Comics, Cookies, and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Yes, the title is a little whimsical. I like it. Call it CCR if you must. I intend for it to be long, well written, and hopefully the dominant Syndrome-fic on the net. So I’m arrogant. Sue me. Mary-Sue me even.

Hope you enjoy

Chapter One: Broken Oasis

Buddy Pine was dead, oh yes. His assets? Frozen. His name? Ruined. His dreams? Shattered.

Again.

Buddy Pine was as dead as a doornail.

But Syndrome, on the other hand, was very much alive.

How could that be? Simple. He was a careful man, and one who was not particularly well disposed towards personal injury. Perhaps this stemmed from an innate trepidation, or perhaps it had been instilled there by impressionable years filled with peer abuse. In any case, he knew better than to put himself into a situation that there was a possibility he might not walk out of.

Especially when there was a wicked robot duplicate that needed testing.

That’s right, a robot duplicate, controlled by remote from a super-secret location miles away from his island base. His former base, as it was now in the possession of the United States Government.

Why bother with a back-up plan? After all, the first plan had been foolproof, nothing could possibly go wrong.

Syndrome was vain, grandiose, pompous even, but he wasn’t a fool.

Okay, okay. Mirage had thought of it. Wouldn’t stop nagging ’til he’d implemented it, in fact.

Syndrome had merely been humoring her.

Good thing she did, right?

Wrong.

If it wasn’t for her his plans would have worked perfectly. She had betrayed him. Sold him out.

And why? Because she didn’t trust him. Didn’t have any faith in his prowess.

Sitting now in the stylish penthouse apartment, set aside months ago in a false name, he realized that she never had. Her praising words and admiration meant nothing.

Mirage had been nothing but lip-service and a pretty face, leeching off of his money and power. Power in which she didn’t even put any real stock.

It had not been his failure he had witnessed from remote camera and then later on the six O’Clock news only days ago.

He hoped she got what was coming to her. Cast adrift in a cold world that alienated her. Maybe the police would even arrest her as his accomplice, she’d have to spend days in jail before Mr . Incredible could call in the right favors to have her release.

Syndrome enjoyed an evil chuckle at this thought. Yes, he’d been a fool for trusting her, even maybe loving her, a little, but that was in the past. The bigger fools were those spineless heroes, and the law, for thinking he could be beaten so easily. Thinking he could be dead, or if not, that taking away all of the money and property belonging to Buddy Pine would cripple him.

Did they think he was that stupid? Even the most ignorant of villains new about false papers and Swiss bank accounts.

Sitting in the squashy maroon armchair like a throne, the young man began to grin sadistically.

They were unprepared now. No one would be looking for him, and no one would know where to look if they were. They were giving him all the time he needed, and when he had made his plans, Syndrome would rise from the ashes of defeat like a black phoenix and crush them all beneath his heel.

And crush them he would. Grind them, break them, subjugate them even. Gone were his idealistic dreams of economic conquest and a world full of supers. This final humiliation had taught him what he had been trying not to face since he was a small child. That there were people with power, and people without it, and the person with the most power ruled everyone else. That person was going to be him.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, he smirked, eyes twinkling, Syndrome wanted the world. And he was going to have it.

If the world wanted to paint him as the villain of the piece, oh, how he would oblige them.

Syndrome stood up suddenly from the chair, a few stands of red hair falling in front of his face (he hadn’t been keeping to up recently, too conspicuous), and strode out of the living room and into the small kitchen/dining room area. He laid a hand on the handle of the fridge door, intending to open it, but instead, just stood there. Doubting.

Yes. He still had his life, his mind, his money, his inventions. But he had lost an empire. Seen it squandered and toppled so easily, so fragile.

He stared at the back of his hands, the freckle-adorned knuckles, hating every inch of them and their weakness. He saw his distorted reflection staring back at him in the door, white sleeveless shirt revealing bare arms, pale and freckled as well, a pair of black sweatpants falling over his toes, and his red hair falling over his face around his chin. At least he had his contacts in, rather than his glasses, he thought. He looked so unimpressive out of his costume, weak and frail.

Human frailty.

There was no justice in the world.

He ripped open the fridge and pulled out a can of coke; hooking his finger under the tab he opened it with that gratifying tchss – thock that meant that sharp, vital caffeine was forthcoming. He took a long drink of the dark liquid as he leaned broodingly against the cool, white appliance. The lights in the room were at an attractively dim, orange glow that suited his ominous mood.

Yes. He could and would start again. But it would be different this time. Before he hadn’t quite known what he was doing, it had all been touch and go, his own ideas, mixed with what worked in the comics.

He hadn’t even intended to make Mirage his lieutenant. She had just been some girl he’d picked up in a bar one night, years ago. He’d gotten extremely drunk and told her his plans as a come on. Oddly enough, it had worked. After they’d been involved for a while, she’d decided she wanted to help him, and he decided to humor her. But by the end he’d somehow let her gain an awful lot of power over both him, and his plans. All the while she had never really understood him or what he wanted, or why he wanted it.

And that, in the end, was what tore them apart, and brought him to his knees.

If she had understood him at all, or if she had understood the mentality of a super hero at all, she would have known that she was in no danger. She would have known that he was using the moment to hurt Incredible, not her. To throw it in his teeth that he had just witnessed the death of his family and still didn’t have the spine or the ruthlessness to hurt the person responsible the same way and never would.

Of course he cared about her! Or at least he had then. She should have known that. But she didn’t. At her heart she would always be pretty cheerleader Maggie Jenkins.

He should have known. He had known. He just hadn’t accepted it. And why not? Because they had met before that night at the bar, though she never remembered, and he had never told her. They had gone to high school together, and not just for one year either, but from freshman year, to graduation. He had had the biggest crush on her, and she had evidently not even known that he existed.

He shouldn’t have done it. He’d thought he had finally become a person worth noticing when she’d gone with him. Having her around was a constant ego boost, telling him he had finally overcome the powerless geek he had been as a child. But in reality it was only more proof of how shallow and deceitful she was in the end.

Buddy Pine had been beneath her notice, and she had proven herself an unfit companion for Syndrome.

The first step in rebuilding what he had lost, the first part of his new and improved plans, would be to replace her. And he knew just the girl.

Or rather, he knew the type of girl, and where to look.

He needed someone who was everything Mirage was not.

He needed someone who was reasonably intelligent, who understood what made super heroes tick almost as well as he did, and also understood where he was coming from, and why he was doing it, and sympathized with him. He needed someone who was both willing, and in possession of loose enough morals, to do anything that was required of her as his lieutenant. And foremost he needed someone who was completely loyal to him and trusting in the utmost, preferably bordering on the fanatical.

He needed a fangirl.

But not just any fangirl. No, most of them were squealing little blondies with posters of fairy boys and pretty cartoon heroes, who wrote bad fanfiction and beat you with a spork at the mere suggestion that their fandom wasn’t the be all and end all of civilization. But there were a few, a sort of subspecies within the group, which would be perfect for his intentions. Sneaky little creatures, with a taste for the darker things in life, who had posters of super villains, and evil elves. Who wrote bad fanfiction, and beat you with a spork for looking at them funny. It was a light-side of the force/dark-side of the force thing. The same, but opposite.

A dark fangirl was exactly what he would need and they were easily available due to the miracle of the internet. He already had a plan to choose, and abscond with, his new lieutenant.

He set down his empty coke can and got another out of the fridge, then headed back to the living room. But this time he sat down at the swiveling chair in front of his Mac.

The best place to start his search, of course, would be fanfiction. net. From there he would establish a pool of candidates who fit his criteria, which was simple; they had to be above the age of 16, not be physically self destructive, an unfortunate habit of dark fangirls.

Then, once he had found a few girls, he’d IM them, and pick the best one.

Simple.

To be Continued…

Please note, this is not interactive fanfiction. The story is set, all characters are fictional. FFnet just happens to exist in Syndrome’s world as well.

 

 

Comics, Cookies and Revenge

A/N: Hmm, it seems my opening chapter is well received. Yay! That means new chapter! Also, I saw the Incredibles a second time today, so it is fresh in my mind. That is good. Which brings me to the point that, yes, in the movie they drive 1950s cars and live in 1950s houses, but they have really advanced tech, so, to lejindarybunny, that says they have the internet. So nyah. Maybe they just have a very retro sense of style?

Oh, and I have been invited to join some sort of strange Incredibles-related cult. Also Yay!

More notes. Firstly, I mean no offence to any fangirls. Not even the ones who like Legolas. Hell, with my taste in men, I don’t have the right to judge anybody! I love you all, and this is all in good fun.

Also, my OC could fit pretty well into the Mary-Sue category. I freely admit it, in that she is a reflection of myself. I hope, however, that readers can look past that and see that she is not a “perfect” character, and I hope that there is an amusing amount of irony involved and she is well written enough that you all continue to read the story.

It also occurs to me that I forgot something in the last chapter and that is the

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all related characters and ideas are property of Pixar and/or Disney. Sharon belongs to me. Seriously. I bought her through the Asian slave-trade. Mwahahahaaha

Chapter 2: Our Lady of Serenity

The problem with Mirage was that she was such a Bond girl. He should have seen it before. That type of woman always ends up betraying you and mooning over the hero. Even when he was balding, and already married, apparently. Pfft.

Syndrome had waded through fanfiction for days, hanging mostly around the comic book and cartoon areas. It was slightly easier than say, slogging through the Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter sections, but still frustrating. Didn’t anyone over fourteen write fanfiction anymore?

It almost made him long for the days of badly circulated fanzines and clandestine conventions.

Almost.

However, if fanfiction was still only printed in zines, there was no way he could pull his plan off, so quality was traded for easy access.

Finding the right type of girl had been harder than he had expected. It seemed that even most of the so called dark-fangirls were hero-suckers at heart, turning a blackguard into some misunderstood hero.

Maybe yesterday, when he had still wanted to play the knight in shining armor, even if it meant breeding his own dragons to slay. Maybe then that would have worked. But the black cloak was more than mysterious trapping now. If the world of heroism had no place for him, he would simply have to embrace its opposite number.

Before his defeat he had still, somewhere in the back of his heart, held the feeling that he was still doing right, and that he could be embraced and loved, like he had the heroes of his youth. Such was his folly.

To hell with justice. Might, it seemed, really did make right, and he would claim all the rights that he could.

And the fangirls who seemed to have a similar view? By and large they were creepy, gothy cutters. Syndrome considered himself extremely intelligent, and fairly open minded, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around someone who derived, or thought they derived, pleasure from their own pain. The pain of others, certainly, but not your own. That was just stupid.

At first it had seemed like his best bet was a writer who mainly delved into Darkwing Duck, and Invader Zim, but, upon further inspection of her art gallery, he noticed that not only was she a little too heavily into ‘slash’ for his tastes, and not only that. She was also, it seemed, married.

But this next girl; she had promise. She was a consummate lover of darkness, with half a dozen finished works, and twice that number in progress were stalled. Her tastes seemed to run in the field of mad geniuses, dark lords, and cruel wizards. She was 17, only had a sprinkling of slash (some was almost inevitable), she seemed reasonably intelligent, and her livejournal revealed that while she was dark, and rather bitter, she didn’t have any serious suicidal tendencies.

And, she wrote copious amounts of ‘mary-sue’ type stories. She was practically begging to be kidnapped and made a lieutenant. In fact, she really was! No, really! That was what most of the stories were about!

She was perfect!

Now he just had to make contact.

 

---

 

Sharon was late to math class. She was inevitably late to math class, because she had it right after chemistry, and rarely managed to tear herself away from the lab before the second bell rang. The shaven headed math teacher, Mr. Coffie, raised an armed-services eyebrow at her, but she just shrugged and collapsed into her seat in the back. Well, middle, technically, but it was behind everyone else. It was a small class, only eight people, including her. Because it was advanced, ya know?

The teacher started saying something, and writing an accompanying something on the board, while Sharon studiously doodled in her notebook. She’d get whatever he was saying out of the text book later, a good excuse to avoid coming downstairs for dinner, anyway.

She sat, Sharon Mitchell, bent over her notebook, strands of dark brown hair failing from her pigtails onto the desk. He round, large spectacles glinted in the bad fluorescent lighting. She wore a long-sleeved button-down white shirt, and a pleated knee length navy blue skirt, which was perfectly normal for someone who attended Our Lady of Serenity catholic high school. Not that she was actually a catholic, though her parents were. Nope. In fact, concealed beneath the breast of her shirt was a heavy silver pendant with the Norse runes for Loki, god of mischief and chaos, inscribed in it. Not that she strictly believed in him, either, but it was a pretty idea, and a pretty pendant, and even the semblance of paganism in a catholic school was certainly good for intimidating people when she didn’t want them pestering her.

She was lucky, after math class was homeroom and free class, she could run to the library and take another look at the schematics for that tazer she found on She had been thinking, after her initial look, that it would be pretty easy to modify the design into a pair of gloves, which would be infinitely cooler than its traditional shape.

She felt eyes on her, and looked up slightly, glaring under hooded eyes. It was Anna, peeking at her notebook again. Sharon didn’t know why she bothered; there was nothing really useful to anyone but her in it. Whatever.

“You want something?” she asked the blonde girl in a low voice.

“Ah, no.”

“Good then,” she looked back at her paper and tapped her pencil on the notebook. What to do? Waves of boredom washed over her. She contemplated actually listening to the teacher for a few minutes, but that was not going to happen. Are you kidding?

So the minutes passed slowly, but bearably, as she roughed in a bit of artwork in her notebook. Nothing exciting, just a doodle of a a girl, who looked suspiciously like herself, in a cape, posing dramatically. She should have been writing another chapter for her most recent fanfiction, but she just wasn’t inspired.

The bell rang, finally, and Sharon picked up her books and hurried down the hall. In the hallways she was bustled and jostled, and even deliberately shoved into a locker by someone. She glared, rubbing her bruised arm, as the offending girl walked away.

She finally made it to homeroom, which she only ducked into for a second, to make sure that the teacher knew she wasn’t skipping class, and hurried on to the library. She paused to nod an acknowledgment to the librarian, and then collapsed into the chair before the computer, as the announcements came on the PA.

The first thing to check was her email, Vexxation, although she shouldn’t have been able to. She’d found a way to slip through the school tech guy’s firewall a while ago, and used it to her best advantage. She had a couple of new messages. most of which turned out to be fanfiction reviews, always a good thing, and one email… from someone she didn’t know.

Someone named DarknessSyndrome.

Dear Vexxation,

I have been reading your fanfiction, and browsing your art gallery. It is very interesting, and I would enjoy speaking with you. My Aim is Syndrome.

And that was all that was written.

To be continued…

Sorry it was so short, next chapter will be longer. Also, next chapter, I will start responding to reviews.

 

 

Comics, Cookies, and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: This chapter is longer, and much more in detail than the last chapter, which I think kind of sucked. My apologies, it was rushed. This one is better.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all related characters and ideas are property of Pixar and/or Disney. Sharon belongs to me

Chapter 3: Internet Safety goes Out the Window

‘There,’ he thought, after sending the email. Let her come to him. And she would, because fangirls were such praise hounds. Gotta love that.

It was the middle of the day on a Friday, four days after the humiliating end of project Kronos. Sunlight was streaming through an open wedge in the heavy curtains, promising and ‘absolutely beautiful’ day that Syndrome wasn’t sure he was equipped to deal with at this point. Birds singing, children playing. Blech. So why would he even be thinking of going outside? Easy, he hadn’t eaten since sometime yesterday, and that hadn’t been much. Large amounts of fanfiction had put him in the mood for twinkies and pixie stix. All very well and good, but…

His stomach grumbled.

He did a bit of mental calculation, and figured, what with being in the same time zone as the girl, that she would be in school for a few hours yet, and as such, wouldn’t be IMing him any time soon, so he could run out for some lunch.

Well, that settled it. He pushed away from the computer, the swiveling chair rolling a few inches back from the desk, stood up, and stretched languidly. He was still in the same sleeveless shirt, which it being November, was completely inappropriate to be going out of his apartment in, and in all honesty, it was getting a bit iffy as well. He strode into the bedroom, the fizzy maroon carpeting squishing under his bare toes.

He walked over to the dresser, and pulled off the swiftly-growing-funky shirt, and tossed it onto the bed. Or rather at the bed. In actuality in landed in a heap on the floor. Whatever.He riffled around in the drawers, until he came up with a soft, dark blue sweater, which he pulled on. He kicked off the sweatpants too, and pulled on a pair of black jeans.

In the bathroom he scrubbed his teeth brutally, and leered into the mirror. His hair was still bushy from having been up for so long, and didn’t look at all impressive, like when he had it up, or even presentable. He opened the mirror cabinet and fished around until he found a hair tie, and then pulled his hair back. Except he pulled to hard, and the band broke, stining his fingers.

“Ow!” he complained, grimacing, and triend again, more gently this time with a second tie. And all was well with his hair. Or as well as it could be if he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. The fiery ‘up-look’ was Syndrome’s trademark, or at least it was in his mind, and he didn’t want anyone to know who he was today. He just wanted lunch.

As he walked back out through his room he picked up his keys, and a pair of flashy black sunglasses, which he perched rakishly on his nose (the glasses, not the keys, obviously) and sitting on his bed, pulled on a pair of socks, and expensive black boots.

Then he headed out the door, but not before grabbing a floor length, black Armani jacket from the closet, and putting it on. It billowed almost as dramatically as his cape as he headed down the hallway to the elevator. He had it to himself, it seemed, which was nice. Close quarters with strangers didn’t make Syndrome happy.

Riding down to the first floor he set his mind further into the future. His lieutenant, so he believed, was already in the bag, and therefore it was time to start thinking about what he would do afterwards. It was always best to keep plans a few steps ahead.

He could do as he had promised, and steal Jack-Jack. This idea was wonderfully evil, and Syndrome savored the thought of the delicious irony of raising Incredible’s own son to be his enemy. Oh yes, wouldn’t that be sweet revenge, to have the super her who had rejected him, looking into the eyes of his own son as that son did away with him?

Unfortunately this plan had several drawbacks, the largest one being that it would require Syndrome to actually keep and raise a child, which was not something he wanted to be doing. He was a patient man, or so he thought himself, but he didn’t think it would extend to keeping a screaming brat at his side.

So cross that off the list. Maybe if he ever had a clear path to the infant, he’d take it, but he wasn’t going to expend the energy it took to get him, lovely as the end result would be.

What could he do? He tapped his foot on the floor, and brushed a index finger against his nose. Hmmmmm….

He’d seen in the news that the government ban on Heroism was being lifted, and while on the surface that didn’t mean much, since he’d killed off all but a tiny handful of the old supers, seeing Incredible’s kids had made him realize something. It had been fifteen years since people had been able to display their powers in public, and now, with Presidential permission, every lucky kiddie who could light a match with his pinky was going to be racing to put on a mask and save the world. The bastards.

Theoretically he could recruit them into an army to do his bidding, if they were impressionable enough, and some undoubtedly would be, but Syndrome wouldn’t be able to stomach having supers around, even if they were serving him. And what would keep them loyal? No, they’d get all self superior, all ‘Oh, we have powers, we ought to be running the show, we’re better than you’. It was inevitable.

So he would have to deal with the pre-teen power-punks in a more traditional manner.

The elevator finally reached the bottom, it had to go down 50 floors, so it wasn’t unreasonable to take so long, and he stepped out into the lobby.

The guard nodded to the man he saw as a nothing more a rich young man, but Syndrome studiously ignored him as he left through the building’s great glass doors and strolled down the metropolitan street. He was glad he’s worn the sunglasses, as it was extremely bright outside. He headed to a small bistro he liked not two blocks away.

The apartment he was staying at had been rented several years ago when he’d first started making money from selling his weapons. It was, in all honesty, the first place he’d lived out of his parents’ house. He kept the rent up after he’d gotten his island partly for brief city stays, and partly for sentimental reasons. Now he was glad he did.

His poor island. His baby. The government was probably picking his lair apart and dismantling it at that very moment. He had loved that island, it had been perfect, and its loss made him very, very angry.

So angry in fact, that he didn’t notice he was about to walk straight into some woman until it was too late.

“Ex-cuse me!” the woman bitched irately. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?!”

“Yeah, sorry,” Syndrome muttered sullenly, stepping out of her way. As she walked away, he turned to watch her go, and lifted a hand, making the gunfire gesture with his fingers.

“Bang,” he grumped, and continued on his way.

 

---

 

It was a shame she hadn’t figured a way to use AIM at school, or else Sharon would have tried to AIM the emailer immediately. Loved her fics huh? As in more than one of them? Most people, even those who really liked her writing, only read one or two, the ones that applied to the fandoms that they were into. So that meant one of two things, either this DarknessSyndrome was into all the same fandoms as she, or they were an editor who wanted to offer her a job.

Or, thirdly, that she was just getting her hopes up.

Forgive her, she was an excitable person. It probably had to do, she thought, as she sat alone at the far end of the lunchroom, with the sheer amount of caffeine and sugar she consumed. She’d probably be a completely different person. But who would want that? She was a great person! Okay, not by many people’s standards, or she’d have friends to sit with at lunch, and people wouldn’t slam her into lockers quite so often, but that was their problem, not hers.

People, she had learned when she was young, were very cruel. Especially if they thought you were beneath them. And almost everyone in school either thought Sharon Mitchell was beneath them, or was jealous of her talents. Maybe it was because she hated sports, or was good in math, science and English, if not so much at history or Theology. Maybe it was because they sucked.

There was one person who wasn’t so bad. The girl who usually sat with her at lunch, an eighth grader (Serenity school was a combined middle and high school) who didn’t have a lot of friends herself. And she was not usually late to lunch.

But that girl had been different lately. More talkative, and more distant from Sharon. In fact, if what Sharon saw in the hallways was any indication, the girl was actually getting, eyuch, popular.

Well, whatever. Sharon shouldn’t care, wouldn’t care, if Violet didn’t even show up at lunch.

So there.

If Sharon had looked up from her sullen thoughts at that moment, she would have seen exactly where her former companion was, heading toward one of the popular tables, hitting it off with some kid who looked like an Abercrombie model. Luckily for everyone involved, she didn’t. She was much too busy examining the printed specs of the tazer she had gotten during her free.

If she was going to modify it into a glove form, the first thing to do was mount everything on a rubber base glove, so that it wouldn’t shock her when she used it. Put the power source around the wrist, and the contact point at the knuckles. Simple. All she would need was a few parts from Radio Shack.

She pulled her slightly wilted ham sandwich out of a brown paper bag, and munched on it, held in her left hand, while she doodled the schematics of the gloves with her left.

Of course, there was no real point in what she was doing. As a weapon it would work no better than in its former shape and it wasn’t as if she could get away with going around zapping people. She might as well be making an ampped-up joy buzzer, for what it was worth.

It was just an entertainment really, for her own benefit. So she could look herself in the mirror and go, “Oo, look, I have teh shox-power, ph34r me!”, and then laugh at herself and her incredible stupidity.

Because it was stupid. All of it was stupid, the fanfiction, the gloves, the toys, the whole thing. What point was there to desire something you couldn’t possibly ever have? That, my friend, was the reason for the international statute of magical secrecy. She was a muggle who wanted to be a wizard.

No, she thought with a grimace, she was a foolish little girl making bad Harry Potter references to make herself feel better. What a sad little geek she was.

Sharon tore the page out of her notebook, crumpled it up angrily, and tossed it in the garbage can.

It wasn’t fair!

 

---

 

The bus dropped Sharon off an the end of her street, and she hefted her backpack up on to one shoulder as she trudged down to her house.

She opened the door, and tried to sneak up to her room without her mother noticing. She failed.

From the kitchen, her mom called, “Sharon, honey? Did you have a good day at school?”

She winced. “Yeah, mom. It was fine.”

“Come in here for a moment, I want to talk to you for a second.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, dropping her bag with a thump on the floor, and stomped into the checkerboard-schemed kitchen. Her mother, a short woman, with graying blonde hair, was washing the dishes.

“I got a note in the mail today,” her mom said looking at her sternly, “It was a grade report from your theology teacher, Sister Joan. She says you’re doing poorly on tests, and that you don’t turn in your homework.”

Sharon pursed her lips. It was true. She wasn’t doing her homework. Mostly because it involved examining and writing about bible passages, which, she suspected, wouldn’t have been fun even if she was a strict catholic. And the teacher bugged her. And the class was stupid. She didn’t think it was at all a useful class when compared to Literature, or Science.

“Well?”

She shrugged. “I’m sorry mom, I’ll try harder.” Fat chance.

Her mother sighed, and put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re such a bright girl Sharon; I hate to see you shoot yourself in the foot like this. I know homework doesn’t seem like an important thing to you right now, and you’re so smart that a lot of the classes don’t challenge you. But just think, in two years you’ll be in college, and then who knows?”

“Yeah, who knows,” she said, sullenly. Do your homework, go to college, get a high paying job. Be middle class. That was what her parents had done, that was what her parents wanted for her. But that wasn’t what Sharon wanted. She wanted to be known, admired maybe, she wanted people to thrill at the mention of her name.

That was why she wrote, not only because in her stories she was a figure to be feared instead of ridiculed, but because maybe if she practiced she could be a famous author. And then people would love her stories, and write fanfiction about them.

But that was just a dream.

“Can I go now? I promise I’ll do all my homework.”

Her mom nodded. “Go ahead sweetie. Dinner is at six thirty.”

Sharon scooped her backpack up as she left the kitchen and headed up the stairs to her room, in which she immediately tossed the bag back on the floor, and collapsed in the chair in front of her computer.

As she booted it up, she looked around the room, at all the posters, and pictures of her dashing villain favorites, and the toys, and books, and thought to herself. You stupid, stupid little girl. You’re never going to be anything more than what you are, an angry, disrespected, picked-on, little fan. Give up.

AIM booted itself up to her screen name, and she sat there for a moment. thinking. ‘Do you even want to talk to this person? They’re not an editor, you know that in your heart. They’re just some geek like you who wants to gush.’

Finally she decided that she might as well. At the very least she could use the ego boost. They probably weren’t even on.

‘Hi’ she typed.

And they were on, too. A moment later the reply came.

‘Hello there.’ Syndrome typed. ‘I see you got my message.’

‘I did’

‘Thank you for replying so quickly.’

‘No prob, anybody who likes my fic, ya know?’ Yeah, she thought, get to complimenting me already.

‘It is pretty well written. Better than most of the stuff I waded through.’

Bingo. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes. You are very… emphatic. Like you believe in what you write.’

‘Thank you’

‘Do you?’

Huh? That threw Sharon a bit. ‘Do I what?’

‘Believe in what you write?’

‘Er… in what way?’ This conversation was not going the way that she had imagined it.

‘Lemme explain. I noticed you write about the badguys a lot.’

‘Always’ she responded, with a bit of pride.

‘More importantly, you write about yourself joining them’

She pursed her lips. ‘You’re accusing me of Mary-Sueism, aren’t you?’

‘Well…’

‘lol, it’s okay, I admit it. Yes, those characters are all me.’

‘Well then, my question is, if you were given the opportunity, would you really do it? Would you really follow your “Dark Desires”?’

Sharon winced as he quoted the title of her Gríma Wormtongue fic. ‘Are you with the FBI or something?’ This was a legitimate concern, as, after the school shootings a few years back, some of the kids who didn’t like her had tried to say she was going to do something similar, and she’d spent hours convincing her counselors that she was perfectly stable and didn’t hate anybody that much.

‘LMAO. Definitely not!’

‘Then who are you?’ This person was really starting to annoy, and intrigue her. What was he (or she?) playing at?

‘I am an… interested party, let us say. Do you watch the news?’

‘Not often. Is this some sort of game?’

“Do you want it to be a game?’

‘You’re not answering my questions!!’

‘And you haven’t answered mine yet. Please, answer truthfully, “or wonder, til it drives you mad, what would have followed, if you had”.’

Sharon stared at the screen hardly believing what was being thrown back in her teeth. It was a quote, from C.S. Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew, one that she had used in another one of her fics. Well, that proved he had read at least some of them, what was he, stalking her?! Where was this conversation going? He had her thoroughly hooked.

‘Alright, I’ll tell you,’ she responded, about to admit to someone she had never met, the blackest secret of her heart. ‘Yes. I would. If I ever had the chance to become a super villain. I would grab it, and never let go.’

‘Your livejournal says that you live in Upsateville New York, is this true?’

…’yes.’

‘Can you get to Spotlight Coffee?’

…’yes.’ It was a short walk from her house.

‘Meet me there, tomorrow, five pm, alone, obviously. I’ll be waiting.’

He signed off.

Sharon was left, staring blankly at the screen. Was this person implying, what she thought they were implying? And was she seriously considering actually meeting them?

She was completely and utterly insane, wasn’t she?

Yes, yes she was. A short of manic grin, half terrified of herself, ripped across her face.

Of course, she wasn’t a fool. She wanted to see what this was about, not get raped and dropped in a back alley. It looked like those gloves were going to mean something after all.

Quickly, she saved the conversation, and opened the door a crack. She called downstairs, hearing the tension in her own voice, “Mom, will you take me to radio shack after dinner?”

“Sure honey, have you finished your homework?”

“Eh, not yet! I’m just getting started.”

Oh yes, she was just getting started.

To be continued..

and now, the review responses!

Megan The Vampire Slayer: Glad you like it!

Shadow Fox: Thank you. Heheheh. Secret cults are fun!

Xaviere Jade: I’m glad you like my characterization of Syndrome, as to idolizing evil men? Well, it all started when I realized as a child that the world wasn’t fair, because I dodn’t have any super powers… Hope my character doesn’t disappoint you!

NoNameNeeded07: Happy to make you laugh! I always thought villains ought to put their fangirls to work.

dikiWi: Whoah, that’s a lot of praise there! Well, I will admit, I am a genius… But, it didn’t take a lot of thought to see that Syn didn’t need to die, and robot duplicates are so in fashion this season, you know?

VegetaandAru: I shall strive to meet your demands!!!

Maya Beebop: Haha. Yeah, after I reread ch1, I decided a disclaimer was necessary, especially after my Who Wants to Be Mrs. Legolas fiasco (don’t ask) If there weren’t any light side fangirls. who would we pretend to be when we didn’t want to scare people? I’m glad you like the buildup, don’t worry, Syn may style himself after traditional villains, but he has the finesse necessary to carry his plot off with so flare!

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

IMPORTANT: THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITIED TO COMPLY WITH FANFICTIONNET’S NEW NO LYRICS POLICY. PLEASE VISIT http / www .freewebs. com/ syndromefan/ ch4 .htm FOR THE ORIGINAL CHAPTER TEXT!

A/N: Hey everybody thanks for keeping with the story, I actually had to go back and fix a teeny tiny plot hole that I hope nobody noticed. Kudos to anyone who did.

Oh, and btw, this chapter is the longest yet. Yay!

Disclaimer: Disney and Pixar own the Incredibles, Syndrome, and all related characters. Sharon is mine.

Chapter 4: With You in the Spotlight

Sharon had worked herself up into such an anxious state about the meeting that she could hardly force herself to go to school. It was certain that she could have used a few extra hours sleep. She’d been up until past four in the morning, tinkering and testing her tazer gloves, which meant getting up at seven was pretty painful. Ah well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t pulled late nights before.

Anyway, she would have stayed home except for two things, the first being that her mega annoying little brother had the day off from first grade, because it was parent-teacher conference day. The little boy hadn’t figured out how to keep himself entertained yet, so if she stayed home she would probably get stuck playing friend, fake-sick or not. Secondly, if she did fake sick, it would be a lot harder for her to get to the coffee house that evening. And Sharon wanted that to go smoothly. Preferably answering a bare minimum of questions.

She could imagine that conversation, ‘Yeah, see ya later mom, I’m going to go meet my stalker.’ Ha! That would be a hit.

She cast one last longing look at the rumpled covers of her bed, before pulling her Serenity uniform on over her underclothes. She was wearing navy blue pants today, instead of the skirt, but otherwise she looked exactly the same. She hated having to wear the uniform. It made everyone in school look like little clones of one another, and completely deleted any feeling of personal expression. It also meant that her mother wasn’t forced to buy her any nice clothes for school, and so, on her meager allowance Sharon’s non-school wardrobe was also rather limited. Which in turn made the few days a month that they did get to waer their own clothes a bit of a pain as well.

It was a vicious, vicious cycle.

Sharon’s mind was in overdrive, both anticipating her clandestine coffee-house conference, and trying not to think about it at the same time, hence her brain was doing laps around thoughts of no importance, like her stupid clothing, when they should have at least been thinking about what she was going to tell her Theology teacher about why she didn’t have her homework this time.

Because she didn’t She had spent all her time making the gloves; which were perfect, in her opinion. Except for the fact that, being set on a base of rubber kitchen gloves, they were bright yellow. But they could still zap the hell out of you. She had them set up so that the knuckles sparked when she balled her fist a certain way. It had worked for Spiderman after all. However, she had a little more trouble perfecting it than good ol’ Peter Parker, since hers also went off when she held something the wrong way.

She was confident that she could fix that later, but this was just a prototype, and she didn’t have time to work it out now.

Therefore she wasn’t going to be ale to wear them to school, even though covertly zapping a few people as she ran down the hall was definitely a temptation. And she couldn’t leave them at home either. Mom had asked no questions about what she was planning to make with the parts last night, but Sharon didn’t want to take the chance of her coming into her room to clean and fining the finished product. Or worse, her brother finding them!

So she bundled them carefully in the front pocket of her backpack, wrapped in an old t-shirt, and headed down to wait for the bus.

Syndrome was sleeping late. He didn’t really have anything pressing to do that morning, and he’d been up late after a short flight up to Upstateville, New York, sitting in his hotel, trying to think up a good plan to get his revenge, and set in motion his eventual world domination. He hadn’t really come up with anything good. He supposed he ought to start building up his army again first, but to do that he’d need another base. And to get both of those things he’s need to spend money. And so he couldn’t do anything about that until he had a lieutenant to make the purchases for him.

So it was all back to the meeting that evening.

He lay on his stomach beneath the heavy green comforter, his face buried in large, matching pillows of the hotel bed, awake, but not feeling like moving quite yet. It was somewhere close to noon, so he had a few hours until he had to get to the coffee house. But not quite five hours, since there was a good possibility that the girl would show up early, trying to catch him as he came in. What purpose she thought that would have he wasn’t sure, but he had to be here first anyway. It was all part of the drama. And the right amount of drama and mystique was all he would need to convince her to come with him. Otherwise she would just think he was some sort of whacko, rather than the villain she wanted to serve.

Ah, the joys of a ready made lieutenant. He rolled over onto his back and stretched widely, curling his fingers in the cool air.

The plan was perfect. He couldn’t fail.

It was time to test her, to see if her daydreams matched her mind.

And then a thought occurred to him. He had forgotten, in their brief IMing session, to give either her any way to identify him, or him her. And it was really unlikely that they would be the only two people in the café. Damn it!

How was he going to iron out that kink in the works?

Today was going by even slower than the day before, and this time Sharon felt slightly nauseous. She was going to be serial murdered, she just knew it. She was heading straight towards her own demise. And she couldn’t bring herself to not go. He had trapped her too effectively. Which was obviously exactly what he’d intended to do.

“Or wonder ’til it drives you mad, what would have followed if you had.”

How could she not, now?

Of course, she had to remember what had happened when the character in The Magician’s Nephew had heeded his curiosity. He’d awoken the evil queen. But that, in turn had led to the creation of Narnia, soooo…

Gah! It really was going to drive her nuts! And soon!

The very best case scenario, she supposed, was that it was another fan playing a sort of prank on her, a neat way of meeting up.

The worst was of course the serial killer thing.

Sharon stared across the empty lunch table. This was getting ridiculous; Vi had skipped out on her again. Without even saying anything. Couldn’t she at least give her that consideration? She had thought better of the young girl.

Well, she stared at her brown paper bag, she wasn’t hungry, and there was no one to talk to. So why was she in the lunchroom? She grabbed her things, stood up, and stalked through the sea of students towards the exit, and slammed right into somebody.

“Watch it,” she growled down at the kid.

“Oh, oh! Sorry Sharon!”

Sharon, recognizing the voice, looked down. “Violet?”

“Uh, hi,” the dark haired girl replied shyly.

The older girl frowned. “So you were coming to lunch after all, hmm?”

“Well, um, actually, I was going to sit with…” she looked over to another.

Sharon followed her gaze to one of the most popular tables in school, full of preps, jocks, and cheerleaders. “With them ?” she demanded incredulously.

“Well, Tony invited me…”

“Is that where you’ve been these last few days?” she was trying to keep the hurt, and seething anger out of her voice.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t even feel the need to tell me? I was almost worried too! Some friend you are!” Sharon wheeled around on her heel and stomped away, trying to convince herself she was just angry, and not hurt. She was hurt.

“Wait! I’m sure you can sit with us…”

She stopped dead in her tracks, and turned sharply her head to glare at the pretty, dark haired stick of a young girl. “Ha! Me, sit with the likes of them? You’re joking.” She kept walking.

‘That stings Vi,’ she thought to herself. ‘That really effin’ stings.’

Syndrome had had room service iron the clothes that he had brought for the meeting. He had the long black coat, and jeans, and a white, long sleeved shirt with silver buttons. He was also wearing his power gloves, in case a demonstration was appropriate. And of course, the shades. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he tugged at the collar of his coat. Nicely mysterious and evil, though slightly more ‘The Vampire Lestat’ than he had been going for. He pulled his hair back again, and strolled out of the hotel room.

He’d rented a car for his stay, which he expected would be short, a black Ferrari. He settled himself in the driver’s seat, and started off to the meeting point. He’d picked Spotlight Coffee after doing a bit of research on Upstateville, the café was trendy, but not overly popular, and it had a nice central location that he had hoped would be easy for the girl to get to. He’d been right, of course.

He checked his watch as her pulled in the parking lot. It was four fifteen, right on time. With a smirk on his face he strutted into the café. There was a smattering of people inside, but nobody who looked like they might be his girl. There was a party of four college students in one corner, laughing it up, a young blond boy in one corner scribbling what Syn assumed to be bad poetry into a notebook, and two girls who looked like sisters giggling over frappes.

Syndrome adjusted his sunglasses on his nose, and ordered a plain cappuccino from the counter. Then he sat down in a nice, central location, watching the door. It was bound to be a boring half hour or so, and he was a little regretful that he hadn’t brought his laptop. But it would probably have ruined the effect, so…

He sighed, and rested his chin on one hand, drumming the fingers of the other restlessly ionb the table, and began running over what he was going to say in his head.

