Chapter XII
The Erinyes
Violet woke with a disorientation she hadn't felt since childhood. She knew instinctively that she was not in the place where she dropped off, or at the time. Bright golden sunshine poured through a window, blinding her even behind her lids. Screwing up her face, Violet pulled her hands from under a heavy blanket and covered her face. Where on earth…?
When she sat up, she didn't recognize the room, not that there was much to see. It was in a state of unpacking, a few brown boxes piled in the corner, the closet open and housing the now-discarded winter coats. There was a small dresser and a chair, but no rugs or curtains. Even the bed was bare except for the bottom sheet, blanket, and pillow Violet was currently using.
Her body ached slightly and weariness still weighed her bones down, but she pulled her feet from the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Looking down, she realized she wasn't in her scrubs anymore as well. Plucking the loose cloth of her shirt, she cocked her head to read the writing. University of California, Berkeley Class of '58.
Well, that certainly wasn't hers. Neither were the loose pants that trailed behind her when she got up from the bed. How long had she been out?
Violet tiptoed out into the hall. The door to the master bedroom was cracked open. Peering inside she saw a lump under the covers and a shock of brown hair. MacConnell was sleeping off the surgery too.
Down the stairs carefully, she heard voices on the porch, and peering through the entrance hall, saw shadows of her mother and father against the front door's curtained window. Underneath the muffled murmurs of their calm conversation was the familiar beep of a monitor.
She followed it like a sonar device, passed the kitchen where the blood had dried black on the crumpled up plastic perched on the wooden table, and office to another guest bedroom. Pushing open the door, Violet saw that Syndrome was still asleep on the bed crammed into the stuffy little room, hooked up to the vitals monitor. Happily, someone had the forethought to take him off the morphine and set up a saline drip. He was probably addicted to enough medication and using the morphine had been dangerous. She peered at the IV bag and wondered if she had instructed them to do it herself. Her memory hazed out after starting close up.
Her hand fell over his, fingers finding the pulse on his wrist. Steady, somehow still there despite him not having a real heart. A palm to his forehead indicated he was no hotter than his usual unnatural warmth. At least he didn't feel clammy. She pushed away the red locks falling into his eyes as she stepped back. His hair had grown a little though he still kept it short at the temples. It suited him better than the military style.
Violet reached at the end of the bed for his charts automatically before remembering that he didn't have any. She really ought to write down everything she did, if only to obey the form.
Turning she finally took in the room. There was a chair covered in a leather jacket and tactical pants-his Ultra gear-that was pushed into a desk absolutely littered with papers. His helmet lay on one corner next to the computer monitor, a hairline crack coasting across the visor. Other than that the papers were making a mountain range across the surface of the wood. How on earth did he stay organized? Documents and note pads and various reports and printouts. She figured she probably should go through them-we can get any information we need off his dead body-but decided she was too tired to comprehend it.
Instead, she dug under the morass for a relatively new legal pad and pen. She came across several with all their pages used; pages of calculations, names, bits of information scratched here and there, and in the corners, drawings. Often gadget schematics, sometimes just common household objects done for practice, once or twice she spotted a sketchy Mirage or MacConnell. One that was relatively untouched had the plans for what looked like a new super-suit on it. Violet sighed. Superheroes and traitors and monsters were outside this room. Inside was merely a doctor and her patient, no more for the moment and she'd like to keep it that way.
Flipping the page however revealed a drawing beneath: her from the cell, leaning against the metal wall, holding her milk carton. Violet blinked, feeling...well she didn't know exactly what she felt. She tossed that pad back onto the desk and found another more suitable to her needs.
Seating herself on the edge of the bed, Violet began to document the procedure as best she could remember as well as his current vitals. She should have asked for a tape recorder during the procedure, but she hadn't been thinking. Her mind had shut off and focused only on the task at hand.
As she scribbled, she felt Syndrome shift. Violet looked up, a hand immediately hovering over his to stop him from any sudden movements that might rip out the IV.
His eyes cracked open, peering at her sleepily. Then they widened in confusion and fear.
Violet immediately went to high alert. "What's wrong?"
"Did...did something happen after the surgery?"
"No." Nothing Violet remembered, though that wasn't much. "No, you're off the morphine, and you were moved here. I can't really predict how you will feel since you're such a spe-"
"You're wearing my shirt."
Violet glanced down, and put two and two together. "Pig," she snapped. "No, nothing happened! I needed to sleep after saving your life. Lay there and be grateful. Besides, it would probably kill you in your condition."
Fears allayed, he settled back into his pillows and insufferable humor. "Yeah, but man, what a way to go."
"You'll die waiting for that little fantasy."
"I told you, princess, the hope you give me will kill me."
Violet raised the legal pad above her head, aiming to strike. But there was nowhere on him she wouldn't damage or cause pain in his current condition. In the end, she ripped off a piece of paper and crumpled it, having to be content with the way the pitiful missile ricocheted off his forehead. "Stupid question, but, how do you feel?"
"Odd...in pain, but that's the usual. I feel out of it."
