Chapter X

First, Do No Harm

Bob let Violet handle the debriefing in Surratt's office. They had returned empty-handed but damaged. Syndrome had been truthful when he said there was no trace of the paralyzer left by the time they were ushered into the ER, but the puncture wounds in their necks gave truth to their story. Violet had told Dash to clean one of the darts and jab her neck to match, which he did with more gusto than she believed necessary.

Sitting before Surratt's desk, once again lying, she told the Agent almost everything. The vigilante had obviously been waiting for them, watching their patrol pattern and catching the rare moments he had access to the security room. He used the paralyzer on them because he had been prepared, or perhaps he did not want to catch more heat for murdering. He dug around the room and removed information and money from the safe while they all laid there helpless. He had been too quick for them, too silent. He was getting better at his craft; that was the tale she spun.

An exhausted Scheherazade, Violet slumped in her seat. "I'm sorry. I failed, on my first attempt, I failed."

"Don't say that," Surratt comforted. "It was always a risk. Thank God he didn't have lead in that rifle. We've upped the ante by getting the supers directly involved. He's doing the same."

"By de-escalating," Robbie asked. As it had been his contact who gave them the tip, he was sitting in on the meeting. He had been deadly silent for the most part, and Violet wondered if his rushing to the hospital, eyes red with tears were from guilt that they had been hurt, or that they had lived.

"By crafting his break-ins for specific threats. He sees us, and he knows we see him," Surrat corrected.

But you don't. You don't see at all. Violet rubbed the bridge of her nose and glanced askance at her family. They sat there, looking awkward. She knew they hated lying-for all her warnings, they still saw the NSA, and definitely Robbie, as allies. The good guys, their guys. It was hard for them to lie, even by omission. At least their awkwardness looked like shame at not capturing the killer.

"He didn't say anything," Surratt continued, leaning back and rubbing her forehead as if a headache was coming on. "Didn't lord his victory over you? Threaten or mock?"

Like those prepared speeches you all have-"No. He didn't say a word."

"Maybe he can't."

The whole room turned to look at Dash. He was the only one standing, leaning against the window frame, arms crossed. He lifted a shoulder. "Maybe he's mute. Or maybe he's so disfigured he can't talk. That's why he hides his face." He looked to Violet, eyebrows raised. She smiled at him a little-she still wasn't quite sure where they stood with one another. The absence of his complete trust irritated her like the tingling of a phantom limb.

"That's a good point, Mr. Parr. That's an excellent point. Mr. Herring-" Surratt turned to Robbie. "I want a list of all known villains that have been disfigured recently or at any time within Ultra's height and weight. Don't exclude the women who might be wearing body armor to appear bigger. Also, follow up on your contact. I want to know if he was feeding us bad info, or was given bad info."

Violet felt her parents glance at her, and she wanted to feel the same relief that they did. That Suratt was knocked down a peg on her list-after all, she was casually looking for a leak without even knowing it by trying to weed out the bad intel.

Except that only meant Robbie was bumped up.

Ultra was hitting randomly to hide the consistency of attacking anyone connected to Fell within that scattered pattern. Someone along the information chain might have fed info so that Violet and Ultra would take each other out and solve two loose ends at once. Violet turned to look towards the young super's corner. "Who was your contact, Robbie?"

His hands tightened into fists. "Albert Philips. Retired pediatrician, owns part of a security systems company that services office buildings, hospitals, factories, that kind of thing. Had said he thought someone was testing the system. Maybe he was working with the jerk-hoping I'd be there instead."

"Ask him for records of the anomalies," Surratt ordered, "We'll see for ourselves if his concern was genuine or if he was telling you a nice story." She dismissed him with a nod.

Robbie returned it, and immediately left the office, but not without squeezing Violet's shoulder as he went.

"I'm sorry, Violet. Your first mission out and you were hurt."

"Those are the risks, Agent Surratt. Meg. Sorry." Violet forced a grin. "I keep forgetting."

"Don't worry about it. Now, I've made it mandatory that every agent in the field that is hurt must take leave to fully recoup. I know you want to have another go at Ultra, but I want all four of you at your prime."

