Disclaimer: do not sue me.
Writer's Note: well, here's that next chapter! This weekend, if I manage it right, I might have two or three chapters to post, which will be a nice change to having none and flying by the seat of my pants. At least with the stories I'm writing now I have reviews spurring me on! yay for reviews!
Syndrome sat across from the real estate agent. He had found the property he wanted, the problem was getting the agent to go down to a price Syndrome liked.
"This property is worth at least six-hundred fifty thousand dollars sir. Its for acres!" She kept saying, reminding Syndrome of a robot.
"How about 590k? That's as high as I can go." Syndrome said. The agent rolled her eyes.
"600 even."
"Done." Syndrome said, writing the lady a check. He hadn't felt right with carrying millions of dollars around with him, it just seemed wrong. So he had opened a bank account. It was still making him smile when he thought of the look on the banker's face when he had told her the amount he had wanted to open the account with. She had nearly fainted.
"Thank you, here's the deed. The owners are already moved out, have been for a year now." The agent said happily as she handed Syndrome the deed. Syndrome grabbed it and walked out, not saying another word.
Buddy was waiting outside, talking to some people who were also waiting outside. Upon seeing Syndrome, Buddy said goodbye and ran up to Syndrome's side.
"Now where are we going?" Buddy asked.
"We arent going anywhere. You're going home." Syndrome said. He hadn't started pulling all-nighters untill he was thirteen, and he wasn't going to let the kid start three years early.
"But I wanna stay with you! Home's boring!" Buddy whined.
"No. I have things to do that you can't come with me. Go home now, and I'll pick you up tomorrow." Syndrome said. "Call this number tomorrow at noon if you still want to come with me." Buddy nodded, taking the slip of paper and bus money Syndrome passed him.
"You promise you'll come and get me? You won't just leave me?" Buddy asked. Syndrome smiled and nodded, then pushed Buddy onto the bus. and waved.
"Now to get to business." Syndrome said once the bus was out of sight.
Buddy walked down the hall, yawning. It was the next day, and he was eager for it to get to noon, even if he had only just woken up. He walked into the kitchen and got some fruit loops, his favorite cereal.
Sitting at the table, he turned the radio on low, so he wouldn't wake anyone else up.
And in other news, there has been a spree of robberies. The odd thing about these robberies are that they all happened within five minutes of each other, as far as the police can tell. That suggests that they were all planned by the same person, or a super-fast robber. We will keep you updated as the information arises.
Buddy sat there, milk dripping out of his mouth. What had Syndrome done? How had he done it? He knew why, there was no need to ask that, but how?
He looked at the phone number he had posted on the fridge, should he call? He certainly wanted to know what Syndrome was doing. But Syndrome had said not to call until noon.
William walked into the Kitchen without a shirt on. He was muscular, so the look worked for him. As he streached, a six-pack appeared momentarily.
"Why the fish face? Cat got your tounge?" He laughed, pulling down the blueberry pop tarts and eating one.
"Nothing. Just thinking." Buddy said, going back to his fruit loops.
"That must be what the burning smell is in here." William laughed. "You hear about those robberies? Apparently they think a local did it because they knew which stores to hit and when." William said, pulling another pop tart out of the box.
"What?" Buddy said, trying to sound surprised.
"Yeah, they think it was a super 'cause the cameras in the stores hit all went out at the exact same time."
"Cool, wonder who it was." Buddy said, finishing his fruit loops and getting up. He pulled Syndrome's phone number of the fridge and picked up the phone. He dialed the phone number carefully, making sure he didn't make any mistakes.
It rang twice, before being picked up.
"What?" The voice asked. They sounded busy.
"Umm... Syndrome?" Buddy asked, unsure if he had the right number.
"Who is this? Buddy? I told you not to call before noon! what time is it now?" There was a sound of shuffling papers, he was obviously looking for a clock. "It's only ten! Call back in two hours, I'm really busy right now." Then the line went dead, Syndrome had hung up. Buddy didn't know whether to laugh or be shocked. He had hung up! and didn't even let him say anything! Then again, he had sounded busy, and tired at that matter.
"Who's Syndrome?" William asked. Buddy shook his head, leaving the room. He needed to figure out what he was going to do.
Syndrome tossed his cell phone back on the desk he was sitting at. He was amazed that it still worked, he hadn't thought there was cell phones like that back when he was ten, thinking they had been those huge black boxes that no one liked. Well, you learned something new every day.
"Now where was I?" He said to himself. He had fallen asleep sometime during the night, having not slept since Incredible had arrived on his the second time. He looked at the mess on his desk, it was covered in papers that had been the plans to the robberies last night. They had all gone off without a hitch, which was a good thing. The last thing he needed was imbeciles working for him.
"Sir?" The man who had coordinated one of the robberies came into the room. Syndrome had chosen him because he had a few years military training.
"What?" Syndrome asked, rubbing his eyes and moving some papers around on his desk, looking for a specific paper.
"Everything we lifted is in the main hall, the men are asking if they're allowed to go home and sleep, they're all tired."
"Yeah, sure. Of course, no need for everyone to loose sleep." Syndrome said, continuing his search for the paper. It was the paper that had an inventory of everything he had needed. He wasn't sure if everything had arrived yet, they were shipping the stuff from various warehouses around the city in waves as to not attract too much attention. That was the last thing Syndrome needed right now was unwanted attention.
"Thank you sir." The man said, saluting before he left.