"You still have morphine running through you. I practically overdosed you. You shouldn't have-"
"You shouldn't have done any of it." He shifted, trying to sit up, and gasped at the pain of it. Violet hurried forward, helping him ease back onto his pillow. Hurrying into the living room she scooped up any spare cushion she could find and returned. She had him lean on his good side, propping the pillows behind his back and neck, and then turn him to lay on them, easing him into a slightly elevated position slowly. He spoke while they worked:
"You shouldn't have trusted me in the lab, but you did. You should have let me die in the blast, but you saved me. You should have let me die now, but here we are. You have a knack for doing everything you aren't supposed to, you know. It's almost villainous."
"It is not villainous to save a life. It's my job, my vow."
"It's your job, Princess. What about Shadow?"
She grit her teeth. "Seriously? Right now? What is with you and your philosophical wondering at the worst moments?"
"I'm an engineer first, I like knowing how things tick. And as a businessman, I had to deal with people, even behind the scenes. Humans are just more complex machines. They run on blueprints and cycles just like a code."
"That's psychology, not philosophy."
"You'd be surprised how often they overlap." Syndrome smirked, high on morphine and a new shot at life. "Anyway, I told you, Nat's not one to sit and think. She's a lady of action if you can believe it in those heels. Her actions just usually involve contracts and NDAs. And you've met Mac. Seem like a student of Plato to you?"
Violet rolled her eyes. "I thought they were your friends. That's not exactly generous towards the people that helped save you."
"What is? Seeing them for who they are? I call that very generous. It's better than pretending they're something else, and being disappointed. I wouldn't be a very good friend then, would I?"
Violet glanced towards the doorway. She couldn't hear her father talking to Mirage from here. She didn't want to think about how quickly he would have left Syndrome to die, or how she had seen through Dash's blustering in the office all those weeks ago so easily; it felt disloyal. She would think about it later. "That's...surprisingly mature of you."
"Yeah, well, I've had a lot of experience in being disappointed with people, that's all." Syndrome looked away from her, staring at the wall behind her. He shook his head and rubbed under his nose. "You're gonna have to tattoo 'evil' on my forehead, you know. I keep forgetting my role."
His forehead had enough scaring. "Maybe we both need to reread our scripts. I'm supposed to make a speech, right?"
"That's usually the next step."
Violet rubbed her face, leaning it against her palm, sighing. Maybe she hadn't slept as long as she thought. "Make it for me, I'm tired."
Syndrome lifted his eyes to the ceiling in thought. Shifting slightly, he began in a high-pitched nearly good impression of her: "Well, well, well. How does it feel to be the one strapped to the table, eh, Syndrome? Too bad I couldn't cut the evil out of you too."
Violet snorted. She tugged his blankets down slightly, pressing the skin around both his incisions and arms to check for pitting edema. "That's pitiful."
"You don't have any catchphrases. That's pitiful. I suppose I would have to substitute with a pun of some sort. Something about doctors or me being heartless. Um...Let me cut to the chase? How about I know help is a hard pill to swallow. Oh-I know! What a pitiful super Ultra is, there's no heart in it!" He laughed, flashing those unusually sharp canines before holding his chest in pain.
No, what was truly pitiful was the fact that Violet could see some of her family-and other agents in the industry-spouting off such nonsense without the sarcasm. She shook her head, continuing her examinations. As she observed his skin, looking for inflammation and checking the quality of the stitches, she noticed how his chest was bisected-left and right were two different skin tones. Not a large difference-Kari had once told her the difference between undertones. Violet had yellow, and her friend had pink. Across Syndrome's chest she saw both. Pink, his natural skin, and yellow-the synthetic. Dividing them was a large white scar where the two were forced to heal and become one.
She followed it with her finger down, pulling the blanket with her, watching the large cut trail all the way to his stomach to a mangled navel that was more a badly healed puncture wound than a divot on the stomach. How far had Fell opened him up? Or how much of Syndrome had there been left to salvage above the aerial amputation?
It's not salvaging, it's sick, her mind screamed. Violet tried to pull the blanket off him in a sick curiosity she could not stop, and see just how much of his legs were his and how much the turbine had claimed. Syndrome snatched it back, holding the sheets to his waist, face almost as red as his hair. "Thank you-but that's fine! That works just fine, don't you worry, princess!"
She didn't even spare him enough attention to insult him again. Instead, she followed the trail of scars around his waist, even taking his wrist and turning his arm over to inspect the work. Here, at the elbow, like a tribal tattoo-and there at the shoulder. Over the thin cut and burn scars that crackled silver across the flesh like a spider's web, there were thicker bands that created a map.
Like an action figure, Violet could see where the doctor-the butcher-had connected Syndrome. Slid metal under his flesh and pieced him back together. Had built a heart that functioned, imitated life and beat, from glass and ore to mimic a man out of a machine.
She had understood it in theory when he had shown her in the lab and held his burned hands in the OR, and then in practice when she saw the video. But to have it right before her eyes, full and complete, for her fingers to explore the damage and to feel the evidence, the horror of it all cemented it in her mind. It was too real, it was too much.
It was amazing. It was vile.
And Syndrome had witnessed it all-felt it all.
Down, deep in the halls of her memory, behind a locked door where she kept Nomanisan and the lab away from her conscious mind, she heard Syndrome's shrieks for mercy, echoing up to whisper in her ears. As the reality of it all, adding to her natural exhaustion, crested over her, Violet took a deep breath, attempting to dispel the wave of tears gathering in her eyes.
