Chapter VII

Go Ask Alice

Violet wouldn't cry.

Violet would scream, she would holler her pain, she would shake and kick in her binds. But Violet would die before she sobbed.

And she was going to die.

She didn't know what room this was-she couldn't see beyond the blinding white light above her. But she knew she was strapped to a real operating table-smelled the bleach and alcohol. IVs to and from her were anchored all over her arm. Somewhere in the room, the turntable bleated out the music, echoing in the cavernous space. Sometimes in the seconds where she could think clearly, she recognized one of the tubes carrying a deep red liquid was housing her blood.

And she knew the pain.

Fell liked to talk as he worked. The antidote stunted her powers, and he muttered to himself about 'manual stimulation.' He had stuck a guard in her mouth and spent...time shocking her with electrodes. It was hard to tell how long. It might have been half an hour-it might have been all day. Violet couldn't tell-she didn't recognize the passage of time anymore. All she knew was the blinding whiteness of torture, and the times between where she counted her breaths determined to suck in another one, to continue, to live. Nothing was more important than that. Not trying to escape, not the humiliation of sweat and various other fluids leaking down her mouth and legs, nothing but the breathing.

And that she would not cry.

She never knew if he found what he was looking for, or if he simply got bored. But he was telling whoever assisted him that they would have to wait for the antidote to wear off.

Then his examination began. When she struggled and kicked, more shocks came, leaving her limp and gasping through the guard. There was the sting as the IVs released whatever he pleased into her system to monitor their effect.

The poking the prodding around her body, inside her body, and all the while Fell talking talking talking about her-no not her. Her body, her organs, and make-up. Not about Violet, not the girl, the woman who fought to contain her weeping. No, just the physical form-detached from the mind, the person. The body that was 'slightly malnourished', 'young and strong', that could 'function independent of mental state or brain function with the proper equipment'' so it would not interfere with any long-term experiments.

Her head pounded, consciousness became liquid, a tide lapping on the shores of reality, in and out, and above all, she would not cry.

Violet clung to that, like a post in the storm. It was the only constant in the feed of horrifying information, it was a haven her mind fled to when hands pushed and pressed in places she could not think about and stay sane; it was the mantra she chanted, repeating as steadily as a metronome before the next shock came.

She was still shuddering from the last round, heels and skull knocking against the table. Above her, Fell looked up at the wall. "It's been long enough." His fingers were cold-so cold they burned her feverish skin, slick with sweat-as they grabbed her face, holding it still. A cloth wiped at her forehead, and the relief, so minor, almost broke her-almost allowed a whimper and a tear. He will get nothing from me.

And then she saw him uncap a marker with his teeth, the felt tip was against her forehead, dotting her temples, her nose, and cheek. And Violet knew all at once he was going to crack her head open like an egg. Fell was going to rip her powers from her, one piece of grey matter at a time.

"Oh, I do like this one," he muttered around the marker cap, glancing over his shoulder. "Lazarus does have taste in music, doesn't he? Not in females, however-" Fell leaned close with a grin that he must have thought was jovial "-otherwise he would have gone for you, my girl. One pill makes you larger and one makes you small and the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all…"

He sang to himself as he moved away. The snap of surgical gloves and clang metal instruments being dumped on a tray. I will not cry, Violet whispered to herself. I will not sob.

I do not want to die!

Her mother would weep-her father wouldn't survive the blow. Dash-she thought of Dash now, not as the young man she had last seen, but as the baby she had held, smelling sweetly of milk and soap.

Oh look Vi, you're a big sister!

Of Jack-Jack, another baby so delicate and precious, his big eyes turned to her as she showed Dash how to hold him swaddled in the impossibly soft baby blanket. She thought of all the Christmas cards from Tony that would pile up, a grim reminder of the hole in the family where Violet's place once sat. There would never be another call on Kari's phone just to check up, and Shadow would never wave to another grateful citizen.

And Syndrome would be alone in his laboratory, his little bit of hope having killed them both. I knew it, he had lied. You can do it. We both want the same thing, out.

Violet started, hearing the whizz of a saw being tested, eyes straining to see what was going on to her side, everything in her struggling, pulling like a dog against a chain.

She didn't want to die!

God help her, she didn't want to die! All she saw was Fell's back as he assembled his chosen weapon. "Go ask Alice, I think she'll know." Her blood drummed in her ears-but louder than that was the alto of Syndrome's voice.

