Chapter XXVIII

High Noon At The NSA

Robbie Herring watched Meg Surratt stand in front of the steps of the NSA and speak before the crowd of reporters on his small black and white, his head in one hand and a Double Diamond in the other. She was declaring Syndrome and Ultra as the same menace with the only difference between them the years of activity. But somehow, his random gut suspicion being confirmed wasn't as joyous as he thought. Instead, the beer settled rancid in his belly, the consummation more habit than any kind of relief.

Violet.

The wind from his open balcony door whispered across him like a breath, cooling the old tear tracks on his cheeks. He swallowed, squeezing his raw eyes shut. Vinny had sworn she was still alive; after his own sobs diminished, and clutching Violet's torn gown he promised he wouldn't believe it without a body. Syndrome was lying.

But Robbie had remembered Violet's dead-eyed stare, the way she'd see through a person rather than see the whole, how she seemed to glide through the office, totally detached with heavy purple under her eyes. That must have been the brainwashing. Syndrome had had his teeth in her for months and none of them realized it. They had chalked it up to trauma like neglectful morons. The monster probably ordered her to her death and she probably went gladly. She had probably been killed in that hotel since they were still finding bodies and IDing them.

Not that he'd seen any papers about the tallies.

Did they even show you the reports? What a thing to ask at a time like that, what a thing to expect him to demand! His friends, his second family were in danger. It had been time for action!

Surratt had run down into the car park, catching Vincent and Robbie as they were leaving for the day, looking insane with worry, screaming that they needed to leave to save Violet before something worse happened. He and Echo had been panicked and when pressed, Surratt stated that all she knew was there had been some disturbance in Japan she'd been keeping an eye on for supervillain activity. It had gone FUBAR and her taps in the villain networks were all buzzing about the Incredibles hip-deep in the bloodshed. Actual killing! There was no time for reports, for questioning. Just get on the plane and go.

Besides, it wasn't odd, at least by now. Surratt had kept all cases separate, wanting to avoid the old 'friendly' super rivalries that made agents focus on each other instead of keeping their heads down on their sections and assignments. She didn't even like super patrolling in other agent's territories–it was an initiative she had implemented very shortly after he had been vetted as a full agent–segmenting the country up into principalities and each super had their own space. She didn't want glory hunting–even dressed Echo down once for edging too close to the New Mexican border when one of his family's rentals came up involved in a crime; had told him to stay home and keep to himself, that she'd have Crusher look into it if he had time. Let the police do their job Vicent had mimicked nastily on that Sunday dinner with his family, Robbie already taking a space there next to Mary. It leaves you free to do yours unburdened.

So being left out of the loop had become uncomfortably rote, being pulled suddenly and with little information was a new normal–and they went. Of course, they did, to help their brothers in arms! What was the harm in that?

So they had obeyed without a second thought, getting debriefed only as they sped to Snug's airport, all the way up until they were boarding his jet.

Surratt had been following up on the Ultra case, treating it as her own. She'd linked him to Syndrome, had reason to believe there was no benefactor as Violet had said-that the villain was all there was to the story. Violet was brian washed, she explained, had been used as an experiment to create sleeper agents in the NSA. Surratt had sent them with medicine that might help break the hold Syndrome had on her and her family. Neither he nor Vinny knew much about medicine and were too concerned to really care.

All they knew was their friends were in trouble.

Big trouble, he realized when they'd shown up at the house. A military liaison had been scoping it out for hours before they arrived, telling them that they had all holed up in the manor that looked more like a fortress with its metal paneling. It had been something to rip off a panel and use it to burst through the wall. And then the family he had thought of his own for the past four years had attacked him, called him a traitor! It had confirmed Surratt's theory of brainwashing alright, especially when they refused even to try and prove him wrong by taking the medicine.

Leaning forward, he turned the TV's dial with a snap and shut off the picture. There was no victory here. It was all a horrible mess. He drained the bottle and pushed himself off the couch.

They were all held at the NSA now. The rooms Surratt had set up as interrogation were now jail cells. Except for Syndrome, at first. He'd been taken to the basement and introduced to the sons and daughters of the supers he'd killed.

Robbie swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. As vindictive as Vinny could be, he hadn't been able to watch more than a second and physically barred Robbie from going down there. They'd seen the aftermath when what was left of the villain was dragged to the 'cells', and Robbie wished he could reach his fingers in his ears and rip the image of Syndrom's battered face from his brain. It was barely a face when they were done with him, practically pouring blood as they hefted his unmoving body up the stairs.

He'd reported it to Surratt, who had tried to explain it was either that or let them lynch him off the statue out front–which apparently several had suggested just that. She was juggling her agents, the press, and the families all at once when the news came out and was near her wit's end-looked it too. Her eyes were constantly wide with frenzy making her look nearly crazed paired with her shaking fingers. Too much coffee, she's said, and barely three hours of sleep in four days.

But even with that excuse, Robbie didn't like it. He didn't like being barred from Mr. Parr when he tried to bring food and talk to him, by people who claimed to be SWAT despite their unmarked clothes and Avtomats barring the entranceway. Non-agents were common at the NSA now, what with the director's constant outsourcing to help 'ease the load', but still, they usually carried ID.

And he didn't like that when he had asked, just to prove Mrs. Parr wrong, he had been denied access to any reports written. Surratt had just taken their statements and told them, emphatically, to go home and stay there. Everything was 'up in the air' and she had to focus on where it landed, couldn't be bothered with questions. If Syndrome had gotten to Violet–to the Incredibles themselves–who knew how many other agents were infected and lying in wait. She had to keep everything close to the chest, just in case.

What if…

No. If he was getting into what-ifs he'd need another beer. He shut the door to his balcony on his way to the kitchen. Moving through his small apartment was quick for a young man so tall. A few steps from the couch he was opening the fridge door. It had been a typical bachelor's fridge filled with nothing but various cheeses and leftover take-out before Mary had come into his life. Now there were actual ingredients, milk, and some wrapped prepared food made in her own kitchen. Robbie touched the brown paper bags decorated in little pen drawings of weights and masks and flowers. She loved daisies and drew them everywhere, on his lunch bags, on the sign-in ledger at work, on his hand–that one he had been careful not to wash off for at least a week.