"Wh-what are you doing? Listen, here, listen. Do something for me." Syndrome groaned and he propped himself on his elbow. He looked almost afraid. "Get up. Stop. Stop that, and get up. Go to the closet."
Glad for something to distract her, she stood and obeyed, opening the door. There hung a few jackets, a suit, several slacks, and button-down shirts. A pitiful collection really, but serviceable. "In the pocket of my green jacket."
She rifled inside and pulled out a few pennies and a cloth with a little horse design stitched into the corner. A real handkerchief, like some kind of gentleman. Who even carried these around anymore? Violet, still sniffling, held it out to him. Syndrome waved her off, gesturing to her face. "Not me. You-clean yourself up, c'mon. There's no crying in surgery. You didn't even cry in the cell."
Nodding, she pressed the cloth under her eyes, gathering the tears quickly, and swiped under her nose. "You're supposed to like people crying" she reminded him thickly.
"See? You're throwing me off step. We had a good rhythm going. Sit, keep annoying me with stupid questions."
She sunk onto the other side of the bed and cleaned the rest of her face, swallowing down her emotions. You haven't eaten, you barely slept, and you're finally facing what you went through. You haven't processed yet, and there's no time. To business, Parr.
"Who did you hit in October? How did you do it when you were trapped with me?"
Syndrome opened his mouth, but her answer came from the hall. "Because he didn't." MacConnell was now leaning in the doorway, still in his pajamas and looking ruffled from sleep. He glanced between the sniffling Violet and Syndrome, who was propped up and leaning towards her. Immediately, the former laid back. "I did."
Violet blinked. "You did? But Syndrome is..."
"He is. And so am I. So it's better to say we are Ultra. Him, when he could get out, me and Nat. Fell would get suspicious if Ultra's hits matched up too much with him letting Buddy out. So I went on my own."
Don't exclude the women who might be wearing body armor to appear bigger. "That was why Ultra was always covered." And why only sometimes he wore a flak jacket. Syndrome could probably safely take a bullet-MacConnell certainly could not. "So you continued when he was trapped with a super. And the pharmacies too. You were trying to appear random."
"Aye. And Pine needed the medication. Natalya did most of those. She has a knack for safes that I don't."
They had acted as a unit. Violet nodded, the realization clanging on something she had learned long ago in school. Creatures that lived in the underworld, hidden from the people, coming out only to reap vengeance on those who had broken oaths and blasphemed. She had thought them a little like supers at the time, especially damned to the underworld in all her teenage melancholy. Ultra wasn't a vigilante, wasn't even a singular person. Ultra was a concept:
Ultra was the three of them, the modern Furies. "That's why Robbie can't track him-why the pattern is so off. How did you coordinate and hide from Fell for so long?"
MacConnell wandered to Buddy's desk and perched on the edge, laying a hand on the computer monitor. "We finally put our degrees to use. Pine would send out messages, but it would only go one way, hiding them in databases anyone could access, so we weren't tripping alarms all over the bloody country. Any two-way communication would tip off someone eventually, so he'd let us know where to hit whenever Fell'd brag about an investor, and he'd tell us when he'd be released so we could ease off. We used a code to appear banal enough to anyone who'd stumble across his messages."
Violet had a sudden vision-a fleeting memory of the lab: Syndrome, at all hours of the night, continually tap tap tapping away at the computer, so fast and consistent it became white noise as she fell asleep. At the NSA offices, Violet found she had unfortunately developed a pavlovian response to the sound. "That's...brilliant."
"Oh aye, a tidy little arrangement until some will o' the wisp came along and blew it all to hell." Liam was smiling good-naturedly at her now.
"Me? But I got him out! You can't expect me to have stayed there without trying to escape."
"We would have gotten you eventually, like the rest."
Violet's heart soared at the prospect even as she rounded on her patient. "The rest?! But he-You said you only hoped they were alive!"
Syndrome, who apparently found their company boring, had closed his eyes and drifted a little. At the sound of her voice, he cracked open one blue eye. "Yeah, because that's all I knew, or did you miss that 'one-way information' bit?"
Seeing she'd get nothing useful from him, Violet turned her attention back to his second in command. "So they're alive then?"
"As far as we know, aye."
"How did you get them past Fell?"
"Buddy: he dopped them up enough to slow their hearts, make it look like they were dead or just about to go."
"Fell didn't insist on cutting them up?"
Syndrome winced. "No-I told you he'd been working on the antidote and it didn't sit well with any of them. Real easy to get him to believe he just kept killing them with the dosing. Your headaches were the first time a super reacted with something less than crippling; probably because of your healing or something."
MacConnell continued: "He'd send them down the trash chute. That was loads 'o fun, digging through burnt rubbish for a body."
The incinerator he'd chucked her clothes down. Violet remembered guessing she'd fit through that doorway. Now she had confirmation. "And it didn't hurt them?"
"I shut the fire off obviously," came the supervillain's snide explanation. "I tapped into a network under my jailor's nose-you think tinkering around in the mainframe of the building would be that hard? It's a cakewalk-even Mac can do it which I suppose is how you're here-ack!"
McConnell proved his excellent aim as a crumpled up page of calculations went sailing and bounced off the villain's placid face. "I'd arrive all trussed up in the getup and ferry them away, telling them to stay completely underground and abandon any identity they had until Ultra called."