I want to see shields, Shadow.

You can do it.

"Remember what the dormouse said." Fell, armed with a bone saw, approached the table, lining up the blade to his markings, the steel hovering just inches about her head. "Feed your head!"

Shield! Now!

The saw whirled and lowered-

And then something in her mind snapped-broke through and she felt cold encase her head.

She saw violet.

Or, more importantly, she saw her shields hovering just by her eyes, so close her lashes brushed against it. She felt the saw whine and short circuit as the blade was stuck on the surface of the forcefield, like an itch on her forehead. Violet looked up through her hazy visor at the shocked face of Fell.

He immediately went to his watch-but Violet was faster. Cold shot down her arm, the field growing organically, seeping under the wristband, humming and crackling against her flesh-auxiliary epidermis.

The bracelet activated, but the currents of electricity danced across her shield, turning the areas they kissed blue with contact. The sensation crawled over her, like cracks across ice, but the ice was her flesh and instead of breaking apart, it encased her, crawling under her clothes and straps, severing the wires of the IVs at the needles.

You don't always have your supersuit, do you?

Blood sprayed from the severed tube, splattering the stunned Fell, causing him to reel back, knocking into the tray of torture devices and following it to the ground. Violet was well over the shock herself, now fighting like a wildcat against her binds, rocking the table violently enough to send it crashing to the ground. Her skin protected from scraps or cutting she ripped herself from under the belt holding her torso down, dragging herself across the floor, kicking her legs free. The tray of knives was right by her, and she snatched up a scalpel.

Fell was by her, screaming at his assistant, but Violet didn't care who came at her. No one would ever touch her again.

Ever.

She swung hard with the blade. Fell shrieked and snatched his arm back, but the cut was true-his forearm was sliced open, a nice little prize but not her goal. With the band severed, the watch that controlled the bracelets and door fell to the ground.

Violet snatched it with her free hand and jumped to her feet, backing up against the wall. It was only Fell and a nurse, but guards would be coming the way the doctor was screaming.

Except they weren't. In fact, rather than the doors swinging wide and letting in a squad of armed men, the lights above them flickered and died. The emergency lights came on, but instead of sleepily lighting the room, they flashed a warning. For a second Violet thought irrationally-Ultra! And the siren came.

FIRE. FIRE. ALL PERSONNEL EVACUATE. FIRE. FIRE.

Violet didn't need the piped-in voice to tell her twice. She ran to the door, slapping the watch face against it hard enough for the glass to crack. They slid open too slow for her taste and revealed to her utter chaos. Guards were flooded into the hall, running in every direction, as well as other white-clad workers, grabbing what they could and fleeing. Violet held her blade and the watch close and shoved her way through the crowd. She didn't know where she was going, but she would burst through every room to find an exit if that's what it took. She followed the herd that was too panicked to notice the thin woman who crackled like an exposed wire, wrapped in a veil of purple. They were headed towards the stairs, all of them trying to filter through the small doorway at once.

Violet ran to the elevator instead, fully intent on wedging her force field-covered hands in between the doors and wrenching them open. She could slide down the shaft, more confident than not her shield would protect her from broken bones. Her fingers clawed at the crack where the doors met, almost gaining purchase when she heard her name screamed atop the din.

Or more accurately, her title.

"Shadow! Shadow!"

Violet whirled, and through the panicked faces she saw a shock of red hair-Syndrome, turning wildly in the hall, looking for her. Syndrome alive-Syndrome who knew how to get out.

"Here!"

The villain heard her and elbowed his way towards the elevator. He stopped short, seeing her buzzing and covered, and stopped dead. "I-"

"We have to get out. There's a-"

"I know, who the hell think started it?!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the chaos headed for the stairs-but as everyone ran up, they descended, the only two to do so. Way clear, they moved faster now, pounding down the concrete steps. The letters painted on the walls for each landing boasted their location. L4, L3, L2, L1, GROUND, OPERATION WING.

Syndrome pulled open the door and fell back as the airflow caused the fire just behind it to flare. "Shield us," he commanded.

Violet dispelled her armor and wrapped them in a sphere. She held herself in the middle, pushing against the sides of her forcefield like an opposing magnet, floating in the safety of her bubble, just as she had on the island. "Run!"

