ULTRAVIOLET

by donttouchthefigs

"You don't know what a real monster is," Syndrome sneered. "I'm working for a monster. You don't know what he's capable of, so it's best we continue. So keep screaming and get it out of your system now because if you unload on him like that, he'll pull your lower intestine out while you watch."

27. XXVI

Book IIII

Return to Ithaca

Chapter XXVI

Showdown At Hotel Ambrosia

---

The streets outside the blossoming Hotel Ambrosia were lined with bodies both organic and mechanical. A healthy crowd was crushed together on the sidewalk, craning their necks as limousines pulled up to the bottom of the long staircase leading to the wide golden doors of the hotel, the be-masked glitterati emerging to capture their few moments of recognition before slipping into comfortable anonymity within. It was every inch an event, yet no cameras flashed. Men stood guard along the streets, both to stem the curious onlookers and to handle anyone attempting to photograph those making their way inside.

Some guests used their masks as irony, their garb so outrageous it lent the facial covering moot (a few guests using feathers in rather ingenious if impractical ways to make their mark). They either had enough confidence or enough money to handle any ill that attending such a festival would cause. Most others sought to be elegant but also undiscoverable in stylish clothes but fully concealing masks, smirking lips only visible.

A sleek black limo hummed to the curb in a lull between the guests. Before the driver could step out and complete his task, the backdoor popped open. A guard stepped out, adjusting his earpiece and holding open the door for the guests within. Two blonde gentlemen, one tall and the other on his way, the latter turning to hand out a woman draped in gold, and the next wrapped in silver, both stepping to the side to smooth down their skirts. Finally, out stepped their leader.

Tall, his white coat brilliant in the lights over his black turtleneck and trousers, the flame-haired guest bent slightly at the waist, offering his arm. Heads turned immediately to the last guest, a few guards even nudged their comrades, instructing silently that they get a look before she disappeared into the crowded ballroom.

The lady that emerged was wrapped in midnight against moon pale flesh. Miles of chiffon draped about her waist and one shoulder in the Roman style, a train whispering behind her. Though the rest of the gown was silken and snugly held her curves for admiration, it was fashioned more like a breastplate than a bodice. When she began ascending the stairs, one fine-toned leg appeared in the coquettish slit up the side, the silver gladiator heel tied on with string so thin it looked like spider's webbing. As she leaned close to her companion, a coil of her ebony hair slithered across her collar bone like a sorceress' familiar, the only lock to escape the writhing pit of tresses piled stylishly atop her head.

Amaranthine eyes assessed the crowd from behind her black wire mask, a stark contrast from the solid black of her escort's Melpomene. He bent his head to her ear, and her lips ticked up a small smile. Carefully the couple edged past a guest who was, in a thick and ridiculous French accent, claiming he had been robbed. As the distraught young man described the gold coin that had once been in his possession, Buddy handed his invitation to the doorman.

"Mister Pine," the servant acknowledged, his eyes continually drifting to Violet even as he tallied up the guests in his party. When he bowed Violet saw the hilt of a bowie knife tucked into his suit jacket.

Violet inclined her head, but her fingers tightened in a vice grip over her lover's arm. Here, standing at the mouth of hell, her heart shook for a moment. She was masked again, her identity hidden, but like returning to a childhood toy, it no longer gave her comfort. Mostly because she wasn't wearing her suit under her concoction of silk and gossamer.

Preparing that morning had been both agony and hilarity. Between Buddy and her father still taking shots at one another (happily, only verbally this time), Buddy attempting to kiss her whenever there was someone to witness, and the usual trial of hair and cosmetics, it was a wonder they had made it here at all, let alone on time.

The men of their group had an easier time of it. They only had to don two pairs of suits (and Liam a kevlar vest). Their hang-up came when Dash had panicked trying on his domino mask, stating that it too much resembled their hero garb. Happily, Buddy had thought of that. In addition to the sensors to the women's suits under their clothes, he had crafted full-faced masks for himself, Dash, and Mr. Incredible. Buddy too had the problem of wearing a mask that might make him recognizable as Syndrome. Not only did they obstruct their entire identity, but they were also equipped with voice modulators.

Violet and her mother however had been under Mirage's thumb, attending to careful manicures and two full hours spent on just their hair (that was mostly taken up by Violet who didn't really understand the logic of straightening her three-foot mane only to curl and coil and pin it to her skull). After that, she had focused on getting Helen's satin cloth of gold gown to fall correctly over the invisible suit of mega mesh. Muttering apologies to Edna under her breath, Helen had become quite clever with safety pins and Violet's mother looked more than fetching afterward, paired with her gilt and peacock feathered mask fastened to a thin gold rod.

It was only when steaming Violet's gown did the heroine come across a problem they had forgotten: Everyone was armored except for Mirage. There weren't enough suits to go around as Shadow's had been put to pieces for study. Mirage would be going in totally bare, and the woman had already accepted that, stating she would keep her head down and out of the way, her greatest talent. But it didn't sit well with Violet. She had her shields, and she had defeated harm without her suit before. So after two loud arguments–first with Buddy and her mother making for an odd alliance as they had both stood before her hands on their hips and accents thicker with each word, and then with the femme fatal herself–Violet was victorious. Mirage wore her Ultra suit, and Violet was going in commando.

Which had seemed perfectly logical in the living room of the manor, but now, in the yawning entrance hall of Hotel Ambrosia, she felt utterly exposed. It didn't help that her neckline was cut almost scandalously low and every step exposed her left leg up to the thigh. Or that every head turned as they weaved carefully through the many groups of chatting party-goers that made a solid wall of flesh around the dance floor, punctured by wandering servants with their precariously balanced trays of champagne flutes.

"Do I really look that different," Violet muttered. Her only stipulation when Mirage had advanced upon her, brush and palette in hand, was that she not give her too many layers of makeup. She was prone to rubbing her face and didn't want mascara dripping into her eyes if it came time to fight. The woman had complied, and Violet had fallen in love with the gentle touches she had done to make her more refined and feline, but it was no major change. "Or is something on wrong? Edna kept the sketch with the gown, and it looked right at the house."

"You know, I get modesty, but I'm starting to think you're not that bright, babe," Buddy murmured, plucking two flutes of champagne off a passing tray easily. He handed her one. "You've looked in the mirror for how many years and not realized what you have?"

"No one ever spared me a passing glance before."

"A–You've been surrounded by idiots most of your life. B–your face isn't the main attraction." The back of his hand brushed her exposed thigh briefly before he lifted his mask just enough to drain his glass.

Violet lifted her eyes and took a sip of champagne.

"Watch your lipstick."

The voice in her ear almost made her drop the glass. The earbuds they all wore had a built-in sensor that made it invisible as well, but it came with the limitation of no channels. There hadn't been space for it to be both small and have that many buttons. Anything said was going to be heard by the whole group.

Still, Mirage's sultry tones out of nowhere had given her a start. Quickly Violet glanced about and found her, slender in her sheath of shimmering silver. Her arm linked with Dash, who, still high off being able to pickpocket Petite Voyage attending in his father's sted, was more interested in the food laid out than their current mission. She saw her free hand lift to her ear and perfectly pink mouth move a half a second before her voice came through in the piece. "And keep safe. No deviation from the plan."

"Who are you saying that for," Buddy muttered. "Me or the mission crashers?"

"Just keep focused."

"And keep an eye out." Buddy placed his empty glass on a spare food table, and put a hand at Violet's back, continuing their patrol around the perimeter. "If we can get him before the presentation, that's even better. Bypasses any ass kissing we have to do and gets us home before dawn."

"Or that woman," came Liam's voice. "We could always try to get her to give him up if she's here too."

Buddy made a skeptical noise. "Just, no bullshit. He still wants supers and if he gets any it'll be like Christmas for him. Keep your heads down and don't burst through any walls."

"Or get thrown against any buildings," came Bob's sneer.

Violet caught Buddy's hand before they picked up where they had left off in the limo. "Don't. We're looking for Jang, let's not waste time."

"I know, but if we can kill Fell before he even gets his chance to boast to these sick freaks, it's better for all of us." He might have agreed to the capturing plan, yet he still stuck to his murderous intent. But under the blood lust, Violet knew now there was a serious concern for her safety. His eyes were the only thing visible behind his false face, and they spoke of true caution with how they darted from place to place. He was keyed up, and there wasn't a fight for him to release his tensions. "There's no need for heroics that way. In, kill, and out." A beat as he glanced down at her, and then at her decolletage, and added, "Remind me to send Mode flowers or something when we get back."

"Serious question: do you ever think of anything other than revenge or sex?" His hand slid boldly from her spine to firmly cup her backside through the chiffon. Violet finished off her champagne. "Duly noted, honey."

"Oh come on," he chuckled. "I think of other stuff. Money, and how to combine the three!"

Violet finally cracked a smile and grabbed his still feeling hand, planting it firmly about her waist. "How about dancing?"

"Can you, in those things?"

The chic shoes Edna had given her were about four inches higher than her usual kitten heels (she was a tall woman and self-conscious about it). A deceptive beauty, as the spindly support could, with a click, turn into a stiletto blade-Buddy's idea, who had no qualms about ripping into Edna's clothing for his own purposes. Silver snakes that slithered across her toes and cupped her heel were what really kept her shod as opposed to the glittering string. "I guess I'll just have to lean on you."

"Sure, I mean I've just been carrying you this whole mission." He caught the hand meant to strike him and pulled her fluidly onto the floor, stepping into the swirl of bodies right on the beat.

Violet leaned into him but used their twirling dance to search the room. It looked much different in person rather than dismantled and through a grainy security video. The columns stood erect, marble sentinels that dwarfed them as they reached up to the ceiling, draped in whimsical white cloth that fluttered with the wind caused by the motion of the dancers, and Violet wondered if this was how it felt to be in the temple of Artemis when it still stood. The marble benches were piled high with golden plates and stands, bursting with food and fruit sculptures attempting for classical motifs of gods and nymphs in play. There were fountains of wine, champagne, and whiskey at the end of each table, easy to dip your goblet under and refill.

Estimating where the camera would have to be at the angle she had observed, she spotted the little machine in the corner near the ceiling before it vaulted. The black box was so high up it was almost a dot to her, swaying back and forth, like the head of a viper eyeing its lunch. A little further down on the third-floor balconies Violet saw men in all black patrolling the railings, a contrast to the various colors and white jackets surrounding them. All of them were armed with blades less concealed than the doorman, one guard openly adjusting his tanto sword on his hip. Not a guard then: yakuza.

She suddenly felt very small at the bottom of this room and very seen. What if she didn't find Jang? And what if they couldn't get in with their stolen coin? Or what if Fell didn't show? What if he didn't come all together and they risked all of this for nothing? She clutched Buddy's shoulder tighter. Everything hinged on this night, on her; their future, the safety of supers, the integrity of the NSA-

His hand slid from her hip to her waist and pulled her in close, flush against this body. Buddy was peering at the dancers moving past searching for the woman or Jang and had clutched her unconsciously, simply for want of having her near. Violet's spine straightened, and she pressed her cheek to the cold surface of his mask, the temperature breaking her away from her fevered thoughts.

I survived this long. I won't be broken now. Violet pulled back to consider Buddy, and allowed love to fill her, determination following; flooding her heart until there was no room for fear at all.

The grotesque expression his mask made was at odds with the fierceness of his gaze when he glanced at her. Moments before she had seen concern flash through them, but looking at her, Violet saw nothing but a steady burn. We're together and we will be alright. We will survive this too. She squeezed his shoulder again, this time for comradery rather than worry.

