Chapter V

The Poisoning of Kore

Syndrome kept her bound for four more days until she could summon her shields without struggling against the ropes. It was grueling work, flexing this new muscle, working it until it grew strong. He had her make shields and move them until she no longer had to close her eyes and think. With every panting, sweating moment, Violet cursed him-but mostly herself. For being out of practice, for not keeping up with her family when it came to fighting, and being vigilant. For never once questioning her powers, wondering if she could be better than her usual. She had been so focused on succeeding at normal that she had let her easily won super abilities languish. And now she was in serious debt with the piper-though the freckled ass could be a little less rude when it came to his demanding of payment.

When it started to become something like easy, he actually descended from the gallery and joined her in the operating room to test her further. He used the dodge balls that had laid useless on the long table until then and forced her to work on speed and accuracy without flailing fingers to guide her.

Syndrome tossed carelessly at first, seeing if she could catch them in mid-air. Good thing too, as she was terrible without her arms.

"Eye on the ball only works if you have hands," she snapped after the second ten-hour day, kicking the fallen ball back towards him.

"Your power is an extension of yourself, another kind of hand. Use it."

So Violet did and took another bit of his advice-the heightened emotions-devoting her frustration to catching the balls mid-air. And once accomplished, she made it her main mission to return them to the sender. It escalated to them sending missiles as hard as they could at each other, and ended when one of her shields accidentally sliced through the ball altogether.

Both of them sporting bruises neither would admit hurt, the next day was a respite in the lab. Syndrome had her create a shield on the operating table from her cell and set about working on just what it was.

It was rather boring for Violet, as all she did was keep the sphere stagnant on the table, and whatever questions she fired were either ignored or shushed immediately. But she was given the opportunity to see what exactly made Syndrome rich.

The man wasn't a doctor, but he was a scientist with an insatiable curiosity. And when he worked, it was on full display. Violet began to understand that he wasn't exactly ignoring her prods-he couldn't hear her through the concentration. He tested the surface of the shield, examined it, putting the scientific method on total display for her, everything from bringing out a microscope and examining it to pouring different liquids over it to see how it would react.

He tried penetrating it-and then focused all his attention on her when she complained of discomfort at his attempting to slice through the barrier. He brought her out and returned the EEG sensors to her head, running through simple paces. Make it move, make it shrink, make it large, throw it against the wall, now disappear. Then he had her do it all over again, but with the sensors attached to the shield.

He was done with her after that, sending her back to her cell with her meal while he tapped endlessly at the computer, the record player droning on. At least when he was working Syndrome didn't pay enough attention to her to belittle her over her terrible singing as she hummed along to the music. Even when they weren't trying to mask their conversation, he had it playing. Violet supposed it helped him think. After all, she did her best studying and paper writing with her headphones on.

Faltering halfway through her rendition of Time of the Season Violet glanced out at him.

It was an interesting sight, seeing the villain totally engrossed, and the super wondered if that was the same expression she wore when she worked. Violet had always been a studious thing, preferring to curl up with a book than run about the house with her brothers, and the workload of medical school never bothered her. Perhaps it was her lack of a social life, but she adored delving deep into the text, uncovering things she didn't know, and the euphoria of the knowledge cementing itself in her brain. It was like becoming a new person with every new fact or procedure she learned. There was the Violet who didn't know, and then the Violet who did. The better Violet. She liked that bettering of herself, she liked the joy of discovering.

And now she watched that same excitement in someone else's face. When he was working, currently staring intently at the data on his screen and absently biting the end of his thumb in thought, he didn't look so terrifying. Maybe this was what Mirage saw in him, the studious scientist, the pursuer of knowledge, the tinker, and the inventor. After all, no one else had produced flying boots quite like his, and as a scientist herself, Violet had often wondered what exactly Zero Point Energy was and how the hell it worked. But it had all been lost in the crash, the climax of all those poor choices on so many parts.

Violet swallowed hard. She didn't want to think ill of her father, not with him so far away and her so separated from him. The missing him cut her deep, and Violet suddenly felt suffocated in her cell, sterile in her grey clothes in this white room. Her fleshed itched with the need to get out, to see something natural, a tree or even water. Her skin was hungry for sunlight.