He pulled out one bag to wash down the liquor with, small smirk flickering. Everything was so awful, he felt guilty about smiling when his super family was broken and hurting. He was so powerful–and yet he was impotent to help them. He was planning on drinking himself to sleep tonight. He'd call Vincent or maybe Karen in the morning and have a proper vent. Things would look better then.

Squatting, he reached blindly in the back, his fingers brushing the six-pack cardboard. Empty.

"Looking for this?"

Robbie shot up, knocking the fridge and sending it teetering dangerously, food slipping out from the rocking. In his kitchen stood a tall slender figure clad all in black, sporting a cracked sleek helmet. They were holding out his last beer, and just beyond them, another figure, bulkier, obviously male, decked with an identical helmet but flak, black cargo tactical pants-

And carrying an AR-18.

"Ultra," Robbie breathed. Not one-but two. And Syndrome was at the NSA. He hadn't done it alone, and the Parrs weren't his first attempt at brainwashing. It was Screenslaver all over again! Sleeper agents!

Stop, don't act, assess. He only had a breath's worth of time-Ultra, whoever it was, at any given moment, had excellent aim. He-or they-only needed a second. So did Robbie. He could use one as a shield, even as his stomach twisted at the thought, but it was better than a bullet to the brain. Robbie feinted left and-

-was caught, shoulder to toe in a buzzing purple force field molded to his body.

"Violet!"

The woman pulled off her helmet, her raven locks falling jaggedly around her jaw and regarded Robbie plainly. She looked like death warmed over, like she hadn't slept in years with bruises on her cheek and forehead, a freshly scabbed wound on the curve of her cheekbone and tip of her ear. "Where are the pills?"

"You–You're alive! Vi-Violet please, you have to listen to me. I'm begging you to believe me–to recognize me-"

"I know who you are, Robbie," she said quietly. But there was steel in her voice. He'd never heard her so in command of herself, and the unfamiliarity unnerved him, especially when he couldn't be sure what was genuine and what was influence. "I-please don't interrupt me. I know you're no traitor either."

That caught him off guard. "But Ultra-Syndrome! No, I'm not a sleeper agent but your parents–"

"Aren't either. I don't know what you've been told, but there's a lot to explain. And first, I need those pills."

"I'm not letting you destroy them, they're the only thing that can help!"

"You're right." She made a fist and the shield around him vanished. "Show me where they are. I'm not going to destroy anything. You're taking one."

Robbie eyed her, and the armed man behind her. "Me…? But I'm not–"

"I need you to listen to me, Robbie, and I don't have time for a long back and forth. You say they won't hurt me-that they're an antidote to brainwashing. So if you take one, what's the harm? You're not brainwashed…right?"

"What about him?"

Violet glanced over her shoulder and nodded. The man tucked the weapon behind his back. "Just in case. We don't want to hurt each other, but I doubt either of us is willing to trust very easily at the moment." When Robbie didn't move, she swallowed hard. "Bring the pills Robbie, and I'll take one too. Then we'll talk."

Robbie did as she asked, watched her swallow the pill, and checked her mouth before doing the same. It was an awkward half-hour, sitting on his rickety lopsided couch waiting for the medicine to take effect.

"...Did you and Syndrome really…?"

Violet's eyes shuttered, and her expression lost a little of its steely resolve. He hated to say it, but the brief flash of sorrow made her look more like the Violet he remembered. He loathed that, loathed all of this. "Did I…?"

"He, Syndrome, said…stuff. Personal stuff."

"Syndrome did? No, then. I never slept with Syndrome if that's what you're asking."

"I…guess I am. Sorry. I shouldn't have asked. That's private." He rubbed the back of his neck. How could she sit there so calmly, her gaze a thousand miles away? He was a bundle of nerves, and the Ultra double didn't help matters by leaning up against his bedroom door frame, watching Robbie eyelessly for any sudden movements. The stress of it all was giving Robbie a headache. "We were worried about you."

"I know. Echo was… I'm fine. I'm sorry I scared you. Where is he?"

"I…I think at the NSA. He's been difficult with being told to stand down, especially since we thought you were missing."

Violet turned to glance at their vigilant guard. "We'll have to be mindful of that." With a glance at the clock, she sighed. "That should be enough. Go pick up your fridge."

"I-what?"

"That should be easy, right? You've picked up heavier. Besides I'm sure some things rolled under there."

That wasn't the point. He'd carried his fridge and mattress up the stairs when he moved in no problem. He'd been picking up cars by the time he was ten. But for her to ask him to do something as simple as-

"Please Robbie. I want you to feel it for yourself. That's the only way you'll believe me. It's the only way you'll know the truth."

That, more than anything, motivated him. He was sick to death of secrets and whispers and closed doors. He wanted the truth, and he wanted it plain; even if it hurt. "Fine-but he comes with. I don't want him out of my sight."

"He won't shoot you in the back."

"Even so."

Violet nodded, and Liam pushed off the wall, following the boy into his kitchen again. Violet brought up the rear, silent and resigned. Robbie knelt and tucked a hand under the appliance, lifting-and crying out when it strained his back. There was a tense pause before he knelt and used both hands, tugging with all his might, the muscles in his arms and neck straining to no avail. With a gasp he fell backward, shaking.

"Wh-what-what did you do to me?!"

Calm as a cup of water, Violet stepped around him, and the mess that was left from their first encounter to squat before him. She lifted up her hand and concentrated. It flickered, once, twice-and resolutely remained visible. "That pill is an antidote, Robbie, but not for brainwashing. It's an antidote against superpowers. I know, because a man named Dr. Fell pumped me full of it in that hospital. He was the benefactor that kept Syndrome and me there."

"You said you didn't know! And, how do you know it wasn't just Syndrome–"

"Is that what Surratt told you?"

Robbie's mouth clicked shut.

"I'm sorry I had to keep the information from you when I first talked about it, but I had to be sure."

"Sure of what?!"

"Sure that there was a leak in the NSA. A traitor."

"Sleeper agents–Surratt said–"

"No, not like that. Think about it. If Syndrome had planted such agents and if I was one of them, why didn't they come and help us in Japan? No, there was a leak in the NSA, someone who had sold me and the other supers to Fell. How else would they have known our secret identities? How else were the older supers found?"