"Have I mentioned you're gorgeous," he murmured, the modulator making his voice unnaturally deep.

"Once or twice." Not that she needed it, his initial reaction to seeing her in the den had been enough to boost her ego for a lifetime. She had come up behind him, gently touching his shoulder to pass him and take her heels off the coffee table. He had turned, and went as still as stone at the sight, lips parting. When he went on one knee, Violet had almost laughed, her heart racing, wondering if the power of Edna's fashion was about to make him propose properly on the spot. He hadn't, merely grabbing her heels and helped her into them, but his eyes had continually lifted from his tying to take her in. That and the soft kisses he trailed up her leg had done enough to convey his appreciation. "So, can you do more than a kitchen dance?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Well everyone's already looking at us, so…"

"Make it worth their while?" His hand fell from her back, gently pushing at her hip as he spun her out, holding tight to her fingers to use the momentum to twirl her. Skirts rippling around their legs, Violet grinned, spinning under his arm only to be turned back into his embrace and swept into the steps of their waltz. After all, when would she ever get to dance at a masquerade ball again? They wove in between the other couples, and she could see his grin spark in his eyes, once again finding their own joy in the moments between pain.

So what if imminent chaos and death awaited them in the next hours? For just a few minutes, Violet felt like the most lovely woman in the world-almost as good with my clothes on. She laughed at herself as she was once again spun by her lover, only wobbling a little when he bent her backward over his arm.

"Look at that. Two romantic gestures without disaster," he pointed out as he righted her.

"Don't get too cocky." She ran her fingertips under his chin, the only part of his face she could touch.

"Hey, if I could manage it without being seen, I bet I could shove Petite Voyage off a balcony. I just heard him make a deal with someone for his dad's 'ice bomb'," came Dash's voice in her ear.

Clapping a hand to her earpiece Violet was effectively ripped from her dancing afterglow. "No Dashel."

"Aw come on, two villains for the price of one! Besides, it'd be really funny."

Buddy cocked his head. "The kid's not wrong."

"Just-look for the doctor, okay? And don't drink."

"Yeah, yeah, too late."

Violet led Buddy off the floor, glancing about to take stock of the other members of their team. The only one still in the ballroom was her father, who never failed to make friends. He was already engaged in conversation with a group of men by one of the fountains (this one only spouting water into the pool below from Eris' hand as she held the golden apple aloft), wearing the Thalia mask that complemented his nemesis. Buddy had found it extraordinarily funny.

Carefully they wandered over, subtly listening in on the conversation as they pretended to regard the nearby food bench. At least the eats looked delicious, fruits so ripe the color almost seemed unnatural, plates stacked with cakes dripping with gooey honey that shone in the light, and finger sandwiches all stabbed through with little gold spears to keep the theme. In between, there were buckets of what looked like chalk candies in a rainbow of colors.

Violet picked one up to examine it further and felt her stomach drop. No, not candy at all. Buckets and buckets of MDMA free for the taking. She forced herself to slowly drop the pill back onto the pile and resisted the urge to wipe her palm on her bodice.

"I'm glad I brought my own," Buddy murmured, taking his usual pain pills from his pocket and dunking a goblet under chaos' fountain. He sniffed the liquid before swallowing down his medicine. "This stuff is probably laced to boot."

Violet's nose wrinkled but was glad in a sick way that she could still be shocked. I meant she retained some of her humanity for all she had seen. Taking Buddy's cup for a drink herself, she focused in on her father's conversation.

"...didn't know there was that kind of money to be made in insurance," one of the men was saying as they edged by.

"Oh yes, if you know how to work the system," Bob bluffed. He had adjusted his voice to a higher pitch and it was almost a perfect match for Mr. Huph. "See, insurance, it's like a clock. All the pieces have to fit together, and if you're the lubricant between them, then-well-you can get it to run just how you like."

Violet hid her chuckle behind another glass of champagne. Buddy wasn't the only one to hold a grudge, and her father's annoying impression of his former boss was an amusing if small revenge.

The gentleman to her father's right, wearing emerald green from head to toe sighed. "If only you could ensure ideas."

Bob placed his drink down and settled into his lecture mode. "You can. In fact-"

"Oh, I'm sure there are ways to." The man with a bull's head mask and a rather ridiculous British drawl interrupted. "But I mean, when you have things that are, shall we say, under the table? There's no getting your money back. And reaping the resources takes so much energy it's almost not worth it. You invest all this money in glasses that could persuade, and your inventor ends up getting thrown in jail. I mean, really, the legal fees alone to get them out. And then the idea is blown!"

Bob smoothed down his lapels nervously. "Glasses? That sounds...interesting."

"It would have been if they hadn't been broken on national news."

A woman whose gown resembled more a cream puff than an actual garment, nodded as she drained her wine glass. "Oh, I remember that, Edward. And such a good idea too! That's why you never listen to these big corporate types. Deavor was too much in the public eye, that's why that failed."

Violet stiffened, and over the shoulder of the British man, she met her father's eye if only for a second. "Evelyn Deavor, you mean? I believe I know her."

"Don't say that too loudly," Cream Puff giggled. Her cheeks under her lacey mask were already a bright pink. "What a disappointment she was. She should thank her lucky stars she's in jail! The things she said to get her funding-where all of it went I don't know, seeing as she was siphoning off from her brother. But I saw her peddling her little spectacles in Kazan, going on about how if you got them on a well-liked pundit you could have them push anything you wanted. All the while she was just trying to kill off a few supers. If I was her, I'd be more afraid of the Kremlin than of death row-all that trouble and she could have had them do it for her rather than make enemies out of them."

"Oh now!" Her partner, whose Russian accent was jovial, put an arm around her waist. "You make us seem so scary! I assure you, we are credited with more petty emotional murders than actual crimes we plan, I assure you. I mean, why pay someone to do it when an angry wife will, am I right?"

The group burst out laughing, her father following suit with only a second's hesitation. But Green wasn't laughing.

"The fact remains that I am tired of letting excellent ideas fall into the hands of incompetent idiots. We all remember Syndrome."

The name shot lightning down Violet's spine, and she nearly crushed the grape she had picked up. Popping it into her mouth, she turned to glance at Buddy, only to find the space beside her empty.

"Did I hear someone say Syndrome? Jeez, Louise! I haven't heard that name in years." There he was, leaning into the group as he clapped a hand onto Bob's shoulder. He was laying his latent accent on thick, sounding like an oil tycoon. "Is my friend here bringing up ancient history? Or are we just reminiscing?"

"We were speaking of failures," Edward sniffed. "What a pity that was."

"Pity-more like an absolute cock up." Green shook his head. "Do you know how much I had invested in that?"

"Oh now, it didn't go totally wrong. His tech was decent. His security systems were nearly uncrackable, I have one on my private militia base just south of Guam. It wasn't until that damnable Ultra came on the scene that I've had any trouble. That's eight years I've gotten out of it-"

"And you would have had more if his little scheme hadn't failed so spectacularly." Green threw back his drink and idly rinsed his glass out in the fountain. "Imagine, for the small price of a few little cities, you could turn your whole reputation around. Hot water with the press? Need leverage in the UN? Have a machine attack some of your important buildings, arm your police with the remotes to stop it, and you look like a conquering hero, a competent official. There are your next elections won for twenty years-that's how he pitched it. He may have been a shit super, but he was a good salesman."

"You're forgetting one thing," Kremlin pointed out. "It wasn't just him."

Buddy drawled, "Oh lord, yes. You're forgetting Incredible."

Cream Puff groaned. "Please don't say that man's name. Oh, how I'd love to wring his neck. Do you know how many shipments he's denied me, just because he put Brigantine away? Who else was I going to get that had boats that fast? I've had to resort to hiring locals to pick up exchange students from the airport to outfit my lounges."

"He's nearly put Voyage out of business," Edward sighed, regarding the amount of drink he had left in his glass. "And let's be honest, shall we? His son's not better. The little brat Incredible spawned unfortunately does well for himself. Did you hear Petite outside? Can't even keep pickpockets from him!"

"I should introduce him to my father-in-law," Cream puff continued. "You know he bid on Syndrome–was going to use him for one of his parties. He has this marvelous event he was going to put the man in. He did a performance of it before my wedding–you have your star in this glass box and have them diffuse a bomb–give them the instructions and everything and watch them beat the clock. Most just beg and whine and cry and it's really very boring–but some work so hard and actually get it to stop. You should hear them, so smug and vicious about the audience watching them–boom! Like a Christmas cracker! Burst into little red confetti! Bomb can't be stopped. It's amazing seeing the gambit of emotions before it's all just gone with the wind! Syndrome would have been perfect for it with all that bravado."

The group burst into laughter, and this time Bob couldn't force himself to join in. Violet feared that his goblet was going to shatter in his fingers under his white-knuckled grip.

"I would love to see one of those," Green wheedled. "I heard your father's estate is really something else. Is it true he had little ones running about the garden, like naked wood nymphs?"

Luckily, Buddy was there to extract Violet's father before he actually blew their cover in his rage. "Harold, what am I gonna do with you? You're standin' here with an empty glass. C'mon now, wonder of wonders, they've got some decent whiskey." He patted Bob's back and led him back to the food table.

Violet immediately touched his arm, feeling his muscles strain under his suits. Bob squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know how I'm going to stand this."

"It's only going to get worse from here, so suck it up," Buddy said, shoving a plate into his hands.

"Worse than–"

"Eat something, Christ. The hooch hasn't been flowing for that long. When they get drunk is when they start planning, and if you can't take that, wait until you hear their new ideas."

"They-"

"Hate you?"

"But even you!"

"Yeah, congrats, we're both on their shit list. What did you think? They'd have loyalty because you thought I was a card-carrying member of the Global Villain's League? The only thing they love is their image, and if you scowl like that they'll take it as an insult, and you don't want to insult these people."

"They talked about you and Voyage and me like we were...playthings! That story about–"

Buddy held up his hands. "What aren't you getting old man? Did you think you've been walking into a school reunion of all the people you fought? They don't play by your rules. Of course they think that way, they've got no skin in the game. These aren't just villains, they're bankers."

A beat and Bob scoffed incredulously. "Bankers?! Are you se–"

"What do you think this is all about? Hnn? Every war, every troop on the ground, every law passed, every leader elected or not, and tax levied? It's about power; and before it was armies, and before that it was land, but now the way to have unlimited power is money, and even that is just a tool. And who calls in the modern empires' debt at the end of the day? The banks. They hold the purse strings, they collect the taxes, they run the world. Of course we're chess pieces to them, you, me, even Fell. Convenient little battles to start their wars to knock out competition, and all they want to do is win. They let us believe we make a difference, but their battles are all by proxy and you can't hit them because they make damn sure when you swing they aren't there.

"But that's not the point, there's no queen we can corner here, there's no winning that fight. We're here to capture one bishop and that's all."

Violet rubbed her father's back. For all their talk, he was starting to finally understand, and she was sympathetic. The structure of her own understanding, of belief in heroes and villains and nothing more, had been violently knocked from beneath her as well. Their world had been so small and condensed for all of their experience in it.

It was pulling back the curtain and facing, not an enemy with cruel intent and mortal form, but the faceless silence of a machine that slowly churned the entire globe. Mechanical puppeteers long bereft of humanity, more likely to snip strings than ever reach in and scoop up their toys, less their hand be seen on the world stage.