This is what Violet banked on. They would need time to track down Syndrome, and they needed the excuse to be away from the office. Violet subtly touched her father's foot with hers. Bob blinked, but remembered his part to play soon enough: "Oh-uh-well, Meg, seeing as Dash's spring break was coming up, we thought we'd take some vacation time too-go college hunting."

"That's right." Surratt grinned at the young super. "You'll be graduating soon. Have anything in mind?"

"No-but Mom and Dad both want me to look at their choices, and since I don't have one…"

"Sometimes that's better. Having your future all planned out can get a little stale. Still, Metro University shouldn't be off your list. Look who it's produced." The agent gestured to Violet with a smirk.

What Violet wouldn't give to trust smiles again.

"I think it's an excellent idea, supers having more than their heroic vocation. With doctors like Violet, we could begin to in-house all of our needs. Supers helping supers, fixing our own problems without burdening the public: like the apprentice program." She stood, and walked them to the door. "Soon we may have our own medical and tech centers-it'll be so much better than going begging to donors for funding from outside sources. Deavor has been more than generous but I don't like leaning too hard on our allies. We have so few."

They left post-haste, Surratt stopping Violet before her door swung closed. "I know you say you're okay. And I'm no therapist-but I can find one for you. Or my liquor cabinet and door are always open to you."

"Thank you, Agent. I'll remember that. Maybe we'll have our own super shrinks too, someday?"

Meg grinned. "Maybe. You know, this might not help, but I really admire you. You get to go out and do something. I feel a little useless just being here, sending you. Doesn't seem fair. I'd give a lot to be like you, Violet, so that I could fight with my people instead of constantly watch them come back wounded."

Violet swallowed hard. One would have to give a lot to be like her-to be given powers and all that came with it. To give their blood, their lives, and their whole hearts away only to have each returned, shattered, and try to glue it all together. Like a man put back together, piece by agonizing piece. "Oh, I don't know. Being shot in the neck isn't as glamorous as all that." They shared a laugh and under the guise of good humor, Violet weaseled, "Is it okay if I take some more files home with me? To look over while we travel?"

"Of course, but be careful. I've seen this before-agent burnout on difficult cases. It's already getting to Herring, not being able to get closer to Ultra. And you with Syndrome…"

"I'll find him."

"If anyone can, it's you. But if Syndrome was elusive before without really trying to hide, now that he has a reason to scuttle away, after hurting our people again-" She stopped herself. "But I'm not helping, am I? Go on, take the files. But I mean it, Parr." She shook her finger teasingly. "Rest."

No such thing for the wicked, Violet thought as she tapped into the database, printing all she could find on Mirage and Liam MacConnell.

In the end, it was so easy, she did not even lift a finger.

Violet had been tracking the names of Natalya Sato (or Natalya MacConnell now) and Liam MacConnell for a week with barely anything to show for it. Their extended leave was almost up, and they had nothing but relator papers and old photos. After the initial raid that resulted from Violet's first statement six months ago, the couple had moved: sold house with no forwarding address. The transaction was in cash, and the relator had been less than forthcoming when Violet called, posing as a last-minute buyer curious about the former couple that inhabited the place.

They continued to siphon off Robbie, getting as much info about the ongoing Ultra project as they could, taking each bit of information with a mountain of salt. Dash, who had found an older brother in the super, loathed suspecting him. He loathed most of what they were doing, searching for Ultra and his companions. He didn't believe they knew as much about Fell as Syndrome had claimed, trying to assure her it was all a bluff. But as Violet was in a dead-end with the traitor, unable to get more without tipping her hand, finding the vigilante and forcing him to accept their help seemed like the only option.

But above all, Dash hated keeping it from Jack-Jack.

The youngest Parr knew something was wrong; the somber mood of the house was unnatural for the family. Happily, he had school to distract him in a way it could not for Dash. His multiple powers, now under control, were a source of amazement and popularity for the Parr-at least within the small circle of friends he was allowed to tell. It was something Violet hoped he kept for as long as possible-his siblings had found nothing but grief from their biological fate.

