Chapter VI

The Oracle of Nomanisan

"This is not a good idea."

Violet watched Syndrome and their guard argue from the other side of the operating room. He'd sent her in and stayed outside to discuss with their entourage his plans for the day. She, of course, was not privy to it. He had, however, given her a large cup of coffee with her meal rather than her usual juice, a new set of clothes, and didn't bind her hands. She assumed they were doing something a little more physically taxing, rather than mentally.

It had been almost a week since the lockdown, and they had tried many things, every day returning to the operating room. She had managed to make the shields disappear, but only when she was in physical contact. Other things however were more difficult-she couldn't make two shields independent with each other, with or without hands. They had spent a whole afternoon with her bound attempting to frustrate the ability out of her, and all she had from her work was a splitting headache. She hadn't managed to keep her dinner down that night, and Syndrome had even given her a cold compress for her head and more than a few of his pills.

He still drilled her on working without gesturing, graduating from dodgeballs to throwing water and keeping her in the operating room until she didn't miss even one drop. Then he let her use her arms, and even Violet was utterly amazing with the speed and accuracy she had. Once the mental muscle was fully developed, resuming her dance with the force fields was so easy it was almost boring.

Next, he had her pick things up with the force fields, but try to filter out certain objects. She had scooped up the bust, a few dodgeballs, and a puddle of water, lifting it high in the air, and tried to only let the bust slip through. But once she opened a space in the middle of the field it all came tumbling out. Syndrome had blindfolded her and told her to attempt to feel the different objects to see if that would help. And he was on the right track-Violet could mutely feel the difference, like touching an object through thick mittens. She knew the general shapes and weight, but being so precise in her sense was difficult. It was another test that made her headache. It overloaded her senses, she couldn't do it.

Violet continued to wear the sensors, and they were gathering data for the monster. Syndrome still sent Fell almost daily reports in the middle of the night on their activities. The jailor had not returned as he stated he would, which Syndrome found a little odd, but not unprecedented. "Probably trying to butter up some old vile widow for cash to keep the lights on. He's always bitching about money," he had suggested, to which Violet made a show of wretching over the toilet at the thought.

In fact, he stayed up most nights now, tapping away at his computer and barely sleeping. He kept up the facade, but this was more than research for his taskmaster.

This felt more like training. Like they were gearing up for a fight. Violet knew it in her chest, a keen instinct that this was coming to a head. She was exhilarated and frightened and ready. Ready to be out of here, ready to see the sun again and breathe non-filtered air. She was ready not to hear Syndrome talk about her as 'the super' or 'the subject', or decline impregnating her for the umpteenth time in his reports.

Every day, despite spending most of it in the wide-open operating room, Violet felt the walls close in on her, little by little. Despite having been there little over three weeks, she had adapted so quickly from necessity, it seemed like she barely remembered a time when she didn't wake to the sound of the glass door opening or Syndrome's record player scratching.

And anger at that was quick to overcome her nerves.

"I will decide what is a good idea. Fell wants research and he'll get it."

"On your own head be it."

"Yeah, I'm sure it will be. Just don't trigger her bracelet unless she's actively trying to escape, or I give the command, understand?"

That got her attention. "What are we doing," she interrogated the minute the door shut.

"We are going to see how fast you think on your feet." He shrugged off his lab coat, and for the second time, began undoing his shirt in front of her.

She spun and faced the wall. "Okay, I'm beginning to worry about this desire to get naked in front of me. Or talk about what you do naked. Or-"

"Just turn around. I don't want to rip my clothes that's all." He stopped at his undershirt like before, and was toeing off his shoes. "We've talked about how your invisibility might act as a sort of malleable shield, and your forcefield does react to your touch so I think I'm on the right track. I'm beginning to wonder if you can do more shapes than just spheres and walls. I wonder if you can make your fields mold to an object."

"And you have to be undressed for this because…?"

"Because, Shadow, I want to know if you can make your invisibility an actual shield."

"Like a super-suit? You want me to make some sort of...exoskeleton out of my forcefields?"

"Exactly. I'm surprised you haven't thought of this before-well not that surprised. I mean you don't wear the suit all the time under your clothes, do you?" Syndrome raised a brow, and Violet understood. The time was close, and while he could take a punch and probably much more-she was here in cotton prison clothes. No suit, nothing but her shields.

