I'm not sure I got all my facts right in this chapter. If anyone spots any, point them out to me and I'll try to correct them. Thanks!

Teach me how to fly; see, I'm scared to die
Learn To Crawl: Black Lab

It had taken about half an hour but now she lay in the thin undergrowth at the top of the funnel. She couldn't run any further. Three miles in thirty minutes had drained her reserves of power.

She lay as still as she could in the thick of a leafy plant, hoping that it was nulling her heat signature, and tried to think what would happen to her when they found her.

Death. A slow, painful one.

Her ribs throbbed with a steady pulse: a low, hot pain. They had started to hurt about two-thirds of the way up the hill. Violet supposed she must have done something to them again. Violet was too tired to cry, so she listened instead.

She heard the robot whirr of a machine flying overhead. She heard raised human voices of footsoldiers. She heard the choppy hum of human-piloted Viper craft.

How to get down from the volcano? How?

Violet tried to kick her exhausted brain into action, but with the warm rain pouring down on her and the humidity of the tropical air pressing down, she found it difficult to think at all, let alone in a straight line.

Violet took a deep breath as an idea lit up her brain like a fireworks display. She might not be able to make it to the harbour but, if she persevered, she could probably make it to the tower ­-

... Violet scrunched up her eyes. It was just possible to make out the tip of what looked like a manmade structure, if you squinted and looked at the top of the hill...

­- and she could try to radio for help.

For a moment, she let the rain course down her body, through her soaked top and through her long dark hair. Then she was up, and she was running again.

It was all flat land she had to run across. The tower was on the same level as the top of the funnel volcano, and so all she had to do was survive. If she kept it steady and slow, she could be there in a few minutes.

Violet looked up at the canopy above her, reached for the nearest branch, and hauled herself up. The rain had not tapered and the bark was rough yet slippery beneath her fingers; she would have to be careful.

It didn't take her long to reach the top of the tree and she took a second to glance around her. The tips of the trees were eerily still in the no-wind-torrential-rain of the storm, and everything was a deep shade of blue, green, purple or grey. It was beautiful, in a sense, but Violet had no time to notice the view; she was more focused on the wooden communications tower about two hundred paces away from her, to the north-west. Then gunfire kicked up the leaves around her.

Something drew a dark line of fiery pain through her shoulder just as she saw a squadron of four Viper craft heading towards her. The impact of the gunfire had knocked her backwards. She summoned a platform which caught her before she hit the ground, then dissolved it unceremoniously and hit the leaf litter of the forest floor running. She was nearly there; so goddamn close!

There was a large pulsing monster where her shoulder should have been, but Violet ignored it and the way blood was flowing from her newly-acquired bullet wound. She had to get to that tower.

She ran again. She could see the tower through the trees; one hundred and fifty paces... one twenty... one hundred...

She burst out into the clearing surrounding the tower and phased out. The rain bounced off the space she occupied and she left muddy footprints behind her, but she prayed the Vipers were too high up to notice.

The tower was a short, squat, wooden creation that had a satellite dish balanced somewhat precariously at the top. She could see the door for it getting closer... closer... twenty paces... ninet-

She collided with something that flashed in front of her and she sprawled in the mud, surrendering her invisibility. Everything was too fast; a blur of a sights and sounds and smells. She fought back; she only knew it to be an enemy.

Blinded with rain and mud, she slung away the foreign body. Adrenaline roared through her blood, drowning out the screaming bullet in her shoulder. Hearing muffled curses, she pulled herself up and struck out. Her fist connected with something but then a grip tightened around her arm, ripping her off her feet, where she promptly had an intimate reunion with the soaked earth. She brought up a shield as something slammed into it and dissolved it again, opting for manoeuvrability rather than armour over the unknown foe who could see her, but couldn't be seen. She kicked out as her attacker found a grip on her hair and she delivered a punch to what she assumed was her enemy's face. She had no chance to wipe the rain from her eyes. And suddenly it was all pressure, pain, vertigo as something slammed into her with the force of a small plane. She crashed to the mud again and instantly forgot which way gravity was supposed to go as she fought her attacker and tried to find purchase on both the slippery ground and the moving body of her foe. But the rain melted all friction until they were nothing but a grappling pair of adversaries, both trying to not drown in mud or rain, and both trying to gain the upper hand through a multitude of kicks and punches and vicious combat. This was not fighting; this was a grotesque ballet, a drunken dance where neither was winning and all that was left was slick rain, soaked aggression and a sheer desperation to win. Violet was trying but she could slowly feel herself being overpowered ­- her opponent was heavier, taller, stronger, and not as fatigued as she was - and she couldn't see to use her shields. Contact was too close for invisibility to be any use. And then, with a sudden twist, lurch and lunge, she was beaten.