Robbie stopped breathing for a full second. He wanted to shout, to tell her she was crazy, that there was no way and Syndrome had implanted some kind of memory into her brain to make him sympathetic. But Robbie couldn't-not when he sat there with a lie running through his veins even as they spoke.

Antidote, she had said. No other choice, no time to explain, no evidence to give. Violet was right, if there were sleeper agents, why weren't they activated to help in Japan? The Parrs had looked rough when they had exploded into the house, like they had barely escaped with their lives–like Violet did now. If there was such a nefarious plan, why hadn't it been activated and saved them all a lot of hurt?

Except…people had been sent to Japan. He and Vincent.

"Surratt."

Violet nodded. "Like I said, there's a lot to talk about. And we are out of time."

Finally, shaking and done with being nice, Echo slammed his hand down on Surratt's desk. "Why won't you let me just see them? Let me talk to them for God's sake!"

Director Surratt looked up sharply from her notes, pen making a jagged line from the vibration of his fist. "I told you to go home, Agent Elliot."

"What do you think, that they'll infect me?!"

"I don't have the time or manpower to send in a group of agents to tape whatever you talk about, and I can't do it myself," Surratt snapped back. "And you will calm yourself, Agent, before I officially see this behavior as insubordination!"

His fingers curled on the shining mahogany. He had a spotless record, but he was willing to wager it all now. But nothing seemed to be swaying her. "Violet is alive. They know it, I know it. All I need is a location–I can trip them up, get them to at least hint where she might be."

"You hope she's alive, and believe me, I want her too. But Japan was a blood bath."

"It's not about hope–I know it. I know that girl! She wouldn't go down that easily! Her shields alone–"

"Not if she was herself," Surratt agreed, gathering up her papers. "But with Syndrome's brainwashing, who knows what he's convinced her of. The ultimate enemy of supers? He's probably twisted it in her brain that we're the enemy, Elliot."

"We aren't exactly doing a stunning job of refuting that."

Echo could put up with a lot. Sure, some things were confidential, okay. All their reports went to her with no delegation, fine, she was still trying to figure out her own position in the agency. Strangers were in and out of this office all the time with seemingly only answering to her, alright, she was in control of the outsourcing. But the fact that she had them rounded up like…rats in a cage: confined to their own little sections without partners, their own missions without any overlap–without any teamwork.

He had protested all the way, fueled by the distrust in Robbie's meek eyes and the absence of Dash's loud complaining, with each new rule passed down. How is this any different he had tried to cajole at first. How was it any different than when they were forced to hide, confined to normality and mortality of a soul-crushing life in secret?

And, at first, her reasoning of PR had seemed sound. Letting supers, especially young inexperienced ones, run rampant around the world without any structure was courting danger again. And Vincent didn't object to direction.

It was the confining secrecy that had him spooked.

And this was just the final manifestation of it all, her keeping The Incredibles from their allies–not even listening to the idea of letting one of them go in and try to break the brainwashing without the pill they refused to swallow. She hadn't even let anyone hear what Syndrome had programmed them to say, to see if there was a hint of what the villain might have been planning. She just kept them tight in the interview room, alone, and there were apparently no plans to move them.

And Syndrome…

Surratt's eyes snapped to him, wide with anger under her furrowed brows. "Excuse me?"

"You shouldn't have let them go at him." Vincent had seen what they were doing to the man in the basement, all of them surrounding the bound and cuffed man, not even having the human organization to take turns–just beating whatever bit of flesh they could get to, screaming their loss and pain into his swollen face. Echo wasn't going to stand in front of the villain and tell orphaned children not to be angry but…

And if he was being brutally honest, letting them hang him off the statue would have been more humane.

Agent Surratt's expression softened. A smirk twisted her chapped lips as she slowly rose. Coming around the desk she leaned closer and asked, "Are you going to attempt to make me believe he came in with a broken nose from the hotel?"

Vincent's ears flamed red under his perfectly combed raven locks. He hadn't meant it-well he had in the moment. But riding home on Snug's jet with his legs splattered with blood, Dash staring at his boots, and him, with tears swimming in his eyes...

"It doesn't matter how I feel," Vincent said. "It wasn't right."

"Right. Hmm. No wonder you and Violet were close. You're a pair, you know. She talked about what was right all the time."

When? Violet had barely spoken to anyone in the days leading up to her leave. Just another thing that Surratt kept 'close to the chest'. "Stop talking about her in the past tense."

Meg rounded the desk, that cold unfamiliar smile still on her lips as she passed him. "Even if she was alive, Elliot, she still chose a supervillain over you."

The cold sentiment pierced Vincent's anger, and he watched Surratt walk to her door in disbelief. What the fuck did that have to do with anything? Yeah, the idea stung like a bastard, but it wasn't about some misplaced sense of love or lust. Violet was missing in action. And whatever Syndrome had asserted, it was surely against Violet's will if she was conditioned! Where was their leader's frantic worry now? Why wasn't she more frightened for Violet's safety than when they knew her location? "She's an agent. We don't leave agents behind no matter what they do!"

"Yes. So make sure you're downstairs in five minutes then, since you don't seem to be leaving." She was gathering all active agents together, to make a more detailed debrief about Ultra and Syndrome and how they proceeded next-which he sincerely hoped was a mad search for Violet. He hadn't been able to see the report and wasn't assured when she told him it was nothing more than what he had already witnessed.

But hope was draining from him as quickly as his anger. Vincent followed Surratt to the elevator, but elected to take the stairs. That door was guarded by one of the SWAT officers, who opened it for him wordlessly. In fact, all of them didn't talk, and none of them deigned to show their IDs when he asked. They didn't answer to him, just to Surratt. Just where had Metroville scrounged up so many SWAT?

She's alive. She has to be.

The director was right, they'd never been an item. And often Vincent knew his flirting had irritated her. He tried to back off and take a different approach, just wanting a chance. He really did like her, despite his loose relations with other girls. They had hard jobs, their lives were constantly in danger, what was the harm in having fun, just in case it all ended the next moment? But Violet was different. Maybe it was because she was so unattainable, he was big enough to admit that. But he did admire her, wanted to get to know her. Hell, she was the type of girl his Mama would go insane with joy over (already had, with how Vincent had described her).

