All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces.
Mad World: Gary Jules (Donnie Darko)
There was darkness behind Violet's eyelids, and this was frankly something of a relief. Currently, a headache was washing out her skull with hydrochloric acid and it occupied all of her immediate future like a large grey lightning-filled balloon.
She ventured forth a groan, and when it relieved her feelings a little she tried again, and this time made it more heartfelt. The headache subsided very slightly. Now Violet was aware of a surface beneath her body; it wasn't something easily identifiable. It was just a surface.
More feeling returned. Violet now realised she was lying on her back with her head tipped to one side. She started to sit up, but lay down again with another groan. Her headache decided of its own volition that Violet was not going to disturb it again and settled down once more. It sat in her head like a curled-up cat, purring out agony throughout her skull.
Violet at least ventured to open her eyes.
Dull grey walls met her eyes, as she blinked the blurriness from them. The headache settled down a little further: this dullness of colour was not offending it. Violet eventually concluded that she was lying on the floor of some unknown room.
Violet actually managed to sit up without too many flares of pain, and surveyed her surroundings properly. Five dull grey walls, and just for the variety, one dull grey wall with a dull grey door with a dull grey ventilation shaft. The monotonous colour appeared to stem from the fact that it was unpolished metal, as opposed to stone.
Violet winced, and tenderly touched the back of her head. Most of yesterday was just a blur, but judging from the lump on the back of her skull, she was lucky to remember who she was, let alone how she got here.
There was the sound of tramping feet outside the door. Violet didn't look up, but gingerly explored the knock on the back of her head. It was quite large, but there was thankfully no blood. The stone that got her musn't have had an edge. Just as well, really.
A few people entered her 'cell', but Violet didn't look up. She sat demurely on the floor, legs curled up under her. Only someone who was really looking at her would have noticed that her stare on the floor was a little too unwavering, a little to solid for it to be mere disregard.
The door clanged shut again, and there was silence, but the visitors made no move.
"Violet Parr."
It sounded derogatory. Violet made no response.
"Violet Parr, sister to Dashall Parr, daughter to Helen and Robert Parr."
Still, Violet acted like she had heard nothing.
"Look at me."
The voice was low, menacing, and carried threat. Violet shut her eyes.
"I said, look at me."
Violet turned her head slightly against the wall. Bone instinct told her that the man (it had to be a man - no womanly voice had that timbre) addressing her was head of the whole operation. It had 'boss' harmonics in every syllable. It was used to having orders obeyed.
There was a pause, and the sound of automatic weapons having the safety catches knocked off. Violet opened and rolled her eyes without quite looking at the intruders.
"Okay, okay. I'm up." There was nothing like the sound of a prepared gun to drive anyone to sudden, calculated obedience.
Violet started to get to her feet. The pain in her head and the slight queasiness in her stomach told her it was a move she would regret later, but she did not want to face this nemesis in a heap on the ground.
Wincing slightly as she stood, Violet very slowly brought her face up to that of her captor.
She looked for a long time.
Then she said, "Er... hi."
Part of Violet's brain had frozen up completely, and the part that was still active kicked her sharply. She had done what she'd always done when thunderstruck: she had reverted to politeness and logic. She could become annoyingly reasonable when provoked.
Syndrome raised an eyebrow.
"So, you remember me..."
Within the last few years Syndrome had undergone some intense physical changes. His hair was cut shorter; it told Violet he'd lost some of his arrogance. His face was harder, more lined: the last five or so years had been a bitter struggle, and had aged him considerably. His eyes, once so blue and round, were narrower, darker, and surrounded by the familiar black mask. And, perhaps most obviously, there was a light, silvery scar that started on his left temple, neatly avoided his left eye, wound its way toward his ear then cut sharply down his neck.
His old costume was gone; thank God, thought Violet distractedly. Instead, he wore a new one: what looked like black army boots, black pants and a black top. His arms, folded across his chest, revealed that he hadn't forsaken his wrist controls - they were there stark in white. And he sounded different: colder, harsher, soaked through with a casual vitriol that marked his mercilessness. That was why she hadn't recognised his voice at first, she realised; he used to be less careful. He used to throw away his words.
