AN: I've been suffering from some less-than-confidence in my writing and my obsession, so I decided to type this up to restore them both. I've been overworking myself with school so much that I've forgotten to focus on what's really important to me: writing. Okay, school is important too, but... this is for school. I'm turning in the first chapter for Creative Writing and giving everyone a handwritten link to the rest of the story at the end. Then they'll read it. Mwahahaha... Ahem! Anyway, I'd like to thank all my readers (38 in just this month, 119 last month!) for reading, although more reviews would be nice... I've been getting a lot of people favoriting it and adding it to their story alerts, but I really like knowing why... Ah, well. I shouldn't be complaining. This is easily my most popular (and best) story so far.
I don't own The Incredibles, but after watching the commentary I'm thinking about doing commentaries about my fanfictions and on my AMVs in general... Oh, and Cara's mine. Don't use her without permission or she'll come after you with needles and possessed computers. No, seriously.
It had been two weeks since Syndrome had gone missing.
Violet spent most of her time stopping minor crimes such as bank robberies and car chases. A few days had been spent at home taking out Golden Age villains, but she just didn't feel up to taking out someone's nemesis when her own was no longer around. She'd never gotten this much sleep in her life, but she'd also never been so... bored. Everything was routine and monotonous, and she almost missed the destruction outside her apartment window.
Ultraviolet's nemesis was missing, and he'd left a hole in her life just as Tony had done with her heart when they'd gone their separate ways. A fleeting thought crossed her mind, but was quickly shaken away. A lot of heroes liked saving the world from their nemesis because it was challenging and fun. That was all she was feeling. Her nemesis was gone and she missed saving Metroville from a well known villain- what was so wrong about that?
The Super exhaled and walked over to her telephone to make a call to the NSA. Rick had kept to his word, and she needed to know where Syndrome had gone. When she heard the answering machine again, Violet realized that she'd called the one person she couldn't get off her mind instead of Rick. Force of habit, she thought. I've called him so many times lately that it's just... happening when I don't realize it. Instead of hanging up before the beep, Violet instead left one final message to follow her eleven others.
"I'm coming," Violet said, then pressed the power button twice and dialed the number for the NSA.
Where have you gone? she pondered, the phone still ringing. After what seemed like a lifetime, a voice came on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Rick. Syndrome's gone."
The old man somehow had less than disbelief in his voice as he stated what would normally be a question. "What."
"He hasn't showed up for two weeks and he's not answering phone calls. Either he's skipped town or something happened to him. I need his address. Maybe he'll have left some kind of clue behind, some trace... A guy like him can't just disappear off the radar and expect to get away with it."
"Maybe he didn't expect to get away unnoticed, Vi. He could just be up to his old tricks, and what you're saying is only confirming my suspicions."
"What?"
"Nomanisan's been stolen."
"How do you steal an island, Rick?"
"Someone hacked into our computers and destroyed the documentation that proved we ever owned it. A large amount of Supers have disappeared as well and haven't come back. They were all called to the island. Our surveillance technology malfunctions once the island is within three miles. I seriously doubt he's going to be at his house."
"Just give me the address. I'll go check the place. There's a good chance that if he left something behind, something to try and get me to go after him without realizing it's a trap, it's there."
"I can't give it to you over the phone. Someone could be tapping the line."
"You have a point," Violet replied with a sigh. "I'll be right over."
Violet's apartment was conveniently close to the local NSA office. While she easily could've driven, Violet preferred to walk. In less than fifteen minutes, her uneventful walk had ended and she stood before Rick Dicker expectantly, watching him shuffle through files looking for the words to write on the scrap of paper in front of him.
"You know, if he'd just died, we probably wouldn't be in this mess," Rick grumbled as he shuffled through the P section.
"Well, if he had died, I wouldn't have a nemesis, either. I have to say, he definitely... spices things up."
"You're a lot like your father."
"Huh?"
"The man's caused massive amounts of damage to Metroville and all you're saying is that he makes your life more fun. Your dad's all about the thrill, too."
