So cruelly you kissed me
The Killing Moon: Echo and the Bunnymen

Violet sat in the corner of her cell, trying desperately to think her way out of this mess. Her body had been re-hydrated whilst in that hospital-style thing, and it had cleared her thinking considerably.

Red. Red was the key. Violet could not escape under her own power, and she needed her friend's help, but she had no idea when the woman would be allowed to visit again -

The door hissed open and Syndrome stepped in, running his eyes down a clipboard. He threw her a customary glance that seemed far too casual to be indifference. There was a gleam in his eyes she did not like, not at all.

She stood up to face him, but he didn't move forward. He tapped the clipboard, transferred it to his other hand, and smirked at her.

"Why, hello there."

Oh, this is bad...

"What the hell do you want this time?"

"I've decided that you're a drain on my resources, and quite possibly a liability. So we're going to try the trip one last time, and if you're still stubborn, then I'm going to have you shot."

Violet went completely numb. Just like that.

So... this was it? This was what it all boiled down to? Three years of official superwork, only to die at the hands of a villain she had already defeated?

Violet wasn't ready to die. She supposed she never would be, but now? This young? She had barely started her life. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen ­- she wasn't meant to go this way.

Violet drew in a shaky breath and half-turned away from Syndrome, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as a layer of diamonds formed in her eyes, threatening to spill.

Syndrome noticed.

"Oh, now come on... I could give you far worse deaths."

This was true. Violet didn't care. She was going to die.

Violet slipped her headband from her forehead in one fluid movement, and used a corner to wipe away the tears. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, almost over her eyes. She tucked a corner behind her ear, but it was more of a gesture to make sure she was still who she thought she was; she stared fiercely at the ceiling, blinking away more tears.

Her lungs were still; this was not the kind of crying that would warrant sobs. This was sheer, straight-from-the-heart tears of failure and quiet misery. She wasn't even legally a full adult and yet she was going to die.

She twisted the headband in her hands, winding it through her fingers, knotting about her wrists. This time, she couldn't stop the tears from falling and she turned away completely from Syndrome.

She fought for a second to make sure her lungs were steady, and said in a voice that hardly wavered, "Skip the trip. Shoot me tomorrow."

"You sure?" He sounded surprised.

She leaned her forehead against the cool, dull grey metal of her cell wall, and this time she couldn't stop the way her shoulders shook. It was not worth the pain of another hallucinogenic experience; there was no point delaying it. Best be over, and over quickly.

It sounded as if Syndrome was leaving, but no; he appeared to come back again, dragging something with him.

She turned slightly, still resting her head against the wall, to see him sitting down on a chair, against the door. He indicated to a chair seated opposite him, but she shook her head. He hooked it with a foot, dragged it closer, and propped his feet up on it. Violet didn't take her eyes from him. It still managed to surprise her that his movements were so reminiscent of the teenager he must have been once: carefree and undignified.

She wiped her eyes, put her headband back on, inhaled shakily, and turned to face him once more. He looked strange, like this. Relaxed. Too casual.

"Well, seeing how tomorrow isn't going to be the greatest time to ask, I want to know what the hell this 'Virus' thing is."

Violet stared at him for a little bit longer.

"Well?"

Violet seated herself cross-legged on the floor. "I don't know," she said flatly. Syndrome rolled his eyes.

"You went on about it often enough. Come on."

Violet scrubbed at her eyes. She felt that her sudden flush of emotions had used up a lot of her energy, and she couldn't be bothered being distanced anymore.

"I don't know what it was, but it was killing everyone. They were talking and breathing but they were... dead. They were all dead."

"Except for me."

"I found you on the top of the volcano... of the old island. You were... just sat there, looking out to the sea. Just bloody sat there. I told you the Virus was coming but you just... just sat there, and you said..." Violet shut her eyes, trying to remember. She did not open them again. "You said: 'I'm the only one who's not dead yet.'" She swallowed. "I tried to warn you. Tried to drag you away, 'cause we had to hide someplace. Somewhere where the Virus couldn't get us."

Violet was silent for a long time.

"Why did you try to save me?"