The bus had dropped Sharon off as though everything was normal. As though she weren’t about to die for a scrap of impossible silliness. The bag on her shoulder had felt as it always did, unreasonably heavy. Her house had loomed as safely and oppressively as ever. Her mom had greeted her will the same unconcerned care.

As if every moment that passed didn’t bring her closer to some unquantifiable doom.

In ancient Greece, Sharon recalled as she sat waiting on her bed, (or was it Rome?) the word for ‘fate’ was ‘weird’. And in the Norse lands, ‘doom’ was the word for ‘fate’. To be weird was to be fated, doomed.

Sharon had always been weird. And now she was going to meet her doom.

There was a strange sort of acceptance of it in Sharon’s heart. She was about to go to be killed by a serial murderer (she didn’t really believe the gloves would be able to save her) all to prove to herself that she was willing to follow a dream. Her life would become a great and terrible sacrifice to the gods, and maybe, she thought, they would take pity on her and in her next life, they would grant her powers. If only…

For certainly it couldn’t be what it seemed. Couldn’t be what she desperately wanted it to be. Yes, there were people with powers in the world, yes there were villains. But the world just didn’t work that way, didn’t have any justice in it for a small girl who just wanted to be someone special. Life was not one of her silly fanfics.

Of course she didn’t want to die, not if she could help it. And she really did hold out, in the deepest reaches of her thoughts, that maybe…

That was why she was going. Not because she had given up hope for her life, but because she held out that tiny spark of hope, that dream.

For as long as she could remember, Sharon had been unsatisfied with her life. It wasn’t like she didn’t make an effort either. She tried to be happy, tried to love being at school, and tried to make friends, and tried to accept herself for who she was.

All her life she’d been waiting for someone to come and take her away. Someone, anyone, to rescue her from her little mundane life. She had waited for something special to happen to her, and even now, she refused to give up.

The words of a song were running through her head, they had been all day. Avril Lavigne, or whoever wrote her songs, knew what Sharon was feeling. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe Sharon just bent the words in her own mind to match her emotions. Like a badly written songfic.

She cradled her face in her hands. Why, goddamnit, why did everything have to be pretend to her? Life was not a story! Life was life! All having a song stuck in your head meant was that you had heard it too often! Everything didn’t have to follow some story arc! Why the hell couldn’t she get that through her head?

Why was she such an idiot?

The clock on her wall said it was four thirty. Sharon reached under her shirt and squeezed the Loki pendant she kept there.

Yea yea yea

It was time to go.

Maybe this time the winds of chaos had finally blown her a favorable hand.

Syndrome was right to think he’d know her when he saw her, and she was right on time too, there had been no need to get there early. A good sign.

She was a little shorter than average height, with wavy chestnut hair that hung around her pale, pointed, stubborn but fragile-looking face. A pair of large glasses was perched on her nose, glinting, and accenting the determined look in her grey eyes. She wore a violet t-shirt with a big white heart on it. The shirt was, well…

Mirage had been pretty easy on the eyes, but she was very skinny. This girl wasn’t quite fat, but she was definitely curvaceous. The shirt… accented that. She had on a very baggy pair of blue jeans and a short, black pleather jacket, the sleeves of which hung over hiding her hands.

She was standing just inside the doorway with her arms crossed, most likely wondering where he was, and how she was supposed to figure that out. He smirked, locking eyes with her, waved her over.

It was time to get started.

Sharon hadn’t quite conquered her doubts and fears on the short walk to the coffee shop, but rather had hardened them into a fierce resolution, and a buzzing anxiety. She was going to do this. She was going to meet this person.

So what if she was a silly fangirl, who wanted to be a dark villain? That was who she was, and she wasn’t ashamed.

She raised her chin stubbornly and opened the door to the coffee shop with her bare right hand (she had decided just to wear one glove was best, the other was in the bag at her hip) and stepped inside.

She immediately realized that she had no way of knowing whom in the place, if they were even there yet, or would show up at all, she was supposed to be meeting. Damn it!

Just as suddenly she realized someone was gesturing to her, beckoning her. Her pupils dilated and her heart began to beat faster. Someone really was there to meet her… and he was really handsome!

He had soft red hair, with golden accents pulled back in a ponytail. His face was a long oval with a smattering of freckles upon which his sunglasses cast a small shadow, like a mask. His clothes were obviously expensive, especially his black, mysterious looking coat. He was poised at a table in the middle of the room, with an amused, almost predatory languor.

Definitely, definitely a serial killer!

Sharon took an involuntary step backwards, but then hardened.

No.

She had come this far. There was no way she was going to back out. For once in her life she was going to be daring when it counted, and if he tried to kill her?

She wiggled the fingers in her gloved left hand. A smirk played on her lips.

She would simply have to take him out first.

Straightening her shoulders, and flicking her hair back, she walked forward, and put a hand on the back of the chair at his table facing where he sat.

“You’re Syndrome?” she asked, courageously.

She saw him try not to wince.

He put a finger to his lips. “Shh, not so loud, okay?”

She furrowed her brow. “Why not?”

“You really don’t watch the news, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Huh. Well, this would certainly be easier if you did…” he muttered. “My manners! Have a seat, my dear Vexxation. Or would you rather I call you Sharon?” He raised an eyebrow.

She pulled the chair out and sat down. “Vex is fine,” she muttered.

“Alright then, ‘Vex’,” he said with a grin. “Why don’t you get a cup of coffee before we start?”

“Uh, yeah…” she said, getting up, and walking to the counter. She ordered her usual, a mocha frappe with caramel, without taking her eyes off of her mystery man. She took the drink, and sat back down.

“So then,” he said, “why do you think I asked you to meet me here?”

“Er…” she wondered how to answer that, and decided to go with the truth. ” Because you’re a serial killer preying on my innocent dreams?”

“Haha! Spunky,” he grinned. “But your dreams can’t really be considered innocent, can they?”

“Well,” she admitted. “I suppose not.”

“But you’re a quarter right,” he took a drink of his coffee, and then swirled it around in the cup. “I am preying on your dreams.”

She stared at him, utterly boggled. “What?”

“You have to watch enough TV to at least know that the anti-super law is being repealed, right?”

She nodded. It had actually put her more on edge than usually. For almost her whole life, the supers had been underground, rather than out in the open. She hadn’t had to deal with the fact that there were real people with real powers. She had only had to be jealous of comic book characters.

“And did you happen to hear what caused this… abrupt shift in opinion?”

She racked her brains, trying to remember. She’d heard her mother and father talking about it a few days ago… “There was some super villain, destroyed a city with a giant robot… His name was-“

Sharon probably looked like an anime character about then, her eyes were so huge. He voice caught in her throat, and the words came out a raspy whisper. “you… y-your’re joking!”

A wide grin split Syndrome’s face. “Nope. No joke”

She stared at him. And stared, and stared. There was no way. “Prove it.”

He looked around the room. “Come outside, then. There’s no way I’m attracting that much attention in here.”

“No way! Not unless you explain yourself a hell of a lot better!” she said, echoing his whispered tone. “Like telling me why the hell you contacted me for starters.”

“You mean you haven’t guessed yet? Come on!”

“Humor me,” she said, taking a drink of her frappe, to try and put a little moisture back in her throat which had gone so suddenly dry.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright then. When I was defeated a few days ago, I lost my island base, and all my minions. But that wasn’t the big ego blow. The thing that really cinches it is I would have won, if my lieutenant hadn’t betrayed me.”

Sharon saw a flash of anger in his nonchalant blue eyes.

“But,” he continued. “There’s an upside. I still have my money, my inventions, and the world thinks I’m dead. They won’t suspect that I’m plotting my revenge right under their very noses! I just need one thing before I can start my new plans…” he locked eyes with her, the penetrating gaze of a wild cat, “A new lieutenant.”

Sharon’s hands were trembling. “M-me, you want me, to be your lieutenant?” she was torn between laughter and tears, and her voice settled on a generic hysteria. “That’s ridiculous. Why me?”

Syndrome chuckled. “Vex, babe, don’t be so modest! You’re perfect! I read your stories, your livejournal. We’re two of a kind! Think of it, the pair us, both outcasts from a world that doesn’t understand us, both longing for the power to revenge ourselves on those who wronged us! A power that the world refused to grant, one we have to take for ourselves! I need a lieutenant who’s intelligent, trusting, loyal, but most of all, someone who believes in the goal that I’m trying to achieve! You, you’ve practically been waiting for this moment your entire life, haven’t you? Haven’t you Vex?” he gestured emphatically as he spoke; letting his last words hang in the air for a moment, before finishing. “Together, we could rule the world…”

His words were enchanting, compelling, they echoed and resonated deeply in her heart. It was what she was asking for all the time. Right here in front of her, being offered sincerely, so it seemed.

But what about the ancient rule ‘be careful what you wish for’? Or in Labyrinth, ‘don’t take anything for granted’?

“What would I have to do?” she asked in a hushed voice.

He shrugged. “Well, first we have to buy a new base, gather minions, and then help me with my plans for world domination. Simple enough.”

Simple enough.

“I’d have to leave my family… friends… school…”

He gave a derisive snort. “Are you really learning anything at school?”

Crap. Useless busy work, all of it. “No.”

“Your family, do they give you the respect that you know you deserve? Do they see how special you are?”

‘Try harder’

‘Don’t shoot yourself in the foot’

“No, they don’t” she admitted.

“What about your friends. You don’t even have any, do you?”

She thought of Violet, her one maybe friend, and how little she seemed to care.

She sighed. “No.”

“Well, then, what do you have to lose?” he asked.

Syndrome reached his hand across the table. A white gloved hand, with mechanics around the wrist.

Sharon glanced down at her left hand, the one with her tazer. They really were the same, weren’t they? And this was what she had always wanted.

Screw careful, screw taking things for granted. Hadn’t she always cursed the end of Labyrinth? Didn’t she yell at the screen every single time, begging Sarah to make the right choice, and go away with the Goblin King?

Wasn’t that the choice she was faced with now?

She took his hand.

“I’m with you.”

To be continued…

And now, the reviews…

Maya Beebop: A pseudonym? What on earth are you implying? Lol Thanks for all the compliments, I really appreciate them!

dKiWi: Insane hmmm? Maybe because that’s because I’m completely out of my mind! Glad you like it!

RavensHaelo: I’m glad you’re making an exception for my fanfiction. Like I said, Sharon is a Mary-Sue, but she isn’t exactly average. Here is more, obviously, and I promise more yet.

Artymas: Loss for words? How about… Incredible? haha. Thanks for your review!

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: I actually started writing this the minute after I finished chapter 4, and could have posted the same night. But I thought it would be counter productive, since I hadn’t gotten any reviews for the last chapter yet. So up it goes thismorning instead. Also, this is a very fangirly chapter, as Sharon begins to realize exactly what she is doing.

Disclaimer: Disney and Pixar own the Incredibles, Syndrome, and all related characters.

Sharon/Vex is mine.

Chapter 5: Running Away from Home with a Stranger

Syndrome clasped her hand in his. His eyes glinted. See, it had worked perfectly . Much better than picking someone up in a bar, hiring through an agency, or throwing a bag over someone’s head in an alleyway. He was surprised no one had thought of if before him. Of course, he was a genius, so it wasn’t surprising.

“Welcome aboard, Vex,” he said with a grin.

She nodded, also beaming. See that? A happy fangirl; and a happy fangirl was a loyal fangirl.

“Oh, uh, one question,” she said, ending the handshake. “There’s some stuff in my house that I don’t want to leave, can I get them, before we go?”

The look in her eyes was slightly dazed, understandable.

“Of course, of course,” he nodded, “My car’s outside, would you like to go now?”

“Um, sure,” she stood up awkwardly, loosing her balance and almost knocking over her frappe. Syndrome steadied the drink with one hand, and the girl with the other. The shock and amazement would wear off gradually, he thought, satisfied, giving way to a general wonder and gratitude.

She smiled, and flushed embarrassedly. “Sorry. I’m… a little flustered.”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” he reassured her, leading her out of Spotlight coffee.

He got how she felt.

Yeah, like that time his favorite superhero made him a sidekick, he thought sarcastically… oh wait that didn’t happen . His gaze hardened momentarily, but he fought off the wave of bitterness with visions of his revenge. Oh yes. This time they would all pay. And dearly.

“This is your car?” she asked, as they stopped at the Ferrari.

“Yeah, oh, I did mention I’m really rich?” he asked with a bit of pride, knowing he hadn’t.

“No!”

“Well, how else did you expect I could buy an island and hire minions?” he raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Uh, good point. Did you inherit the money?” she asked as she got into the passenger sear.

He chuckled. “Yeah, right. That’s a good one. Listen, maybe I should tell you a bit more about myself.”

She laughed nervously. “That would put us on a little more even footing, since you know so much about me.”

“Hey, everything I know about you was available on the internet. Maybe you should think about that,” he smirked.

“Oh, yeah…”

“Anyway,” he said as he started the car. “Oh, I’ll need directions to your place.”

“It’s not far, I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“Good. Now, where to begin… Aha, I’ll just give you the short version for now, okay?”

“That’s fine.”

“Well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a superhero. I was obsessed. I was president of the Mr. Incredible fan club. I went to these great lengths to get him to make me his sidekick. That was when I made my first invention, rocket boots.”

“You invent stuff?” she asked, captivated.

“Yes. Yes I do. Weapons mostly, oh and sundry other gadgets. That’s how I made the money, selling some of the less inventive inventions to small countries. But I’m getting ahead of myself… where was I, oh yes! I wanted to be Mr. Incredible’s sidekick. I even fought by his side once, or I tried to. See, he didn’t like having me around, because I didn’t have any powers. He berated me and sent me home.”

“That elitist jerk!” Vex sympathized.

He nodded, liking her all the more. “So I went home, angry, and embittered, but not quite disillusioned. I still wanted to be a hero, and if the supers wouldn’t let me, I’d just have to get rid of them.”

“Makes sense.”

“So I spent the next fifteen years inventing, and planning, and building up a power base. I eventually used various versions of my giant robot Omnidroid to covertly wipe out all but a hand full of the original heroes. And after they were all gone, I would be the only ‘hero’ left when I unleashed my robot on the world. That,” he said, pursing his lips and glaring at the road, “was the part of the plan that was supposed to happen a week ago.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at him concernedly. “So you wanted to save the world from yourself?”

“Yeah, I see how stupid that was now. Now all I want is revenge on the heroes who humiliated me, and to conquer the world.”

She laughed. “Oh is that all? Oops! Turn here!”

Syndrome swerved to make the turn, catching it just in time.

“Sorry about the late-turnyness,” she said.

“No problem,” he said smiling again. “We’re almost there, right?”

“Uh yeah. Take the next left, then it’s down this street, number 81. It has big bushes in front of it.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Hey, can I ask kind of a silly question?” Vex inquired.

“You can ask, but I can’t promise I’ll answer, if it’s really stupid.”

“Okay, um… You said you’ve been doing this for fifteen years, so, how old are you?”

Syndrome laughed derisively. Did he make it sound like he was really old? “I’m twenty-five, Vex.”

“Oh.” She seemed to think about that. “You were only ten?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Your life’s just been one big disappointment after another, hasn’t it?”

Syndrome cocked an eyebrow at her amusedly. “Whoa, thanks for the ego boost, babe.”

She laughed softly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t. It’s true.”

“Hence what drove you to be the villain you are today?”

“Exactly hence.”

“And now I’m your henchperson.”

“Nu-uh. Henchpeople are a dime a dozen. You,” he poked her lightly in the shoulder as he said this, “are my lieutenant. My right hand woman.”

“Yay!” she said with glee that was obviously both sincere and ironic. “Look ma, I’m an accomplice!”

Syndrome laughed. She had the same wry sense of humor in person as she did in her writing.

 

---

 

“Oh, speaking of which, how do you want to handle things when we get to your house?”

Sharon paused in her giggles. She hadn’t thought about it. What was she going to tell her mother? Anything? Or was she just going to grab her stuff and run out the door? Or…

“Um… I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?”

“Well. It depends on a) how much stuff you plan on taking and b) if you think anyone is going to try to stop you. If you have a lot of stuff, and/or think that your parents are gonna ask too many questions, we’ll have to do it the more exciting way, which will likely alert the police to the fact that I’m still alive.”

“Oh.” She definitely didn’t want to blow Syndrome’s cover, or do anything that would less than endear her to him. “You’re rich you said?”

“Yeah.”

“So you can buy me a new wardrobe?”

He laughed. “I think I can manage that.”

“Then all my worldly possessions will fit into one lousy backpack,” she admitted with a grin. “Pretty sad… Damn. I wish I could sneak into my room without having to go through the front door Because my mom probably will ask questions. She doesn’t like me going out after its gotten dark, and she’ll be especially suspicious if I go out again after just coming back.”

“Your room is on the second floor, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the problem all right.”

He smirked. “No problem. Do you lock your window?”

“No… why?” she wondered what he was suggesting.

“Remember that demonstration you wanted? Well, you’re going to get it,” a rakish grin spread across his face. “Oh, this is your house, isn’t it?” he slammed on the breaks.

Sharon winced, and was glad she was wearing her seatbelt. “You don’t drive much, do you?”

“Aw man, you can tell?” he chuckled. “Hop out, and point to me which window it is.”

She got out of the Ferrari, and walked around to the back of the house quietly, feeling life a thief in the night. Her heart was beating fast, as she realized this was probably the last time she was ever going to see it. Could she really handle that?

She stood under her window, and pointed. “That’s the one.”

“Good. You’re not afraid of heights, right?” he didn’t wait for a response as he scooped her up in arms, and suddenly, after a moment of propulsion during which the bottom dropped out of Sharon’s stomach, they were hovering in front of her window. He had obviously used those jet boots he had mentioned.

It was only then that she realized how pleasant it was having Syndrome holding her that way.

“Open the window for me?”

That startled her back to reality, and she flushed slightly, glad for the darkness. “Oh, uh sure, boss,” she said with a sardonic grin. She pressed her hands on the window, trying to force it open, but it wouldn’t give. “Damn, it’s stuck!”

Syndrome frowned. “Hmph. Hold on to me for a sec, I need a free hand.”

She nodded, and put her arms around his neck, and watched in amazement as instead of opening the window in a conventional manner, he pointed a white, gloved finger at it.

From his hand shot forth a beam of blue silver energy that engulfed the entire window. He gestured upward, and the window complied, pulling open. Syndrome flew them inside, over her bedside table that was perched by the window, and set her down, then landed himself with a small thunk of the boots on the floor.

She stared at him. “Wow. What was that?” She did, however, remember to be amazed quietly, so that her family didn’t know anyone was there. She was lucky she had left the door closed.

“I call it zero-point energy,” he explained. “Basically it freezes all inertia at any certain point, or series of points, and lets me manipulate it however I want.”

Sharon kept staring. “That’s awesome! You invented that? That’s way better than my gloves…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your gloves?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, um,” she smiled sheepishly, feeling extremely inadequate. “It’s just something I was playing with for a while, nothing impressive at all.”

“Oh?”

“I basically just built a tazer, but modified it into a pair of gloves because I thought it would be cooler to shock people from my hands,” she said quickly, wishing she hadn’t said anything in the first place.

“Weh-hell, great minds really do think alike!” he said with a boisterous grin. “You wouldn’t happen to have them with you with you now?”

Sharon was self-conscious, and felt terribly out-classed, but the eager look on his boyish face made her hold her left hand up just the same, if painedly.

“You were wearing it? I didn’t even notice with the sleeves,” he peered closer, and took his sunglasses off for the first time. “Hmmm, simple, but effective, and very sharp looking. I like it. The trigger is Spider-Man style?”

She nodded, rather gratified. “Yes.”

“Not too shabby. Anyway, what are you going to be bringing?” he looked around the room. “The longer we stay here the more chance we get caught.”

It suddenly occurred to Sharon to be mortified of the state of her room, and of the fact that Syndrome was in it. It wasn’t that it was a terrible mess (it was only sort of a mess); it was the fact that the walls were covered with all sorts of fan posters, and not a few of her own drawings, most of which portrayed various versions of her in mild romantic poses with comic book villains.

“Um,” she said nervously, emptying her book bag of everything except the vital notebook, and began grabbing things. “Just a few things.”

She grabbed some of her favorite books and comics, her favorite shirt, her CD collection, and the disks with the backs ups of her fan work. And suddenly realized those were the only things in the house that really had any more than transient value to her. What an empty life she’d been leading.

Of course, she wished she didn’t have to leave all the posters behind, but none of them were irreplaceable, so…

“Just one more thing,” she said, and stood over her computer keyboard. She pulled up Microsoft paint, hastily typed something, and said it as her computer background.

All it said was, ‘Bye, love Sharon’, violet letter on a black field.

She zipped the bag and hefted it onto her shoulder, then nodded to Syndrome.

“Let’s roll,” he said, grabbing her again without warning, and flying out the window. He left it open, the curtains blowing in the breeze. Sharon smiled, reminded of ‘Peter Pan’.

Syndrome, it seemed, certainly wasn’t without a sense of flare.

She wondered, as he lowered them to the ground, if it had occurred to him as he had read her fanfiction, that her character always ended up romantically involved with the villain she accompanied? Had he factored this in, or had he overlooked it? If he had noticed, was it maybe part of the plan?

She felt her shoulders comfortable within his warm embrace. One thing was for certain, she already had a massive crush on her new boss!

To be continued….

Ah reviews, like the sweetest chocolate…

Shadow Fox Forever: Wouldn’t we all? Here’s the chapter for you.

RavensHaelo: Haha, thanks! I’ve always had this thing where I love songfics, but know at the same time that most of them are pretty bad.

Maya Beebop: Really? Neat, I’m original! Thanks for all your kind words, I couldn’t do it without you!

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: I’m starting to become afraid of myself. I haven’t been even close to this obsessed since writing Darwinian Rhapsody when I was 15! I love it! Mwhahahahahaha!

Okay kiddies, quiz time. In your next review give me your honest to badness opinion of Sharon’s nickname, Vex.

Disclaimer: Incredibles, Syndrome and all affiliates are property of Disny/Pixar. I own Sharon/Vex, and any characters you don’t immediately recognize.

Chapter 6: Lieutenant

Syndrome got back in the car glad that they had managed to grab her stuff without her parents noticing. He smirked cruelly. Oh boy, wouldn’t they be surprised when she didn’t come home? And that room; he hadn’t seen the room of a person that obsessive since his own as a kid! And it had taken him how long to convince her to come with him? Twenty minutes, give or take. Which meant he had been right, she had been ready all along. Heck, if he hadn’t come along, she’d have probably have turned into a villainess herself, the gloves were a sure sign of that!

He was actually still rather amazed at how easily everything was coming together, considering how badly they had been going before. So forgive him if he was a bit giddy and self-congratulatory. Now, if only the rest of the plan would go as well, they’d be all set.

He’d located the perfect new base over the internet earlier that day, and arranged a meeting with the current owner for the actual transaction. It wasn’t at all like his tropical headquarters, but sadly buying another island might attract unwanted attention. Also, he didn’t want to spend the time in construction that he had prior hq, and the land he was buying came with a fully functional compound.

“So now what?” Vex asked quietly, glancing at him now, and away from her window.

“I’m glad you asked that,” he told her. “First we go back to my hotel; I have to arrange for a flight for us.”

“Oh okay. Where are we flying to?”

“Russia, which is where the new lair I’m buying, is. Well, technically it’s in Siberia, and technically it’s a used lair…”

“Whoa, who are you buying it from? Boris Badinov?” she asked with a quizzical smile.

Syndrome chuckled. Ah, references. “Close, but no cigar. Rather, a certain retiring Russian scientist, name of Dr. Viktor Rasputin.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of him, he did experiments in bio-chemistry like ten years ago, right?”

“Very good,” he nodded approvingly.

“See, I do pay attention to some things…” she crossed her arms, and Syndrome couldn’t quite tell if she was really pouting, or just joking.

He was about to say something reassuring, when she laughed. “This is crazy. I’m running away from home with a super villain, who was stalking me over the internet. I must be dreaming.”

“Well,” he said with a straight face. “You’ve got two options, you can either believe it, or I can drop you back off home before your ‘rents notice you’re gone.”

Her eyes grew wide, and her face a little more serious, the desired effect. “No, no! I just mean… I believe it!”

“Good.”

There was a time and place for skepticism, but if Vex didn’t at least try to realize how deadly serious this was going to be, she could make a deadly mistake for either or both of them. And that was not in the plan. Although her fannish delight was refreshing, after Mirage…

“So, how exactly does one go about hiring minions, anyway? You’re not planning on an army of rabid fangirls, are you?”

He had thought about it, but no. One fangirl was one thing, but they tended to get crazier the more of them you put in one room. He supposed fanboys were guilty of the same, but less… giggly. “No,” he said decisively. “There are organizations you can go through. And the lair might actually come with a few, though those might be spies, or there are the want ads.”

“The want ads?” she demanded incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“What does it say, experience lackey seeks evil overlord with plans for world domination?”

He laughed. “Not quite. There are code words.”

 

---

 

“Oh… That makes sense I guess.”

Sharon sat a little uncomfortably in the passenger seat. After all, she wasn’t used to foreign situations; basically the last three years had been a constant merry-go-round of school, home, and internet. Sure, theoretically she should be able to handle this with ease, given all her fanfiction, but it was one thing to write, and another thing to do.

That wasn’t saying she was regretting her decision! Not in the least. It would just take her a little time to get used to the new status-quo. It would probably be easier when they were actually doing something, and not just driving around, getting stuff ready.

Also, it was the first time in a while that she had actually met a new person, never mind that he was a villain. She wasn’t used to his personality yet, wasn’t even sure that she knew what it was, beyond the obvious, and so she wasn’t quite sure how best to act around him. Or even how he expected her to act.

That was another thing, she needed to get a grip on herself and lose the whole hysterical fangirl feeling. Syndrome was right, she needed to either start believing, or go home. It wasn’t just pretend any more. She would have to do her best to by an able and compliant lieutenant for him, or else he’d get rid of her. Obviously he felt that she was capable, or else he wouldn’t have come for her. Or had he just picked any fangirl at random? Was one much the same as another?

She imagined her new boss in front of a computer monitor on FFnet, pointing at the screen and saying ‘eeny-meeny miny moe’. If that was the case though, she decided she would have to be twice as good as he thought she could be.

‘That’s right,’ she instructed herself, ‘You’re not plain old Sharon Mitchell the fangirl any more, you’re Vex, right hand to the evil genius Syndrome. Get serious and act like it.’

She watched the lights by the road as they sped towards their destination; it was only just past six o’clock, but the early November darkness only added to the illusion that it had been much more than an hour since she had walked away from a normal life. And every moment took her farther from the possibility of going back.

Vex looked down at the bag in her lap. This was all that was left of her other life, should she have brought more? She hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time. Was there anything else she really needed? Maybe she didn’t even need what she’d brought? Oh, whatever.

They pulled up to the front of the hotel Syndrome was staying at, Vex had never been there before (it had valet parking!) and walked inside. The inside of the hotel was pretty ritzy, but she made an effort not to stair, and allowed Syndrome to lead her over to the elevator.

“We’re on the tenth floor,” he said. “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head. “No.” She hadn’t really been thinking about food.

“Me either, we’ll order room service before I call for the jet.”

“Thanks.”

“No prob. Gotta eat, ya know.” He grinned.

Vex smiled back. His impish expression set her more at ease, and her mind was warring as to whether to react to him as a boss, or a friend. Both? Neither? Arg!

“How long do you think the jet will take?” she asked, as they stepped out and walked down the hallway. It reminded her strongly of the hotel in Ghostbusters.

“Oh, an hour, hour and a half,” he shrugged. He stopped at door number 1015, and taking a keycard out of his pocket, slid it through the lock terminal at the side of the door. It beeped, and she heard the door unlock.

Syndrome opened the door, and she followed him into the room- no, the suit. She stood in the sitting room, with couch, chair, and large screen TV, and various other amenities.

He must have noticed her bemusement, because he said with a smirk. “I don’t do things half-way. Close the door, will you?”

She nodded, and pulled it shut. In her mind she laughed. Time to get used to taking orders!

To her mild surprise the villain immediately plopped himself down on the left side of the couch, and licked the television on with the remote. Then he picked up the pone on the coffee table and said, “Room service? Room 1015, send up dinner for two. Yeah.”

He hung up, and looked over at her. He was giving her that evilly amused smirk again. “You can sit down, you know. I don’t bite- much.”

“Okay. Uh sorry, I was just looking around. It’s a nice hotel.” She sat down on the couch, not close enough to seem over intrusive, nor so far away as to be rude.

“Eh, it’s okay,” he handed her the remote control. “You go ahead; I’m gonna call for the plane.”

She nodded, expecting to see him pick up the phone on the table again, instead he pulled a small, very new looking cell phone out of his pocket. Why…? And then she realized her was being cautious. The hotel lines might record their calls, in a place like this. And, theoretically when her mother found out she was missing and called the police, they would immediately go investigate the coffee shop. The workers might remember her, and be able to describe who she was with, then they could possibly track them to the hotel, and if he used the hotel phone, to the plane. And then the police would know where they had gone.

Which would suck mightily.

Vex was amused to find herself thinking so blithely about being chased by the police, but was proud of herself for understanding the possible chain of events. It was a good start.

She was even more amazed to find herself almost completely uncaring that her mother would be worrying where she was about now, maybe already having found the note. Pfft. They’d get over it. It wasn’t as if she was an integral member of the family. Not really.

She picked up the remote from her lap, and began switching channels, there was nothing really interesting on, that is, until she was about to flip away from the news, when something the reporter said caught her attention.

“-accomplice to the super villain, Syndrome, known as Mirage.”

And Vex’s eyes were glued on the screen. There was a woman with white hair and tan skin in a black dress, being led out of court with a man Vex assumed was her lawyer.

“The charges against ‘Mirage’ are being dropped, due to the testimony of Mr. Incredible, who asserts that she played a vital role in Syndrome’s defeat.”

“Aw man,” Syndrome whined, after ending his phone call. “I just knew that was gonna happen!”

“That’s your old lieutenant?” Vex asked rhetorically, glaring at the screen. “Why’d she betray you?”

His glittering blue eyes hardened to ice. “She says it was because she didn’t like my methods. But for real? She fell for Mr. Incredible.”

She grimaced. “Ew.” Mr. Incredible, from the recent pictures she’d seen was really harsh looking, balding, and anyway, didn’t he have kids? “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, she had her shot. Not that I wouldn’t mind a little revenge, but now isn’t the time for it.”

“Well,” she assured him, “You can bet I won’t be falling for any hero types.”

“I know.”

‘Not’, she thought to herself, ‘that any would have me if I did.’ Looking at Mirage, Vex was surprised Syndrome hadn’t turned and fled from the coffee house when he saw her. Okay, so she wasn’t really that ugly, but she certainly wasn’t model beautiful like his last lieutenant. Would he have come if she’d had a picture of herself posted?

Why was she even thinking about this, anyway? It wasn’t even likely that he wanted a romantic relationship with her! Hell, she didn’t even know if he’d had a relationship with Mirage, she was just making assumptions.

There was a knock at the door, jarring Vex from her thoughts. Room service had arrived.

“Get that,” Syndrome told her, scooping up the remote, and changing the channel. “Here,” he fished in his pocket and pulled out some money, for the tip, obviously.

“Right,” she nodded, grabbing the bills, and hurrying over to the door. She opened it, and found it was indeed room service, a spiffily dressed bell boy, with an entire cart of food, which he wheeled into the room.

“Thank you,” she said, nodding to him, and handed him the money.

“Enjoy your meal, sir and ma’am,” the bellboy said, before leaving, closing the door behind him.

“Finally,” Syndrome said, clasping his hands together. “I’m starving!”

Vex gave a small giggle and began taking the plates, cups, silverware and platters of food off the cart and arranging them on the larger coffee table in front of the couch. Taking the lids off she found an opulent array of dishes, including T-bone steak, an entire roasted chicken, some kind of fish, and about a dozen side dishes and vegetables, not even counting soup and salad, a pitcher of water, a carafe of coffee, and a bottle of wine with two glasses.

She couldn’t help thinking to herself. ‘Wow. I could get used to this.’

Syndrome grabbed one of the empty plates and began filling in from the platters, and Vex took her cue from him, doing the same, before sitting down beside him on the couch.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” he asked, already reaching for the delicate looking glasses.

“Er, I donno…” she had never actually had any alcohol before. Her parents were really strict about that sort of thing, and it wasn’t as if she had a gaggle of friends running around with fake IDs.

“C’mon, just one,” he coaxed. “To celebrate your new employment, and my new plans.”

Well, when he put it that way… “How can I resist?” she returned his grin.

He grabbed the wine-bottle by the neck, and, rather than opening it conventionally, used his zero-point thing to do it. The bottle made a little ‘thoop’ noise as the cork came out, and Syndrome poured a large amount of the dark red liquid into both glasses, and handed one to her.

He raised his glass, and said, “To world domination!”

Vex raised her own and repeated. “To world domination!”

They clinked their glasses together. Syndrome’s face was alight with wicked glee, and he gave the impression of great power, intelligence, and not a small amount of genuine malevolence. They each took a sip, and Vex found it sweet, and a little tangy, and it left an odd sensation at the back of her mouth.

Syndrome began to chuckle darkly, which quickly became a full blown, rich, throaty maniacal laugh. Vex watched him, her chin resting on her palm, grinning in admiration and awe. How could Mirage have betrayed him? He was practically perfect, at least in her eyes, a genius, handsome, sympathetic, funny, commanding and powerful, a little arrogant, and of so very evil.

She took another sip of her wine, and started in on dinner.

 

---

 

Syndrome, after his laugh, also began to eat. Thoughtful, but not particularly concerned. He was quite pleased at how his new lieutenant was getting along. She had, as he had hoped, quickly lost the hysterical edge and lapsed into an acquiescent respect. She followed simple order like ‘get the door’ quickly, and without hesitation, and even took the initiate of setting the table. Very promising. Not to mention that she had seemed to take an immediate dislike to Mirage, and even before the wine she was beginning to become more comfortable around him.

The plane would be at the airport in roughly an hour, they’d fly to Siberia, and he’d set up shop, hire minions, and outfit his new lab. Outfit… that reminded him. He had plenty of copies of his own uniform on hand, like the one he’d dressed the robot in, but he had the feeling that unlike his former lieutenant who wouldn’t wear one if he begged her, Vex would want a costume for herself. Probably more than she wanted that new wardrobe she had mentioned.

“So,” he began between bites, “what sort of colors do you see yourself wearing on a regular basis?”

“Uh, I’m a big fan of blue, and black. What for?” she queried. He noticed her cheeks were a little rosy, and her wine glass was mostly empty so he suspected she’d never drunk before.

“Well, as my lieutenant you’ll need a properly impressive costume,” he looked at her slyly out of the corner of his eye, and said nonchalantly, “unless you’d prefer plain clothes, of course.”

“I want a costume!” she said quickly, and with some excitement. “I didn’t know you wore one. I kinda thought you always dressed like the evil businessman, Xanatos type.”

Syndrome chuckled. “No way! A good costume is vital in making people respect you, hero or villain. I just couldn’t attract a lot of attention when I was coming to get you.”

“Ooooh, I see,” she nodded. “So, what’s it look like?”

“My costume?”

She nodded.

Hmmm, he could go into the other room and change, but he didn’t really want to go to all the trouble. Maybe… He flipped the channel to another one of the news stations, nothing. And tried another, still nothing. And another-

“There!” he pointed to the screen. They were talking about the return of the supers again on this channel, and thus, about him. “That’s an awful picture, but you get the idea.”

She inspected the picture carefully, before they replaced it, as the channel started talking about a scare of mad cow disease in Wyoming. “That’s so cool! And look at your hair! How much gel do you use?”

“Not gel. It’s a variation of the zero-point.”

“You’re joking? That’s awesome, so it doesn’t get all scrunchy and nasty,” she giggled.

Syndrome smirked, amused, and made a mental note to help her build up a better alcohol tolerance.

So, blue and black then. That worked well. He’d send her measurements to Maurice Defonce the next chance he got. Maurice wasn’t quite as well known as Edna Mode in the fashion circuit, but he asked fewer questions, and was much more compliant with his customer’s wishes, and his suits were just as durable.

When they had eaten their fill, but by no means everything that had been brought, Syndrome poured himself a second glass of wine, and was glad that Vex didn’t ask for one. He didn’t want her passing out before they got to the airport.

“Alright,” he said, standing up. “Time to get this show on the road.”

“Right,” she nodded sharply, and followed him out the door and down to the elevator. They road down in a mutual pleasant silence. Syndrome checked out of the hotel, giving the snobby clerk his keycard and the money. Syndrome glared at him, not liking the way the clerk was looking at him and Vex.

Outside, the night air had grown quite cold, and he saw Vex pull her light jacket more tightly around herself. He turned the heat on as they got in the car.

 

---

 

“Syndrome,” she asked, as she settled into the passenger seat again. She was feeling very warm, and happy; the wine, she surmised. “Thanks for picking me. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”

He smiled smirked at her, but this time she thought it seemed gentler. “I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

She crossed her heart. “My word is my bond.”

He nodded, and they were off again, but this time she was sneaking glances at Syndrome out of the corner of her eye instead of focusing on the road. If she did a good enough job as his lieutenant would he fall in love with her? That was how it worked in her fanfics…

Vex saw the small Upsateville airport looming in front of them as they got closer to it, airplanes landing and taking off above them. She wondered about the jet that Syndrome had called for. Was it as impressive as the hotel, and the car? He seemed to have a thing for prestige. It was actually really attractive, in her opinion, but she knew that she had a thing for arrogance, and Syndrome was not in short supply.

He parked the car, and she hopped out into the cool evening, barely remembering to grab her bag. Was this a good time to mention that she hadn’t flown before, ever, let alone in a private jet? But she didn’t think she’d be afraid, so she didn’t worry about it. And anyway, what use was an evil lieutenant who was afraid to fly in an airplane?

Then a legitimate thought occurred to her, as they were walking towards the entrance. “Syndrome? Hey, Syn!”

He turned his head. “Huh? What is it?”

“I don’t have a passport or anything,” she hissed.

He waved a hand negligently. “Relax babe, I can handle it.”

“Oh, okay then,” she nodded, trusting to him to work it out.

“Hold on a sec, is there anything metal in those tazer gloves of yours?”

She had completely forgotten about them. But thankfully, “No, it’s all plastic.”

“Smart girl.”

Vex could have melted.

She followed him through metal detectors into the hustle and bustle of the airport, and towards one of the desks. She watched Syndrome looking around, taking stock of the area. His eyes came to rest on a fast food nook.

“Go get me a soda,” he told her, handing money again, “and one for you too. You could use the caffeine at this point. Meet me over there.” He pointed at one of the far desks.