"But I can make a shield to block anything coming my way."

"Ture, but what about from behind?"

"Then I create a sphere."

"And for long periods of time? There's limited oxygen if you close yourself off, and we've already established you can't let anything through without creating a wide vulnerability-I doubt you'll be able to open up for air without taking a few bullets."

Violet recalled her first day here, how she covered her vital organs but left her legs vulnerable. The idea of molding a forcefield around her, like a super-suit, had merit. So far, nothing had been able to penetrate her shields, unlike mega mesh which could be cut under the right circumstances. "So you want to fight?"

"That's the idea."

"How is that going to test me. I can actually fight. You were bested by a one-year-old." For all his genius, on the battlefield Syndrome, once stripped of his tech, had been more than squeamish.

Syndrome rolled his shoulders and took up his place across from her. "Ain't like that now."

"I thought people didn't change."

"Just get ready. Remember no shield walls, no spheres. Protect your body-and put your damn hair up!"

Violet shrugged and twisted her locks into a knot at the base of her head. She edged around him, both of them circling, Syndrome's hands up and ready, each waiting for the other to strike first. He tried to grab for her and she fainted, ducking under his arms, and dancing around him. It felt good to actually best him at something, drawing him around the room while staying just out of reach.

Violet grinned and let him lunge for her. She ducked under, into his guard, and wrapped an arm firmly around his torso. He was so unnaturally warm, but he didn't seem to be breaking a sweat. In fact, it was rather pleasant in this freezing room. Face to face, she blew a kiss before planting her foot between his and hoisting him over her hip, launching him successfully to the ground with a satisfying thump. The grunt he made on impact was its own reward.

She pinned him with a foot to his stomach and grinned. "Still sure this was a good id-"

What Violet didn't expect was for him to hook his ankle around her back foot, and ground her immediately. He was up and placed a rather forward and sharp pat to her backside. "You're supposed to be concentrating, Shadow."

Violet growled and launched herself at him. They grappled, and he had strength and height on his side. But Violet had been thin and small all her life and knew how to play it to her advantage. She twisted and wriggled her way under his grabs, leaning into his movements rather than trying to evade. He had her in a lock and she pressed towards his chest, able to slip under his arm, still grasping his wrist. She wrenched his arm behind his back with a loud 'hah!' of victory, and using their momentum, drove him face-first into the wall.

Or tried to. Syndrome's foot came up, and she watched, half horrified, half impressed as he ran up the wall, using her as leverage, and landed on his feet behind her. He had a fist in her hair before she even registered what she saw-what she thought only happened in movies!

Then he craned her neck backward, his breath fanning over her face. "Sheilds, Shadow. Are you even paying attention?"

"How did you-where did you learn that?!"

He shook her slightly before throwing her away. She rebounded off the wall and stumbled. He ran a hand under his nose and backed away, hips swaying and lips grinning. "Oh, no, no. I don't think so. I'm done giving you answers. You want em?" He beckoned her with both hands. "Come and get them. I want to see a force field. Now."

Fine, he wanted a fight? She could do that. She gave up trying to pin him and instead focused on striking. He defended well-too well. Like a seasoned professional, like one of her senseis. But it was...strange. Too fast, too precise, unnatural, like fighting a program or dancing with a robot-though with his makeup, that wasn't too far off.

And then he was on the offense-and it hurt. He got her in the stomach, and a well-placed kick to her hip grounded her. She was able to catch him with a shield before his heel met her stomach and threw him off. Jumping up, she balanced on the balls of her feet, alert and waiting for the next strike.

She was able to block with her shields, small patches appearing just seconds before his hands landed, strikes rebounding. Shoulder, hip, shoulder, arm, knee, hip, side, arm again-and when she focused on his hand meeting her shielded forearm, his foot kicked out her ankle. She fell hard and slapped the matted ground.

"Good, but you need to be able to defend yourself on all ends."

"You know I can't do two at once," she snapped.

"That's not what I'm asking. Armor yourself, Shadow."