Her shoulder exploded in brief, bright agony, forcing the world to spin a little around her, sending her fingertips numb, and dropping her to her knees. And something was pressed to the base of her throat, annoying the skin, and a grip snaked around her neck below the jaw. And she was left clutching at this grip and looking down the shaft of gun, along a white glove, past a stretch of white remote, up a length of black-clad arm, up a shoulder tensed with muscle and to Syndrome's face.

His lips were twisted in an open snarl, and his blue eyes were nothing short of evil. Rivulets of water traced their beads down his scar; he, too, was totally soaked and somewhat mud-splattered, his once-black clothing now a confused mixture of dark colours and clinging to his frame. His orange hair was brown from the water and mud, and stuck to his face. Violet noticed detachedly that there was a thin line of crimson snaking its way from his hairline. He was breathing hard and glaring harder down at her, slightly tightening his grip on Violet's throat. The hand gripping the gun was harsh and unforgiving.

Syndrome's grip was cutting off Violet's air and wobbled on her knees, almost falling the rest of the way, a thin grey mist covering the world. Syndrome relaxed his grip, very, very slightly, and Violet could breathe again.

Her hands were free, but his grip was longer than hers, and he had her at arm's length. Shields could do nothing for her: the gun was in direct contact with her skin.

"This is Syndrome to base," said Syndrome very quietly, not taking his eyes from Violet's. "I've have got her. Repeat, I have got her. Send all troops back to base."

"Yessir."

The communication broke off with a snap, and Syndrome's thumb rested back on her neck. He had barely moved.

They stayed that way in silence for a little while. Syndrome did not pull the trigger, and Violet did not struggle.

"Why are you doing this to me?" snarled Syndrome at last. He spoke in a low, dangerous voice. "I have everything running quite smoothly, and then you pop up and throw a spanner in the works. You are to my operation what grit is to clockwork."

"You forgot to mention my family," she gasped out through a constricted throat and a gauze of bullet pain. Syndrome's glare darkened.

"Your family is why you are currently here. They are not the ones being held, at gunpoint, in a tropical storm." He paused for a second. "Admit it, Violet. It's why you're here, isn't it? Sick of doing things the old-fashioned way?"

Violet said nothing. She froze up. How could he know this? Time to strike him back.

She dug her fingers behind the web of skin between forefinger and thumb on Syndrome's hand, giving her more air to breath, and tried not to tug on the flesh that surrounded her left shoulder.

"And you, Buddy? Sick of always getting it wrong? Is that why you're doing this now?" Are you evil, or merely misunderstood?

"My name is not Buddy!"

"Why not?"

Her own fierce, tired gaze was returned with a steely one. They'd both hit nerves, and they knew it.

Violet looked up, to the purple-stormy sky. The rain was still torrential and, if Violet's geographical knowledge of tropical areas was correct, would continue to be so for another hour at least. She was going to die under lavender storm clouds, fighting till the end, in a wet soil grave. She could live with that, in a manner of speaking. So, let's go for the gold.

Syndrome's other remote, still on his right wrist, let the water slide from it as if it were oiled; so Violet let her right hand close very loosely around his left wrist. Closer contact.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Once more, she received no answer. Only angry silence. She could see death, and it was peaceful.

"Please," she said softly, just enough to be heard over the rain. "Please. For the love of God, make it quick." And the hand that had been on his wrist covered the hand that was on her throat. Skin contact. It sparked in his eyes.