"Because you were the only one left. You and me, and I didn't want anyone else to die."

"Not even me?" Joking.

"Especially not you. You just turned to me, and said, 'Where to?' There was nowhere to run and hide; you saw that, even if I didn't. You were more intelligent than I was, and you just waited, when I tried to run. Then it got you. You were gone, and it was after me."

"Why 'especially' me?"

"Because you fixed my family."

It was Syndrome's turn for a long bout of silence.

"Excuse me?"

"If it wasn't for you then the Supers couldn't have come out of hiding again. You pulled my father out of his depression. You helped my family come together as a unit, recognise our powers, ignite Jack-Jack. You healed us."

That had been painful. Still, she was going to die tomorrow, so no problem. Violet hugged her knees, and glanced up at Syndrome.

He was staring at her too sharply, finger tracing the stretch of silver scar underneath his eye. He looked disbelieving, and angry. Mostly angry. His feet were no longer resting on the other chair.

"Had it occurred to you," he said softly, dangerously, "That by killing you I could tear them apart again?"

Violet shrugged. "Then we'll have had five, six more years than we would have had before and I'm thankful. They know that a super's job is a dangerous one."

"They'd be ripped apart."

"I know."

And Syndrome was standing, sweeping the chair away from him, and crossing the cell in brisk, purposeful strides. He reached down, and, with both hands, hauled her up by the front of her top and slammed her hard against the wall.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously enough," he hissed, eyes now almost navy with fury. "I think you need another lesson in pain. Your father shattered my dreams, twenty-odd years ago. I was a kid. And now you're telling me I fixed your family?"

Violet's hands flashed up to grip his wrists but the muscles beneath were as hard as oak wood, and about as malleable. Fear began to circle her system again.

Her breath came faster as Syndrome twisted his fists, jerking her higher up on the wall, stifling her breathing. Her own grip flashed up his arms to tug on his wrists -­ and Violet felt a slight bump in the hard, acrylic-like material... a release catch.

She needed this remote to get out of the base. She also needed to distract Syndrome long enough for her to remove it -­ and soon.

"Then let me thank you for it," she growled. She flashed her head forwards, and pressed her lips against Syndrome's.

There was a moment of pure, frozen shock. Syndrome appeared to seize up in surprise, and Violet's finger flicked the catch of the remote so that it was loose. But the moment passed and Syndrome was rearing his head away. His eyes were a mixture of distrust, shock, and anger.

"What the hell was that?" he snarled. Violet's fear exploded once more -­ the remote still wasn't loose enough, and he would notice it in a minute. She had failed. She deserved death. Her chaste kiss had not been enough.

She felt the grip of his fists tighten yet again, and he pulled her even further up the wall. She was now balancing on her toes, not quite on eye level with Syndrome. But she could see his eyes well enough, and there was a glint in Syndrome's eye, and before Violet knew it, Syndrome was the one kissing her.

It was Violet's turn for utter shock to pervade her senses. This wasn't real and could not be happening. Why would -­ why ­-

... but, once again, logic had jumped in and prevented a full-blown panic attack (advantage of being a super, she mused detachedly). Here was her last chance. She had better take it. Never mind the why is he doing it ­- time to think about the how do I get out of this.

So she relaxed into his kiss, and after a few moments she felt the grip on her shirt loosen very, very slightly. And her knee was flashing up and out as her hand ripped the control away, quickly quickly, and Syndrome was sinking to the floor as Violet latched the remote onto her arm and was running, running for the door which sensed the approach of the remote and opened for her. And now she was out in the corridor, not pausing to consider directions but knowing that she had absolutely no time to spend thinking. So she ran, looking for a lift, and elevator, anything, just knowing in some primal way that she was underground and needed to go up.

Corridors flashed by and no alarm had been sounded yet, but this did not comfort Violet. She had literally seconds, and she intended to gain as much ground as possible.

A guard rounded a corner but Violet, spiked on adrenaline and running on terror, lashed out and caught him around the head. He crumpled to the floor but Violet did not look back, didn't pause for breath though her lungs were afire and her blood roared. There was no Goddammed time.