So she tried, tried to focus inward while watching him circle. She tried to become in tune with her body, and cover it with a forcefield. Again and again, she was beaten, thrown, tossed, and thwarted. Again and again, he commanded her-no longer teasing or degrading. The simple honest need: shields, now. You can do it. Do it Shadow! Shield! Armor yourself! Every time she landed, he told her to get back up, told her to get to her feet and keep going. You're still breathing you can still fight!

But it was a lot of area to cover, a lot to focus on at once and dodge his attacks. Violet reached for her invisibility, and tried to link it to the same sense where her shields came from-but it just wouldn't work. The barrier she knocked down so many times was just too strong for her exhausted brain. Her frustration was clouding her judgment, and she was aching from being continually thrown to the ground.

Violet pushed herself up and admitted, "I just can't do it."

"Yes, you can. I know you can." You have to, his expression said. He was right about her spheres-if she was surrounded by gunmen when they tried to escape (if they got that far), a sphere might sustain her life maybe an hour-if she was fast enough to block that many bullets, if she made it big enough with that much air, and if she could get away, otherwise all they'd simply have to do was wait. And she didn't want to bet her life on an if.

Syndrome readied and Violet would love nothing more than to hit him square in the face. That smug smirking face and give the already crooked nose more angle. But somewhere between death and making it his mission to annoy her to death, he'd learned to fight, and fought well. Violet was desperate to know why. She was desperate to achieve, to fight, to get out, to prove that her abstinence from the battle was out of choice rather than inadequacy.

Violet was ready to break out, to break free.

"Come on." He raised his hands again. "Don't you want your answers?"

He swung wide, and Violet wanted to grab his arm and snap it in half. She wanted to grab all of him and shake him until his teeth rattled, and squeeze until he felt as tired and beaten as she did. She flung out her hands to grab his wrist-and he froze mid-swing. But she wasn't touching him.

Syndrome's arm was encased in a buzzing violet force field, molded like a glove, arresting the limb completely.

They both gaped at it, then each other. "Oh my God," Violet breathed. It wasn't what he wanted...but it was close enough. She had visualized his hand so perfectly, and fit her shield around it, so he had nowhere to go, and no way to follow through his strike, and no way to retreat. She could feel his muscle straining against the shield, felt the difference between human flesh and matter, and held it like she had the air. It was like placing her hand on a recently killed TV, static and charged. And she held it, as surely as she cupped the air weeks ago.

"Do it again," he breathed. "Let me go and do it again."

She flexed her fingers and dispelled the field. She came at her from the left, and she shackled his hand mid-flight. Dispelled. When he tried sweeping her legs, she caught his foot, and slicing her arms upwards, flipped him ass over tea kettle.

Violet cheered her victory, which was cut short when he launched himself at her waist, taking her down. "Oh yeah," he breathed into her ear, body pinning her to the floor. He was heavy as hell, and she felt her body make an indent in the mat. "I knew it."

Syndrome rolled off her and took up a stance, but Violet was finally on an equal footing. They spared again, a stuttering waltz around the room, testing reflexes and concentration. He managed a few hits here and there, twisting when he had a limb caught to lash out, but it was Violet's game now.

In the end, she allowed him to grab her, his arms wrapped tightly around her from behind, waiting until he grabbed his wrist to lock her in his hold. He held her against his chest, panting against the back of her neck. "You know, I'm starting to think you like this." Syndrome's breath made the loose strands of her hair flutter against her cheek. A shiver ran down her spine at the tickle.

She twisted to look him in the eye, practically laying her head on his shoulder. "Really?" Then she encased both of his hands in a forcefield and ducked out from his embrace. "Because I am!" She raised his arms over his head and dragged him backward until he was pinned against the wall.

Violet pulled down her hair and took her time shaking out the locks and massaging her scalp, leaving Syndrome quite literally hanging. Swinging her mane over her shoulder, she sauntered over the villain. "So, where between the grave and now, did you learn to fight? I thought you couldn't teach an old dog new tricks?"

The villain, out of breath, but smirking, shook his head. "Oh, I don't know. Picked it up here and there?"

Violet glared. "I won, Syndrome. Answers, now."

"Shall I say 'yes, ma'am'? You know, this is not the first time I've been tied up by a beautiful bossy woman. I know how it goes." He leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles.

"Do you think of anything other than sex?"

