Book II
The Forge of Hephaestus
Chapter VIII
Scarlet Pimpernel
Pandemonium wasn't a strong enough word for what followed.
Absolute chaos reigned outside of Violet's hospital room.
Her phone call home was the catalyst. Apparently, the Parrs had been under the impression that Violet had won a medical internship in Montreal, totally last minute and needing an immediate departure with no more notice than a note on the fridge. Someone had called the hospital pretending to be her, and a packet of falsified papers detailing this sabbatical had been sent to her team's leader. It was a weak lie and would have collapsed under its own ludicrous nature if her parents had not been given a number to call.
Someone at the fake hospital kept up the appearance of a real director, assuring the Parrs that Violet had arrived fine, that she was far too busy to talk on the phone but would be sending a postcard or letter soon, which had indeed arrived in their mailbox. Someone had spent a lot of time studying her signature and writing-probably from papers stolen from her room.
Her mother swore, through guilty sobs, she had heard her voice in the background, over music playing, and Violet assumed they must have played a recording of her and Syndrome's conversation from security tapes to give the illusion of her presence in the room.
But that had all come later. After the police, and then the FBI agents, and the NSA agents. She was a long way from home, and even though she wasn't a member, she was the daughter of two of the founding members of the new National Super Agency: her safety was of national importance.
Violet had not been interrogated yet in any official capacity. The EMTs and later the doctors were worried about shock, sending her into a catatonic state due to how little she seemed inclined to talk. It was ridiculous. If the whole incident hadn't damaged her psychologically, she highly doubted detectives would. When they arrived at the little diner they had bundled her into the ambulance and merely asked where she had come from. All Violet could give them was the general direction. Before she was carted off to the nearest emergency room, Violet witnessed three swat teams and their K9s disperse through the trees.
Still, she was grateful to simply keep to herself when she was transferred to Metroville Medical, rest in a real bed (even if the hospital beds were nothing to write home about), and eat good food (when she could stomach it, Jack-Jack had made it his personal mission to bring her a meal from every restaurant and take out place in Metroville as long as she was in the hospital).
Her colleagues at the hospital treated her like royalty, fawning over every little discomfort, all wanting to help any way they could and every one of the residents wanted to assure her that they were suspicious from the start.
Violet, laying in bed, tired from all the tests and supplements and antibiotics and painkillers, was suspicious too. Her mind was the only thing she was not resting.
One of them had sold her. And as she laid there, staring up at the tiled ceiling of this real hospital, her suspicion didn't just touch on her colleagues. Robbie had come visiting with a vase overflowing with violets, and she thanked him, but couldn't look him in the eye. He knew her every move by osmosis, he was at the house enough. Could he have sold her? He also hunted Ultra, who had proved in a way where the vigilante stood: against Fell. And the enemy of her enemy...
Echo came as well, tall and slender in his midnight blue super suit, black hair artfully ruffled, beating his chest and swearing to find whoever had taken her. His utter confusion of who would dare take Elastagirl's daughter seemed suspicious, too.
Even Dicker, who simply held her hand for three hours, letting her talk when she wanted to, was a suspect, even for the mere fact that she could trust no one. All allies seemed as foe to her, and all words she was more willing to believe a lie.
Someone had told Fell her location, her vulnerabilities, where she went to school and work and had assured him she'd be primed for the taking. Someone she knew had sold her. The list was never-ending-she even had to put Winston on it. After all, someone was funding Fell as well.
On her last day in the hospital, clean in her clean clothes, Violet set about making a list of people, excluding only a few names. Mom, Dad, Dash, Jack-Jack, Lucius, Honey, and…
Her pencil hovered over the paper. I hope we never meet again, Shadow.
Syndrome never wanted to see her again. It wasn't exactly a promise to keep his head down and disappear. They could very well meet across a battlefield, or she could stumble across his web, hidden in the shadows as he had on Nomanisan.
Violet looked up, staring at her reflection in her room's window. She was dressed casually in her oversized Metro University sweatshirt and tights, booted feet swinging off the side of the bed. She touched her braid, playing with the end of it. Put your damn hair up.
They had spent barely three weeks with one another. Three terrifying weeks, always afraid that the next day may be their last. It was so short a time, but Violet felt it as if they had fought side by side for years rather than days.
Extreme abusive situations created bonds, she knew that medically. I took head shrinking classes in college too. It was a psychological phenomenon, nothing to indicate a significant change. But she still found herself wondering-a little sick at the thought of his running from her only to be captured again. She had been tempted to look for Mirage's number, try to ask her-but no.
If he hadn't been caught yet, that would lead them right to his door-whoever 'them' was. And that was her mission, to unmask the nebulous 'them', Fell and his money line. For Violet, despite being comforted and pampered and treated with kid gloves for a month, had not yet given her statement. Her family didn't even know Syndrome still lived.
No one will ever have power over me again, she swore to her sunken-eyed reflection. And I won't be caught ignorant.
She had loathed feeling stupid in that cell, for not thinking ahead. It was an embarrassment that the most use she had gotten out of her powers was under a villain's tutelage. And it was frightening how she had lived in such a bubble, only to be popped again and again by her jailor's cruel humor and debates. Well, she wouldn't be caught off guard anymore, relying on her powers and her family. She had a plan, and for the moment, she was on her own.
Violet finished off the list, adding Winston's name, and ripped the paper from the pad, folding it carefully and placing it in her pocket. Her door opened, her father knocking softly on the wood.
Bob Parr looked worse for wear as well, like he wasn't sleeping. And she was sure he wasn't. Who could after their child was delivered home, needle marks scratched down their arms, feet bloody, and bloodstream pumped with more toxins than a chem lab's biohazard bin? His broad shoulders were hunched, his hair looked even grayer, but he still managed a smile.
