and realize this is all just a nightmare. I want to go home. I want my parents and my bed and my safety back. But God damn them I will not cry.

"Comfy?" Syndrome cocked a brow at her, expecting an answer. He was watching the liquid pool in her eyes, how she refused to blink, less it fell. He watched her as her features twisted into anger to escape the sorrow. He should have seen it coming.

Violet spat in his face.

The guards both started marching over, shouting warnings. Syndrome lifted a hand sharply to stop them. Then, using his thumb, wiped the spittle from his nose and cheek. But instead of rage, he smirked at her. He was laughing at her. In a voice too low for anyone but Violet to hear, he murmured, "You might just survive this yet, princess."

He stood, leaving her confused and more than incensed. "Let's go."

"Are you sure it's wise to leave her in here," the taller guard asked

"Yes. You are going to stand outside the door. I'll be watching her in the gallery.

"Not like she can get very far," the short guard murmured. Violet felt her skin crawl when he glanced at her, eyeless gaze lingering. I could get some of the other men to do it Fell had said. Well, they'd have to tie her up to get her docile enough for...that. Violet couldn't think too much about it-her empty stomach heaved dangerously at the thought.

"I could break both her knee caps and she'd still find a way to pop your head like a champagne cork," Syndrome snapped. "Never underestimate an irritated super. Their emotions heighten their powers, I've found. So go ahead. Keep taunting her."

The two guards spared Violet another glance. She snarled at them, trying her best to look unhinged. Her hair slipping from the knot and falling into her face aided the effect. They did not protest any more.

The door slammed behind the group as they left. Violet closed her eyes and tried not to think of padded cells and straight jackets. I'll need one if I don't get out soon. After a few moments, there was a crackle above her head, Syndrome's voice wafting in from some unseen speaker.

"Showtime," he taunted. "I want you to create a sphere in the air."

It was awful. Now, without the use of her limbs, she was acutely aware of how it functioned. How she usually felt the power roll down her arm, like a ball, invisible until it rolled off his fingers and became in the air, whole and real. She would move, and her shields would follow, like an extension of herself. It was almost like a dance, flicking her wrists to snap a shield from here to there, closing her fist to make it disappear. Violet relied almost completely on hand-eye coordination. It had been like that since she was four, it was just...how it was done.

Violet had never not used her hands to project her forcefields. She never really thought her powers could be more than what they were: protection and evasion. Even in the golden age of supers, there was no real study of powers, and thus no programs to really train them. Super just found that, when push came to shove, they could discover new things about themselves in the eleventh hour.

The one time she had been bound before, in Syndrome's containment chamber, she had been trying all the time the villain had ranted. He was right, the emotions had helped her. Not panic, as proved by a targeted plane. But necessity. When she had protected Dash from gunshots, and again her whole family-when the time comes you'll be ready. It wasn't a concentrated effort, it had been pushing until something finally gave, but even then she had used her arms.

So Violet focused on her anger when Syndrome instructed her to create shields that did not surround her. Create a sphere of force, in mid-air, without her hands. Her fingers wiggled and fisted within the confines of the nylon rope. Sweat broke out over her brow and upper lip. And she tried, kept pushing at that mental barrier, like fighting against the sedative.

First, she was able to create a wall right in front of her, so close she could feel the humming. It was difficult without spreading her hands, opening her arms to gauge how far she wanted it. She had to concentrate. Then she made another, a little further out...then a little further. The purple haze winked in and out of existence as she stared at the floor, visualizing where it would appear next, and then making it happen. It felt like reaching, like stretching a muscle long in atrophy, almost painful until she accomplished it-and then the discomfort blossomed into relief.

Relief that came only after hours of trying.

Then she lifted her head and closed her eyes. She had been staring and sitting for so long, the room was burned into her eyes. She could see the white walls and floor, the smokey grey of the two-way mirror slanted above her latently on the inside of her lids. And Violet stretched her newfound muscle, picturing in her mind a shield in the air, perfectly round and floating.