"Mmm…" He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, pretending to think. "Liquor? Torturing doe-eyed supers?"

Violet lifted his hands higher, forcing him on the balls of his feet, stretching his limbs, and hanging him by his own weight. He was still tall and broad, but the common fitness of good health he had before was replaced with the hardness of earned muscle, leaned by a merely staple diet. He was all harsh slender lines now, the softness of humanity worn away like the softness of youth eroded with time. An adult adversary for an adult Incredigirl. Violet's eyes traveled from his face to his trim waist for just a second, but it was enough for him to notice.

"It costs extra to touch, just so you know." He even had the gall to wink at her.

She stepped up to him, and all at once began to realize why villains liked this so much. It was exhilarating, the back and forth, the exchange of power. She had power, but he had the answers. Their battle dance continued, and it was dangerously fun. "Why can't you just give me a straight answer, ever?"

"Because it's just too much fun annoying you," he cooed into her face. While she was focused on glaring into his eyes, she didn't notice his legs-but she did feel when his heel ran the length of her calf.

Violet jumped back, balling her hand into a fist. "Hey! Jerk, stop that!"

"Oh please, you came onto me with your little bondage display. You know men also pay good money for this. In fac-ah!"

Syndrome winced and tilted his head back. Unknowingly Violet had shrunk her shields tighter around his hands in direct conjunction with her frustration. So tight in fact the edges were cutting into his wrists. Blood trickled down his arms in thin rivulets. Immediately, Violet jerked her arm, snatching the forcefield out of existence at the same time the operating door slammed open, the guard storming in.

Dropping to his knees, Syndrome held his hands up inspecting the cuts. They were shallow, just enough for blood to bubble to the surface, but they must have stung like hell. He held a hand up to the approaching guard. "It's fine. Just grab a medkit."

"This is dangerous, what you'r-"

"Seeing as I'm the one bleeding I think I get it. Medkit. Now."

The man threw Violet a hateful eyeless glare and turned on his heel. The click of his rifle's safety switch was loud in the suddenly silent room.

The super herself was fretting, rubbing her hands together nervously as she hovered over Syndrome. She hadn't meant to cut him-she didn't even notice her shields shrinking! She was too focused on their banter and getting her answers. Lost in the 'fun' of it.

Apologies babbled out of her, the irony lost that she, the prisoner, was apologizing to him, the captor. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't mean to, I just-"

"Oh don't do that." Syndrome sat crossed-legged on the mat and reached for his discarded lab coat. Violet snatched it up and joined him on the ground, taking his hands and wrapping the cloth around his wrists, applying pressure. "Don't go all heroic on me now. You had me dead to rights, and you earned that."

"I sliced your wrists open!"

"Yeah, and? You know, I bet you could slice through someone, like the dodge ball."

Violet gaped at him, but he continued, "Like how you say you kind of 'hold' the space with your spheres? I bet you could wrap a field around someone's heart or maybe an organ. You're a doctor, you wouldn't even have to guess! Or what if you created a shield in someone's bone? You could snap their femur and not even apply force."

"Stop!" Violet was glad for the guard returning with the first-aid kit, practically throwing it at her before leaving them again. She dug into the container finding the alcohol, gauze, and bandage wraps. She found a clean end of the coat and doused it in alcohol. "I'm not doing any of that!"

Syndrome hissed as she mopped the wounds with the wet cloth. "Right, I forgot. You're a good girl. A good girl that likes to sashay in front of her bound enemy. Shit goddamn, that stings."

"I didn't sashay."

"Your hips said otherwise, princess."

"Don't look at my hips, my eyes are up here."

"So are mine." Violet's face burned and she hoped her cheeks weren't too red. But that hope died when Syndrome chuckled. "There's no harm in looking, you know. What are you, a nun?"

"I just want to know-"

"-About the fighting. Yeah, yeah. Do you think you were Fell's only lab rat?"

"No. You told me about the other supers."

"Right. But he didn't always have funding. Before he had only one thing to profit from. And surprisingly, in the circles he runs in, the new Frankenstein's monster doesn't totally impress. He bought me out from under all of them and wanted to show he could do a better job. Turns out, not so much, so he tinkered around while I was still learning to walk again."