Sitting at the coffee table in the living room, Violet watched Jack-Jack and his friends play hide and seek. Jack-Jack was stepping into other dimensions, sneaking up on his companions, which made the game harder. She saw the other children go to great lengths to hide themselves, building little disguises out of the sticks and leaves, climbing higher in the trees than they ought.

It was guileless joy and being near it warmed her, as if proximity began to clean her soul and burn the plaque that trauma had left behind. More so than the conversation going on around her, for Violet on this day wasn't alone.

And it was this day that Mirage found Violet.

Echo had come to visit with a bouquet of flowers and that same smooth grin that worked on supergirls and reporters alike. Violet had always been immune to it, especially when Dash once coined it the Colgate Grin as if Echo was trying to show off every perfect tooth all at the same time.

He had really come to meet up with Robbie, who was upstairs asking Mr. Parr for some advice in his investigation. But by now Violet was used to his presence. She had finally caved on her inability to decipher the monetary part of her search and had to ask for help. Echo had primarily tracked down supers still in hiding by following their government-issued accounts, the ones created when they were first relocated, and thus had several years of forensic accounting under his belt.

The ease of it all made her wonder if burying money in the backyard was really much saner. Every time she saw how fast it was to roll out someone's life through their purchases, she felt the ghost of the bracelet on her arm-and distrust crawl up her spine.

The lessons hadn't been much, a question here or there, an explanation of the process, just enough tidbits to help her in a jam, but nothing that allowed him to get too close to her case or question its validity. Happily, Echo was either too besotted or too oblivious to suspect the deception. He had seen every encounter as an opening to work his charm.

Now he was making lazy circles around the living room, talking more at Violet than with her. The raven-haired super simply waited until he took a breath, and gave some noncommittal noise. That was until he stopped and stooped over her, peering at the photos of Mirage and Syndrome. "It's sick isn't it?"

"...Huh?" Violet rubbed her eyes, returning her gaze to her visitor. Staring into the sunny afternoon for so long, the room seemed so much darker. She watched Echo-what even was his real name?-lift up one of the photos. It was a shot from the many reels of security tape they had confiscated on the island eight years ago. Syndrome sitting atop a gutted-out omnidroid, sleeves of his turtleneck rolled up and hair tied back, smudged with oil and grit. At the bottom of the monstrosity, Mirage stood, looking up and talking. If Violet squinted, she could make out the blurred figure of MacConnell in the shadow of the beast. It was the direct predecessor to the droid that shattered half of Metroville, the one her father defeated.

"That they get to walk free-or she does. She slept with a monster for years, and she's just out in the world. Without a care."

You don't know what monsters are, Violet's mind whispered. She rolled her shoulders and wished that if she was going to hear his damn voice so often, she could at least see an apparition of the man so she could glare at him. Though the phantom would probably smirk at her just as much as the original. "She saved us. That got her the pardon." Violet snatched the photo back. She didn't like people touching her file.

"Yeah, but he's alive. You can't tell me she doesn't have anything to do with that." Echo raised his brows and peered into VIolet's face. "I mean, they were together for a while, didn't she say? You don't really let go of people like that."

Violet hoped her face didn't drain of color as she looked up at him echoing Syndrome's words. Mirage was her only hope at tracking Ultra. If anyone else suspected, they'd drag the MacConnells in and Buddy would flee; any info they had on Fell could disappear like dust in the wind.

Or maybe Echo was angry Syndrome got away-not for any sense of justice, but because he was the supplier for the project. Violet leaned back a millimeter more at the thought. "She betrayed them. You don't go back to people you betray."

"I dunno. She's a real zinger, I'd go back." Echo straightened up, hands in his pockets. He always wore suits outside of his super work, and it seemed like he couldn't decide if he was trying for an accountant or low-level mafia. "She's got nothing on you-of course. Beauty and morals. Still-it burns my ass that he got away. And Ultra. There's someone I'd like to pop like a zit, especially after shooting you."