She nodded compliantly and hurried over to the food joint, standing in what was a middling to long line. She tapped her foot impatiently, and looked over at Syndrome. Her boss was busy talking to the woman behind the desk, and showing her his identification.

Finally she got the drinks, and walked quickly over to where he stood.

“Thanks,” he said, nodding to her, and he took one of the sodas and immediately spilled it all over her shirt.

“Eep! Cold!” she complained, stiffening as an ice cube fell down into her bra.

“Oh Oops!” Syndrome said, hurriedly using the sleeve of his coat to try and wipe the shirt dry. But what he was really doing, she noticed, was using the gesture to cover what he was really doing, which was toss all the baggage from the baggage claim around the large room with his power gloves, sending all of the security guards immediately running off in the direction of the raucous, and away from them.

One of the heavier bags even flew their way, as Syndrome hissed, “Come on,” and grabbing her wrist, pulled her down a long corridor to where the plane would be waiting. The bag in question hit the woman behind the desk in the face, knocking her out.

They got out to the air field completely unnoticed in the commotion, and there was a pilot waiting in front of a small, expensive jet, to meet them. At least he looked like a pilot, but Vex couldn’t help but wonder if the eye-patch he was wearing was exactly safe.

“This is Jared,” Syndrome explained, as he urged her onto the plane. “He’s flown for me before, and don’t worry, the eye-patch is just a gag.”

She felt immediately relived as she collapsed into one of the large, comfortable airplane’s chairs, a little out of breath from the sudden dash, and her shirt was still soaked. She took off her own coat and toweled at it, but it didn’t seem to be getting any dryer.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “Had to do it.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You needed cover,” she nodded. “I’m just a little cold.”

He chuckled, and gestured to her bag. “Didn’t I see you pack an extra shirt?”

“Oh right!” she grabbed the bag, and unzipped it, pulling it out.

“Um…” she said.

Syndrome looked away.

Vex immediately pulled off the wet shirt, and on the dry black one with a white monkey ninja of doom on it. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she caught Syndrome peeking.

She blushed, and said. “All done.”

He nodded. “The plane should take off in a minute, and the flight will take a while, so I suggest you just relax.”

To be continued….

Poor Vex, she’s only known him two hours and she’s already hopelessly in love. Awwww…

VegetandAru: Feel free to use all the bad language in your reviews as you like, this fic may not show it, but I swear like a sailor! Love and hugs to you too sweetie!

Maya Beebop: Too realistic? Should I make her a little more contrived? (I am asking this seriously, should I?) I have had practice writing quickly, because I would always save all my projects to the last day. Also, I have a little Syndrome gremlin telling me to write fast or he’ll do nasty things to me (hey, maybe I should slow down…) I feel honored that you would adapt that quote for me! hugs I lurve you!

Shadow Fox Forever: Yes, we really need to get cracking…

Megan The Vampire Slayer: you mean update more than once or twice a day? Honey, I’m not even sure I could manage that… unless, well, maybe I could if you sent me a Syndrome plushie!

Next chapter: To Russia, With Love

See ya later, Space Cowboy

 

 

Comics, Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Um, just a little note. This is the first chapter with some violence in it. Not too, too bad, but still, you were warned. Oh, and slightly morbid… Hey, trust me, it is necessary!

Oh, and good news, folks, I can finally type ‘lieutenant’ without the spell check having to correct me!

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all affiliated characters and ideas are the property of Disney/Pixar. Sharon/Vex is mine, and so are all other original characters in this fanfic.

Chapter 7: To Russia, With Love

“So, how long is this flight going to take?” Vex asked. “Besides ‘a while’.”

“Oh, fourteen or fifteen hours,” Syndrome shrugged. They had taken off a few minutes ago, and were now at a steady altitude. Vex had seemed a little nervous during the takeoff, maybe she’d never flown before? Didn’t matter, since she wasn’t freaking out or anything, but she had gotten a bit quiet for the first time in the evening.

“Wow, I didn’t realize it would be that long.”

“Siberia is pretty far from New York you know,” he reminded her, throwing his feet up over the arm of the chair to his left and stretching out.

“It’s not that I mind or anything,” she assured quickly, “I’m just surprised. I’ve never actually flown before.”

Ah so he was right, he thought smugly. “I suspected that might be the case.”

“It’s okay though, kinda neat I guess.”

Silence. Uncomfortable silence.

“Do you want a crossword puzzle or something?” he asked.

She seemed a bit distant, and distracted at the moment. Was she perhaps having second thoughts? He could afford for her to be having second thoughts. Not at this stage. Maybe he should threaten to throw her out of the plane if she didn’t cheer back up.

“Are you alright?” he asked instead.

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine,” she smiled. “I’m just a little dizzy, actually…” she frowned again.

“Dizzy?” Well, at least she wasn’t airsick.

She nodded. “Its fine, I’m sure I’ll get over it. Actually,” she added, “While it is your prerogative as evil genius to keep me at a disadvantage, I really would like to know any more about you that you’re willing to tell.”

Syndrome considered this. She seemed almost distressed at the fact that he knew so much about her, while she knew almost nothing about him. He supposed it made sense, as that role was always reversed in her stories (in which the girl was generally pseudo-stalking the villain of her choice) and decided that maybe he should tell her a little more, if it would keep her from wavering.

Besides, what harm was there in regaling her with a story or two of his awesome powers?

“You got it,” he said with a grin. “How about I tell you about the first super I wasted?”

“I’d love to hear it,” she said, with real enthusiasm.

“Alright, let’s set the stage then…”

 

---

 

It was a week or so after New Years, that moment in time when the curbs are littered dying Christmas trees; everybody is taking down their decorations, and those people who aren’t look like sad, sad individuals holding out against the graying lumps of snow.

Almost needless to say, I was the only person in the park that day.

What? Oh right, right. I was like fifteen at the time. Yep.

So there I was in the empty, snow-filled town park testing my latest invention, the Omnidroid mark one.

How did I hide that? Well, the mark one was a lot smaller than later models, I had to build it in a basement you understand, yes. Yes, it was my parents’ basement, okay? Anyway, can I continue? This Omnidroid was about the size of a large dog, and fully remote controlled, since I hadn’t invented AI yet.

I had finished work on it a few days prior, and all its basic motor functions were in working order, but I still hadn’t tested the weapons systems, since, ya know, I couldn’t very well do that inside. I mean come on.

I was in the very deepest section of the park, where the leafless trees were so well bunched together I thought I had enough cover to get my work down in peace. I would have been able to, too… except….

“Let’s see,” I said, punching some of the buttons on the remote. It looked a lot like a TV remote. Okay it was a reprogrammed TV remote. Look, I didn’t have a lot of tech to work with in those days, and anyway, mom and dad would just think they’d lost it in the couch.

The Omnidroid responded perfectly. I was thrilled. I could crush rocks in it’s vice arms, small ones, granted, had wonderful control over the saw mechanism, oh, and she handled like a dream.

“Time to test the best part,” I grinned, adjusted the weapons setting, and punched the big red button.

A bright red laser shot from the Omnidroid’s ‘eye’, and burned clear through the trunk of one tree, and through a second, before dissipating.

“Haha! Dude!” I was thrilled. “Fire all phasers!”

I was actually able to fire it like three or four more times before that stupid accident happened. You see, one of the screws had worked itself loose on the base where the laser was mounted, and by the fifth time I fired it, the aiming system was all messed up, and the laser fire straight up into the sky.

“Aw man,” I glared at the thing, and shut it off. It was just a minor setback, but I was still kinda ticked. I pulled my tools out of my bag to start repairs.

That was when I was so rudely accosted.

The guy flew out of the sky like a bullet, and poked his finger roughly into my chest. “You!”

The guy wasn’t really in standard super hero gear, his main wardrobe piece was a very heavy long, grey coat, which I attributed to the weather (he musta been one of the types that wasn’t cold resistant) but beneath that he did have a bright yellow and red spandex outfit, and he was wearing a mask. I’d never seen the guy before, actually.

“Me?” I demanded, taking a step backwards.

“Yes, you!” he said, harshly, gritting his teeth. “It vas you that fired that laser at me, vas it not?”

“Hey, chill out, it’s not like I-“

I noticed two things at that point, one, he had some kinda funny accent, and two, that he had what at first seemed to be a minor head wound, a scrape between his left eye and temple. The only thing was, it wasn’t bleeding or anything, no it was sparking .

“Hey! You’re a robot!”

The hero reached up and touched the wound. “You, are mistaken. Now, vhy did you fire that weapon on me?”

I did some quick thinking at that point and came to the conclusion that he had to be some kind of advanced war robot, and that if I could take him out I could do amazing things with reverse engineering.

“Well, gee, I’m really sorry, I certainly didn’t mean to…” as I said this, I reached into my pocket and switched the Omnidroid back on. The lasers might not be operational, but the rest of it was.

I jumped back out of the way as the Omnidroid pounced on him, bowling him over into a tree. He struck out at my machine, and grabbed two of its arms as I tried to impale him with them. Determined, I forced its strength setting to stay at its highest value as it wrestled with the guy, and brought out the saw. It was getting closer to his chest, and it didn’t look like he had any chance when, suddenly, he let go of one of the arms, blasted the Omnidroid with a laser from his palm, tossing it backward a few feet and lunged at me.

I was lucky, I’ll admit it. The guy slipped on a patch of ice that sent him careening head first into a tree. I took my opening. The ‘droid jumped onto his back, and before he could respond, drove its arm like a spike, tearing right through the guy’s chest.

He choked, seized up, and stopped moving. I grinned with triumph. Now I just had to take the thing apart and…

But what I had mistaken for a robot was bleeding, profusely, from the giant wound in his chest cavity, staining the snow below him a deep crimson. Much as I would like to say otherwise, I have to admit, I was… disturbed.

I went home, quickly, taking the Omnidroid with me, and snuck inside. Down in the basement I cleaned the droid, repaired and recalibrated the laser, and thought.

I couldn’t just leave a body there in the park. And besides, I was burningly curious to find out exactly what it was I had… killed.

I waited for cover of darkness, and snuck back to the park, desperately hoping that body had not been discovered. I was lucky again; it was there, exactly as I had left it. I threw a sheet over the thing, and used the Omnidroid to carry it.

I couldn’t take it back to the basement; that was obvious. I didn’t have the proper tools, and I didn’t want to get the room, well, messy. I found myself wandering towards the morgue. The man who worked there at night was in his late thirties, and had an obscene number of piercings. I hid the droid and it’s burden in the shadows of the side of the building, and entered the morgue.

Just as I expected, the guy was sitting with his feet up on the desk, reading a magazine. He didn’t even look up at me.

“Hey,” I said. “You the only one here?”

He nodded.

“You look hungry.”

He raised a heavily pierced eyebrow at me, didn’t even say a thing.

“Why don’t I give you say, a hundred dollars, and you go get something to eat for an hour or two.”

The morgue guy smirked, nodded and held out his hand. I pulled two hundred dollar bills out of my pocket.

Where did I get the money? I mentioned the laser on the droid, right? Well, I sold the same laser weapon schematics to a small African nation a few months prior.

Anyway, he took the money, saluted me mockingly, and dutifully left the building. A few minutes later, I called the Omnidroid in and got to work.

I’ll spare you the grisly details. Suffice it to say, Morgue man kept his end of the bargain, and I had plenty of time to find out what was going on. The guy was human, had been a super in fact, as I could find no mechanism to fire the beam that had come from his hand. The only mechanical parts on him were a strange sort of body suit around his chest which functioned as respirator, and a chip I found in his left temple, with a tiny camera.

I was peering into the camera, when I realized that it was still transmitting a signal. I immediately dropped it, and crushed it under my shoe, afraid that someone was going to come after me. But no one ever did. I put the chip in a plastic bag and that in my pocket. The body I burned in the morgue’s crematorium, and left.

Later, I learned the chip was some sort of personality augmentation device, and it helped me get started of my artificial intelligence work.

And the death of the unknown super? That showed me that with the right technology I could be the match for any super around.

 

---

 

“And that’s how the ball really got rolling on my plans,” Syndrome finished.

Vex, having been listening in rapt attention, took a moment to reflect on what she had just heard. Another person might probably have been horrified by the story, what with the murder, which was only semi-accidental seeing as he thought it was a sentient robot. And then there was the bribery, and the impromptu autopsy, Syndrome’s complete lack of remorse, and his plans to do more, completely intentional, murder. Any normal person might have thrown up the next time they looked at him.

This was however, not the way Vex saw it. The first ‘murder’ of course, was in the name of science. If she thought somebody was a robot, she’d want to know what made it tick, too. The bribery, in her opinion, was hardly even worth mentioning. The autopsy was pretty damned cool, and she was impressed that he’d been able to effectively conduct it without any formal medical training. Of course he didn’t show any regret, what was done was done, and he used it to his best advantage. The later killings of other super heroes were both revenge, and necessary to his larger plan.

Yes, to her the story proved that he just might be daring, resourceful, and ruthless enough to do what many had tried, but none had succeeded at; take over the world.

“That’s pretty cool,” she told him with a grin. “But weren’t you afraid that the guy at the morgue would say something to someone?”

“That did occur to me… later,” he admitted, “But then he went to jail for selling organs on the black market, and I stopped worrying.” He grinned at her. “Turns out I am an excellent judge of character.”

Most of the time, anyway, she thought to herself, recalling his former lieutenant.

She asked another question that had been bothering her. “What about the respirator thingy, did you ever figure out why he had that?”

“Oh yeah. Didn’t I mention it? The guy had no lungs.”

Vex squinched an eye shut. “That’s weird.”

“Yeah, kinda, huh? I never did figure out who the guy was, either.”

“Maybe he was a foreign super? You said he had a funny accent,” she giggled. “Was that how he really talked, or do you just suck at doing accents?”

Syndrome pursed his lips at her, pouting. “Hey, I do not suck at accents, that’s how he sounded! He was all ‘Vhats’ and ‘Vhys’. I was surprised he wasn’t like ‘Ahll be bhach’, ya know?”

She almost choked on her laughter, and was happy to find that when she caught her breath, Syndrome had been chuckling as well.

Vex brushed her hair out of her face. “That was pretty cool how you took the guy out without even using the lasers, too.”

“Well, I couldn’t really, the stupid things were busted,” he grimaced slightly, as though still annoyed that the lasers hadn’t been perfect the first time around. “So, do you feel like you know a little more about me now?”

She nodded. “Yes, lots.”

“And?”

“I like what I hear. I can see now that you’re cunning, imaginative, audacious, decisive,” she ticked them off on her fingers, “as well as brilliant, and a bit ruthless. In short, a great man, with the makings of a great leader. I think you actually have a good shot at the whole world conquering thing.”

“Why, thank you,” he said, grinning broadly at her, “It’s a nice change to have someone around who can appreciate my obvious talents.”

Ah wonderful, Vex thought gaily. Here was a man with whom flattery would get her everywhere. But best not to overdo it.

“Just calling ’em how I see ’em,” she said nonchalantly. “Sooooooo….hey, did you say there were crosswords around here somewhere?”

 

---

 

Despite a valiant effort to get through the entire book of crosswords Syndrome had handed her, Vex had soon fallen asleep. Without her cheerful banter to keep him at least half-occupied Syndrome had soon grown restless, and began searching the cabin for something to do. None of the magazines really held any interest for him, and he’d had enough crosswords for the evening, helping Vex out.

“The thing about crosswords,” she had said while she was still awake, “Is they take such a wide variety of knowledge to finish them. I mean, you need to have pop-trivia as much as you need to know synonyms for things, and occasionally they’ll throw a real curveball at you. Yeah, you can use the ones you’ve already figured out to help, but it’s still impossible if you don’t actually know the answer somewhere inside your head.”

It had been a long day, Syndrome decided, and he didn’t want to stretch his brain, so much as he wanted to relax. He looked over at the girl’s sleeping from, soft and tranquil bundled beneath a blanket. Syndrome was amazed, when he really thought about it, when he saw her delicate and at peace like that, that she was there at all. That she had been able to make the decision to leave her entire life behind.

He had suggested horrible things to her, in the coffee house, to get her to come with him, manipulated the feelings that he had found in her writings. She was alone, unloved, unappreciated and powerless. But they had to be true to some degree, at the very least, for her to believe it enough, even for that one moment, and agree to come with him.

It wasn’t just pretend. She really wanted to embrace the dark side and serve the face of evil. And let’s face it, he was evil. Syndrome had come to accept that.

That had been his motive behind telling her the particular story about him that he had. It was riddled with things that the general populace would find not just Machiavellian, but amoral and abhorrent. And, carefully watching her face as he had told the tale, he had not found evidence that she found his actions either. Quite to the contrary, she seemed amazed, captivated, and admiring. She’d confirmed that herself, when he asked her.

Here was a girl who was intelligent, and fairly pretty, who was obliging and flattering, who seemed, so far, to enjoy his company, and actually liked him for his personality and for who he was, not who she thought he was, or who she thought she could make him. This was actually a little twisted, when he thought about it, especially when reconciled with her cute form. And it was obvious that she had a thing for him.

He wondered if kidnap counted as a first date.

 

---

 

Vex found herself being shaken awake, but without any person doing the shaking. The whole plane was tremmbling violently, and suddenly in a great jolt she was tossed from her seat, and right onto the floor, just as Syndrome was thrown similarly. She found herself almost on top of him, in fact.

“What’s happening?” she squealed.

“It’s just some turbulence,” he said, trying to sound reassuring as he grabbed her by her wrist, and dragged her up into the seat beside his. She could tell he was irritated though, and by the look of his hair, he had been rudely awakened as well.

“Belt yourself in,” he instructed, doing so himself as he sat down.

She nodded, gripping the arm of the chair with one hand as she strapped herself in with the other. The shaking was still going on, not as much as that one large bump, but still quite jarring.

Syndrome stabbed the intercom with his finger, “Hey pilot! What the hell!”

“Sorry sir,” Jared apologized. “A spot of turbulence. We’ll be out of it in a moment.”

“We better!” he let the button go angrily, then turned to Vex. “Are you okay, babe?”

She rubbed her right shoulder, which had been the part of her to hit the floor the hardest. “A little bruised, but fine…”

The shaking subsided, and they were flying normally again.

“Well that sucked,” Syndrome said, rolling his shoulders back and forth to get the kinks out. “No, don’t take your belt off; we’ll be landing in a few minutes anyway. I was about to wake you when we hit that bad spot.”

“Oh, okay, thanks,” she smiled, releasing the clasps that she was about to undo. She looked out the window, and found it was still dark. “What time is it?”

“Here or in New York?”

“Um, both I guess.”

“It’s around eleven in the morning in New York, but in Siberia it’s just past midnight.”

“Well that’s likely to throw off my sleep pattern,” she laughed.

“Beginning descent,” Jared announced over the PA.

“Oo,” Vex winced, feeling dizzy again, and pressed a hand to her face.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Syndrome asked again.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… dizzy again. I got over it last time. Like I said; I’m not used to flying.”

“Eh, you’ll get used to it,” he said, assuredly, but Vex was quite surprised when he put his arm around her, too.

She certainly wasn’t going to complain however, and took the opportunity to scoot just a little closer to him. After all, she rationalized, it was fairly cool in the cabin, and her blanket was all the way on the other side of it. And Syndrome was nice and warm. If he wanted to put his arm around her, she wanted him to do so.

“I’m sure I will,” she replied. “So, are we going to have to sneak through customs this time?”

“Nope, the place has its own airfield.”

Vex looked out the window, “Funny, I don’t see any- Syndrome?”

“Yeah?”

“You know we’re about to fly straight into a cliff face, right?”

“Look again,” he told her, sounding amused.

Vex peered out the window, and watched in relief as the snow covered cliff opened up, and the beginning of a runway folded out, upon which Jared touched the plane down.

“Huh. I guess Jared really is a pretty good pilot.”

“Yeah, wanna know the really big secret?”

“What?”

“The eye-patch is real .”

“What?!” she squeaked, her eyes growing wide.

“Fooled ya,” Syndrome laughed, hugging her tighter around the shoulders.

Vex flushed, and pouted at him. “You scared me.”

“Just keepin’ ya on your toes,” he said as the plane rolled to a stop.

She gave a short giggle, and shook her head.

“The plane has landed, sir,” Jared announced.

“Pffft, duh,” Syndrome muttered.

Vex rolled her eyes sympathetically, and began to unbuckle but stayed sitting, loathe to remove herself from under his arm.

He had to move it anyway, to unstrap himself. “Don’t forget your bag,” he reminded her.

She nodded, standing up, stretching and grabbing it. She watched Syndrome stand, stretch, and try to smooth his hair out.

“Er, I think I have a comb,” she offered, digging around in her backpack until she found the small item. Thinking clearly or not, at least she had put one or two useful things in it.

“Thanks,” he grabbed the comb from her, pulled the band out of his hair, and began to rake through it.

Vex fluffed self-consciously at her own hair, but luckily it hadn’t gotten particularly messy, though she did run the come through it once or twice when Syndrome handed it back to her.

She looked at him, thinking he looked pretty good, if rather disheveled. Hey, it had been a fifteen hour flight. Which reminded her to be hungry. Ah well.

Jared opened the door, and she followed Syndrome down into a large, fluorescently lit hangar bay. At first she thought they were alone, but then she saw a man running up to greet them. He was quite tall, and gangly, with a thick mane of curly, dark brown hair. He was wearing an extremely loose green sweater, and was smiling broadly. He skidded to a halt a foot or so in front of them.

“Ah, my friends,” he said in thick Russian accent, “My apologies, Doctor Rasputin vas unable to be here to meet with you. I am Mikhail, the caretaker. Vel-” He paused for just a second, as he looked at them, and saw his smile falter, then it was back. “Velcome! You must be Syndrome, and this lovely lady is?”

“Vexxation,” Syndrome answered for her.

“Uh, hi,” she gave him a small wave.

The Russian caught her hand and kissed her on the back of it.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he intoned.

“Er, same here.”

Syndrome put a hand on her shoulder almost possessively. “Enough pleasantries. Are you going to show us the base?”

“Certainly, certainly,” the caretaker chuckled. “Please, follow me.”

The two of them followed behind him, deeper into the side of the Siberian mountain.

To be continued…

Esunamoon: A little dark? I didn’t think it was particularly, before this chapter anyway, but I guess I see what you mean, what with the whole badguy thing. I’m glad you like it. Thank you for pointing out my little mistakes, I tend to get excited and not notice them, even when I read the chapter over. I will go back and fix them shortly. The Incredibles will make appearances in this fic, but they’re not actually that huge a part of it, at least not in the beginning… Yes. That’s right, this fic is going to be long. Like, intensely long. You think Sharon should rethink her decisions hmm? Interesting. All I can say as to where the fic is going is that it might not be going where you think, or end up in familiar territory! Hehehehe. I’ll try to use Vexxation’s full name a bit more for ya.

VegetandAru: I’m really glad you’re reviewing my story! Your reviews really make my day! Aw, not all other fanfictions are shit… there are some really good ones. I haven’t read any for the Incredibles yet, but that’s because I never read in the fandom that I’m writing for, to avoid contamination. If you can’t tell by now, I think Mirage should have stuck by Syn, too!

Shadow Fox Forever: Yes. Yes it is. hearts

RavensHaelo: Hmmm, thanks! I’m glad you think the name fits! Haha. I allow myself to write Mary-Sues for the simple reason that I have no shame. I am glad people like the fic though, and see past it’s self-derivative character. I like to think I’m doing a service to the fan community by writing wish fulfillment like this.

In regards to the name Vex/Vexxation, I’m so glad to hear that people don’t hate it. It took me a while to come up with, since she didn’t have any powers that I could really base the name off, I wanted it to sound evil, but also kinda fangirly. And face it ladies, to the unitiated, we can be pretty Vexing.

Next chapter: Setting Up Shop.

 

 

Comics, Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Line breaks were being evil on ffnet when I posted that, so I put 000 in instead. I”ll go back and fix it when the site decides to cooperate.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all related characters and ideas are the property of Disney/Pixar. Sharon/Vexxation, and Mikhail belong to me.

Chapter 8: Setting Up Shop

“All of the doors are controlled by access code,” Mikhail told them, as he tapped out a short series of numbers on a panel, opening the elevator doors. “The codes are controlled in the main security terminal, and you can set them all the same, or separately, for different levels of access.”

Syndrome was watching him closely, he had the man pegged for a weirdo, and what’s more, his stupid accent was already getting on the super villain’s nerves. He hoped to be rid of him quickly.

“There are five levels to the base, however, as an extra precaution, this elevator, vhich is the only conventional entrance, only goes down to the first level, the barracks.”

Syndrome nodded approvingly. Whoever had designed the place knew what he was doing, it sounded like. They stepped into the elevator, Vexxation following close behind them, and descended to the next floor. Mikhail led them out into a long grey corridor, with doors on both sides.

“These are the vorkers quarters; this floor also has a fully function kitchen and dining hall, gym and recreation room. The elevator,” he smirked, “is through the gym.”

“Doctor Rasputin was a careful man,” Syndrome commented.

“No,” Mikhail spat. “Rasputin vas completely paranoid. But he had his reasons.”

“You sound like you don’t like him much,” Vex said.

“He vas a great man, but he vas driven mad by tragedy. I respected him, but I did not like him, no. And I vill be glad to leave this place, vonce my business in concluded.”

“Oh?” Syndrome raised an eyebrow, “And vhat, I mean, what business would that be?”

“Vhy, getting you settled of course. The doctor left me vhith strict instructions not to leave until you vere completely comfortable your new surroundings. Unless, that is, you vish to throw me out in the cold.”

“ Riiight,” he nodded. Oh no, he wouldn’t chuck the guy out just yet. Not until he’d found out what was up with him.

They came to the next elevator, and Mikhail typed in the same code as before, Syndrome caught the whole thing this time, and memorized it quickly. The first thing to do of course would be to change it.

“The next level down vas the technical laboratories, there is a freight elevator connecting it directly vith the hangar. This floor is almost completely empty at the moment, however, and you may use it as you see fit. The third level vas the Doctor’s personal laboratory, it also houses the master suite as vell as the guest quarters. It is the only floor vith another ving.”

“Lets see that, then,” Syndrome commanded.

“Certainly,” Mikhail complied, pressing the button on the elevator. “Oh, it may go vith out saying, but of course all of the floors are monitored by multiple camera feeds, vitch are collected in the security chambers of the command center on the fourth level. Except of course, for the master suite.”

“What’s the fifth floor for?” Vex asked, speaking up again.

“Ah, that vould be the brig, lady,” he replied carefully. “A most unpleasant location.”

Ha! Syndrome snickered to himself. So the old doctor had kept a torture chamber huh?

The elevator stopped, and they stepped out into the wide main chamber of the lab. At least, it would have been wide if it hadn’t been cluttered with all sorts of scientific apparatus and computers.

“Whoa,” Vex seemed stunned. “Why’d he leave all his stuff here when he left?”

Syndrome’s eyes narrowed. Good question.

Mikhail was quick to answer. “The doctor is retired; he had no further use for it.”

Bullshit, if Rasputin was so paranoid, he wouldn’t leave equipment here for the next person. And why would the technical labs be empty, even if he did? Syndrome smelled a rat in his new abode, and he was just going to have to chase it out.

“Oh,” Vex didn’t sound like she believed it either.

“Vould you like to see the suite?”

“Not just yet,” Syndrome said. “I’d like you to show us around security quickly, and then I think we’ll go back to my plane to close the deal.”

“As you vish,” he nodded, and waved a hand. “Of course, please then, just step back inside the elevator.”

The first room on the security floor was completely empty.

“What’s this space for?” he asked Mikhail.

“Vhy, security, of course,” the Russian smirked maddeningly. “For the purposes of your arrival, I made certain to disarm the usual precautions, however. They are set in the main control room, vhich is down this corridor.”

Security, when they stepped out into it, quite dim, bathed only in the light of a large number of monitors and screens, lighted control panels and blinking dials and readouts. At a glance Syndrome could see that functionality could be spread out across the terminals so that it took ten coordinated people to operate, or consolidated for a single person.

“You have the access codes for all of this?”

Mikhail nodded. “They vill be given to you vonce the deal is signed.”

Syndrome frowned, and glanced at one of the walls, which was dominated by several dozen small screens, each of which showed the live video feed from somewhere on the base. He wanted to get started reprogramming, already! “Then let’s go do that. I need to get the money out of my plane.”

They had turned to go, and were almost out of the room when he noticed that Vex wasn’t behind him. He whirled around, “Hey, Vex!”

She was standing at the camera feed looking concerned. At the sound of his voice, she snapped out of it and hurried to his side.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I… thought I saw something move on one of the cameras.”

The Russian, it seemed, had sharp ears. “Nonsense, ve are the only vones here” he chuckled loudly, “I believe this room is, as you Americans vould say, ‘creeping you out’, dear girl.”

He glared at the man, and then glanced at his lieutenant. She shook her head just slightly, and he nodded. They’d discuss it later.

They made their way back to the large hangar at the surface of the base, where Jared was refueling the plane.

“There’s a briefcase under my seat on the plane, go get it,” he told Vex.

“Sure,” she nodded, and hurried off to get it.

Syndrome stood alone with Mikhail.

“So, I trust this tour has shown that the base vill meet your needs.”

He shrugged. “Oh, it’ll do just fine after a little tweaking.”

“Of course. If there is any vay in vhich I can help you vith these adjustments, you have merely to ask.”

“I don’t think we’ll be needed any help, though I’m sure the doc relied on you for a lot.”

“Ah, I am afraid you are wrong vith this assumption.”

“Then why’d he leave you in charge?”

“Again, you are mistaken. I am merely a hired caretaker.”

“I see.”

Vex had returned with the briefcase, and proffered it to him. “Here ya go.”

“Hold on to it for me,” he instructed.

“Now,” Mikhail said with a grin, “Shall ve adjourn to a comfortable location to complete this?”

 

---

 

Mikhail’s green eyes, Vex noticed, were a study in friendliness and assurance, and, except for that one moment when they stepped off the plane, had been the entire time.

He was completely charming, and it made her wonder if she was just being overly suspicious. She might have accepted that, except for a gut instinct that there was something he wasn’t saying. That and the fact that Syndrome definitely didn’t trust him.

And of course, the camera, though she could chalk that up to an overactive imagination. It wasn’t as if she had seen someone walking around inside the base or anything, but as she was turning to leave, she had thought she’d seen a flash of movement, low to the ground. She wasn’t even sure what part of the base that particular camera had been aimed at.

The caretaker had led them down into the near empty tech floor, and into an office, which was furnished with comfortable chairs, a desk, and even a coffee pot, with freshly brewed coffee. It looked so perfectly normal that Vex was taken aback.

“Have a seat, please,” Mikhail asked pleasantly. “Vould you like a cup of coffee?”

“Not right now,” Syndrome answered quickly, sitting down in one of the chairs by the desk. “Lets finish this up alright?”

“Yes, certainly,” he sat down at the desk, and pulled two large manila folders out of it, full of papers. “These are all of the base schematics,” he said, pointing to one, “and these are all of the access codes, and other computer related matters.”

Syndrome nodded, and then looked over at her expectantly. She set the briefcase on the desk, and he opened it, showing it to Mikhail.

“Payment in full of two point five million dollars,” he said, and Vex could hardly believe how blasé he sounded about the figure, “Make sure your boss gets it, okay? I don’t want any problems.”

“Certainly, certainly,” the Russian assured, and offered his hand.

Syndrome took it, and Vex watched them shake hands briefly and roughly.

“Very vell, I vill now return to my quarters. I vould appreciate if you not change the access code to that on me, eh?” he chuckled. “If there is anything that you require, merely page me on the intercom system.”

He got up to leave.

“Wait,” Vex said quickly, and he turned around, to look at her quizzically.

“Yes?”

“Er, is there anything to eat around?”

Mikhail laughed. “I believe that the doctor left the stores in his quarters quite vell stocked.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

The caretaker left, the door hissing shut behind him.

Syndrome, who had been flipping through the top folder, looked up at her now.

“So, what’s your take on Mickey there?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well…” Vex considered. “I think there’s definitely something he’s not telling us. About the doctor. I think.”

He nodded. “I think there’s a good chance that the doc is dead. That guy probably offed him in fact.”

“So, do you think he’s got something up his sleeve besides that?”

He snorted. “I intend to find out. That’s why I’m not kicking him out right away. We’ll see if he slips up.”

“Good plan. So we watch him?”

“Like a hawk. Oh, speaking of which, what did you see on that camera?” he narrowed his eyes, looking around, trying to spot where the camera in that room was, Vex assumed.

“It was probably nothing, but I thought I saw something move. I don’t know where the camera, but I can point out which monitor it was on.”

“Good. We’ll go down to security now, I gotta start reprogramming the whole system. Make sure it doesn’t have any spyware or nasty surprises waiting for us.” He stood up, and she followed him out of the room.

“At least the layout’s not too complex,” she observed.

“Not a first glance,” Syndrome said quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Oh?”

“I was leafing through the copy of the blueprints, and it looks incomplete. I think there’s more around here than meets the eye.”

“Like secret passages, or rooms?”

“Wouldn’t be an evil lair without them,” he mused.

Vex laughed.

Syndrome tapped the access code into the panel by the elevator, and the clambered in. A thought occurred to her, as they rode down. “Syndrome, Rasputin used to be a respected scientist, didn’t he?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, then what’s with the secret base of doom?”

Syndrome chuckled. “‘Used to be’ is key in that sentence. You heard what the Russian said about him going nuts?”

She nodded.

“Nobody knows why it happened, but oh, about ten years ago, he just flew off his rocker. He stole the huge sum of money from the government grant he’d been given, and disappeared off everybody’s radar, to here, looks like. He popped up every now and again, I think he had some ties to the Russian mob, but mostly nobody’s seen him since.”

“Geez,” she wondered what could have happened to the guy.

The doors of the elevator parted as they reached the fourth level, and Vex started to step out.

Syndrome put his arm in front of her chest, stopping her. “Whoa, whoa. Hold it.”

She looked quizzically at him, taking a step backwards.

“He said there were deathtraps in this hallway. It’s entirely too possible that they have been reactivated since we were last here, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh, right. Thanks. I didn’t even catch that,” she beamed admiringly at him.

He fished in his pocket and pulled out a quarter Vex watched him toss it deftly down the hall so it skated all the way across the floor until it hit the wall. No lasers fired, no pits of crocodiles opened up. In short, it seemed safe.

“Okay, now we can go,” Syndrome said, strolling out ahead of her, “But stay alert.”

“Definitely,” she agreed.

Syndrome unlocked the door to the control chamber, and Vex adjusted her eyes to the darkness. Weren’t there any lights in here? She looked around, but didn’t see any evidence of anything.

Syndrome sat down immediately at the main terminal, setting the manila folders down beside him.

“How are you with computers?” he asked, taking off his coat, and draping it over the back of the chair.

“Er, I’m fair to middling, but I’m no ‘leet haxor’,” she sat down backwards in a swiveling chair, draping her arms over the back of it. “If you tell me what to do though, I can do it.”

“Hmm…” he considered, brushing the side of his nose with his thumb.

Vex’s stomach growled suddenly, and she blushed.

Syndrome smirked. “Why don’t you go up to the suite and see if you can find that food ‘Mickey’ mentioned. Oh, and why’ll you’re up there, I left another bag on the plane, get that. Then come back down here, and I’ll show you how to go through the database.”

“Righto,” she nodded, standing up again. “Oh, what’s the pass code for the doors?”

“It’s 12-34-10,” he told her, and then he lifted his left hand, and tapped the wrist plate of his glove, taking off a small device. “This is a two way communicator, if you see anything out of the ordinary, just hit the blue button and tell me.”

“Can do boss,” she grinned, taking the device and putting it in her pocket. “Anything else?”

“Nah, that’s it,” he said, focusing his eyes back on the large screen, and typing something out on the keypad.

Vex turned and walked out of the room, back through the supposed deathtrap hallway to the elevator. So far Syndrome had only been asking her to do little things, but it wasn’t if there had been much for her to do. Fetching and carrying would eventually be taken care of by minions, and or robots, she assumed. Not that she minded fetching things for him, and she certainly wouldn’t ever say ‘no, get it yourself’, but she did look forward to doing something more important for him, to prove that she could . Well, he’d said that she could help with the computers when she got back, which was a little better.

She road back up in the elevator, honestly glad that she had the little communicator. She wasn’t scared, as such, but she was nervous what with Mikhail lurking around, and whatever she had seen on the camera too.

She still needed to point that one out to Syndrome, too.

The elevator stopped at the third level, and she wondered, what had the Doctor needed with a brig anyway? The whole setup was really suspicious in her mind. After all, it was perfect for the uses of an evil overlord, which Syndrome was, and Rasputin, supposedly wasn’t. She shook her head, stepping out into the Doctor’s lab, and picked her way across it being careful not to trip over any of the many cords twinning their way around the floor like serpents.

There was only one door out of the room, so Vex opened that one, and immediately found herself in a very incongruous setting. It looked like the foyer of an old Victoria manor. There was one door, and a spiral staircase. Opening the door, which rather than being the sterile metal of the rest of the base was a rich mahogany, she found the kitchen and pantry. That was easy. Oh! But she’d almost forgotten the bag from the plane. She should get that first, before she tried to fix anything to eat. But before that, she wanted to see what was upstairs.

She mounted the stairs, which had a thick red carpeting, put her hand on the intricately carven banister, and started up. The hallway at the top of the stairs was long, and lighted by several small chandeliers. The first door she peeked in was a library or study, or both, filled with large, old looking books, all of which, as far as she could tell, were in Russian. There was a large, expensive desk, and several couches and chairs. The next door was a bath chamber, with a large, almost pool-like tub set in the marble floor, and several taps, all accented in gold and crystal. How much money had Rasputin stolen? She wondered, backing out of that room.

The next door must have been the master suite, because it, unlike the other doors, did have an access panel, and the code that she had didn’t work in it. The last door was the guest suit, and peeking in on it, Vex wasn’t sure how the master suite could be much better. The large bed with its long green hangings looked so comfortable in fact, that she had to hurry herself out of the room. Having slept in an airplane seat that night, even though it had only been an hour or so ago, made her want to lie down and not get up again for several hours. Which she couldn’t do on any account. She hurried back down the stairs, and through the lab.

“Hello,” said Mikhail with a grin, as the elevator doors parted to let her in, revealing him.

Vex took a step back, startled to see him. “Er, hello.” She forced a smile.

“Are you going down or up?”

“Oh, up,” she nodded, resting her hand on her pocket, and feeling the small, but reassuring bulge of the communicator.