She scratched her arms absently, a physical remedy to a psychological and physiological need, and slid off her cot. She needed out of this tight little space before she convinced herself she was beginning to develop claustrophobia. "Can I see?" It took knocking on the glass and asking thrice more before Syndrome noticed her.

He turned his head slightly towards her, eyes still glued to the screen. "Uhn?"

"Can I see what you're doing?"

"Uh-huh…"

"Syndrome!"

That shook him. "What, what do you need?"

"Can. I. See? Or does that look too suspicious?" They had kept the act of hating each other well, seeing as they did, in fact, despise being near one another. But hate was a draining emotion, and in the low tides of loathing, delicate comradery took its place; the default of apathy was easier to maintain.

"Oh. No, actually, you'd probably understand this more than me." He rolled his seat to the door, triggering it open so that she could walk through. Pulling himself back to the computer after switching the records, he placed a hand on the monitor. Violet recognized the EEG scans. "I don't really know what any of this means-but I can notice a pattern. Your brain activity spikes-here, see? That's when you created the sphere, and it stays at this heightened level until you dispel it. But look here-these spikes? This is when you moved it, changed its shape-that dip there is when you made it smaller and that big spike is from throwing it against the wall."

"That makes sense, since the power starts in the brain," Violet agreed, leaning her hands on the table to squint at the graph. Her brain laid out before her eyes in lines and squiggles. It was funny, made her head a little fuzzy at the thought of her brain organ recognizing itself.

"Yeah, but look at this, when I put the sensors on the shield." Syndrome lifted a paper graph now, and slapped it on the monitor, the static keeping it in place. This was no brain scan, it looked like someone had gone haywire with the EEG needles on the page.

"Well, duh. It's not meant to read a shield. It's nonsense."

"Au contraire, mon ennemi." Syndrome pulled a pen from his pocket and began circling certain parts of the shield's graph, then slid the statically clinging paper to align with her brain scans. "Look at that."

Violet rolled her eyes but peered at the paper, the lines of her scan on the monitor shining through so that the lines overlapped. She focused on his circles, leaning close to the screen, trying to find whatever had captured his attention. "...The spikes-!"

"The spikes are exactly the same. It's all a chaotic mess, but the activity rises when yours does and dips at the same time."

Violet pulled the paper off the screen and glanced around. Syndrome seemed to know what she was looking for and handed her the paper version of her brain scans. They were both long strips as he had been monitoring her for hours and hard to handle. Violet placed one over the other and held it up to the light, going section by section just in case the portion he found was a fluke. The shield EEG still looked like an insane mess, but she could see some thread of order there. Spikes and dips that matched again and again-a real pattern.

"I'll be damned," she murmured to the ink.

"I thought the shield was created by you, but now I'm thinking it's actually a part of you, not just the ability." He rolled his stool right up behind her, examining the papers over her shoulder. "It goes to my theory about your invisibility. I think it's just another shield that you create in your skin."

"An auxiliary epidermis?

"...Sure."

She sighed, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. What she wouldn't give to have one of her fellow residents here. Or not. After all, she didn't know who exactly had sold her out to Fell. "Like a second skin?"

"Yes, like a second skin. I bet if you tried, you could make your shields invisible too. I think I wasn't far off with my Frozone comparison. What if you're projecting energy into the air from your mind. After all, the shields have similar properties to electrical impulses. And there is electricity in the brain...right?"

"Enough to power a lightbulb-or so they say," Violet agreed. "But that's a lot of energy. It would totally deplete me, but I don't feel anything but a headache after." She peered at the scans against the light again. "The spikes are high, but they aren't off the chart."

"Well, maybe you're pulling free electrons to supplement and don't know it? Or converting them from the molecules in the air?"

"But taking them from the atoms, wouldn't that cause an explosion?"