Once more, and not for the first time, she put her trust in him: She temporarily put her trust in him to do the job he had come to do, to do it well, and not to leave her on her own.

He had not failed her. He had not failed her family. She looked at him, calm, forgiving, and perhaps he saw this in her eyes because he straightened up a little, eyes widening slightly. He sensed the trust she had placed in him and it unnerved, maybe even shocked him. The contact of her hand on his had sent a jolt through his system, she could see it in his eyes. But neither his grip, nor the gun, wavered.

The coolness of the falling water was chilling Violet's skin, giving her gooseflesh. The humidity of the air had lessened now that they were not under the cover of the trees. She tried desperately not to shiver. She grew angry, and impatient.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked hoarsely. She wanted it to be one bright flare of white pain before she slept forever. "Well?"

"Answer me one question, Incredigirl," he said softly, "And I'll answer yours."

"Deal."

He stood there, rain pouring down his saturated body, gun harsh against her throat, watching her with a curious expression of anger and bitterness. Though he had no right to be bitter about anything.

"How much do you hate me?"

It was like a slap. Her eyes widened as she tried to figure out an appropriate response. Why would he ask something like that?

Her mind flashed over the previous couple of weeks, searching, probing, studying every little emotion that she could remember. The results came back to her frontal lobe.

She didn't. Not at all.

Violet knew she should. He had done so much to her; broken her ribs, sent her on a hallucinatory trip, had her running for her life in a tropical storm. And even before that, trying to kill her family, stealing her baby brother. And not once could she remember looking at him in a way that made her hate him. Oh, there was fear, plenty of that; after all, he wouldn't have been a successful manager of the entire operation if he couldn't instil fear. But not once, not even once, could she remember regarding him in a light that suggested genuine hatred. Pity, maybe. But no hatred.

She grew angry.

"You have tried to kill my father," she said in a dangerously low voice. "You tried to kill my mother and brother. You tried to kidnap my baby brother. You tried to kill me. You stuck a needle in my neck, sent me down a spiral of hallucinogenic drugs and have generally made my life Hell."

"Well observed."

"Shut up. So why is it that I don't hate you?"

For a second, just for a second, she felt his surprise. But one second was just enough.

She ripped herself forwards, breaking his grasp. He stumbled, thrown off-balance. Violet stood up fast, angling her hipbone toward his waist so that she could throw him over her hip using his weight as momentum -­ an old Ju Jitsu move she remembered from long ago. And she had the gun and fired, fired fired fired fired fired into the soggy earth until the click of empty chambers rattled back at her. Then she was running, running as fast as she could to the tower. Praying for anything. A miracle. Please, God.

She burst in through the wooden door to find a sort of maintenance bay; some Viper craft were lying around in various bits and pieces. A ladder led up to another deck where computers sat looking dark and moody. Cables ran through the wall to what must have been the satellite dish.

There were two helmetless guards who turned to look at her from the floor level, and immediately their hands went to their weapons. Violet realised she was still carrying the gun, and shaking in a way that probably didn't instil hope, or, for that matter, make her look sane.

"Put the gun down," said one of them calmly. He appeared to be the older, probably about forty, but fit for his age: he was well-built with hair like combed iron wires and expression that said he'd seen it all before. She found a little solace in his measured calm.

"You could both shoot me, but what's the bet that I could take one of you down with me?" she snarled, hoping the lie would cover her fear. "Want to have a race?" The hand holding the empty gun was pointing toward them, but she put her other hand behind her back, making a fist. If need be, she could summon a shield in an instant.

The younger of the two began to shake. He was lithe with sandy hair, and slight stubble. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. "Please, I've got a wife and kid."

"I don't want to hurt you. Just give me something that flies."

The older shrugged. "This is a repair bay. It's all broken."

Violet exhaled heavily, looking around her. Her eyes spotted what looked like khaki green rucksacks hanging from rows of pegs on the wall. She recognised them immediately, and nodded toward them. "Do those work?"

There was a roar of anger from outside that echoed across the clearing. Violet shot forward, grabbed one, dropped the empty gun and was fighting her way onto the roof through the satellite dish wiring when the door on the deck below her burst open.

