A/N: This chapter is a lot shorter then the previous, but wanted something from Syndrome's POV. So here it is! Read and review, please!

Syndrome stomped down the long corridor, rushing back to his laboratory. In his hurry, he knocked over a guard walking the opposite direction, but he didn't care.

"Get this cleaned," Syndrome said and threw the empty bowl at him. Then he hurried on, running towards his lab. He had to get back, had to work. He had already lost valuable time this morning, talking to that annoying Incredible-brat.

He reached the doors to his lab, walked inside the large room, and moved to his worktable, beginning where he had left of. He began to check Violet's blood for abnormalities, but for some reason, he just couldn't seem to focus on the task at hand.

He kept thinking back to his small conversation with his prisoner. For that's what she was. His prisoner. What he couldn't understand was, why the hell had he treated her nicely?

Well, not exactly nicely, but he had gotten her food, he had talked to her, told her story's she wasn't supposed to know. He had laughed, he had made her smile. Just for moment of course, but still... She had smiled at him.

'And what a smile,' his mind told him. 'Like the first rays of the sun after a long, cold winter.'

"What?" Syndrome sat up straight, not believing what he had just heard inside his head.

'You know it's true,' his mind continued. 'It was a wonderful smile.'

Syndrome placed a hand on each of his temples, rubbing them slowly. "I'm just tired," he mumbled to himself. "I'm not really thinking these thoughts. My mind is playing tricks on me."

'Shut up! You know you find her attractive,' his mind said.

"No," Syndrome replied, his voice not as certain as he would have liked it to be. "She's just a girl. A teenage girl. She's not even that pretty."

'Liar!'

"Shut up!" Syndrome roared, slamming his palm against his forehead. He sat silently for a few moments, waiting for another comment from his own twisted mind, but nothing happened. Sighing with relief, he began to work again.

"She's not that pretty," he mumbled to himself as he looked at blood. "I don't find her attractive... I dont... I really don't... I don't..."

A/N: I just realised this chapter makes Syndrome seem like a schizophrenic. But he's not, trust me. He's just confused, poor guy.