"Between you and Dash I'm starting to worry." Violet got to her feet and gathered up her files. "So bloodthirsty. When we find him, we're bringing him in for a trial by jury of his peers." It was something she had to tell her reflection every night when she thought about Fell, his lilting voice singing as he tried to saw her brains out echoing in the cavern between her ears.

"I don't think we can scrape together that many lowlifes," Echo tried to joke, trailing her to the kitchen. "Well, at least something good came out of that creepshow and his island, if nothing else."

Violet froze and gave the superhero her full attention, making Echo stop dead in his tracks, stumbling. Behind him, Robbie was coming down the stairs from her father's office. The super's brows rose, glancing between Violet and Echo. He cocked his head in a silent question.

"I'm sorry? My almost dying as a child was a good thing?"

"Oh, no, babe I didn't mean it like that. I mean...you know, it got the ball rolling. Sick as he was, his destroying Metroville brought us all back out of hiding. Made the government look again, realize how important we are even if the NSA likes to treat us like school kids: go here, do that, behave. But even so, I've talked to some of the older supers, when I was looking for them for Dicker-they never had half as much as we do now. Support and the like. Hell, now we even have you in the NSA, even. Syndrome's accidentally done something good twice over. Maybe he's more of the hero he wanted to be."

"What is wrong with you," Robbie snapped, stepping into the kitchen without so much as a hello. "Are you sick in the brain, man? She almost got her head sawed off because of that sicko."

"No, wait, listen, c'mon." Echo put his hands up, trying his winning smile that got no awards from either of the judges. "I'm not saying that! Damnit, Herring, you know I'm not. You think I want her hurt? I'm just saying, sometimes you gotta take negatives and turn them into positives, that's all. I'm trying to keep a cheery outlook."

Violet's eyes narrowed. Cheery outlook? Could he see the lives of supers lost as a cheery outlook? How-because it gave him freedom, allowed him more chances for power?

"It's certainly an outlook." Robbie turned to Violet. "You want me to throw him out?"

"Hey, this isn't your house. And who's giving you a ride to Virginia?"

"Your Uncle, and his car rentals."

"I don't find anything cheery about murder," Violet, interjected.

"Neither do I." Robbie stepped between them, and she wished she could appreciate his protectiveness. Dash was right, he was like another brother, a sixth for their family. Now, he was no better than a stranger. Worse, as Violet did not suspect strangers of funding super genocidal torture.

"Don't go all brother bear," Echo snapped. "Listen, you don't think I agree? Hell, I was assigned to find those old supers you know. It kills me that I missed them, right under my nose when I could have helped!"

Violet swallowed the lump in her throat. It was too easy, in her opinion. He had lamented to her during one of their little 'lessons' that his pitiful results were due to so many supers dropping their given identities and creating their own-an excuse Violet was slow to believe, if at all. She had managed to find a suspicious pattern just making a party list. How had Echo missed it, being assigned to the task by Dicker? He had names and addresses, and the government was certainly more thorough and well informed having given the new identities and locations to the supers than her parent's address books. Violet doubted many supers were that paranoid to drop a newly handed life and stipend from Uncle Sam and go totally underground. She turned towards the sink, her hands clammy on her file.

Everyone is a suspect, I'm on my own. And we're surrounded.

"Can it, Vinny. Look." Robbie glanced meaningfully at VIolet.

"I'm-I didn't mean it that way. Rob, can you…?" Echo gestured towards the door. "Let me explain-apologize. Please?"

Robbie placed a warm hand on VIolet's back. "He's a moron. But he's our moron. Don't let a trap door out under him or anything, okay? I still technically need him." He gave Violet a smile before leaving to give his goodbyes to Jack-Jack.

"Shadow-Vi-listen." Echo stepped up to his would-be sweetheart, a hand gently touching her elbow. "That's not what I meant. At all. I was just...trying to put a nice spin on things. It's been hell these past six months, with you in the hospital and your parents going crazy. You know, you might have Syndrome's case, but Surratt put every super on high alert. Even set up a reward for anyone that gets him. I was just trying to maybe...make it not seem so dire." He flashed her that damn Colgate smile. "I mean Ultra got away, Syndrome got away. But...we have you. And you have us. Robbie, and your parents, the NSA. Me."