It wasn't that she was levitating it. No, it was more difficult to explain than that. She was...holding the air. Cupping it with this third sense, and closing around it carefully, like holding water in your palms. Too tight and it'll all dribble out, too loose and the same. She bent her sense-like fingers around the very oxygen molecules, holding them in place. Capturing them.

Violet opened her eyes. There, with a humming buzz, was her shield sphere. Not perfect, it crackled and fazed out from second to second, but it was there, nonetheless. And her hands were limp behind her back.

"I knew it."

With a crackle, her forcefield fizzled out at the smug satisfaction in Syndrome's voice. The silence had been ringing, and his words were like a gunshot at dawn; it broke the peace totally and utterly. Narrowing her eyes, Violet saw him silhouetted in the glass. He had turned the gallery light on so she could see him, hazy behind the mirror as he leaned on the table where the microphone was, a guard standing behind him. "It's all in your mind. Now move it."

It took some doing just to accomplish it again let alone move it. But she tried the same method of closing her eyes and visualizing it. Cutting out all distractions, she flexed her power, focusing on the feeling of it, the grip on the pocket of air. She could feel it, like a limb gone numb. Hazey and dull, but there. Violet breathed in, visualizing the sphere moving closer-and she could feel it. She could feel the wind created by the movement passing by her shield as if the shield was another body part she just discovered, linked to her nervous system all along. She felt the pull, like elastic when she exhaled, and it moved away-Violet could feel it all, without opening her eyes.

And when she did, even she had to grin. Bound on the floor of a madhouse defunct hospital, she smiled as her sphere swayed back and force in the air, pulled by nothing but her sheer force of will. Her eyes drifted to the two-way mirror. Syndrome was leaning close, his face in shadow, backlight from the fluorescent above his head. But even in the shadows, she could see his grinning visage, his blue eyes alight with victory as bright as his flame-red hair.

As if he had something to do with this. And Violet wanted to share that-she wanted his pride. In a sick sense, she wanted his happiness at her accomplishment.

Because she was a prisoner and because she was being broken down.

The little flower of joy shriveled in her chest, exposed to the sun of her rage. I'm here because of him. And not just here. My whole life is and was upturned because of him. With a snarl, Violet tried to reach for him with this new sense, tried to throw her power right in the middle of that smug face.

The sphere shivered and then launched itself at the glass, rebounding with a sizzle. Violet fell back against the wall, feeling the impact in her chest. The sphere disappeared, and all that was left of it was the crack in the two-way mirror. She saw Syndrome stumble back-and the guard behind him fly towards the table, slamming his hand down.

And Violet shrieked.

She'd been shocked once-plugging too many things into the power strip of the living room. There had been a sharp crackle, and her whole arm had turned numb for a second-felt funny for an hour after.

Being electrocuted was nothing like that.

Her whole body went stiff, and every nerve ending was on fire. It was short-a brief flash of pain. But the stinging numbness that crawled over her flesh was almost too much to bear. Her limbs shook and she fell to the side, cheek against the mat of the floor.

Trembling, she felt spittle tricked from the corner of her mouth as she trembled, and some still rational part of her brain was grateful her bladder was empty. Her humiliation would have been utterly complete then.

Violet was vaguely aware of the doors slamming open, of feet pounding on the floor, making it shake underneath her. She saw Syndrome's legs bend as he knelt before her, deja vu from her bathroom.

"She was coming for you!"

"I told you not to," Syndrome shouted over his shoulder.

"I'm not going to let her escape just because you like-"

That was all he got out before there was a choking gargle. Violet tilted her head up, still too weak to lift it. Syndrome's hand was around the guard's throat, his feet a half an inch off the ground. Violet thought she heard a wet crunching, and the guard crawled at Syndrome's wrist, legs kicking as the suffocation went on and on, his body reacting on pure instinct and need for air. It takes four minutes for a man to suffocate, her medical memory whispered. Syndrome was going to kill him if he continued. "St...stop." The word barely made it out, her tongue trying to remember how to work.