Syndrome considered this, rubbing the corners of his mouth with his thumb and middle finger. "I should test to see if your shields give off any type of nuclear radiation. Atomic weaponry was a side project I never got around to. God!" He spun absently on his stool, looking wistful. "If only I was still on the island! I'd get a whole team of doctors and study this. If we could figure out just what your shields are made of we could make anything! Aircraft shielding, base protection, home protection-I'd make a killing in the market, build a whole damn insurance company around it. Cloaking devices too-the military wouldn't even think of making another ghillie suit! The KGB would lick my boots for years! Hell, they'd offer me a spot in the government for it, if I talked sweet enough. Really bring some fire to this cold war."

Violet lowered the scans just enough to glare at him over them. All these big dreams counted on one thing: her still being a lab rat. Syndrome caught her look and shrugged. "Well, they would."

"Nice company you kept."

"You don't always get to choose who you share a playground with, princess."

"Yeah, don't I know it."

"You said you could sort of feel things through your shield. Like you sensed it when you threw it against the wall, felt the impact?"

"Yeah-I could also feel when your omnidroid decided to park itself right on top of me too. It knocked me out."

Syndrome waved away her complaint of almost dying. "I wonder if I could actually penetrate your shield, and if it would show up in the...the pain sensor...area."

Violet snorted. "Parietal lobe," she said slowly as if talking to a particularly dim-witted child. "They could have at least left you an anatomy and physiology book."

"You're lucky he leaves me breathing," Syndrome reminded her.

As if on ominous command, the lights above them cut out, plunging them into absolute darkness with nothing but the turntable belting out Don't Fear the Reaper. Before panic, or even realization, set in, there was a round of muffled beeps and emergency lights flickered on in the corners of the room, casting their shadows long and multiplied across the room.

"What the hell-" Syndrome shot up and approached the door, barely missing the impact when it did not appear and recess into the wall. Growling, he went to the computer, testing the command keys to see if it was on the same emergency generator. By the way the screen stayed black and how Syndrome slapped his hand down on the desk, Violet figured it was not. Last resort, he went to the cabinet and began fishing around, sliding out the toolbox, sending papers flying from tossed binders, and sent a stack of lab coats to the floor before finding what he was searching for: a walkie talkie.

He turned it on, tuning it to the right frequency before snapping, "Lazarus to security, come in."

A crackle, then, "Security to Lazurus, stand by."

Syndrome didn't wait. "What in God's name is going on up there, over?"

They sat with the static for a while, Violet deciding to get comfortable on the operating table as they waited. "The cameras," she asked.

"Oh, don't you worry," the villain sneered. "They're still running. Even if the vents get shut down, they'll run so he can watch us suffocate. Besides, our jewelry is on the emergency grid too."

Violet flexed the hand wearing the metal armlet. I could break it with a shield. But the door was another problem. While she had sliced through a ball by accident, she wasn't sure if she could actually cut through metal even if she set her mind to it, and the time she'd take in trying would be more than enough for the guards to see what she was trying and actually finish her off.

"Security to Lazurus, come in."

"Mind telling me why I'm in the dark? Or why I just lost the past five hours of data? Over!"

"Code Yellow. Apparently Ultra got a little too close. That's all I know, over."

"Son of a-" Syndrome's hand closed over the receiver enough to crack the plastic. "Roger that. When will power return, over?"

"No ETA. Fell just called for Yellow shut down, all units are to shelter in place until further notice. Over and out."

Syndrome swore softly and sat heavily on the computer's counter, switching the radio off. "Damnit, I knew I should have gotten food before I started."

Violet was about to offer the leftover of her rice, but glancing at the solid glass wall, didn't think he'd go for shattering the barrier just to get to such a meager snack. The villain began tossing the discarded items back into the cabinet, closing the door but not before removing an amber bottle. Violet recognized the vintage black seal and wondered how well good ole' Jack was going to play with the oxy that was constantly in his system.

"So...Ultra?"

"Oh, settled on a new line of interrogation while we wait, huh?" Syndrome spun the top of the bottle and flicked it, sending the metal cap flying across the room.

"I didn't know he was such a problem."

"He's not," Syndrome replied in a strained voice after taking a long draft. "I suppose he just got close to one of Fell's investors, he's done that before. Real pain in my ass because every time he does I get locked in here longer, and let me tell you it's real freaking tedious when I don't have a super to annoy. We once downloaded something from an investor's database and got the virus in our system. Took me a week to stop it-then I wasn't let out for a whole year." He lifted the bottle to his lips again, pausing to ask, "why? Know him?"