For all his idiotic flirting, all his whispering rumors about them, flowers, and the annoying habit of calling her 'babe' in the workspace, Violet wanted this moment to be genuine. She was so tired, already, of suspecting and listening for double meanings. Violet wanted to feel supported, instead of caged in by monsters wearing smiling masks. She wanted to be able to reject, or maybe even entertain (if she were about two hundred IQ points deficient) his advances. She wanted to be normal, she wanted this conversation to be normal again.

It never will be normal again. You can't go back to the way things were-and I wouldn't want to. If I'm going to be betrayed, I want my eyes open. I want the stab in the front, not the back. She could block from the front. Syndrome had made sure of that.

Echo moved closer, his hands growing bolder and sliding up her arms, resting on the backs of her shoulders. Violet placed a finger against his chest, keeping him at least half a foot away.

"Ec-Vinny-cent, I don't-."

"Violet, I want to help. I feel so stupid just sitting on the sidelines. If I can't catch Syndrome, maybe I can just be a comfort?"

She was going to respond, trying to let him down in no uncertain terms when she felt the hairs on her neck stand up. WIth a loud whooshing pop, Jack-Jack's head appeared in the air between her and Echo making them both stumble apart, his blonde locks reaching for the floor. "Oh! This isn't the treehouse. Hi Vi!"

Violet had never loved a brother more than she did at this very moment. She cupped his upside-down face, gently pinching his cheeks. "You know this isn't exactly fair of you, playing hide and seek in the other dimension."

"Oh don't worry I let them win." He crawled out of the slice in the air and landed with a thump on the kitchen floor. "What are you guys doing?"

"Echo was just saying goodbye," VIolet quickly covered. "Here, I'll start a snack tray for you and your friends. Vincent?"

Echo, who was trying his best to charm Jack-Jack and failing miserably, looked up with some hope.

"You did help, today." He at least knocked Robbie off the top of the list.

When he left, Jack-Jack folded his arms. "Robbie said you might need some intervention."

VIolet ruffled his sandy hair. Behind her, the intercom sounded. "I did, and you saved the day, squirt. A regular hero. Go on. I'll bring the snacks out." She watched him disappear into thin air. Leaning over to tap the intercom, she chuckled as Jack-Jack popped his head out right above a giggling pile of sticks in the yard, whistling and scaring the two girls under it into peels of laughter.

This is what makes it worth it. I cannot return to normal ever again, but I can protect Jack-Jack, and everyone like him. I can rectify that, make so they never have to fear a traitor or a Fell. I have to do it for him. Just like the thought of her baby brothers had helped her survive when she stared death in the face, her love for them-for her whole family, city, and people-would be the brace she needed to face this fight with a straight back. Violet pressed the intercom button. "Yeah, Mom?"

"VIOLET PARR."

Startled, Violet ripped her hand back from the machinery, but it continued speaking in it's computerized tones. It rattled off an address, date, and time, sending Violet scrambling for her abandoned file and pen. Grabbing a photo sheet of the jet crash, she scribbled down the address as quickly as possible. She didn't know what it was, or from whom, but she didn't want to lose the information nonetheless.

"COME ALONE."

"Who is this," she snapped, fist hard on the button.

"NOTHING BUT A MIRAGE."

It wouldn't speak after that, no matter how she shouted questions into the system, only serving to annoy Dash upstairs on the other end. Violet hurried to her father's office, pulling out his thick map book of the greater United States, flipping through until she found Pennsylvania. The address was dead in the center of farmland, just west of Amish country.

Nothing but a mirage-Was Syndrome making contact using a name she knew? He could manipulate the house's resources, after all, he built the damn thing.