The bunk numbers-and the hang-ups. She bet if she called the ones that had picked up just to give her the dial tone again, they would be disconnected now, too. "And they'd just...go with you when they woke? Ultra's been around for a while, I would think they'd at least heard of you and your activities."
"Which is why 'Ultra' had made contact before. To gain their trust."
Violet blinked. "But you couldn't send information in."
"I did it, as usual, doing all the work," Syndrome muttered. "Remember your bracelet, that little screen? I'd hack into it, as Ultra, sending messages for them to wait, to obey while they could and take whatever I gave them, that he'd come and get them. Save them-you know, the hero bull. I tell you, it was the only entertainment I got, watching them try to keep the secret. Utterly pitiful. Honestly, no wonder there's a traitor in the NSA you supers are-"
"However," MacConnell cut across, "when you showed up, our Buddy here told us to stay away, to start uprooting and move to a safe house, somewhere off the grid and secure, around the time he'd begin his messages." MacConnell gestured to the room they were in now. That was how they were able to sell their house so quickly after Violet reappeared. "We thought he was about to execute our extraction plan-turns out he blew up the hospital when Fell decided to cut your visit short. So, lass, you have a rather explosive effect no matter where you are."
I've got an abundance of hope. And it might just kill me in the end. That argument had happened the very same day he snapped the bracelet on her. He hadn't expected her to fight as she had, to still have the fire with the dousing of fear and antidote Fell insisted on pouring over her.
Syndrome instead hoped she'd help him out-so much so that he threw away a previous escape plan just to get out with her. You might just survive this yet, princess. And in the end, his gamble had paid off. Her shields had ferried them out of the collapsing building in one piece-and had shattered their shackles. He'd banked heavily on her-figured out how she ticked. That was the purpose of all those conversations in the dark.
Violet's brow knit as she attempted to quantify the twisting emotion in her chest. Of course, he had used her, just as she'd used him. So why did she feel something akin to...disappointment? Sleep deprivation.
Meanwhile, MacConnell came to the other side of the bed, hands on his hips. "How're you feeling, mate?"
"I'm alive. I don't suppose I can ask for more."
"You nearly weren't-of course your innards would be just as stubborn as your head. Jackass inside and out." But he put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Nat's out there, talking to the supers."
"Hope she's showing them the best way to get back to the city."
Violet folded her arms. "I don't think so. We had a deal."
Syndrome narrowed his eyes. "Not with me."
"Nat made the deal," MacConnell informed.
"Tell her she's been fired for a while and doesn't speak for me."
"You're outvoted, mate. I think we need them too."
"You don-" Syndrome grit his teeth. Yelling out too much pressure on his chest. "I work alone."
Violet snorted. "'Alone'? Like Ultra was 'alone'? Face it, you haven't ever worked alone, Syndrome. Besides, you're going to be out of commission for weeks at least."
But the villain was shaking his head. "I'm not going to let you run amok of my work. You don't understand how careful I've been, how close we've been to being found."
"I do know. Surratt already has people looking out for a woman masquerading as Ultra. She's already guessed one might be bulking up to fit the role."
MacConnell's good humor fled. "What? Where's she looking?"
"Right now, registered villains recently disfigured. My brother threw her off the trail." Violet raised a brow at Syndrome. "How's that for running amok?"
Syndrome looked as if he had swallowed a lemon. Or his pride. "Well, I'll send him a gift basket, but I'm close now. I'm not risking letting that bastard slip through my fingers, especially by a bunch of supers bumble stumping their way after him."
A new voice joined the fray: "And if we find him and he's too heavily protected?" While they spoke, the group outside had finished their discussion and Mirage with Violet's parents entered the guest room.
"C'mon-not everyone in my room-goddamnit." Syndrome jerked the blanket up to his chin when Helen entered.
Violet's mother rolled her eyes and went to her daughter, wrapping her arms tightly around her shoulders, and inquiring how she was. Violet assured her she was rested and leaned back into the familiar embrace. She felt comforted by the mere presence of her parent, the warmth of her hold keeping her together. Her father flanked her other side, placing a hand on his wife's back. "How long was I out, Mom?"
"As long as you needed to be. We called home, told them we decided to stay over."
"It bought us another day or so," Bob informed her.
"Good, you can catch some sights before leaving," Syndrome muttered.
"Knock it off, Buddy." Mirage put her hands on her hips and widened her stance as if physically preparing for her verbal battle. "And answer me. If we get to Fell and if he's protected, how do we catch him? With your fists and Lee's rifle against what? A whole protection unit? He has the antidote too, he might be selling that to fund him further-what if he has supervillains watching his back as well? Getting into the building has stumped us for months and we don't have Syndicate resources anymore so your brilliant idea of a one-man massacre on his transport isn't going to work. We need help."
"Too-wait." Violet gently pushed her mother off, leaning forward. "What do you mean 'too'? That's what he's trying to produce, right? The antidote is the goal."
Syndrome remained silent. MacConnell rolled his eyes and answered for him. "That's what we thought, before the sting. The information Buddy brought back is worse."
"He's not selling the antidote," Mirage continued. "He's selling Implanted Muscle Memory. The antidote was just a byproduct of his research, and a tool he was using to keep his subjects docile. He was trying to find the source of your powers-"
"Because if he could find it and isolate it, stop it, it's the first step to mimicking it," Violet breathed. "Like a vaccine. But instead of inoculating, he's going to inject powers into people's brains."