“You are so on edge, Miss Vexxation, vhat is there that might do to set you at ease.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry Mikhail, I don’t even know who you are.”

“Ah, of course. Forgive me for my intrusion,” he nodded, and looked down, then said a moment later, “It is merely in my nature to inquire vhen a lady is in distress.”

She laughed. “I’m not in any distress.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Like you said, this place just sets my teeth on edge. I’ll get used to it.”

“I see.”

The elevator stopped at the second floor, and Mikhail stepped out, Vex followed him. After all that, elevator didn’t go to the surface…

Vex walked down the hall, hoping that Mikhail would leave her alone. No such luck. He followed her all the way to the other elevator, but didn’t get in.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded, as she punched the button to take her up.

“My name is Mikhail Rasputin, the doctor vas my father,” he said, as the doors closed, parting them.

“What? Hey!” Vex complained as the elevator continued upwards to the hangar. If Mikhail hadn’t been behaving strangely before, he certainly was now.

The thing in her pocket beeped, and she pulled it out.

“What was that about?” Syndrome’s voice demanded, an image of him appearing on the tiny screen.

“Mikhail accosted me on the elevator,” she explained. He must have been watching her on the security cameras.

“I saw that part, what was he saying?”

“Not much. He called me a ‘lady in distress’, told me he was Rasputin’s son, and then ran off.”

Syndrome frowned. “I think he wants to tell you something or other.”

“Maybe what his game is?”

“Maybe… But it might be anything. You still have the tazer on you?”

“Yeah,” she had taken it off to sleep, but both of them were safely in the satchel at her hip.

“Good. If he tries to talk to you again, go along with him. If he tries anything funny you can zap him at your own discretion.” Syndrome smirked.

“Okeedokee. But I think he knew you were watching, and didn’t like it.”

“Good point. I’ll look out for camera blind spots, malfunctions and such. You keep this communicator with you.”

“You got it.”

“Syndrome out,” the screen shut off, and Vex put the device back in her pocket.

 

---

 

Syndrome sat in the semi-darkness of the security room, distractedly going through the database for bugs. He was more concerned with watching Vex on the security cameras, thinking, if he’d paid more attention to what Mirage had been doing he could have stopped her from ruining his plans. Maybe not from betraying him, but from betraying him effectively.

Not that he wanted to think that Vex was going to betray him. He didn’t think so, in fact. He was actually more concerned for her safety than her loyalty. Who knew what this freaky Russian guy was up to? A glance at the monitors to him Vex was in the hangar bay getting the bag, and Mikhail was in the barracks TV room, apparently watching TV…

The computer beeped. The first thing that had annoyed Syndrome was that he’d had to install a Russian translation program on the whole system, though he should have expected it. Now that it was all translated he could comb the files for anything suspicious, or potentially useful. But if was bound to take a while. He’d have Vex go through the actual documents, to see if they could find anything about what was up with the doctor, while he looked for spy programming or viruses.

Vexxation disappeared into the plane for a moment, and then came out again carrying the bag. There wasn’t anything particularly heavy in it, just his suit, and his laptop, which would make weeding through the computer much faster. She got into the elevator, and suddenly, five or six of the security monitors went dead, including the ones with Mikhail and Vex were on.

Immediately Syndrome reached to tap the communicator in his glove, but then he stopped. ‘No,’ he thought, ‘let Vex handle it. She’ll radio you if she needs help. That’s what you told her to do.’ If he contacted her now, all he would do was ruin her chance of finding out what Mikhail was doing. They already knew he was Rasputin’s kid, or said he was. Why miss the chance to find out more?

Instead, he booted up the security files on the computer, determined to find the source of the black out.

 

---

 

The elevator stopped suddenly with a jolt. Vex gasped, and braced herself on the left wall of the elevator, as the wall behind her parted, revealing itself as a door. Something skittered from it into the small compartment with her. It looked like a rat, but with red and orange skin like a newt, rather than fur, and it was the size of a small dog.

Vex bit her lip, backing away, and pulled one of her gloves out of her bag.

The rat-thing hissed at her, as she pulled the glove onto her hand, and it powered it with an electrical crackle.

“He von’t hurt you,” said Mikhail, stepping out of the shadows to going them. “Nor vil I.”

“What do you want?” she demanded, wiggling her fingers inside the glove to reassure herself that she was safe. If he tried anything, she’d zap his ass like Syndrome said.

“You vanted to know who I vas, and I vant to tell you. I merely do not vish, to be avare as vell. See?”

She nodded slowly. “But why?”

“How long have you been vorking vith him?”

“Not long…”

“I thought not. You do not have the look of a hardened criminal.” He nodded. “Let us saw for now, that I simply do not like him.”

“… I can accept that I guess. Where does that passage go?”

“It is the emergency stairs. They travel all through the base.”

“I see. And what it that, thing ?”

“A… pet of mine.”

“Did your father create it?” she asked, recalling Rasputin’s early bio-engineering experiments.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What is it you want to tell me?”

“About my father. You know vhat his field of research vas?”

“Bio-chemistry.”

“Ah, but that vas not his original field, no. He originally studied as a simple medical doctor, but, vhen my elder brother vas born, he became… othervise interested.”

“Why?”

“Because my brother vas a cripple! He vas born vith a terrible disease, like a cancer, that spread from within his body. Numerous surgeries vere preformed many by my father himself, but none of them vould help. Eventually my father located the source of the disease, and created a treatment to correct it. My brother vas finally fully alive, oh how my father doted on him. He sent him abroad to study to travel, to become great! But, in the United States, only months after my father had cured him, my brother vas brutally murdered!”

“That’s terrible…”

“Yes. It vas my brother’s murder that drove my father insane, and who can blame him? His favorite son vas lost, after so many years of keeping him alive.”

“Were you, jealous of your brother?”

“Of course I vas! And angry, especially after he died. Vith him traveling, my father had finally begun to value me, but vhen he died, my father retreated here, obsessed vith his vork. He vanted to clone my brother, and bring him to life, strong and full. He vas no longer my father.”

“Did you, kill him?” she asked cautiously.

“Vhat do you take me for, I monster, like your boss? He vas killed by his own experiment, several months ago. Disgusted, I planned to sell this base, and use the money to find and kill the person that I truly hate. My brother’s killer.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

Mikhail laughed. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, before I could even find a buyer, I found myself robbed of my revenge. My brother’s killer had been slain by another. It seemed I would have to be content with living my life a rich man.”

There was a crazy, triumphant kind of glint in Mikhail’s eyes that made Vex worry. “So, everything’s fine then?”

“It soon vill be,” he said with a smile.

The lights flickered.

“Ah, it must be beginning,” he commented.

“What? What’s beginning?!” she demanded. She grabbed the communicator from her pocket and switched it on. “Syndrome? Syndrome!”

There was no response.

“Please do not be alarmed, lady. I mean to spare you from this.” He moved forward to touch her.

Vex balled her fist and swung at Mikhail. He didn’t even bother blocking, thinking such a weak little girl couldn’t do any damage. He got a face full of tazer. Electricity crackled, and the Russian’s hair stood on end as he collapsed to the elevator floor, unconscious. Vex though she was safe, but then the rat-thing strange at her like a rabid bat out of hell.

She screamed and swung Syndrome’s heavy bag at it, knocking it out of the air. It hit the wall of the elevator, but rebounded, leaping at her a second time. This time she caught it with her tazer glove, the creature shrieked and fell to the floor, lifelessly.

Vex scrambled over the two bodies to the stairs at the back of the elevator, and sped down them, through the near darkness, taking as many steps at a time as she dared without falling. She only hoped that she would get to Syndrome in time.

To be continued…

Yes! Hahahahahahha! Evil cliffhanger of DOOOM!!!

Maya Beebop: It’s okay, I forgive you! hug Okay, I will keep going with Vex as she is. (I didn’t really want to change her) I certainly don’t want her to end up unlikable. Heheehe. About mad butt kissing skills, don’t worry, she doesn’t plan to abandon them! Hmmm, I donno, Syndrome does like getting praised, maybe he could take 24 hours of it! Lol. As to if Vex has any powers, I can’t give away the plot of the story, but like I said, I know what’s going to happen all through the story. I think you’ll like it. And I think it will surprise you.

Shadow Fox Forever: Actually, I am neglecting my family and real life boyfriend to get the story up this quickly. The sad thing? I don’t care.

Megan The Vampire Slayer: Good to see you again! You know, I think they actually do make Syn plushies… I have to go to KB toys.… But what if I like pushing myself!?

VegetandAru: Is this soon enough for you? I am able to write the chapters this fast, simply because I am completely obsessed/divinely inspired, and am letting the fic eat my life. I literally have not done anything except eat, sleep, go to work, and write this fic since the first say I started writing it. I am so glad you like the way I write Syndrome, isn’t he wonderfully callous? I’m so glad I inspire you. Love and hugz babe.

I’m so glad everyone likes how fast I’m updating. This way, it’s kinda like a TV show, eh? Except you can’t really miss an episode.

Tomorrow: The Piper and his Payment

 

 

Comics, Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Good morning. sucks on coffee I put some art for ccr up at my gallery. Greer-the-raven .deviantart. com Go see it.

I am going to warn you that this is a very dark chapter possibly the darkest in the fic, and if anyone under the age of thirteen is reading this fic, that they might want to ask themselves just how mature they are and possibly seek entertainment elsewhere. Not that I want you to stop reading if you’re twelve and having fun.

Line breaks still aren’t working for me, so it’s 000 again.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all other affiliated characters are the property of Disney/Pixar. I’m not making any money off this (just losing sleep) so there’s really no reason to try to sue me. Unless you really, really want my Sonic comic collection…

Chapter 9: The Piper and his Payment

The first thing Angelica Mitchell had done, after her first few hours of panic, had been to delete the goodbye message from Sharon’s computer. Then she had called the police, making no mention of either it, nor any personal items missing from her room.

The police were treating it as kidnap, and that was exactly how Angelica wanted it. The note and the bag would have screamed ‘runaway’ to the police, and they never did anything about a runaway. Besides, as far as she was concerned, her daughter had been kidnapped. There was no reason for her to just up and leave.

She had felt especially justified in this assertion when an investigation of the coffee shop had turned up that Sharon had met a man there, one that none of the workers had seen around before. This man, whom occupants had described as red-haired and well dressed, was of course the police’s prime suspect.

Yes, Angelica was confident that her daughter would be found. Some mothers became ineffective and hysterical when they were grief stricken, but not Sharon’s mother, the key for her, to avoid an emotional breakdown was to keep busy, doing things to ensure her daughter’s safe return, and not give herself a moment to reflect on what had occurred.

She had of course, phoned Sharon’s school and told them to tell her classmates, in case any of them knew anything.

 

---

 

The whole school was talking about it, Sharon Mitchell was missing. Had maybe been kidnapped. Was abducted by aliens. Etcetera.

And Violet Parr couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit very, very bad. And worried.

She hadn’t thought much about it when she’d gone to sit with Tony. Didn’t really think that Sharon would care. After all, the girl was like four years older than she was, shouldn’t she have friends in her own year? She’d thought all the older kids were friends with one another.

But Sharon had seemed really mad when Violet had talked to her yesterday. Okay, so maybe it was kinda rude to leave without telling her…

What if she’d run off and committed suicide or, or joined the circus or something?

When Violet had started middle school a year ago she hadn’t known anybody. She had been very lost, and very alone. And very surprised when the high school girl had simply plunked herself down at Violet’s empty table like it was completely socially accepted.

Okay, so they hadn’t been best friends or anything, at least Violet hadn’t thought so. She’d never been over to the older girl’s house, or even hung out with her at all out of school. Not that her mom would have been comfortable with her hanging with a girl so much older than she was. And anyway, Sharon was way too boyish and loud for Violet to be totally at ease around her.

But for a year and a half they’d sat at the same lunch table. Was it really that big a deal when Violet up and left? And what was Sharon’s issue that she got all angry when she had been invited to sit at the other table? Didn’t she want people to like her? It wasn’t as if the table was full of eighth graders, if that was her problem.

At the time Violet had felt like saying ‘Fine, be that way’, but later she’d started to feel like maybe she had been wrong. She had even made the decision to take a break from sitting with Tony, and sit with her again for today, if Sharon would let her.

Now she wasn’t going to get a chance.

 

---

 

Vex snarled angrily at the control panel that blocked her way into the next level of the complex, as she tried to get back to the Security room where Syndrome was. The access code wasn’t working! She didn’t have time for this! Well, brute force had been working for her so far in this little emergency.

She punched the terminal with her glove, sending a jolt of electricity through it. The doors parted obligingly. She would celebrate her knew found violent solutions later. She dashed through the entryway, and down another flight of stairs.

What could Mikhail have done? Set off the death traps? Syndrome could handle these kind of things, right? Didn’t they happen to him all the time? But usually he had all kinds of weapons and robots didn’t he? Why hadn’t he thrown Mikhail out as soon as he had looked suspicious? What the hell did the guy want, anyway?!

Vex hit the forth level, broke the terminal, and burst through the secret door into the security room.

 

---

 

Syndrome had not been expecting an attack. He had not been expecting the rest of the cameras to go dead, followed by a good three quarters of the computer monitors, leaving him in almost total darkness.

Then there were the little pairs of glowing red lights that winked on from every corner of the room. Then the lights had shrieked and leapt at him.

Syndrome managed to most them with his zero-energy. In its blue glow he saw what he was being attacked by, giant rat things. One of the two rats that he hadn’t caught on the first pass flew at him from an odd angle and bit right through his glove to his left hand, freeing half of it’s brethren as the glove shorted and the villain yelped in pain.

From his wrist, he heard Vex’s voice calling him over the communicator. “Syndrome? Syndrome!”

He slammed his hand, the creature still latched onto his flesh, against one of the computer units, stunning it, and freeing himself from its grip. But the communicator was dead.

Two more of the things leapt at him, he knocked them out of the air with the bunch that he still had contained, throwing them against the wall. As he was turning, another one hurdled towards his face, and he didn’t bat it away quick enough to avoid its nasty claws digging into the flesh right below his left eye.

The thing recovered quickly and leapt at him again, lower this time, and he kicked it away. Okay, that was what, seven down? There should only be a few-

Except there were more now. He still had the same number in his energy field, and the ones he had taken care of still lay immobile. But now there were like five more.

“Aw shit,” he swore, and edged backwards, towards the door, as several of them tried to jump him at once. He knocked them out of the air with the floating bunch again, and quickly punched in the access code to the door.

Leaving the lab was not a viable option, as the white hallway was now filled with large swinging blades. He started to whirl around when he was knocked to the ground by a rather large object.

Three rats sailed over his head, and where sliced and diced out in the hallway. Syndrome winced as he was splattered with blood.

As Vex, for that was who had accosted him, pulled him to his feet, he realized he’d let go of his hold on the five rats he had captive. They swarmed him en mass, and Syndrome shoved the girl out of the way, and caught most of them in his field again with his good glove. He slammed them as hard as he could against the wall, which he should have done in the first place, and looked for more.

He heard the sound of electricity twice in quick succession and saw that Vex had taken out the two that had escaped him, and come after her.

They stood there, staring around the room, making sure there were no more of the things. The room was silent except for the swooshing of the giant blades in the hallway, and their panting. There didn’t seem to be any more creatures coming.

“Are you alright?” they asked one another simultaneously, and then both answered. “I’m fine.”

Syndrome chuckled.

“You’re bleeding,” Vex pointed out.

He pulled off his malfunctioning glove, and inspected the wound on his palm. It wasn’t deep, in fact, it was barely bleeding. The glove had absorbed most of it. “It’s nothing.”

“I kinda meant that one,” she corrected, pointing at his face.

He reached up, and felt the hot, stinging moisture on his face, he’d forgotten about that. “Damn,” he growled, wiping away the blood with his sleeve, and kicked the body of one of the creatures. “Well, it’ll heal. I do this kinda thing all the time. What about you?”

He had been surprised at how well she had handled herself.

She shrugged. “Just like Legend of Zelda,” she said wryly, “except for the part where all I have to do is tap the ‘A’ button to kill the damn things.”

“How did you know what was happening?” Syndrome asked her, pushing the strands of hair that had escaped his pony tail out of his face. “And how’d you get in here?”

“Mikhail caught me in the elevator again. He was babbling something about his brother being murdered, then the lights flickered, and he said ‘its happening’ or something like that. I tried to call you, you didn’t answer, so I figured I should see if you needed help.”

“And he just let you go?”

“Well, not exactly. I had to knock him out, at least, he didn’t look dead, but I didn’t really stop to check. He had one of those rat things with him, too. Can a tazer to the face kill a guy?”

“Well, not unless you really held it to him,” he shook his head. He was becoming even more pleased with her. “Did you learn anything more specific from him?”

She took a moment to repeat what Mikhail had said about his father’s obsession with his brother’s disease, the brother’s demise, and his father’s madness, and death.

“Huh. Nothing else?”

“No, that’s all he said before I had to tackle him.”

“What about the passage?”

“Mickey used it to get into the elevator; the access codes didn’t work in the terminals I had to get through, so they, uh, kinda need fixing now. Sorry.”

“Hey, hey, do not apologize. Frankly, I’m pretty impressed with you, ya know?” he grinned at her.

She blushed, but looked quite thrilled as well. “I’m sure you’d have been okay. You almost had them all when I got here…”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he could, though he wasn’t quite going to admit that. “Maybe, but I appreciate your help. Unless I specifically say so, do not hesitate to help.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she beamed.

“So, let’s go see what our Russian friend has anything to say for himself, shall we?”

“Sounds good to me. This room’s a little depressing at the moment, anyway.” She glanced out the hallway. “Do you know how to turn those off?”

“Not while the controls are out,” he gestured to the dark screens.

“Then I think we’re stuck taking the stairs.”

As they walked up the stair case, Syndrome noticed that Vex had removed her glove and was massaging her wrist. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she grinned sheepishly.

“Hitting things is all well and good,” she mused, “But I think I could use a long range option.”

He smirked. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As they got to the first level, Syndrome saw Mikhail’s feet sticking out of the elevator limply. He bent down and checked the guy’s pulse. “He’s alive alright, but you sure knocked him out good. And look at that hair,” he snickered at the ball of brown frizz around the man’s gaunt face.

Vex giggled. “So what are you going to do with him?”

“I think it’s time we took a tour of the doc’s brig, eh?”

She nodded, as he surrounded their attacker with a field of blue energy, hefting him into the air, and started back down the stairs. At the very bottom, Syndrome nodded at the access terminal.

“Vex.”

She nodded, and tried the code first. When it was rejected, she put her yellow shock glove back on and fried it. The door opened.

For the most part, the brig looked very… well, there no other way to describe it. It looked Trekkie. There were at least a dozen small holding cells, each with a glowing energy field in the doorway, rather than conventional bars. At any rate, Syndrome didn’t have the access codes for them at the moment, so that option was out. He was beginning to think that they might just have to tie the guy up, when they rounded the corner into what could only have been the interrogation area.

Contained in the white, shiny alcove were two retaining tubes, a chair with various straps beside a table with various needles and chair for the interrogator, and, Syndrome couldn’t help but laugh, out of both luck and amusement. Doctor Rasputin had bought one of Syndrome’s own Force Racks! The same device that he’d held Mr. Incredible in a week ago. It was an older model, but no less effective.

He dropped Mikhail to the floor unceremoniously. “Watch him, in case he wakes up,” he instructed, walking over to the Rack’s controls.

Vexxation nodded. “What is that thing?” she asked.

“Force Rack,” he explained. “It holds the prisoner immobile, and administers painful impulses to him, for interrogation. I invented it.”

“Sounds pretty useful.”

“I thought so,” he smirked. Rasputin had passworded the access, but that was fine. Syndrome included an emergency override code in all of his weapons that only he knew of, in case they were ever used against him. The machine came to life with a hum.

“Put those on his wrists and ankles,” he told Vex, nodding to the large restraints.

She picked them up, and clapped them roughly to Mikhail’s appendages, checking to make sure each one was locked. “All set,” she nodded.

Syndrome pointed a finger at the body, and lifted him up into the energy field, securing him in place.

Vex looked from Syndrome, to Mikhail, and back, and crossed her arms. “So how long do you think it’ll be before he wakes up?”

“Oh, an hour or so at least. You really put his lights out good, babe,” he sneered scornfully at the limp Russian.

“Thank you,” she beamed, flattered. “So, we wait then, or what?”

Syndrome frowned. On the one hand, he didn’t want to leave the prisoner unguarded, on the other hand, just waiting in the brig for the hour or so it took for him to wake up sounded equally unpleasant, if not as risky. Not that he thought Mikhail could escape, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Hmmm, you found the doc’s kitchen, right?”

She nodded. “It’s the only room on the ground floor or the suite.”

“Right. So, you watch the prisoner while I go get us some breakfast,” he tried to think of how long it had been since they’d arrived. A few hours at least.

“Okay.”

“I don’t think there are any more of those pests around, but watch out anyway. And be warned, my communicator isn’t working.”

“Dually warned,” she nodded.

Half an hour ago he might have been more worried about leaving her alone under such circumstances, but he definitely felt that she had proved herself at least somewhat capable in a fight. Which was more than he could have said for Mirage.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he assured her, and then headed back towards the staircase.

 

---

 

Vex sat in the brig, alone except for the company of the man that she had knocked out. She didn’t feel bad about that either. He had attacked Syndrome, and might have attacked her too. She wondered what exactly Mikhail had against him. It seemed like it must have something to do with his dead brother. But what exactly?

She shook her head. Too much had happened too quickly for her to sort it all out. For she was just glad that both she and Syndrome were safe, and she was pretty much assured that they would get the full story from Mikhail himself when he woke up. Whether he wanted to tell them about it or not.

She smirked, resting her chin on her hand and watched their prisoner for any signs of movement, all the while, thinking to herself. She and Syndrome made a pretty good team, didn’t they? And she had managed to show him that she could fight a bit too, if she had too, although, she would have been more comfortable with an edged weapon, given that she’d taken fencing lessons for a few years when she was younger.

She thought of Syndrome’s boyish, freckly face twisted in that assured smirk, and sighed. He liked her, right? He had, after all, put his arm around her in the plane, and Syn didn’t seem the type for meaningless supportive gestures… But then, they had only known each other for a day at best, and, under his arrogant surface, he did seem to be a bit shy. But then, he also was a very dominating type of person, so being forward would just alienate him…

Mikhail groaned, and Vex snapped out of her reverie, and glared at him, standing up. From behind, she thought she heard the squeal of those rat-things again, and whirled around, but there was nothing there. She adjusted the glove on her wrist, just in case.

He moaned again, and she trained her eyes on him, but stayed attentive for movement from other places in the room. It looked like he was waking up sooner than Syndrome had expected.

His eyes parted slightly. “Vhy…” he began in a hoarse voice. “Vhy did you attack me?” The thing was, he sounded genuinely disbelieving.

“You’re joking, right?” she demanded, glaring at him.

“I do not understand, vhat loyalty do you owe to that monster?”

“My own,” she snapped.

“But vhy ? Do you not know vhat he is? A killer?”

“So?” she crossed her arms.

“I see. So you are the type of voman who is best charmed vith vicked viles.”

Vex winced at this, but it was because of all the mangles ‘w’s in the sentence, rather than it’s content. Yes, she thought, thank you very much. “And what if I am?”

“Then you are a fool!” he accused. “Can you not see he is a man who cares for nothing but his own?!”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” came a voice from the door way. Vex whirled around to find him standing in the door way. However, he wasn’t in normal clothing anymore, instead he was in the black and white outfit from the news, with his cape billowing behind him as he walked forward, and his hair standing up above his head. The effect was mangled though, by the fact that he was carrying the duffle bag that Vex had dropped in the elevator, and a tray of sandwiches.

He strode across the room, and put the sandwiches down on the table, brushing the needles aside, and the bag on the floor.

“You just left out one important detail, that’s all. Vexxation is mine.” Syndrome sneered, putting his arm around his lieutenant’s shoulders possessively.

A thrill went through Vex’s whole body and she drew closer to him almost involuntarily. It was nothing compared to the next moment when he lifted her chin up to his, and began to kiss her. She melted, and her world spun as he parted her lips with his tongue and began to caress the inside of her mouth forcefully. She kissed back, their tongues twining against each other as she pressed herself to him, wrapping her arms around his body, the soft fabric of his cape falling around her shoulders.

“You dog!” Mikhail spat.

Syndrome pulled away from her gently, and laughed in the Russian’s face. “You think I’m wrong?”

“I vill not accept it!”

Vex’s body was warm, and tingling, and she was surprised that she was still able to stand up. It felt like someone had grabbed her by the wrists and swung her around and around. In a good way.

“Vex,” Syndrome snapped with a smirk. “You see the dial on that panel?”

She blinked, forcing herself to be functional. “I see it,” she nodded.

“I think we ought to prove to our guest how wrong he is about you, shall we?”

She nodded, and strode over to the control panel, putting her hand on the dial, ready to turn it. “What number?”

Syndrome shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, whatever you feel is appropriate. Ten will kill him, though, and we don’t want that just yet.”

“Lady, do not do this! It is wrong, you must know tha-“

His speech was suddenly cut off by a strangled yell, and jerking spasm, as Vex turned the dial to six.

“Shut you pie hole,” she quipped.

Syndrome nodded at her, with a smirk of approval, and clasped his hands behind his back, pacing in front of the Force Rack.

“So, Mickey,” he began wryly, “Vex tells me you’ve got a little childhood trauma to deal with, why don’t you tell us about that.”

“You ruined my life, bastard!”

“Funny, I don’t remember ever meeting you before. Maybe you should be more specific.”

“I vil not! You make me sick! You know very vell vhat you did!”

Syndrome nodded to Vex, and she activated the dial again, at the same setting.

Mikhail’s hoarse cries echoed through the whitewashed, brightly lit torture chamber.

“Now,” Syndrome asked, after the prisoner’s shouts had subsided to panting. “Would you like to tell me why you hate me so much?”

“You killed my brother!! And my father!!”

Vex and Syndrome’s eyes met for just a moment, and the super villain grinned rakishly, before quickly straightening his face, clearing his throat and turning back to Mikhail.

“No,” he said in a deep booming voice, “ I am you father.”

Both Syndrome and she doubled over into hearty, amused laughter, unable to resist the pull of a perfect Star Wars reference.

Mikhail glared straight at her, and, deeply offended. “Vhat are you thinking?! Is this some sort of game to you?!”

Vex’s peals of laughter subsided to giggles that she tried to quell completely. “That was too perfect,” she muttered to Syndrome.

“Why thank you,” he grinned, and then turned his attention back to the prisoner. “Yeah, yeah, you’re deadly serious. So I killed your brother, huh? Funny I don’t remember killing any-“

And then he stopped, and slapped his fist into his palm. “Oh, I get it, I get it! Your brother, he was a Super, right?”

“That is vhat you Americans call us,” Mikhail growled.

“Us? No, wait, we’ll get to that in a minute. So your brother. Did he wear a red and yellow outfit? And shoot lasers out of his hands?”

“So you remember now, do you? You are so careless with murder; I almost did not expect you to.”

“Hey, hey hey, it’s not my fault your big bro never stopped to tell me his name,” he held up his hands defensively.

“How could he? You attacked him!”

Syndrome ignored him. “Okay, after all these years I gotta know what was his name?”

“My brother’s name was Piotr.”

“Piotr Rasputin?” Vex snorted.

“Yes!” Mikhail snapped. “Vhat is it you find amusing now, frivolous girl?”

“Aw, you wouldn’t get the joke,” she shook her head.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Syndrome continued. “So your brother was the unknown Super, that makes sense now.” He nodded, “And the respirator was your father’s cure for whatever was wrong with the kid.”

“Ha! You are wrong! That device was to act as my brother’s lungs after they were removed.”

Syndrome frowned. “Hmmm so that wasn’t it, huh? Well, why don’t you just tell me why he had that chip in his head, I bet that’s it.”

“I vil not humiliate my brother in his death!”

“Ah, so we’re getting somewhere. What if I say please?”

“Never!”

“Okay, what if I say eight?”

Vex took this cue, and turned the dial up two notches. Again, the room rang with Mikhail’s screams.

“It vas a disorder of the brain!!” Mikhail gasped.

“And that’s why papa needed to spy on him with a camera?”

“It vas a precaution for my brother’s safety. It is thanks to that my father saw his death! That he replayed it over and over until the sight of your face drove him mad! That is how I knew you vhen you came.”

“Interesting, but not the info I was looking for. Let’s change subjects, shall we? You implied you were a super?”

“Yes. I have powers.”

“The rat-things,” Vex realized.

“Correct. They manifest themselves at my command, to defend me.”

Syndrome chuckled. “What do they call you, Mickey, the Pied Piper of Moscow?”

“I grow weary of your banter. Question me if you must, but your jokes are worse than this machine.”

“Tut tut tut, you need a sense of humor, don’t you? Wanna help him out Vex?”

She zapped him again, but this time, in the middle of his screams he gave way to a choking cough, some blood trickling from his mouth out onto his chin.

“Please, stop,” he rasped, staring plaintively at her with his glazed eyes.

“Hey, hey, Piper, I’m the one asking the questions, how about you beg me ?” Syndrome sneered at him.

“Never.”

“You’re prerogative, man. Mind telling me exactly what was wrong with your brother in that case?”

“Vhy do you care?”

“I’m curious.”

“I vill not tell you.”

“We’ll try this one more time. Come on, I’m dying to know here.”

“I vil not tell you!”

“Nine, Vex,” he instructed.

There was more screaming and coughing and Mikhail’s body jerked like a harassed marionette.

“Now will you tell me?”

“You can take your curiosity to the devil in hell!!” Mikhail roared defiantly, using what looked like the last of his strength.

“Hmmm,” Syndrome pretended to consider this. “I’ve got a better idea, how about you go do that for me, and I’ll look up the information I want in your dad’s files?” He turned to Vex, his eyes glinting behind the black mask that obscured his face. “Set the dial to ten.”

“No!” Mikhail pleaded with her. “I vould have spared you life!”

He would have, too; Vex knew that. She wasn’t the one he had a grudge against. But Syndrome wanted him dead, and frankly, she didn’t like him all that much herself. After all, he had attacked Syndrome, and she didn’t care what his reasons were.

“Well that’s your bad taste,” she sneered at him, and turned the dial up to ten.

It was the shortest the screams had lasted, but there was more coughing, and more blood issued forth from his mouth. Mikhail’s body twitched violently for several moments, and then fell completely still.

Sharon Mitchell, age seventeen, had killed a man.

“Well done,” Syndrome congratulated her with a grin. He strode away from the limp body in the machine, over to the table, and picked up the tray of sandwiches. “On second though, why don’t we eat upstairs, huh?”

“Okay,” Vexxation agreed, and followed him up the stairs.

To be continued…

Okay, a few extra notes here. One, this is probably the darkest chapter in the entire story, so if you didn’t like it, I’m sorry, please bear with me, for the mood quickly lightens.

Also, I always update either by 6 pm eastern USA/Canada time, or midnight. Usually 6.

Be warned as well, that I am going to visit my best friend tomorrow and force her to see the Incredibles with me, so she can read this fic. Yes, it will be the third time I’ve seen it in less than two weeks. I will try to finish the chapter before I go, but may not be able to. Please excuse this irregularity, and note that I will be back on schedule on Thursday. Same bat time, same bat channel.

And now, to the reviews.

DJ Caligula: Yay!! I am so happy to have you reading my fic! I really, really, really enjoyed your Gríma fic, Not Worth More than Rubies, and I wish you would update it. Not to mention your essay, which has become a classic. Yes, I thought having Syn actually recruit a fangirl off ffnet was something that hadn’t been seen in a fic before. The references to shows and stuff amuse me, at least, I hope they aren’t annoying anyone. As for Syndrome’s hair, easy it was red to begin with! As a child he obviously dyed it blonde to look like Mr. Incredible.

Artymas: Yes yes, updating steroids aplenty, it’s called caffeine and obsession. Haha, I’m sorry about the cliffhanger, here’s another one for you!

Krystal-Image-Ki: Um, I’m not sure what art you’re talking about, since I only have two little doodles up at my deviart account, but thanks for reading the fic! Always good to addict a fan.

WormmonABC: I am proud! Thanks for reading!

Maya Beebop: Hahaha, you got zapped by the ffnet censors!! I hope you liked this chapter.

Megan The Vampire Slayer: As to a romantic scene, obviously, the answer was yes!

RavensHaelo: Yep, I am on deviantart. Yay for the Syndrome club!!

Shadow Fox Forever: Sorry again, about the cliff hangar. Hey, I have to have a way to get people to read the next chapter, right?

 

 

Comics, Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Yes, the title of this chapter is a reference to the Bare Naked Ladies song ‘If I had a Million Dollars’. If you haven’t heard the song, the lyrics go “If I had a million dollars, I would buy you a green dress, but not a real green dress. That’s cruel.”

There is a new pic of Mikhail up at my deviantart gallery greer-the-raven. Also on deviantart, ookami-ayane has done a wonderful doodle of Vex for me, it’s in her scraps section. I will also be drawing Vex shortly, so check d-art tonight for updates.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all affiliated characters are property of Disney/Pixar. Sharon/Vex belongs to me.

Chapter 10: The Peril of Wearing the Real Green Dress He Bought Her

Vex had never thought of herself as an extreme sociopath, but apparently, she was. After all, sitting calmly at a dining table eating a ham sandwich shortly after you had tortured and killed a man simply was not normal behavior. Torturing and killing man was not normal behavior in and of itself. She was stunned by her own lack of hesitation. And of remorse. She pitied Mikhail, certainly, but his death had been necessary. After all, he was a super, and not only that, he wanted Syndrome dead. If they had let him go, chances were he would have come back to attack them. His death had been precautionary, if not exactly self-defense.

But the torture? That didn’t sit quite as well with her. None of the questions Syndrome had asked seemed particularly vital. Syndrome had just wanted to cause the man pain. Then why not do it himself? Vex realized she’d had the answer all along. It was to prove a point to the Russian, that she was completely loyal to Syndrome. And she had jumped at the chance. But she didn’t buy that the villain was trying to prove it to Mikhail; rather, she guessed that he had been proving it to himself, and with a traitorous woman so close in his past, how could she blame him for testing her?

Still, though she hadn’t been shaken by the sight at the time, the memory of Mikhail’s screams and spasms disturbed her a bit. But more than that, the fact that it didn’t affect her more seriously worried her. What sort of person accepted that she had to torture and kill a man to gain another’s trust was a fair bargain?

Perhaps it was the sort of person who became the lieutenant of a man who wanted to take over the world?

And yet, it had never been this complicated in her stories. She had never killed a man, even in fanfiction. Her heart was heavy with guilt that sprang from not feeling guilty enough, and she needed reassurances that she couldn’t give herself.

“Syndrome?” she asked slowly.

He looked up from his sandwich, his peaked hair swishing, his ice blue eyes shining out from behind the dark mask. “Hm?”

“Do you trust me now?”

He seemed taken aback, and for a moment, Vex saw his face soften, and become almost childlike. The he nodded confidently. “Yes. Completely.”

Then she didn’t regret it, not a whit. She’d do it again in an instant, just as thoughtlessly.

 

---

 

Syndrome felt slightly ashamed of himself, for testing her that way. Especially when she brought it up that way. Had he been wrong to do so? Had it been too obvious? Would it alienate her?

The next thing she asked surprised him.

“So, when do I get my costume?”

He blinked at her, well, she certainly bounced back quickly. “I’ll order it later today, kay? It’ll be ready in a few days, I’m sure.”

She nodded. “Sounds fine.”

“In the meantime,” Syndrome decided, finishing up the last bites of his sandwich, “I’m going o try to get security back up and running.”

“If you like,” he shrugged, standing up. He held out his hand to her, and pulled her up. They left the late doctor’s dining room, and headed down the back stairs again.

The damage, they discovered, was not extensive. It was merely two crucial wires that had been cut, or rather, chewed through by Mikhail’s rats. They would have to be replaced. Syndrome was going to simply remove a couple of unimportant wires of the same type, and use them as replacements, but he didn’t have to when Vex discovered a tool and repair kit underneath one of the workstations.

“Will this help?” she asked, proffering it to him. He lay on his stomach on the cold floor, half inside the wall, where he had removed one of the cover plates.

“Yeah, lots,” he took it from her, did a little rewiring, and rebooted the system. One by one the monitors and terminals began to light up with renewed life. “All systems are go,” he announced, holding a screwdriver up triumphantly.

Vex giggled and clapped amusedly.

“Now, where were we before that little mishap, hm?” the red haired man sat down at the main terminal, and began to access the files he had been looking through. Now that the threat had been dealt with maybe he could actually get some work done. “Sit there.” He nodded to Vex, gesturing to the second commuter. “I found some of Rasputin’s personal files, I want you to go through them for me and tell me if you find anything that looks important.”

“Okay,” she nodded, calling up the first file. “Wait, he wrote everything in English?”

Syndrome chuckled. “Yeah I wish. No, I had to translate it while you were upstairs.”

“Oh, okay.”

The first thing Syndrome did was find the controls for the hallway deathtraps, and shut them off. He also discovered that there were similar halls throughout the base, which could be keyed to be triggered by any number of responses. He’d deal with those later, for now he wanted to make sure he was the only one who was controlling the system.

They spent the next several hours sitting beside one another in silence, either absorbed, or seemingly absorbed, in their own work. Vex’s was the more engaging, he assumed, since all he was doing was checking programs for malicious coding. Pretty mindless work in his opinion.

So his mind wandered onto other things. For instance, how was he actually going to go about taking over the world? Even with all of his resources it would take a hell of a lot of conventional military might to take the straightforward approach, especially with the supers back in business. He was going to need some kind of doomsday weapon to hold the world hostage with, make them turn over control willingly…

Yes, it was cliché, but it was the only way that Syndrome thought of that could work. Should he begin work on a new Omnidroid? Maybe a fleet of Omnidroids? Oh but then they’d all know it was him. And anyway, he’d have to completely redesign them for pilots, because artificial intelligence was not an option. Maybe he could design a whole new kind of robot, one with a pilot in mind, giant fifty foot behemoths to strike terror in the hearts of mortals…

Or just remind them of Power Rangers.

He smacked his fist disgustedly on the desk. Why was this so difficult? Maybe he should concentrate on killing the Incredibles, before he talked such a complicated problem. Revenge should be a simpler task than world domination. He could lure them into a trap and crush them one by one.

Except that was exactly what he’d just tried to do, at the peak of his power, with minions and robots and an entirely functional base. And look how well that had turned out.