And to think he'd never see that rye smile again, or those purple eyes roll at whatever attempt at humor he threw at her, just made him sick. She had been left alone too long, none of them realizing how deep the damage was, too afraid of breaking her with the asking. But Violet was stronger than that. He had known it, and yet he let himself think of her like delicate china. Idiot.

And now she was just…out there. Abandoned.

Vincent swallowed the lump in his throat. She's not dead. She fought Syndrome when she was practically a kid! She wouldn't let him win now. She's stronger than whatever he's done to them.

Syndrome. Surratt wouldn't let him see the Parrs, but she'd let access to Syndrome be surprisingly lax. Vincent winced. He hoped there was enough of his jaw working for him to answer some questions. If Surratt wasn't going to look for her, goodman it, he would. Fuck my sector and my missions. This is more important.

Down a few more floors, he almost ran into Robbie exiting from the twentieth story door. He was dressed in his super suit, despite being ordered home. Well so was I, but at least I'm wearing civilian clothes and not being obvious. "What are you doing, man?"

"Nothing," he said, brandishing a key. "I had to go maintenance and get the basement key."

"...Why?"

"I need something down there-what are you doing here?"

"Trying to get the bitch in boots to actually do her goddamn job." He waited for Robbie's face to pinch-he was a good ole boy, raised on Wonderbread, baseball, and manners. Vincent suspected he still went to Sunday school, with the way he detested Vincent's loose tongue about cursing and sex.

But Robbie didn't even flinch-he actually nodded. "Good luck, it's not happening."

Vincent stepped in his way as he tried to pass. "How the hell do you know that?"

The super paused, looking torn. "I'm just saying-she's got her victory, why waste more time on finding Violet? It wouldn't measure up to actually capturing Syndrome alive."

The older man's brow knit. "When'd you get so cynical?"

"When things don't start adding up, Vinny. That's when. Maybe if we took our masks off more often we'd be able to see a little more clearly." The man waved off Elliot's next words, speaking over him. "Listen I don't have time. I'm in a bit of a rush. Just go home, okay?"

Vincent, pride stung, and more than a little confused at Robbie's sudden demeanor change, snapped, "Not happening, no matter how many times I get told-I seem to be the only one who gives a fuck about Violet. And I'm going to get my answers."

Robbie's grip was punishing on Vincent's arm. "You're not going to try to beat it out of Syndrome."

"Do you really think I would?" Not that his kicking the ginger asshole into the next century helped his case. They were all a little keyed up lately, ever since Violet left and Surratt slowly morphed into a brown shirt.

A beat, and then Robbie let him go. "No. I just think you're angry."

"Of course I am! The question is, how are you so calm?"

"I'm not. I'm pretty goddamn pissed off." Robbie left Vincent in slight shock, hurrying down the stairs. He had been sure Robbie didn't even know how to spell 'damn'. When the super's footsteps could no longer be heard, he pushed open the nineteenth story door.

Here more of SWAT lingered, in the hall but mainly before the interrogation room doors that housed the Parrs and their makeshift cots. Others were using desks as their tables, leaning and relaxing to clean their weapons, or simply sampling the subpar coffee. The clink of metal and the gargling spit of the Mr. Coffee maker were the only sound. Christ these officers were spooky with their silence.

A little further into the floor, an office had been stripped bare to hold Syndrome. Vincent stepped up to the lone officer before that door. "I need to speak with him." The officer said nothing, merely looking the super up and down. Vincent's eyes flickered to his finger dangerously resting on the trigger. "...If you know what I mean. C'mon, I know you've let people in there before. These walls are thin, everyone's heard it."

The officer glanced at his fellows. One waved a hand holding a paper coffee cup, shrugging. With a beleaguered sigh, the doorman stepped aside. "Thanks, you're a pal," Vincent muttered, opening the door.

Inside was dark-the fluorescent light above half broken. The covering was cracked and one of the long bulbs was shattered. A victim to the violent acts the fixture witnessed, no doubt.

Sitting, or more like propped up against, a corner was the figure of Syndrome. His hands were cuffed behind his back and one of the arms looked dislocated. His head hung forward, hair matted with cakes of dried blood, though Vincent fancied he saw patches where it had been ripped out by the roots. The room stank of iron, sweat, and piss, making Vincent nearly gag when the door shut behind him. Taking off his tie, he balled it up, pressing the silk to his nose and mouth as he knelt.

"Hey. Wake up."

The man didn't move. Above them, the ventilation system finished its cycle, and the smell grew worse. Vincent wouldn't last long here.

"Hey Syndrome." He slapped the man's boot. The foot rocked slightly from the strike, but still, he made no motion that he was alive. Either he was dead, or silence was his only defense. Looking him over, the possible truth of the former made Vincent's stomach lurch dangerously. What was his name again? He'd seen it in Violet's file-"Hey, Buddy. I know a villain likes nothing better than to gloat. I want you to tell me about Violet."

The man didn't move, but from a mouth housing a swollen tongue, the slurred words came: "Her hair smells like jasmine."

Vincent's blood boiled, and he understood all at once why everyone had ridden him like the town bicycle. He had flat out told them he'd molested Violet-now he wanted to rub salt in the wound.

"Yeah? And what about now-what does it smell like in her grave?"

Syndrome finally lifted his head, just enough to look through his bangs at Vincent with the eye not swollen shut. "You'll never find her."

"You keep fucking saying that-is it because you threw her body in a river or because there's no body?"

"You're Echo aren't you?"

"What, you don't recognize me?"

"Not without your mask. Or more importantly, boots. That's what I saw."

Vincent rolled his shoulders and almost felt bad. Almost. "Listen, you know you're gonna die. You know that. I know that. But man, they'll take it easy on you if you just tell us where Violet is."

"I think they've been pretty easy. I'm still breathing...but then again, I was breathing before. Didn't do well for me."

"I just…" Vincent wasn't about to beg this piece of shit for answers. And he refused to beat them out of him.

"She said she didn't think you were the one that did it."