"So everyone can be super," Bob asked, staring hard at Syndrome. His nemesis returned the gaze icily, never blinking.
But Violet wasn't paying attention to their long cold feud. "Oh my God, that's monstrous."
"That's not all." Mirage left and returned with a stack of papers, handing them to Violet. It was a proposal, the coversheet declaring THE PROMETHEUS PROJECT: EMPOWERING THE FUTURE. Violet flipped through, passed the bluster and the boasting to the back, the research to support the pitch. "He's proposing a fail-safe. If he finds he can't carve abilities into brains he's proposing taking the supers whose powers come from unique hormones and ripping them out, transplanting them into others."
Violet ripped through the medical files, skimming quickly. In fact Fell had several fail-safes, to encourage investors that, no matter which way the experiments ran, their money was safely given. He had backup plans. The word fetal caught her eye and she stopped at plan D: Injecting females with the stolen hormones, and setting up a breeding location, to birth supers and watch them in the womb, just as he had proposed in the lab. Violet slapped the file shut, putting a palm to her forehead, feeling an echo of those headaches she had suffered through in her cell.
"He's insane."
Mirage lifted a shoulder. "Perhaps. But he writes coherently. And he's got people interested."
"We tracked him to Russia, he's hiding underground there, safe behind the Iron Curtain. But he'll be moving soon." MacConnell pointed to the file. "This was sent out to several high-powered investors. They're pretty random, with only a few things in common. They're all filthy rich, they all have black market ties-"
"And they've all been invited to the Tanaka Summer Festival," Miage finished.
"And that is…?" Bob was still glaring at Syndrome. "We don't run in the circles you're used to, you're going to have to explain."
The villain sneered but answered solely to Violet. "Tanaka is only the world's leader in car manufacturing. Look, If you've driven a car-no matter the brand, you're using something from Tanaka international, you can imagine just how much he rakes in. His festival is an excuse for the richest of rich to get together in Japan, drink, screw, and gamble away their money. It's a white tie ball, and where most of the world's most lucrative deals get started. Buy-N-Large's founders met there one year, and six months later their first string of department stores sprang up. Ever notice how there were so many and so fast? They got funding from a few people at their poker table. I was invited a few times, but never went."
Bob snorted "Oh? Seems like just the spot for you. Rich, irresponsible and trying to conquer the world."
"I never tried to-I didn't find getting stoned off my gourd a pleasant prospect. Kind of hard being a genius with a nose full of coke."
"Stop!" Violet held up a hand before her father could prod again. "Both of you please. There's a bigger threat here, can't you two focus on that?" She brandished the file, shaking it between them. "He's trying to set up a cattle farm of women to bread supers so he can dissect babies and suck out their powers. Isn't that a little more important than your damn feud?! And I don't care who started it." That she threw at Syndrome who had opened his mouth. "My God, you're a grown man, act like it! We're all working for the same goal. You want what we want."
"I want Fell dead," he growled, jerking his chin at her parents. "You tell me, are they going to allow that?"
"Killing him won't do much," Helen instructed on cue, causing Syndrome to gesture. She had proven his point. She continued on doggedly, "we should bring him in for trial, let the whole world know what he's doing, what he's done. Take-"
"Bring him straight to the leak in the NSA, or did you forget about that? This is why I don't want you. We have enough tripping us up without falling over your ridiculous morals."
"Not wanting to kill in cold blood isn't ridiculous," Bob roared. "But you wouldn't understand that would you?!"
Syndrome hauled himself up, teeth gritted in pain as he growled, "No! I wouldn't! I've found I like killing monsters like Fell, and the ones that lick his boots. It's a lot of fun."
The arguing would have continued if MacConnell hadn't put his fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. Every clapped a hand to their affected organ as he muttered, "By God, you'd all try Christ's patience. No one is arguing about who's worse-the answer is clear. Fell must be stopped, one way or another. And since we're the only ones who know and give a damn, it's up to us, whether we like each other or not. I'm sick of hiding and running. This needs to end. Before the dobber builds a goddamn army of supers, preferably."
Violet had been focusing on the horror that was IMM in creation, and the various and sundry ways Fell intended to make it a reality. The very real possibility of Fell marketing it as a weapon, of promising super soldiers outfitted with powers and bracelets or collars to keep them obedient made her heart constrict.
"You're right," Helen said. "We're running out of time, and Fell has the upper hand. He's hidden, probably protected. And he has a hold in the government-if we don't move soon, and together, he'll have us trapped."
"So how will you cover being gone long enough to leave the country," Syndrome asked snidely.
"Suratt practically kicked us out the door when we wanted to take this trip." Mrs. Parr shrugged. "I bet she wouldn't mind us taking more time, wanting to leave as a family, and stay incognito. We'll play it off as fear, not wanting to expose you, Violet. Make you feel safe."
Violet's brows raised at how quickly her mother had come up with this deceptive plan. "And what about Dash and Jack?"
"Jack can stay with Edna," she supplied. "She won't question time with her favorite godson."
"You should probably let her in on it, at least a little," Mirage pointed out. "We were planning on shutting it down-"
"Blowing it up," Syndrome grumbled.