Violet shook her head. "No. Don't even know what he looks like, and the pictures we do have are blurry. The new head of the NSA wants him though. Keeps calling in my Dad when they get evidence." She didn't mention how much distaste they had for the vigilante. Though, if he cut Fell's funding and foiled his plans, Violet was dead set on building him a fan club. "They said they're gonna start setting up stings, so maybe they'll catch him and you'll be able to get some vitamin C."

"New head? Where's Dicker?"

Violet hesitated. She really shouldn't be giving up insider information to the enemy. Info about Ultra was neither here nor there, he was a problem for both of them. But, despite their truce and common goal, they'd be enemies again once they broke surface. She was a super and he was still a wanted criminal-Vi was sure death would not expunge his crimes from the NSA's mind, or her father's. And with how fondly he spoke about Nomanisan, Violet wondered if he was already thinking about what to do with his second chance.

On the actual agency, she decided to stick to what was already publicly known. "He's retiring. He's almost eighty, you know."

"Who's the new head?"

"I don't know. I was supposed to meet her this weekend...or last. What day is it?"

Syndrome checked his watch, angling it so the glossy black numbers on the matte black face caught the emergency light, and squinted at the date counter. "Tuesday, October sixth."

"Last weekend."

"You're welcome then, for saving you from a God-awful office party. They were the worst when I was an intern."

"I'd take it right about now," Violet grumbled. "You worked at an office?"

"I've worked a bunch of places, princess. Not everyone immediately took to my genius. Mirage and I worked at a computer start-up when we graduated. Pomegranate Inc: Sowing the seeds for the future."

It was so odd to think of Syndrome, a young Syndrome, working as a lowly paper-pusher in some office. She'd become accustomed to the new place in her mind he occupied: as half tormentor half partner. The only before she contemplated was his stint as a would-be hero, with his mad laugh and grandiose plans. Anything that predated that was totally alien to contemplate. "I've never heard of them."

"They got bought by Buy-N-Large when you were probably learning colors. It's where we met her now-husband."

"You know him?" Violet snapped her fingers reaching for the name only mentioned in her presence a few times. "M...Mc-uh…"

"MacConnell. Of course I know him, he was my head engineer on the island. He always had a thing for her, and was bad at hiding it." Syndrome took another swig, then wiped the top and offered her the bottle.

Violet eyed it, hand wrapping around the square bottle. Taking the tiniest sip felt like she had sealed something between them, their partnership or maybe just herself to her choice. She tried not to screw up her face too much. She liked champagne much better, and could only tolerate whiskey when it was drowned in Coke. "And you're alright with that," she choked out.

"Okay, that's like the third time you've hung up on this subject. I'm not going to get away without telling you the whole damn story, am I? Move."

She pulled her legs up, making room for him on the table. He hopped up on the edge and took back the bottle.

"It's just totally out of character. Not only did she betray you, she married one of your co-workers. An underling."

"My best friend," he corrected. "Which is worse. And he wasn't an under-I didn't have underlings. I had employees, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, do you think I tortured people during review time?"

Violet shrugged. "It would be more fitting."

He snapped his fingers. "Right. Maniacal villain. It keeps slipping my mind." He tossed back another shot. "People change."

"You're not that different, trust me."

He sighed and rubbed his face. "You're serious. You really want me to just spill it out like we're at a damn sleepover?"

"Unless you've got a better idea," Violet pointed out, gesturing at the encroaching darkness surrounding them.

"Yeah, sitting and drinking until I can't see."

"I'm actually inviting you to talk about yourself. Take the opportunity before it passes."

"You've got a point, there isn't a better topic than myself." He let her have another swig before continuing: "You've never had someone in your life so long that you just...give them a pass?"

"That's a big pass." It wasn't as if she drunkenly kissed someone, or broke up with him at an inopportune time. Mirage had released his prisoners, the very people he had strived to revenge himself on most of his life.