Fuelled once more by panic, she pushed with her shield again. The wiring tore with a fizz of sparks, and she clambered up through the hole as a gun report rocked through the tower, shattering wood near her retreating leg.

Oh, yes: the two guards, with those nice, shiny, fully-loaded weapons.

Violet was now on the sloped roof of the tower, just underneath the satellite dish. The roof was wet and slimy from the rain, which was still strafing down. She stumbled, and the parachute dropped from her grasp. It hit the roof and slid, slid, slid. And it was gone, over the edge. Just like that.

But the force of her tumble slip had sent her sliding down, too. She caught herself on the edge of the gutter just before she fell over the side, and looked down.

It was a cliff face. A hundred foot drop. At the bottom there was some rocky debris and a slope leading down to the lowest point on the island. She could see the white lights of the harbour, glittering in the distance. And the parachute had snagged a shoulderstrap on a wooden piece of guttering. Almost laughing with relief, she leaned forward with her left arm ­-

And pain ripped through her shoulder. Sheer, unadulterated agony pierced her nervous system.

Oh God. My shoulder.

Forgotten in the buzzsaw of adrenaline, her shoulder shot a brief, bright blast of pain through her skull, to remind her it was there. The world reeled sickeningly for a moment, and Violet clung to the wooden roof as if it would save her from oblivion. In a sense, it would.

She opened her eyes and wiped away the rainwater with her good arm to see Syndrome quietly, calmly and efficiently reloading his gun. He had evidently picked it up from where she had dropped it.

"Given up on lasers?" she croaked out through the rain. Syndrome shrugged; a move so neutral in itself that she immediately became suspicious.

"They don't always work."

"Nothing stops a metal slug moving at six hundred metres per second, huh?"

Her right hand was questing the wooden guttering until it came into contact with the green strap of the parachute. It seemed okay. Her shoulder throbbed angrily, but it seemed to have a settled down a little.

"Why keep running, Incredigirl?" he asked softly, and there was a strange glint in his eye. "I'm only going to hunt you down anyway."

"I'm that important?" she gasped, as she felt the rain on her body begin to taper up, become softer. Slower. Thank God. Somebody up there likes me.

"You've been a good one, Violet, I'll give you that," said Syndrome casually, cocking the gun and pointing it at her. "The best yet, in fact. Not even your father was as good at this game as you were."

Violet snarled. "My life isn't a game."

"Really?" said Syndrome mildly. "Mine is." He pulled the trigger.

But Violet had been expecting this and was already rolling over the edge of the roof ­-

For a sickening moment, everything spun. But she retained her grip on the parachute, and was thrusting each arm into the straps, tightening the strap about her waist and yanking on the ripcord as hard as she could ­-

My God - it's not working -

But then came a jerking feeling as the parachute unfolded into a bright strip of colour above her, and Violet laughed with sheer relief, and she was flying, flying over that rocky pile of certain death.

Violet snapped her hand to one of the control wires and focused, bringing up a skintight shield around herself and the parachute just as a storm of machine-gun bullets hit the top of the material. She chanced a look back: there were six guards on the roof, aiming for her. She looked up to see the rain bouncing harmlessly from the purple shield on the cloth of the parachute.

Violet began to entertain the hope, for the first time in a week, that she would perhaps emerge from this alive. The joy that swept through her was fierce and uncontrolled.

Speaking of uncontrolled...

Violet tugged experimentally on one of the control strings, and the parachute began to veer to port. Violet hastily corrected it, trying not to over-compensate. She'd been power-kiting when she was about fifteen, and the mechanics were roughly the same.

Right. Aim for the harbour building. And to get there fast, she needed to go lower.

She carefully dropped the parachute, steering with as much precision as she could muster. She began to pick up speed, but she'd covered a lot of the distance in a remarkably short time.

Violet took a moment to look around her. The island, lush with dark green life, was getting steadily closer to her, but that was what she needed. The rain was nothing more than a drizzle now. She couldn't hear the sounds of any approaching Viper craft so she had another couple of minutes to spare ­ Syndrome had to reverse the order he had given a few minutes ago, and the soldiers needed time to get going...