Violet swallowed the bile in her throat. She didn't like thinking about what Fell did. True, he might have saved a life, but the cruelty he used to do so-as a doctor herself, she felt the slight to her craft keenly. It was blasphemous to everything medicine ought to be. "So Fell taught you?"

"In a sense. Does he look like he can fight?"

"No. It barely looks like he can breathe without wheezing."

"Exactly. But he's a smart son of a bitch, so don't underestimate him." Syndrome watched her wrap his wrists and tie off the bandage with deft fingers, contemplating how to explain. "So, you know how the brain creates neural pathways? When you adopt a new habit and stuff like that? I mean, of course, you know."

"Yes, and it discards unused pathways."

"Well, he got it in his head that if it can occur naturally, what's to stop him from implanting new pathways."

Violet's eyes widened. "Implant? You mean he downloaded the ability into your head?"

"Basically. Implanted Muscle Memory he called it. And it hurt like hell. He only did it once. The second time he tried, he wanted to give me some medical knowledge so I'd be a better lemming. Turns out it doesn't work like that. It barely works with physical activity. I almost had a stroke. I was sick for weeks, blood pouring from the nose and ears-vomiting up the stuff. A real horror show."

The monster had actually cut into his brain tissue? You don't know what a real monster is, Syndrome had told her. I'm working for a monster. You don't know what he's capable of.

Unsure if she really wanted to know, Violet raised one hand and slowly touched Syndrome's forehead. He acquiesced and tilted his head forward. Violet saw the tremble in her own fingers as she brushed back the bangs starting to form (his hair was getting longer little by little) and-there. Faint and healed was a scar, trailing from temple to temple right below the hairline. Better healed than the others, nearly nonexistent, much better than the ones coursing up Syndrome's arms.

She jerked back, looking away before she gagged. Violet didn't want to hear anymore. She didn't want to know about what that creature had done to Syndrome alone in this awful place. She didn't want to let her brain wander and imagine just how someone cut neural pathways into the brain, or how someone could possibly survive that. And he had been alone with his tormentor, with no respite.

In her current situation, she knew she wasn't very lucky. But she could at least acknowledge the boon Syndrome's company was. Annoying, testing, and downright hateful at times, it was a distraction from the captivity. He was a distraction, and in his little ways, a ray of hope. He created a clear goal for her-to get them both out alive, however they could.

Without that, if she had been trapped here with nothing to ponder but the white walls and the forthcoming tortures and pain-she'd go mad. Utterly snap under the pressure. She stared at his hands still dormant in hers as her vision blurred.

She wouldn't cry. Fell and his little fiefdom of terrors and tortures wouldn't get a single tear out of her. Pushing away thoughts of vile doctors and their attempts to build a meat puzzle of a human from the ground up, she instead focused on his fingers until Violet could speak without a tremor in her voice.

Syndrome's hands were naturally larger than hers, and roughened from years of working with machinery and tinkering. But even here on the tops, she saw scarring; tissue healed from the burns of the jet explosion, probably some from his electrocutions. She followed one of the more prominent veins from knuckle to wrist with her thumb, feeling the netting of healed tissue underneath.

The villain cleared his throat and extracted his hands from her grip carefully. "Uh-we should get you cleaned up and back to bed. You're gonna feel it in the morning."

Violet quickly swept under her eyes and nose, standing with him. He led her back to her cell, leaving the room so she could use the little spout in the ceiling to shower and scrub the sweat from her skin. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn't wash the horror from her mind.

She also couldn't wash away the warmth of Syndrome's hands from her palms, either.

This morning was different. Violet's eyes opened, and the disturbance settled over her, heavier than her blanket. It was like waking up when the power went out, the instinctual knowing something usually ignored and forgotten was missing. For one, she had woken up on her own and not to Syndrome opening the door. In fact, she didn't hear him, or the record player at all. The ringing silence made her flesh crawl.

Sitting up fast enough to make her cot protest, Violet saw that the operating table that was his usual bed was empty. However, his blanket and pillow were scattered onto the floor. A flash of her childhood-a young Violet sitting in her mother's lap reading a bright yellow book, In the middle of the night, Miss Clavel turned on the light and said, something is not right-as she whipped off her blanket covers.