"The one that did what?"

"I don't…" he groaned, doubling in pain for a moment. Syndrome was panting, his legs curled slightly under him, as fetal as he could get with his hands still cuffed. "I dunno… Before, she said something...that she believed you were still a good guy."

Vincent knew Violet didn't think the best of him on most days. He'd tried hard to change that opinion. To know he succeeded now when it was all over-his heart twisted. A momentary pain especially when the villain continued:

"I wanna tell you, don't let her do anything stupidly heroic. But-" a chuckle ending up in a wet cough-"Might as well ask you to keep the sun from rising."

Don't let her do. Present tense. "She's alive!"

Syndrome shifted, moving a little closer. A weak smirk made his now ugly face hideous. "You wanna know why you'll never find her?"

"Yes!"

"Because she turns invisible." Another painful laugh and Vincent considered reneging on his word to not slap the answers out of the man. "She did that for me-real sexy too, ironically. She just-" he blew directly into Vincent's face, making the super jerk back. "Vanishes. And then...she finds you."

On cue, there was a bang loud enough to make Vincent's ears ring even through the closed door; outside he heard the shrieks of several officers. The lights shut off, low emergency illumination barely eeking through the crack under the door in the power-saving mode used during natural disasters and attacks, sirens loud and bleating in the small room. Before he could scramble to the door, the vents powered up again, the air blasting into the room-except Vincent could see it. Sickly green smoke curled around him, expanding and sending his vision hazy.

Vincent burst through the office door. The unmarked officers were stumbling around, hands desperately rubbing at their eyes, stumbling into each other, kicking around pieces of a discharged stun grenade. The door that housed the Parrs was off its hinges, hanging weakly by one screw. Mr. Incredible and Elastagirl remained inside, cuffed and coughing up the green smoke.

Dash was gone.

"Hold your breath" Syndrome screamed after him, his maniacal laughter following Vincent as he ran, coughing, into the flooded hall.

A multicolored sea of supers crowded into the first floor of the building housing the NSA. It was kept mostly for dramatic speeches to news cameras, all the walls made of glass to let in the good light and let the crowds see important goings-on from the outside. A few minutes after noon, Meg Surratt finally stepped up on a small raised dais before her agents, where she had stood addressing the press before, a line of unmarked SWAT officers behind her. She addressed them all less formally, like team members, giving updates about Syndrome and Ultra, while fielding the questions shot out from the crowd.

Yes, Syndrome was behind Shadow's kidnapping last fall. Yes, he was Ultra and the cause of all those deaths. No, we are unsure how he was able to compromise Shadow's mind-yes he had gotten to all of her family. No, no one could see them, it wasn't safe.

"Happily, it seems the youngest has not been captured yet," Meg said, leaning heavily against the podium. "He's totally off the radar-his school has said he was taken out over a month ago by his parents, but where he's currently being held is still unknown. If anyone knows where we can find him, it is absolutely necessary for you to come to me immediately. This is the top of our priority list."

"What about finding Vi-Shadow," Voyd asked. She had been too nervous to sit in one of the many offered chairs, and took to wandering around the parameter of the crowd, restless.

"We have reason to believe that Shadow...didn't make it, from the disaster in Japan."

"But you don't know that!"

"Why can't we go and scour the island?!"

"Let us go! Or just a few of us, anything is better than just two people!"

"She's there, we have to get her!"

Meg raised her hands. "I am not declaring her dead! But I've already sent agents out to look."

"Defender and Echo weren't enough!"

"They're just kids!"

"We need to be looking harder!"

"Please. I know you're all worried. The Incredibles are a family very near and dear to everyone. It was probably why they were targeted in the first place, but if we panic, we'll be in an even worse mess. We all must remain calm."

"You mean passive!"

A chorus of metal clangs heralded Violet's arrival as the crowd of supers shot up, knocking back their rickety banquet chairs. Her name was a cry uttered again and again, spreading like a virus around her as super suited bodies parted, her path bisecting the crowd, helmet under one arm, and papers under the other. Her boots counted her steps heavily in the ringing silence that fell.

And so we come to it, the climactic battle. And still no catchphrases. The voice that sounded too much like Buddy whispered in her brain, the only thing keeping her heart from beating straight out of her breast, breaking the anxious tension curling around it like an industrial spring. For all the life-threatening situations she was in, she never seemed to get calmer with exposure. Violet lifted her face and finally saw her clear and present danger.

Her search had taken her halfway across the world just to find what was at home all along.

Meg matched her position, slowly coming around the podium, impressive even in her plain clothes, auburn hair a hellish halo in the spotlight. Now, seeing her close for the first time in months and after so recently reacquainting herself with the doctor, Violet saw it. Where Buddy and Lucy had been children by force, Meg wore the hallmarks of a true heir. It was her eyes, their shape cartoonish in Fell's pinched features, but rather pretty in Meg's heart-shaped face. Dear God, even the way she spoke, tasting every syllable as if eating the words as she talked, was the same: "Shadow."

"You can call me Violet. After all, every villain from Tokyo to Moscow will ever since your creature exposed me."

Meg's barely controlled hatred melted to reveal an easy smile, like a snake shedding its skin. "Violet, please. We need to get you to a doctor. You're not well, and God only knows what you've survi-"

"I don't know what God knows," Violet snapped. "But you do. You fed me to Fell, Surratt." Violet turned to the supers crowding around her, hands reaching for her in sympathy and wonder. She backed up, keeping them from actually making contact. "I was kidnapped last year, and held prisoner by Dr. Paul Fell. He was trying to cut out my powers and inject them into others; tried to use me as a brood mother for experiments so that he could create a man-made army of super slaves. He was the person behind this, behind Tokyo. Not Syndrome. I had to throw all of you off the scent because I knew there was a leak in the building–the one who had given me to the monster.

"Meg Surratt sold me to him. She'd been feeding him information and supers for years working with Dicker, before becoming the head of the NSA. That's why Echo couldn't find so many of them. She had sent them to their deaths!"

She held up the packet of papers, shaking them. "Blood money and names. We weren't brainwashed–we were deceived! I went to Tokyo undercover to try and stop him. That's why we were there, and we barely escaped with our lives."