Okay, okay. Before anything, he needed to concentrate on getting his headquarters up and running. Self-sustaining was preferable, but he wasn’t sure how feasible that was in the middle of Siberia. So, first he’d need about fifty or so goons, before or with his first shipment of weapons and parts. Then, technicians and so forth.

 

---

 

Vex was getting a little annoyed. After nearly four and a half hours of work she still had yet to turn up anything remotely interesting or significant. Most of what she had found was schematics, and designs, all of which Syndrome already had in hard copy in his folders. She was starting to think that maybe the doctor, or Mikhail, had taken the trouble to delete all of his research before they got a hold of it. But that didn’t make any sense, not when the doctor’s lab was still full of stuff.

That was it. After this one last file, she was going to ask Syndrome if she could take a break.

The file was labeled ‘bwstat01’ and Vex expected it to be full of the precise measurements of Rasputin’s lab coats, or something equally useless and redundant.

It was a brief document, and the first thing that Vex spotted was a comparison of three charts, each with four wavy lines on them, red, green, yellow, and blue. On all the charts the red, green and yellow lines were fairly similar. On the first chart however, the curves of the green line were long waves, short and even overshadowed by the other colors. On the second chart however, the green lines were much taller, overlapping the other lines, and bunched close together like the coils of a spring. But on the third chart the green line was completely erratic, now short, now tall, spiking, and jumping, and even disappearing altogether in a few small spaces.

Even without knowing what the charts showed, Vex could tell that if chart number one was the comparative norm, then whatever the third chart was doing was bad. Possibly very bad. She scrolled down, and found some notes on the diagram.

‘Parawaves, previously thought to be simple psionic background noise, as they occur in all centers of the brain, can now be fairly surmised to have some linkage to the bodies metabolic system. Diagram one expresses the typical ratio of brain activity, in which the parawaves exert no influence over the rest of the brain, and can be understood to in this instance, have no significance whatsoever. Diagram two expresses an extraordinary intensification of parawaves activity, seeming an exact correlation to the subject’s remarkable metabolism. It can not be given that these two factors are in fact related, without further research pertaining to others with the same extraordinary metabolism, however if one assumes that the two are in fact related, then the results of the third diagram can then be linked to the third subject’s dire physicality. If one then assumes cause and effect, it is possible that stabilizing the parawaves in subject three will also stabilize the physicality.’

‘Stabilize the physicality?’ Vex pondered to herself looking over the notes again. She wasn’t positive, but it sounded like the document was talking about Rasputin’s son’s illness. Mikhail had said that it was a disorder of the brain. And what was this about an ‘extraordinary metabolism’?

“Syndrome?”

“Yes?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Have you ever heard of parawaves?”

He furrowed his brow. “Nope. Why, what are they?”

“Er, I’m not sure, but, you better have a look at this.”

Syndrome nodded, standing up, and stretching, shaking one leg out. It had probably fallen asleep, Vex guessed, from sitting down. She wasn’t all that comfortable either, but she was used to sitting at a computer for hours at a time, from all her fanfiction writing.

The redhead stood over her, peering at the screen.

“Is it just me,” she asked, “Or does it sound like they’re talking about supers?”

He frowned, and seemed to skim through the passage. “Hey. Hey, yeah. It does…” He rubbed his chin in consideration. “Are there any more about this?”

“Uh, not sure. I’ll check.” She backed up to the root folder. Sure enough there were more ‘bwstat’ documents. She pulled up the next one.

There were several more brainwave charts, each of them with the same type of green line as the second chart.

‘Procuring other samples for comparative data has proved difficult, but with the co-operation of certain associates, the necessary evaluations were eventually made. As previously hypothesized, conclusive evidence suggests that an excess of parawaves in crucial brain centers is in fact the source of various extraordinary metabolisms. No cause, however, has yet been determined as to why some develop excess parawaves.’

Vex opened the third part, or tried to. An error message appeared on screen.

‘File not found.’

“Damn it,” Vex grumped. “Looks like it was deleted.”

“Or corrupter, or encrypted, or moved,” Syndrome suggested. He didn’t seem upset, quite the opposite in fact. “Try the next one.”

The next several documents also produced error messages, until she got to the eighth one.

‘Early attempts to stabilize the subject’s parawaves have failed. It has become apparent that raising the level from its natural state produces a violently negative reaction, as wave channels must be formed inherently. Attempts to artificially induce higher parawaves in subjects have proved fatal in most cases, and worse than such in others. Suppression to normal levels has been more successful, however, given the main subject’s weakened state, it would be unwise to enfeeble him in such a manner.’

Two more documents were missing, but the last one was fine.

‘Implementation of the stabilizer chip has proved effective in negating the ill effects caused by the main subject’s erratic metabolism. However, certain emotional changes have been noted as a side effect. The subject will be watched closely.’

“Interesting,” Syndrome commented,” Very interesting. So super powers originate from brain wave, and Rasputin found a way to control them…”

“Too bad we don’t have any more of his research.”

Syndrome smirked. “I wouldn’t make any calls on that just yet.”

Vex raised her eyebrows, but he didn’t say anything further on the subject. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m almost done with reprogramming this, why don’t you take a break?”

“Okay,” she nodded. “What are you going to do after you finish?”

“Gotta make some calls, get this place operational,” he sat down back at his own terminal. “You’re welcome to the guest room, by the way.”

“Alright,” she stood, but didn’t leave right away. Instead, she lingered behind where Syndrome was sitting. Decisively, before she could talk herself out of it, she bent down and hugged him quickly. “See you later,” she said, and hurried out of the room.

 

---

 

Down in the brig, the body of Mikhail Padosev Rasputin hung limp and dead. His chocolaty brown curls hanging over his still white face, arms and legs still spread-eagled in the instrument of his death. He had been a young man of twenty, his youth stolen by obsession, his father’s, and his own.

In life Mikhail had possessed what his father had called an ‘extraordinary metabolism’, and it was the reason that his own father had hated him. His first son’s metabolism was killing him from the inside, why should his second’s not bear such a curse?

His talent had been to manifest from nothing creatures who were separate from his body, but carried out his intent. It was a psychic bond of sorts, the creatures didn’t really have minds of their own, they were guided by his. He could sense where they were, and what they were doing, and they carried out his wishes. Oddly, the bond strengthened when Mikhail slept, and many times in his younger days he had experienced what he believed to be dreams, in which he fully inhabited the body of one of his creatures, only to find himself when he awoke, away from his bed; often where he’s last dreamed himself to be.

A creature, the size of a small dog, with a rat’s form and a lizardlike tail sat staring up at the body, feeling strangely detached. Its whiskers twitched, and its tail flashed, as it spotted a ventilation duct. Escape now, and later?

Payment.

 

---

 

Vex found herself growing quickly bored as she sat on the great bed in her new room. There was a TV, yes, but all of the channels were in Russian. She could take a nap, she supposed, but she really wanted to try to avoid messing up her sleep schedule. Syndrome had mentioned that he’d turned off all the deathtraps, so she didn’t think there would be any harm if she got up and explored the base a little herself. After all, they’d only really seen the main areas; there were all sorts of alcoves and subsections that she hadn’t even seen yet.

She stood, and sauntered out of the room, stopping beside the unopened main suite.

‘I wonder what it looks like in there,’ she thought to herself. ‘But I better not touch it. If I guess the password wrong, I’ll probably get shot at, or dropped into a pit of alligators, or something. And if I did get in, Syndrome might get upset. It is his room now, after all.’

So she left the apartments, into the dark cavern that was Rasputin’s lab. As she picked her way carefully through all the scientific equipment, she wondered if any of it had been used in his experiments on his son. Vex wasn’t sure .After all, the doctor had not built the mountain retreat until after Piotr’s death, then again, he’d been obsessed with his elder son, so maybe he had continued his experiments. What else would he have been researching?

She wished there had been more of the data available. Syndrome seemed confident that he could find it, or repeat it, at least, but Vex wanted to know now. Had the doctor ever figured out why some people became supers, or not? It was one thing to say it was caused by brainwaves, but that still didn’t tell her what determined the lucky few to have these ‘parawaves’. Why, for instance, didn’t she?

It was with some trepidation that she approached the elevator. They were running normally of course, but still, her last memory of being on it was not pleasant. Of course, Mikhail couldn’t jump her again, he was dead.

‘I vould have spared you,’ she heard the echo of his voice in her mind, and felt a twinge of guilt. Then one of anger. How dare he? How dare he assume that she’d just stand by and let him kill Syndrome? What was that? Especially since Mikhail couldn’t have known that she’d only been with Syndrome for a day. And he assumed she’d let him do that, just because her own skin was safe? No, as he had no doubt discovered, anyone who wanted Syndrome was going to have to get rid of his first.

The elevator hummed to life as she stepped inside it, and she rode up to the barracks level, intent on wandering around the most complex honeycomb of rooms in the base. Most of the rooms were pretty much empty, except for a bit of furniture. It seemed that whoever it was Rasputin had employed, they’d all had time to take their personal items with them when they’d left. Personally, Vex was currently regretting not having brought more clothes when she’d been asked to pack quickly. She didn’t know exactly how long it would be until she would have something different to wear.

This made her wonder what the costume that Syndrome was getting her was going to look like. She thought of the various outfits of her characters, and things she had drawn, but they all seemed too showy when compared with Syndrome’s simple, yet elegant design.

She thought of the way his cape swished when he walked, and how intense his eyes became when they shown out from behind his mask.

But what about the question that she had been trying not to let creep into her mind. It was unaskable, just rude. What was she supposed to do, walk up and ask him ‘So, Syn, was that an “I like you” kiss, or a “ha, in your face prisoner” kiss?’ Even in her head it sounded stupid. She’d been rude enough asking him whether he trusted her or not, though she was glad he’d said yes. It was comforting, to know that he was at least pleased with her so far.

And besides, did she really want a straight answer? The ‘in your face, prisoner’ option would be horribly disappointing, not to mention embarrassing. And the ‘I like you’ option threatened to be… complicating. Sharon had never had a date before, or even come close. She had no idea what to expect if she became entangled in a romantic relationship with the man who was really supposed to be her ‘boss’. Besides, he was a whole eight years older than her, which didn’t seem like a lot when compared with the fact that the men in her fanfictions were often in their thirties or forties. But that was a story, this was real life. She was practically a kid compared to Syndrome, which was probably how he thought of her. Yes it was almost definitely an ‘in your face, prisoner’ kind of kiss. But that didn’t stop her from savoring the memory of his vicious embrace, and secretly hoping that he did like her, even if it wouldn’t work out well.

As she had been wandering through the barracks, Vex was surprised to come to a room that hadn’t been emptied of all of its contents. Its furnishings were slightly more expensive than those of the other rooms as well, though nowhere near as grand as her room. This must have been the room that belonged to Mikhail. Unlike the other rooms, his was carpeted, and had such extra amenities a writing desk with a computer, a dresser with a mirror on it, and a bookcase. Some of the books, she noticed, were even in English. This made sense with what she knew about foreign countries though; they made a lot more of an effort to learn English, than Americans made at learning their languages. One book was sitting open on the desk, set face down, as though he’d meant to come back to it quite soon.

Vex picked the book up, noticing first that it was quite old, and worn, and the pages were yellowed. It was a well loved book, obviously, and then that it was in English. It was a copy of ‘Alice Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Caroll.

Of all the strange things that Alice saw in her journey Through The Looking-Glass, this was the one that she always remembered most clearly. Years afterwards she could bring the whole scene back again, as if it had been only yesterday — the mild blue eyes and kindly smile of the Knight — the setting sun gleaming through his hair, and shining on his armour in a blaze of light that quite dazzled her — the horse quietly moving about, with the reins hanging loose on his neck, cropping the grass at her feet — and the black shadows of the forest behind — all this she took in like a picture, as, with one hand shading her eyes, she leant against a green, watching the strange pair, and listening, in a half dream, to the melancholy music of the song .

Vex set the book down, immediately wishing that she hadn’t touched it at all. How cruel of her to touch the things of a man that she had killed. How cold of her to think she could leaf through his possessions.

Was Alice his favorite, she wondered. She turned to leave the room, when something caught her eye sitting on the bed. It was the briefcase full of money that Syndrome had given him. Of course it was still here, Mikhail had never left, and Rasputin had been dead when they’d arrived. So, in essence, the base had been free, because they had killed the owner.

Vex picked up the briefcase, with the intention of taking it back to Syndrome. She wondered if he had realized that he hadn’t lost the money. Two and a half million dollars might, or might not be a lot of money in his mind, but it was more than Vex had thought she’d ever see in her entire lifetime.

The next room she found herself in was the barracks rec room, with a large screen TV being the dominant item. What excited Vex more though, was the sight of a small CD player. Vex had brought her walkman, but didn’t want to use it, in case she ran out of batteries. She unplugged it, picked it up with her free hand, and headed back to her room.

 

---

 

Syndrome had gone through the same mercenary agency as last time to hire his minions. Of course, this meant he had to pay a higher price because of the fact that he’d lost a fair number on them in his last debacle. But money, as ever was not an issue. He’s also ordered a shipment of his own equipment, and more parts and such, to get the technical lab in working order. Both would be arriving in two days.

Which meant there was time to kill.

He stood up, and stretched, his whole body felt better for it, having been hunched over the computer for so long. And then he remembered, there was one call he hadn’t made yet.

He picked the cell phone back up, and dialed.

“Bonjour,” greeted a cheerful French voice. “Theese is Maurice speaking.”

“Maurice, it’s Syndrome.”

“Syndrome? Zey said you were dead! To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, eh?”

“I need you to design make a costume.”

“Oh? ‘Ave you become tired of your own? Eet was one of my finest achievements.”

“No, no, I still love it, Maurice. It’s not for me.”

“Oh, zen who eez it for?”

“My lieutenant.”

“Very well, what are his measurements?”

“Hers. And, uh, I don’t know. Should I… go ask?”

The fashion designer chuckled. “Why don’t you just bring her to my office for a fitting, eh?”

“Alright. Are you free tomorrow?”

“For you, mon amie, the door eez always open.”

“ Riiiight . See you tomorrow Maurice.”

“Au revoir.”

To be continued…

And now, the reviews….

C.D. Anders: I definitely don’t mind long reviews! Sorry I didn’t respond to yours last chapter, but I got it after 9 was already posted. I hear what you’re saying about too much romance. I think you will be pleased to note that while romance is a factor, it is not really the main attraction. If you knew where this was going at chapter 8 you must be psychic! I didn’t think I’d put in quite enough clues!

RavensHaelo: Yes, Vex is a bit remorseful. But not much.

Artymas: Homework sucks! Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Shadow Fox Forever: I really liked chapter 9 too. It practically wrote itself.

Dark Fire Angel: I’m so glad you like the fic! Syndrome is my favorite character… ever!!

Maya Beebop: Mmmmmm….kiss. Lol I’m glad you liked it. It’s very convenient where you left off, eh? Haha, I made you like a mary-sue!!

Megan the Vampire Slayer: go check out my deviantart gallery, and also ookamki-anye

WormmonABC: I checked the lyrics in the flap of my cd, and they say damp. I personally always thought it was damn, as well.As to calling Syn handsome being extreme, people have different tastes. Vex thinks he’s handsome. She has a thing for redheaded, pudgy men, I guess, and so do I.

Oh, by the way, my friend loved the Incredibles, and I made a Syn fan out of her. Though she also likes Dash, so I get to call her a pedophile!

See you tomorrow!!

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Okay fangirls and boys, we’re into the double digits!

A profile pic of Vex, by me, is up in my deviantart gallery. Once again, greer-the-raven. I advise you to go check it out.

There are a few questions I have been asked by more than one person. I would like to take this moment to clarify a few things about CCR.

1. The main plot of CCR is Syndrome and his lieutenant going about trying to conquer the world, the forces that are in their way, and finding out a bit more about the supers.

2. Romance, while not the main plot is a part of the fic. Yes, I changed the genre from action/adventure/romance, to general/romance a while ago. The romance part did not change. I will not put more romance in because you want it, nor will I put less romance in because you want it . There is a set amount that I intend to be there. Enjoy it, tolerate it, ignore it, or read something else.

3. If there is a theme to CCR, it is the difference between the real and the ideal.

I hope this has cleared things up. I am not trying to offend anyone, or single anyone out.

The title of this chapter is in French. It means ‘What will be, will be.’

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all affiliated characters and ideas belong to Disney/Pixar. Vex is my character, as is anyone you don’t immediately recognize

Chapter 11: Que Sera, Sera.

All music, thumping with base, or tinkling and light, sounds the same when muffled from behind a series of thick doors, unpleasant.

Syndrome had tinkered with the computers for a few hours more, and repaired his damaged glove, before deciding that he absolutely needed to sleep. Even though it was technically only four in the afternoon. Whoever had invented time zones needed to die a horrible, horrible death, preferably one involving jetlag.

He had just wanted to fall into bed, simple, easy, quiet. Vex apparently had different ideas, according to the blaring of her music. Well, he’d just have to ask her to turn it down. He thumped loudly on her door with the back of his fist, hoping to be heard above the dull roar. She didn’t answer, so he knocked even louder. Nothing. Growing slightly irritated, he kicked the door roughly, in hopes of finally getting her attention. No such luck.

Fine.

He tapped the password out on the terminal, and the door opened. Syndrome stepped inside, and immediately headed to the source of the racket, perched on the dresser. He switched the radio off, and was greeted, finally, by silence. He had expected Vex to protest, but she didn’t even appear to be in the room…

Then, glancing over at the bed, he noticed, through the slightly parted curtains, that she was asleep. How on earth could she sleep through that? He wondered, with a bemused shake of his head. He had intended to leave right away, but he found himself watching her sleep again. All that was visible through the crack in the curtain was her face, and the top of her shoulder, which rose and fell slightly with her even breath.

He noticed that she’d fallen asleep with her glasses on. That couldn’t be comfortable, he thought, approaching her bed. He lifted the spectacles gently off her face, and folded them up, setting them on the dresser. As he did so, he noticed a sketchbook lying there with a mechanical pencil on top of it. She must have been drawing before she went to bed.

He picked it up, knowing that he was technically quite impolite, but he was curious, and what could the harm be? After all, he’d been to her art page on line. He glanced nervously down at her, as he opened the cover, afraid that she was going to wake up.

Many of the drawings were the same ones that he had seen in her gallery, but uncolored. Also there were doodles, and other drawings that she obviously felt weren’t worthy of posting. As he flipped closer to the back, past several sketches of Doctor Octopus, his eyes fell on something that quite startled him. It couldn’t be, was that really a drawing of… him?

The first thing that struck him was how flattering the portrait was, in its own way, cartoon style, but without falsifying his features. The sketch had a kind of amusedly disdainful look, his cape flaring, as he beat of the same rats that Mikhail had summoned. At the top of the page a ‘chibi’ doodle of Vex watched the antics in awe.

Syndrome stared in similar wonder and bemusement. Was she really so impressed with him as to draw ‘fanart’? He chuckled softly, and was reminded of his own childhood obsession with Mr. Incredible. The nostalgic memory quickly turned bitter, however, remembered his hero’s words of rejection.

“Fly home Buddy… I work alone.”

The redhead’s face twisted in bitter anger, as he closed the book roughly, and put it back in its place. His expression softened when he looked down at the innocent, sleeping form. He brushed his fingers against her cheek softly, “I won’t ever turn you away,” he whispered, “You’re my lieutenant.”

Vex smiled, and stirred in her sleep, starling Syndrome. He turned around quickly, and headed back to the door. Midway across his boot hit a squeaky floorboard.

Vex groaned, and turned over, muttering, “Turn down the stereo…”

Syndrome wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be annoyed.

 

---

 

Sharon was late for breakfast. She had to hurry to put her clothes on before her parents left without her. Stumbling down the stairs, still pulling her shirt down over her stomach she found her mother looking disapprovingly at her.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “I was getting worried!”

“Oh, sorry,” she shrugged. Something nagging at the back of her mind.

“Well, come on, come on. We haven’t got all day,” her father muttered. “You know I’m very angry with you.”

“What, why?”

“I told you to invite a friend along. You need more friends.”

“I don’t have any friends,” Sharon muttered.

“That’s nonsense, what about that nice boy from school, don’t you like him?”

“Oh. Mikhail. I killed him.”

“Well, that wasn’t very polite of you young lady,” her mother scolded as they bundled into the car. “Why on earth did you do that?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I’m sorry miss, that is not a valid menu choice,” the waiter bot droned.

“Oh, in that case I want-“

“My apologies, but all menu options are now closed.”

“Looks like you’ll just have to stick with what you’ve got kiddo,” her father said, patting her on the shoulder. He laughed, shoving a piece of blackened toast and a bowl of gruel at her.

“But I don’t want-“

“You call this caviar?!” the redhead demanded, throwing it at the waiter.

“Oh, there he is,” Sharon squealed, attempting to get up from the table.

He mother grabbed her wrists and held her. “No dear. I’m afraid you have to sit with your family today.”

“Let me go! I have to get to him! Can’t you see he’s in trouble?”

Syndrome was fighting off rats that just kept coming.

But her mother wouldn’t let go of her wrists.

“He’s going to die!” she sobbed.

“Since vhen do you care about life?” Mikhail demanded, helping Sharon’s mother hold her down.

Sharon reached up and pulled the knife out of his chest, and cut her own hand off at the wrist, freeing herself from her mother’s grasp.

She fell, toppling down the flight of stairs, and landing with a hard thump.

 

---

 

“Syndrome!” Vex gasped, jolted from her dream. She pulled her eyes open in the semidarkness to find her arms locked around one of the large pillows, and most of the blankets thrown from the bed. “What a horrible dream,” she muttered, squeezing the pillow tightly, and closing her eyes again.

Her time sense was completely screwed up. She had no idea whether she should let herself go back to sleep or not. She could have been asleep for an hour, or for twelve hours. The dream had left her with a bitter, slightly dizzy feeling, and so she let herself luxuriate under the covers for the moment.

She brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. She wished she knew what time it was, or what time it had been when she’d fallen asleep. She remembered that she’d been drawing, listening to music, and had just shoved the notebook out of the way when she’d been too tired. So why wasn’t the CD player still on? She didn’t remember getting up to turn it off. Which meant that some else must have come in and done it, and there was only one other person in the whole complex, and that was Syndrome.

She grew slightly embarrassed, and was glad she’d closed her drawing before going to bed. What if Syndrome had seen it? Well, then she’d just have been really embarrassed, since it was him she had been trying to draw.

She must have started four or five different times, but she couldn’t seem to get it right, so that she was happy with it. Either the jaw was wrong, or the eyes were slightly off, or it just didn’t look good enough to meet her standards. She wasn’t usually this picky about her artwork. She’d torn the bad ones up, after she finally had an acceptable one.

She sat up slowly, and pouted at the offending notebook. “It’s not that funny,” she muttered at it.

The spiral volume continued to mock her.

Vex yawned widely, and stretched, leaning up against the large headboard of the bed. The curtains that surrounded it made her think of the Harry Potter books, but the Siberian complex was hardly Hogwarts, now was it?

She rolled her eyes at herself. Here she was, far from home, the minion of a super villain, and she was still being all fangirly. Well, it was her nature to do so, she guessed.

Feeling a little bit stiff, and kinda grimy she wished she’d had the forethought to at least undress before passing out from exhaustion. Sleeping in her clothes two nights in a row was unpleasant at best.

Well, at least she didn’t smell.

Deciding that she was well and truly awake, independent of what time it was, she swung her feet out of bed and onto the floor. She stretched a little more, and stood up, pulling at her shirt and trying unsuccessfully to get some of the worse wrinkles out.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped on her shoes (at least she’d taken those off!) and headed out the door, with the vague thought of finding something to eat for breakfast.

She wandered down the hall, and as she got to the stairs, found Syndrome, once again in normal clothes, coming up them at the same time. It wasn’t the same outfit as before, however. Today he was in a green long sleeved shirt with heavy cuffs.

“Oh, hi!” she said, moving aside in order to let him pass.

He stopped though. “Oh good, you’re up. I was just about to come and get you.”

“How long was I asleep?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged. “Donno. At least fifteen hours.”

“Wow,” Vex marveled. “I hadn’t realized it I was that tired!”

Syndrome chuckled. “Jetlag will do that to you.”

“So… were you going upstairs?”

“Just to wake you.”

“Then should we go… downstairs?”

They headed down stairs, and Vex made for the kitchen. She was starving, again. If this kept up, she was going to start loosing weight.

So, she wondered, what was there to eat?

Syndrome seemed to read her mind, not that it was hard to tell what someone in a kitchen was thinking about. “You like pop-tarts?”

“Yeah, definitely,” she agreed.

He pulled a box of them down from a shelf, and fished two packages out, keeping one, and tossing the other at Vex. She caught it deftly, and inspected the packaging. The label was in Russian, of course, but other than that, it was perfectly normal. She opened the shiny mylar, and took a bite. Mmm, it was the smores kind.

“So,” she asked between bites, “what’s the plan for today, boss?”

Syndrome swallowed, a few crumbs of toaster pastry stuck to his lower lip. “We’re flying to Paris. Maurice agreed to fit you with a uniform.”

“Wow, okay,” she nodded, though inwardly a little apprehensive about more plane rides. But it looked like she was going to have to get used to it.

“Don’t worry though,” he said, “France is only a couple of hours away.”

“Oh good.”

“Just to warn you, Maurice is a bit… kooky, but we won’t be there the whole day. He’ll take your measurements and stuff, and the we’ll just hang around the city til it’s done.”

“Like buying a pair of glasses, only more so,” Vex mused. “Eye example, pick out the frames, then hang around the mall while they do the lenses.”

“Exactly,” Syndrome nodded.

“Oh, hey! That reminds me,” Vex said, setting the remains of her breakfast down on the table. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the money she had found in Mikhail’s room. “You remember how you paid for the base?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, the money’s still here, ya know. I found it in Mikhail’s room.”

“Oh, okay, that’s fine.” He went back to eating his pop-tart.

“So, uh, what do you want me to do with it?” she asked, watching his nonchalant repose.

He shrugged. “Keep it.”

“What?” Vex demanded, sure she hadn’t heard correctly. “You mean, keep it for now, right?”

He look at her incredulously. “Of course not,” he said, sounding mildly insulted. “Take it as a gift, okay?”

“But, but… Syn, it’s two and a half million dollars. Don’t you need it, or something?”

“If I needed it, how could I have paid it? I wasn’t planning on killing the guy ya know.”

She just kept staring at him. Syndrome was trying to give her two and a half million dollars, as if it was nothing. As if they were at the grocery store and the clerk had given back too much change.

“Vex, don’t be a dork. Do the words ‘unlimited funds’ mean anything to you?”

“Unlimited?”

“Virtually.”

“How much money do you have ?”

Syndrome smirked. “You know Bill Gates?”

Vex just couldn’t come to grips with this. “You’re as rich as Bill Gates?”

“Not exactly.”

She sighed relived.

The redhead grinned evilly. “I’m richer.”

 

---

 

Syndrome watched in gleeful amusement as his lieutenant tried to come to grips with the fact that the money he had paid Mikhail, and which was now being given to her, was nothing. Not that he really blamed her. If he hadn’t made all of it himself, as an international arms dealer, he wouldn’t have believed it either!

“But, it’s too much. I don’t think I could even spend all of it if I tried .”

He was amazed that she was still so reluctant to take the money. Mirage had always loved it when he’d given her money, flying off to who knows where and coming back with heaps of expensive clothing. And then asking for more money a week later… Which kinda irritated him now that he thought about it. Maybe she had really just been in it for the money and prestige all along.

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll just have to help you spend it then. After all we are going to the most expensive city in Europe.”

“Well, okay,” she agreed finally. “So when are we leaving?”

“As soon as you’re ready,” he nodded.

“Oh, okay, then. We can leave now I guess.” She hopped up cutely from the chair, and dusted the crumbs off the front of her shirt. “Should I get the money then?”

“Don’t worry about it, I have a credit card,” he assured her.

“But then-” she began to protest, but then her shoulders sagged. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Syndrome rolled his eyes, and clapped her around the shoulders. “Geez, cheer up, will you You are the first girl I have ever heard of, who is upset about spending large sums of someone else’s money.”

She giggled. “Well, when you put it so eloquently,” she grinned amused, and seemed to lean closer to him, but then pulled away quickly. “Well, are we going to go? Don’t want to keep them waiting in Paris!”

Syndrome didn’t understand her. She liked him, didn’t she? She had drawn fanart, even let him kiss her, that once. But other than that, she seemed so nervous around him. Was he intimidating her? He didn’t know how he could possibly act more casually. But what if that wasn’t it, what if he was reading her all wrong? Maybe she had just gone along with the kiss so that she didn’t humiliate him in front of the prisoner. Considerate, certainly, but, he discovered, not exactly what he was hoping for.

Well, he’d see what happened in Paris, after he took her shopping, and maybe to dinner. Yeah.

Decisively, he followed after her to the hangar.

 

---

 

Vex wasn’t sure whether Jared had left and flown back, or stayed the night in the plane, or what, but he stood waiting for them in the hangar bay, pilot suit freshly pressed, and eye-patch firmly in place. Vex still wasn’t sure whether or not he was actually blind in that eye. She tried not to let it bother her, since Syndrome seemed to trust him, but still, a half-blind pilot, or even one who pretended to be half-blind, did not exactly inspire confidence.

“Good morning, miss,” Jared greeted, and Vex realized it was the first time that he had spoken directly to her.

“Uh, good morning Jared,” she acknowledged, and looked around for Syndrome. He was a little ways behind her, but he was coming. Vex felt suddenly embarrassed by the way that she had rushed away like that. She had just… panicked. The dream had set her on edge, she guessed. That, and the same apprehensions she’d had the night before.

The villain caught up with them. “Everything ready to go Jared?”

“Yes sir,” Jared said, opening the door for them.

After the fifteen hour plane ride, the site of the small, plush interior wasn’t exactly a welcome one for Vex; she collapsed in the same chair as she had the day before. “Well, here we are again,” she said, rather wearily.

“Still don’t like flying?” Syndrome asked with a smirk, sitting down beside her.

“Hey, in my own defense, I’ve only done it once before,” she protested.

“True, true.”

Unless of course, you counted when Syndrome flown her up to her bedroom window. She glanced over at him awkwardly.

“So,” she asked, fishing around by the seat, “What did I do with that crossword puzzle?”

Syndrome had been right, it took a surprisingly short time to reach their destination, a private landing strip just outside of Paris, and thanks to a phone call he had made en route, their was another car waiting for them. Vex didn’t know what it was. Exactly, some kind of expensive French sport’s car.

Of course Syndrome drove again, Vex didn’t even know how to drive, something she was beginning to regret on her second time riding with her boss.

“Why don’t you hire a chauffer?” she asked, as they whipped dangerously around a corner.

“I like driving,” he said. “Is that an problem?”

“No, no,” she reassured him. ‘I just don’t want to die, is all,’ she thought to herself. But then again, there were probably a lot more likely ways to die as the lieutenant of a super villain than due to his poor driving skills.

Vex imagined the headline. ‘Car wreck rids world of Syndrome Menace: Super villain causes three car pile up.’ She giggled.

As they drove through the city of Paris, Vex couldn’t help but be amazed. She had taken French class for several years in high school, and had always been disappointed that her parents couldn’t afford to send her on the annual trip abroad.

Actually, Vex realized amusedly, as they drove past the Arc De Triumph, she technically had a project due for the class on Monday. There was another point in favor of running away from home! She giggled.

Syndrome looked over at her. “Well, you’re feeling better.”

She was about to respond, when she noticed that they had drifted into the other lane, and there was oncoming traffic. “Syndrome! Watch out for the-“

He swerved hard, and they were back in the proper place of the road.

“Hey, no worries,” he said casually.

Vex glared at him half-seriously, clutching her chest. “You… are going to give me a heart attack.”

He just laughed.

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of a shiny new building with an antique façade. The front part, Vex thought, probably was the age it looked, while the rest had been rebuilt.

“This is it, then?” she asked.

“Yep, come on, he’s expecting us.”

She followed the redhead out of the car, and up to the door, which opened obligingly.

“Syndrome!” burst an exuberant voice, thickly accented in French, “Eet is so good to so you again, no? I was ‘orrified to hear you were dead!”

The man who rushed into the room was tall and quite thin, with a long main of golden hair hanging in delicate face. He wore black dress pants and a ruffled blue silk shirt. He grabbed Syndrome’s hand, and shook it soundly, and, before the redhead to escape, gave him a quick, tight hug.

Syndrome, forcing himself away as quickly as possible without actually shoving the frail man, looked back at Vex with a sheepish sort of ‘Oh god, why me?’ look.

“It’s good to see you to, Maurice,” he muttered.

Vex tried, and failed, to suppress a fit of giggles, and the French designer quickly turned his attention to her. He put his hands on his hips. “And zis must be the lady friend, mais oui?”

“Maurice, this is Vexxation, Vexxation, Maurice,” he sighed painfully at the look he was being given by both parties, Vex’s terribly amused, and Maurice’s vaguely furtive.

“Enchante, cherie,” Maurice greeted her.

“Et moi, aussi, monsieur,” she replied, shaking his hand, and putting the bit of language she knew to use. “Ca va?”

“Ah, bien, bien!” he seemed delighted. “Il semble que le garçon a un certain goût chez les femmes, après tous.”

Vex giggled as she understood what he had said. ‘It seems the boy has some taste in woman after all. “Ah, merci bien, mais, vous me embarrassez avec votre flatterie.”

Syndrome stood there, looking very out of the loop.

“Il ne parle, français?” Vex asked Maurice, gesturing to her boss.

“Pas du tout, certainment,” he assured, “So, perhaps we have best switch to English, no?”

Syndrome looked very put out. “It’s about time,” he grumped.

“Zo, we are here to outfit you, non, mademoiselle?”

“Yes, it’s for me,” she nodded.

“Come with me, come with me, mon cherie, ev vous,” he pointed at Syndrome, “Go. Amuse yourself elsewhere, I must have privacy if I am to create a masterwork for zis belle dame. I can not ‘ave you ‘anging about, vous lichieres pautonnier! Allez, allez!” Maurice said, giving him a shooing gesture.

Vex couldn’t help being highly amused. Maurice had called Syndrome a ‘lecherous villain’, and that wasn’t as good as the resigned attitude that poor Syn had. He seemed almost scared of the petite man.

Syndrome held up his hands. “Alright, alright already. Not like I’d wanna hang around this place anyway. When should I be back?”

“Trois heur, you will give me trois heur, before you set another foot in this shop. Out!”

The villain winced. “See ya later, Vex,” he nodded, and added sarcastically, as he ducked out the door. “Have fun!”

Maurice tapped his foot impatiently. “Honestly, zat man eez such an oaf.” He turned his attention to Vex. “Come with me to my office, cherie.”

To be continued…

Okay, reviews…

Deep Freeze Flareon: I’m glad you like the fic!! What do you mean you’ve never seen the Incredibles? If that’s true, how did you find the fic? I’d love it if you did fanart!

Artymas: I hope there has been enough hilarity for you. There should be more in the next chapter, too. 😛 I’m glad you liked the chapter!

Dark Fire Angel: Hehehehe. Mikhail… is not quite out of the story yet.

CD Anders: As previously mentioned, that was not a flame. You are allowed to your won opinion, though the fic is not G rated, it’s rated PG13.

Maya Beebop: Yes, chapter 10 was slower than the others, this is because certain things need to be established to build plot. Not every single chapter can be a whiz bang of action and excitement, though, I’m glad you weren’t completely bored with the chapter. Yes, Maurice is gay. How could you tell?

Shadow Fox Forever: Go check out my gallery to see her costume!

RavensHaelo: I’m glad you liked Vex’s reaction; I tried really hard to make it work realistically. She didn’t regret it at first, because she had not come to grips with it.

See you tomorrow!!

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: There’s a special treat or two in this chapter.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome and all affiliated characters are the property of Disney/Pixar.

Chapter 12: Behind You

The blond led her upstairs to a small, comfortable office, which was almost more of a sitting room. Vex noticed that in the last two days she had been in so many beautifully furnished rooms that the novelty was finally starting to wear off.

“Sit, sit,” he urged, gesturing to the couch, and sitting himself in the chair opposite it. “Now, we will begin our discussion. First, I must ask, ‘as le garcon expressed any preference to you? ‘E ‘as a fragile ego, and we would not want no bruise eet, oui?”

Vex laughed. She liked Maurice more and more. “No, he hasn’t said anything, but I was thinking, I don’t want anything that’s going to look flashier than what he wears, since I’m his lieutenant…”

“Eez zat what you American’s call it zese days?” Maurice smirked.

“Maurice! I… I’ve known him for two days, okay?” She stared at him wide eyed. Did it seriously look like they were a couple? Maybe Maurice was just a big flake.

The Frenchman held his hands up. “Pardon moi, pardon moi. I merely assumed… It was tres rude of me.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him, “But can we just get back to my outfit?”

“Ah, mais oui, mais oui,” he nodded distractedly. “Zo, did you ‘ave any thing in mind then, pour vous?”

Vex considered this. Through the years she’d drawn herself in pretty much everything from outlandish opera costume, to cyberpunk body armor. But as she looked back on it now, she didn’t think any of it was good enough to actually wear . “Um, not really,” she admitted.

“Very well, get up zen, let me look at you,” he gestured for her to stand.

She stood awkwardly; rather uncomfortable that she was being mentally dissected by the French designer. It made her think of runway beauties and photo shoots, which didn’t help her self-confidence. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been particularly self assured at all today; she was practically a bundle of nerves.

Maurice was busy looking her over, and making various sketches in a design book. Perhaps Vex had forfeited her chance at input completely. That was a relief. She imagined Syndrome returning to find her in one of her own costumes and demanding to know what the heck she was wearing.

“No, no, no!” snapped Maurice suddenly, jumping to his feet. “What is this mademoiselle?”

She was taken aback. “Huh, what?”

“If my subject eez looking like an ‘omeless waif, zen what I design is ‘omeless waif material!”

“H-hey!” Vex protested. “That’s mean!”

“And? What are you going to do about it?” he tapped his foot challenging her. “You are going to get mad at me, yes? Or are you simpely some ‘omeless waif zat Syndrome ‘as taken in out of ze goodness of his heart?” the sharp faced designer sneered at her.

Now Vex really was getting angry. How dare he say that to her! “Excuse me!” she snarled, tensing and crossing her arms. “I don’t think you’re being paid to make condescending remarks, monsieur .”

“Yes, yes! Zat is it, mademoiselle!” Maurice laughed. “Stand zat way and I can work! Tres bien!”