The guard began hitting at Syndrome's arm-his right arm. The villain didn't even feel it.

"Stop."

Then the convulsions came, and Violet could see the scant bit of face his visor revealed turning a ruddy purple.

"Syndrome stop!"

Her jailor let go, the guard dropping to the floor heaving great gasps of air. His partner rushed forward to lift him to his feet, dragging him to the door. Violet heard the guard wretch as they burst through them.

Syndrome was on bended knee in front of her, tugging at the rope. Her arms fell limply, still too exhausted and pained to bother moving, even to hit at him. Then she was airborne, lifted in his arms. Her head lolled back, and she watched the lights fly past above her.

Between the shock and the lack of food, she must have blacked out for a moment, for the next she was laying on her cot in her cell. Would this be the rest of her life, winking in and out of consciousness, continually trapped? It was like a nightmare with no release of waking up. Her head pounded, and she groaned, rubbing her temples. The light pierced her eyes when she tried to open them, and her empty stomach turned dangerously.

"Can you sit up?"

Shielding her face, Violet turned her head and looked to her side. Syndrome had rolled his new stool into her cell and was watching her. He leaned over to the sink and picked up her water cup and a stock bottle.

"No-no antidote," she whimpered. Her head already throbbed, and that stuff only made it worse.

"It's Tylenol." He showed her the label. Not quite true, it had oxycodone too.

"Give it." Despite how sick it made her, she sat up and snatched the pills and water from him. She'd gotten used to opening the bottles one-handed in her clinics, and shook two out directly into her mouth before sucking down the water. Practically tossing the objects back to her jailor, she slumped against the metal wall of her cell, pressing her temple against the cold surface.

"You over-extended yourself. Your brain activity was already-"

"You shocked me. What, did you expect me to be cheery after that," she spat.

"I didn't shock you-"

"I don't care. The bracelet does what it's supposed to. Keep me in line without the antidote right? So that I can detox from it and do my little super dance." Violet swallowed hard so that the water didn't come back to haunt her as her stomach was vehemently evicting it. The nausea would come; she hadn't eaten. But she'd rather wretch than continue having her head pound. "Well I did, and I got screwed for it anyway."

"It won't happen again."

"You're right. Because I'm not going back."

"Princess-"

"Shut up," she snapped. This wasn't bravado, this wasn't depending on Shadow for confidence. This vitriol was truly and utterly Violet. "I'm not doing it, do you understand me? So you can shock me and sedate me or punch me or do what Fell wants-or choke me to death-but you'll get nothing more out of me!"

Violet knew it was a lie. Even as she said it, her rational self reeled back. She would do it if it meant escaping, nothing would change that. With every test and hour that passed, it cemented her resolve to get out, to survive if only just to spite Fell and Syndrome. Violet was not going to die here. But it felt good to scream at him. It felt good to loosen her anger and humiliation and unload on him. She wanted to rage, and scream, wanted the freedom to throw her own chair at the wall. But with how sick she felt, she'd settled for just the shouting.

"You've kidnapped me and prodded me, you must be overjoyed no matter how that freak has you under his thumb. You can laugh and watch me suffer because I can't do anything to stop you. It must be amazing, having Mr. Incredible's kid to torture, to abuse like you felt abused. Is that it? You're just another spin in the cycle, Syndrome. Abused to abuser. It's common. It's pathetic for a grown man.

"Do you hear me? You're pathetic that you have to torture a girl half your age so that you can get your rocks off! You couldn't kill any of us on the island, you were even too much for your own girlfriend. You couldn't get your idol, you couldn't kill him, you couldn't get his son so his daughter will do? You're nothing more than a bully burning ants-not a mastermind, not a genius, not even a competent villain-just a big goddamn bully."

By this time, Syndrome had stood and left the cell. But of all the things he could have done-left the room, maybe shock her again-he went to the turntable and turned it on. Violet, one hand clutching her still hurting head, gaped at him as he dropped the needle onto the record and Frankie Valli's high beginning of Beggin' whined out of the speaker. She winced-the steady beat in time to the throbbing.