"With Ultra," Meg continued, still in that infuriatingly soft voice, mocking concern. "With Syndrome, a serial killer."

"Syndrome isn't Ultra." What's a little half-truth among sisters? " Another one of your lies, Surratt. That's why you threw my whole family at Ultra. You hoped to make killers of us to stop him because he was getting too close to your investors. And those officers aren't SWAT, I recognize them from the hotel! Didn't anyone of you ever question why they're holding Russian rifles? All that fighting with the Kremlin, they hid her calls to Russia, to check up on the doctor. It was where he was hiding."

Now Violet saw the woman swallow as murmurs raced through their captive audience. "You're unwell. Violet, everything he's told you-"

"He told me nothing because Syndrome knew nothing," Violet smirked and waved the stack of papers before flinging them at her feet. The packet exploded in a shower of papers at the toes of her sensible pumps. "It's there in black and white."

"He faked papers, Violet. It can be done-"

"I guess we'll find out. Those papers are being sent out to every attendee of the Tanaka Summer festival; villain, businessman, security, caterer. Hell, even what's left of the yakuza. You were a white crime lawyer, you knew how to hide money, but nothing can stay in the dark for long, and everything leaves a trace. Martin taught me that. Do you think that the most powerful people in the world won't have their men comb through every line of exchange searching for the weak link that let Ultra destroy their private little party and put them all at risk? Do you think they won't follow it back to you? Do you think Fell was subtle enough not to write notes that might give himself and his provider away?"

It was that last sentence that made Meg go absolutely white. Fell was devilishly clever in terms of surgery and knowing which resources to tap, and Violet wondered if it had been him to push Meg to climb the NSA ladder. But that was neither here nor there. His weakness was in the things he had been too proud to care about, the mechanics and minutia of it all. A blind spot that had let Ultra fester right in his own lab.

Violet would exploit that weakness to spit on his grave.

Mirage had given Meiko, safely in Milan, all the information she could, including the official guest list logged into Tanaka's computers. The advertising agent was good at marketing, and she would sell them all a tale of utter betrayal by Fell's American contact. Those nearly exposed for their vices would be sent raging through the transmitted files, and do the work for Violet in finding how Surratt funneled money to Fell, or how he so easily and miraculously escaped the United States without being seen.

And if they couldn't find it, the rage of those more unsavory folk who provided the so-called entertainment and refreshments for the gala would look through that data once Mirage triggered it in the databases backdoored by Ultra, and surely catch something. They knew better than anyone how covert operations worked and were also on the chopping block for the festival. They would all be desperate for someone to blame. To punish.

Violet didn't plan on letting Meg Surratt leave this building alive-but it was always good to have a backup plan. Those people dripping in both resources and free time would hunt Meg to the ends of the earth, with no pesky little hurdles like laws and consciences to get in the way. She'd be the most wanted woman in the world, and there would be no hole small enough for her to crawl into and hide.

"What is she saying, Agent Surratt," Voyd whimpered, her face slowly melting from fear to confusion...and then distrust. "What does she mean about the supers?"

"Enough," Meg snapped. "She's unwell, Syndrome still has his hold on her-and she obviously won't listen to reason. Take her upstairs. I guess Ultra is more than just a computer virus."

"So much more than a computer virus. You see, Ultra isn't even a man or a thing." Above them, so many floors it was barely a noise, there was the explosion of Robbie's flashbang. He'd gotten to Dash in time to give him a gas mask. It was Liam's signal in the control room, and her own. Violet slid her helmet on, tapping the side.

"Ultra is vengeance."

The lights shut off, and the vents opened again, blasting air into the room, with it, the curling smoke of the aerial antidote. Meg jerked, staring up at the ceiling where it descended. "Grab her," she screamed over the sudden panic. "And break the windows!"

Several of the stronger supers picked up chairs, desks, flagpoles, anything they could reach with the intent of shattering the glass walls. As they almost met their mark, the room was flooded with bright light, sending everyone backward, covering their eyes with shrieks of pain.

"Firefly," someone shouted, recognizing the figure from where the light was blossoming. The super lowered her arms as the light dimmed, but her face was obscured by a gas mask-as were the supers that filed in behind her. They were only recognizable by their suits. Storm Cloud, Hammer, The Viper, Smoke-all the supers Ultra had been able to save, now descending like heralds of the apocalypse, masked and bloodthirsty for justice.

"They've been compromised by Syndrome," Meg shouted. "Don't let them free him!"

And then it began.

It was a pitched battle, doing more harm to the surroundings than each other, neither side aiming to hurt or kill-especially since then armed guards followed Surratt as she ran for the stairs. The supers Violet brought were experienced, but older and outnumbered, and despite their vanishing powers, the agents fought with all they could, young, spry, and desperate with panic. Chairs, desks, the podium, and bodies were flung about the room-the fighting moving ever closer to the windows as the active agents got the connection between their dying powers and the green smoke, buffered only by Ultra's protectees.

Violet, limber and small, was able to dodge out from under the hundreds of grabbing hands, creating a shield and sliding on the floor, using it like a sled to skate under the crowd. Then she disappeared, rolling to the side to guard the walls against cracks and to protect the older supers. It was hard, keeping her eyes on so many different battles, attempting to block all incoming hits towards her allies, allowing them to gain the advantage, just long enough for the antidote to begin to take effect whilst also scooping up and throwing back anyone who tried to escape through the fragile walls.

"Vi! Vi Vi Vi Vi!" Twisting as she cast a shield over Karen's pathetically small portal, keeping her from jumping inside to the outside of the building, Violet searched in the chaos for the owner of the voice. Her brother, and Robbie hot on his heels, still holding Buddy's laser knife and the remains of Dash's shackles, both masked. Violet became visible again.

"Dash! Grab something to rope them with!" She flung out her hands, creating a sphere around several supers, both masked and not, grappling in hand-to-hand combat.

Getting the idea, Dash ran, a blur around the edge of the scene, grabbing cables, flag ropes, anything he could find, coming around and circling the group Violet held. She dispersed her field and his circles became tighter as he wound his makeshift rope around the huddle until they were tied together in a bundle, unable to move, unable to fight.