He’d been trying to get her angry? Oh for crying out loud, couldn’t he have just asked her to stand a different way? It’s not like she wouldn’t have listened. Stupid flakey Frenchman…

“Ahhh…” Maurice said delightedly as he scribbled. “Now I see ou you are, ma cherie.”

“Oh?” she demanded.

“Shh! I must create!”

Vex rolled her eyes.

 

---

 

Syndrome drove around the city rather aimlessly, with three hours to kill, and nothing to do. Now out of Maurice’s disconcerting presence, he was rather annoyed that he had been so entirely dismissed. Not that he wanted to spend more time than necessary with the effeminate Frenchman, but he was suspicious about whatever Maurice wanted to do that he couldn’t with Syndrome there. More than likely he was being overly sensitive, but also, the car felt just a bit empty without someone in the passenger seat.

Well, in a few hours he’d go and pick Vexxation up, but until then, he’d just have to occupy himself somehow. He turned his thoughts to his new base, which tomorrow, would get up and running. Of course, that left him with the conundrum of what he was going to do when it was fully functional. Doctor Rasputin’s research intrigued him. He’d had no idea that the late doctor had worked on Supers at all, nor did it appear that anyone else did. One thing that Syndrome kept himself up to date with was developments in the Super community, and if anyone had been batting Rasputin’s theories around before now, he’d have known.

What caught him the most was that Rasputin had been able to suppress powers, or so he claimed, make supers into ordinary people. If Syndrome could find even some of his research…

Conventional science knew that supers were as old as humanity himself though in old times they’d been called magicians, witches, or monsters; it was some sort of accident of genetics, they said, and one that didn’t always breed true. No one knew what about a person gave them special powers, and, as Syndrome discovered, not a lot of people were trying to find out. Either you were a super, or you weren’t.

Truth be told, Syndrome hadn’t bothered with it either. After all, if it was just some kind of unpredictable fluke, as everyone said, then what was the point?

In his mind Syndrome envisioned world he controlled, in which children could be tested for powers as infants, and if they showed any, they would be immediately suppressed.

Children would grow up hating themselves, knowing that they should be special, but weren’t ; had been cheated out of it.

A sadistic, predatory grin crept over Syndrome’s face as he flew down the Parisian highway. They’d know what he felt.

 

---

 

Readjusting to a normal life was going to be difficult after three years living in the lap of luxury on a tropical island. Mirage… Maggie, was glad to finally be out of court, but she couldn’t find it in herself to stay too near to home. All that her parents had known was that she was living abroad with a very wealthy man, and now, with the whole story out in the open, she felt ashamed.

In fact, she felt guilty twice over, first for going along with Syndrome’s plots which had hurt so many people, and then, for his death. Yes, she knew logically that he didn’t love her, and she knew that he had to be stopped, but she hadn’t meant for him to die .

With so much heavy on her mind it was no wonder that she had turned down her mother’s offer to stay at home for a while, and was currently staying in a nice hotel in Metroville. At least, she thought, the fiasco hadn’t left her destitute. She still had the credit cards Syndrome had given her, which, unlike the few assets in his real name, worked perfectly well, and wouldn’t run out for a long time. In fact, if she was even a little careful, she wouldn’t have to work for the rest of her life, which was just as well, as she didn’t have any skills, and had dropped out of college to move to Nomanisan.

She lay on her stomach on the bed, and flipped channels, hoping that watching television would keep her mind off of her worries. There wasn’t much on however, and she ended up leaving it on the local news. Most of the coverage on Syndrome’s attack had ended as repairs were under way, and they were back to talking about more normal things, like house fires and like the report she tuned into the middle of, kidnappings.

“… left her home around five o’clock. Sharon was last seen in the Spotlight coffee shop,” the news announcer said. “Several employees say that she seemed upset, and left the establishment with an unnamed man who is believed to have abducted her. Here’s what the man is believed to have looked like.”

The white haired woman stared at the screen in shock. It couldn’t be him. He was dead. But Mirage knew that face; she couldn’t mistake it for anyone else’s. Which meant Syndrome was alive.

“If you have any information regarding this man, or the whereabouts of Sharon Mitchell, please contact the police. There is a reward being offered. Our next story…”

But Mirage didn’t hear the next story. How could Syndrome possibly be alive? Mr. Incredible had said that that he had been sucked into a jet… unless, unless he had actually listened to her for once and sent the robot! She had been so angry with him, she hadn’t even bothered to mention it, or check.

So, everyone thought they were safe, but in reality he was up to his old tricks, completely off their radar. Sadly, Mirage believed, the girl he had abducted was in all likelihood a super, and probably already dead. But what should she do? Should she tell the police? It wasn’t as though she knew where he was, just that he was alive. Would that help them at all?

But she just couldn’t sit back and do nothing when he was killing people again! Especially not a poor, teenage girl! She didn’t know what to do, but she knew someone who would.

 

---

 

Many discarded pages, long minutes of standing still looking fierce later, Maurice finally seemed to have something he was satisfied with.

“Zere!” he announced grandly. “Now you may relax, ma cherie. Eet is finished.”

Vex stretched stiffly, and peered over at the delicate man. “Can I see it? Please?”

“Ceratainment!” he agreed, and handed her his sketch pad.

She took it, and gazed at the drawings. It was mostly black and completely form fitting, with a white V at her décolletage, a black choker, a white belt hanging decoratively around the waist, a pair of white gloves that went well past the elbows, black boots, and a cape, the same kind Syndrome wore, except it was set lower on the shoulders, more effeminately. “Oh, Maurice, it’s lovely! It’s perfect.”

Maurice laughed. “Ah, merci, merci. I decided zat we must work with what Syndrome was wearing. Sort of a matched set, non?”

Vex nodded. “You designed his, didn’t you?”

“Well, he ‘ad a great many ideas of his own, but I helped him realize them, and mais oui, it was made at my shop.”

“Do you design these kinds of clothes often?” she asked.

He laughed. “Non, non, zat would be Edna Mode’s specialité, not mine. ‘E came to me, because she refused to cater to his… extravagance.”

‘Whereas you’re quite flamboyant yourself,’ Vex thought amusedly, but did not say.

“Now, would you like me to explain zee benefits of zee outfit to you?”

“Uh, sure,” she agreed. Vex hadn’t thought there were any, other than looking extremely attractive, that was.

“Now, vous comprenez, the fabric eez not made in zis shop, rather I ‘ave it ordered it from Madam Mode, oui?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Ze fabric is bullet proof, fire proof, stain proof, and non-conductive,” he told her, ticking them each off on her fingers. “Almost indestructible.”

“Wow, okay…” she stared at the picture, and thought, ‘So basically, if I get hit in the chest, neck, or upper shoulder, I’m screwed.’ “Uh, but aren’t these parts vulnerable then?”

Surprisingly, Maurice shook his head. “No, you see, zere is actually fabric zere, it is simply completely invisible, and you can barely even feel it, oui?”

“Oh, alright,” she nodded but she thought it sounded a bit like an emperor’s new clothes situation. She trusted Maurice though.

“Now, le garçon will not be back for another hour yet. I will ‘ave Michelle bring us something to eat while we wait for him.”

“Thank you,” Vex smiled, sitting down on the couch again.

“So, you must tell me,” Maurice said curiously, leaning forward, “‘Ow did you become acquainted with un garçon like Syndrome?”

Personally, Vex was wondering exactly how much Maurice actually knew about Syndrome. She remembered that he had said he had heard Syndrome was dead, so did that mean he knew about the Omnidroid incident?

“Well… It’s complicated,” she began. “How well do you know Syndrome?”

“You mean, do I know of his ‘illicit activities’, non?” he said with a smile. “Oui, oui. So long as le garçon does not wreck my shop, je ne m’inquiète pas ce qu’il fait avec du son temps.”

‘I don’t care what he does with his time’ was what Maurice had said. “Oh, okay then…” she shrugged. “You know who Mirage is?”

“Ah, oui, cette femme,” Maurice frowned, “le garçon has brought her to my shop many times.”

“You didn’t like her?”

“Let us say I do not believe she was not a compagnon approprié non?”

“What was she like?” Vex couldn’t help but ask.

“She had excellent taste in things that she did not need,” he said, “but continue with your story, sil-vous plait?”

“Well, Mirage deserted him, and everyone thought he was dead. So, he wanted to get his operations running, but I guess he thought he needed a second in command. So he kinda, stalked me over the internet.”

“Vraiment?”

She nodded. “We talked for a few minutes, and he asked me to meet him somewhere,” she told him, starting to see that the whole story sounded kind of… insane. “I agreed, and he told why he wanted me. I said yes, and just kind of… left. Everything.”

Maurice watched her bemusedly. “Well,” he chuckled, “Such is ze force of his personalitié, non?”

“It sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” she sighed.

“Non, non, vous êtes une femme courageous,” he assured her. “Zere are not many who would follow their hearts as vous.”

“I suppose…”

“Do not suppose, believe in yourself, ‘ave zat same courage with you at all times.”

Maurice was right, wasn’t he? She had been quite brave, or at least quite rash, when she had let Syndrome carry her off into the night. Why was she hesitating now? The next time he gave her an opportunity to get close to him, she should take it! Right?

“You really thought we were a couple?”

“Oui, mais, I should have known zat you were not, ‘ow shall I say, official, as yet. Ze way le garçon looks at you is cautious. ‘E does not know if you will reject him if he, ah, ‘makes a move’, non?”

“You think so?” she asked, and then continued. “Why do you call him that all the time? Le garçon, I mean?” She’d been curious about it from the beginning.

“Ah,” Maurice laughed. “Eet is because when ‘e turned up at my shop, I could only remember him as a small boy, non?”

“You’d met him before?” Vex asked, puzzled.

The Frenchman chuckled nostalgically. “Ah, oui, oui. I was not always a fashion designer, you know.”

“Oh?” she was just becoming more confused.

“‘Ave you ever heard of ze criminal, Bomb Voyage?” Maurice asked with a grin.

“Yes, of- wait, you were Bomb Voyage?” Vex stared at him incredulously. Well, it certainly explained why he didn’t care that Syndrome was a villain!

“Ah, oui, oui, I was quite the menace, years ago.”

“But- how would you know Syndrome anyway? He wasn’t a villain when you were.”

“Vraiment, mais, écoutez vous, and I will tell you the story.”

“Okay,” Vex was on the edge of her seat, listening.

“When I was twenty, and full of desire pour fortune et notoriety, I robbed banks as ze infamous Bomb Voyage. One night, I was accosted by le hero, Monsieur Incroyable, who was zen accosted ‘imself by un petit garçon, in ze most ridiculous attire! Ze boy, he insisted zat ‘is name was ‘ Incrediboy’, and ‘e was trying to convince ze hero to let him become a ‘sidekick’.

Seeing an escape, I put a bomb on ze boy’s cape, hoping Monsieur Incroyable would be occupied trying to rescue le garçon to worry about moi. I was right of course, so everything worked perfectly. Zat was also ze night zat the Hero restrictions began. I like many of ze criminals of ze time, used zat to our best advantage. I amassed enough money to return to France, and used it to begin my fashion business.”

“Wow,” Vex said, a few more pieces of the Syndrome puzzle falling into place. He hadn’t gone into any kind of detail when telling her he wanted to be Mr. Incredible’s side kick. Probably because it was a very bitter memory. But now she knew a little more.

“So you see, when ‘e came to me seven years later, already beginning ‘is little enterprises, all I could remember when I looked at ‘im was ‘is ten year old self, Incrediboy, non?”

She nodded. “Why did you become a fashion designer though?”

“Ze occupation called to me, and I had ze money to try whatever I wanted, non? I could be as daring with my fashions as I liked.”

“Chasing a dream?” she asked.

“Oui, chasing a dream,” he agreed. “Oh, mademoiselle, can I trust you will be discreet with zis information? All zis time and le garçon ‘as never recognized me. I would like to keep it zat way, you see?”

Vex nodded. She liked Maurice, and Syndrome didn’t really need to know his fashion designer was an ex-criminal. If it ever did become vital information, she’d tell him. But it wasn’t like Maurice was going to attack them.

The door opened and a woman with a tray of food came in.

“Ah, here is lunch,” Maurice nodded. “‘elp yourself ma cherie.”

 

---

 

Of all the people Violet expected to be at the door, the person who was there when she answered it was fairly low on the list.

“Mirage?” she asked, puzzled.

“Hello,” the white haired woman greeted. She seemed a little nervous, and quite frankly, she didn’t trust her. “Is your father home?”

“Uh, I think so…” she turned around and called over her shoulder. “Dad! There’s someone at the door for you!!”

He dad showed up a minute later. “Who is it, Vio- Oh. Mirage, hello. It’s nice to see you.”

‘Nice to see you out of court, you mean’ Violet thought to herself. Her dad so had a crush on the blonde floozy.

“It’s nice to see you too, Bob,” she said. “Can I come in? I have something important to talk to you about.”

“Oh, of course!” her dad nodded, and ushered her into the living room. “Go upstairs, okay, Violet?”

“Yeah, sure dad,” she nodded. ‘Yeah, right. And let you flirt around while Mom’s at the grocery store?’ She headed upstairs, and was accosted at the top of them by her younger brother.

“Hey Vi!” he asked excitedly. “Who’s here?”

“It’s Mirage,” she whispered. “If you go to your room and don’t cause trouble while I listen in, I’ll tell you everything they say, alright?”

She hated bargaining with the kid, but it was the only way to get things done without him messing them up.

“Uh,” he deliberated. “Allllright. But you better tell me everything .”

“Alright, alright, now shoo, okay?”

Dash zipped off.

Violet peeled off her outer clothing, kicking it behind the laundry basket, so that she was just in her super suit. She’d taken to wearing it all the time, minus the gloves and boots, under her clothes, it didn’t weigh anything, so it wasn’t inconvenient.

She disappeared, and crept down the stairs. She was in luck, the conversation hadn’t gotten beyond dad offering her coffee yet.

“You said it was important?” her father asked.

“I did. Have you been watching the news lately?”

“Yeah, but it seems like it’s mostly good news these days, with the super laws finally being repealed.”

“It’s not all good news Bob,” Mirage said. “Did you see the report on that girl from the suburbs they think was kidnapped?”

“The one in Upstateville?”

“Yes.”

Violet suppressed a gasp. They were talking about Sharon’s disappearance! But why would Mirage think that was important? Violet narrowed her eyes.

“The drawing they’re running of her kidnapper, it’s Syndrome, I’m sure of it.”

What?!

“What?” her father demanded, echoing his daughters thoughts, “That can’t be, he’s dead!”

“No Bob, he’s not. The Syndrome that got sucked into the jet was a robot, but I didn’t know that, until just today.”

‘Yeah, sure you didn’t,’ Violet glared at her. But what on earth would Syndrome want with Sharon?

“Okay, I’ll accept that,” her father nodded. “But why would he want to kidnap this girl?”

“I don’t know for sure. My guess is she was a super, in which case there’s not much hope for her,” Mirage hung her head.

A super? Sharon? Violet had never had any reason to suspect that her some time friend had any powers, but then, to her knowledge, no one knew that she was a super either, so it was possible. But that meant she might be dead! Violet was horrified.

“Do you know where he is?”

Mirage shook her head. “No, he hasn’t contacted me, and he never gave me any of the information on his aliases, or other places he might go. He was a secretive man.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, Bob. I really don’t. I just thought you needed to know he was alive, so you’d be on guard. He’ll probably come after you again.”

“I figured.”

“Not soon though, he hates you, but he’ll want to build his defenses first.”

“We’ll be on guard. The first time he makes a move, I’ll get him”

Her dad nodded.

“I have to go,” Mirage said, standing.

“You’ll tell me if he contacts you, or you think of anything else?”

She nodded. “You’ll tell me too, won’t you?”

“Sure.”

Mirage shook his hand, and even at thirteen Violet could tell that she wanted to do more than that, but didn’t. She nodded to him.

“I’ll show you out,” he offered.

“No need,” she walked down the hall, and out the door.

‘So that’s it?’ Violet demanded of the woman, in her thoughts. ‘You tell us your old boss is back, and he’s got my friend captive, and that’s it ? You’re going to wait until he ‘makes a move?’ Sharon’s in trouble now!’

A week ago Violet would probably been having public histrionics about it in the stairwell, but now, she had learned to bite her tongue when it wouldn’t do any good to throw a fit. Obviously her father wasn’t going to do anything, since he believed Sharon was dead. Violet however, refused to accept it, and so she would have to do something herself.

She tiptoed up the stairs, picking up her clothes, and tried to slip into her room without being noticed. No such luck, of course, Dash caught her.

“Well? What did they say?”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Syndrome’s back.”

“What!?”

“Shhh!!” Violet urged. “He’s not here or anything. Calm down, okay?”

“But he died in the explosion.”

“Not according to Mirage.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Don’t say anything to mom and dad, okay?”

He nodded.

“I’m going to my room.

 

---

 

Syndrome hadn’t quite driven around the entire three hours; he’d done a little shopping. For instance, he’s been happy to find a video store that sold American DVDs, and had picked up a few, knowing he’d regret not having anything to watch at the base.

As he headed back to Maurice’s shop he saw a set of mannequins in the window that caught his attention, and he lurched to a shop in front of them. The driver behind him, who had narrowly missed a collision, sped past, shaking his fist and swearing loudly in French. Syndrome ignored him, getting out of the car.

The mannequin in question was wearing a pale blue midriff sweater, with a hip-hugging black skirt, both of which were covered by a spider-web of loose silver mesh, a black translucent shall was thrown over the shoulders, silver bangles adorned the wrists and it had high black boots with silver buckles.

‘Well now,’ Syndrome thought to himself. ‘Vex can’t very well go shopping in Paris in what she’s wearing,’ he rationalized. After all, you had to be fashionable to buy fashion in France, or no one would take you seriously. He wanted Vex to be taken seriously.

Syndrome marched into the store, and had the woman who worked there box up the entire outfit, not even asking the price. Well, he had said he was going to help Vex spend the money, so here was a start.

He took his purchase back to the car, thinking about where he would take Vex while they waited for the costume to be made. Had she been to Paris before? She spoke very good French, as far as he could tell, maybe she would want to sightsee. Mirage had just wanted to buy everything she laid her eyes on.

Obviously he’d take her to diner at La Tour d’Argent, a beautiful restaurant that overlooked the river, and Notre Dame Cathedral. This reminded him, he ought to call the place now. He wondered how much he’d have to bride this time, to get one of the window tables that had been booked weeks, if not months, in advance.

He called the restaurant, and was stubbornly American until they put someone on the phone that could speak decent English, and made the proper arrangements, booking one of the private rooms. All set then. Diner was at seven. Other than that, they could go wherever Vex wanted.

Syndrome hoped that devoting the day to her would rid Vex of the residual timidity she was having around him. She liked him. She must. In all her fanfiction, she always got together with the villain. He had taken that into account when he approached her.

Obviously she was hanging back because- Because why? She had seemed pliable enough the day before. Maybe he had been too forceful, and scared her?

He recalled the events of the day before, trying to think of any of Vex’s reactions that might indicate that she didn’t like him in that way.

 

---

 

Syndrome, upon going upstairs to fetch the sandwiches had decided that it was time to put on his uniform. He had been so long without it that when he donned it, and admired himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but be impressed anew at the imposing nature of the dark figure he cut.

“Fear me!” he commanded the mirror, pointing accusingly and glowering. “I am Syndrome! All tremble before my mighty and power!”

The mirror wasn’t quite so impressed.

Syndrome smirked, and continued on his errand. He hadn’t expected, when he reached the brig, to find his prisoner already awake and argumentative as well, from the sound of it.

“I do not understand, vhat loyalty do you owe to that monster?”

Well now… he had been intending to go straight in, but now Syndrome hung back, waiting to hear how she answered the question.

“My own”

“But vhy? Do you not know vhat he is? A killer?”

“So?”

He smirked, amused by Mikhail’s ignorance of who Vex was. All that the Russian saw was the bubbly, slightly self-conscious exterior. He had no idea the kind of things she thought, the kind of things that she wrote about.

“I see. So you are the type of voman who is best charmed vith vicked viles.”

Syndrome smothered a snicker behind his hand, still enjoying being the proverbial fly on the wall. So, was he finally catching on?

“And what if I am?”

Then you are a fool! Can you not see he is a man who cares for nothing but his own?!”

In the end, he had been unable to convince Mirage that he cared about her. Maybe it would be better if he headed that thought off at the pass this time.

“You’ve got me there,” he had said, setting down his burden, and standing beside the girl. “Vexxation is mine.”

He put his arm around her, grabbing her closer to him. He saw her look up at him with adoring eyes, eyes that just agreed with him. He had the sudden urge to kiss her. Syndrome was not a man who made a practice of denying his impulses. Vex had melted almost instantly.

 

---

 

And then, Syndrome recalled, deciding to test his power over her further, he had instructed her to torture and kill Mikhail. That had to have been what had her on edge. After all, she had mentioned it already, asking if he trusted her. And he had shrugged that off.

Syn took a deep breath. There was only one thing to do. He was going to have to… apologize. Assure her that it was a one time only thing, and that starting tomorrow he’d have minions to do that sort of thing.

Except that he wasn’t certain that was it. Syndrome clenched his fists on the steering wheel. Damn it, why did women have to be so mysterious. Fine. On top of apologizing, if things didn’t clear up by tonight he would just have to ask her what was wrong.

And if she didn’t tell him? Or didn’t like him?

Well, that was fine. She could just be his lieutenant then. ‘There are other girls,’ Syndrome assured himself. ‘It’s not like this one is all that special.’

Except…

Shaking his head and cutting off his own train of thought, he pulled up in front of Maurice’s for the second time that morning, hopped out of the car, bringing the box for Vex with him, and strode inside.

He was greeted by a waifish young lady in Maurice’s employ.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” she nodded.

“Yeah, hey. Tell Maurice that I’m here to pick up Vex.” He adjusted his sunglasses, and leaned casually against the wall. Why was he being so negative, anyway? He’d just have to make sure that Vex couldn’t possibly resist his charms.

“Oui Monsieur, I will tell him. Wait here, sil-vous plait,” she hurried away.

To Be Continued…

Okay. Tidbits regarding the chapter. Le Tour D’Argent is a real French restaurant. See what it looks like at www. tourdargent .com

Also, please tell me your honest opinion of Maurice. I’m dying to know.

Shadow Fox Forever: Yes. Yes I do.

CD Anders: here’s some more. Hehe. How’s that for amusing?

WormmonABC: The Jabberwocky is awesome, as are BNL.

Maya Beebop: I bet you didn’t guess the other plot point about Maurice! I hope you liked this chapter!

Dark fire angel: I love French.

WormmonABC: Haha not so random anymore, eh? The bedroom scene is one of my favorites. Aw, come on, I’m sure your story isn’t bad.

RavensHaelo: I tried to make him a wacko, but not too Ednay.

DJ Caligula: Well, at least someone likes the romance aspect!

 

 

Cookies Comics and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: My father, the vile man that he is, disallowed me from typing today. So, I couldn’t get a whole chapter done. So I am breaking this chapter up into two parts.

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, read the disclaimer in a previous chapter.

Chapter 13 part one: Suprises

Vex and Maurice were having crapes and coffee when the woman bustled in the door again. “Monsieur Maurice, il y a un homme ici pour la fille.”

The Frenchman smiled, setting down his cup, “Ah, so, le garçon ‘as returned,” he stood up. “Come, ma cherie, and I will ‘ave work begun on your costume.”

Vex nodded and followed Maurice out of the office, and down into the main hall. Syndrome was indeed waiting for them. He was leaning against the wall looking utterly bored, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. She wondered what he had been doing the whole time that she had been at the shop, noticing that he had a rather large box sitting on the floor beside him.

“Hey,” he greeted, tipping the shades down and grinning at her. “Have fun?”

She nodded. “Maurice is a very charming host.”

“Ah, merci. Mademoiselle,” the designer thanked her.

Syndrome rolled his eyes. “So, when’ll the outfit be ready?”

“You may pick it up zis evening, of course. It will be ready by eight, oui?”

“Good,” he nodded. “Oh, hey, can Vex use one of your changing rooms?”

“Mais, oui.”

Vex looked at him, and down to the box. “What for?” she asked.

“Well, I figured you’d want a change of clothes before we went out,” he said, “So I took the liberty of getting you one.”

Vex blushed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure I did. Unless you don’t want it.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that at all,” she said, embarrassed again. She kept inadvertently irritating him when it came to money and gifts. It was natural though, no one had ever gone around just giving her things for no reason, especially not things as expensive as Syndrome seemed prone to. “Is it in the box?”

He nodded.

She walked over, a bit intimidated. It sounded like he was in a kind of a bad mood. Had anything happened while they’d been apart? She looked down at the box, wrapped in whit paper, and up at the man in the dark coat and glasses. Why should she be afraid to get near him? After all, he had come for her . So what if it would be complicated? She had run away from home with a man she had known for twenty minutes. If that didn’t complicate her life, what could?

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, and grabbed him into a hug, and, on further impulse, kissed him quickly on the cheek. Or at least she tried to, Syndrome turned his head at the last moment, and she ended up brushing against his lips instead, but just for a moment. He smirked at her and she picked up the box, once again surprised, and gratified. “Where’s the changing room, Maurice?”

“Right zis way, mademoiselle,” he said, winking at her as he led her down the hall, and added, “My compliments.”

She giggled.

She at on the bench in the large changing room, set down the box, and began to take the wrapping off delicately. She slipped the top off, and inspected the new garments. She gasped. They were absolutely beautiful, and exactly something that she’d want to wear. She hurried peeled her old, worn clothes off, and put on the new ones. There were even shoes and jewelry to go with it! She looked at herself in the mirror, and felt almost like a different person. So glamorous and grown up, but beneath the clothing she was still herself. Like a child pretending to be a princess.

Two days ago she’d been just another girl in high school, with no friends, and too much homework. Just a fangirl who was constantly being told by her parents to focus on reality. Now here she was, like some kind of dark Cinderella.

It wasn’t a dream though. Everything she did had real consequences.

Her parents, they would be grieving, searching frantically for their lost daughter. The teachers would say it was such a shame, such a waste. And Mikhail wouldn’t ever do anything again.

She wouldn’t go back. Couldn’t possibly. Sharon Mitchell might as well be dead, and Vex would fight like hell if she had to, to keep it that way.

She stared deep into the mirror’s eyes, and laid a hand to the image.

She didn’t expect it to pass through.

Vex screamed.

 

---

 

Syndrome was waiting impatiently for Vex to get back, so they could leave. He glanced over at where Maurice was standing, which the Frenchman seemed to take as a cue to start talking.

“Zo, mon garçon,” he began, “‘ou is she to you, really, eh?”

His head snapped up, and he frowned at the designer, irritated that his business was being intruded upon. “I told you, she’s my lieutenant,” he snapped.

“Oui? You ‘ave no other interest in ‘er whatsoever?” Maurice raised his eyebrows. “Zat is not what I saw just now.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Syndrome glared at him.

He leered. “Your welfare ‘as been my concern, mon petit garcon, since you stepped into my shop, years ago. You are lucky I don not take such obligations more seriously, non?”

The redhead grimaced uncomfortably. He knew that Maurice had a ‘thing’ for him, but the Frenchman usually kept it more satisfactorily discreet, in open conversation.

“You took zat girl from her home like some sort of thief in ze night,” he continued, “And now she eez, understandably, in love with you. Zo, you ‘ad bettair act like a man, rather than a child in ze body of one.”

Syndrome was taken aback by the small man’s rude comments, and blunt attitude. How dare someone like Maurice, insult his masculinity!

The man must have seen Syndrome’s expression twisting into dangerous anger, for he held his hands up submissively. “Forgive me. I should not say such things.”

“Damn right,” he snarled, relaxing only slightly.

“I undairstand zat you are ‘estitant after ze end of such a bad relationship.”

So, Vex had been gossiping, it sounded like. Well, it wasn’t exactly a secret that Mirage had betrayed him, it had been all over the news.

“But to punish one woman for ze crimes of another is a terrible thing. And zat is all I will say,” Maurice concluded.

Syndrome adjusted his glasses nervously. Had she told Maurice about Mikhail? Was this what the discussion was about? Syndrome didn’t think it sounded that specific, though, just Maurice harping on him in general.

“What did you and Vex talk abo-” Syndrome’s quarry was cut off by a piercing scream.

“Vex?” Syndrome’s eyes went wide, and he dashed in the direction of the cry. He came to a locked door that he knew to be the changing room. He pounded on it. “Vex, are you alright?!”

“I-I’m fine, Syndrome,” her voice came from behind the door. “There was a spider, and I freaked. Sorry.”

Syndrome rolled his eyes, and hung his head back in annoyed relief. “Its fine,” he grumped. What had he been worried for anyway? There wasn’t anything that could hurt her in the shop, after all.

“I’m glad you came though,” she said. “I’m done changing.”

The door opened, and Vex stood in it. She looked startlingly pretty; the black skirt hung over her hips so, and the blue sweater was stretched alluringly across her chest. The silver mesh and black shawl gave her a mysterious, sophisticated air, and the boots added about and inch to her height. Syndrome just… stared.

“Do I look okay?” she asked insecurely.

The villain found his voice. “Beautiful,” he said, grinning at her. “Stunning in fact.”

“You really think so?” she turned around, looking back at herself in the mirror.

“I know it,” he said, grabbing her wrist, and pulling her back to him. He had been planning on kissing her, but something more urgent caught his attention as he saw her hand. “You’re bleeding!”

She looked startled. “I am? I don’t know how that happened. I… must have given myself a paper cut on the wrapping paper.”

He pulled her close to him, both facing the same direction, and kissed her fingers where the blood was already drying. “Some paper cut,” he said, observing the amount of blood.

“Yeah,” she breathed, nuzzling up against him, “I should rinse it off.”

He looked down at the top of her head, and caressed the locks of her brown hair. “In a minute.” He turned her around. He had been planning on waiting until after dinner to ask, but now was so much more convenient, and he didn’t have the patience to wait. He looked her in the eyes. “Tell me, Vex, you’re honest opinion of me.”

He was afraid of how she’d answer. Worried she’d say ‘You’re a great boss’, or ‘friend’ or any number of things he was not hoping to hear.

“I told you before,” she breathed. “Cunning, imaginative, audacious, decisive… But I didn’t say how much I like you… or how handsome you are.” She leaned up, and kissed him. Not a kiss on the cheek either, but the way that he had kissed her before.

“Ehehehem,” Maurice coughed a moment later, surprising both of them with his presence. “I am very ‘appy pou ze two of you, but I do ‘ave ladies waiting to use zis room.”

“Oh! Sorry,” Vex said hurriedly disentangling herself from Syndrome, much as he was unwilling to let go of her, and heading to the washroom.

To Be Continued…

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: CCR should be back to it’s normal schedule tomorrow, I apologies for the delays and the short chapters, unfortunately, I unlike Vex, am not free from my parent’s tyranny just yet.

More lovely fanart for CCR can be found at ookami-ayane’s lovely deviantart page, make sure you check her scraps too, for a pic of Vex in her costume! Also, at deviantart beth-star has also done some! Make sure you have a look!

Disclaimer: Incredibles and all affiliated characters are property of Disney/Pixar.

Chapter 13 part Two: Means

The weather in Siberia had never been friendly to man in his natural state, hence the reason he had invented clothes before deciding to migrate up north. Mikhail didn’t have that luxury. He had awoken in the middle of the snow covered landscape, unaware of how he had come to be there, and without any sort of protection against the environment.

‘A lesser man would have frozen to death now,’ he thought to himself, as he trudged through the snow, trying to make it to a road. ‘A lesser man would not have survived what I have been through at all.’

His skin was blue with a cold he didn’t seem to feel, and his feet trudged along with a calm that had nothing to do with reason.

He had nothing now to distinguish him from the level of beats; no family, no home, no money, no possessions. Only a heart that was unwilling to say ‘give up’, only that that tingling in the back of the mind that urged him on. Survive!

Normal men could not survive on will alone, but Mikhail had never been such a man.

Vex turned the tap on with her clean hand, and cool water poured from it. She put her other hand, the one that was covered in blood beneath the gentle flow and watched as it was stained red for a moment as she did so. She had convinced herself that it was just a hallucination of some sort, her fingers passing through the glass of the mirror as easily as through the air. As a child she had pretended that she could step through mirrors, walk through walls…

She had been under an enormous amount of stress in the last two days, whether it was positive or negative didn’t matter. The mind could only take so many changes in a short amount of time, before it began to deal with them in odd ways.

A hallucination of passing through a mirror was a perfect candidate for such a thing, because obviously there was no other explanation. And obviously she had cut herself on a bit of paper, in her excitement over unwrapping her new clothes.

All the blood gone, she turned her hand over, to find the wound. She inspected each finger, and especially her palm, expecting to see a white tear somewhere in the flesh. But there was none. She stared.

That couldn’t be right. Blood had to come from somewhere; it didn’t just appear on your hands for no reason. Not unless you were Lady Macbeth, or something. What, will these hands ne’er be clean? She quoted in her mind. Maybe there was no blood at all, except that it was Syndrome first who’d spotted it.

She clenched her hand hard into a fist, her nails digging into her palm, almost piercing the flesh. Then she realized what she was doing, and relaxed it.

There was no need to be upset. Everything was fine. And Syndrome, she reflected, Syndrome liked her! That was definite; why else would he have grabbed her, held her? Demanded to know what she thought of him.

She rubbed her hands together nervously, one more time, and left the wash room, to find Syndrome waiting outside for her.

“Well, are you ready to get going?” he asked.

She nodded him, and followed him out of the building, and back into the city of Paris. As they climbed in the car, Vex inspected it for any dents, or scratches, but found none. Frankly she was amazed that someone could drive as poorly as Syndrome did, and get away with it. Or maybe he didn’t drive poorly; maybe he drove that way deliberately. Come to think of it, Vex couldn’t imagine a man as intelligent and technically inclined as Syndrome would not be able to drive properly. It had to be a conscious choice, a choice to be fast, and dangerous.

She felt safer, as she realized this, sitting in the car beside him again. After all, he couldn’t possibly get into a car accident, if he was driving deliberately.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

“I was going to leave that up to you,” he replied, pulling away from Maurice’s shop.

“Oh. Uh, okay,” Vex tried to think of where she would like to go, but all she could think of were the same landmarks that everyone associated with France, none of which were great places to buy clothing, which had seemed to be Syndrome’s intention. “Um, could I maybe get a list of choices? I’m not really familiar with Paris, you know.”

“Uh, well, there are all these little shops,” he said, gesturing as they practically flew past. “Or we could go to the ‘Galleries Lafayette’,” Vex cringed as he mangled the soft sounds of the French, “if you’re looking for the Paris version of a department store.”

“Well, that sounds like a good place to start,” she agreed.

“Good,” he said, whipping through the next turn.

Vex regarded him, and his sure sense of direction. Whether he knew the names of the stores or not, he seemed to know the city of Paris quite well. She wondered what sort of business would bring him there. “Are you in Paris a lot?”

“Yeah, a bit. Mirage was always wanting me to come along.”

Vex felt a pointless stab of resentment towards the woman she had seen only briefly, and not in person. “How long were you two together?”

He shrugged. “About three years.”

Vex was taken aback. Three years? It seemed like forever to her. “And she just, betrayed you? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” he replied darkly. “Look can we talk about something else?”

“Sure, sorry,” Vex assented, not bringing up the fact that he’d been the one to mention her. “So… what did you do while I was with Maurice? Besides buy me clothes.”

“Oh, I bought a few other things. Some DVDs, some games. Well, a lot really,” he admitted, “Mostly replacing the stuff I lost on Nomanisan.”

“Nomanisan?” Vex asked, wondering what he meant.

“My island,” he informed her, getting a sort of faraway look in his eyes. “Possibly the most beautiful place on the planet.”

‘Nomanisan… Island…’ Vex thought, why does that sound familiar? Nomanisan, noman… isan…

Vex groaned loudly. “Syndrome, that’s terrible !”

Syndrome chuckled wickedly. “So you got it, huh?”

“No man is an island,” she nodded. “That’s just a horrible, horrible pun.”

“Glad you like it,” he grinned.

“Did you name it that just to be cruel to mapmakers?” Vex asked wryly.

“It wasn’t on any maps,” he replied.

“Just an in-joke then?”

“You could call it that.”

 

---

 

Vex was asking him all the questions he didn’t want to answer. Why Nomanisan? It was a reminder, and an admonition. Without support, even the greatest men fell. Lack of support had been his own downfall as well, when someone he thought he could trust had turned traitor.

And they were the words, that if Syndrome time’s master, that would constitute his reply to that rejection spoken long ago.

‘I work alone .’

No man is an island.

Syndrome doubted that Incredible had even understood the barb, or if he had, that it was directed at him. Even after all these years it still stung like salt on a fresh wound. To devote yourself to the emulation of a man you thought was a hero, only to be brushed aside as a nuisance, a pest.

To this day, he remembered the hours of time he had spent in dedication, the clipping of newspapers, the merchandise, the careful study of motive and desire. The care he put into designing and making his costume; even coercing his mother to let him bleach his hair, just to be that much more like the man he admired.

But most of all, he remembered the dream that lay in stark contrast to the hash reality.

‘You always say to be true to yourself, but you never say which part of yourself to be true to! Well I’ve finally figured it out, I’m Incrediboy, your ward!’

Mr. Incredible’s eyes would have softened with recognition, just for a moment, and then, determined again, holding Bomb Voyage roughly by his collar.

The would have nodded, ‘I’ll hold this villain here, you go get the police, Incrediboy’

Incredible claimed to be fighting for justice, but in a just world what he would have seen in the young boy that Syndrome had been was a person not unlike himself, someone ready to give everything they had for an ideal, to fight for it, and if necessary, to die for it.

“Are you alright?” Vex asked him concernedly, after he had been quiet for a moment.

But this was neither a just, nor an ideal world. It was a world where dreams could fail in an instant, and shatter into a broken, cold reality, as Buddy Pine had discovered so early.

“I’m fine,” Syndrome replied.

 

---

 

Violet sat on her bed, her knees curled up, with her elbows resting on them, leaning against the headboard, trying to think of a plan. Sharon was obviously not dead, as Mirage had so rashly stated. Syndrome, from what the young super could tell, was not the brightest pin in the box. If he had been, he’d have executed all of them, when they’d been captured, instead of locking them up, and leaving them to their own devices. No, if anything, Sharon was probably locked up, being told hourly news of how terribly worried her parents were.

The only thing that stopped Violet from immediately rushing off to save her from the clutches of the villain was the small problem that she, like everyone else, had no freaking clue where he was.