He put his full weight against the barrier's edge and the sphere began to roll, moving straight into the flames. The heat was almost unbearable, the fire licking against the field making Violet's actual flesh sweat and prickle like standing under a desert sun. But she focused and held the line.

They passed burning office rooms, passed other labs that might have held gruesome discoveries but now only held charred furniture and destruction. Syndrome knew where he was going, but they seemed to wind endlessly around collapsing desks and burning walls, the heat oppressive even through the shields. She could feel the fire lash at her force field without direct pain, but it was draining her body. She coughed and whimpered, but her Orpheus never looked back. "Almost there! Don't-we're almost free, don't you dare let go!"

So she grit her teeth, and fisted her fingers, and held and held and held as the moisture drained from her, as the warmth became heat and the heat began to burn and-

They burst through one final door into a room large enough to be a plane hanger, housing several cars and trucks. Violet dispelled her sphere and collapsed on the ground, panting, the cool concrete freezing her knees and palms. But there wasn't time. Syndrome hooked her under her arms and lifted her, practically dragging her body to the rolling doors. "No, we have to go. As soon as the fire reaches the chemicals in the basement the whole damn place is coming down."

He kicked the handle of one of the garage doors, breaking the lock, and rolled it up. Cold air arrested her as good as a dart to the shin, but Syndrome was dragging her out, her feet cutting on the gravel below.

It was midnight, and she was practically blind in the dark beyond the floodlights above the doors. Stumbling and cold, Syndrome and his white coat was the only thing she could discern from the shadows. Her vision adjusted and she saw trees-oh God! Trees, a whole forest of them! She threw her head back, and the sky stretched vast and black above her, punctured by stars.

Outside, outside, I'm outside.

Violet finally found her balance and stopped, pulling from her captor's grasp to turn and look at her prison. It was large, an old hospital, probably from the '20s but nothing like the medical buildings they had in the city. The decaying outer layer of stone was left to mask the high-tech horrors within and discourage the curious from coming near with its garage to the left like a modern tumor attached to the structure's side.

Now, Violet could see the hellish glow of the fire within, some windows already fallen victim, and the flames clawing their way into the night air. On the roof, she made out tiny figures using the rusted shaking fire escape to descend to safety, a steady flow of panicked people, running and scattering like rats in between the trees.

"Come on princess-move."

Syndrome grabbed her wrist and continued dragging her away from their death, down the gravel drive where ambulances once carried the sick to heal. They were almost to the street-Violet could see the smooth pavement that would lead them out-

Both villain and hero shrieked as their manacles came alive and shocked them. Stumbling back, they fell to the ground, panting from the effort.

"What was that," Violet cried. She looked at the watch in her hand. The face was cracked and the screen it once carried black and dead. Had she accidentally activated it?

"The fence," Syndrome gasped. "The fucking electric fence-it's still active."

"When the building goes down-"

"We're in the blast radius!"

Violet looked back at the hospital. He was correct, they were merely at the end of the drive-if the building exploded instead of collapsed, she wasn't sure they'd make it, even with her shields. She was tired, she'd lost blood and the fire had dehydrated her. Adrenaline was leaking as fast as sweat.

She looked at her wristlet. She might not be able to protect them from the blast, but maybe-

Her forcefield gloved her arm again, and closing her eyes, Violet pushed. She shoved and forced and flexed that internal muscle, like beating against the barriers she had knocked down so many times before. The buzzing hum raised in pitch as it pressed against the metal of her armlet. Syndrome scuttled to the edge of the drive, finding a stone and began to pound at the shackle from the other side, once, twice and-

Her shield broke loose, the bracelet shattering, and knocked him backward. Violet was free.

Syndrome swallowed hard. "Don't choke me."

I can only try. She used her hands, reaching out, mimicking throttling him as she had wished to do so often.

Immediately hazy violet wrapped around his neck and he spluttered. It was a tight fit, and the pressure of pushing against his collar blocked his airway. Violet couldn't use a rock against it, fearing to hit him or actually suffocate the man. So instead, her mind pushed, and her hands found the discarded scalpel scraping at the white necklace, searching for the impossibly thin seam. She scratched and cut, Syndrome gasping and spluttering right in her ear. Finally, the blade found a catch and she dug, wedging the metal inside and rocking it back and forth until it gave.

Syndrome heaved deep gasps, hands going to his abused throat. Swaying dangerously he got to his feet. Violet wrapped an arm around him, encouraging him to lean on her as they ran onto the smooth pavement of the road, sprinting across to the forestation beyond.