"Hey, sweetheart. Are you ready?
"More than. A month in this place is enough for me." Violet slid off the bed and gathered up the bag her mother had packed for her when she was officially admitted. She went for Robbie's flowers, but her father scooped them up first.
"I got these-let me get your bag too."
"Dad, I'm okay to carry it, honestly. I feel a lot better." Her parents hadn't understood that her diet had to build up to normal again, and had been worried when she had vomited up every meal they had brought the first few days. Since then she might have been made of sugar glass, the way they treated her.
"I know. I still…" He trailed off and settled for pulling her into a tight one-armed embrace. Violet leaned into it gratefully. She still felt his muscle but knew it was growing just a little weaker with age. His hug was warm but I've had warmer.
Violet squeezed her eyes shut. It had to stop. She was home now, and her people were around her. She had a real support system, not one jerry-rigged from a nemesis. Violet may be alone in her mission, but emotionally, she had her family. She had to make herself stop. Whatever passed between her and Syndrome, whatever comradery cultivated was an illusion, a mirage; a shadow.
"We don't have to do this, honey. We can just go home."
"Then we'd have to do this some other day." Violet fixed a smile on her face and leaned back to look her father in the eye. "And we'd have this conversation all over again."
Bob cupped her cheek, thumb rubbing over the apple. "My little trooper." He kissed the top of her head. They were going to the NSA headquarters, where she would give her statement and put in her applications.
And then Violet was going hunting from the inside.
The NSA was housed in a ridiculously high skyscraper smack in the middle of MetroVille. Outside was a shining new statue of the city's local heroes; Elastagirl, Frozone, and in the middle Mr. Incredible reaching for the sun. An unofficial apology by the taxpayers for forcing them into obscurity. To Violet, she often thought one day she'd come and see an alter there it was so ludicrous.
The ride up the elevator was fast enough to buckle knees, and usually was a source of entertainment for the Parr children in their youth. Today, both Dash and Jack-Jack reached for her arms when she stumbled after her mother pressed the forty-two button.
"I'm not going to keel over, I promise."
"Yeah, well you've been laying in bed for so long, it might take time to get used to walking again," Dash said, not letting go.
"Are your feet okay?" Jack-Jack had not done well when the doctors had to change her dressing on one of his visits. But he had stuck it out anyway, turning white then green by turns because Violet was his big sister and he had to 'be a man' for her.
"Yeah, sport, they're fine." She wrapped an arm around the ten-year-old, tucking him into her side, and ruffling his hair. His lanky little frame was welcome and familiar against her hip. Her little brothers, the thing that had made her fight for her life. They were her life. She would do anything to spare them the harsh reality of what she had faced. She would hunt their friends and enemies across the world so that they could stay safe. She felt the burning deep in her belly, half pain, half adrenaline.
The elevator stopped with a soft ding, and for half a second she was surprised to see the warm wood-paneled hall stretch before her with its soft dark blue carpet and wide-open reception station at the end before the windows where a secretary and the receptionist spoke. She had, in that millisecond, expected grey walls and floor stretching towards the OP double doors.
Her mind had so easily forgotten freedom, and too readily accepted captivity as the norm. It had to. Survival tactic. It's normal. You have to stop Parr.
They moved as a unit down the hall, Dash and Jack-Jack flanking her like guards. She was looking around for Dicker, or Lucius, or any familiar face. The secretary's loose feathered back auburn hair shone red in the morning light and bounced when she turned to face the oncoming group. Her smile was sisterly as she approached, patent leather heels clicking sharply across the floor.
"Hello again Mr. Parr, Mrs. Parr." Her eyes landed on Violet and she held out a hand. "Hello, Miss Parr. I'm Meg Surratt."
Oh. Not an office worker, despite all appearances to the contrary. Deputy Inspector General Surratt, head of the National Supers Agency. Dicker's retired. She had expected the new head of the fastest-growing agency in the nation to be...more. Wear a pants suit, with chopped hair and a confident stance, like in the movies. "Pleased to meet you, Deputy General." Violet took her hand, and the Inspector held it longer than the shake required.
"So am I-and I deeply apologize for the circumstances. I had hoped to make your acquaintance over a martini, not a tape recorder." When the Deputy Inspector smiled, her amber eyes danced and her button nose crinkled. Violet wanted very much to like her. She very much could not. "Everyone is inside if you're ready. If not, they'll keep."
Violet glanced between her parents. "E-everyone?"
"I'm afraid there are many people interested in your testimony," Agent Surratt lamented. "But I've narrowed it down to only my most active agents. I want them to hear what you know, in case it might aid them in finding whoever did this to you. Any scrap of information might help." She squeezed Violet's hand. "I want to find these monsters, Miss Parr. They're going to get what they deserve for what you survived."
Helen placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "We're all behind you honey."
Violet nodded. She could turn this into a net positive, gauging reactions. "Well...I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
"Alright. But if you need to stop, you say the word. No use overworking you."
Agent Surratt led them to her office. Dicker's office had been in the old FBI branch just outside of the city. A dingy little thing, mostly dominated by his steel filing cabinets and barebones desk. Agent Surratt's office was warm and roomy-or it would have been. Echo, Robbie, Voyd, and He-Lectrix were gathered by the window, whilst a few other suited agents were lingering by the desk. It was going to be a tight fit with Violet and her family.
Agent Surratt clapped her hands, bringing the crowd's attention. "Alright everyone, find a seat, and spread out, let's give some room."