Again and again, they moved in tandem, trapping little pockets of fighting and lassoing them together until Dash had nothing left. There was still fighting, the last ditched efforts, but nothing Robbie couldn't handle as the rest of the agents succumbed to the smoke.

Grabbing her brother, they broke for the door, pounding up the stone stairs. Coming upon the third level, the railings bent, writhing and twisting as they distorted, crushed together, trying to block their path. Violet made a sphere, encasing her and Dash, pressing against the metal. She felt the tension in her chest as the snake-like railings bent and pressed against her force field.

"Sorry little brainwashed super," came Crusher's thick deep tones above them as he tried to trap them in the metal cage. He had his suit pulled up over his nose and mouth.

"Dash, run," Violet shouted, arms shaking as she pushed back against him. If he had been at full power, they would have been done for, but he was coughing, some of the antidote seeping in through his collar. She was able to hold him off, but not for long.

Dash ran, held in place, but his feet made her sphere rotate and spin, fast, faster, until the friction of her shield against the metal created sparks. Small she thought, jumping into the air within her dome and suspending herself. Just a fraction. The sphere shrunk just a little, free of the railings' hold for a split-second, but it was enough. The violet ball spun, rocketing towards Crusher and knocking him off his feet, continued to spin as Dash ran straight up the stairs, no longer bothered by the steps as the bounded up flight after flight.

They rolled all the way to the nineteenth, straight through to their parents' cell. Liam was supposed to be there, to get Bob and Helen out after infecting the NSA's system with the virus.

They found him inside, collapsed in the doorway of her parent's room, the couple inside on the floor, coughing and barely conscious but free of their binds. They were surrounded by overturned tables and shattered glass but they were all alive. Liam held his shoulder with one hand, the other still gripping his rifle, still guarding. A bullet wound bled freely between his pressing fingers for all his protective troubles. Violet had given him Dash's suit under his flack, but it didn't fit-too tight, stretching the mesh too much, just like Incredgirl's suit all those years ago.

"Liam!"

"I'm fine," his voice buzzed from his helmet. "The bullet grazed, but that's it."

"They took Buddy," her father wheezed. "They…th…"

"Ran up, I think," Liam grunted. "I'll be fine. Go!"

"Get out while you can," Violet instructed them all, even as Dash pushed the sphere back to the stairwell. Up three more flights, and there was Echo, slumped on a landing, the wall behind him spattered with small flecks of blood where his skull had apparently made contact. His nose was crooked and crimson flowed over his lips. He glanced up, and Violet saw one of his pupils was blown out.

Dispersing the field just to check his pulse, the hero blinked, looking up at her with unfocused eyes. "Ultra-"

"Don't, Vincent. Stay still for a moment."

He seemed to register what he had just seen. "...Violet?!" The man took a deep breath, grabbing her arm. "She-up!" He groaned and grabbed the back of his head. "She fucked me up and went up to her office-a bunch of guards too-a standoff!"

"Got it. When you can, get out as fast as possible."

"Kill the bitch!"

Violet created the sphere again, and Dash wasted no time in bounding up to the very top of the building. The officers Surratt had tried to pass off for SWAT were holed up there, waiting on them behind the secretary's overturned desk. They opened fire, bullets ricocheting off her shield in a shower of metal, bouncing back at them, chipping at the windows behind. Dash bowled through them with her sphere, using his momentum like a great grounded wrecking ball. It took out most, knocking them clean unconscious, but stragglers were left, diving into other offices, dodging out of the way at the last minute.

"Drop it now," Dash snapped, and Violet dispersed her field for a moment, letting Dash free to run, gather up a weapon, and knock out the few other guards, indeed moving faster than a bullet. Violet held up a force field like a spartan shield, both protection and weapon as she flung it out, knocking teeth and consciousness out of the remaining men.

"That's all of them," Dash breathed, skidding to a stop beside his sister.

"Good, get out."

"I'm not leaving you."

"You don't have your suit and she's here somewhere. Get-"

BANG

Dash shrieked, falling to the floor, grabbing his right leg, screaming in agony. Blood squirted from his thigh, outer, not inner, away from the femoral, but stopping him nonetheless. Violet flung up a shield, useless now that the damage was done, but she wasn't going to let Surratt get her brother through his gas mask with her next shot. It whizzed right past her and shattered another floor-length window. The suction of wind whipping through the space nearly dragged Violet's sphere back.

The Director appeared in her office doorway, her issued firearm still smoking in one hand. The wind rustled her hair, revealing the needle-thin silver scar across her forehead as well as a few cuts from Buddy's pathetic fight against her, wounded as he was. She inhaled the fresh air from the broken window deeply, and each breath made the tiny cuts on her face heal right before Violet's eyes. In the other hand, she twisted the omnimetal chain of Buddy's pendant, choking him as she pulled him back with unnatural strength. That chain was unbreakable, and Buddy, as ever, could choke like a man.

If that was even Buddy under all that bruising and swelling, grotesque as he gasped for air. Lodged into his left shoulder was a piece of the Underminer's drill, apparently missing his heart as he was still alive. Violet's own shook and her face crumbled behind her helmet, but she didn't lower her shield. Buddy had no protection from her or her gun.

"It's over, Meg. There's nowhere else for you to run."

"Isn't that a villain's line," she spat, tightening her hold on Buddy's chain. "I'm not stupid, you little slag. I know I'm dead. But I can hurt you still."

"Why me," Violet spat, unsure what she even meant by the question. Why me, why did this all fall to me? Why did it begin with me?

"He thought you were different. The next step in evolution, totally devoid of normal genes. You were supposed to change everything. You were something else-the future-he loved you for it, and now look at what you've done! All we wanted to do was be a part of it!"

"By killing."

"You're a doctor." She laughed without humor, a shrieking shrill thing above Dash's sobbing. Her face contoured with hysterical madness, she looked more like Fell than Violet could have ever imagined. Oh God, oh God how had she not seen?! "Don't you know what the price of progress is? Of discovery? Look at your history, twice over, Violet. Physicians killed many people in pursuit of knowledge, and supers killed many more for glory. What was the difference?"