He'd also lost some weight: these years had been hard for him. Very hard. But he'd clawed his way back on top again. This time he had a reputation to struggle against.
But not all of him was gone. There was a smug spark in his pale blue eyes and his mouth was twitching upwards a little in the corners - the faintest ghost of a narcissistic grin. Violet couldn't blame him. He'd got his worst enemy's daughter standing in his prison cell, with guns aimed at her, and where he called the shots. She could hear his thoughts now: Oh-ho-ho, this is going to be fun...
Violet decided to voice the question that followed the analysis.
"Are you still Syndrome or are you someone different now?"
Violet realised she had phrased the question around his new appearance, but Syndrome's face did not appear to register this fact. Perhaps, for him, he looked no different.
Syndrome grinned, though it was nothing like his old one. This had cruelty behind it. "No, I'm still the bad old Syndrome you grew to hate."
Violet stared a bit more. She thought she could feel herself growing faint, and fought back immediately.
"I suppose you're wondering why you're here."
"Not really."
This appeared to stop Syndrome, and a spasm of irritation flickered over his face, momentarily usurping his slightly egotistical grin.
"You're here because I want revenge."
"Thought so."
Again, this did not appear to conform to Syndrome's internal script, and he scowled. "Are you going to be like this all the time?" he demanded, some of his old impetuousness showing through his new, slightly more somber exterior. Some things never change.
Violet couldn't resist flashing him a quick grin through the clouds of shock, horror and sheer dumbstruck-edness. "Like what, pray tell?" She couldn't quite tell which part of her was speaking; presumably, it was the bit which wasn't fazed by this sudden appearance. But it was a very small part, near her knee. The rest of her body had frozen up: her muscles refused to respond. Violet began to get a gnawing feeling of unreality.
Syndrome appeared to get a grip on himself.
"I'm here to take revenge, but not on you. I have no... immediate quarrel with you, although some of my guards do. Even though last time you completely screwed up my modus operandi, you could say."
Amazingly, that unshocked part of Violet was slowly starting to spread through her brain, as did the feeling of unreality. It seemed to say: You're in a situation of extreme weirdness and I know you can't handle that, so I'll take over temporarily and you can have a nervous breakdown later. Agreed?
"Now... as I have this aforementioned grudge..." He was walking backwards and forwards in the room, still as physically expressive as he ever was, "I would kind of like to carry out for your father what I have in mind." He clapped his hands together and swiveled on his feet to face her. "Now, I have absolutely no idea where your family is currently residing, but that is a position of ignorance I wish to amend."
Violet followed Syndrome carefully with her eyes. He still liked his hand gestures and was as articulate as ever with his body language. His speech, however, was calmer, and more eloquent, something she's noticed pretty much immediately. He knew more, now. Violet listened intently to what he had to say. She got the feeling that she would not like where it was going... not in the slightest. At the mention of her family, the hairs on the base of her skull stood up sharply, causing an icy, tingling sensation on her brain.
Syndrome was watching her expression carefully, Violet noted, but she had been careful to keep it deadpan. She'd learned a few tricks of the trade in her last few years as a super.
Syndrome appeared to give up psychoanalysing Violet as a bad job, and continued with his speech.
"Now, I know that you know where your family currently lives, and that is information I wish to have from you. I'm going to ask you this once, only once... or at least only once civilly. Now: Where - Is - Your - Father?" Syndrome appeared to think for a moment. "I don't intend to harm the rest of your family."
Violet took a moment, meeting Syndrome's pale blue eyes with her own in a firm and unbroken gaze that said, quite clearly: You're insane. You may not be wearing your underwear on your head (yet), but you are quite clearly a mile over the insanity horizon and accelerating.
"They're at Disneyland," she said at last. Syndrome raised an eyebrow.
"You're lying, Incredigirl."
"So are you, Syndrome."
Syndrome nodded to himself.
"That's as it may be. Know that everything that happened from this point onwards is nobody's fault but your own. Do you understand me?"