Violet was given the main chair right in front of Agent Surratt's wide mahogany desk whilst everyone else had dragged various seats from outside-Jack-Jack was unfortunately left to stand, and Dash pulled him to sit half on his lap at Violet's side. The Deputy General made the usual introductions, more for the suits than the heroes-Agent Mapp, Agent Arnold, Assistant Deputy Inspector LaFevers. Each one nodded in return, and Violet repeated them over in her head like a mantra, planning to write it down later.
"Where's Dicker?"
"Former Special Agent Dicker is helping in Massachusetts," Agent Arnold said. "I'll be joining him later. They found the remains of the hospital. He wanted to help, but he can't sit in on active agency business anymore."
Violet nodded, but her mind turned. Because he's not cleared? Or because the leak doesn't want him sniffing around?
"I think he wanted to let me feel like I'm actually in charge for once," Agent Surratt joked, shrugging. "He thinks he's of more help there at the moment, now that you're stable." The Deputy General turned on the tape recorder, and asked Violet's consent, stating the date and their reason for being here. "Alright Miss Parr, whenever you're ready."
Violet tugged down the sleeves of her sweatshirt and began starting with the party list, and her first threads of misgiving. About the hangups and no good numbers. She focused on the little gold pig that served as Surratt's pen holder on the desk, going slow and careful to not give away more than she needed. She felt her parents shift behind her, and a few of the Agents looked surprised. Violet took note of those who didn't at the news that supers had begun to fall off the map again right under their nose. She braced herself for the first bomb of her story.
"...And then next thing I remember I woke up in a lab."
"Do you know who kidnapped you? Do you remember their face, any physical description," Agent Mapp asked. She had been scribbling notes down the whole time.
"I do. I knew him. It was Syndrome." And Violet saw the reaction like a shock wave through the room.
"What?!"
Her father knocked her chair as he stood. "Syndrome? Why didn't you say-"
"Bob," Helen snapped. But there was a shiver in her voice.
"That sicko is dead," Dash breathed. "I know he's dead! Vi, we saw him die."
"Excuse me." Agent Surratt's voice cut through the panic. "Please, let us have order. One interrogator, one person answering." She waited until her father was seated. "Now, Miss Parr, as far as we know, Syndrome is dead. You are saying he survived his crash?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Did he tell you how?"
"Yes ma'am. He told me everything. Syndrome was the one that kidnapped me, but he wasn't the reason I was taken."
Agent Surratt blinked. "I...don't understand. You're saying Syndrome took you but...didn't mean to?"
"No he meant to-but he was acting on someone else's orders."
"Who?"
Violet lowered her head, letting her braid slide off her shoulder. She swallowed hard and even took a few breaths-it was enough to make Dash lean close and grab her hand. Her little brother, the embarrassment and pain in the neck was being so sweet, Violet hated it was over an act. But she had to pretend. There was nothing for her to reach for now-Shadow didn't lie. Shadow was a healer. This had to work, they had to believe her omissions.
It was all on Violet now. "I'm sorry. I don't know his name."
"Ultra," Robbie interrupted. "I know it-Agent Surrat I know-."
"No!" It came out sharper than Violet intended, and suddenly all eyes were on her. Damnit! But she couldn't let it trend that way. If they redoubled their efforts against Ultra-actually caught him, it would cut off one of her possible leads to Fell. "It...it can't have been. Ultra hit one of the investors. Shut down the whole place while I was there. They hate him, he's a nuisance."
Robbie's shoulders immediately slipped, and Violet swore he mouthed an oath.
"I'm sorry, Agent Herring. As convenient as that would have been…" The director placed a hand on her desk. "We can take a break if you need."
Violet smiled at her hands. She was usually a God-awful liar. She froze before she told a mistruth, as Syndrome had found twice over. But she was able to fool them. They were willing to give her a pass willing to believe her weak, and she had to bank on it. If she revealed Fell's name to whoever was his doner, his informant into her life would scrub any history they had with him. Cut ties and wash their hands free of evidence. She needed them to think they were safe-that not even their agent was known. She was willing to give up Syndrome, he'd flee underground, with Mirage's help no doubt, and wait it out. He would expect to be caught, and it would save him.
He deserves to be in jail, her higher consciousness hissed. But Violet pushed it away for now. There was a traitor, either in her personal life or in the NSA. That needed to be dealt with before tracking down the machine-man that ought not be.
"No, I'm fine, really." Violet gave her, and Dash a smile. "Syndrome was working for someone. That same someone saved him. I don't know how, but they did, and they kept him leashed."
"Leashed…?"
"He had a collar, a shock collar that would incapacitate him when his benefactor didn't think he worked fast enough, or...anytime really."
"The dog deserves it," Bob muttered behind her.
Violet bit the inside of her cheek. You think no one else has redeeming features? You slap the label villain on someone... "I had one too, on my wrist. That's how they controlled us. I think his boss liked to remind him who had the power. Syndrome was trapped there like me. He was forced to experiment on me."
This time it was Helen who scoffed. Violet finally glanced back at her parents. Bob's fists were so tightly clenched the knuckles were white. Her mother however was glaring at some point on the ground, digging her thumb into her opposite hand's palm. "Forced," Helen muttered to the floor with bitter derision.
Do you think you're the arbiter of good qualities?
"So you're saying you were both prisoners there? Was he experimented on as well?"
"Yes, but before me, and the other supers. He was the first, and then I guess his benefactor wanted real supers, not man-made ones."
"How did we not know," Agent LaFevers asked to the room at large. "Dicker told me that he was working on finding them-why were we not keeping track?"
"They didn't want to come out of hiding," Echo said. "Dicker gave me the assignment to bring them out and I told him they wouldn't."
Violet went stalk still. Echo had been tracking them down? They'd left the future and past of the NSA in his hands? He may have been a flirtatious blowhard but he wasn't stupid. How did he not noticed in years what Violet had in one evening?