"This isn't glorious. It's monstrous. Look around you-how much blood do you want painted on your vaunted future?!" As she spoke, Violet moved closer, backing the woman up further into her office. Buddy gagged, shaking his head violently until a hard tug from Meg stopped him.

"The tree of progress must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of failures, don't you know? All futures are watered with it! The strong survive, you supers made that clear. And we refused to be snuffed out by you, outnumbered. It's what he knew." She gave Buddy another shake and Violet was sure he heard his breathing stop altogether. "But he was too deluded, too small-minded to really understand. He wanted a facade of it-little gadgets to play pretend. He didn't have the guts to actually create someone better."

"Fell created nothing! Nothing except chaos. He stole and pillaged and–"

"He was a good man," Meg shrieked. Violet stopped altogether, a small insignificant memory breaking through, inopportune but in harmony with Surratt's shrill note. Sitting in the dark, whiskey on her tongue, a shout on her lips he's a good man! "He wanted to help humanity not be erased by progress, he wanted to save us. I will never let you live in peace for what you made me do to him!"

Violet swallowed hard. I'm sure you could even see Su Nami's side in all of this… Empathy, understanding, her fatal flaw. Pushing Meg would panic her, was panicking her. Violet needed to surprise her, to shock her with something she wasn't expecting: sympathy and concern, to make way for Violet's killing blow. She had a surgeon's precise touch that only needed a small window of opportunity.

"Alright. You think he was a good man. And you loved him. Of course you did, you'd do anything for him, do anything to protect him and his dreams. We can't help but love our fathers, no matter what they do-we can't help but be like them." The parallels almost made Violet laugh-here was her love threatened, and she was facing her own red-headed nemesis who had hidden in the shadows of her employment for so long.

The director's eyes narrowed, but she wasn't backing up anymore. "You have a lot of nerve. You who would have squandered your gifts-hiding away in that fucking hospital, trying to pretend. You left your father, your family out and vulnerable, let them hunt Ultra alone. You have no concept of what it's like, to strive your whole life, to help, and still not be enough. Ever since I was a child, I believed in my father-and he in me! Ever since I was born he knew I was meant for greater things. He wasn't going to let me be defined by my pathetic DNA-he would have never let me hide away, cowardly and unworthy. He made me better-he sacrificed dozens to make sure that I would live, that I would be safe when the world finally turned against us. He did it all for me…he…"

Violet's stomach turned. Insanity is what Fell gifted his child; this apple hadn't even fallen off the tree. She lifted her hands in supplication. She just needed to concentrate, focus where she wanted her shield. There would only be a moment…

"He protected you, he loved you, wanted you to be better. That's what they all do, push us and protect us, care for us. But he's dead, Meg, because of his choices, and what he created. You loved him, but you don't have to repeat his mistakes. You don't have to die like him."

Meg swallowed, and Violet saw her wide eyes were glassy with tears. But they didn't fall. "You're right. I don't have to make his mistakes. I can correct them."

The second she put the muzzle to Buddy's temple was the second Violet reached out. Meg's heart was beating hard too, hammering in her chest. Violet felt it on her palm as her shield manifested within and squeezed.

Look, Buddy, you were right all along.

The agent choked, pain etched deep into her features, gagging and coughing as her heart worked hard against the obstruction, trying to beat free, trying to pump blood to her brain, her lungs. Meg stumbled, but she didn't let Buddy go, or the gun. Instead, she stumbled back, pulling the man with her. The butt of her Colt shattered the glass on one of her shadow boxes and she scrambled, pulling out Bomb Voyage's grenade. It beeped almost innocently in her palm.

Immediately Violet let go of her heart, creating a shield around the little bomb.

"Go ahead," Surratt panted, her grin wide and feral. "I read the study of your shields-they're a part of you–organic. Strong, but strong enough to withstand this?! It's ten times as powerful as a falling jet and at such close range? I doubt you'll survive."

"Stop," Buddy gasped, clawing at the chain. "V….v….!"

Violet held the shield, but Meg was right. It could blast apart whole buildings, an entire section of the railway. It could blast her apart through her shield.

Did you really think you'd live?

Happy endings were the last of her heroic misconceptions that needed to be scrubbed away. After all she had seen and done, how packed her mind and heart became with suffering and hardship, there was no room to store hope anymore. Besides...what was there to live for? To see the building collapse? For Dash to die in the explosion, her friends and family in the building's fall? She'd flooded the place with antidote, there was no help to be found, no more allies secretly hidden away to be revealed when she needed them most. No one was coming for her to save her miraculously in her eleventh hour.

Just Violet.

Why me? Because she was the only one who could do it. It was all up to Violet, stripped of friends, lover, and family. It was time to prove her strength, even if it killed her.

At least I won't be alone for long, was her last thought. The beeps were growing faster. He'll be with me soon.

And Violet refused to move. Violet held the line.

"NO!"

Buddy ripped the drill from his shoulder and shoved it in Meg's leg. The agent's shriek shocked Violet. Her shield flickered for a second, but it was enough. Using his weight, Buddy flung them backwards, out into the open air through the shattered wall. As a pair, Suratt still clutching the bomb now free of its shield, they dipped back, tipped out the window, over-

Gone.

Violet screamed, running to the window, reaching out. She captured Buddy mid-air, holding him, feeling his heaving gasps now free of Surratt's hold, and the rolling of Surratt's skull. Meg, decapitated, continued to fall, the bomb beeping all the way. Once it hit the ground that was it; the impact would blast in those windows Surratt wanted broken so badly and kill everyone, bringing any who survived down with the fall of the skyscraper-all of them dead, defenseless by Violet's hand.

But Buddy was safe.

beep beep beep

Isn't it what makes supers, super, making these choices? What made someone worthy? Time, place, societal placement, or lack thereof? Proximity?

Love?

How could she decide between one man and everyone she knew? Many for the price of one? Innocent people for the blood of a villain? The blood of the man she loved more deeply than she could even begin to fathom? How could she choose-what more could she do?!

beep beep beepbeepbeepbeebeebeebebe

Her head pounded, her heart hammered. Dash was behind her, screaming, screaming, screaming. How could she choose, what did she choose? Her mind was blank, she couldn't think but she had to, she had to push, she had to do something she couldn't lose SHE HAD TO-