There was no one battle that could end it all, there was no complete victory. Even if they blew this building to kingdom come, others would take their place, and if those were killed, time would produce more vile creatures to follow their forebearers, as Violet and her brothers followed theirs. Evil in whatever form would exist, and their fate was to be locked in eternal combat or retreat.

Her first inclination of this fact had been on courtroom steps, and her actual realization had been nearly fatal. Violet just hoped her father's revelation would be without all the blood.

"Eat, Daddy," Violet whispered. "We'll take over the search."

Bob complied, squeezing her hand quickly as they left.

Violet took Buddy's arm and they began their search in earnest. They found the casino rooms, and Dash at one of the tables, a pile of tokens already gaining some height at his elbow. Violet asked if Buddy had taught him his little counting trick, to which the man pretended not to hear. Dash's unblemished white volto mask hid his look of intense concentration, making for the perfect bluff. It was also eerie and made him seem so much older than he was. Catching her brother's eye, he subtly shook his head. No doctor here.

Mirage and her pearl-encrusted domino was found in a smoking room, seated like an idol on a fine velvet couch before a roaring fire, surrounded by men. They offered drinks and food and lighters for her cigarette, and she laughed and played along with them, giving each just enough attention to keep their interest, but not so much as to believe they had won, thus keeping them close with the allure of succeeding. She waved the couple off, having no success either.

They escaped the crowds by stepping into a quieter wing, lined with various works of art. No one here but a few couples finding something like privacy. Buddy backed her into a corner, leaning a hand on the wall behind Violet's head to appear the same. His fingers brushed her cheek, and a thumb pressed against her earpiece. "Mac, how are you doing?"

When Liam spoke, there was the sound of laughter and a bottle popping in the background. "Hittin' it off with the staff. I've got my in, just waiting on you."

"Might be a while, can't find that fucker anywhere. Any sign of the woman?"

"Not below stairs. I'll see if either doctor has a chauffeur down here."

Buddy pulled his hand away. "Stay here, I'm going into the red rooms."

"I'll go with you. We're already split enough."

Buddy shook his head. "Not there, I don't want you seeing that shit."

"I'm not a blushing maid." Anymore. "I can handle it." The red rooms, those curtained off beds she had seen in the security cameras, were as much privacy as you could get in the hotel that wasn't actually a booked room. Convenient for those wanting a tryst and to get right back to the festivities. And she knew from the files if one could not find a partner, there were plenty to be provided. Her thoughts flashed back to Cream puff's 'lounges' and her father's estate. Her sneer belied her ability to handle seeing such in the red rooms.

"Princess-"

"I'm not letting you go alone, so just give up."

She could perfectly imagine the scowl he was pulling, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and led her on anyway. The ominous red curtains were right off the smoking den's hall. A young man and woman draped in gauzy material that would have passed for togas if they actually bothered to cover anything up flanked the arched doorway. A few people were already speaking to them, asking about the 'availability', one man even tipping the young woman for her answer as they stumbled through the plush curtain that served as a door to the hall, though she obviously had nowhere to put the money.

"Just you," the young man inquired. His almond eyes were sparkling in the low light, but it wasn't with emotion. They were glassy, and despite the darkness, the pupils constricted to pinpoints. "Or do you require a third?"

Violet's fingers itched to examine, to lead him to a chair and check his vitals. Instead, she clutched at Buddy's jacket behind his back. "Just looking for a quick bit 'o privacy, boy," Buddy said in his slathered accent. "Just a little bit to take the edge off before I try my hand at cards."

"There should be at least one bed still available, the one closest to the garden," the girl slurred. Closer up it was obvious she was unsteady on her feet. She gathered part of the curtain to pull it back.

"Thank you, darlin'." With a steady hand keeping Violet close, they ducked beneath. The hall stretched long before them, so red it burned her retinas: the walls, the carpeting, even the ceiling was bunched in claret silk, like the belly of some velvet beast. It ended in french doors flung wide into a garden, and Violet saw a replica of the Venu de Milo centered in the curving stone pathways. The cool breeze from the night air balanced out the humidity of this part of the hotel. And probably to keep the smell to a minimum, Violet thought. Maybe she ought to have let Buddy come here on his own after all.

But she was here now, and happily (if anything about this could be happy) there were no doors, only more curtains sectioning off each 'room'. Physically it was easy to peek through the cracks in the cloth, but hard to stomach the sights. Violet couldn't decide what was worse; those engaging in lurid acts with wild (and noisy) abandon, or those people whose partners were silent, pliant, and unmoving, allowing them to do what they wished with vacant compliance.

She tried to look as quickly as possible as they moved down the hall, not only to keep her light dinner in her stomach but to avoid eye contact. More than once someone had beaconed silently for her to pass through the curtain and join. She'd, frankly, rather walk smiling back into Fell's arms than even consider the offer.

Jang wasn't here either-and in that Violet could be a little pleased. If she had seen or heard him here, she might have thrown the schmoozing plan right out the window in any case.

Buddy led her into the 'open' room and lifted her up to sit on the bed. Her already aching feet were grateful, and she shifted to gather her skirt, covering her knees and making room for him as well. It was more of a lounge settee, wide enough to be a queen-sized mattress, piled with silky blankets and pillows. On a plinth nearby was a tray holding a goblet filled with what looked like powdered sugar beside a candle and pitcher of lemonade. There was a cup that held spoons for stirring and...needles. It took her a few seconds to put them all together. She wanted to gag.

Perching on the edge next to her after checking that their curtain was closed wall to wall, Buddy looked for the camera in this room. Making sure his back was to the lens, he slid off his mask, rubbing his face. "It's like being in hell," he muttered into his palm.

Violet's eyes cut to him. He was so unaffected by everything, acted as if he had seen and was above it all, that she hadn't thought to consider that even he could be rattled by so much debauchery. It felt like a thin, but oily film across her skin, dripping into her ears with each grunt and whimper that chorused around them.

Violet rubbed her palms on her thighs as if the action could slough off the grime of knowing from her flesh. It was insidious, seeing the depravity so readily accepted, glorified, and provided with almost commercial ease. It made her never want to don fine clothes again, kiss her lover or even think about sleeping with him, less the memories of this place infect their lives like a cureless disease. The way Buddy was avoiding her eyes, Violet knew he felt a shade of the same emotion.

Reaching out, she combed her fingers through his thick hair, nails scraping his head the way he always liked. "We get Fell and we get out," she repeated.

He managed a humorless smirk. "Don't seem so bloodthirsty now, do I? We should blow this place to kingdom come."

"Prepare yourself," she muttered. "Cause I'm only going to say this once: You're right."

"Oooh, damn, that's almost better than getting…" Buddy swallowed. He apparently didn't even want to joke about their intimacy in a place like this. Instead, he leaned on his hand and rested his forehead against hers.

"Those poor kids in the front-"

"I know."

"I can only imagine the people they keep here-"

"I know, Violet. Don't. It'll give even us nightmares."

Violet grasped his wrist as he made to replace the mask. She held his chin and said firmly, "I'm sorry, Buddy."

"Wh-"

"I'm sorry I called you a villain. I'm sorry I even thought it." What had he said in the lab? I'm not a monster, I work for a monster. And he had been so right. These people didn't even have the honor of stepping onto the battlefield, of even believing in the actions they were taking. Their only god was power and pleasure, and even then, only if it came at the coast of another. It was their only stipulation and the tenant that made their creed so evil.

They would play like spoiled children, their dolls real people of flesh and blood, hiding behind masks of benefactors and dollar signs to get their way or just a moment's entertainment. Buddy could maim a thousand supers in the name of scientific progress, and he would not even touch the feet of these deities of chaos and horror.

His eyes seemed wide, almost glassy and childlike in the flickering candlelight. "But even in comparison, princess, I'm not-"

Her fingers tightened. "Don't ever compare yourself to these people. You don't belong here. You belong with me." She rested her forehead against his again, looking straight into his eyes. This close she admired the way one was so flawlessly blue, like a sapphire. The other was barely a color but was still trained on her with the same intensity. She wondered briefly if he had lost some vision in that eye. Violet never asked…

He nodded, and seemed glad to replace the heavy mask, less she saw some real emotion break through the bravado. That was fine, for now. They had their whole lives for her to see the real man behind the bluster, who only appeared in the briefest moments of gentility.

"I found him."

Helen's voice cut them to the quick and both reached for their earpieces.

"Who?!"

"Fell?"

"Where is he?"

"Can you capture him now?"

"No, not him. Jang. He's here, in the library. He's got a companion with him, but I can't tell if she's his date or assistant."

"Assistant. Leigh Ann Wright from Zaragoza," Liam suddenly cut into the conversation. "Found his driver too, but maybe we ought to offer him a ride home since the man is off his head on cosmos."

"Hurry, they look like they're going to leave."

"On our way." Violet hopped off the bed, blew out the candle, and knocked the tray off the plinth. She made to leave, catching Buddy's bewildered stare as the dishes rattled and bounced off the floor. "It was either that or set all the curtains on fire."

He nodded and offered his arm. "Thank you for your restraint."

"Any time."

They snuck out into the garden, Violet glad for the cool breeze and the scent of nature. She wished they could take a moment and cleanse their palates with the sight of pretty growing things, but followed Buddy's hurried steps as best she could in her heels. The library was on the second floor and they chanced hurrying up the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator. The room was large, and the darkest room by far with the only source of light being the roaring fire and the stars from the windows. This room was obviously meant for serious and secret conversations rather than pursuing any of the tomes tucked away on the dark wood shelves.

Helen stood, twirling the handle of her mask between her fingers, deep in conversation with a gentleman who was gesturing wildly with his whiskey glass, only held up by the plush armchair he was leaning again, his canary yellow bird mask garish. She touched his arm to excuse herself and had to suffer through him taking her hand and dropping kisses on her fingers and wrist. She managed to politely wrench away and hurried to her daughter.

"He's there, by the windo-what's wrong?" She must have seen how pale Violet looked, and even held Buddy's face, peering into his eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said, surprising them both by not ripping away immediately. "I fucking hate this place."

"Watch your language," Helen chastised out of habit, even while she nodded with grim agreement. "It's almost over. And be careful what you drink. I thought the big crystal bowls had water, but they smell funny."

"Probably cocaine," Violet guessed. It was the one substance she had yet to see openly displayed. "Or vodka and cough syrup. God only knows."

"Where's Dash?"

"Casino. Dad's in the ballroom."

"I'll go make sure they aren't getting into trouble. Be safe." She touched her daughter's rouged cheek before leaving them. The spot where her hand had been warmed Violet.

There, by one of the tall windows, stood a man in whitetails, his simple domino mask off as he spoke to a petite blonde woman. Violet recognized his face and felt her stomach twist. Jang Tae-min stood straight as a column, a healthy weight softening his trim middle-aged form. He was decently handsome and pale, almond eyes bright in a serene face, his chestnut hair combed back stylishly. Violet pulled Buddy toward the roaring fireplace, warming her exposed leg, She fixed his lapels, listening in on the doctor's conversation.

"We have another hour or so," Miss Wright was saying.

"An hour too long in this place. I feel we might be infected just with proximity." Jang's heavily accented voice was surprisingly deep. He slid his mask back on and tied it. "You have my notes?"

"Yes, Doctor Jang. We don't have to stay."

"Nonsense, you deserve to be out of the office once in a while, Leigh. Don't let your dress go to waste. Besides, when else will I be able to publicly humiliate that man?"