Violet would not be drawn into this verbal contract, and made no move.
Syndrome got the picture. His face darkened slightly in anger, and that darkly cheerful egotism was replaced by something far more poisonous.
"You have a choice - you can come quickly or they can drag you kicking and screaming. Choose."
Violet looked at him in disbelief. One shield, problem solved…
She sighed. "Kicking and screaming, please."
Syndrome grinned, interpreting her thoughts, and held up a finger.
"One moment, little 'super'. Have you thought this through?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You do not honestly think I would design a base that would allow supers to retain their abilities, did you?"
Icy fear shot a bullet path from Violet's brain to her toes. Syndrome continued.
"I've spent the last half-decade studying supers as closely as possible - capturing a couple more helped my studies intensely." Still not given up your favourite sport then, Syndrome? "My research has proven that supers rely on a little bit of subconscious concentration to kick their powers into motion. Now, I have used that information to have every single one of my walls charged electrically. The charge is so small you can't feel it, but the frequency juuust disrupts that little bit of inner concentration. I think you'll find it very hard to construct and maintain shields."
So as long as I'm not in contact with a wall I'll be all right, thought Violet carefully. Syndrome, however, ultimately knew what she was thinking.
"...and the advantage of this little current is that it affects the air that touches it. Basically, my entire base is super-proof."
Violet froze completely. Trapped. She was completely trapped.
She tried to summon a shield the size of a tennis ball in the palm of her hand, but there was some kind of... mental block. She couldn't do it; it hurt her head too much.
Whilst Violet was still reeling from this, Syndrome motioned towards her with her hand, and his two bodyguards moved forward with deadly purpose.
The preternatural senses that everyone had told Violet that they were moving too fast for her to bring up a shield in time (if, her mind cautioned her, you could anyway), so she swung out with her fist instead.
I'm going to fight, now and forever because if I comply once they'll make it all the more harder for me to refuse to comply next time.
She copped one of them on the jaw pretty well but the other brought the butt of his rifle into a painful explosive contact with her back. She collapsed, drowning in darkness.
She couldn't have been swimming in the big black sea of unconsciousness for more than a few seconds, because when she came to she realised the guards had a hold of one arm each and they were dragging her along a corridor. She just had time to see the door to her cell closing before she rounded a corner.
Where's that book I was reading? she thought dozily, brain not quite up to speed. Her skull had taken quite a bashing these last few hours and she wondered idly if she would be suffering from any long-term brain damage. It would certainly explain a lot.
Abruptly, just as some polysyllabic brain functions were beginning to work their way back into her thinking, she was dragged around a corner and into a brand new room.
It was gunmetal grey. The large industrial lamps emitted a bluish white light. There were hardly any shadows. Violet could understand that. The people who worked in a kind of room like this needed to be able to see what they were doing.
Violet tried to move her arms but the result was that the guards tightened their grip. She couldn't actually feel her arms any more, so this was unnoticeable.
The guards dumped her on the floor of the room somewhat unceremoniously. Startled tingling shot through Violet's arms as the circulation re-established itself. She sat up and rubbed them a little, and gave this new room a good look.
Largish, squarish, and... businesslike. There were shackles on the wall, shackles on the floor, and shackles on various table-like objects. There were pointy things, stubby things and some which looked downright ridiculous... though Violet was in no laughing mood.
And against the wall, perhaps the most ominously, was a small door. It had no obvious locks, but it emanated a sense of dark, dormant malevolence.
Violet clambered to her feet with a surprising ease. The presence of such dangerous-looking items had given her a fresh boost of adrenaline.
Syndrome had his hands clasped behind his back and was looking at her with an air of self-imposed smugness. Seeing this, Violet decided to get her brain back into gear, declare this situation Defcom 4 and start an all-out nuclear war on it.
Her eyes glanced to the door. It was shut, there were no obvious locks on it, but it looked unopenable from the inside. Brain moving slightly faster now she wasn't paralysed with fear, she evaluated her chances of getting the hell out.