She turned over and lay on her stomach, hands propping up her chin. And there was nothing she could do about it. Not for the first time, she wished she had a more effective power. In this case, the power to read minds anywhere in the world would have helped out a lot. Unfortunately, wishing for something she didn’t have didn’t do her a lot of good.

So what was she good at? Sneaking in and out of places… and that was about it. Which didn’t do a darn thing if she didn’t know where it was she was supposed to sneak in to .

Or did she?

Mirage had given Vi’s dad her phone number and address, before leaving, in case he had any information to share. Violet, however, didn’t believe that Mirage was telling everything she was knew. So maybe if Violet followed her, she would find out, or at least get a clue to where Syndrome was hiding.

It wasn’t a sure-fire plan, by any means, but it was the best that she could come up with on short notice.

 

---

 

The driver of the truck honked at the man standing in the middle of the road, long before he was close enough to tell that the man in question was completely unclothed, not to mention, his skin was a shimmering, icy blue. Both curious and concerned, though he ordinarily would have never stopped for hitchhikers, he pulled aside.

“What the hell are you doing, man?!” he demanded in Russian, rolling down his window. “You are going to die!! In fact you look like death already!!”

The blue man held out his hand calmly and suddenly several strange creatures appeared, like wingless bats from hell, and attacked the driver. Scrabbling, and pulling away from the beasts, he cracked his head against the side of the window, and fell unconscious.

“I feel like death as well,” Mikhail replied conversationally, as he reached through the open window and unlocked the door. He unbelted the man from his seat, and methodically stripped the limp body of all of its clothing, and donning it himself.

Almost as an afterthought, he tore the arms off of the inner shirt, and bound the driver’s hands and feet, before tossing him into the back of the truck’s cab.

 

---

 

The Galleries Lafayette was no ordinary department store. It was six floors of glorious high fashion. Things Vex had never been able to dream of ever being able to afford. It was true Haute Couture, and though she didn’t quite want one of everything, it felt like she came close.

Syndrome didn’t seem to mind however, in fact, indulging her this way seemed to both amuse and gratify him, and Vex wasted large quantities of time popping in and out of the dressing rooms, making sure Syndrome got to see everything she tried on.

Her eventual purchases were chosen mostly on the grounds of how he reacted to them, in fact. If an article of clothing seemed to bore him, she immediately put it back. Except, of course, for a few key articles that she absolutely could not live without once she saw that she could have them. The most indulgent of these affects she had laid eyes on as they were passing through the men’s department.

It was a coat, floor length, and olive green, exactly like the coat that Doctor Octopus had worn in the Spider-Man 2 movie… minus the tentacle rips of course.

Syndrome noticed her oddly veering direction, as she stopped walking, and craned her neck to see it.

“Can’t… resist… fangirl senses… tingling! Must… have Doc Ock coat..!”

The villain snickered

“Do you know what the girls on deviantart would do if they saw this?” Vex demanded.

“The same thing you’re doing now?” he wagered amusedly.

“Exactly!” she nodded. “I can’t not get it. It would be a blasphemy.”

“Well, go ahead then,” Syndrome grinned. “But I draw the line at welding metal tentacles to your back.”

To be continued…

And that concludes chapter 13! I’m afraid I’ve had too many reviews in the interim to reply to them all, the practice will resume next chapter.

I’d just like to say I’m glad everyone has been enjoying the story! Welcome to all you new reviewers, and thanks for sticking by me, to everyone who’s been here since the beginning.

 

 

Cookies Comics and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: c4bl3fl4m3 has been involved in some lovely art for CCR, and also, I suggest you take a look at vexxation .deviantart. com as well.

Disclaimer: Incredibles and all that belongs to Disney/Pixar. Darn.

Chapter 14: Staying for Dinner

Vex had never seen as beautiful a restaurant as Le Tour D’Argent, let alone been in the private room of one.

As they entered the Maitre D’ greeted them warmly, and his manner only improved when Syndrome introduced himself as Isaac Douglas.

“Ah, Monsieur Douglas,” the man greeted excitedly. “Oui, oui, right zis way, everything is ready.”

Vex glanced up at Syndrome as they were led away into the reserved chamber. That couldn’t be his real name, she thought, it sounds suspiciously like a pseudonym. It was with a jolt that she realized that she didn’t even know his real name. Sure, she didn’t mind calling him Syndrome, quite the contrary, Vex had always been of the opinion that people were who they believed themselves to be, but she still wanted to know who he had been. Even if she never called him that.

The room was rich with luxury and the window they sat beside looked out on the river Seine and Notre Dame. The sun was just below the horizon, and the city outside was cast in twilight purples, with just the barest hint of orange left from the sunset. Vex gasped when she saw it.

“Is that a ‘Syndrome, you’re amazing’, I hear?” he murmured wryly to her.

“Definitely!”

They sat down at the elegant table, already set with various rich, delicious looking appetizers. The Maitre D’ uncorked and poured a bottle of wine.

“Ze first course will arrive shortly, Monsieur,” he assured Syndrome. “Is zere anything I can do for you in ze mean time?”

“No, not a the moment,” he replied dismissively.

“Very well, Monsieur,” he nodded deeply, and left them alone in the room.

The room was dim, and the table was aglow with the light of candles and Vex watched soft, flickering shadows play over Syndrome’s face.

“This is magnificent,” she said in wonder. “It has to be the most beautiful place in Paris. But, aren’t things like this usually booked months ahead of time?” Vex wasn’t sure, but she thought that she must be taking Mirage’s place at a date that had been planned long ago.

“Usually,” he told her taking a sip of wine. “But I pulled a few strings this morning to get it for you.”

“This morning?” Vex said, wide eyed, and taken aback. “Wow, those must have been some strings! Do you know the President of France or something?”

Syndrome chuckled darkly. “Purse strings,” he said with a smirk, “and if I hadn’t called, it would be the President of France sitting where we are now.”

Vex’s impressed-o-meter was practically through the roof. “You bribed the staff enough, to get them to reseat the President of their country?”

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I did.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at him, and her heart did a little dance. He called her sweetheart! She gazed out the window, down at the Cathedral below.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“How could I not?” she asked looking up again. “This has been the second most amazing day ever.”

“Only the second?” he asked curiously. The glow of the candles brought out the deep golds and oranges in his hair, some of which was loose from his ponytail, and glimmered in his eyes. “What would be the first?”

“Day before yesterday,” she told him. “When you came for me. I don’t think I told you yet, how deeply, deeply thankful I am. You rescued me, Syndrome.”

His eyes softened, and Vex thought she saw there, behind confusion and doubt, a spark of joy at this revelation. “You think so?”

“Not think, know. My soul was withering and dying as I was, and then you came, and you took me away. No matter what happens after this, whether we succeed or fail, whether I live or die, you saved me.” Vex poured her emotions out, letting them hang in the room like the candlelight, and hoping Syndrome would understand how she felt.

“I-“

That was when the Maitre D’ and a small bevy of other serving men bustled into the room with trays of food.

Vex felt very restrained and charitable as she gave them all a glare of death, for keeping herself from immediately jumping up and lighting all their kidneys on fire.

 

---

 

It was almost a relief for Syndrome to have the tension of such a vulnerable moment so rudely broken. That didn’t mean he was any less angry at the interruption, but it was nothing on the way the Vex was glaring at them.

Seeking to smooth the moment over, as the busybody waiters prepared things on the table, Syndrome quipped. “Is anything the matter? You seem, Vexed.”

Her gaze immediately snapped away from the offending serving men, and she gave a snorting sort of giggle. “You just love those bad puns, don’t you?”

“Why, do you find them pun ishing?”

Vex cringed, but still giggled. “Okay, that’s just not witty.”

“But it made you laugh,” he pointed out.

“Point,” she said, grinning bemusedly, as the waiters trooped from the room again. “So what is all this?” she asked, gesturing at the food laden table. “I missed the running commentary.”

“Yeah, that would be because you were too busy trying to make all the waiters’ heads explode,” he chuckled. “You should have seen their faces too. They thought you were going to jump up and stab them all with a fork.”

She laughed. “Then who would bring dinner? You still didn’t answer me, though.”

“There’s a good reason for that,” he explained wryly. “And that’s because I don’t have a clue either. But, I advise you to avoid it, if it looks like snails.”

She began to assemble a plate. “Let it never be said that I don’t trust you entirely too much.”

“What are you implying I’m not trustworthy?” he joked.

“Insert Jack Sparrow ‘honesty’ quote here,” she replied, pointing her fork at him.

“And now you’re implying that I’m dishonest,” he grinned, recalling the quote she was referencing.

Vex stared at him. “Oh. My god. You know the movie.”

“Of course I do, what, you think just because I was living on a remote island, plotting various nefarious schemes, I didn’t have time to watch movies?”

Actually, as Syndrome said this, he realized that was what most people would assume. One didn’t typically put the role of the villain together with the role of a geek. Unless you counted the sixth season of Buffy…

“I grovel at your feet,” Vex replied, making a little hailing motion, from her chair.

“Oh, really?” Syndrome smirked. “Maybe you should save that for after dinner.”

The fangirl’s face went bright red.

 

---

 

Violet had snuck downstairs and copied down the address and room number of where Mirage was staying. Luckily it was on a familiar bus route, and luckier still it was Saturday, so she could actually go.

“Mom, I’m going to go to the mall, okay?” she asked, leaning into the living room where her mother was sitting.

“Do you want me to drive you?” she looked up.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll catch the bus.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine, mom,” she assured her, and headed out the door.

She didn’t like lying to her mom, but it wasn’t as if she’d be able to get anyone to agree with her. And she just couldn’t do nothing. Sharon was in trouble, and it was up to Violet to help.

The bus ride was unpleasant, but mercifully short, ending in the expensive district of down town. That was another strike against Mirage in her book. If she was staying in this nice a hotel, Syndrome was definitely paying for it.

In the impressive hotel lobby, she quickly spotted a ladies room, and hurried inside. She put her normal clothes in the small duffle bag she had brought, and disappeared.

The stuffy hotel guy looked bored, and it was a cinch to creep up behind him and grab the spare room key. But now she had to be even more careful. One thing people would be really suspicious of? A room key floating midair.

She kept close to the wall, hoping the key would get lost in the patterned wall paper, and made her way up the stairs to the room. The stairs would be way safer than the elevator, since nobody took them except in emergencies.

Unfortunately, Violet realized as she stood outside Mirage’s door. She had another problem.

‘How can I get in, without her noticing the door open? Darn it, Violet,’ she thought to herself. ‘You have to think of these things before you rush off!’

She got an idea. It looked like the keys had been a waste of effort, since she wasn’t going to need them after all. She set them down on the floor, and knocked on the door.

Violet heard footsteps, and imagined Mirage looking through the peep hole and seeing no one. The footsteps retreated, and Vi only waited a second before knocking again.

“Who’s there?” came the muffled question from behind the heavy door.

Violet of course, said nothing.

Mirage retreated again, and Violet knocked a third time.

This time the footsteps were thumping and irritated. Violet heard the click of the door being unlocked and she crouched low to the ground.

Mirage pulled the door open fiercely. “Okay, who the hell is there?!”

As she did so, Violet slipped through the door, low to the ground, and hid in the closet, the door open just a crack so she could see and hear.

“Oh for goodness sake,” Mirage closed the door, exasperated. She collapsed on the bed, and turned on the TV.

‘Greeeeaaaat,’ Violet grumbled to herself, ‘Now all I have to do is wait here for her to actually do something. I am such a moron…’

 

---

 

“Thank you for dinner,” Vex said, kissing Syndrome as they exited the restaurant almost two hours later.

“My pleasure,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. “Now, shall we go pick up that costume of yours?”

An eager thrill went through her. In all the hours of shopping, and running around the city with Syndrome, she had almost completely forgotten the reason that he had brought her there.

“Definitely!” she said, keeping herself close to the man as they made their way to the car. The night had grown very cool, and the shawl just didn’t make up for not wearing a coat.

They clambered into the car, and Syndrome once again sped off toward Maurice’s shop.

“Can I ask you something without offending you?” she asked him, suddenly making the decision.

“I don’t know, can you?” he raised his eyebrows at her.

She turned, studying him, his long, amused face, boyish grin, fiery red hair, and asked carefully. “Will you tell me what your name was, before you became Syndrome?”

He glanced over at her. “If you want,” he shrugged.

“If you don’t want me to know, I understand.”

“Aw hell, you could find it easy on the internet,” he ran a hand over his jaw, and admitted, “It’s Buddy Pine. Short for Balthazar,” he cringed visibly on the last part.

“Buddy, huh? I kinda like that,” she told him.

“Start calling me by it and you go back to being Sharon,” he threatened half-seriously.

“I was about to say,” she added, “But I like Syndrome better.”

“Good,” he nodded approvingly and put his arm around her shoulder, steering with one hand.

It didn’t take them long to get back to Maurice’s, and when they did, the designer hurried out to meet them.

“Bon soir!” he greeted with an emphatic grin. “You ‘ave returned at just ze right time Mademoiselle, your attire is awaiting you in ze dressing room. Come, let us see how it looks, eh?”

Vex was honestly a little apprehensive about returning to the room where she’d had that weird delusion, but to get her costume, she would conquer it.

“I’ll be right out,” she told them, smiling at Syndrome, and clicked the door shut behind her.

The suit was hanging on a peg, and Vex inspected it as she took it down. It was made of a shiny, stretchy material, which glowed rather like leather, stretched like spandex, and felt like no fabric she’d ever touched. The body was in one piece, like a bathing suit, and she discovered as she put in on, that Maurice had not been deceiving her when he said the parts that looked vulnerable were actually covered. She sat down on the chair, and pulled the boots on next, then the gloves, and then buckled the belt so that it fell loosely around her hips.

That, she discovered in the mirror, looked pretty snazzy by itself, but there were two more pieces before it would be complete. With a sort of reverence that she was sure only fangirls knew the feeling of, she took down the cape and mask. She affixed the cape to where it connected to the suit at her shoulders, and watching her own transformation in the mirror, held the mask in the palm of her hand, and slowly, slowly touched it to her face.

She looked up.

There stood proudly some sort of dark knight, kin to the Sith lords, or the Generals of the Negaverse. This was the embodiment of everything regal, and powerful, mysterious, and slightly cruel. The beauty of the night sky with stars overshadowed.

No, she realized. Not the embodiment. The radiation of it. All that was buried within her, and the costume simply let people know it was there. Not a disguise, a warning.

As she turned to look at herself, the cape billowed and waved slightly, responding to the tiny motions of her shoulders, but something more troubling caught her eye.

There was a small amount of blood on the mirror, where she had touched it that morning.

Vex peeled off one of her gloves, and licked her thumb. Hesitantly, she touched the mirror. When her hand didn’t go through, she gained confidence, and rubbed the glass, trying to wipe away the crimson smudge. But it wouldn’t be washed clean, though she scrubbed at it fiercely.

Frustrated, and rather alarmed, Vex peered closer, and discovered that the mark wasn’t on the surface of the glass, as she had though, but scattered within it, as though the maker had bled upon it as it was made.

‘It must have been there before,’ she rationalized. ‘A complete coincidence.’

She turned sharply, her cape swishing around her heels, and opened the door.

It was the same reaction from the morning, only more so, and this time Vex grinned confidently.

She grabbed the edge of the cape, and bowed sweepingly, imitating the cartoon villains she had idolized for so long.

Syndrome chuckled, and reached down, pulling her face up. “Get up,” he said, “You’re making me feel underdressed.”

Vex laughed, standing immediately, and hugging him tightly. “Other than that, how do I look?”

“Wickedly wonderful, darkly dazzling, villainously vivacious…”

“And other Marvel comics-esque alliterative epithets?” she grinned.

“Exactly.”

Vex pulled his shoulders down slightly, and leaned upwards, kissing him deeply, not wanting to let go. Syndrome was her super villain, one whose heart she didn’t have to patiently share with other fangirls, or anyone else. He had stalked her, and rescued her, and made her his subordinate. Just her. Nobody else could have him.

“Interesting,” Syndrome mused, as they finally parted, smirking down at her.

“Oh?”

Maurice coughed, and Vex found him standing there, arms crossed. “If ze two of you are quite finished?”

Vex pouted at him, beginning to think that people in general really liked interrupting her and Syndrome.

 

---

 

Violet was startled out of a near drowse when the phone rang. Suddenly, she was alert, and awake, and listening for every scrap of the conversation that she could hear.

“How do you know that name?… Oh, that’s right. But, how’d you get this number?… What kind of information?”

Violet’s ears pricked up. This was just the thing that she had been waiting for! Obviously, one of Syndrome’s old henchman was on the phone.

“You know where Syndrome is?”

‘Score!’ Violet grinned to herself. ‘Now come, on, tell me where he is…’

“Keep talking….” Mirage scrambled in the dresser drawer for something “… I do now.”

Mirage repeated a set of coordinates she was being given, as she wrote them down, and Violet committed them to memory.

“Yes… Just one thing. How did you find him?… Hello? Hello?”

She hung up the phone.

‘Yes!’ Violet congratulated herself. ‘I didn’t come here for nothing! Now, how do I get out? Should I wait for Mirage to leave?’

That was probably the wisest thing to do, but Violet didn’t know how long it would be until the woman did decide to go anywhere. Luckily, soon after the phone conversation had ended, Mirage got up and headed to the bathroom. Hastily acting on the opportunity, Violet crept from the closet, and out of the hotel room.

To be continued…

dKiWi: Thank you very much, I love getting reviews, the more the better. The Nomanisan island thing was a conclusion I arrived to shortly after seeing the movie the second time, when I was considering the relationship between Incrediboy and Syndrome. I am so glad you like my interpretation.

CD Anders: Is Mikhail alive? That’s a good question. I suppose you’ll have to keep reading to find out, won’t you? (evil grin) Long live the Ock Coat!

RavensHaelo: Beware of crystal gazing, it can be… misleading. Or truthful. Or both. Mikhail scares you?… interesting….

Shadow Fox Forever: I’m glad it didn’t take long too!

See ya tomorrow!!

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: I’ll mention now that this is another bridge chapter; so don’t expect a lot of action, so much as reflection. Next chapter is when the ‘fun’ really begins. Oh, and go check out my deviantart account, greer-the-raven .deviantart. com for some new Syndrome art!! More coming this evening, so check back later!

Disclaimer: Disney/Pixar owns the Incredibles. Not me, sadly.

Chapter 15: Making Plans

It had taken Mikhail the better part of the day to come to a proper town. Upon doing so, he dumped the still unconscious form of the driver by the side of the road, and drove off. He was sure someone would be along to assist him in a few minutes or so. Mikhail, however, had urgent business elsewhere.

He spent the better part of the night finding another town, and, upon doing so, checked into a seedy motel. This was made more awkward than it should have been, as Mikhail’s skin had not lost the blue sheen that it had gained in the icy wasteland. Mikhail glared at the attendant, and he handed over the room keys.

Mikhail had collapsed into the tattered chair in the corner of the room, and picked up the phone. He dialed a number that would have been very familiar to his father. “Hello? This is Mikhail Rasputin. Yes… Yes. I have a favor to beg of you…”

 

---

 

Before they had started the flight back to Siberia, they’d had to load all the various and sundry things that had been bought in Paris. Vex, who was back in the outfit that Syndrome had bought for her that morning, sat rather wearily in her accustomed chair.

It had been a long day. A good day, yes. But still tiring. If the plane ride were any longer she’d have let herself fall asleep, but as it was, she would rather stay up the next two hours.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” she asked.

“Oh, tomorrow’s when things really get started,” Syndrome replied with a grin. “That’s when the hired help will be arriving.”

“Neat,” Vex nodded. So tomorrow things really started getting up and running. “I always wondered how one actually ran a secret evil base.”

“Easy. Make sure everyone knows what they’re supposed to be doing, and delegate responsibility for all tasks that don’t vitally require your attention.”

“That makes sense,” she nodded.

“Well good, because some of that is obviously going to be delegated on to you.”

“Obviously,” she was, after all, his lieutenant, and that couldn’t all consist of trips to Paris. Where would the fun in that be, anyway? “What sort of things?”

“Oh, overseeing that the minions are doing their job, mostly. Like anybody else, if they don’t know they’re being watched, they won’t get anything done.”

She got minions to command? Now that was just awesome. How many people could say they had honest to god minions? “Sounds fine to me. What time are they supposed to be coming?”

“Mid to late afternoon.”

“Okay,” she nodded. Then she thought of something. “Hey Syndrome, can I use one of the computers tomorrow morning?”

“Any time you like, just, don’t mess with the security without telling me.”

“Of course not! I just have a few fics and things I want to check up on.” Not only that, but her account at deviantart was probably full to brimming with deviations her friends had posted. She hated going for days without checking it, because then she could never give the messages the attention they warranted.

“Then that’s fine,” he smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she grinned sheepishly. “Practically living out a Mary-Sue fic of my own and I still want to read the stuff. What can I say? I’m a fangirl.”

“I wouldn’t change it,” he assured her.

“Oh good.”

Vex yawned. She was more tired than she had thought. ‘Oh well,’ she thought to herself. ‘I might as well get comfortable at the very least.

She shifted herself in the chair, and laid her head on Syndrome’s shoulder.

“Vex?” Syndrome asked a moment later.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” she snuggled her head up against his warm, soft body.

“I wanted to… apologize”

She looked up at him, wondering what he could possibly think he had done to offend her. “What for?”

Syndrome sighed heavily. “For the way I tested you yesterday. I should have trusted you from the beginning.”

Vex shook her head slowly. “It’s okay. I understand. Someone you thought loved you just betrayed you, and so you didn’t quite trust anybody. I’d probably be the same way.”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “So, you aren’t mad?”

“No, I’m not mad at you at all,” she murmured. She wasn’t upset with him. And now that he had apologized, she was almost angry with herself, for having been a bit upset before. But it didn’t really matter right now. What mattered was that Syndrome liked her, and wanted her around, and had duties for her, and didn’t mind that she was a silly fangirl. Lying up against Syndrome made her feel even sleepier than before and soon she was drowsing.

 

---

 

Vex’s breathing became slower and steadier, and Syndrome knew that she had fallen asleep. He smiled slightly, and petted her cheek, glad that she wasn’t angry, or hurt.

He was glad also, that he’d managed to ask her about her feelings. He had been right all along, she did like him.

And boy did that suit look good on her…

Tomorrow operations would finally begin. And after that, he could get some more research done on Rasputin’s findings. There was something important there, Syndrome knew it. If he located the source of Super powers, well, Rasputin may not have cracked the secret of bestowing them, but it seemed he had the art of taking them away.

If ever there was a way to truly rip apart someone’s soul, it would have to be to take away his powers.

Syndrome spent the rest of the plane ride contemplating and planning. When they arrived back in the hangar of the base, Vex was still sound asleep and she looked so peaceful and happy that he couldn’t bring himself to wake her. Instead he scooped her up in his arms, and carried her inside, and down to her personal apartments.

He laid her down on the bed, and removed the most uncomfortable looking articles she was wearing, the glasses, shoes and jewelry, and set them by the bed before covering her up with the soft, cream-colored coverlets.

“Good night,” he told her softly, and left the room.

 

---

 

Vex was surprised to wake up in her bed, after all, when she’d fallen asleep, it had been on the plane. And instead of waking up cold and stiff, clambering down and inside, she was already warm and comfortable.

‘Syndrome must have carried you,’ she thought to herself, smiling happily and hugging the big pillow on which her head had been resting. She rolled over, looking for a clock, before remembering that she still didn’t have one!

‘Well, grr on that,’ she pouted. ‘I better filch one from the barracks before all the minions arrive tonight.’

She yawned, and stretched, feeling amazingly good and well rested. Sitting up she noticed that the boxes of clothing she had bought were stacked in a corner. She felt vaguely guilty about him lugging them all up the stairs, until she realized he’d have just zapped them with him gloves. Like telekinesis.

Vex swung herself out of bed, and decided, ‘it’s time for a shower’. The bathroom in her private quarters wasn’t nearly as opulent as the one in the hallway, but that was more of a swimming pool, really, and that wasn’t what she wanted.

She peeled her clothing off, and turned the tap so that water hissed and steamed down from the spigot. She stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

The first spray of water on her cold shoulders was startling, and also rejuvenating. The room filled up with a hot, misty steam as she stood there, just luxuriating in the feeling of the heat against her skin.

It was the first familiar, comfortable, safe thing she had done in three days. It wasn’t spending horrendously large amounts of money that she couldn’t bear to think about on clothes that she hadn’t known she wanted. But it wasn’t worrying about whether or not she would have her homework done on time, either. It wasn’t loyally snuffing out the life of a man she had known for an hour and a half at best. Nor was it wasn’t sitting alone in the lunchroom with a notebook and a package of Twinkies. It wasn’t falling into a mirror, or turning her back on the only friend she had or running away from home with what she could fit in a duffle bag, and leaving her mother to grieve.

There was good and bad in every possible life. Her life wasn’t perfect, it never would be, but it was getting pretty damn close. She wouldn’t take back any of it. ‘We all are our choices; we are who we make ourselves. And I, narcissist that I am, happen to like myself quite a bit at the moment.’

But for the moment, she didn’t have to make any choices. She could just forget who she was altogether, neither Sharon, nor Vex, and simply be. This was purely a hot, relaxing shower, making her forget all the doubts that played in her mind.

After she had scrubbed herself thoroughly, and the water was threatening to turn less than pleasantly warm, she turned off the tap, and grabbed a large, fluffy green towel, drying herself off. Her dark brown locks hung damply in her face, as she grabbed her glasses and rubbed the steam off with the corner of the cloth. She breathed in the moist, sauna-like air and felt happy.

After dressing in a fuzzy, tunic-style sweater, and corduroy pants, she grabbed the bag with her disks and CDs, and the CD player and headed out of the room. Doing as she had promised herself she grabbed one of the little digital clocks from the barracks and shoved it in her pocket before going down to the control room. It turned out that it was only eight in the morning. She wondered if Syndrome was up yet?

If he was, he was still in his private suite, because he wasn’t in security, nor did any of the camera’s display his whereabouts. That was fine with Vex. ‘I’ll have some time to get a little guilt free fan time in,’ she thought as she switched on the computers.

Unfortunately this was harder than Vex had anticipated. Wither Deviantart, it seemed, was having issues, or Syndrome’s computer was. She was almost ready to give up, when it finally allowed itself to display.

And then her account was gone.

Vex swore violently, and began to set up a new account. ‘After days I finally got the stupid thing to accept devi-art’ she exaggerated in her journal, and proceeded to wrathfully embellish her tribulations.

 

---

 

Violet had decided to wait and see what Mirage did, before doing anything herself. She wanted to see if the woman would do as she had said she would, and tell her father. If she didn’t, Violet would… what?

Tell her father that she had lied about where she was going and stalked Mirage? Oh yeah, he would so love that.

‘Can you say, ‘grounded’?’ Violet grumbled to herself. ‘What am I supposed to do then, go find Sharon myself? I don’t even know where these coordinates are for.’

Well, she could fix that easily enough she supposed. Just go look it up on the internet, unfortunately, she knew Dash was using it at the moment, playing some dumb game no doubt.

So what would she do, if Mirage didn’t say anything? Maybe call her own father and anonymously tip him? How could she change her voice enough that it wouldn’t be recognized?

Nobody had ever told Violet that being a super hero was going to be so difficult. Or was it just being a teenager? If she were older she could just run off and rescue Sharon, easy. That was how it was done after all. How could you be a super hero when you had to worry about homework and curfews?

‘How can you be a super hero when your only powers are to make yourself invisible and cast force fields?’ Violet couldn’t fight, all she could do was defend herself, and run away.

‘Maybe I should ask mom if I can enroll in a martial arts class,’ she thought to herself.

 

---

 

Syndrome had gotten up rather later than he had expected to. He donned his costume, hair and everything, He’d be wearing it almost all the time again, now that things were finally moving forward. As he wandered downstairs to the kitchen, blue and black cape billowing out behind him, he noticed that Vex was obviously already awake. She had left her door open.

In the kitchen, he grabbed the last package of pop-tarts out of the box. Sugary, quick, filling, easy to eat, and oh-so bad for you, they had fed him throughout most of his life. As an added bonus, they weren’t messy, so he could eat them no matter what he doing. The Omnidroid mark one had had a few toaster pastry crumbs alongside it’s wiring.

Syndrome dusted his hands together, brushing the sugar-crumbs from his gloves, and decided it was time to get to work. It wouldn’t be as early a start as he had hoped for, but he still had an hour or two before he’d have to orient the mercenaries who’d be arriving.

When he arrived at the control room, he found Vex sitting, her back to the door, at the computer, hanging around her deviantart page, with music playing loudly from the stereo.

Syndrome grinned and swaggered up behind her, he put his arms over her shoulders, and his face by here. “Boo.”

“Eep!” Vex squeaked, jumping in her seat. “You startled me!”

“No, really?” he smirked and asked curiously, “So, what have you been up to?”

“Snarking at your stupid computer. Deviantart ate my page or something, and now somebody is bitching me out for exaggerating in my journal, and not knowing computers very well.”

“Sounds fun,” he replied sarcastically. “What do you mean it ate your page?”

“The whole thing’s gone, all my art, journals, page views. The whole shebang. I had to start a new one.”

“That sucks,” he sympathized. “You need to get dressed soon, you know.”

She looked up at him in confusion.

“You can’t greet minions in that,” he explained, tapping the edge of his mask for emphasis.

“Oh, oh right! Duh,” she shook her head. “Sorry, lost in fangirl land. I’ll go change now.”

He nodded as she got up. “You mind if I close this? I need to get some work done.”

“it’s fine,” she said, walking out of the room. “Could you log me out of my account before you do?”

“Yeah.”

He looked at the page she had left it on, and contemplated reading her journal. After all, if she put it on the net it was fair game, right? He decided against it though, if he did, he might spend all day nosing around the site, and there were things he needed to do.

He logged Vex out, and pulled up Rasputin’s files.

 

---

 

Hours later Mikhail was beginning to come to terms with the fact that his skin was, in all likelihood, going to be permanently blue. It was simply another injustice that Syndrome had served him. Well, Mikhail Rasputin was going to do his very best to pay the man back.

Reconnecting with his father’s mob connections had been an easy thing, especially since the organization was in fact, in debt to the Rasputins for a few key services that had been provided. Mikhail had never quite known what his father had done for them, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. He didn not relish working with criminals, but if that was what it took to get his justice, then so be it.

The favor he had asked was to locate for him the current location of a woman he knew might want Syndrome as dead as he did. It had been a simple task, and Mikhail had not hesitated to call her, and tell her where the man was. Now he simply had to see what would come of such an action. If his guess was right, she would pass responsibility off on to a much more elusive character, one who would be able to better help Mikhail further his goals.

That man was the hero Mr. Incredible, who had brought Syndrome low not two weeks prior. Mikhail wasn’t a fool. He knew that his talents would not stand up to Syndrome’s alone. But, so help him, it would be his own hands that snapped the villain’s neck.

To be continued…

RavensHaelo: Yay!! Refrences rock. I’m glad you got them. Personally, I couldn’t eat snails, it would just squick me out too much.

Maya Beebop: Even in real life, doesn’t it always feel like every time you’re starting to get into something, someone comes along and ruins your fun? I’m glad you like me having Violet in it, I told ya it wouldn’t all be just Vex. Violet is an integral, integral part of the plot.

Shadow Fox Forever: Designing costumes is hard.

WormmonABC: No, I don’t have a beta. Once CCR is completely finished, I will go back and edit it the way I did when I wrote Darwinian Rhapsody. Hehe. Ock-coat.

Megan The Vampire Slayer: Can do.

VegetandAru I was wondering where you’d disappeared to! Glad to know you’re still liking the fic.

Megarabelle: Glad you like the idea. There should be more up there soon.

 

 

Comics, Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Due to familial matters, I am no longer able to update at the frantic once a day pace that I started with. Trust me, this is not my choice. Chapters will be posted every other day, or every three days, depending on how vindictive my father is feeling.

Yeah, here I am, 19 on the 15th of January, still whining about the same problems I had writing fanfic when I was 15…

I recomend if you haven’t already, that you go check Deviantart for new CCR stuff.

A note on the rating of this fic. The movie the Incredibles was rated PG, so therefore, in a PG-13 fanfic, I am allowing myself to show and imply as much as was done so in the movie. Nyah.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all related characters belong to Disney/Pixar. No money is made from this endeavor.

Chapter 16: Mercenary Tactics

Violet had been asleep when she heard the phone ring, lost in a sea of tangled blankets and tangled thoughts. The clock on her dresser said it was only eleven at night, not long after she had gone to bed. Long strands of black hair falling over her face, she strained to hear the telephone as it was answered.

“Hello?” it was her mother who picked up. “Oh, Mirage, Bob said you might call… No, he’s out right now.”

Violet’s eyes widened, so Mirage had decided to call after all. Not something Vi had expected, but definitely a good thing. Well, probably a good thing. At least it meant that she wasn’t going to have figure out how to tell dad about her little spy adventure.… Probably. Too bad she couldn’t hear what Mirage was saying.

“Yes, he did tell ?… Of course, go ahead.”

The raven haired girl pulled the blanket up over her shoulders as she sat up quietly.

“Okay. Thank you… yes. We’ll check it out… Are you going to-? I’ll tell Bob you called….Bye.”

She heard the phone hang up, and quickly lay back down as her mother walked past her door, which was open a crack. The look on her mother’s face was of mild consternation, concerned, but not quite worried.

‘Am I the only one who is freaking out over this?’ Violet demanded of herself. ‘Is this like so typical for mom and dad that they don’t even care?’

Of course, technically nobody knew that Sharon was a friend of hers. Yeah, she might have mentioned her once or twice around the house, but it wasn’t something she’d gone around displaying publicly. Maybe if Violet had actually shared that information with someone, there would be a little more upset. But as it was, Sharon was just some girl who had been kidnapped, probably killed. Oops, sorry, nothing we can do.

Now Violet felt pretty bad, like she had been a pretty rotten friend. Not that it was all her fault, by any means. After all, shouldn’t a high school Junior have friends with like, cars, and stuff? And not hanging around with somebody barely old enough to go to the mall by herself, Vi added ruefully.

Maybe she should tell somebody how much this was upsetting her. But then, they were probably already going to go check it out tomorrow, as her mother had implied on the phone, so why bother? Why bother whining about it when it would probably be fixed up anyway?

She pulled the covers up over her chin. They’d bust into wherever Syndrome was hiding, kick his butt, and Sharon would be back in school on Monday.

 

---

 

Vex was draped over one of the chairs in the control room, cape dangling near the floor, doodling in her sketchbook. Syndrome had usurped the main screen, and had asked her to monitor the security feeds and alert him when the plane arrived. So she sat; one eye on her work, one eye on the screens, vaguely bored, vaguely excited.

She was erasing a graphite smudge on the paper, when she saw an approaching aircraft on one of the outer long range cameras.

“They’re here,” she said, nodding to the screen.

Syndrome looked up from his terminal. “Good. I showed you how to open the hangar, so do that for me, then we’ll go up.”

She nodded, and sat up to the keyboard, lowering the base defenses, and opening the hatch for the plane to enter. Syndrome stood, and reached a hand out to her. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, leading her out of the control room.

“So,” Vex asked, jumping on the chance to actually get her question answered. “What exactly are these guys? You mentioned want-ads but that really doesn’t tell me much.”

“They’re mercs,” he explained, as they climbed into the elevator.

‘Ah,’ Vex thought. ‘Now that makes sense.’ Mercenaries, sell-swords. Men who fought for the highest bidder.

“Don’t let them intimidate you,” Syndrome continued warningly. “Yeah, they’re grizzly and think they’re tough, but after me, you are the one in charge of them. And they’ll give you the respect you deserve, because otherwise, they break their contract.” He smirked.

She nodded, thinking, ‘Rule number one, show them who’s boss. “Right. They won’t intimidate me, Syn.”

“Good. Oh, by the way, I inputted a lower level access code for the security doors, to give to the mercs. So, make sure when you’re entering yours that there’s no one watching you.”

“Got it,” she nodded a second time. ‘Rule number two,’ she thought, ‘don’t trust the minions.’

The elevator opened at the far back of the terminal, and she and Syndrome stepped out, lingering beside it, as the plane came in for a landing. As it did, Vex felt a rush of cold air, and saw the light of the grey Siberian sky. She was glad the base was so well heated, though the costume, she noticed, kept her quite well insulated.

The plane was huge, much, much larger than Syndrome’s little private jet, easily seating a hundred people, plus cargo. Vex waited impatiently with Syndrome as the plane came to a stop, and a few minutes later, the mercenaries began to disembark.

She followed Syndrome toward the large crowd, trying to imbue her steps with the same confidence that he walked with. It wasn’t difficult, as all she had to do was to let herself fall into the pattern of the malicious duchess she was wont to role-play.

They must have made quite the impressive pair, she thought, clothed in black, capes billowing behind the, The mercenaries certainly all stopped their chatter at their approach, and gave them full attention.

“Gentlemen,” Syndrome said loudly, clasping his hands behind her back, adding, in deference to the few rather macho looking women scattered through the crowd, “and ladies. I am Syndrome, your employer, and this is Vexxation, my second in command.” He gestured to her.

Vex looked up, and nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

“From this day forward you will carry out any orders given by myself, or Vexxation. Without question. Of course, all of this is outlined in your contracts. Therefore, those of you who have been hired in a specialized capacity, please follow me. The rest of you, the first order of business is to remove the cargo from this plane. My second will show you where to put it. You may claim your personal belongings after this has been carried out.”

“The tech labs?” Vex murmured to him.

“Yep.”

Vex waited as all of the mercs filed over, and piled large boxes from the plane. She crossed her arms, and resisted the urge to tap her foot. Instead she looked over at Syndrome, who was overseeing the technicians, and leading them down into the base, for some kind of briefing, Vex assumed. She loved the air of command he possessed, his eyebrows raised imperiously, and his cape brushing her heels.

When all of the cargo had been pulled from the aircraft, and it seemed each mercenary had as much as he could carry, she strode toward them.

“Follow me, thank you,” she said. “The freight elevator is this way.”

It was one thing to have minions who respected you; it was another to have them think you were a heartless ice bitch. The first was productive, the second was not.… Unless you were dealing with Youma, she recalled, thinking of Mark Latus’ fanfiction ‘Thy Kingdom Come’, but these were regular people, not soulless demons.

She led the first dozen or so men into the elevator, “Wait here,” she told the rest, as she rode down to the second level of the base. The freight elevator opened up into the large, empty technical laboratories.

“Pile it against the wall,” she instructed. “and then wait here. It doesn’t have to be unpacked yet.”

As the mercs worked, Vex headed back upstairs to get the next batch.