"Yeah, well, she's an old friend. She and I went to school together-we were outcasts together, and that does a lot to cement ties. I was the country bumpkin from West Virginia dumped into Metroville High-"

"My mom's from West Virginia."

"Yeah-kinda hard to miss that. As I was saying." Syndrome waited to see if she was going to talk again. Violet got the message and folded her hands on top of her knees, resting her mouth on her fingers. "Natalya was everything people hated at the time. Half Russian and half Japanese, and all navy brat. We knew each other since we were twelve, dated since we were fourteen, and that's just how it was. We were together and were going to be together forever. No big romantic declarations, it was just...understood. We graduated together, we went to the same college, got the same jobs," he ticked off each shared experience on his fingers. "I buried her parents with her. I was there for all of her firsts-hell, we were each other's firsts.

"She was there when I started going only by Syndrome, when I founded Syndicate-she was the one that got all the funding. That was the joke. She was just the mirage-well-spoken, hot, in command of herself. You thought you were getting her-not the mad scientist creating jets that were quieter than a ceiling fan, and energy that froze the central nervous system. Mac and I worked behind the scenes-brains and brawn-and we had our gorgeous Mirage to bring in the thirsty buyers. It was really a piece of work I tell you…"

He was staring off into the darkness, the bottle hanging dangerously from his fingers. After a few moments, it looked like that was all he was going to say. But Violet's curiosity wouldn't settle for watching him slowly drown in his own pool of regret. "And then…?"

He chuckled but didn't look at her. "You stayed quiet for a whole minute, congratulations. And then my plan came to a head. And then she woke up one day and realized that I hadn't grown up into the person she had invested in. And then, like usual, your father happened."

"You're even blaming your breakup on him?"

"In a sense, yeah. It was after the plane thing. She was the business half, she was never in those backroom deals. I guess she never thought about how cutthroat you have to be to play with the big dogs. She didn't expect it when I downed the plane. Afterward, your father grabbed her and threatened to snap her in half. 'Like a toothpick' I believe was the phrase."

Violet swallowed hard. She couldn't even imagine her father thinking of something that violent and graphic. This was the same man who thought too much kissing in movies was going to ruin his children. "I don't believe you."

"Ask him," Syndrome growled, whipping around to face her. His gaze was filled with such cold rage, it burned like dry ice. "He did-he threatened to kill her. And I knew he was bluffing. I knew he wouldn't do it. I may not be a shrink-or a doctor-but I have one sense that's really good and that's seeing through bullshit. That's how I succeeded. It was a lie and I called him on it. I was certain nothing was going to happen to her." He looked away from her, and Violet recognized the action as guilt.

"But I guess she realized she didn't trust me anymore, didn't trust that I don't gamble without guarantee. Didn't trust what I was doing. All of a sudden I was someone else to her, almost a stranger. That's how I felt when I learned what she did. I called back to base and Mac told me when I was on my way to your house." Syndrome snorted. "He was in a full-blown panic. He was begging me not to hurt her. Hurt her. Even he seemed to think…"

He looked into the bottle, tilting the amber liquid this way and that, watching it slosh against the sides of the glass. And for a bizarre moment, Violet felt the desire to comfort him, of all things. He didn't deserve torture, he didn't deserve slavery-but facing the end of his choices was most assuredly his lot. He was Atlas to the weight of all his actions, and she could see his spirit strain to hold it. You're too empathetic. Some people don't deserve saving. Still, the sympathy remained.

But it was gone soon enough. Syndrome shook himself, like a dog shivering off water, and took another drink. "Well, that's that. She wanted someone who wasn't me, someone able to bend a little. Someone who will beg for her. And let me be understood." He made sure Violet was looking at him when he concluded, "I will never beg again for the rest of my life."

Violet nodded. That she could understand. Because as soon as she was out of here, she was never going to let someone hold power over her again. No one would order her where to go, what to do like some kind of lap dog. She could feel the anger simmering in her belly, making home there for a very long time. "Good."

The villain smirked. "Good. And I need someone who isn't swayed like that. Who chooses a course of action, and holds the line, no matter what. So what can I do?"

"That still doesn't explain how you are so at peace with it, you went to their wedding."