"That's not what I'm all about," Violet protested. "Without villains, we wouldn't be saving anyone."
"I see he's been monologuing."
"Well, what else am I supposed to do? I was taught to listen to people when they're talking when I was a kid. It's not like all the monologues are the same or anything. At the very least, his aren't."
Rick grunted, pulling out the massive folder labeled 'Pine, Buddy (Syndrome).' "Well, at least someone's listening to them."
"Well, doesn't he deserve to be listened to?"
Rick looked up at Violet with a serious almost-glare. "Syndrome is a Super-killing schizophrenic psycho. I don't see how you can sympathize with him at all."
"Well, we did take everything away from him the last time we saw him. He's a genius, and we almost made it so that we could never use his intelligence for anything ever again. My dad was really harsh and traumatic events have been known to cause mental disorders. We also know next to nothing about his past, who's to say he hasn't been an abuse victim or something?"
The only response to Violet's defense was a blank stare.
"Besides. Even if we were allowed to kill with the code, I wouldn't. After my first villain before the code was set in stone... I could never do it again."
"You never seemed like the squeamish type to me..." The old man flipped through the folder.
"Teens tell their parents what they want to hear all the time, Rick. It's not necessarily the truth."
"What?"
"I love saving the world, but I can't stand killing because of how... similar I am to the villains, or at least how similar I used to be. I was so angry at the world as an early teen and I thought that saving people was pointless because they'd never appreciate it. It took me a while and Syndrome's provocation to realize that I really do love the career choice I was practically destined to do. Villains remind me of myself as a teenager... bitter toward the world, angsty, sarcastic... and when I killed one of them, took a life because they were doing something I didn't like... I felt like one of them, Rick. I really did. Most heroes feel no guilt about this kind of thing, and it disgusts me. They're just like the villains they fight."
"I find it ironic that you defended someone who has no regard for life and stated how high yours is in the same conversation," Rick said as he pulled out a page from the enormous file, scratching the address out on the scrap of paper next to it.
"It's very possible that he only disregarded life when it was that of a Super."
"Maybe. Go out to his house," Rick responded, pushing the paper toward Violet, "figure out what he says is going on, and then come back here tomorrow after letting it sink in. We'll send you out there since you're capable of great things. I think you can get inside his head and take him out, and save all the heroes in the process... or future heroes he was planning on bringing there, if none are still alive."
"Thanks, Rick."
"Oh, and Violet?"
"Hmm?"
"You've got another thing in common with the villains, and it'll help you a lot in this case."
"What's that?"
"I don't think I've ever heard a finer monologue in my life."
It wasn't long before Violet found herself looking at the door to an apartment that was not her own. The door creaked open, unlocked as it was. Apparently, the people here were trustworthy; either that or the living space had already been broken into. Violet quietly entered the darkened room, the only weapons she carried being a natural part of her, and the only gadgets the wonders of Edna Mode's design skills.
The invisible girl stepped into the penthouse apartment, which began with the kitchen. The entire place was bereft of light, though the window would normally provide some. Instead, it gave only a view of the city below and cast a muted grey tone throughout the living room it was in as well as the adjoining kitchen Violet stood in. It was small for a penthouse, only a little larger than Violet's apartment. Then again, it was hardly small compared to other apartments she'd seen in the complex.
This was a place devoid of life.
Violet moved on, careful to avoid anything that could alert a security system to her presence. She crept through the kitchen, past the phone and answering machine with a blinking red "12" on it, and after glancing into the living room, moved on into the hallway. The hall contained three doors- the one ahead of her was slightly open and seemed to have a large bedroom inside, the right door was similarly ajar and had cleaning supplies, and the door on her left was shut tight. The door that did not reveal what was behind it intrigued her the most. Her transparent hand gripped the knob and turned it, pulling the door open.