There was a lift at the end of the corridor and Violet bolted into it, jabbing the highest button with her finger, again and again and again. Then the alarm sounded.

It was a ridiculously loud siren, and the lift halted immediately. Claustrophobia, something Violet had never really had to deal with before, kicked in.

She knew now that panic would be of no use. She had gained ground. That was all that mattered for now.

Violet braced her hands against the sides of the lift and took in four deep, gasping breaths that cleared her head of terror and calmed her somewhat. She had been in escape situations before. How would she handle it?

She started with her environment. The lift was small and slightly round, with a concave roof, but comfortably furnished with a smooth floor and calm white walls. There appeared to be no roof hatch.

Violet tried to think logically. She was out of contact with the main contingent of the building, and therefore would not be getting much current to the electrified walls. Would it be possible...?

Experimentally, Violet tried to bring up a small shield in the palm of her hand. It was there, for all of four seconds; then focusing became too hard. But she knew it worked, now. Four seconds was a long time, if you count down in your head.

Violet tried to imagine a cone with a sharp point; she opened her eyes and crafted her hands so that the shape in her mind became a shield. She immediately felt the intolerance from her concentration but pushed anyway, creating a large hole in the metal of the ceiling.

Fear jumped again; she had been in the lift for about thirty seconds, and she could not afford to lose this time. So she hauled herself up unto the curved roof, and surveyed her situation afresh.

The shaft she was in was round and lit every two meters or so by a soft yet powerful light. And there was a maintenance ladder.

She began to climb.

llllllllll

"The boss sounded really pissed."

"I'm not surprised. She's got one of his remotes. How the hell that happened I have no idea ­- Boss always nulls any security cameras when he's in a room."

"Can we track it?"

"Done already -­ she's in an elevator shaft, and climbing. We're getting ready a whole battalion to say hi."

"She's gonna get creamed."

"Yep."

"Rather her than me. Hey, you got a glitch in camera six -"

"Nah, it's always like that. Hit it once -­ like so -­ and it fixes."

"Oh yeah. Is the girl on camera yet?"

"Should be, in a minute -­ whoa, there you go. Camera twelve."

"What level is she on?"

"Four."

"She's really moving, I'll give her that. I'll tell the boss."

"Be optimistic about it."

"I know, I know... hi, patch me through to Syndrome. Cheers..."

llllllllll

Violet paused for breath again. She had no idea how far she'd gone up but her ears had popped sometime back, and she knew she was going higher. That was good.

She had passed a few elevator doors but she wanted to go as high as possible before having to battle her way through guard-infested corridors.

Violet wiped the sweat from her forehead and leaned her head against the ladder. The cool metal helped some.

For a moment, her thoughts flashed back to Syndrome, along with a very large red question mark.Why the hell had he bothered? Unless it was some new technique of interrogation, although how it left time and space for talking was beyond her imagination, thank God.

She resumed her climb.

Barely ten metres above her was the top of the lift shaft, and a lift door. Violet took another breather, when she was standing on a rung on the same level as the door, and tried not to imagine what could be waiting for her. Worst scenario? A million war-worthy mercenaries. Best? Empty, with a hot air balloon and a pair of ruby shoes. And she could click her heels three times whilst murmuring "There's no place like home."

A best-case scenario was about as likely as the ruby slippers.

Her hand slipped to the door, and her questing fingers found an emergency release. Violet shoved one foot through the doors, stopping them as they attempted to re-close, and hauled herself through. Pushing a couple of strands of hair from her face, she surveyed this floor.

There were about fifty robotic-looking guards waiting for her with armed guns and blank masks. They wore identical armour, held identical weapons, and stood in an identical stance. They were standing in front of a wide-open hangar door. Tropical sunlight blasted in through the huge frame. Violet could see trees waving gently in a light breeze, could feel that sweet wind as it swirled around her body, lifting away some of the mugginess from climbing the lift shaft. She heard birds, saw the azure sky, and wanted to cry. It was pure torture. She was seventy paces from freedom and golden light.

"Reviewing your chances?" said a nearby voice. Violet's eyes narrowed, and she scanned the room - her vision, accustomed to the relative gloom of the elevator shaft, had evaporated at the sunlight. Purple spots tangoed in front of her eyes for a moment.