"Dr. Fell's own work will expose him-"

"You know how I feel about that: he's not a doctor anymore. Fell, tch! Not even his real name." He spoke in his native Korean, and by the vitriol he implanted in the word, it sounded like an expletive. "Come. Let's see if there's any food out there that won't cause a trip."

Violet glanced at Buddy and cracked a real smile. For once in this year of hell, something might just go easy for them. Violet waited until they were out the door before following quietly. They were near the entrance of the main ballroom when Violet made her move. "Excuse me?"

Both doctor and assistant turned, the former's eyes meeting Violet's and then traveling from face to foot appreciatively. She felt Buddy fall in place behind her, placing a warm hand on the small of her back. It steadied her.

Here we go. Charm. I can do charm. Violet smiled, tucking a curl loosened by their jog upstairs behind her ear. "I hate for you to think I was listening in but did she just call you Dr. Jang? As in Jang Tae-min?"

"I thought the point of a masquerade was to be anonymous," the doctor said, stiffening. His assistant's eyes narrowed, and she mirrored Buddy by coming to the doctor's shoulder as if protecting. "If she did, what business would you have with him?"

"Not business. If you were Dr. Jang I would have simply said I love your articles. I look forward to them in the National Med Report. Your article on amputee dysphoria was fascinating!"

The reserve melted, and the doctor gave her an easy smile. "In that case, even if I wasn't, for now, I am Doctor Jang." He reached a gloved hand out for hers. Violet felt stable strength in his fingers and liked him immediately. "And you?"

"Dr. Sternin."

"A woman as beautiful as you surely has a first name as well?"

Oh sh- With so many names applied to her, so many masks to juggle, Violet had totally and utterly forgotten her identity's first name. She hadn't expected the question and focused solely on her title despite all their preparation. Covering her stalling with what she hoped was a flirtatious chuckle, she cast about for something-anything that would protect her and her team. Not family names or friends, God forbid anyone trace them and find Kari or the house. The 's' of Shadow almost came to her lips, and she had to bite it before stuttering.

Finally, she grasped for a name, deep in her memory, the label she had given herself to match Buddy's slave moniker before Enda ever paired them sartorially. "Lilith."

"Dr. Lilith Sternin, a pleasure." He bent and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "I am flattered that you find my writing so stimulating."

"Absolutely! Truly thought-provoking, especially since I didn't quite agree with the last one."

Violet felt Buddy grip the silk lacings of her gown tightly, could almost feel the words what the hell are you doing in that touch. But her gamble paid off, Dr. Jang was grinning under his satin mask.

"Oh? Well, I must let you know that I only allow lovely young ladies to correct me if they join me in a dance."

"I would dance with you even if I agreed." Violet turned and smiled smugly at Buddy. Her companion's eyes darkened, and she knew he would have kissed her if time and mask did not stop him.

"In that case, it seems we're left out in the cold," he said to Miss Wright. "A dance for an introduction?"

"Let's see how well you dance first," the blonde challenged with a smooth grin of her own, offering her well-manicured fingers to Buddy.

Buddy made a show of leading her to the dancefloor, as far from Violet and her target as possible, giving her room to work on him without the hawk eyes of his assistant. Jang led her into a lazy modified foxtrot, holding her a little closer than fifteen seconds of familiarity would dictate. Still, she let it go, just happy to have gotten this far. "Now, you did not agree with my assessment of surgical addiction?"

"Not entirely. I thought perhaps you might have leaned too heavily on the ramifications of medicinal addiction, and not factoring in the psychological aspect. Addiction versus obsession for instance…"

They fell into conversation quickly, and Violet found that the intelligence in his articles was not feigned. He spoke with a good understanding, was well researched, and was able to quote his sources from memory. She nearly forgot her angle of charming an invite out of him as they moved from his specific case study to the practice of surgery in general. Jang was surprised to hear that she was so new to the profession, complimenting her on her own backlog of retained knowledge.

They moved from the dance floor, idly picking up plates and gathering what little food there was safe to eat (Violet deftly catching him before he ladled out a drink from the crystal bowls). Finding a seat at the bar, they exhausted the conversation about medicine in practice and progressed onto theory in general about their craft. Violet decided to put Buddy's assertion of her assets to the test and crossed her legs, one bare over the other. Jang made a valiant, nearly successful attempt to maintain eye contact, but she did note his gaze flicker to the side whenever he looked down to pick food off his plate.

Despite her subtle manipulations and his susceptibility to his masculinity, Violet wished desperately that they were not in a hive of scum and villainy, and she could wind the hours away picking his brain and asking advice to advance her career. He was experienced enough to know not only the science well but the medical academic world as a whole. And despite his time within, it did not leave him so jaded that he could not let his ideas wander and grow. She wished they had hours to talk and think and postulate. She wished she did not have to pretend to be some other doctor, some other woman, and could tear off her mask and speak plainly.

Her last wish was half granted when Jang pulled out a handkerchief to blot the honey icing from one of the cakes off his fingers, stating casually, "Dr. Sternin, I must admit, am quite impressed with you. Mission accomplished. I think you can safely tell me what you're really after."

Violet was almost glad for his reminder that she was here for a purpose. "After?"

"You did not come here with the intent of complimenting me on a year old article, or to humor me and my theories."

"Maybe I came for the food?"

"It is not that good, and you are not high, so I doubt that is your design." He handed her his handkerchief.

"The cakes were good." They shared a rye smile.

"Please, do not disappoint me by keeping up your facade. You seem too smart to hide it forever."

Swiping carefully at her mouth, she checked her lipstick in a nearby golden vase, giving herself a moment to decide how to approach his sudden shifting of tone. "I heard you speak about Fell, and I admit I feel the same. I take it you're not friends-in fact, I'll bet that he bought a rather special project from under you to try to beat you at your own game.."

Jang's eyes shuttered for a moment, but his smile stayed in place. "Hmm...and I'll bet you're responsible for the Voyage boy losing his coin?"

Violet felt the color drain from her face and fought hard to keep her expression neutral. Jang wasn't only a brilliant doctor, it seemed. Violet had the distinct feeling of being a novice at a very high-stakes game, like she was back at the manor with a bad hand at the poker table.

She didn't respond, waiting for his next move. "Don't worry, I saw nothing. I merely kept a tally of all your coincidences." He ticked them off on his clean fingers. "That you'd just happen to stumble across the one doctor invited to the conference of a man you hate, the one doctor you so happened to know well-so well in fact that you know of my off the books projects, that you so happened to read articles by, out of all the people in this maze of a hotel, and who just so happens to agree with your feelings about Fell?"

Violet forced a smile. "I liked your articles before meeting Fell."

"Ah, so instead of five coincidences it's merely four." He placed the tallied hand on her knee. It was dry and warm against her bare flesh. No supersuit, no protection. "Breathe, Dr. Sternin. I am not about to expose you-rather, I'm flattered. But I would like to be plain and I think all this…" He gestured with his free hand searching for the word in English, "pretense is as distasteful to you as it is to me. We are people of science, not artifice."

"Fell stole something from me," she said as plainly as she could. And it was the truth, maybe not so much physically, though she had some small scars to boast, but he had stolen so much of her life in just a few weeks. "From me and my companion." Violet looked out at the ballroom and found Buddy's telltale red hair. He stood with Miss Wright on his arm, Dash having apparently finished gambling at the tables and now trying his hand at flirting with the assistant. "And now he's using it for this project of his, and I want it back. And I want him."

"His current project?"

"Yes."

Now Jang's smile was anything but friendly. "I see. How wonderful. And here I thought he was merely knocking off my work-it seems he is a thief as well as a plagiarist. I suspect by 'wanting' him it might...take him off the map as it were?"

"Yes. Permanently if my friend has his way." She watched his expression. Jang was a man of healing, but he was also here for all his distaste of the event. He had no trouble with the more sinister aspects of academics, as his bidding on Buddy proved. Remember that, for all you like him, Vi cautioned herself. He tried to buy a man just like Fell.

"It seems that we have the same goal, Dr. Sternin. The fewer Fells there are in the world, the more room for people like you and I to do our research in peace." His hand on her knee squeezed gently, and he reached into his coat, checking his pocket watch. Violet took this moment to drain the water in her glass. Had she once been afraid to be compared to Syndrome? Jang aligning her with the people that tried to buy the villain was almost beyond the pale. "How many do you need to get in?"

"Only three."

The doctor stood and straightened his jacket. "In that case, I think we have just enough time. Gather your people and I will work on your admittance."

---

Standing before the gilt doors of the elevator, Violet felt a little out of her body. The final confrontation with Fell had been so long in coming, so talked about and planned for, that it seemed almost impossible to be finally taking place. That she was standing in a moment she had envisioned over and over again for a year. It felt surreal coming into all the consequences of her choices.

Or maybe she shouldn't have sampled the champagne.

The doors opened with a soft ding and she stepped inside the mirrored box, flanked by her father and lover. The latter pressed the button for the seventh floor. Violet turned and finally faced herself in the reflection, looking straight into her ink-lined eyes. She remembered the last time she had scrutinized her visage so, in the mirror of the hotel. Another old VIolet, freshly dead; one that had not yet been brave enough to embrace love and the man to whom it was for. And as she considered the coin round organs, she knew without a doubt she was bearing witness to another demise.

The Violet who suffered, the Violet before vengeance, the one who could still run with only slightly dirty hands, and as she looked and her face smoothed from lines of worry into an expression of determination she witness the birth of the Violet after who was for death or glory.

Tartarus or Elysium.

How curious that, for all this knowing herself, each version of her always seemed to wear a mask.

Masks to hide her identity, her emotions, her secrets. This one certainly was prettier than Shadow's, but it was also twice as deadly. Shadow, Lilith, Medusa. But underneath them all, just-

"Violet."

Shaken from her introspection, Vi's eyes lifted the to tragedy and comedy behind her. Buddy idly brushed the lone coil of hair from her shoulder. "Just listen, okay? I know what you said, and I get it, and I'm not planning anything stupid. But-"

Not this again. Did he ever tire of hearing his own voice? "No."

"Would you stop? I just in case, want to say-"

"I don't want to hear your crap, Buddy." Violet turned to him. "I'm scared too. This is it, and it's almost too much to handle, but we're not going in there with any last words. So just suck it up." Poking a black painted nail into his chest she ordered, "We're gonna complete the mission, and no one is gonna die. We'll go home, finish this, and then maybe I'll consider marrying you."

"Consider? What, now you're not gonna marry me?"

"I don't know, is the offer on the table, because all I heard about it was you assuming to my father."

"Oh, come on princess. That's what you're gonna get prissy about? Listen, you wouldn't even have to change your initials!"

"Still not hearing a question."

"What, do you want me to get on my knees, right now? These pants are Mode." Violet rolled her eyes, returning her gaze forward to the slowly moving arrow gliding from the elegantly scripted three to four with a soft ding. This must have been the slowest elevator in history. In the mirror, she saw Buddy glance at Bob. "I suppose I shouldn't even bother asking you."

The father folded his arms. "It would be the right thing to do, so you're obviously not going to."

"Fine then! Fine, everyone wants me to ask so I will. Can I marry your daugh-"

"No." Buddy threw up his hands, but Bob continued. "What does it matter, you'll get what you want anyway, you always do."

"Always-"

"You wanted a super suit, and you have one. You wanted to be a hero, and here you are. You wanted into my family and it looks like we're stuck with each other."

"Technically, she'd be part of my family." A beat. "...So what if I did, princess?"

"Did what?"

"Ask."

"You're a scientist, you know the method if you have an inquiry."