The white building of the harbour was getting closer... closer...

She prepared for a rough landing.

Violet hit the soggy ground and her knees buckled as she had still been moving at speed. She dissolved the shield around her parachute but expanded the one she had around herself. The straps around her waist and shoulders burst apart, and Violet was running to the harbour. Due to the rain, the grounds were entirely deserted.

She stopped, and listened. There was a jet powering up.

That'd do.

She carried on running but instead of going into the harbour she veered left, heading around the building and to the concrete runway on the other side.

The jet was long and white and sleek, with purring engines and a stripe along the side. Violet couldn't see anyone in the cockpit, but it wouldn't have been left unattended. She wondered how the pilot would react to her, and forced a grin even thought the world had gone distinctly cloudy around the edges. She was nearly there.

The jet was getting ready for takeoff, and was powering up its engines. The loading steps were still there, though, and Violet bounded up them, promptly crashing into a stocky figure.

"Go," she gasped, trying to stop herself from falling backwards. "For the love of God, go."

There was one confused second where Snug stared at her in complete shock, beginning to form the question where the hell did you come from, but Violet was too tired to be bothered about mere coincidences. "Go!" she yelled again.

Snug didn't waste time with his questions, even though his expression would have had the proverbial cat hanged, drawn and quartered with curiosity. Violet kicked away the loading steps and slid the door closed on its well-oiled grooves. She felt the plane begin to move forwards, and struggled to the autopilot chair on legs that were rapidly turning to lead. Her vision wavered slightly.

"He's got short-range missiles, I'll bet, and about sixty machine-gunning flying machines after us. Don't waste time." She paused, and looked at Snug's set features. "Incidentally - what the hell are you doing here?"

"I could say the same for you!" he almost yelled, fear infusing into his face as he got the plane to move at a faster speed. "I told you to get off this island quick! That and you're bleeding all over the chair! What the hell happened to you? What was it!"

Violet glanced down at her shoulder. For such as small puncture wound, it bled quite profusely. Then Snug pulled a lever all the way back and the plane's speed went from something like five to one hundred and forty miles per hour in three seconds. Violet, pressed back in her chair, saw Snug grimacing in concentration as he managed to get the plane in the air about fifty yards from where the runway curved into the sea.

They were finally, blessedly airborne. Violet laughed in sheer delight at it. She was off that island. No matter what happened now, she was away.

"Violet Parr, you are gonna tell me what happened, and you are gonna tell me now. It has been two weeks -"

The radar began to beep, and the noise was all too familiar. But, she mused in an eerie oasis of calm as Snug hurriedly began to flip switches, she knew how to handle this one.

It was strange - she felt like she was viewing her body from above, like a balloon, just waiting for the string to be forgotten and released. To float away. She tried to focus.

"Don't do anything. Let 'em crash into us."

"What?" roared Snug. Violet gave him a tired smile.

"I've been in this situation before. Trust me."

Snug yanked hard on the controls and the plane took a dive, spinning, until he pulled it up again. The first of six missiles hit the sea and drowned.

"Snug! Please! I know how to handle this!"

Snug stared at her for a long, long moment, his ruddy features unsmiling, uncertain, and unconfident.

"Please," she repeated softly.

Snug hit the autopilot button, then got down on his knees and began to pray.

"Our father, who art in heaven..."

Violet placed one hand on the control panel in front of her, and focused. She had a little energy left. Not much, but buried way down deep. Energy she rarely needed to draw upon.

"... hallow'ed by thy name..."

She let a shield shimmer into a existence around the plane for half a second, and gasped at the power drain. It wasn't going to be enough.

It'll have to be.

Violet felt the missiles draw nearer.

"... thy kingdom come, thy will be done..."

Nearer.

"... on earth as it is in heaven..."

Three, two, one ­-

"... give us this day our daily br-"

Violet pushed her power through her arm and into the mainframe of the jet. A purple shield slammed into existence around the plane and half a second later, five missiles impacted onto it.