Finding the sheet on the bottom of one of the piles he had already looked in, he picked it up (scattering many papers over the floor in the process) and ran down the stairs. He had everything piled in the front foyer and living room to the house he had bought the day before. It was a big foyer and living room, so everything that had arrived so far fit perfectly.
Syndrome looked at everything, checking it off the list. There were even a few extra things, that the people who had done the job had thrown in simply because. One of them was a set of Mr. Incredible bedsheets, which Syndrome threw into the fireplace with a scream of rage. If it hadn't been for that bastard, he wouldn't have been here in the first place. Well he'd get his revenge in due time.
Looking up, he heard a faint ringing. It was his cell phone, he'd know that ringtone anywhere. It was the Mario theme song, you could never go wrong with the classics. He ran back up the stairs, thinking that he really needed to start working out again. He picked up his phone and took a couple of deep breaths before putting it up to his ear.
"What?" He asked. The only people who had this phone number were the people he had given it to, so he never got wrong numbers.
"Can I come over yet?" asked a small voice. Looking at the uncovered clock, it showed 11:00, it had been an hour? It hadn't seemed like it. Syndrome rolled his eyes, running his free hand through his hair that he had recently dyed black. He didn't need anyone thinking that he and the kid were related, that could be bad in the future.
"Fine. I'll send someone over for you." Syndrome said, hoping the kid didn't have anything else to say. He needed to do some quick searching for someone to get the kid.
"Okay, thanks!" The kid said happily, hanging up. Syndrome racked his brain, when was the next shipment of stuff leaving? Half an hour, they could pick the kid up. Syndrome quickly dialed the number and told them the address, that the kid was very important, and if anything happened to him it would be their jobs.
Syndrome stuffed the phone in his pocket and went back downstairs to move the stuff out of the foyer. He wanted some of that stuff put away before the kid arrived. The last thing he needed was the kid finding stuff he shouldn't.
Buddy sat in the front seat of a moving van, wondering where this place actually was. He was really excited to find out the place that Syndrome lived in. It sure was far out of town, that meant lots of privacy. He guessed that was a good thing, no one would trespass.
They pulled off onto a dirt road that was lined with trees. It wasn't a thick lining, but thick enough that it was fairly dark in the forest.
"What's in the back?" Buddy asked, looking at the man sitting beside him. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept all night. He didn't even look at Buddy, simply grunted and continued driving. Buddy sighed, continuing to look out the window at the unchanging scenery.
After ten minutes the tree's started to thin out, and then disappeared altogether. In the open space there was a big house, with a large open space in the front and back of it. This place was big, which made Buddy think of something one of the girls at school had said once; "Guy's that like owning big stuff have little birds." The memory sent him off into laughter.
Once the truck stopped moving, Buddy jumped out of the truck and ran into the house. When he got there, he found that Syndrome was no where in sight, instead there was tons of boxes and furniture. Looking left, he saw a large living room, also with boxes lining the walls.
"Well now we know where all the stolen stuff went." Buddy said, thinking out loud.
"This isn't actually it, there's more arriving every so often." Said a voice behind him that made Buddy jump. Looking behind him quickly, he found it was only Syndrome, standing there smiling. It wasn't a pleasent smile, but it wasn't completley evil either.
"Where'd you come from?" Buddy smiled, confused. He hadn't been in the room when he had arrived.
"That, my young friend, is N.O.Y.B."
"N.O.Y.B?"
"None Of Your Business."
"Oh." Buddy said dejectedly. "You need any help moving things around?"
"No, I can manage fine. Why'd you want to come?" Syndrome asked, getting straight to the point.
"Home's boring, William's mean, and Mitch and John have both gone away on family trips. No wheres else to go." Buddy shrugged. "You sure you don't need help?"
"Yes, I'm sure I can manage, I didn't harness zero-point energy for nothing." Syndrome smiled. "I'd forgotten about William, how old is he now?"
"End of his first year of high school."
"Not much longer then."
"Not much longer till what?"
"He goes joyriding with a drunk driver and breaks his left leg and right arm. His leg will need a permanent brace, his arm will never fully heal. Gets him kicked off the teams he's on and eventually stops picking on you." Syndrome said, smiling. He obviously enjoyed the memory. "Mom and dad were crushed, but when he moves out a few months later with a new girlfriend you get all the attention."
"Cool, bigger allowance."
"Much bigger." Syndrome continued smiling. Finally someone who somewhat understood him!
"Are you sure you won't need help?"
"Yes! I am quite sure that I can manage! Look, wander around if you want. I only have a few more things that need to be moved. Then you can have my full attention." Syndrome said. Buddy sighed. He should have known this would happen. He had sounded busy on the phone.
"Okay." Buddy said, walking past Syndrome back into the foyer. Syndrome watched him wander off down the hall, no doubt looking at the many different rooms. He was about to start lifting a box with his zero-point energy when the kid looked back.
"When'd you turn your hair black?" He asked. "It looks funny that way."
"It's called blending in. You should learn how. I figure it's better if people don't think we're related." Syndrome explained.
"Okay, just wondering." Buddy shrugged. Syndrome sighed, he didn't like black hair. It was too dark, but it was too late to turn back now. He saw the kid go into a room, and zapped a pile of boxes that needed to be moved with his zero-point energy beam and lifted them up. They needed to go into the vault, the only room with a lock on it. That was soon to change, but for now everything of some value went in there. It was mostly odds and ends that he was going to put together to build himself a miniature version of his omni-droid. He was going to take on Incredible again, and this time beat him.The only thing was this time was that his family wouldn't be there to save him.