"It's not like they had a party, what with the NSA breathing down her neck. We drove to a chapel, they wanted me there, so I went. Less than an hour, Fell didn't suspect a thing. Did you miss that whole first part, Parr? She's...I don't know what the word for it is. She's always been with me, and I've always been there with her. That's it, it's set in stone, that's all she wrote. We're together and whether that means I'm the groom or the witness, and she's the mirage or the friend, we're stuck with each other. Look, I know you're young, but surely you can understand the different types of together?"

Understanding rang distant in her head, from a far-off chamber, far from the library of knowledge she was building on Syndrome. Mirage was kin to him. There since he was young, stuck through his failures and his victories. The concept of Syndrome, the cackling creature that had strung the Parrs up in his base, having a family was almost incomprehensible. It was more believable that this Syndrome, the scientist, and unwilling companion could have such familial feelings. But they were the same. People didn't change-he was who he was, and the grinning monster had loved and was loved in return as much as the shackled slave sharing the drink with her.

You don't think Voyage has friends? Family? But it was proven again and again that he and others like him, weren't fixed in positions others had assigned them-or even the ones they earned. The similarities were becoming alarming obvious, in more ways than one.

She could understand loving and forgiving family. Hers would always be there, no matter what. Even if she and Jack-Jack swore to never speak again, even if her father risked all of their lives for pride, even if Dash belittled her entire career. When the world exploded, they sheltered together, not drift apart. It was the rock that was keeping her grounded-her goal was to return to her family, no matter how battered and bruised she became in Fell's cage. "She's your family. She's home."

The surprise that crossed his face was almost comical. "Yeah...yeah. She's-and Mac-they're my family." Syndrome rubbed his thigh nervously after he acquiesced, leaving them in a long silence. "Though families generally don't marry each other. Or rock the bed-and man let me tell you, I was madder that we couldn't get together anymore because Mac would knock my lights out. One time, on the island, we were on the beach and she did this thing where she wrapped her-"

Violet shoved her fingers in her ears, crying, "Ew! Ewewewewew! Why, every time? You're such a pig! An absolute hog."

The villain was back, cackling at her discomfort. He gestured with the bottle, saying, "Because I love watching the joke circle that innocent little sink you've got for a brain until you get it. And because it's hilarious when you're angry."

"It's not gonna be so funny when I belt a dodge ball straight at your nose tomorrow."

"Oh, promises, promises. Shut up and have another drink. No, you tell me, what does the vaunted NSA really make of our Ultra?"

Violet took another sip-it got better each time, or maybe she was just getting too buzzed to care-and when she finished coughing explained, "They want to bring him in. He leaves legit evidence, but he also leaves bodies."

"And what about you? What do you make of him?"

"Why do you think I would disagree?"

"Because there's only one thing that trumps your loyalty, apparently."

"He kills."

"Yeah, but you called the evidence legit. And if he's after Fell's friends, I can only imagine what that is. Maybe he'll hit this facility and we'll have our out-but you've already got a soft spot for the scumbag guards here. You'd probably try and take him in."

"Probably. I'm glad he's frustrating Fell, but that's not worth a body count when you can do it without. And it's not always scumbags. He's raided hospitals for no other reason than to steal narcotics. He's probably being funded off the black market."

"It's a good market," Syndrome sympathized, taking his turn at the liquor. "So what is worth it?"

"Huh?"

"A body count. What would cause the oh-so-superior Shadow to kill, besides self-defense?"

Violet frowned. She didn't want to say 'nothing' and have to logic out every little scenario Syndrome tossed at her. Especially not when the room was starting to tilt a little. How many swigs had she had-six? Had the now-almost-completed bottle been full when they started? She settled on, "A lot," and reached for the bottle again. "More than you."

"Me?" He let her have it with a laugh. "Who did I kill?"

The bottle hovered at her lips as Violet gaped at him. "Are you serious? There's a whole island in the ocean littered with super bodies you killed!"

Now the monster was grinning. "I didn't kill any of them."

"Oh-fine. You built the machine that killed them. What's the difference between that and building the gun you have to their head?"