The shield took the blast, and then promptly disappeared. Violet soundlessly crumpled to the floor of the cabin, whirling in a vortex of semi-consciousness.

The jet didn't even shake from the impact. Violet heard Snug get to his feet through a spinning void of unconsciousness.

"Jesus," he whispered. "Violet -"

She felt him kneel by her, felt two fingers on her neck take her pulse. And all the time she was smiling inside because she'd done it. She'd gotten off of the godforsaken island alive, and roughly in one piece.

She felt Snug lift her into his arms and, a few moments later, was placed on a soft, flat horizontal surface.

She fought the veil of blackness for a moment. Sleep or unconsciousness was trying to snare her mind, but she held it at bay for a moment.

"Sn'g ­- did I -"

"You did fine, kid. Rest up." There was the sound of tearing material, then a sense of pressure and pain on her shoulder. "You did fine. Rest."

Violet drowned in darkness.

j752572: With all you wonderful people telling me how cool my story is, how can I forget. : )

Blood of the Wolf: No sweat. It was, and I admit it, a shameless and sleazy attempt to get more reviewers. Hey, humour me - it worked. : )
Glad you like the story!

auri mynonys: The romance has kicked off but it won't blossom for at least one more chapter (I think). Considering this is the first romance fic of any mind I have ever written, I think I'm doing OK.
Review again!

irishpiratess: Oo arrr, me fellow authory person. (I warn you, my source of pirate comments may be inexhaustible.)
I have reviewed your story (I gather you have noticed by now), so updating ahoy! for me and you.
I'll shut up now.

Nina: I e-mailed my response to you.

Spooks-A-Lot: Thanks! Keep reading!

PitBullLady: The romance won't really start to kick until the next chapter. I'm glad you liked the escape sequence - it took me about three days to write it satisfactorily. I kept re-writing it over and over... it's probably had about six alternate endings, but this was by the far the best. Thanks for reviewing:

Steel Cobra: Aha! Snared by my shameless effort to snag more reviewers! ; ) It's nice to know I have fans out there in chilly cyberspace.
Yeah, you'll see Red again (for the last time) in the next chapter. Insofar as secondary characters go, she was too good to let go quickly.
Review again: )

The Lonely Shepherd: Kill Bill, eh? Which one? I couldn't take the first one (eeeew) but I managed to sit the whole way through the second. I'm a bit pathetic when it comes to gory films.
Syndrome's only human, and therefore subject to human emotions (and hormones. Hehe.). More romance to come...

Turtle Sister: Glad you like it! Review again!

Amanda: Updatingness!

Surly: Quite the review!
I think it is a mental problem shared by all male supervillains – their blindness to the fact that, yes, the heroine may be kissing them, but they probably won't have romance in mind. Not straight away, anyway.
Shock gasp amazement! I love Snape. He's perfect. He's a bad guy, but he's on the good side, so I have no problems cheering him on. Don't you just adore him? C'mon, he's so cool. He's got long hair. I don't know if I'd describe Snape as surly - it's too reminiscent of a sulking teenager, and I think he's too elegant for that. Still, I could be wrong.
There is nothing wrong with cheering for the villains. They are (most of the time) the best characters.
It's true - you cannot entertain a romance based entirely on looks, in the same way that you cannot entertain a romance based entirely on personality. I've tried both and, believe me, it doesn't work. There has to be some form of physical attraction (they don't have to look good - you just need to be attracted to them) and some form of mental stimulation for it all to work. Call me cynical (proverbially speaking) but I've never seen it work otherwise.
I've never seen 28 Days Later because I am slightly sad in the fact that I cannot STAND horror movies. I know. Don't laugh. I can read plenty of horror, but I can't watch it.
Pancakes.
Review again!

EviLAngeLOfDarkness: EVERYONE loves S/V... and the hottest guys are always evil. Just look at Die Hard.

Tears of Jade: Wow! Taken aback! Taken so far aback, in fact, I've crossed an international time zone. I'm amazed you find my fic so readable (to be frank, I'm amazed at the amount of reviews I've been getting - 15 for the last chapter alone!), but very, very pleased. I'm glad you like it. Keep reviewing!