Syndrome was leaning against the all next to the hangar. His face was nothing short of malicious -­ sheer anger fused with hatred, all married to something that vaguely resembled bitterness, although Violet wasn't sure.

"Yes," she replied simply. She was tired, thirsty, desperately hungry and was nearly broken. The last week and a half had removed more from her body than merely physical strength -­ she had faced her worst fears, had seen everybody die in a psychotic episode and had gained some paranoia.

"What more can you do to me?" she asked, and was horrified to notice a very slight tremble. Syndrome heard it. His grin widened.

"So this is all it took? A little bit of sunlight? I wish I'd know that from the start."

Violet looked away, determined not to cry. Unconsciously, her hands had balled into fists and her limbs were shaking from a mixture of anger and fatigue. She realised that she had better sit before she collapsed.

So she slowly turned her back on Syndrome and slid down the wall next to the lift. The weapons of the soldiers followed her. She put her face into her hands, and there was a long silence.

"In case you hadn't noticed, the fighters currently standing in front of you are the latest generation of warrior robots," said Syndrome smugly. "I've ordered them not to shoot you until you're standing two meters forward from your current position. It should be interesting... you choosing when you die, and all."

Violet didn't look up. Violet didn't move. Violet didn't act as though she heard him. She didn't see the point.

There was another silence.

"You still can't use your shields in here, you know."

Violet had surmised this much, otherwise he would not have picked this spot for their final confrontation. Then something in Syndrome's attempts to fill in the silences struck her.

Was he uncomfortable in the situation?

"Why did you bother?" she asked dully. The hangar took her words and played basketball with them for a moment, echoing them, raising their volume. Changing them. Why did you bother kissing me? Why did you bother fighting me? Why are you bothering now?

Syndrome had no answer for that. None at all.

Violet looked up to outside the hangar. A bird flew past, silhouetted for a moment against afternoon sunshine, and Violet tried to think practically.

She was nearer the surface, so her shields would be just strong enough to hold for maybe three, four seconds. It wasn't long, but it could make all the difference. She was thinking straighter, after a moment to rest.

The golden light outside had darkened, she noticed. In fact, the azure sky had become ominously purple. The trees were silent; the animals were still. The breeze had stopped... the calm before the storm.

Purpose filled her, deadly and black as she rose from her sitting position. She would not die cowering like a frightened animal; hell, she would not die.

Her eyes scanned the hangar, glinting now with deadly design. This new stance appeared to unnerve Syndrome for a second, because he did not appear to know for a second that she had stood.

"You'll never escape the volcano, you know," he snarled, any pretence at smugness gone. He was angry now, as if Violet had wounded him. Violet didn't even spare him a glance.

"A volcano again? Quite the phallus. Not trying to make up for something, are we?"

The first few drops of rain fell through the opening of the hangar door. Rain. Freedom. She had tasted neither for almost two weeks.

Violet backed into the metal wall and took one deep breath to steady her nerves.

Then, she jumped.

The wrapped the shield around her into a cone, piercing the air, eliminating friction or air resistance. Due to the strange anti-gravity effect of her shield, she sliced through the air and into blessed, blessed wind. She landed with a splurge into a patch of mud, amidst the heavy rain. Instantly, she was soaked and hot - the sheer humidity of the tropical environment threatened to overheat her, away from the air-conditioning of Syndrome's lair. But she didn't have time for this.

She had shot past the robots far too fast for them to react and they were running at her as she picked herself up from her crash site and began to run, ripping off the white control from her wrist as she went. She didn't want to risk being tracked through it. Within seconds of this she had called a shield around herself, and her vigilance was rewarded when the first splash of bullets hit her and bounced.

The forest ahead of her was all uphill; the hangar had emerged into the very bottom point of the funnel cone Red had described for her. She had a long way to go, and it was all uphill. The forest was dark black, green and purples in the dull, heavy light of the storm. Fiercely, she blinked water from her eyes as she began to run up the slope, just as she heard the sound of machines taking to the air.