He returned to his seat, legs crossed. "Are you done?"

"Yes. I'm doing nothing more for you."

"Give up the act, princess. You'll continue."

"Or what, you'll choke me to death? What did you do after I passed out? Go and finish the job?"

"He's alive if you care so much. I don't see why. He's the one that shocked you."

"Because I'm not a monster."

"Well here's a news flash, neither am I."

Violet snorted. "I have some evidence to the contrary."

"You don't know what a real monster is. I'm working for a monster. You don't know what he's capable of, so it's best we continue. Keep screaming and get it out of your system now because if you unload on Fell like that, he'll pull your lower intestine out while you watch."

Violet wretched at the image-and at the pills hitting her empty stomach. "We-you mean me. What does he even want? What are you trying to do with this information?"

"I don't know-wait." Syndrome held up a hand as she began to protest, perhaps go on another tirade. She really did feel better getting all that off her chest. "Believe me, princess, I hate not knowing as much as you do. I'm a scientist, I like facts, and right now we've got precious little of 'em. I don't know for sure. But I can take an educated guess. He wants to perfect the antidote."

"Seems pretty damn effective to me."

"Maybe, but it's a shotgun, and I think he wants a sniper rifle."

Violet blinked. "...What in the hell does that even mean?"

"City girl," he muttered to himself before explaining, "When you fire a shotgun it has a wide spread. The damaged area can be pretty vast depending on how far you are. A sniper rifle is a precise tool." He lifted his hands as if shouldering such a rifle and taking aim. "One shot, one hole." Then he shrugged. "The antidote you took affects many parts of the body. Don't ask me to explain how, I'm not a doctor. But it attacks your nervous system, sedates you, and blocks your hormone function. You've been here for two weeks and you didn't notice you haven't…." He gestured lamely at her legs.

"...Haven't what," Violet sighed. She'd really like for him to get to the point. Her screaming hadn't helped her headache.

"You know...female stuff. I saw your calendar in your room."

A beat. "You mean haven't had my period?"

"Yes."

"How old are you," she sneered.

"Listen, okay, when you get your head bitten off for even mentioning it over the course of several years, you start to not want to talk about it." Syndrome shifted uncomfortably, and Violet could only imagine how sympathetic the egomaniac was to his girlfriend when she was upset, in pain, and ready to fight. At least in that, Violet was content that he got all he deserved. "But you haven't gotten it, have you? And you probably should have or started to. It's because of the antidote. We couldn't tell where exactly the powers develop in the body, so the antidote in its current form covers the bases. That's why it sedates you, probably why you feel like shit coming down for hours after."

"So what's wrong with it?"

"It's not subtle. You can force a pill down someone's throat, but if you do it takes time. And you can't ingest it as a liquid-other supers vomited it up immediately. It doesn't work as a shot-it's too much for the system to break down in the bloodstream. It's like overdosing-we almost lost Lightning Bug that way. It seems the only safe way is to digest it as a time-release tablet. You can't slip it in a drink, you can't use it from far away. Basically, you can't sell it as a weapon. And that's what I made, that's why he has me doing this even though I'm stumbling in the dark. If it doesn't have screws and motherboards it's not my wheelhouse.

"But I always suspected that the power starts in the brain. I mean others have had overactive or additional glands, denser bone, different physical structures, sure. But all of that starts in the brain when you're a fetus, doesn't it?"

Syndrome raised his brows and actually waited for an answer. One thing was for sure-he really wasn't a doctor. "In the most simple and layman terms...yes. Technically that's correct."

"Especially with you. Your powers are unique-and it's because you're born from two supers. I noticed something, even back then-the powers are growing. They're evolving. The further down the line you go, the more powers supers begin to develop, the stronger and more unique they are. Your father's friend-Frozone? He can take water and change its phase. You create matter from thin air. From nothing, just by concentrating. You're proving my theory."