"Vi." A soft ding and they were at the sixth floor. Violet felt his hand on her shoulder again, turning her back towards him. "If we live through this, and if we get back home without all of us killing each other if we possibly can, and if they don't throw me in the clink on sight, would you want to be my wife?"

Violet looked up into his eyes, so icy blue they burned, and almost blushed from the intensity (and proximity to her parent). Wife, another name other than her own to add onto the pile, but one she'd stitch to her heart with pride. In her heels, she didn't even have to lean up to press her lips to the cold fake ones of his mask, the tragedy hiding the hope and love beneath. "Yes, Buddy. When we get back, and when this is done, and when you're free of all of it, I will be your wife."

"Ah jeez," her father sighed.

She could almost feel Buddy's smirk. "Now, see, if we had established this earlier, there wouldn't have been a fight. Now I got something to live for."

"To see me in a wedding dress?"

"To see him have to call me 'son' and not vomit." Buddy laughed. "And yeah, the dress thing too, on the fl-" He didn't get to finish that sentence as her father's hand connected sharply with the back of his head. His eyes narrowed, before he shrugged it off, apparently agreeing that it was deserved.

Ding.

The doors slid open, the hall beyond once again barely illuminated. The ambient noise and light from the party below drifted up over the balcony, a muted buzz against the still darkness. This corridor was lined with four double doors, each leading to another ballroom. The entrance at the end was flung open, a few guests lingering outside, talking softly. Violet and her men approached almost reverently, like entering a parlor for a funeral.

Buddy swore softly, running a hand through his vibrant hair. One of the men gathered at the doors was wearing a floor-length jacket made from white lamé, and the only one not speaking in hushed tones as he bragged about his show in Milan. Kurtz.

"He won't recognize you," she murmured.

"I know. I still technically owe him money, so let's just keep distance just in case."

"Weren't you rich?"

"Yeah, but I blew a lot on the last robot. Don't worry we'll be able to pay for the honeymoon-one hotel room isn't that steep." He ducked his head, half to avoid Kurtz, half to avoid another cuff from Mr. Incredible.

"I see Fell's car," came Liam's strained voice.

All three stopped at the edge of the small crowd slowly filtering into the ballroom. Violet pressed a finger to her earbud. "We're about to go in, it's going to start in a few minutes. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Something. I don't know. He's got no guards."

"What do you mean no guards," Buddy snapped.

"I mean that he's getting out with that woman in a super suit and that's it. I don't see anyone around him, no one is escorting him. No Russians–but…I dunno. He seems too confident. They've got to be here somewhere."

"The Kremlin is in enough hot water," Bob supplied. "The NSA is still investigating whether or not they were responsible for kidnapping Violet. They don't want to be seen publicly supporting the man they were trying to hide."

"Maybe. If they're not with him, they're somewhere, I know it. Just...be careful. I'm heading to the main office now."

Wright was waiting for them just outside the doors. She spoke to the doorman in Japanese before gesturing that they follow her inside. Crossing the threshold twisted Violet's stomach, the same grip stepping into the lab's OR had caused. She rubbed her wrist, finding only the thin silver chain bracelet, not the chunky white wristband. I am here, not there. He is with me, and we are… They weren't safe, but they were together. Just as good.

The tables were covered in a dark brocade cloth, crystal goblets and a golden pitcher set on each. Most were already filled with guests, talking softly. A few had that damnable file with them, flipping through it idly with the same thoughtless touch as one would a magazine in a dentist's office.

Jang stood and pulled out Violet's chair for her. His place was right in front, at the edge of the dancefloor. Violet had to tilt her head up to see the projector screen on the stage high above them. The statues of warriors looked no more inviting in relief than in the darkness of the security camera, their weapons glinting in the low up-lighting at the edges of the room.

When all the tables were filled, the doors shut with a low thud, and Violet felt Buddy's leg jump beside her. Neither were comfortable in closed rooms they didn't own. A palm to his knee seemed to calm him. "It's almost done," she murmured.

"I doubt that." Jang took his notes from his assistant and flipped through them. "He's long-winded, we might be here a while."

The sudden silence that followed his words forced his head up into the dead stares of his smuggled-in guests.

"I wouldn't count on that," Violet informed softly. The doctor's brow rose, but she gave nothing away in her expression. This time his gaze coursing over her body was searching rather than for pleasure. But he'd find no hidden weapon here. I am a weapon, princess.

"I won't settle in, then. At the very least this will prove...interesting."

From somewhere behind, a projector started, bathing the screen in bright white light. Violet covered her eyes with her free hand, and through her fingers saw a figure's shadow cast against the wall.

When her eyes adjusted, she almost wished for blindness again. There, high above in center stage, the white projector cast Dr. Fell in stark relief. He placed his papers on the podium and adjusted his dinner jacket. He looked more like a malnourished penguin than a guest, but the ridiculous nature of his appearance only added dread; evil using the freshly dressed lamb's skin to appear placid; all the looks of innocence but still reeking of blood.

He looked out at his audience, and suddenly the spindly little wire that kissed her cheeks didn't seem like enough to obscure her face. He was just as grotesque as she remembered: thin, his too red mouth stretching in an awful grin. The light shone greasily on his parted black hair, and on his palms after he patted it down.

"Welcome, and thank you for your attendance honored guests. I am here to present to you my progress on the Prometheus Project, and to inform you of the great opportunity my findings can afford, not only you but the world as we know it all with little more than the generosity of your patronage. I will not keep you too long, as our gracious host has thrown a rather delightful party as I'm sure you've partaken in. Let us begin."

Each over-pronounced syllable dropped like acid in her stomach. Violet had to turn her face away, to stall her racing thoughts, to avoid remembering what the dormouse said! Feed your head! Feed your-

No-not now. She couldn't freeze and be locked back in that Mobius strip of horror playing over and over until she drowned in the trauma. She had to focus, she had to keep her wits about her. She had to be filled with purpose, and failing that, she'd pour into the well of her mind hatred. That fire would melt any fear crystalizing in her veins, turning her numb with inaction.

Beside her, Buddy shifted, and her gaze cut to him. His hands were gripping the cloth of the table tightly, shaking with the effort. But before she could give any silent comfort, her father leaned closer. She heard him murmur something, but couldn't make it out. Whatever words Bob gave him, worked. His grip relaxed and he sat taller in his chair. Sometimes I feel like I still fucking do…

Fell took a remote from his pocket and pointed it at the back wall. The first slide slotted into place taking up the right side of the screen. THE LAZARUS PROJECT was stamped in bold black letters. "The Prometheus Project is what I like to call my penicillin; came upon quite by accident. It was a brainchild that developed during the course of my previous work. You will all recall when Xerek extracted Syndrome from Metroville."

The slide changed, and Violet was face to face with the dethroned visage of her nightmares. Syndrome, masked and leering, peered down at the room. It was a still from news footage, where he had introduced himself to the masses as their new savior. And all at once, she realized how young he looked. Dear God, barely older than she was now, his face full and healthy, his eyes matching. And despite the latent sickness that came with seeing the man who had haunted her childhood nightmares, there was a type of longing. A desire for a time when his smirk was the evilest thing she'd ever seen.

Fell flicked through various copies of newspapers all detailing the Metro Monster and the failure of Syndrome's plan, most splashed with photos of the house wreckage caused by the fallen jet, a smoking pile of burnt rubble. No human could survive that. Violet's hand on Buddy's thigh tightened, making sure he was real and alive beside her.

The slide Fell stopped at certainly didn't help her growing nausea. It was a photocopy of a medical file. The photo of Buddy on the operating table was vile, blood-spattered, and marred with fresh burns and open coagulating wounds. She saw the beginnings of mangled flesh just below the knee–but the photo cut off there. A list too long for the slide trickled down beside the photo. None too quickly he changed it to the next horror; Fell's signature and that of Xerek with a price paid: $25,000,000.

Violet's jaw dropped. You don't know how many zeros you can fit onto a check until you've seen some of my payouts. No wonder Fell needed investors.

"After winning the bid, I saved his life by reconstructing his body, using his own materials. A bit of recycling, a bit of using what you have in the fridge, you know." His lips widened further into a sickening grin. But what was worse was the small wave of chuckles that responded all too eagerly. "His skeletal frame is made up of 78% of what I shall call for convenience sake, omnimetal including a heart chamber that is nearly impossible to break. But I am no engineer. Better to hear it from the mouth of the creator himself."

The other half of the screen lit up, and Violet heard the clicking of a film projector. The last time she heard that sound she'd been wrapped up in the arms of her lover, flushed with passion and desire. Now her skin felt clammy and cold. The video was of Syndrome, speaking to the camera, obviously looking for buyers himself. He wore his mask and a black suit-probably a prototype before the black and white garb he settled on. Beneath the table, Buddy's fingers closed over hers in a vice grip.

"The metal is an alloy whose primary parts are made up of tungsten, carbon, phosphorus, and several other compounds. The only substance to successfully pierce through it...is itself-all other metals break. Despite its high melting point, it is an easy substance to work with, and its weight will make any building nearly immovable, impenetrable, and unshakable-therefore any base constructed of it could virtually be indestructible no matter location. You no longer need fear invasion or even discovery. The perfect form of hiding and defense."

The celluloid phantom continued talking, delving deeper into the complexities of his creation, listing off numbers and percentages. Violet however was distracted by the silver of his voice, smooth with the barest touch of metal. All his screaming damaged his vocal cords, she reasoned, almost detached. Too overwhelmed, her sense of disgust seemed to have shut down completely.

Fell paused the video with another click of his remote. "So you see, I've made an indestructible man. Pierce his flesh, cut him, hurt him, but you can never break him-"

"That was eight years ago, was it not?" Dr. Jang's voice shocked Violet nearly out of her skin. The prosthetist leaned forward, peering down at his notes. "You say he cannot be destroyed but that is not quite true, is it, my friend?"

Fell's smile faltered for a moment, and he peered into the gloom that was his audience as murmurs rose about them, the entire crowd twisting in their seats to view the doctor. "Ah. Tae-min. Forgive me but this confre-"

"Is about information. If we are to invest, Paul, it's best to have all the facts. You call your Lazarus indestructible, but how useful is that really? I see that he is not here with you. I am unsurprised. The fact that he has not degraded yet is a miracle."

Jang lifted up his notes standing, and Violet eyed them with more fear than she had saved for the doctor above them. "I've been running tests on this omnimetal as you've called it. It has a weak point for, of all things, iron. The chemical makeup might be indestructible to outside resources, but it was never meant to be housed within the body, constantly exposed to its greatest weakness on the molecular level. By my calculations, the man you've created will not last before the skeleton begins to degrade due to his very own blood-that is if the weight alone has not damaged what organs he retains. Another year, perhaps? Months at this point considering almost a decade has passed-"

"That is neither here nor there, Tae-min," Fell cut over sharply. "As I said, this project was merely a…a catalyst to Prometheus. My gift of fire."

And for the first time in her life, and surely the last, Violet was grateful to Fell. Grateful that he had stopped Jang before he had gone on to give proof to his words, for that was surely what he held. Numbers and compounds and tests and undeniable, unescapable proof. It wasn't fear that crawled icy over her body now. The heat of her rage cooled under this new emotion. Dread? Shock? Violet didn't have the words to describe it beyond petrification.

It was as if her heart stopped, the blood refusing to flow, her brain refusing to think. Violet knew that metal rods were often implanted into patients, which is why she had given the health of Buddy's new framework no mind. But such items were specially designed.