Stealth was no use at this point, none at all. So she just ran, supplying energy to her shields only when her instincts warned her that she would need it. She was about a mile up the side of the funnel now but she was stronger than she had thought; she had not begun to reach the stage where every breath was a battle for energy. She ran with a long, steady pace that was undeterred by whiplash branches or hidden roots.

Twigs slapped at her, leaving muddy streaks across her face and body. The rain was as heavy as ever, and Violet prayed that it disrupted any infra-red sensors those robots might have had.

So she ran, fuelled on calm terror and the desperation to live to see another day. She could probably make it up to the tip of this funnel but then she would be out of energy. There was no way she could run the fifty-odd miles back to the harbour.

Violet didn't focus on it. Instead, she caught a glimpse of something through the canopy of the trees and upped her pace.

PitbullLady: When I wrote the Virus, I was actually thinking of the short story 'The Road Virus Heads North' by Stephen King, and indeed had actually included the line in a paragraph until I wondered why the hell I was plagiarising him. 'Road Virus Heads North' is (I don't know if you've read it) about a guy who buys a painting, and discovers that the creep in the picture is chasing him in real life.
Anyway, I think the point I was trying to make in this chapter that suddenly, Violet has more than just information about her family. Syndrome is intrigued as to why Violet told him that she didn't want him to die - after all, they are enemies.
Review again!

Surly: Hell yeah! What a review! I'm glad you like my Syndrome, and we seem to share a mutual contempt for the "He is so hot."/"She is so pretty," style Syn/Vi fics (unfortunately, they appear to be the only types out there.). You're right - no matter how hot my opponent, I would hate him, preferably from a distance if they have weaponry. When people try to kill me I generally do not like them, although I can say I haven't actually been in that situation.
I both read and write Harry Potter fanfiction, but under a totally different penname.
Goody/Villain fics are so good because they are so emotionally complex. You have to contend with grievances, both old and new; you have to work with character anomalies more than you would with goody/goody romances. When it's done well they're just great to read. In every film or book I can think of, bar maybe a few, my favourite character has been a villain.

irishpiratess: I love all my reviewers. : ) That would include you too.
Oo - love your use of the word 'ahoy', you pirate you.
Tony's abusive, eh? You only have to look at him to think Tony equals Jock equals evil. So I suppose that all works out.
Review again, ye scurvy cur.

nny11: I have a younger sister too. Aren't siblings annoying? I live in hope for the day I discover I am a genetic experiment. It would explain a hell of a lot.
Anyway: glad you like the chapter.
What do you mean by "I'm glad they've looked into lights, pills, and mists to replace those flesh piercing demons"? Forgive me, I'm feeling very slow-witted today.

j752572: Aww, your brother made it. Bless. 'j752572' is about as unique as you can get, so it all works.
Glad you like the story! Keep reviewing!

Amanda: Updating. : )

Cristy Demonwrath: The dream IS a giant metaphor, I guess. I needed Vi to accept Syndrome, albeit in a dream, as a person - then I rounded that off with their conversation near the end of the chapter.
It's funny you should mention the mechanical embodiment of a role, because that's a summary of a paragraph in the very last chapter. To be fair, if Violet wasn't fighting the idea of a mechanical role then she wouldn't allow herself to see anything than a black-and-white picture of herself vs. Syndrome, and would probably be dead by now. As someone who's just rounding off their teenage years, she's still very unsure of herself, her emotions and her abilities - remnants of teenage anxieties ("am I not good enough?" "should I be better?"). That's why she reacts as she does to Syndrome's kiss in this chapter - if she were any older she'd probably act sickened and disgusted, unable to shake off the association of evil with Syndrome. If she were any younger, her confusion would simply swallow her whole, and she wouldn't react. However, she's just at the age to be pragmatic enough to use it to her advantage.
Does that make any sense?
Review again!

The Lonely Shepherd: - Why, you little Bo Peep you. ; )
'Vidrome'? New term for me. Cool. Anyway... yes, here and updating, just for you.
Needles? Uuuughh. Hate 'em. Lots. So I wrote it in as a piece of my own personal horror. Seems to have worked okay.
Review again!