"So I've proven it. Then why try to explore my powers? You've got your answers."

Syndrome folded his arms and waited for the next song to begin. He spoke so softly, Violet wasn't sure she caught it at first, "Why did you ask if I was alright?"

"What?"

"Why did you show concern? You don't feel it. I'm the enemy, but you keep pushing, kept trying to make contact."

"Because…" Violet's mouth worked silently. "Because...because I wanted to make sure you were okay!"

"No, you weren't. You're trying to build a rapport so I care."

Fear lanced through her. She didn't think he knew the game she was playing-after all, she hadn't been the sweetest person to him, despite her plan to gain his trust. "That-that's not true."

"Listen, princess, I took head shrinking classes in college too. I get it, it's a good survival tactic. Show concern, build a banter. A little about my past, show a little interest, create a bond, and try to use me to get out. It worked too. I nearly killed a man for you. You should be happy."

"I'm not!" Even if the guard hated her, even if he'd electrocuted her, watching a man struggle to live before her very eyes was the antithesis of what she was. As a super, as a doctor, as a human being. She wouldn't wish that kind of death on anyone. She didn't want to wish death on anyone, period. "And it's not true. I wasn't just trying to manipulate you."

He smirked. "So you admit that you were trying to manipulate me a little bit?"

"No-I mean-" God, her head hurt. Why wasn't the medicine kicking in? "...It's not true. I cared. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Because if I died, it would just be Fell."

She hadn't even thought of that. What a terrifying prospect. Violet shuddered visibly, remembering the greasy thin man and his purring threats. "No. Because no one should be tortured like that." And it was true. Part of it might have been manipulation. It may have been its genesis. But watching him writhe on the floor, dig into his own body, the horror he lived with just to survive-her sympathy had been real.

"Not even villains?"

"No."

"Not even the guard who shocked you?"

"I said no!"

Syndrome's humor was returning. He wet his lips and posed: "That's so interesting. Yet your family killed my guards on the island. Do you regret that?"

"No! They were trying to kill us!"

"The guard would have certainly shocked you to death if I didn't stop him."

"It's different."

"How? Both my men and the guard were just doing their job. But you stopped me from murdering him. What, no sympathy for the bodies you left on the beach?"

"Because…" Violet whimpered. She didn't want to have to think, damn him. Not when she felt so sick. Was now really the time for a philosophical debate? "Because...because the guy you were strangling was just...defending himself!"

"So were my men."

"They were trying to murder children, Goddamnit! Chase them down. How is that defense? They were shooting at us and not with darts! It was wrong! At least I'm an actual threat now!"

Syndrome considered her for a moment. "So it doesn't matter the position, you think they should have stood down, no matter the threat?"

"Children aren't a threat, you son of a bitch. They intended to shoot first!" She was cradling her head now. "It's wrong, no matter how you put it so don't try weaseling your way out of it! You tried it too with the damn plane!"

He leaned back on the stool, giving her a moment's reprieve by refilling her water cup. He raised it to her head and pressed it against her temple. The cold water chilled the metal of the cup, and Violet held it there after he let go.

"So you think what's 'right'-" his finger quoted the word-"trumps loyalty? Alright, how about this: Your brother is in a fight-say against Bomb Voyage. Voyage backs down, but your brother keeps fighting-let's say even kills him in the midst of it. Not on purpose, but it happens. Would you say your brother was wrong? He was just doing his job, after all. He has to bring in Voyage, either way, to stop further destruction. But Voyage backed off, he quit the fight.

"Who was right?"

"That's a false equivalence."

"I'm not looking to win a debate award, princess. I'm looking for how you'd feel. For your reaction."

What was he looking for? He really wanted to have a philosophical meeting of minds right now? The why do you care was on her lips. But Violet stopped and actually thought through it. Anything to get this conversation over with so she could lay down and rest her head.

It was a risk they all took, accidentally killing. Sometimes not even accidentally. Sometimes it was simply the only option when it boiled down to your life or theirs. It was survival.