Violet had no understanding of this omnimetal and was sure Buddy could never have foreseen it being used in such a way. She thought back over their year, remembering every time Buddy had thrown back oxy just to get through the day, the volume of the pharmacies they had stolen from as Ultra. Every night she had lain beside him, watching him drop off into a perfect and immediate sleep, was something she had attributed to her new skill as a lover. But seeing through the eyes of a doctor instead, she recognized a medically induced coma even if it was brief. Dear God, how many times had Violet seen him swallow tablets without bothering to count, before nearly any activity?

It wasn't simply that he had healed wrong, was made up wrong, and was dealing with the after-effects-the pain came from his body breaking down. Jang predicted months, and he didn't even know about the electrical torture, the tinkering she and Liam had done, the vigorous activity Ultra had been engaged in. How many hours had Buddy unknowingly shaved off from his life?

How many minutes did she have left, no matter what choices they made?

Buddy was going to die, no matter the outcome tonight. There would be no wedding in their future, no nights curled together, no morning waking up in each other's arms.

"Vi." Buddy's whisper drew her attention. His eyes were glassy behind his mask, and she saw the tears swimming in them, and saw the grief mirroring her own. There were long moments where Fell was attempting to regain the goodwill of his conference, but neither of them heard a word. Buddy's hand turned and laced their fingers, giving hers a soft squeeze.

An apology. Buddy told her it was so much worse to mourn what you did not have-but she couldn't possibly fathom a pain worse than this. And she did feel the pain. As the first cut of it lanced through the frozen shock that encased her, she knew, at that moment, she was going to kill Fell.

"If your previous attempts to amaze failed, why should we believe this will be any better," Jang shot over the doubting murmurs of the crowd.

"As with any new science, there will be failures that pave the way to success. The body of my creation is far less interesting than his brain. You see, in addition to making his physicality, as you've pointed out, only nearly perfect as a soldier, I also simulated neural pathways to invoke muscle memory of instincts he had not learned. I had done in one afternoon what scores of martial arts masters would have taken years to teach. This is the material point, as you have no doubt seen in section five of your packets. And I believe you will find this discovery…most fascinating."

Jang began to speak again, but suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. He landed with an unceremonious thud, looking surprised at either the of the digits owner audacity or her strength.

Beside their table was the woman in white, sequin flames dully shimmering in the low light. The woman Violet had seen from the camera did not look more impressive in reality. In fact, she was rather small, Fell's height and just as slender. Her eyes were hard under her bangs, and the slight twitch of Jang's mouth showed she took no care to be gentle. She made sure he understood his place a moment longer before leaving them to disappear into a doorway to the side of the room.

"After harvesting Syndicate's resources, I began to study Syndrome's information on the supers," Fell continued above them. "What he lacked in any sort of heroic competency he certainly made up for in reconnaissance and data. His teams had, through their study of the supers, begun to postulate how their powers came to be. What made a person superhuman? Genetic mutation? Exposure to a radioactive substance at a young age?

"No. Like so many things, they hypothesized it began in the gestational period; it began in the brain. And I had already managed to command the organ to remember commands it was never taught. Why could I not make it superhuman as well?" Another click of the remote and Syndrome's medical file was switched out with another.

Violet starred up, not at Shadow's image, but at her own college ID photo. No mask, no secrecy any longer. VIOLET PARR, it read, and beneath was typed her whole existence in bullet points. This whole room of monsters, hitmen, villains, and traffickers suddenly and horrifically knew her.

Age: 26
Sex: Female

Mother: Elastagirl

Father: Mr. Incredible
Other Associates: Speedo, Frozone, Echo, Voyd

Alias: Incredigirl (former), Shadow (current)

Powers: Invisibility, force fields, accelerated healing.

"I see," Dr. Jang breathed. He was not fool enough to turn to Violet, but he surveyed her from the corner of his eyes. "He has stolen a great deal from you, Doctor 'Sternin'. A great deal indeed. I am sorry about your partner."

"I caught this latest specimen a year ago and made great strides in studying her. All of her powers originate in the postcentral gyrus, unlike a majority of supers whose hormones and glands make up their powers with their brains merely supply direction, confirming the Syndicate theories. By studying her brain I finally cracked how to implant powers without killing the subject." Snapping his fingers, the door he had entered from opened once more.

His man-made super entered once more, smiling out at them proudly. Her strawberry locks shone red in the spotlights as she came to Fell's side, and memory lanced through Violet. Oh my God–

The man slid a hand under her chin, proudly lifting it. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Lucy. My third successful implantation. I'm afraid it's quite true what they say; where a son disappoints, daughters are always sure to do proud."

Third…

"I have given her the same muscle memory as Lazurus." He grinned at the audience, pushing back her feathered bangs to show the thin red scar. "But where I failed to implant powers in him, I have succeeded in her. It seems female brains are more receptive to the procedure. Excel, even. Her healing takes minutes, not days. Modifications to the brain, supplemented by hormonal injections to expedite the process. Not only can her body heal, but it is also stronger than before, able to produce the hormones that develop the muscle, enough to rival even Mr. Incredible. And soon, once I...modify the omnimetal, I shall outfit her with a new indestructible skeleton.

"Look, and see the future. No longer will we be burdened by supers, either in trying to destroy them or buy them to our sides. We will no longer be beholden to nature's lottery, or bloodlines. We can create an equalizing force, we will be able to do what they do. Imagine the possibilities of having your very own super-a militia, an army of them at your command? I-"

Fell ducked a half-second before the black Melpomene connected with his face. Instead, the mask shattered on the wall behind him. Violet started and reached out for Buddy's arm.

But he was no longer beside her.

"Command only if you can keep them!" Buddy, already carrying his collapsed baton, stood on the barren dance floor, the projector's light making his white coat brilliant and casting him in an angelic glow within the gloom. "Which you're pathetic at. You've shown my failures-let's reexamine yours. Where's your lab? Where's your soldier and your specimen?"

Fell came to the edge of the stage. But he wasn't afraid, not even rattled. No, he was smiling that cartoonish grin that made Violet want to hurl. "Lazarus. Welcome home my son-"

"I'm not your son." With a snap, the baton elongated. "And your time of breeding is done, Fell."

The mad man clapped his hands, returning his gaze to the hushed crowd. He certainly had their attention now "We are fortunate, my friends! You will be able to see for yourselves the worthiness of my project." Turning to his companion, he nodded. "Go on Lucy. Defeat your predecessor."

Lucy smirked, nodding to her master. With a graceful jump, she landed on the dancefloor below. Eyes always on Buddy she circled the perimeter, going to one of the statues and lifting a meteor hammer from its grasp. The chain slithered over her fingers, the clinks like the warning rattle of a deadly snake.

Bob started to rise. "We have to-"

"No," Violet hissed, grabbing his sleeve. "Not yet." Fell wasn't scared. His confidence might just be bravado, but Violet recalled what Buddy had said. He's a smart son of a bitch, so don't underestimate him. He wasn't rattled, which meant he suspected something like this might happen.

Which meant he was as prepared as they were.

Buddy's hand tightened on his baton as he began to prowl the perimeter, mirroring his opponent. "Lucy, huh? What's your real name?" The woman didn't answer, and Buddy tried one last olive branch. "I know you feel you must protect the doctor, for your own safety. He won't be around much longer to hold your leash so don't you worry. I'm asking you, honey: Walk away."

Lucy let out an indelicate snort that dissolved into giggles. "Walk away?" Her voice was high-pitched, too young for her grown form. "Like you? Limp away from godhood because of one little specimen? I've heard about you, Syndrome. You're a pathetic hero and an even worse scientist. Don't you know you aren't supposed to grow attached to your subjects? You hated Incredible, and he slipped through your fingers. And his daughter? A little pleading and you let her destroy your hopes of ascending."

Buddy lifted his chin, his unmasked face showing all the disturbed disgust Violet felt at the woman's tones. She talked like a sycophant. "You're insane."

"I am free!" Lucy's lips pulled back in a snarl. "I was plucked from obscurity, and now I am a god. You would grovel and beg and ask for entrance into greatness. Make a mimicry of it, and content yourself with being just a shadow in the background! I am great. I am one of them now. No longer do they have a monopoly on change in the world. You would squander the opportunity to be them just to be accepted by them. You're a lap dog, with no bite."

The hammer of her weapon fell onto the floor with a loud and final thunk.

Cocking a brow, Buddy raised the baton and waited. He watched as she swung the hammer, each rotation of the chain building speed and force. She advanced slowly and let the chain slide through her fingers, the hammer swinging wide in a strike Buddy ducked.

Then the battle was on in earnest.

Violet saw her lover struggle, eyes constantly flickering between Lucy's footwork and the ever-nearing swing of the hammer. He was forced on the defensive, ducking and rolling, his movement the only thing saving him as he slid right of the way, making no strikes himself. But the momentum of the hammer only increased its lethality, Lucy swinging it about her arms, catching it on her heel or hand or even once her own neck to give it momentum to shoot out and try to bludgeon her target. She turned, lifting her leg in what looked like a kick, and Buddy feinted left, but she only caught the chain on her calf to divert the hammer, and with a kick sent it sailing straight at his chest.

It connected with a loud wet crunch and sent him sailing backward onto the surface of one table, the guests shouting and stumbling out of the way, trying to clear the battle. Most of the attendees were on their feet now, backed against the walls, their artificial faces in the low light ranging from devilishly amused to grotesquely hungry. Buddy rolled off the table, grabbing one of the legs and flipping it up like a shield. He coughed and spat blood on the floor.

The meteor crashed through it in a shower of splinters, bisecting the wood, but giving Buddy just enough time to run, and slide under her legs on the smooth dance floor. Lucy followed and struck again, but Buddy swung his baton like a bat, rocketing the missile back towards her. She ducked, but the metal ball ricocheted off of one of the statues, sending it and its spear to fall haphazardly on the ground, ragged shattered chunks and weapon sticking up into the air. The hammer knocked the back of Lucy's head n the return, sending her ass over tea kettle to the floor.

The former villain lunged, and nearly ground the end of the baton directly into her face. She moved at the last second and the metal merely made a divot into the ground. She stood, and Violet saw with no little amount of horror a cut on her cheek close and heal even as a droplet of blood tracked her jaw. How would he stop her, if he couldn't hurt her?!

Now Buddy was chasing her, not giving her time to wind up the hammer again, staying close enough only for hand-to-hand combat. But he was slower than her, and she wasn't burdened by a metal skeleton. She managed to avoid each of his strikes, the baton merely chipping away at the wood of the floor and stage rather than her bone.

Buddy swung the baton up, and it caught her arm, but on the downswing, she got under his guard and kicked him hard in the bloody wet spot where the meteor had made first contact. It sent Buddy staggering. With barely any build-up she swung her weapon, and when Buddy ducked the initial strike, the chain caught him, wrapped around his neck, and the spiked meteor lodged itself into the wood of the stage behind him.

She tested it with a tug that sent Buddy gasping to his knees, his free hand trying to tug the chain from her grip. When it didn't budge she wrapped the chain around her arms and pulled and pulled, coming closer as she shortened and tightened the chain until his gasps became spluttering chokes.

He can still choke like a man.

Buddy lashed out with the baton, but Lucy caught it in her hand, the metal denting under her superhuman strength. "What was that," she asked in response to one of his splutters that sounded like attempted speech. "Last words Lazarus?" She loosed the chain, only a bit to allow one measly stream of air into his lungs, and leaned close.

"Yo...you're strong. But...it...don't mean shit..." he gasped. His bloody hand on the chain came up and pressed a finger into her temple. "Without this."