"-but if we can get inside the festival itself, that's even better. Tanaka is serious about no fighting between guests; Fell will be less protected there. But we'll need to be outfitted for the job. With Mode designs, we'll blend right it."
Bob finally broke a smile. "I wouldn't tell her her designs blend. But that's a good idea."
"And Dash," Violet reminded.
Helen looked down at her hands. "I don't want my children in trouble. But between you, Vi, and your brother, I'd feel better if he was with us. You protect each other, together you're both practically unstoppable."
Syndrome lay back on his pillows, glaring at the ceiling. "Great. Between the happy family and Mode that's...eight people. Wonderful. Very subtle, very secretive."
"They're resources," MacConnell reminded him. "No offense-" that was to the Parrs-"But if they're offering, we'd be absolutely daft not to accept."
He put his fist to his forehead, and the room waited for his decision. Not that it mattered much-he was unanimously outvoted. "Fine," Syndrome snapped. "Fine. We use them. But the minute you're a liability, you're out. Get it?"
Violet waved off her father starting to protest. "Got it." It wasn't going to happen, but if he made him agree, Violet would lie. She was getting frighteningly good at it.
"Good."
"So what now," Helen inquired.
"We have to get to Japan."
"We can handle that, have you there in a few hours-"
Violet and Syndrome answered at the same time. "No!"
"He needs to heal," Violet protested. "He's just had open-heart surgery. The festival is in the summer, right? We have enough time to get him back on his feet without risking him completely falling apart."
"And no using connections. Mode might be able to keep her mouth shut, but no one else."
"Why not?" Helen almost looked offended. "Snug can be trusted."
"And how many other supers does he provide transportation for? How closely is he tied to the NSA?" Syndrome shook his head. "All it takes is one word, one comment here or there to spark curiosity, to get someone digging. That's how we found supers, back on Nomanisan."
Mirage nodded. "I agree. All I did was follow rumors and whispers to find super's secret identities. We've already got a large enough crowd, and your family is lucky to have flown under the radar with all you know. Adding anyone else into the mix just opens us up to infiltration."
"And having a seven-man team doesn't," Syndrome muttered to himself. "No planes. No trains. Nothing that can leave a paper trail."
Violet folded her arms, unsatisfied with their progress. "So how were you planning to get there."
"Someone who has kept me off the books before." He lifted himself up on an elbow again and continued to speak only to Violet. "Go home. If you stay here any longer, people will start to question what you found in bumfuck nowhere to keep you so long."
"I'm not leaving so you can run off without me."
"I tried, twice, and here you are. You're like a rash with no antibiotic." He nodded back towards Mirage. "You're on my case, you have a reason to keep checking up on Mirage. She can let you know when it's time to go. If you're dead set on letting Mode know, do so. And quickly. How long until I can stand without worrying about my organs falling out?"
"A month, depending on how much of an asshole you are."
"That's a broad stipulation."
"No vigorous activity, no fighting. Taking your medicine, not eating like a jerk. I'll leave a list."
"It'll look odd if Ultra drops off all of a sudden. We still need to gather more information on how to actually get into the Festival."
"I can handle that." Violet glanced at her father. "Dad, you can lead Robbie away from wherever they hit."
Bob looked scandalized. "You want me to cover for a crime and lie to my apprentice?"
Syndrome snorted, but Violet saw the way that his hands fisting on his comforter. "Apprentice. You've done worse to your fans."
Violet didn't bother to verbally reprimand the villain this time and shoved him back onto the pillows by his forehead. "Shut up, be grateful, and rest." To her father, she explained, "if Robbie is the leak, he's worse than the lie you're going to tell. And if he's not, keeping him away from Ultra is keeping him safe. You'd be protecting him."
"Lying to protect my family hasn't worked out before," her father muttered. But by the way he folded his arms, Violet knew he was relenting. She sighed, the familiar weight of guilt resting on her bones.
Vi hated that she knew how to manipulate them, that she had to. When this was over, she never wanted to persuade her family into anything again. She swore to herself when Fell was gone and the NSA cleaned, she'd never tell another lie, not even to Dash when he asked how he looked in his new hairstyle that week. She may not be able to go back, return to normal. But she would not allow this to corrupt her. Change her, maybe give her a chance to remake herself, if she believed Tony's optimism.
But she would not allow this to turn her.
She looked to Syndrome, only to find him already holding her gaze. He looked away first. Villain and hero, and now allies once more. Just for now.
Swinging dangerously between tedium and terror, Violet wondered if all undercover agents felt like this. When she had thought of daring men and women spying, and laying down plans to foil evil plots, it looked more like their adventures on the island or on Winston's boat. But when they left Pennsylvania, plan in sight and energized, they had simply returned to an empty house and two boys sleeping on the couch. Nothing else to do but wait until Mirage gave them the signal to leave. Not very grand at all.
Neither was the next day when they informed Dash of their progress while Jack-Jack rode his bike to the library. The joy of knowing the missing supers were safe was short-lived when Dash and their father went off for two hours about how much they hated working with Syndrome.
Violet would much rather be fighting a private militia in some God-forsaken jungle than hear her brother rattle off the many reasons they should dump their new allies (Nomanisan, the fact that he had been an arms dealer, that he was an assassin under the name Ultra, what on earth were they doing?). But she at least had the ace-Fell's proposal. Whenever the argument grew too heated she reminded him and her father how she was almost strapped up to a table, raped and kept as a broodmare-and would he like to hate Syndrome more than keeping other girls from that fate?