Violet's feet screamed in protest, forgetting her newfound ability in the haste to be free, branches whipped at her face and arms, but she ran, ran, ran with no direction but forward, continually glancing over her shoulder. Just when the floodlights seemed to disappear in the gloom, the ground beneath her shook. They stumbled and fell as one on the leaf cushioned ground. A red flash illuminated the night mutely, and Violet could see projectiles barely making it over the tops of the trees-parts of the hospital flung outward from the explosion. She could hear them land distantly in the dark.

And then there was the silence.

"...We're alive."

Violet swallowed and looked to her fellow escapee. Syndrome still had a hand to his throat, rubbing the free skin. On his dirty white coat, she could see black splotches melt into the gloom-blood. Hers or…?

"We're free," Violet corrected.

"We're free and alive."

"Guess it didn't kill you after all."

"Huh?"

Violet laughed, the sound boarding on hysterical. "Hope."

The villain stared at her as if he didn't understand. She could barely distinguish the contours of his face from the blackness that swallowed them, but she could see his eyes. Wide and bright they nearly glowed, catching the scant illumination of the moon. As he moved closer, she saw pinwheels of light in the blue irises. And then Syndrome's hands were on her head, ripping her close.

What he didn't couldn't really be called a kiss. His lips covered hers, pressing haphazardly, roughly. His nose dug into her cheek, and his fingers fisting in her tangled tresses. But he did it anyway and lingered long.

Violet clutched at his shoulders, holding him close. He was burning hot in the icy forest, and she was desperate for it, shivering with want of it. Want of something real, of a stable force in the upheaval she had just survived. Her nails clawed at his clothes, gripping him close, holding him there until she thought she might suffocate. Survive the monster, die of a kiss.

There were worse ways to go.

They parted, gasping for air. Syndrome looked down at her and seemed to realize what he'd done. And who he'd done it to.

Free, she was Shadow, superhero.

He was Syndrome, wanted criminal.

But Violet felt the responsibility fall in her stomach like a stone. She was tired-oh God, she was too tired for this. So she watched him, dazed and mouth swollen, as he backed away from her. Eyes trained on her, wary and distrustful as he stripped himself of the tell-tale lab coat, Syndrome dug in its pockets, retrieving a thin black case and tossed the cloth away. Then he took a step back, hesitating, hands raised as if she were a growling forest predator ready to pounce.

Violet, for a moment, wanted to tell him to stop-to not leave her alone. So many awful things had happened to her when she was alone. But he raised his hand and pointed above her head. "That way is town."

"Then where are you going?"

"Away. I'm just going away and I hope we never meet again Shadow."

Princess, her brain corrected. But Violet didn't say it. She merely sat on her feet in the fallen leaves, watching the shadows melt over him as he backed into their embrace, one step at a time. When she could no longer distinguish him from the tall silhouettes of the trees, she heard him break into a run.

Violet swallowed, staring long into the dark long after the noise of his footsteps faded away, and batted at an itch on her cheek. Her fingers met moisture, and she realized that tears were cutting through the grime on her face.

.

.

Winkie's Diner in Gilbertville, Massachusetts opened at the crack of dawn for the hardworking men and women on their way to work. Sarah Fenn worked alone with the cook until nine and hated every moment of it. Mostly because the closer never cleaned after themselves, and left a sink full of dishes stinking up the place. She surveyed the mess with a sigh, and resigned herself to the task, tying on her uselessly lacey apron.

Hands hurting from the scrubbing, she heard the door chime and saw one of her regulars drag himself to the counter. She greeted him and was already pouring his customary coffee. He accepted it with a weary, 'Thanks babydoll'. Grateful he was the first customer and demanded no more of her, she took up a try of freshly washed glasses, prepared to carry them to the sideboard for stacking.

"What in God's name…?"

The powder blue clad waitress spun and peered through the glass doors-her tray promptly landing on the floor with a shatter.

The bell rang once again as a woman entered, long raven hair a rats nest of levees and matted with mud. She also left muddy footprints on the ground mixed with blood as she padded up to one of the counter's stools and carefully sat down. Sarah saw track marks up her arms, or what she could see of her arms. Her flesh was totally caked in dirt and grime.

The stranger smiled politely, and in a cool, soft voice asked, "May I please have a glass of water? And if it's not too much trouble, where is your phone?"