Not like she could do much, stuck here in the cell. "Hello? Syndrome?" She peered up into the corner at the camera. "Anyone..?"

No response. She even knocked on the glass, hoping someone might hear it passing by the door. It was useless of course-no one entered the lab but Syndrome and Fell, unless something was wrong. Fell is probably back. Probably wants a report in person, that's all. Violet's stomach turned at the thought of the sickly caricature of the man anywhere near her. If he was back, however, he'd want progress-would want to see it. The antidote, development on it. And seeing as she was the only super they had, it meant she was the guinea pig for observation.

Violet sunk on her cot, holding her head in her hands. If, If, Parr. You're psyching yourself out. Syndrome might have just left in the middle of the night and fell asleep somewhere else. You don't even know if Fell is-

Well, apparently, Fell was.

The door to the lab opened, and two guards dragged in a familiar body. They tossed Syndrome with great effort onto the operating table, where he landed heavily-dead weight. Violet shot up from the bed, forgetting the glass between them for a moment and slamming straight into the barrier. He looked dead-he was still as death. But as his head lolled to the side, she saw him wince, even in his unconscious state. His chest rose and fell once before another, more horrifying prospect than her only ally dead reared its head. Or rather, stepped into the lab.

Dr. Fell from head-on was just as cartoonish from the side. He had coin-round black eyes, a button nose, and a too large mouth. His prominent ears kept his small round glasses on his short nose, and there was not a dark hair on his head that wasn't gelled down. If Violet did not know what the man was capable of, she would have tried to keep her pettiness at bay and not laugh. But she did know and certainly felt no humor.

Unconsciously, as he stepped up to the glass, Violet retreated, until her hips met the sink.

"Miss Violet." He said her name with careful enunciation, lips wrapping around the syllables, almost calling her violent as a result. "We've not been properly introduced. Lazarus has kept you busy and very tired I am sure." He must have seen her eyes dart to her jailor, for he too glanced at the body, smirking. "Ah. Fret not. My boy is too expensive an investment to kill." Fell placed a hand on Buddy's face, fingering an amber lock of hair. "I merely had some...questions about recent activities and delays."

Violet swallowed hard-hard enough to be audible it appeared, as Fell's eyes snapped back to her. "Oh, not about you. No, you have been quite the interesting little subject; very fruitful. You needn't worry your head about it."

As it turned out, Violet was very worried about her head.

He tapped his watch and the glass partition sunk into the floor, wholesale, with the speed of a hangman's trap door. "But I'm afraid we need to get to the real work." He came towards her and pulled his hand from his lab coat pocket, holding it out to her. On his palm were two little neon blue tablets. "Please take these and follow me."

No.

As insane as the thought was, she knew that whatever work Fell had for her would be his final in her file. She would not wake with her brain branded with new abilities, and a skeleton of metal. She would not wake at all.

Fell sighed. "He has been too easy on you. I must admit you've been more cooperative than most-none have made it to this stage. But I think it's given you some pride." He nodded to the guards flanking him.

But they were met with a new barrier. Humming and plum, Violet had thrown up a shield without moving a muscle. It was instinct, self-preservation. And stupid. Fell held a finger against his watch and Violet fell to the floor, writhing.

Fire sprouted from her wrist, unseen flames slicing up her arms and coursing through her body, making it stiffen and shake in turns as her limbs convulsed from the agony. The aftermath felt like needles driving through her skin all the way down to the bone. She wretched, trying and failing to prop herself on her elbows.

A hand grabbed fistfuls of her hair and lifted her to her knees, while another held her jaw. Someone threw the pills into her mouth with a splash of water and closed their palm over her lips and nose-squeezing until her throat convulsed and downed the pills.

Hands everywhere-on her, pulling her limbs, twisting her arms back without care. She heard the sound of zip ties and felt plastic cut into her wrists and ankles before she was lifted into the air and tossed over a shoulder.

"Bring the player," Fell was saying somewhere behind her. "She seems to like to work with music, too. Might as well keep her comfortable, hmm?"

They were leaving, and Violet twisted, trying to get her bearings. Through her hair, like curtains closing on a final act, she saw Syndrome on the operating table. Violet saw his eyes cracked open, slivers of ice before the lab door shut.