With a twist, he yanked the blade free of the sheath Lucy held and shoved it upward–straight under her chin. The point burst through her skull, birthing splitters of bone and grey matter. Buddy gasped as the chain loosened, Lucy's corpse going slack and releasing its noose. With some difficulty, Buddy ripped the chain over his head and threw it to the side. He stood and shook the failed experiment off his blade, tearing it from her skull's hold, showering him in a geyser of blood.

Silence but for his fine shoes tapping on the dancefloor as Buddy stepped back into the middle of the light, blood dripping down his white jacket like garnet jewels in the spotlight. Fell came to the edge of the stage, matching his victim step for step.

"So Paul. Any more gods for me to kill?"

Fell sighed, tossing his remote to the side. But he was still smirking. "So much money wasted. Ah, well. Lazarus-or is it Syndrome again?"

Violet, pressed a finger to her ear. "Now Liam."

On cue, the lights cut out, and the room erupted into screams. There was a great scramble, and Violet felt her chair be knocked as guests ran for the doors, overpowering the guards and flinging them open. The emergency lights from the hall gave the room scant light, and they could hear from the speaker system outside:

"Ultra is now in command. Evacuate while you still live."

"How many names can one woman carry?" Jang, who had not moved a muscle the entire time, finally faced Violet, his head tilted. He glanced over her shoulder to where her father finally pulled off his mask, revealing his Incredible one underneath.

Violet twisted the lone loose coil of hair up, using one of the pins already there to hold it. "Perhaps we can continue our discussion later, Dr, Jang. It's best that you evacuate."

He stood, buttoning his jacket as if the entire room was not pandemonium around him. He left her with, "indeed. Until we meet again, Doctor Parr."

Finally, when the last guest had scurried out, Fell's expression broke, a little surprise seeping in under the smug. "I see! You prefer Ultra. I knew you had a hand in it. But does anyone listen to me?" Fell sneered down at Buddy, not yet giving up the stalemate. "So this is what you planned: to frighten away mice and assassinate me? And what will that accomplish, tell me? Do you think killing me will kill an idea, the same idea you had? To be super? To be great? Look around you, son. This entire event is nothing but men and women crawling for the want of greatness. This ball was created to celebrate that desire, to showcase how they will squirm over each other like worms for it. And its creator knows that. In fact, he looks very favorably upon me. So much so...he's willing to bend the rules."

The doors on either side of the stage banged open, and the missing Russian guards stormed in. Twenty in all, each armed with Avtomats, and all pointed straight at Buddy. From behind, Violet heard feet pounding over the continual racking of gun slides, growing closer, too many just to be the rest of their team. Beyond that, there were shouts, distant calls for Ultra's blood. Russians to their front, yakuza, and an entire ballroom half-filled with supervillains and worse to their backs. Flanked on both sides, and Violet heard fighting beginning just outside as they turned on one another. Worms indeed.

"It's amazing what you can do when you have friends in the right lines of government. I don't know how many you can take," Fell continued conversationally. "After all, I built you to take a shot. Let's indulge in one last experiment, shall we Lazarus? STREL'BA!"

A hail storm of lead roared down, kicking up wood and stone beneath, a dust cloud of destruction coiling up to the ceiling, filling the room until there was nothing but the sound of gunfire, and the color of debris. The smoke and particles began to settle, and in their journey downwards, parted over the humming dome of purple, still crackling from the ricochet of bullets. Buddy stood, unbroken, at the ready, and totally untouched within. With a click of heels, Violet emerged from the settling smoke, mask hanging uselessly from her fingers by the ribbon.

Fell took a step back, his mask of calm slipping. "Violet," he breathed in that horrifically overly pronounced way. "Ah...I see. That is why you failed in taking out Ultra. Had your reward anyway, eh, Lazarus? You know, if things had worked out I would have called you Laura. But I think Leda is better. She too fucked a monster."

The footsteps were closer now.

"I'd love to stay, but I know when I've worn my welcome." Fell ran.

"Dad!"

Mr. Incredible ran for the door, bypassing climbing the stage by simply barrelling through it. She heard the change of magazines as the Russians who had not fallen through the collapsed flooring reloaded. Dispersing the shield around Buddy she threw a sphere at one who was already aiming, knocking his gun and pointing it down the line. It fired and several of his fellows were caught in the spray, the rest falling off into the ruin of the stage to avoid getting hit.

The yakuza finally arrived, and with a cry, a blood-spattered Buddy joined the fray, going blade to blade with the man Violet had seen earlier. Violet kicked back the remaining chairs, feeling the heel of her shoe click and reveal the blade within. Somewhere beyond their ballroom, there was an explosion that rocked the floor. Apparently Petite also felt above the rules.

In her ear, she heard a mix of voices, Liam and MIrage and Mr. Incredible all trying to track the fleeing Fell, while Helen ordered Dash to protect your sister. Violet was able to comprehend that Fell was heading for the main entrance where the crush of bodies was most dense. She screamed this out to her partner before joining the battle. They had to fight towards the door, get moving, find him.

Violet dove and ducked, more than well trained for men who were half in their cups. She, by now, was used to the fluid almost programmed moves of her lover. In comparison, the yakuza, and surviving Russians who were armed with their boot knives after exhausting their bullets, seemed slow and signaled every attack. But no matter how experienced she was, it was a difficult fight to manage-seven to one was never good odds.

A knife cut at her skirts, meaning to get the back of her knee, and Violet ripped off the remaining chiffon, leaving her legs bare and moveable. She blocked with her shields, keeping it ever at her back and moving it to where the next strike came from, sometimes leaning back on it where it was in the air to kick higher, roll backward or duck under.

Beside her Buddy's clothes were already tattered from cuts, each barely missed slice revealing Ultra's suit beneath, tearing a piece of elite artifice off him with every blow made. He had found the bent sheath of his blade and was using it to block, cutting on the upswing.

Blood rained down on them, coating the floor and making it hard to stand straight let alone move, not to mention how her hair was coming loose, serpentine locks swaying in her vision. Violet was almost to the door, almost free to run into the hall and jump off one of the balconies to capture Fell. She sunk her heel into the thigh of an oncoming Russian blocking her path, but her support foot skidded in a pool of blood.

Shrieking as her adductor muscle pulled wrong, forcing her into a near split, she fell to her knees. Buddy's worst fears were realized when someone grabbed the end of her hair, twisting it in their fist and yanking her backward, nearly pulling her head from her body, her gaze forced to the ceiling. She saw a yakuza look over, see an opportunity, and raise his tanto sword, aiming for her exposed throat. Her shield came up just in time, the blade scraping, sliding off from the force of his blow and she felt a tight ripping at her scalp before her head was free. She rolled away leaving her assailant with her two feet long hair still clutched in his fist-attached to an arm currently on the ground, separated from its owner. The yakuza's sword had done its job to the wrong target.

But she had no time to recover.

"Violet!"

Just as Violet drew breath, she saw the tip of a bowie knife nearly at her chest-no time to shield-no time to move-

In a blur of white, Dash crashed into Violet's would-be killer, sending him sailing through the air. With a gurgling grunt, the guard landed squarely on the spear of the upturned warrior statue, his own weight dragging him down the shaft and leaving the tip glittering claret.

"No! Shit!" The boy skidded to a halt, starting for the man–but there was nothing to be done. He was sunk too low on the spear, hands weakly grasping at the blood-coated stick, desperately trying to pull himself up and off, each tug weaker than the last as he coughed and spluttered, choking on his own fluids.

Dash reached for him, but as the man let out a death rattle, the boy caught sight of the blood spattered on his white jacket, a prize from his first-ever kill. In one moment, before she could even attempt a helping hand, Violet watched her baby brother die; the brother who did not kill, the brother who was young and new to the world, protected and sure. Doubt and horror washed over his face as Violet's worst nightmare manifested, and a Knowing Dash was born on a blood-soaked dancefloor.

Violet lost the second man she had tried so desperately to save from death.

She could see the shock in his eyes, the inability to comprehend what he had done, to weigh saving his sister with the murder of another being, but there just wasn't time. "Dash!" Violet grabbed her brother's shoulders. Fell, Fell escaping. This would not be in vain; they would not die for nothing! "Dash-damnit Dash look at me." Her shout shook him and he complied. "Find Fell! If he manages to get out you follow him."

"But you-Mom s-"

"I know what she said, listen to what I'm saying now: Go!" Dash made to look back at the corpse he created, and Violet grabbed his face. "I need you to do this for me Dash-I'll be fine!"

That was all he needed to hear, before disappearing through the hole in the wall their father had created, leaving nothing but wings of dust and blood in his wake. By that time the fighting had spilled into the hall. Violet ran back to the fray and saw over the balcony her parents dealing with the various villains who recognized them. Most had been knocked cold-some tied tightly to the columns that still stood by the decorative cloth that had been hanging from them.

Buddy was still fighting, sporting a new cut on his cheek, but not undone-just beyond him Liam skidded in from the emergency stairwell. He ripped off the ridiculous golden lamé jacket he had used to sneak into the control room and threw it over the head of one of the yakuza before roundhousing his covered head.

The yakuza with the tanto sword, somehow still breathing, turned on Violet, wanting his revenge. She threw up her shields, blocking each strike of his sword. He learned quickly though, and connected his blade with her shimmering shield, pushing her backward. Already unsteady on her slippery heels, Violet gave way, and her back met with the balconies railing. With a shout, he shoved again, and Violet went over, wind and Buddy's scream in her ears.

She shielded herself in a sphere and bounced off of something-her mother, stretched flat and wide to save her from meeting the marble of the floor. Violet righted herself as Buddy landed beside her, having jumped from the balcony after her. Helen reverted, grabbing her daughter's arm. "Fell got into a car-Dash followed–Go!"

"You-"

"We'll figure it out here. Go, Violet, we've got it covered." Behind Helen, Bob had taken a hint from Buddy's fight with Lucy and was currently using a column like a bat, knocking villains and guards down alike in fell swoops. Liam had snatched up the Russian guns and he and his wife were aiming through the railings of the balcony, picking off men and women with deadly accuracy, creating a path for the supers out of the hotel.

"C'mon!" Buddy grabbed her arm, steadying her as they ran for the servant's entrance, both of them bursting into the concrete halls they had slunk through before. Violet snarled in frustration as she tripped and stumbled, and used a corner of the wall to break off the knife heels, turning her shoes into stiff, awkward, but certainly more stable flats and tucking the blades into one of the drapes of her bodice. Buddy slapped his watch as they burst into the cold night, and a second later, headlights cut through the darkness, Baby gliding obediently to his side, both Ultra helmets attached to the handles.

Buddy tossed her one and ripped the other on. Punching a few buttons on the control panel, it lit up, a small dot appearing on the map; Dash's homing device, the same one stitched onto every suit Edna made for their family. The woman always had her reasons, especially when it came to specially designing for The Incredibles. Violet thanked her foresight now, as she, the censored covered helmets, bike, and the tattered remains of her gown winked out of sight, all susceptible to her power.

They glided at alarming speed down Tokyo's streets, weaving in and out of cars who never knew the chaos coming up right behind them.

"I found his base," came Dash's gasping voice in their helmets. "But he's leaving soon, I know it. I'll try to stop him-"

"We're on our way," Buddy snapped as he blew through a red light, causing several people to shriek as some invisible gust of wind almost knocked them over.

Violet clung to her driver, heart pounding in her ears. He can't escape, I won't let him. I will not fail. She willed Baby to go faster, prayed that Fell was delayed, prayed Dash could stop him.