"I'm just saying we're heroes-and here we are skirting the law with a monster!"
"You don't always get to choose who you share the playground with, Dad," Violet had returned, pressing a finger into the thick file on the kitchen table. This time she had no helpful Scott to whistle them back into order. "I'm not saying he's a good man-I'm not even saying he's a real ally. But we have to do what's right-and stopping Fell is right."
"And helping break the law is right," Dash had cut.
"I feel like I'm back in the damn hotel," Helen had said, rubbing her face. Her mother cursing was so rare a thing, it had ended the impromptu meeting there.
It wasn't a comfortable wait either. They couldn't shelter in place-they all had to return to their jobs. Violet returned to the offices and began to think of her quiet, mild-mannered version of herself that sat primly at her desk much like she thought of Shadow. Her, yes, but some part of her ego that was separate, stronger, and fighting unseen in plain sight.
Meanwhile, Dash and her parents divided time between home, school, and the press circuit Surratt had them running. Her big push to make the NSA a functioning machine rather than finger waggers and damage control was starting to gain traction, and everyone was working together.
"The government is slow, fat, and self-interested," she had told Violet one day as they were moving boxes out of one of the back rooms. They were making a tactical room, a place where supers could go for gadgets and gear before heading out into the field. The Deputy Inspector had started herself while Violet had been in Pennsylvania-she was a hands-on kind of woman-and ended up stepping on a nail. Violet had suggested that, since she was surrounded by people who had a little more in their genetic makeup than the director herself, she enlist help.
Violet was the first one drafted.
She had agreed and poached Robbie who was passing through, both supers surprised with how much the agent had gotten done by on her own; these boxes were heavy, dusty, and old.
This was not unusual for Vi who often volunteered for odds and ends around the office-it was amazing what one learned from idle chatter during manual labor. True, all she had gleaned was about three affairs and how much Krushauer truly disliked Screech, but casual conversation almost always gave away more than one meant to, and despite Robbie's near-constant presence in the house, Violet hardly had time to pin her suspect down for chit chat.
"So if we can get it through private organizations, use them as contractors, we can actually get...some….work done." Meg's heels slipped a little as she threw her whole weight against a particularly stubborn and large box. Violet flicked a finger, and created a forcefield under it, helping her slide it to the door. "Whew! Man, that's pretty useful!"
"A life saver," she replied dryly. "Better than you hurting yourself again."
"Oh-yes. Of course." The agent laughed a little nervously, rubbing her arm where she still wore the bandage from her tetanus shot. Everyone was a little nervous around Violet when they remembered just how she came to be in their office. She hated it, and she hated appearing weak. But it was better that they leverage any odd behavior on her part to trauma than suspicion. It would make their need to leave for her 'health' more believable-even if such quick belief rankled her pride.
"What is even in here?" Robbie came over and rummaged in the box, pulling out a gas mask.
Surratt snorted, taking the mask and staring into its empty eyes. "Oh for-these are here from the Red Scare, for God's sake."
"Maybe we should keep them. We don't know where the people that took me came from." From what Violet heard, there had been tense negotiations with the Kremlin and their country's version of the NSA about just where some of their agents were during her captivity.
"You've got a point-but still, they're old, and we can do better. I'll have them moved to the basement." Tossing the mask back into the box, she propped a hand on her hip, turning to Violet. "I know you're still full on the Syndrome case, but if you can gather a list of contacts that your parents have utilized, I'd like a report. People like Snog-is that his name?"
"Snug."
"Snug! Him and Mode, I know your parents are close to her. People like that so we can build a database of resources. Travel and outfitting, and with supers like you, medical personal. I've done enough work with veterans to know the VA isn't a model we should be emulating; our in-house recourses should be top-notch. Agent Elliot's already offered his family's business for ground travel when we need it."
"His family is actually really nice," Robbie seconded. "They've been real gold about carting me around the country chasing Ultra. His cousin Mary helps me out. Even gave me her personal number in case I needed something quick!"
Surratt glanced at Violet out of the corner of her eye, trying dismally to hide her smirk. Violet returned her smile. Robbie certainly wasn't the brightest bulb in the bulb box when it came to interpersonal relationships. Violet's mirth dropped when her mind whispered either that or he's a genius actor.
"It's been smoother than trying to apply for a government car," The Deputy Inspector agreed.
"I'm seeing Edna tomorrow," Violet supplied. "I'll talk to her." She'd warn her to keep as far away from the NSA as possible until the leak was patched. As for Snug and the rest-Violet wanted to kick one of the boxes rather than admit it-Syndrome had been completely correct. He was already the first call for many of the old-timers, and now they wanted him for the new. Snug was a liability now.
"Excellent."
Robbie pushed the large pile they had stacked by the door out into the hall towards the service elevator, Violet and Meg following for moral support as he shouldered most of the work. "Didn't Mr. Parr work for an insurance company back in the day? That could be useful."