Everyone was staring at him now and the handsome super threw up his hands. "I tried to track them all down, but I only got so far. They all refused to come out-afraid of being sued and it all happening again. I warned-."
The agent interrupted: "I've seen the files, how could you not find them by alias?"
"A lot of them changed their names after I found them. Most before, from the identities the NSA gave them."
Agent Surratt put her forehead in her head and sighed. "Other supers before you-did he ever say how many?"
"No, never a specific number. He mentioned a few names."
"And were they kept there too?"
"No." Now Violet forced herself to look at the people amassed around the desk. She wouldn't give herself a tell when she lied, she had to change it up. If Syndrome thought they were alive, hoped they would be, Violet would not put them in danger no matter how she wished to confirm their state. The leak and the donors would not be happy she lived. They would be livid to know that others did too. "They're dead. All of them. Syndrome told me so, and his benefactor confirmed it."
"He was killing supers again," Bob snapped. "All over again. And no one noticed! Damnit, how did he-"
"Mr. Incredible, please." Agent Surratt looked up from where her head was propped. "I believe we all understand the gravity of the situation. Miss Parr, please continue."
Violet described some of the things Syndrome had her do, and what was done to her. It wasn't lying per se, but she left deep gaps. It wouldn't be questioned, as many victims of torture often blocked memories for protection. But Violet wasn't about to give the purpose of these tests any light. Like Fell's name, whoever funded him from inside, either with money or information, would have a hand in what he was doing: the antidote. So she told them some of the horrors and all of her time on Fell's operation table. It was enough to make more than a few faces turn green. That information would draw their focus, and they wouldn't question how she never found out her purpose there.
"So how did you get out," Voyd finally asked. She was wringing her hands as if Violet was telling a story without an obvious end: her survival.
"I was able to use my shields to break out of my bonds, to keep him from cutting me. At the same time, Syndrome started a fire in the lab."
"Syndrome helped you," Dash breathed.
Violet nodded, seeing the dilemma over her brother's face, of gratitude to a man he loathed and feared.
What is she known as there? Syndrome's slut?
We don't call her that.
Your brother isn't so polite.
"Yes. He led me out. We were able to make it outside before the explosion."
"And how did he get away," Agent Arnold asked. "Did he overpower you?"
Violet swallowed hard. It wasn't really a kiss, it was a desperate slamming of mouths and grasping hands. He smelled like smoke and the forest and spice, and Violet remembered that now when at the time she didn't have the wherewithal to contemplate it. "I…"
"I think Miss Parr did more than enough in just escaping, Harry," Agent Surratt snapped.
"Sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean-I'm sorry Miss Parr."
Echo came forward, face hard behind his mask. He had dark black eyes, like Fell, but they were housed in a certainly more handsome face. "Is he still wearing the collar?"
That was something Violet hadn't expected. "What?"
"The collar. You weren't wearing your bracelet when you called-but did he still have that collar?"
Lie? Truth...lie. Truth? If she told the truth, she would have to say not only did she not try to capture him, she broke his leash. Violet had been able to run, but she would have left him to his death. Which he deserved, didn't he? Her head started to pound. But if she lied-yes if she lied, the leak or whoever was the middle man between the traitor and Fell would try to track the collar. That would leave a trace, wouldn't it? Let them spin their wheels for a while on that.
"Yes. I think he does."
Echo nodded and gave her a smile. "We'll get him, babe. Don't you worry."
"Agent Elliott," Agent Surratt warned. "We are still taping an official testimony."
"Right. Sorry."
The Deputy General pressed both her ring fingers into the inner corners of her eyes, sighing. "Miss Parr, thank you. There's just one last thing we need to cover. Some of the bodies from the lab explosion have been documented. Most are Jane or John Does, we're working on the identification but it's taking time. Would you be able to identify Syndrome's benefactor if you saw his face?"
Violet would never forget him. She still saw him standing over her, singing along to the record when she closed her eyes to sleep. She wasn't sleeping much. "Yes."
Agent Surratt pulled out a folder from one of her drawers and began laying out autopsy photos-just the initial ones before the cutting took place. All male, that much Violet could give. Sitting forward, she scoured the pictures, peering close at each resting face, and for some, what was left of it.
She'd seen crime photos before, seen such horrible burns and deaths in real life during her ER hours. Violet had no problem looking, but she heard Dash groan behind her, and Jack-Jack move away from the desk. Photo after photo of dead men paraded in front of her. She wondered if the guard who had shocked her was here, though none had ligature marks.
No Fell. He was alive, and Violet was nearly giddy. He lived-and that meant he would try again. Try to clean up his mess, or have others do it for him. Maybe contact the leak. Maybe go after her again. She didn't like the idea of being hunted, but if it gave her an opportunity to cage the monster-she'd take it. After all, she was faster now. Better. She could defend herself.
Syndrome had made sure of that.
Finally, Violet peered at the last photo. "These are all the bodies?"
"Yes. We've been searching the forest too, some were able to get far but then collapsed from their wounds. This is all we've found so far."
"He's not here."
"And he didn't bear a passing resemblance to any villain you might know? One that maybe your parents put away?"
"No, not that I know of."
"Could be someone else, not an independent worker," Agent Arnold supplied. "Maybe the Soviets are thinking about weakening our defenses."
"That is a good point. Contact Dana in Quantico, I want to make sure we haven't stumbled across some underground operations they've been tracking before we start tossing around accusations. Very well, we will keep Syndrome's benefactor's status as unknown. May I contact you, Miss Parr, if more bodies are found? It seems people we thought dead seem to pop up with alarming speed around here."