"Because having a gun to their head implies force." Syndrome leaned back on his hands, legs kicking slightly in the air. "I didn't kill them. In fact, I warned them. I told them-or Nat did-that it was a battle robot that was set on killing."

Violet slammed the bottle on the table and turned from him, glaring at her reflection in the black mirror of the computer screen. "Whatever. I'm not going to sit here and let you excuse away all the destruction you caused." So much for understanding him.

Syndrome sat up again, matching her annoyance. "Listen, princess. I'm sorry it's not what you want to hear. Much as I like getting your blood pressure up, I'm not the villain you're looking for. If it wasn't for the damn plan failing, I wouldn't even be wanted." He knocked his knuckle against the table to accentuate his point. "Each and every super that walked onto that island was told it might cost them their life. And each and every one signed a waiver and ran into the forests with a smile on their face-including your father."

"We needed the money. He was doing it for his famil-"

"Bullshit, he was doing it for himself and you know it!" Syndrome leaned closer to her. "I'll admit I'm a right bastard. I've shaken hands with the mafia, rubbed shoulders with dictators, I'll at least acknowledge it. I won't try to make my buyers out to be doing it for some greater good. And neither was I and neither was he. No one forced them to do anything."

"My father is a good man," she shouted in his face. "He's a good man no matter how much you hate him. He loves his family, and whatever mistakes he made, he'd die for his family! He is good."

Syndrome winced at her pitch but didn't back down. "Okay. Fine. He's good. Then answer me this. I was leaving, I was quitting the fight and he threw a car at my jet." Syndrome tugged at his button-up collar, and even in the low light, she could see the webbing of scars crawl up his neck. "Was he right?"

"You swore to get Jack-Jack! Plus, he didn't expect-"

"Was he right?"

And she was caught.

If she answered emphatically yes, she'd make a hypocrite of herself. Syndrome was leaving, and Jack-Jack was saved. His assets had been frozen, and he had no recourse but the very last jet and his gauntlet; nowhere to run. The fight was over and it wasn't necessary to down the jet. In fact, it did more harm than good, robbing the Parrs of their home.

But if she condemned him, then what? She'd be admitting that for all their boasting, supers were not as indifferent to revenge as they wanted to believe? That they were as bloodthirsty as those they fought? She couldn't swallow that, not right now. It felt too much like a betrayal-like drifting away. It felt too much like turning.

Tears pricked in her eyes, but she refused to blink, to break their charged stare. So once again she refused an answer, stayed silent, and seethed. Violet hated him and his smug face all over again; hated that she could see herself reflected in his icy eyes with how close they were.

"If you spit on me again," he warned.

"You're not worth it."

Knowing he had bested her, Syndrome sat back and took the bottle with him, taking a long victory swig, finishing the last of the liquor. "You know, some men pay good money for that."

"Pig."

"Prude." Sliding off the table he made his way to the record player, flipping through the stack leaned against it. Casually, like Violet wasn't sitting on the table trying not to cry and collapse under a moral crisis. "Enough of this, let's set the mood. I'll even let you pick. The Zombies or good old boy, John Denver?"

Violet was still angry, however, and wanted to lash out. "You're an asshole, that's the reason Mirage left you. Did you try and make her hate everyone in her life too? You know that's a sign of abuse."

He sighed and gave her a bored glance. "C'mon, princess. So I made a good point, let it go. You're the one that still has bones." Violet had nothing to say to that, so he chose a record without her input and tossed it onto the spindle. "Besides, Nat and I didn't talk like this. She'd usually tune me out by the time I brought up Marcus Aurelius, and that tended to be a buzz kill in between the sheets."

Did all men round everything back to that, or was she simply unlucky to be locked in a lab with a pervert? Violet hugged her knees and waited for the music to begin again, glaring at him as he read the song list on the back of the package by the emergency light. It was Denver's Poems, Prayers and Promises. An odd choice for the villain. But this copy looked worn and well played just like-"Hey, wait a minute, is this my record?"

"Maybe."

"You stole my records too?"

"I don't exactly get out much, and even I can get tired of The Man In Black. Besides you have surprisingly good taste, Agents of Fortune shows a spark of originality you know."

"I hate you! You really are a bastard-turn that off. Put The Zombies on."