The room looked as though it used to be a closet, and a rather large one at that, filled with appliances and utilities or something to that effect. Now it housed several computer screens above a desk made of two filing cabinets and a thick sheet of metal. A keyboard rested on the desk, but no mouse. The room was so full of screens it seemed almost claustrophobic, and the eerie blue glow they cast lit the room in a familiar way, one that took the Super back six years to the cell block she'd been in on Nomanisan. Violet was shaken by the similarity, but walked in anyway.
A light on one of the monitors blinked red and the picture changed from her bedroom to an infra-red version of the room she was in. Violet saw her heat signature on the screen and stayed rooted to the spot. It had caught her. The camera beeped expectantly as it analyzed her heat signature.
"Match: Ultraviolet," a mechanical voice dictated. "Room is secure. Commence video recording." The central monitor lit up with an apparently recorded message of Syndrome. The villain looked peculiar without his mask, almost normal. Of course, she also couldn't see most of his towering hair...
"Violet. I know what you're thinking. No, I haven't skipped town. I'm not the one behind the kidnappings. I realize that you probably don't believe a word I'm saying, and you shouldn't because I'm not the most trustworthy person on the face of the earth, but for once, I'm not lying. I don't blame you if you're skeptical."
Violet rolled her eyes. Was he telling her to believe him or not?
"As you'll recall, in our last battle I got a call from an old friend who wasn't friendly after all. Well, she decided she wanted to take me. She wanted me to make a message to entice you to come to Nomanisan so she could do to you whatever is in store for me, but I'm going to tell you the exact opposite. Do NOT come after me. Cara is my problem, not yours. I can take her on and I'm sure you're much more important to your family than I am to you.
"In the event of my death or several near-death experiences, the left lower filing cabinet will open. Inside is a case of CDs which are recordings of me narrating my life, my story. I figured you'd be the only one who would want them, the only one who would care enough to listen all the way through." Violet attempted to open the drawer and with a fair amount of jiggling, it popped open. The heroine picked up the four CD cases as Syndrome continued.
"I'm sorry in advance for all the trouble I've caused you. I may live and I may not. In the latter case, tell your dad I'm sorry. I wish that he would've been able to finish the job more than anyone else. So, assuming you've been listening this whole time... please. Don't come after me. Cara is not a force to be trifled with. She'll kill you. Leave that fate to someone who deserves it."
With his final, melancholy line, the computer screen went dark again and the infra-red monitor returned to a picture of her room. Violet placed her hand on the cold metal desk, and a mouse pointer appeared on a screen which showed the living room of her home. She tapped on her father, and a small profile popped up stating his name, age, and recent Super exploits. Violet tapped the metal again and it disappeared. So the desk was touch-sensitive. This was new.
Tapping the couch brought up a zoomed-in picture of it, close enough to see the individual threads. Violet tapped once more and left the room, choosing not to invade her nemesis's privacy any more than she already had. As the Super left the apartment, she frowned.
Did he honestly think she'd just sit back and let him die at the hands of some girl she didn't even know?
At least telling her not to come would give her one thing, a very good thing that many heroes loved and took advantage of: the element of surprise. Violet had no idea that she wouldn't have that element at all.
Cara had expected Syndrome to tell her not to come and had prepared accordingly. She wasn't usually one to plot, opting instead for unadulterated chaos, but in this case it was necessary. The chaos had to be contained.
"Your girlfriend WILL come, no matter what," she remarked to the imprisoned inventor, who was curled up in the corner of his room. "You know that, right?"
The redhead mumbled something, shifting uncomfortably in what appeared to be a straitjacket.
"What was that?"
"Her family will know better. And even if they don't, you took down all the island's defenses. Face it, Cara. Ultraviolet is an Incredible. You don't stand a chance. It took all four to defeat me, and she's more powerful than you think."
"It only took one of me to take you down."
"You caught me by surprise, you exploited my fears, and you screwed around with the mechanisms that keep me alive," Syndrome growled.
"And who's to say I won't do the same to her?"
"You never 'fixed' her because she never died."
"By the time I'm done with her, she'll wish she had," Cara said as she shut the double doors.