"Of course."
Agent Surratt marked the time on the tape and shut off the recorder. Gathering the photos, she called an end to the meeting, and thanked everyone gathered, stuffing the photos back in her folder. Violet stood with her family but told them to go on ahead. She saw her mother take her father's arm, murmuring softly. The guilt on Mr. Incredibles' face cut Violet like no mad man's saw could. Those morals your father had drilled into your head that had so obviously failed you…
But he hadn't failed her. She'd failed herself. She couldn't put all of it on the ignorance they lived with, the dependency on others to be good or upstanding people, less their little house of super cards fall. It was something her mother had learned with Winston's sister.
Some of it had to be for herself, some blame rested on her adult shoulders. The responsibility certainly was now. Violet was grown, and could no longer hide in the shadows, letting others take care of it. She couldn't have her happily normal life without fighting for it. And oh how ready she was for a fight. The anger that had dug roots deep in her belly still burned.
Standing by the door she waited until the Deputy Director finished giving her people the marching orders, and dismissed them.
When Violet still lingered, she gave her a weary smile. "Is there something else, Miss Parr?"
"Violet, please. Everyone calls me Violet."
The agent nodded, rubbing her temple. "Violet. Then call me Meg. Or Surratt, if you prefer. People get weird about calling the boss by her first name. Can I get you a drink? You must be thirsty after all that talking."
"Water, if you can." Violet followed her to the sideboard near the window. Without the crush of people, Violet saw that Surratt kept newspaper clippings framed on her wall-the new supers. Dash and Echo, Voyd, Moonbeam, and Midnight Hawk. All the people she was brought in with. There were also artifacts in shadow boxes. A shard of the Omnidroid, Su Nami's webbed gloves, a pair of Screenslaver's glasses, even three of Bomb Voyage's various missiles.
"Like my trophy wall?" Surratt handed Violet her water glass, nodding at the shadow boxes. She herself was having a scotch. "I really shouldn't call it that. It strikes the wrong tone, but it's rather true. It's small right now, but I hope to have something of every villain my men put away. A constant reminder of what your powers can do. How we can really change this world."
"That's actually what I wanted to talk about." Violet sipped her water and started: "I want to put in my application. I want to be an official agent."
Surratt hesitated. "Violet-"
"I know I've been a liability, but I want to help."
"Liability?" Surratt laughed. "Please, you're an asset. It's not that. It's just...you've been through something traumatic. I know you know, you being a doctor and all." Here the agent grinned. "You know when your father told me that I was dying to meet you."
"I'm sorry he forced my graduation photo on you. But you wanted to meet me just for that?"
"Yes-my father ran hospitals and I was dying to talk shop with you, see how you like Metroville Medical." She took a long draft and shrugged. "It would have been nice to have something in common with my people for once. When I was at the VA working with those heroes, at least we were all...well, unpowered I guess. I love my job, and the opportunities it brings but most Supers only know hero work, or crime or their villains. It can get to be a bit much off-hours too. You, on the other hand, you've created a whole new career for yourself."
"Not off to a very auspicious start," Violet chuckled.
The Director General acknowledged that with an incline of her head. "Perhaps. But all the more reason you shouldn't distract yourself. It's a trying time, everything's up in the air. You've just been discharged. I don't want to take advantage."
"I'm not confused." Violet set down her glass and straightened to her full height. "Being a free-acting hero without any ties to the agency made me a weak spot. That's how they were able to grab me. I had no backup. The hospital has suspended my residency indefinitely, and I won't give up my hero work. But to do it I need protection. I need the NSA. I want to join, Surratt."
The agent ran her tongue over her teeth, considering. "If-if-I accept your application, it's light stuff at first. Mostly office work. No offense to your skills, but your parents are going to have my head enough for just thinking about it."
That was all Violet needed-into the building. A password to the databases. It was where she would start. "I have no doubt they're putting triple locks on the door as we speak. I'll talk to them. Your head will stay right where it is."
"Well, either that, or you'll have to reattach it." The agent held out her hand, and this time, their shake was firm.
Violet had no clue about financial forensics or any type of investigation that dealt with backlogs of information. So her first month after her application was approved was...difficult. Not with the tasks the Deputy General gave her, oh no. In fact, her stroke of luck couldn't have been better. Violet had been given Syndrome's case.
"I figured you'd want to track the bastard down," Surratt had suggested, handing her the file after the swearing-in. "To thank him after you slap the cuffs on. Or whatever order you choose."
The folder was thick, but old, a copy of the one her father already owned. There was no more information to put into it except for her statement, and Mirage's. A squad of agents had been sent to her home, apparently tore it apart looking for clues. She'd given a statement, and from the way it read, wasn't too happy. The file didn't even have his real name-"Buddy" was all it stated as an alias, and apparently, he had done all his business under 'Syndrome' with no ties to a former identity. No, Syndrome's case was the only highlight of her first days as an agent. It gave her something to bat around while she snooped.
The difficulty was getting anywhere in finding a leak. Violet spent the first week as an agent quietly doing searches on her fellow students and doctors, only to come up with nothing. After that, she moved on to the more frightening possibilities and people rose on her radar to varying degrees.
Dicker was first to go-his entire history was documented. He was meticulous and careful, which was probably why he was so annoyed with her father's messy way of running through identities. All his actions had reports attached, and each report had a separate page of reference for things stated, and each reference was categorized by order mentioned and importance. They were even color-coded in his files.
She moved onto Echo next. He claimed he went searching for the supers after the law was repealed and couldn't find them. How, when her parents were available for questioning was a bit of a mystery. His list of assignments in identifying hiding supers did not align well with the list of bunk numbers Violet had come up with that evening so long ago, but it didn't rule him out. He hung around the office too much for an active agent, and while Violet could have chalked it up to his clumsy attempts at flirting, she viewed it with much more cynical eyes, especially when he offered to drop her off at the ends of her shifts.