That was something she had to explain to the family after Jack-Jack had gone to bed that night. Violet gathered them around the kitchen table and showed them the address, and explaining how she knew Syndrome could reach them through the very infrastructure of the building. The reaction had been what she expected, all of them angry that she had forgotten that little detail, none of them truly sold on the Where In The World Is Syndrome idea in the first place.

"I've had other things to worry about," she finally snapped back, pacing a circle around the group as they poured over the map book and her notes. "But I don't see how anyone but him-or Winston-would know how to hack into the intercom system that way. They couldn't even change the codes on the locks when they sold the house."

"Not even Winston," Bob pointed out. "His sister was the Screenslaver."

"What if it's the leak, trying to lure us out," Helen reasoned. "We don't know where this place is."

"Looks like somewhere you'd bury a body," Dash snorted, peering at the map Violet had marked, earning a flick to the ear from their father.

"If it was the leak, then wouldn't they be trying a different tact? Why bring Mirage's cover name into it. As far as we know, the NSA believes Mirage over and done with-" Violet stopped herself, glancing at the kitchen's intercom. Not even home was safe. She didn't dare say Syndrome's name in any context other than her own case. "Maybe he's realizing he can't do this on his own."

Bob, still skeptical of finding Syndrome and actually helping him, asked, "What if it's a trap?"

"Then I'll be cautious."

Helen snorted. "You? Us."

"Mom-"

Mrs. Parr stood to her full height. "No. That's it, Violet. You've been doing this all on your own and I'm not letting you run off to God knows where on a hunch! I'm putting my foot down. We're on our own now: that's what you said. And you've already filled us in, so there's no question about it."

"They said come alone."

"Well, we don't always get what we want." She straightened her shirt. "Now. If we're gonna make it to Pennsylvania by that time, we all need to be in bed, now. I'll call Winston and ask for the jet. I'll say we're going for a day trip while Jack-Jack is at school."

"How will that explain me," Dash pointed out. "I have a math test tomorrow."

"You're going to school too, Dash."

"Wait-you said we were in this together!"

Mother and son climbed the stairs, still arguing, leaving father and firstborn in the kitchen. Violet sighed as she sat back in her chair. "I just don't want you getting hurt again."

Bob, who had flipped the address paper over to observe the crash photos, glanced up. Violet had honestly been surprised at how reserved her father had been, figuring he would be the loudest protester of all. Perhaps he could still hear the echoing screams of his nemesis from the video. "Don't you think we want the same, honey? Or do you think only you care?"

Violet's eyes widened at the question, unusually cold from her father. "Dad! No, of course not. I just...I know I can-"

"Handle it. You've handled it, you keep handling it. Why should anyone else have to? Sound about right?"

The young woman deflated a little at being so accurately pinpointed. "It's not like before-"

"Oh, so you weren't put into a giant simulation by Syndrome, only escaping with help, then found yourself biting off more than you can chew and bringing your family into it?" Bob smiled sadly to take the sting away. "Not like that, like that?"

She had nothing to say to that and resorted to a childhood habit of mimicking his words under her breath. It made the older man chuckle. "It's a hard pill to swallow, kid. It's a lesson you gotta relearn over and over, and it never gets more fun." He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "...You really trust him, Vi?"

"No." Violet looked up at her father. "I trust his hurt. He's as angry as I am, but I have restraint. If he's using his freedom to go back instead of just starting again as far away as possible, then I know I can trust that. The rage. He's risking too much for it to be a show."

Bob tossed down the photos, sighing. "He's been angry a long time."

Violet watched her father go upstairs, her heart a little heavier than before. Would this have all happened, if it hadn't been for that fateful wedding day? She pressed her palms into her eyes.

No. She couldn't think that way. She already saw ghosts in her friend's smiles. She wouldn't reach back into history and paint every joyous moment black with unnecessary speculation. She tried to think of her brother, and his sweet playtime, even as he was coming of the age where such things would be outgrown like old shoes. There was still happiness to be had. That hope must be protected at all costs.

Even if it killed her.

The wind picked up Violet's hair as she exited the rental car. Adjusting her sunglasses she peered out across the vast swath of farmland, a gold and green contrast to the clear blue sky above. Dash had been right, it did look like they were here to bury a body. She straightened her jacket, making sure the collar was buttoned, hiding the neck of her super suit.