But their parents had drilled into them the benefit of restraint. After all, wanton destruction and disregard for the damage their actions cost was what got them banned in the first place. If Dash disregarded all that-which, if she was honest-he was want to do, how would she feel?

Disappointed. Sad. Ashamed.

And now Violet felt ill all over again-but not because of her head. This was why Dicker didn't deputize her. Why he encouraged her to step away. He was afraid of her turning, afraid that she was more loyal to her own code than the NSA's. Because despite her love for Dash, despite her loyalty, she couldn't abide the thought of her brother killing someone when he did not have to. Of murdering a surrendering man-even if that mercy led to more trouble in the future.

First, do no harm. It was a vow she had taken, par for the course in her training. But now she felt it ring true in her chest.

"I will never turn against my family." Whether Violet said it to Syndrome, or to herself, she wasn't sure. "Never."

The villain's brows raised, and a look of true shock fell over his face. Only for a second, if Violet blinked she would have missed it. "Oh, Lord. I was right, you are weird. Honest, but weird. We might survive this yet." Leaning close, as if he were threatening her, Syndrome continued: "If there's any hope of getting out of this hell hole, we are going to have to continue business as usual, do you understand? If Fell gets whiff that we're less than hateful, he'll shut this whole operation down, find another super and start again."

"We are hateful," Violet pointed out. "I don't like you for all I needed your trust. You're a pig and a monster. And you tried to murder children."

"And you're a brat, and an absolute harpy to listen to and I didn't know you were on the plane."

"My mother told you!"

"I thought she was lying. Why the hell would anyone bring children on a rescue oper-" He stopped rubbing his hands over his face. "Nevermind. Goddamnit, you're the worst one yet. The other ones just kept screaming and beating their chests at me. But you are just so much worse. At least we'll have no problem keeping the status quo. But you're going to have to listen to me."

Like she had a choice. "How can I trust you?"

"I could ask the same, and I'd have even less reason than you. But we want the same thing. Out."

Violet frowned. Heroes didn't make deals with villains, Shadow-or any Incredible-would never accept help from Syndrome of all people. But she didn't have her mask or suit, and he wasn't in charge here. They weren't their personas; just their shackles.

So she didn't protest. This was, after all, her goal. Perhaps it didn't occur as naturally as she hoped, but best laid plans… She couldn't trust Syndrome in any real sense. He could turn on her in a moment, dose her up and slice her throat or something just as awful. But she highly doubted that his tortured screams were faked, that the scars on his shoulders were made up to gain sympathy, and reverse her little game back on her to get her settled into a false sense of security.

And Fell certainly wasn't a hoax. If it made him desperate enough to give her a little leeway, risking the wrath of his taskmaster, Violet had to assume he was genuine.

Besides, if he was going to at least act like he trusted her, it would give her more opportunities to escape, even if he was lying. It was a risk-but she was willing to take it. She began to nod-but froze. That could be seen, and all the music did was mask their words.

"Fine," she hissed.

Syndrome smiled, but it looked like the grimace of a man about to face the noose more than an expression of joy. "Fine."

He stood and left her cell, rolling the stool behind him. As the glass door shut, Violet asked: "You mentioned the others-Lightning Bug. What happened to them?"

Her jailor-turned-partner paused, his back still to her. "I don't know," he said, but it was far less convincing when he wouldn't face her. "Fell certainly meant to kill them all. He thinks they're dead."

"You do know." She got up, and went to the glass, pressing a hand to it. "You know. They're dead, aren't they? Just like on Nomanisan." And if this little deal didn't work out, Violet was going to join them.

Syndrome tilted his face up, staring at the ceiling silently. "I hope not."

"You hope? What happened to the facts?"

He turned to her, leveling her with a flat gaze, free of his sneering sarcasm or burning rage. "I told you, I've got barely any of those. And it's shit, I tell you what. But, right now princess? I've got an abundance of hope. And it might just kill me in the end."