He came from a well-off background as well. His father had retired early on a fat stack of cash from Wall Street, and his mother was an heiress with relations to several low-grade celebrities, set to inherit a chain of restaurants that had suspiciously gone without robberies or legal problems the entirety of their beings-but it did have the habit of sending it's younger employees to Sicily for extended 'vacations'. Violet had spent an entire weekend buttering up an agent of the IRS three levels below the NSA floor to get into his computer-and a nerve-wracking hour flipping through Echo's family's finances. The biggest donations were to their local church and a few garage startups. If the clues were there, she wasn't finding them.
She even dug into Sarratt's background but got very little. Armed with Dr. Jang's newest article on surgical addiction and lattes, they 'talked shop' over a few lunches, Violet using the excuse of wanting to rise up the medical ranks to hospital director to ask more pointed questions. She had some money since her father followed his wife to the grave suddenly right before she entered college, but her track had always been the law. First as a clerk for a judge observing white-collar money crimes, and then joining the FBI Academy. No large donations to charities, hospitals, real or fake, no gaps in her file-the woman didn't even take vacation, just a sick leave or two she was forced to for medical procedures. With every move accounted for there was nothing to break the monotony of her history.
Another dead end.
The months dragged on, the fall froze over into winter and Violet was no closer to cracking the traitor than before. They seek him here they seek him there, she thought, modifying a favored poem from one of her English courses, this super hunts him everywhere, that damned elusive Pimpernel.
And still, she had Syndrome's case.
She had it opened on the kitchen's island tonight, a glass of Amarone in her hand as she idly flipped through the pages. She was looking at the blueprints of the Omnidroid, and was baffled. She had no clue what any of this meant. The fact that Syndrome was able to understand this all, let alone create it was beyond her ken.
I know how you felt she thought to the specter that lived in her head. No matter how hard she tried, his words and face always came back to her like a bad habit, as if her former jailor was always standing right behind her wherever she went. This is how my scans must have looked to you. And here she was, out of her depth, but trying to make do. Because she had to, just like him. I'm on my own, and I have to succeed.
She dug a little deeper, into the pages of evidence. Photos mainly, as most of the evidence was in the basement of the Pentagon, the large droids and other gadgets confiscated from Nomanisan. Most were of the island, the rooms in the compound she wasn't able to see when she was there. Some were of people, everyone on the strip of land having been arrested before most were found not guilty or pardoned.
Here was Mirage's mugshot (listed as Natalya Sato) before she had been pardoned. Violet caught herself on a familiar name-Liam MacConnell. The man in the mugshot was strong-jawed, his dark hair messy and shadow across his pale cheeks and chin. He had a devil-may-care look and was handsome even to the passive eye. So this was the underling, the best friend. What an opposite; he was all rugged and dark while Syndrome had been fair-haired and boyish.
Never let it be said Mirage doesn't do well for herself, Violet thought with a snort, taking a sip of her drink.
She heard the front door open, Robbie, Dash, and her father thumping in, knocking the snow from their boots. Violet gathered up her case file and tucked it back into the folder. Her parents hated seeing it, and it was always an ordeal when her father went off on his rants about the villain-there were many to be had, loud and long. Violet didn't feel defensive of the man for his antics eight years ago-but the way in which all her family spoke so flippantly about his life, death, and what he would suffer when they got a hold of him...
Dash rounded the corner first, shaking the snowflakes from his hair. "It's freezing! Hey Vi-ohh, can I have a sip?"
"No," Bob's voice called from the doorway.
Violet smirked and held the glass out to her brother who took a quick gulp before their father saw. Mr. Parr and Robbie came in next, looking pink and ruffled. They had spent most of the afternoon at the NSA, Violet seeing them pass her desk to Agent Surratt's office on her way out. "How was the meeting?"
They responded with 'good' and 'awful' in turn. Violet glanced at her brother.
"Believe Robbie, it was good," he supplemented as he perused the cabinets for food.
"No it was not," Bob snapped.
"And that was because…?"
Robbie glanced at his mentor before stuttering, "U-ultra got away again, no photos, nothing. And he killed again."
The vigilante had become increasingly bloodthirsty, though he was technically killing less than before. In the beginning of his career, it was mostly guards caught in a firefight. Now, it was more like assassinations. A casino owner and an accountant for a mortgage company. Same MO: broke into their place of business, took files and evidence, corrupted their computer systems beyond belief, and left. The murders were just the icing on the cakes now, in addition to his fetish for raiding surgical supply centers.
"Yeah but that's not the worst part." Dash took out a Coke bottle and snapped off the cap on the counter of the island. "Surratt wants you to do a stakeout."
"M-"
"Wants, but that's not happening." Bob slung his coat over one of the stools and went to the freezer, taking out meat for dinner to thaw.
Violet followed him, tapping her nails against her wine glass. "You mean the stings? Like you were talking about before?"
"We did it once or twice when you…" Bob's hands stopped moving for a second. "When you were gone. Got tips here and there about where Ultra might hit next, but it all came to nothing. He apparently only hit that one investor that you talked about-but we haven't been able to find out who that is."
Violet looked down into her wine, recalling the bitter dark taste of whiskey and sympathy on her tongue. So the vigilante was doing much more than the NSA could track.
"Deputy Inspector General Surratt-"
"How many titles does she need," Dash interrupted.
Robbie sighed and continued, "wants to follow up on a tip one of my contacts gave me. Ultra might hit an investment firm in Centropolis, Virginia. It's a huge building and needs a couple of Agents to stake it out. She thinks it might be a good idea for your first field mission to be with your family."