Out, damn near the horizon, she saw the miniature of another car and, squinting, the figure of someone getting out, the budding field reaching towards the spring sun the no man's land between.

The jet Winston had let them borrow was little more than a tin can with wings, but it served. Helen requested the vehicle under the disguise of taking a 'day trip' to Pennsylvania to lift Violet's spirits. The CEO, who had become something like an uncle in the way Edna was an aunt, had eagerly agreed. He had even dumped fliers for things they could do around Amish country into Violet's hands before she climbed aboard.

From there it had been a tedious ride from the landing strip to the city, and then driving until the buildings became smaller, homier until finally there was nothing but spread out farming estates. Now the sun was high, nearing noon.

"Stay here," she instructed her parents. "I don't want to rile them more than I have by bringing you." Not that she had a choice.

"He's armed," Helen said. She'd reached into the glove box and taken out a pair of binoculars.

Violet spread her hands and was immediately encased in a shimmering sphere. "When I drop the shield, you'll know it's safe. Until then, wait by the car."

Taking a deep breath, Violet began walking, the sphere rolling smoothly across the long springy grass. As they drew closer, she and the mysterious figure, she could make out it was a man-but not the one she sought. And he was indeed armed, an AR-18 slung around his body. His hands rested on top of it keeping it pointed towards the ground, not yet on the offense. Coming up to him, Violet saw he was wearing a flak jacket as well over his sweater and jeans.

Liam MacConnell had not lost his looks to age, being one of those men unfairly blessed with dignity as he grew older. He had dark shadow across his face, cropped short enough to be rugged, and his hair still stuck up in stylish messiness. But his expression bore none of the wry humor she had seen in his employee photos.

For long moments, only the wind whispered their introductions through the grass, lone figures on an equal footing at last. When he spoke, his accent told of a man only recently gone from the moors of his birthplace. "Violet Parr?"

"Liam MacConnell. Pleased to meet you."

"I'd be more pleased if you were alone."

"I don't like being outnumbered." She nodded over his shoulder. Closer now, Violet could see the car more clearly-and the woman standing beside it, her silver hair bobbed fashionably. "And seeing as you're armed and I'm not…"

"You dinnae need to be." He gestured to her sphere. "No such luxury for me."

This was going well. "Listen, we can stand here and list how and why we shouldn't trust each other. But you contacted me."

"And you were lookin' for us."

"Yes. We need to help each other. I know you know where Syndrome is." She stepped a little closer, and Liam mirrored her darkly by backing up. Violet frowned, still so used to the easy trust people had in supers. But if Screenslaver taught her anything, they were objects of fear to many. "You're his friends. Surely you can see he can't do this alone. That he shouldn't. Let me help."

"Are you sayin' he's your friend too?"

Violet snorted. "I won't lie to you. He's like a razor blade in the eardrum, and twice as irritating. But I need his help and he needs mine. It's a mutual use."

Finally, the rugged face cracked a smile. He pushed his aviators up to rest on his hair, bright hazel eyes nearly gold in the sunlight. "Alright, lass. You've proven you at least know him." He raised a hand, and Mirage began walking towards them. When he flicked the safety and tucked the rifle behind his back, Violet dropped her shields.

"Miss Parr," Mirage greeted, coming to her husband's side. Even standing in the middle of a long harvested field, she had a natural grace. A difficult feat, especially as Violet saw her heels were sinking into the dirt.

"Hello, Mirage. How is Syndrome?"

Glancing at her partner, she reported: "Not good. That's why we contacted you."

Panic set in behind Violet's cool expression. He's been captured, he's been found. "What's wrong?"

"Met the wrong side of an electric fence," Liam reported.

"So, he was shocked? He's fixed it before."

"Not like this." Mirage rubbed her hands together, and Violet saw her fingers were shaking. "When Fell shocked him, it was controlled. He wanted to hurt, even harm. But it was never enough to permanently damage."