"We should use that too," Surratt agreed. "If supers had their own policies, or if we had a department devoted to it we can avoid things like the lawsuit wave that put you all into hiding. I want to consolidate all the resources in one space so you all have a place where help is easily accessible. I mean, you are just winners of the genetic lottery, you can't do everything on your own. All the choices you have to make in the moment are big enough, you shouldn't have to scramble outside of it. If we can let normal people share the load, maybe we can avoid some of the fall out that comes with what you do. And it gives us non-supers a chance to be great too." Surratt had lost all interest in moving and cleaning, too deeply involved in her plans and big bright future.
Violet left her to her pondering, having tuned her out slightly to focus on Robbie as he closed the elevator gate. "How is the Ultra case?"
"I-I...well." The man looked down into his hands, a little ashamed. "I've set up a few stings, but they've come to nothing. He's distracting us with little security breaks here and there, then hitting right out of the blue halfway across the country."
Violet nodded, keeping her eyes cast down as if in sympathy to hide her grim smile. Her father had been subtly-as subtly as Mr. incredible could-guiding Robbie to just the wrong places that Syndrome was tapping. The man was still trapped in Pennsylvania but had spent most of his recovery time rebuilding his computer network. It was really something to see-Ultra could 'hit' California from Lancaster because of a computer genius hacking into databases, and implanting a nasty virus. The fact that nothing was physically broken into gave the vigilante even more of an air of danger and mystery.
At least that was how Mirage had explained it during one of their few conversations. But it was the blind leading the blind, as she had limited understanding of what exactly Syndrome was doing, and was trying to explain it to someone who had no understanding of the technology outside the computers in the medical library in MU.
"At least he's cooled it on the murders." Meg rubbed her forehead. The director was prone to headaches, and Violet couldn't blame her. She did not envy the woman's position. All Violet had to wrangle was her own family-trying to handle a whole nation of people like the Parrs would make anyone feel ill. "Here I am trying to make the world comfortable with supers as household need, and we can't even catch a man with a body count."
As most of that responsibility fell on his shoulders, Robbie bowed his head. "W...well, Dash has been making a good show of it. Keeping the attention on him is helping."
Violet had sympathy for her family as frustrating as they were being. She could barely keep her composure sitting at her desk, glancing around the room for the one wearing the mask of friendliness whilst holding the money that had funded her torture. She could only imagine what her parents felt-or Dash, forced to grin and talk about his aspirations as an agent before flashing cameras, all the while knowing the institution he backed was corrupt. Maybe she should be less vicious in her defense of the heartless bastard they hated.
"I just wish I could get him in the same room," Robbie continued, his hands fisting. "If I could just get close enough…"
Violet eyed him. Robbie was not a violent person, despite his super strength. The bully he had put through a locker that put him on the NSA's map had been an awful little creature and it was only self-defense. Since then he had the lowest liability when it came to street battles. But the intense glare the young super was giving his own fingers unnerved her.
"We were in the same room with him, Robbie. No one blames you-he's hard to catch." After all, no one cannot catch a concept.
His bright eyes snapped to her face. "I know he had something to do with your disappearance, Violet."
Surratt raised both her brows, glancing quickly between the agents, firmly shaken from her bright mythical future of a functioning federal organization. "You never informed me of this Mr. Herring."
"Because I don't have evidence. It's just...I know it." He thumped a fist against his heart, but he turned to look at his would-be sister. "I can't explain it. Why we can't find him, why we didn't even know you were taken. There's something there I just can't connect."
Standing under his sudden heated gaze, Violet refused to look away first. "I don't think so, Robbie. Ultra struck when I was in captivity. I remember it. Whoever had me hated him just as much as you do. Syndrome was angry when they had to lockdown."
"Then maybe there's a connection there, between your case and mine then."
Ice trickled down her spine, but still, she didn't look away. Please her heart whispered. Please don't be my Judas. She knew Robbie was plausible, even likely. He knew her more intimately than anyone, save her family and now-
"I think that's enough," Surratt said quickly. She patted her skirt and blouse free of dust before placing a hand on Robbie's shoulder. "I think you need to take a break from Ultra, Mr. Herring."
Immediately, the young man lost all his fire, returning the shy stuttering boy Violet knew. "N-no! No Agent Surrat, please, I didn't mean it like that-I just-I just want to catch him and…" He turned to Violet. "I'm sorry I-"
"Too much time on a dead end case can cause stress. It has nothing to do with your performance. It's something that happens. We rotate agents off cases like this in the FBI all the time, especially down in Behavioral Science. Besides, you have a lot more on your plate."
"I agree," Violet chimed in perhaps too quickly. If Robbie was her betrayer, was the one funneling supers to Fell, angry more at Ultra for coming close to the doctor rather than evading the arm of the law, he needed to be put as far away from this case as possible. "You've got your party to think about."
Robbie flushed. He was officially graduating from The Prevention Initiative with six full months of agency under his belt, and would be choosing his own hero name. The office was giving him a shindig, and everyone was politely mandated to attend. Dash had wanted to give him a private one too, this boy who was almost like another brother to them, but Violet had discouraged her mother from letting anyone into the house unnecessarily. She hated Helen's look of resigned disappointment. It seemed dour faces were becoming a horrific norm for the Parr family of late.
"I-I suppose."
"Come. Let's go now. You can help me choose who I give it to." Surratt gave Violet a reassuring smile, before putting her hands on Robbie's back and gently pushed him towards her office. Before leaving, the Deputy Inspector paused. "Violet?"
"Yes ma'am?"
"Your hair. I just wanted to say-I like it up."