"Wants you, me, Mom, and Dad to cover the place." Dash toasted her with his Coke. "Easy peasy."
Bob gripped the side of the sink, and Violet heard the metal groan. "No, not easy peasy. A waste of time and you're not going, Violet."
But his daughter's mind had been turning. Ultra had hit Fell, whether he knew it or not. If she could capture him, she could ask where he had sabotaged during the fall; If she could find that out she'd have at least one concrete connection to the mad doctor. A link in the chain she could pull and see what reeled in. She moved to the sink where Bob was running the steaks under the hot water. "Dad-"
"I said no Violet."
"And I'm an agent now." She placed a hand on his arm. "Look, Dad, if you don't think he's going to show, all the better."
"You're not ready, it's only been-"
"It's been almost four months. And I need to get out there. I know you want to protect me, but what good will it do me, if you keep me out of the field, safe but afraid? What if someone comes for me again?" She waited for her father to look at her. True, her argument might hold more water if she had more sleep. Nightmares plagued her-and she hadn't been able to return to her loft room.
She slept in the guest bedroom for the foreseeable future, tucked between Dash's and her parent's chambers. It was small and the trek to the observation level to shower and get her things was tedious, but every time she lay in her real bed, her eyes were glued to the bathroom, and she found she couldn't close them for long.
Not that the change in bed helped. She still had nightmares. She would dream about Fell's operation. She was both on the table and in the observation gallery, pounding against the glass and screaming for her prone body to shield itself as blood sprayed and the saw did its work. Gruesome as it was, the thing that always disturbed her was the presence of Syndrome by her side, tugging her sleeve and demanding her attention. He would always speak with urgency, but Violet could never hear him.
"I need to start somewhere, Dad." She rubbed his shoulder. "And if I have my family with me...what could happen?"
Mr. Incredible closed his eyes, and Violet knew she had won. "If anything happened to you again-I thought I lost you once, and I almost did. It happened again, Violet, and I didn't even know this time." It was the last of his protests.
"I know. I know, but you didn't lose me." She leaned her head against his arm and looked at Dash, who gave her the thumbs up. He had to be talked out of throwing a party when she was sworn in and had taken a keen focus in her work-not for any real interest but encouraging her as much as possible.
Robbie however, was peering at her folder. "Any progress?"
"About as much as you've had with Ultra."
"Bastard. I hope you find him, Vi." Dash snatched one of the photos and scowled at it. It was Syndrome's employee ID for Syndicate as CEO. "I hope he still has that collar on too. I want to be able to zap him into next Tuesday."
The wine threatened to make an appearance again. This was why she tried to hide the folder when she was home. If he had seen just what that collar did, he would not be so excited. She hoped. "Dash, c'mon."
"No, Violet I mean it. I'll strangle him myself when I see him." His fingers crumpled the photo he held. "If he thinks he can kidnap my sister and get away with it, he's dead wrong."
Violet froze, and the world seemed to shift under her feet. Was he right? She could feel Syndrome's breath on her face. Let's say your brother keeps fighting. She grabbed the bottle and poured again. "Dash, thanks, but that's enough."
"I don't understand how you can be so calm about this!"
"I'm not-"
"I just hate that he didn't die in that blast! We probably should have just set the entire smoking mess on fire again just to make sure that monster burned to a crisp, so there were no pieces to stitch back together like a horror show."
Violet was trained to handle psych cases. She knew all the terms, she knew the phenomenons textually, academically. But to actually feel the flip of emotions, to have her mood go from calm to enraged as quick as the pulling of a trigger was a shock to her as much as Dash. But all she saw was Syndrome peeling back his flesh like a fruit peel, the burns on the back of his hands-the webbing meshed together on his throat and arms-not simple scars of cuts but seams where the body had been pieced back together, feel the warmth of his chest against her cheek when she heard no heartbeat and knew something was terribly, inhumanly wrong.
Her hand slammed down the wine bottle. "What do you know of monsters," she seethed, pointing to the photo he held. "What do you know of horror? If it wasn't for him surviving that I would be dead now. What do you know about killing Dash?! To have a man's life in your hand, to feel him suffocate against your fingers?!"
Dash's mouth hung open, his eyes wide and swimming with tears. Even their father was at a loss for words. "Vi," her brother practically whimpered into the sudden silence. "I...I just meant…"
But it was Robbie who ended the stalemate. He softly closed the folder and went to Violet, wrapping an arm around her and leading her silently out of the kitchen, steering her to the stairs. Violet went with him, still shaking with rage even as guilt seeped in to contaminate the anger. She hadn't meant to make her brother cry. But she hadn't lied either. What did he know?
Robbie helped her up the stairs to the guest room and even opened the door for her. "If you want, I can come back when dinner is ready. Or I can send your Mom up?"
Violet should have felt affronted at being led to her room like a child. But she was grateful to him for making her exit as adroit as possible. "...Yes. Thank you, Robbie. That would be nice."
He nodded and leaned against her doorway. He filled it up entirely. "I'll talk to him. He's just...protective. He's angry and afraid-we all are-because we didn't know anything was wrong. We're scared about what we don't know."
And what you don't know is a lot, her mind whispered. They ought to be afraid. If they knew what she knew-what would they do? She, at least, had her rage to quell her fear. Dash thought he wanted to kill Syndrome? That couldn't compare to Violet's hate.
In fact, the thing she feared now was not so much the leak, but what she would do to them when she found them. Over and over she heard Syndrome's excitement-I bet you could hold someone's heart. You're a doctor, you wouldn't even have to guess. The part of her that was born in that cell reached for the idea. In her most angry moments late at night, hot tears crawling over her cheeks, she indulged in that darkness, even when the disgust and fear came in the morning. She felt the turning like iron on her tongue.