"The fence dinnae have such qualms you see," Liam concluded.

"I don't understand what I have to do with that unless he wants to put on a show of ripping off his own skin again."

Mirage turned deadly pale, and Violet worried for a moment. Liam reached behind him, placing a comforting hand on his wife's wrist. "Because, lass, I can fix a lot of machinery. But the human body isn't a gadget I can crack."

"He's mostly metal."

"Mostly." MacConnell tapped his own left shoulder. "But this side is mostly reconstructed. It's mostly human. I'm not runnin' with the idea of cuttin' what I don't know to get to where I think the heart is."

"He doesn't have a heart." She heard her father mumble agreement as her parents finally caught up. Violet glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Now wasn't the time for him to shed his melancholy over Syndrome's fate. "I've heard it. There's no beat."

"But there is something there, and it's mechanical. That I can handle. But I'm not cuttin' blind."

"We need a surgeon." Mirage clasped her hands behind her back, perhaps to avoid pleading. "We need your help. He's not doing well at all...I don't think he'll last long." She swallowed hard. "Please."

Violet wet her lips. She knew surgery in theory, she'd had her hands in bodies. But she'd never led an open heart surgery before-any surgery for that matter. "I'm not out of residency." But she knew better than to suggest they find someone else. If Ultra's radio silence meant he was injured, Syndrome might not have much time left-and even if he did, who could they ask?

MacConnell chuckled. "Well, then you've got five more years of education on any of us. I'd rather he die on the table attempting to live than twitch his goodman way into the grave. Besides, the stutter'll drive me off my head if I have to hear it one more day."

"I can't guarantee anything."

"Failin' means you're playin', lass."

"We have supplies-as much as we could gather," Mirage explained.

"I suppose you don't have anesthesia?" Not that it would matter. She only knew the mechanics of the anesthesiology profession and nothing of its craft.

"No, but we have more than enough morphine, and the local stuff."

Violet winced. Morphine was, quite often, a last resort. Not to heal, merely to ease them out the final door. But local anesthesia was better than nothing. They could at least numb the cutting. Violet shook her head, trying to shake Syndrome's screams of please stop cutting from her memory. Tightening her gloves, she paced away from the stalemated group. Hands on her hips, Violet knew her choice long before she voiced it. She just didn't like it. She could kill him-in fact, it was a damn near certainty she would. But it wasn't like she could go running to her head surgeon and pull in a favor.

More people means more liability, Syndrome had told her. Too many cooks in the kitchen. She saw the reality of that now. And above all, they didn't have time.

But her success was an eighty-twenty chance. If she didn't try, his likelihood of dying needed no estimate. Twenty was better than zero. Still, she turned to her parents. Not so much for advice as validation.

Helen rubbed her arms against the breeze, still carrying winter's bite. "You're the doctor Violet. It's your call."

"It's my oath to do no harm. I don't know if I can uphold that."

Liam rolled his eyes, turning to his wife. "Judas Priest-we dinnae have time for oaths and morals. We should have gotten someone else."

"I think you should be a little glad she doesn't want to kill him on the spot," Bob snapped to his daughter's defense, also looking to Mirage. "Or you-how could you? After all we did to pardon you, and you were helping him this whole time!"

"When someone comes to you, vomiting blood and weeping in pain, then you can pass judgment on me," Mirage cut back savagely, coming between Mr. Incredible and her husband. But it was to Violet she negotiated: "Miss Parr, please. We are far from the law and status quo. We've been working on the outside, and I think, so have you. We're all in the gray together. What you can or cannot do won't be held against you, so long as you try."

Violet was going to agree-but she wasn't going to come away with hands both bloody and empty. "Then we find Fell together."

Liam made to protest, but Mirage held up a hand. "If that's your price, then you must try. He's the brains of this operation. Nonetheless-I agree."

"He's not gonna like that, love," her husband reminded softly.

"He's going to like dying a lot less, no matter what he says." For the first time, Violet saw emotion break the sleek negotiator's face-panicked anger. "And It's going to be soon if we don't move."