They continued south, the ride seeming dangerously long despite how the world had become a multicolor blur in the gloom, the dots of color whirling by lessening in amount with every minute that passed. Once again they zoomed out of Tokyo proper, weaving on the back roads through forested paths until pavement ran out beneath them and Baby was off-roading between the trees.

The beeping from the bike's tracker grew louder as they came upon a clearing. A small patch of grass before the earth bowed into a valley. There, nestled at the bottom was a solid block of a building, white with grayed-out windows, stark in the dark of the forest. A parking lot and back road snaked behind it like a rat's tail, weaving between the hills west towards civilization. Even in the dark, she could see the blur of her brother, flitting from door to door.

Buddy pulled to a stop. "Dash," Violet hissed into her headset. "We're here. Keep circling the building in case he comes out."

"Got it."

They pulled off their helmets, Buddy unstrapping his baton blade from where he had haphazardly tied it to his leg with someone's blood-spattered bowtie. "No heroics," he told her.

She pulled her knife heels from her bodice. "No sacrifice." For whatever little it's worth.

Buddy nodded to Violet. "Let's finish this."

They quickly slid their way down the hill, Buddy choosing a door with a window, slamming it with the hilt of his blade until the glass shattered and opened it from the inside. No alarm sounded-in fact, there were no lights at all.

"Power's off," he whispered as they moved through the halls.

"I'll take the basement-"

"We're not splitting up."

"We have our communications."

"How do we know there aren't guards hiding?"

"The parking lot is empty, and did you see all those tire marks? They know the jig is up, they're scattering. Besides, Dash didn't mention guards."

Buddy hesitated. "Fine. But I swear to-"

"No heroics," she promised, already moving towards the stairs, descending carefully.

As her eyes adjusted, Violet felt a sickening sense of deja vu. There was a whole room filled with desks that looked unused, but beyond that, halls and halls of lab doors. She glanced in through the windows, searching for the man, and instead found, of all things, beds and gynecological chairs. She even came upon an OR room with a floor dotted in dark stains. It was nearly a replica of his OR in Massachusetts. Again, it's all happening again. The cycle is starting, more people, more victims, more-

She shook herself. No, think of your time, think of Fell's smile, his confidence in getting away. Think of Buddy, think of the time he's stolen from you, the forever you'll never have. Tears pricked at her eyes as the anger swelled. She clung to it like a lifeline, and it burned her latent fear of the dark and what might hide in it away.

On the basement floor, she found a lab's swinging doors hanging open, practically off the hinges. A trail of papers led down another hall to a thick iron door that had a button plate; useless without the power. She turned the handle and had to use all her weight to open the heavy metal door. The corridor it led to was pockmarked with dark shadows and ended in what looked like a loading dock, outfitted with an industrial elevator.

Violet took a few tentative steps and felt her heart drop into her stomach. As she drew closer, she realized the shadows on the wall were doors-cell doors with bars over the small high windows. The kind she had seen during her tour of the psych ward in residency. With a sense of falling, she crept to one and peered in. Darkness, nothing moving until-

"LET ME OUT!" A face covered the window, the door rattling from the impact of the woman's body. Sunken green eyes wide with terror, pleading and tear-filled, gazed out as her hands pounded, mouth grotesquely pulling in shrieking pleas. "PLEASE!"

From other chambers, she heard the same cry, mostly female, but a few men joined the chorus. Fell's breeders. And as much as she wanted to pound the doors with them until the metal gave way, all this noise was giving up her position.

"Shh I-be quiet," Violet hissed. "Stop! Listen I-I'm an agent of the law. I'm from the American government, but you have to be quiet! I'll get you out, I promise but I have to find him first!"

"Get us out now!"

"I will! I will, my backup is on the way," she bluffed, hurrying down the hall to check the loading dock. "You're safe!"

"Safe shit get us the hell out of here!"

"Open the doors!"

"Don't you leave us here you fuckin' bitch!"

He knew where she was, there was no more hope of secrecy. She'd have to flush him out now. "The other agents will be here any minute now!" Knife held out before her, Violet created a shield, using whatever pathetic light it emitted to help her see.

From behind her, she heard the metal door slam with a horrible rattle. Fell. Turning on her heel, pushing away the screaming pleas and accusations of the prisoners, Violet flew back up the hall, slamming into the door with her shield and body at full force to open it again. "I found him," she screamed, clapping a hand to her earpiece.

Where where where where-there, the tail of an evening coat whipping around the corner towards the offices. There had been no exits there, only the door to the stairwell. "Basement floor, heading towards the stairs!"

She skidded around the corner, bursting through the stairwell door, pounding up the steps, hearing more than seeing Fell at this point. High above she heard another door slam open and the sounds of Buddy jumping from landing to landing.

Another door slammed against a wall, echoing in the well.

"Second floor," Buddy shouted, catching sight of him from the railing.

They both reached the landing at the same time a great whine was heard. Floodlights blinded them as they stumbled through the door the doctor had run through. Fell had turned the power back on. Through the computer and security rooms now, always seeing the monster just before he turned a corner. Violet was faster, gaining on him as they burst through into a cavernous garage.

Fell had hit a switch, the great metal door of the garage already halfway down with alarming speed. Violet fell, her hip slamming into the stone, and she slid underneath it on a shield, just making it out into the parking lot.

Fell was running, hugging something to his chest. There, at the end of the tail-like road sat a car, revving its engine, encouraging the monster's speed so they could get away.

"Fuck!" A crunch of metal. Violet turned around-Buddy caught under the metal door, barely holding it up with the baton stuck between it and the ground, his legs wedged under the weight. "No! GO!"

Back to Fell-but she hesitated too long. He'd make it to the car before she'd even get there. He'd leave and they'd never find him. He'd leave, disappear into smoke and she'd have failed.

I can't fail, I can't fail, I WON'T.

Her own face in the hospital window swam before her eyes looking more like a corpse than a girl. Buddy staring up at her from a kitchen table pleading not to die, her brother wide-eyed and shocked by his own bloodshed and his first taste of killing, the people in the basement pleading and begging. All for nothing if she didn't act, act right now right NOW–

–It was like holding the air.

Violet shot out, but not with her body. The muscle, still so new and barely trained, reached out and stretched beyond her physical form. She could see exactly what she wanted.

She was a doctor, after all.

Violet knew where to feel. She could sense Fell's heartbeat-he, heartless of them all, still had one-felt the blood rush through his veins, through his muscles. She felt the solid mass of his bone and visualized the limb in her mind. And like pushing through the barrier, like reversing the invisible muscle's atrophy, she shoved and closed her physical fist, making a force field appear.

Right in the middle of his femur.

There was no crack, no sound of the break. It wasn't even a break. She severed it straight down to its molecular level. A bone cut cleanly in half still within the body. But that wasn't to say it was without an auditory signal.

Fell screamed into the night, sending birds from their nests into the air with protests. Crashing to the ground, he shrieked and sobbed, and grabbed at his useless leg, reaching for the car that was his salvation, pale hand flapping like a dying fish to the driver behind the tinted glass.

Violet created a sphere and sent it sailing through the window of the car, hoping to hit the driver, but as the glass shattered, whoever was behind the wheel took the hint and spend off, tires shrieking on the pavement, almost taking her with it while her sphere was trapped inside before she dissolved it.

By that time, Buddy had ripped himself free, limping slightly as he scrambled to the doctor's side. Violet dropped to her knees as well, grabbing his collar before Buddy could get him. "Who was your second attempt," she screamed into his face. "Who is your leak in the NSA?"

Buddy did a double-take, face contorting in disbelief and confusion as he collapsed at her side. Panting, he breathed, "What? Princess–we don't have time for him to confirm what you already-"

"No, I don't think it's Echo," Violet said, finally vocalizing the dread she had felt since the start of the presentation. "I think they tried real hard to put me off the scent, didn't they? Tried to get me to kill Ultra for them: two birds, one stone. They knew I was looking for them. Tell me! Who fed supers to you?!"

Fell's horrible wide eyes were filled with tears, but even though the pain, he managed a smile. "You...you're a tough one, little Leda. Smart, sharp. You would have made...a wonderful broodmare."

"Who is your second attempt?!"

But Fell wasn't looking at her anymore, but over her shoulder at Buddy. "But it doesn't matter, does it? They don't love us, not really. They can't love what we're meant to become. The sacrifice it takes, the willingness to lose...everything. Home, lovers, wives. My own-"

"I will break every bone in your body," Violet screamed in his face. "Tell me."

"My son, she won't love you like I d-"

A distant pop, like a twig snap, and pain ripped through Violet's ear, heat burning her cheek. Buddy clapped a hand to his own cheek, fingers coming away bloody. Violet heard the snap again. Fell jerked, went limp, and hung from where Violet clutched his shirt, a droplet of ruby oozing out from the hole freshly placed between his eyes.

"Sniper!" Buddy dove, sending Violet to the ground, covering her.

She flung a dome around them, and felt the flick of bullets ricochet off it–three, four–and then...nothing. Slowly, she vanished her shield, pushing her partner off her to sit up. Buddy sat back on his heels, turning to look at the dead doctor on the road, head haloed by his own blood and brains.

They sat there in silence, staring at the kill robbed from them until Dash came running to their sides. "I heard sho-" He stopped, turning away to gag. "Oh man. Did you…?"

"No," Buddy said numbly. Lifeless.

Dash looked between them, steadfastly avoiding the body. His eyes fell on the thing Fell had dropped: A binder, the papers, and three diskettes having fallen out. The boy knelt, and scooped the documents up, flipping through them. "...Oh God, Vi! Names...dates, locations and...whoa, receipts from payments!"

Dash held it out to her but Violet couldn't take it. They had it, that was enough. The truth of it all would still be there in a minute. Right now, she couldn't comprehend it, couldn't think of anything beyond breathing and making it to the next second.

Fell was dead. They had done it, they 'got' their man. And now…

Buddy did not seem to feel the same need for inaction. Instead, he roughly went through Fell's pockets, taking out a pager, his watch, wallet, and another diskette. Violet watched him, oddly detached from herself. I'm going into shock, she reasoned, her logic sounding distant and echoey inside her own head. Even when Dash touched her face, she couldn't even flinch.

"Vi, your ear!"

Buddy's head snapped up. Gripping her chin, he turned her face away and examined the damage. "Christ. C'mon, we need to get back to the house, lockdown before anyone else gets picked off."

"I'll look for the shoot-"

"No kid!" Buddy grabbed his arm before he could run off. "You've never going to find him."

"B-"

"I know this pattern; he shot from high, somewhere in the forest and with that kinda aim? That's a marine sniper. They've long gone by now and left no trace. Get your parents on the horn, tell everyone to get their ass back to the house. Stay here, there are people in the basement, get them out and have them stay put. Vi-Violet, look at me. Princess."

Violet blinked up at him, but couldn't manage to speak. The fire was gone, and so was the fear and the sadness. All of it ash, cold in the hearth of her heart. She felt hollow, windblown, and tired.

So tired.

"C'mon." Strong hands pulled her up, not even bothering to get her to walk. Buddy carried her back up the hill and threatened to tie her to him when he got her on the bike. Violet grabbed on to him, and lay her cheek against his back, turning invisible only by habit. She didn't even bother with the helmet, giving it to Dash just in case the sniper came back to take aim at his head when he returned to the house.

Ear to Buddy's shoulder, Violet heard no heartbeat and felt as dead as Paul Fell.