Violet didn't know what she would do when she found the traitor. So, she could understand their fear, even if she couldn't tolerate it. "I know," she murmured.
"...If I may." Robbie leaned a little closer. "Miss Parr, do you remember anything more? Anything at all about the man that held Syndrome's leash?"
"No, I already said so."
"I know." His eyes were bright in a face backlit by the hall light. "I know but sometimes later people can remember, maybe someone said his name in passing?"
"Not that I heard."
"Are you sure? Absolutely?"
Violet's eyes narrowed. He wanted to help, of course he did. But Robbie never pushed like this. He was quiet and mousey, always stooping to help. Why did he focus on the name? He isn't off the list yet, either. "No, Robbie. I absolutely didn't."
The moment held, and the young super hung his head. "Okay. I'm sorry. I just want to-but I guess I'm acting no better than Dash. I'll send your Mom up when she comes."
Violet closed the door behind him and leaned heavily against it. This was why she cherished her normal life-why Violet Parr as a separate person from the endless agony for the fight had been so important to her. It was her escape from her own running thoughts. Problems that had solutions, and with solutions, ended the thinking and worrying, and planning. Not this endless cycle of fear and anger heroes were trapped in.
So she had to succeed. She had to survive this slow death of her innocence and ignorance so that she could return. If she could return…
Was this her life now? Suspecting everyone, looking through every good act for the knife held behind the back? And...would it even stop if she did find the traitor? Was this reality, and she was simply waking up to it? Violet felt her life fall out long before her, barren and lonely, like a midnight in the desert without a moon to guide her. Nothing but the expanse and the howling wind of her consciousness to keep her company.
Pushing herself off the door like stepping back from the precipice that overlooked that unending future, Violet went to the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. She knew the number by heart, and spinning the dial was like second nature.
There was a ring, and another, and- "Rydinger residence, Anthony speaking."
Violet closed her eyes, smiling. Still so soft-spoken after all these years. "Hi, Tony."
"Violet! Oh my-Martha! Martha, take the baby please." He took the phone away from his mouth and Violet could hear the exchange of a child, him telling his wife who was on the phone. "Vi?!"
"Hi-I'm sorry, I know it's almost dinner time. Did I interrupt?"
"No! No, not at all. Hi! I'm sorry. I was gonna call-well we were gonna come up. But I called Kari and she said no one unvetted was allowed in the hospital to see you and I thought it better just to wait."
"Oh...you knew?"
There was a pause. "Well, yes. I read it in the paper."
Of course. Not only was she Elastigirl and Mr. Incredible's daughter, Shadow, suddenly rescued, but the lab had exploded rather fantastically. Of course there was press on it. She had been too immersed in her work at the NSA and the hospital to glance at the papers. "Right."
"Are...you okay?"
"I-" But her voice cracked. "I um...I just…" She gave a watery laugh. There was just something about Tony that reverted her to that shy little school girl who hid behind her hair. And right now, she was grateful for it. Her stumbling awkwardness was familiar in a life that was suddenly so alien to her. "I just wanted to hear your voice-hear someone normal. That's not...a part of all this."
"Oh no. You wanted a break-and I just plowed on. I'm sorry, Vi."
"No! No, honestly you're fine."
"But you aren't."
Hearing it put so plainly almost broke her with its simple truth. "I'm...I'm okay."
"Violet."
She hung her head, her hair sliding off her shoulders to hide her weakness from the empty room. "I'm scared Tony."
"Are you in danger?"
"No. I'm just, I'm trying to find the people that did it and…" She swallowed and forced the words out. This was the man who had taken her first kiss, with whom she first explored feelings and sensations. Who she had shared her identity with and told her most deeply held desires to. They may have been children, but Tony had always been a safe harbor, an escape from her heroism. She could whisper her secrets to him and know they were locked away safe. "I'm afraid I'm losing myself. I've seen so much and I just…"
She heard him shift on the other end with a little sigh. "It might be my English masters speaking but...usually when people survive things, when they push through the hard times, Vi, they don't lose themselves. They create themselves."
"What if I make someone bad?" Her voice was merely a whisper, finally giving voice to the fear of the thing that was growing deep in her chest. What if this hatred in her stomach rusted her completely, turned her utterly and no cleansing balm of heroism and bravery could bring her back, like a bronze statue set up for worship, corroded by the exposure. "Someone who can't go back to how it was?"
"You never could trust yourself." She could hear his warm smile. "We can never be how we were-and would you want that? Hiding away? Not knowing what you were capable of? You are so strong, Vi. You had it in you when we were just kids, you have it in you now. I'd be shocked and amazed if the Violet you made was anything less than awesome. Besides-if you don't like her, the best part of humans is that they spend their whole lives creating and reworking themselves. It's about what you choose to do, what you choose to make."
The sentiment wasn't anything groundbreaking, it boarded on cliche. But to hear it with such confidence, to hear it at all when she needed it most made her smile. It felt like a little flickering candle to hold as she traversed the empty darkness before her. She wiped away the tears that had fallen. "I guess you're right."
"I guess. Violet?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, you know."
You're old enough, surely you understand the different types of together? Violet rubbed her chest. Family-Tony was a part of hers. Tony wasn't on her list either. "I love you too."
"Good. Well, when you're feeling better, I expect you down here. Martha promises to make you the biggest pan of gooey brownies."
Finally, a weak, watery laugh that held no hint of bitterness. "You're gonna have a hard time getting rid of me if you make promises like that."
"I guess I'll just have to make up the guest room."