Syndrome motioned toward Violet with his fingers. Once more, the two guards began to walk purposefully towards her.
Violet took a step backwards and pressed her back into the wall. Her headache came back with a vicious thunderclap, assuming every photon of her attention. Violet realised it was occupying too much of her mental RAM for her to summon a shield, even if she could.
Nothing. Dammit. Let's go to plan B...
Violet swept out the feet of the guard nearest to her with a floor-level kick. She jumped and landed on the guard's stomach. He made a sort of 'ounf' noise but Violet was away from him, rolling, and smacking the second guard as hard as possible across the face with her foot.
He collapsed, dropping his gun as he did so. Violet rolled again, picked it up, and was on her feet within seconds. Her finger squeezed the trigger and there was a bullet in each of the men's kneecaps. Their screams of agony sliced through the air like a shard of broken mirror. Violet wound up with having the gun pointed, quite firmly, at Syndrome, but she was too late. A nastily familiar aura of blue had surrounded her, and she was once more trapped in zero-point energy.
Syndrome tapped a button on one of his wrist controls, never taking his eyes from Violet.
"Guard of six, interrogation unit seven. Immediately. Oh, and two stretchers."
He appeared to shorten to beam of energy until she was closer to him. Reaching into the forcefield, he plucked the gun from her frozen hands and threw it behind him. It discharged once, with a loud report, and lay uselessly on the floor.
Syndrome began to laugh. "And to think I thought you would just submit! You have changed these last few years, haven't you? Learned how to fight, I see, but, in the end, it really isn't going to make much difference."
Syndrome stated this last sentence with an uncaring shrug of his shoulders, and this scared Violet more than anything else. This man truly did not care what he did to her, in order to get the information that he wanted.
Turning abruptly, he let go of the zero-point energy and Violet smashed ungracefully to a wall, with a sharp crack. Violet groaned softly as her right ribcage filled with bright pain, and all she could think was my God was that what I think it was? Numbly, she noted the spreading flower of red stain her vest top, and that thought filled her mind again: my God is that what I think it is?
Eight men entered the room and Violet viewed them all through a thin grey gauze of metallic pain. She tried not to pay attention to them, and she succeeded, to an extent.
Violet very quietly laid her head on the floor and, with the calmness and tranquility of a child, dropped away from the world.
The Star Swordsman: Thanks for the review!
Catalina Tavington: Thanks for reviewing! I know what you mean about crowds - I'd much rather be sat with my CD player and inspiration for a new story.
pitbulllady: Thanks! -blush blush blush-.
I spent two hours with an atlas, a physical and political map of both St. Lucia and Barbados and an Internet map of the tectonic plates in the Caribbean. Judging by your review, I think it turned out okay - I got most of the major details in, at least. Studying tectonic activity has been kinda fun, I have to say. Constructive plate boundaries, subducted plates, etc... yes, I'm weird, I'll admit it.
Nny11: Thanks. Keep reviewing!
Cristy Demonwrath: Good Lord. Quite the review. Nice name, by the way... 'Demonwrath'. Cool.
Anyway - you're the second person telling me I have a well-researched story, so that proves I'm doing something right.
I've been worrying about my portrayal of Syndrome a bit... I need him to be more mature(he sounds like a cheese, doesn't he: 'Get your well-matured Syndrome here!'), but still with that occasionally blatant childishness that made us all love him in the first place. I'd value your opinion on how I've done.
I loved those guards in the movie - I had a great mental image of them kicking back with ice cream, but sadly I could not work that into the story. I just wanted to portray them as human. Looking at my most recent writings, the way the plot is going you might get to meet them briefly. I don't know; the plot's stayed the same, but the method of getting there has changed every now and then.
One more thing before I stop blathering, in response to: "How you're going to get him and Violet together is still beyond me..." I have been reading some other Vi/Syn stuff (that's what got me going on this fic) and in most cases, they get together because of physical attraction. This fic won't rely independently on that, although it may play a part, because most relationships have to have some physical attraction. But not a big part, at least in this fic.
I'll shut up now.
Review again!