‘See?’ she pointed out to herself. ‘Not hard at all, huh? Tell them what to do, and they do it,’

After she had led the last of them down into the labs, and all of the boxes were neatly stacked she dismissed the lot of them to go get their things, as Syndrome had mentioned. Now what to do? She wandered over to one of the door panels, and pressed the PA on it.

“Syndrome, please respond to terminal… 15,” she glanced at the number, as her words rang out through the base.

A moment later Syndrome’s face appeared on the intercom screen. “What’s up Vex?”

“It’s all unloaded, I sent them to get their junk,” she replied.

“Good, I have one of the techies posted by the plane to point out the barracks. They should be bickering over who sleeps where for the next hour or so,” the red-head rolled his eyes.

“Oh, fun,” she giggled. “Just like summer camp.”

“Summer camp… of doom!” Syndrome wiggled his eyebrows comically.

Vex burst out laughing. “Has anyone ever told you that you remind them a bit of Bobby Buttnick from ‘Salute Your Shorts’?”

“That’s low Vex,” he grinned.

“Come on, the hair, the freckles, the eyes, the attitude?” she chuckled. “You two could practically be twins!”

He shook his head amusedly. “They’re setting up in the security room, come down and see me in the main lab, okay?”

“Will do,” she smiled.

“Syndrome out,” he smirked, the display going black.

Vex laughed happily as she took the elevator down to the main lab. Syndrome just made her so happy, happy like nobody else ever had. It was completely insane, here on the one had was this driven, dominating genius, who made her melt like putty inside, and on the other hand, here again was this dorky fanboy she could share in-jokes with, who just made her giggle and want to give him a big glomp. Vex didn’t know what she could possibly have done to get so lucky, or if she should be worried that there was some huge jolt of karma just waiting to spring on her and say ‘Ha! Gotcha that time, didn’t I?’

Vex pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the hard lump of silver beneath her costume, her Loki pendant. ‘Keep me lucky,’ she begged silently. ‘At least for a little while longer.’

The elevator stopped at the lab, and she stepped out. Syndrome was sitting in a swiveling chair, his back toward her, and Vex saw the opportunity to repay him for startling her earlier. She crept up silently behind him, and dove to his shoulders with a glomping hug.

Or at least she tried to.

At the least she tried to, because, at the last second, he turned the chair around, and grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap, and kissing her before she could recover from her surprise. Vex reveled in the warmth and strength of his embrace as their tongues wrestled and caressed.

“Aw,” she pouted, as the kiss ended, “How’d you know I was coming?”

He pointed at the monitor in front of him. “Cameras, sweetheart.”

“Tch, cheater,” she crossed her arms, resting her body against his.

“Hey, you knew I was a villain when you ran off with me,” he pointed out, brushing her cheek at the point just below her mask.

“Oh sure, counter me with logic,” she smirked, wrapping her arms around him.

“Well I can’t just let you walk all over me, now can I?”

“No, that wouldn’t do at all,” she breathed, as he leaned down and pulled her into another kiss, running his fingers over the sensitive spots on her sides. Vex shivered.

“Nice as this is,” Syndrome murmured, “Why don’t we take it, elsewhere?”

 

---

 

Violet’s mom and dad were having a conversation at the breakfast table when she wandered in that morning. She lingered behind the doorway, just in case they were inclined to stop when she entered.

“It’s only reconnaissance, Helen, there’s no need for you to come along,” her father said.

“Oh, yeah, because we both know how well that worked last time.”

“Look, if you come, who’ll watch the kids?”

“The kids don’t need watching anymore, Bob they can take care of themselves for a little while.”

“And we both know how well leaving them home alone worked last time,” her father replied, throwing back the earlier sentiment.

“Oh, so you want to bring them along?”

“That’s not what I said. I think you should all stay here.”

“Because you prefer to work alone?”

“No. Because I don’t think we need that many people just to see if Syndrome’s really there or not. “

“And what if it goes bad, what then Bob? For all you know, this could be another trap!”

“Mirage said-“

Violet’s mother cut him off mid-sentence. “And you believe her?”

“I can’t believe you don’t,” Bob shot back. “After everything she did to help us You don’t trust her because you happened to walk in when she was having an emotional moment.”

“I don’t trust her, Bob,” she said, sounding highly offended, “Because she worked for Syndrome for years. Because she helped him kill supers. You think she didn’t know what she was doing? You can’t just erase that, Bob, can’t make that go away. One good deed doesn’t stop her from being an accomplice to… to genocide .”

“I’m not trying to say she was right, Helen, or excuse her action in any way.”

“No, you’re trying to defend her.”

“Because she’s changed.”

“So you say.”

Violet was practically holding her breath as her parents argued. Truth told, she sided completely with her mother, well, except for the part about having to stay at home. She was glad that somebody shared her opinion of Mirage, unlike her father, who seemed half in love with her, or her brother who definitely had a crush. ‘Men!’ she though scornfully. Dangle a blonde bimbo in front of their faces and it won’t matter if she had a knife to their throat.

The young super took it upon herself at this point to stop the fight, and putting on her most cheerful face, strolled into the kitchen as if she hadn’t heard anything. “Morning mom, dad,” she said smiling. “What’s for breakfast.”

“Oh, good morning honey,” her mother greeted, the argument suddenly buried with a single consolidating look between the two adults. ‘I didn’t cook anything yet, but I can make you something if…”

“No, I’ll have cereal,” she said, pulling a box of corn pops out of the cupboard. “It’s fine.”

She grabbed a bowl, and the milk and slumped down at the table.

“Is Dash still asleep?” her father asked.

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “No cartoons on Sunday.”

Violet had resolved last night not to mention Sharon as her friend, but it seemed that if she didn’t, she was definitely going to be left behind when they went to tackle Syndrome. She heaved a large sigh.

“Is something wrong, honey?” her mother asked. “You seem down.”

“It’s not that boy you’re seeing, is it?” her father added.

“No… It’s not Tony,” Violet shook her head.

“What is it, Violet?”

“Well. It’s just my friend, Sharon, she wasn’t in school on Friday, and I’m really worried about her, because it says on the news that she was kidnapped.”

Bob and Helen Parr exchanged a look, and her mother nodded almost imperceptibly. Violet’s father put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“Violet, it… looks like your friend was kidnapped by Syndrome.”

“What?” Violet demanded, feigning disbelief. “But he’s dead!”

“It looks like we were wrong on that.”

“Vi,” her mother broke in, sighing. “Your father and I were going to do some reconnaissance on where we think Syndrome might be hiding. Would you like to come along?” Helen gave her husband a withering look that said ‘cross me if you dare’.

“Yeah. Thanks mom.”

 

---

 

Later the same day Syndrome made sure that all of his new minions had their matching uniforms and body armor, and everyone was scheduled for their various duties. A lot of them were busy assembling the equipment in the tech lab, a process Vex was dutifully overseeing. Syn glowed warmly when he thought of the girl’s soft kisses and warm smile. Mirage, for all her dignity and beauty had often been cold and aloof, whereas Vex was so warm, and full of life.

In the main lab, he worked on one monitor, combing Rasputin’s files for information on his various projects and the equipment still in the lab, while he had another monitor linked to the camera feed, watching Vex as she stood, long hair falling in front of her mask, while the mercenaries assembled equipment.

‘Do I really look like Bobby Buttnick?” he wondered to himself amusedly, recalling her earlier words. ‘Well, maybe a little.’ Except the actor had a much narrower face than the villain did.

Syndrome’s thoughts jumped immediately as he caught sight of a potentially useful file. Dampener notes. If that was what he thought it was…

As his blue eyes skimmed across the page, a grin spread over his face. This was it.

“By applying a certain type of energy in constant amount it has been successfully tested that an extraordinary metabolism may in fact be suppressed entirely. The method involves a field of a certain wave length, which must be constantly applied, as the Para-waves which cause said metabolism are constantly in a state of replenishment. Following here in is a log of the information relating to the constant filtering of para-waves.”

This was exactly what he wanted. Or at least… a brilliant place to start.

 

---

 

Vex stood quietly watching the mercs from a corner. It was a simple, if boring task, as they didn’t need much direction. The technical mercs were there to show them how it was done. She was just there to look authoritative. Darth Vader overseeing the Death Star’s completion, or something.

She sighed, and wondered if a cup of coffee would ruin her image. The thought of a hot mocha cappuccino filled her mind with the remembered aroma. She glanced over at the workers, who were all quite busy. Surely no one would miss her if she just ran off and got something to drink out of the pantry?

She turned on her heel, cape swooping around her ankles dramatically (god she loved how it did that) and walked out of the tech lab into the elevator. As it descended slowly, she rested her shoulders peacefully against the wall. Her life was perfect. Handsome, funny, intelligent man who would give her anything she wanted? Check. Vengeance on all who had wronged them soon to be carried out? Check. World soon to be at their feet? Also check.

Vex sighed dreamily, thinking of the bright freckles that adorned Syndrome’s face beneath his mask. The elevator doors parted, and she stepped out into the private apartments. Inside the well stocked pantry, she was unfortunately unable to find anything resembling a cappuccino machine. But she did find a regular coffee maker, and there was plenty of milk and sugar, and maybe she would even put some chocolate syrup in it…

She peeled off her long gloves and began to rinse out the coffee pot with cool water. Running her fingers beneath the faucet she felt a sudden strange tingling deep inside her chest, and a horrible dizziness gripped her. Vex cringed, and swallowed hard, but the sensation didn’t go away, in fact it got worse. She started to cough, harsh, racking chokes, and she set the pot down, holding up her hands to her mouth as she doubled over before the sink.

For a minute her head was spinning, and she couldn’t breathe; there was nothing but the coughing. And then as suddenly as the sensation had begun, it was gone, and Vex was left wheezing, clutching the side of the sink with one hand. Slowly, gaspingly, she regained her breath, and the spinning feeling in her head subsided.

‘What the hell was that,’ she demanded to herself, her throat feeling like it had been torn apart with hooks. She grabbed a glass, and drank the sweet, cold water. The first sip burned somewhat, but then it began to feel better again. Vex sighed deeply. She’d probably just, swallowed a bit of dust or something.

‘Oh yeah, because dust can totally-‘

She stopped mid thought. There was blood on her hand, and on the lip of the glass that she had been drinking from. Vex reached up, and wiped her lip, feeling a hot, sticky substance. She had coughed up blood.

As she stared, the glass, which she had been holding tightly, slipped from her grasp, and shattered on the floor, breaking into a million tiny pieces. Vex felt sick to her stomach. She had been holding the glass. She hadn’t let go of it, had she? And yet there it was, in pieces.

She sat down heavily in the chair by the table, gripping the back of it tightly, trembling. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

To be continued…

CD Anders: What real things are you referring to? I assure you, I’ve done things similar to this, and never had difficulty, if it’s the deviantart page you’re referring to.

WormmonABC: Eee! Someone who likes my fluff! hug Go check my d-art page. One of the drawings you requested is up.

Artymas: A crush on Mikhail? Hehehehe. Interesting choice…

Shadow Fox Forever: If you take over the world? I want France.

Like I said, I won’t be updating every day anymore, at least not until the holidays are over, but I will as close to it as possible.

 

 

Comics, Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Fanart announcements!! You go see Crittarka’s deviantart account. She has a lovely, lovely portrayal of Syn from the first chapter, and RavensHaelo did a great rendition of Syn and Vex. It’s in her scraps section.

As for me, I put up a little piece of Vi fanart.

This is a rather short, but very important chapter.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome and all affiliated characters and ideas are property of Disney/Pixar.

Chapter 17: Inner Dialogue, Inner Demons, Identity

Vex sat hugging the back of the chair, her body shaking with fear, and hurt. Glass shattered on the floor, blood on her hands and lips.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered to herself, staring at the glittering pieces of glass. ‘Something’s wrong with me…’

Blood and glass, dizziness. The mirror she’d dismissed. There wasn’t a way to dismiss this, not when it felt like someone had taken a hook and dragged it up her larynx. Vex dragged the tips of her clean fingers across her throat, unable to sooth the pain inside.

‘You should tell Syndrome,’ one part of her whispered. ‘He’ll know what’s wrong. He’ll know what to do.’

‘No! That’s stupid,’ another part insisted. ‘There’s nothing wrong. So you coughed a little bit, so what? Why is that suddenly so scary for you? Don’t be such a weakling.’

She sat shuddering as her inner demons warred between panic and self reliance. She must look ridiculous now, hugging a chair like some frightened little girl in a Halloween costume. Her chocolate colored locks falling in front of her mask, obscuring her vision. There was nothing she wanted to see at the moment anyway.

‘If I tell Syndrome, he’ll be upset. I don’t want to make a big deal of this. Whatever is wrong will go away by itself like every other medical issue I’ve ever had. After all, I never stay home from school when I’m sick, why should this be different?’

‘Well gee, maybe it’s the glass that somehow mysteriously fell out of the hand you were clutching it with? And it’s not like you were grabbing it so hard it broke, otherwise your hand would be cut, and it’s not, now is it?’

Well, no, it wasn’t. Come to think of it, it wasn’t cut when she had been bleeding in the changing room either, and she hadn’t coughed anything up that she recalled that time. The logical, pattern seeking creature inside her naturally tied the two events together, trying to determine what common elements they had.

Blood, obviously, though the difference between them was the apparent source. Glass also might be a factor, the mirror and the cup… Dizziness, and the feeling of passing through something.

Vex felt better now, with her mind focused on solving the problem instead of simply whining to herself about it, detachedly logical, instead of scared and emotional.

Now, what seemed to be the strangest element of all? That would have to be the blood that seemed to have been caught inside Maurice’s mirror. She had rationalized that away before, but now she wasn’t so sure she should.

She stood up from the chair, and knelt down on the floor beside the glass.

‘There shouldn’t be any blood at all on the glass,’ she thought, ‘because I didn’t cut myself, and the worst of the coughing didn’t start until after I’d dropped it.’

She pulled her white gloves back on, wonderful, impervious material that they were made of, and began to pick through the glass, looking for any blood. At first, she didn’t find any, and her this-is-weird-o-meter was dropping to a nice, comfortable level. After all, there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary with just coughing up blood.

The glittering shard of red-stained glass just about dashed that thought to as many pieces. She picked it up in her hand, and held it to the light. The blood was not on the surface, neither dry nor wet, but again, tiny flecks of red seemed to be imbedded inside the shard.

Vex felt her insides freeze up. Once could be rationalized, but twice? That was enough of a pattern to really frighten her. It was as if her hands had passed through both the mirror and the glass, but, left something behind.

Vex grimaced. ‘Ridiculous! How could my hand go through a solid object? It just wasn’t possible. Solid objects could not exist in the same place at the same time. Not in conventional science, anyway. But weren’t there things in this world that insolently defied conventional science? Maybe she couldn’t rule out anything.

She took a deep breath, as she stood, composing herself, and not allowing herself to be frightened. She walked purposefully over to the cup board. Taking her glove off once more, Vex braced herself, tensing her shoulders for pain, and picked up another glass.

Nothing happened. The glass felt firm and solid, even though she held it quite gingerly, her fingers trembling slightly.

‘See? Nothing is wrong. Your hand didn’t go through the glass. Everything is fine.’

‘Is it really? Test it.’

‘There is nothing wrong, Vex. Walk away, and go back to your duties.’

‘Test it.’

‘Walk away.’

‘Test it!’

As always, her curiosity got the better of her caution. Vex pursed her lips, frowning, and set the cup down on the counter. She stared at it determinedly, and rested her fingers tentatively on the rim of the glass. She stared at the back of her hand.

‘This isn’t going to work.’

‘Why not? Why is matter solid? Should it be solid?’

‘Well…’

‘You know there’s no good reason for matter to be solid. The atoms in your hand should have quite enough room to pass comfortably beside the atoms in that glass, to go straight through it. Anyone ought to be able to do it.’

‘But they can’t. Matter is solid.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘What if I want to be sure?’

‘Be sure then. Be sure you can’t do it. Walk away.’

‘I shouldn’t be able to do it.’

‘But what if you can?’

Vex took a deep breath. She firmed her hold on the glass, pressing down just a little harder. ‘Pass through,’ she urged the molecules in her hand. ‘Pass through’

The glass stayed as solid as ever.

Vex closed her eyes, lifted her hand a little, off the lip of the glass.

‘There’s nothing there.’

She brought her hand down, and met no resistance.

Blind panic gripped her heart, and she jerked back her arm, clutching it to her chest before she opened her eyes. The glass just sat there, mocking her. Vex leaned forward, and inspected it. There was no blood, on or in it. She felt fine.

So how the hell was she supposed to tell if she’d just missed the cup completely?

‘Good going Vex,’ she congratulated herself. ‘I loved the part where you shut your eyes like a frightened puppy.’

Vex swung her arm angrily, intending the negligent gesture to knock the glass from the counter, and join its brother in pieces on the floor. But her arm passed straight through the glass, and this time she saw it happen.

First she just stared, disbelieving what her eyes had told her. There was no way. No way…

She put her hand through the counter, and pulled it out again. The only thing she felt was a slight tingling sensation. She did it again.

“Having fun ?” a cold, harsh voice demanded behind her.

Vex turned. Syndrome was standing in the doorway. His sparkling blue eyes were aglow with the fire of fury behind his mask.

“Syndrome I-” she began. She had to explain, before he thought-

“You’re a super,” he snarled, advancing on her. His boots crunched on the broken glass.

“I-“

“You tricked me!” he roared, shoving her roughly back against the wall with one hand.

Vex winced in pain, and stared up at him pleadingly. “I didn’t know !”

“You lying, treacherous bitch.” His face came closer to hers with every word, and she could see herself reflected in his wrathful eyes, as he held her pinned.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she begged, genuinely frightened, tears welling in her dark eyes.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he growled, sneering at her. “You know what I do to supers.”

“Let me explain!”

“What’s there to explain? I thought we were alike. I trusted you. God, I fell in love with you, damn it,” he pounded his other fist against the wall, just inches away from her face. “What I fool I’ve been.”

“No,” she insisted, her voice shaking, the tears rolling down her face. “Syndrome you have to l-listen to me.”

He glared at her, and his grip didn’t relax the slightest bit, but he said nothing.

“Think about my fanfiction, Syndrome,” she urged, searching in his eyes for something besides mistrust, and hate. “Why would I write that if I h-had any real powers? Syndrome, please, trust me; I didn’t have any idea that I could do a-anything until just now. Do you remember when I screamed in Maurice’s? That was because my fingers went through the mirror. I convinced myself it didn’t happen, until it happened again. And, and I-I had to figure out what was going on.”

Syndrome’s fingers tightened against her shoulders for a moment, and then he released her completely, turning away in disgust. Vex slid down the wall, collapsing to her knees on the floor, shuddering and crying.

“Syndrome, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t-” Vex’s words were cut off by a fit of vicious coughing, that horrible tearing sensation in her chest returning, and she gasped, and choked violently, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

 

---

 

Anger and bitter jealousy churned in Syndrome’s heart like bile, warring with the newer tender emotions he had for Vex. A very large part of him wanted to hate her, wanted to hate her because she had something that he didn’t. He felt betrayed by the fact that he had gone, and he had rescued her, only to find out she didn’t need it. Even if she hadn’t known until now, it didn’t matter. She was a super.

He couldn’t kill her. He had been close to it, in his burst of temper, but now that rational thought crept in, he knew he couldn’t. But he couldn’t have her near him, either, a constant reminder, a constant potential threat.

He’d have to send her home; that was all. Just forget he’d ever known her. What business did he have being in a relationship anyway? They never worked out. He couldn’t rely on anyone but hims-

Syndrome stopped rigidly, as he realized where his thoughts were taking him, what he sounded like in his own mind. Send her home? Rely only on himself?

‘Fly home, Buddy.’

If he did that, wasn’t it just like Mr. Incredible sending him away because he didn’t have any powers? He clenched his fists. Why did life have to be this complicated?

Syndrome was jolted from his thoughts, as he heard a raucous fit of coughing. He turned suddenly, and saw Vex shaking, and choking on the floor.

“Are you alright?” he demanded.

She shook her head, and flattened herself further against the wall, unable to speak through her wheezing and gasping. Syndrome knelt down, and put one hand on her chest, and one on her arm, trying to sooth her. He felt a stab of guilt and self-loathing as she shrunk back, cringing in fear of him, even through her coughing.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he said, his face softening.

Her coughs were subsiding into generally hiccups and panting. She was crying again, and she hugged her arms around herself, holding his arm to her chest, and crying against it.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he whispered. “Please, please stop crying.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from the fit. “There’s something wrong with me…”

Syndrome felt ashamed. “Vex there’s nothing wrong with you being super, I’m sorry I said-“

She shook her head, and held up one of her hands. It was covered in blood.

“What the hell?”

“Remember in the changing room?” she asked, resting her head on his arm. “I said I cut myself? I didn’t I don’t know where the blood came from. And- and when I looked again, there was blood trapped inside the mirror, where my fingers went through it. And just now, when I thought I dropped the glass, there’s blood inside that too.”

“And you’re coughing up blood.”

“Yes.”

Syndrome did not want to be thinking what he was thinking. But before he’d come down to see where Vex was, as she wasn’t on any of the cameras, he had been looking through Rasputin’s files. One of the first symptoms that Rasputin had noticed, that made him think something was wrong with his elder son’s powers, was prolonged coughing, often with blood.

All the color drained out of Syndrome’s face as he put his arms around Vex, and pulled her to her feet. “Vex, baby doll, we need to get you down to the lab. Now.”

To be continued…

Maya Beebop: Sorry to leave you with yet another cliffhanger. I’m sadistic like that.

WormmonABC: Haha, something like that. Its nice to have another Evo fan aboard. Now I’ll go and hug my Toad plusie.

Shadow Fox Forever: Hehehhe. Dooom. Doom and France.

Artymas: Really? Funny, I’ve actually never seen that movie. Not really up my alley. My friend who’s in a Sith club really loves it though.

RavensHaelo: Dun, dun, dun. I wish I had her pendant.

Til next chapter fanboys and girls.

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Hey guys. There’s some new art up at greer-the-raven, and a new Syndrome website with CCR extras, like character bios and a reference reference. Haha, I almost forgot to give you the link. www. freewebs. com/ syndromefan

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all affiliated characters and ideas belong to Disney/Pixar.

Chapter 18: Insubstantial

Vex let Syndrome scoop her up and set her on her feet. He had been furious a moment ago, was he really so calm now? She wanted to deny, but he had really frightened her with his outburst, so much so that she had feared for her life. Would he really have killed her? She didn’t think so. He’d apologized, too.

And now he was back to the way he normally was, and he was really concerned about her. Hell, she was really concerned about herself . Coughing up blood, she admitted, was bad. But Syndrome seemed to think it was more than that. The way he was reacting, it was as if he already knew what was wrong with her, and it was bad.

He kept his arm around her as they walked to the elevator. Vex wiped her face with her hand, trying to wipe away the tears, and make her face stop being red. If she had only gone straight to Syndrome, she thought, the whole mess of yelling and mistrust could have been avoided, because he’d have known she had no idea what was going on. She let out a small, shuddering sigh. ‘You just had to let your curiosity get the better of you’.

Syndrome pulled her closer, as they stood in the rising elevator.

She looked up at him, and his troubled visage. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?”

He looked at her, and ran his fingers through her hair. “I… might.”

She leaned up against him. “Would you tell me?”

“I’m probably wrong, it’s just a hunch.”

Syndrome was saying he was wrong about something? That was way below his usual confidence level. Which meant that he was hoping he was wrong. Which scared Vex. Was she looking death in the face, so soon after things were finally starting to look up?

The elevator opened into the lab, and he led her into it.

“There’s a test I want to do,” he said, “Before jumping to any conclusions.”

“Okay,” she nodded, wondering what kind of tests he could do in Rasputin’s labs. Syndrome walked across the room to a large device that looked like a cross between a dentist’s chair and some high tech virtual reality headgear, Vex lingered behind him.

He gestured to the thing. “I need you to sit down in this,” he told her.

Vex regarded it dubiously. She had never been much for doctor’s visits or the like. “What is it?”

“It’ll measure your brainwave activity. It’s completely harmless.”

Brainwave activity? Why on earth would he want to do that? Unless, she remembered suddenly, the research she had stumbled onto in Rasputin’s files several days ago. “You think I have Piotr’s disease,” she gasped.

Syndrome gave her a pained look, as though wishing she hadn’t guessed so easily. “It’s possible. It’s just something that I want to check. To make sure you don’t, ya know.”

Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Of course it seemed like she had it. Every time she bled, or had one of the coughing fits, it was when her powers were stirred up. She had been close to linking the two occurrences; she just hadn’t had the time.

“Okay,” she said, giving in, and sitting in the chair.

“Just relax,” he said, and patted her on the hand as he slipped the strange device over her head, and the world went dark. Vex suppressed a thrill of unreasoning fear, squeezing her eyes shut, despite the fact that it made no difference from when they were open. She heard Syndrome walk away, and sit down, and suddenly there was a whirring noise in her ears. Obviously the machine was starting up. Vex tried to do as Syndrome had bidden, but she felt herself trembling.

An eerie blue light came on inside the enclosed space of the helmet. Vex expected to feel some kind of weird sensation or something, but she didn’t feel anything.

She tried to think of comforting things, things that weren’t related to maybe dieing, or Syndrome being enraged by her suddenly having super powers. Vex’s heart tightened in her chest. Super powers, something she had wanted since she was a tiny little girl, something she felt she needed, and now, when she finally didn’t need them, suddenly she had them, and they were a bad thing.

‘Life’s not fair, is it?’ she thought ruefully, ‘you see, I, well I shall never be king…’

She snorted to herself. What a stupid defense mechanism to have, quoting things whenever she was upset. But they made her feel better, none the less, the familiarity, and the feeling of comprehension.

Super powers, she had super powers. And what could she do? She could phase through things. ‘Oh goody, look at me, I’m Kitty Pryde,’ she thought, disgustedly. ‘If I suddenly have the urge to start wearing pink and saying ‘like’ all the time, I swear I’ll kill myself.’

Not that it wasn’t a kinda cool power, but it wasn’t very offensive, was it? It’d be great for getting into places though. She imagined what she’d being doing with it, if she was still at home. Probably doing something really stupid like robbing people’s lockers at school or something equally immature and Brotherhood-y.

The blue light suddenly went off, and she felt Syndrome standing in front of her. He lifted the helmet off of her head, and put his arms around her shoulders tightly.

“Syndrome?” she asked, concernedly.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered softly to her. “I’ll fix it. I promise.”

Vex’s heart sank into her stomach.

 

---

 

Violet’s parents spent a good amount of the day getting things ready for their little recon mission. The first thing her mom had done was call a proper sitter for Jack-Jack. Much as Vi’s father kept trying to act like this was some kind of false alarm, nobody wanted any of the elements of last week’s fiasco to be in place.

Actually, the sitter Mrs. Parr got was Lucius’ wife Honey, who would certainly be able to take Jack-Jack, even at his most rambunctious.

Violet had sat in her room most of the morning, while preparations were made. As far as she could tell, mom would be piloting again, and had borrowed a plane from the same person as last time.

Not for the first time, Violet wished she knew more about her parents’ lives as super heroes. Before the laws were repealed, mom had gotten upset whenever dad had tried to talk about it at all, and now that it was relevant, everyone seemed to busy.

Violet didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing with her powers. She was too young to be fighting crime properly; and anyway, mom and dad had decided it would be hard to keep their identities a secret for long if they all went out was a family. Also, they were still really protective, despite the fact that they had supposedly proven themselves on Nomanisan.

Dash didn’t care, he was just happy to be able to do sports now. Mom and dad were back to their hero duties, switching off of course, so that there was usually somebody at home at least. Violet seemed to be the only one left without direction.

She didn’t even know what she wanted to do with her powers. It wasn’t as if she could really be an effective hero on her own, not unless she really did take karate lessons. But was that what she wanted to do with her life? To always be fighting? Sure it was cool in theory, but was it her? Violet didn’t know. She sighed heavily, and stood up. She heard ‘getting ready to leave’ activity in the living room, and knew it was just about time to go. Mom was giving last minute instructions to Honey, who would almost certainly completely disregard them in favor of her own brand of caretaking.

Violet had jeans and a purple turtleneck on over her costume already, so she didn’t need to get anything.

“Dash, Violet we need to get-” her mom called as Vi stepped into the hallway.

“I’m ready,” she said, nodding, as Dash motored up beside them.

“Alright,” their father said as he led them all out to the car, “I want to remind both you kids that this is serious business, okay? We probably won’t find anything, but you need to be ready to defend yourselves if things go wrong.”

Violet nodded, and sat down, staring out the window, as they rolled out of the driveway. The car ride was boring, and long, and the plane ride promised to be equally so, however, Violet was interested to note that it wasn’t exactly a conventional plane they were taking.

“Whoa cool,” Dash exclaimed, looking at it.

“What is that?” Violet asked, taken aback by the small, sleek silver aircraft.

“It’s a government secret, that’s what it is,” her mother said, winking at her. “It can get us to where we’re going in just over five hours.”

“How long does it normally take?” she wondered.

“Closer to fifteen.”

Violet was definitely glad it wasn’t going to take that long. After all, she had school tomorrow. School with Tony, she thought with a smile, recalling their first date the weekend prior. He was so cute, and he had so many friends. Being around him made Violet feel very much appreciated and in the spotlight… except when it made her feel awkward, which also was prone to happing. She’d laugh at the wrong thing, or say something a little off, and suddenly everyone would be staring at her, and it would be up to Tony to end the silence.

Filling silence was something that Tony did really well, Violet thought as they boarded the plane, her mother taking over the pilot seat. Violet collapsed into one of the seats, and let her mind wander until they reached their destination.

 

---

 

Syndrome had sent Vex up to her room, to listen to her music, or draw, or whatever. Something relaxing, with orders to call him on the PA if she felt so much as the slightest bit sick. Meanwhile he busied himself trying to figure out how Rasputin had cured his son. The files were generally brief, and some of them even seemed contradictory. For instance to in the prototype power suppresser Rasputin used a sort of short range energy field to interfere with the production of Para-Waves, but to stabilize Piotr’s condition, he’d implanted something in his head.

Syndrome didn’t want to do anything invasive like that. Besides, Rasputin made numerous mentions of the chip altering Piotr’s personality, and changing Vex was something that he did not want to do. He’d toyed with the idea of simply trying to suppress Vex’s powers altogether, to avoid the surgery, but it hadn’t worked for the Doctor. Besides, Vex might think he was doing it vindictively.

Okay, maybe it had occurred to him a little vindictively. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he was jealous of her, he knew he shouldn’t be, after all, if he didn’t work fast, the same power he was envying would kill her.

But he couldn’t help envying her just a little. She had what he’d always wanted.

Syndrome sighed, putting away the file on power suppression for later use, and began to dig around in the notes for Piotr’s chip, to see if there was a way he could combine the two ideas, stabilizing Vex, without doing anything to her brain.

The problem that the doctor had run across, stabilizing Piotr, as opposed to blocking the power out, was that the wave frequency needed to be attuned specifically for his brain waves, and needed to be able to adjust itself for the dips and spikes in his para-wave production. The chip was implanted to create a feedback mechanism, so that the device would know exactly how much to suppress or induce. Syndrome needed to figure out a way to create get feedback without having it directly tied to the source.

Vex… Syndrome didn’t know what he’d do if she died, or became very ill. He didn’t think he could deal with that. Not after everything he’d been through lately. Failure after miserable failure. He could feel Mirage laughing at him, Mirage, who he had thought had loved him, and seemed only to be playing games. If she were here now, he might end up doing something rash simply to ease the tension that was twisting inside of him.

 

---

 

Mirage sat in her hotel room stewing with guilt and irresolution. She had theoretically done all she had to. She had given Mr. Incredible the coordinates that the mystery man had given her. She should just be able to let it drop. It wasn’t any of her business any more.

So why couldn’t she just let it go? Why couldn’t she let him go? On the one hand she knew that Syndrome had to be stopped, whatever he was doing, on the other hand, this other part inside her wanted to go to him, and beg his forgiveness, make him take her back. Tell him she was sorry for what she had done.

Mirage hated that part of her. Syndrome was a heartless bastard. Maybe he had always been one, maybe it was his enemy that brought out the worst in him, but Mirage knew that no matter what he had felt for her normally, in that instant when Mr. Incredible had had her, Syndrome really hadn’t cared if she had lived or died. Oh, he cared about her, typically, in his own twisted way, but at that point it hadn’t mattered. Hurting Mr. Incredible had meant more to him than her life did.

And Mirage just couldn’t deal with that.

Could anyone? It was just inhuman; to want to punish someone so badly that nothing else mattered to you any more. How could Syndrome have so much anger and hate in his soul?

He preyed on her mind, now more than ever, when she had the possibility of confronting him. If she did see him again, what would she say? How could words express the deep wound that he had made in her?

She knew if she were to confront him, though, the words would come. She wanted to tell him just how badly he had hurt her, instead of beating around the bush like the last time they had spoken.

The last time…

Mirage hadn’t expected it to be the last then, and she was sure that Syndrome hadn’t either. And maybe, if they had crossed paths again afterwards, things would have happened differently. Maybe she would have succumbed to his charms and fallen back under the spell of his eyes- lies.

There was nothing in Syndrome except malice born of greed.

 

---

 

Mikhail regarded his icy visage in the cracked mirror of the hotel bathroom. “I look like a dead man,” he muttered bitterly to himself. “How can I go out like this?”

But he had to. He was tired of eating from the ill-stocked vending machines outside the hotel room, and he needed fresh air to clear his head. He had been lucky that the man in the truck had had so much money in his wallet, even if the clothes he wore made Mikhail viciously itchy. He adjusted the collar of the sweater once again.

He sighed, and ran bony fingers through his unkempt brown hair. He left the hotel room, and locked the door behind himself. The hotel lobby, or rather, the shabby entrance way where a grubby clerk sat reading a magazine, smelled of cabbage, and Mikhail was glad to leave it behind for the crisp, cold air of the outside.

The brown overcoat he wore brushed just above the now as he trudged down the street, attracting stares from the few other people who were outside. He was a marked man.

Mikhail growled to himself, thinking of his imp-faced enemy. How he longed to have a hand in the felon’s destruction. He wished that he had not passed responsibility over to that woman. Perhaps he should call her again, and ask if she would put him in contact with Mr. Incredible.

If he explained his case, surely she would not deny his thirst for vengeance.

It didn’t take Mikhail long to reach his destination, as the motel was in the center of the very small city. He by the universal sign of comfort and civilization, and into the greasy restraint. After all, if you were in a McDonalds, things couldn’t be all bad.

To be continued…

Shadow Fox Forever: My best yet? Oh dear, I’ll have to work hard to top it then

RavensHaelo: I warned you crystal gazing could be tricky! Glad to surprise you.

CD Anders: hehehehehhe

WormmonABC: You like Toad too? You should read my fanfictic Darwinian Rhapsody!! It’s finished, too. (I know, I know, shameless self-promotion)

Maya Beebop; Angry Syn was hard to write, I’m glad it pleased you.

Artymas: Yeah. Like Kitty. Cuz Kitty was so my like, favorite character. Not. 😀

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: Holidays suck. Family sucks. The wait between chapters sucks. I apologize.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all affiliated characters are property of Disney/Pixar.

Chapter 19: Who’s Afraid of Thomas Wolfe?

Vex lay between the sheets of her massive bed, with the covers pulled tightly around her shoulders, so that only her nose and the top of her face stuck out. She was still in her costume, he cape was tangled up somewhere down there with the rest. She lay there, staring at the wall. Syndrome had sent her there to relax a little but while he worked. How could she relax? How could she possibly relax everything was just dissolving all around her?

She was a super and of course it was what she had always wanted, but what if now Syndrome really did hate her? What if all his care of moments before was just an echo? Or a flat out lie? Should she be afraid that he was plotting something? She didn’t want to be thinking that way, but, oh, he had been so angry . And he had hated supers for so long. How could he forgive her, the way he had seemed to? She wanted to accept it at face value, but…

His mood shift had been so sudden. Maybe if he’d have hated her for an hour, she’d believe more that he didn’t. But Syndrome was a man of snap judgments.

Vex turned over, burying her face in the pillow, when she found her mask came between her cheeks and its soft satin. She’d forgotten she was wearing it. She pulled it off her face roughly, and the world was plunged into a blurry haze. She tried to remember if her glasses were somewhere in the room. It was a nice feature of the mask, at least, to be vision corrective. She sighed, and set it down on the bedside table, finding her glasses there too, but she didn’t pick them up.

The room was all colored smears, like Monet painting of lilies, and Vex didn’t want to have the world in such sharp relief right now. She lay back down, and nuzzled her face against the pillowcase, thinking of her room at home, with its comforting familiarity of touch and smell. Her room at home smelled like the cinnamon edge of old cigarettes, since both her parents were heavy smokers, but this room had such an artificial smell. Maybe potpourri and mothballs, both of which she’d probably find if she opened the dresser drawers. She hadn’t yet, all of her clothes were still stacked in boxes in the corner.

She missed her old clothes, her heavy, shapeless sweaters with thick, loose knit, softness instilled in their artificial fibers after many, many washings. She missed her faded black jeans strewn over the floor, and her shambled bookcase, and her computer not two feet from her bed.

‘Gods,’ Vex thought to herself. ‘Oh god, I’m homesick. Stop. Stop it I don’t want to be homesick. There’s nothing I want at home that I want bad enough to go back’

‘Hell, you don’t even miss people. You miss clothes and clutter. You miss familiar tactile sensations, and that is all. This room is too spiritually cold for you, because you haven’t lived in it yet, it’s sterile, and it isn’t at all comforting. And when you’re dying, that is not what you need. Which is why hospitals suck.’

‘I’m not dying! I’m not.’

‘Aren’t you? Piotr died.’

‘Not of the disease.’

‘Who said it’s the disease that’s gonna kill you?’

Vex clutched the pillow close. ‘Syndrome is not going to kill me.’

‘Are you sure?’

She bit her lip. ‘It doesn’t matter if I’m sure or not,’ she hissed back at herself in her mind. ‘Because I trust him.’

‘He’s not trustworthy.’

‘I don’t care if he’s not. Maybe I’m not trustworthy either, and he trusts me.’

‘He did. And look what you did with his trust.’

‘It wasn’t me! I didn’t, I didn’t mean to. It’s not my fault.’

‘Isn’t it? You wanted super powers. You can’t say you didn’t.’

‘Did. Past tense. After I met Syndrome, it didn’t matter.’

‘Vex, Vex, Vex… Three days does not a person change.’

‘Yes it can!’

‘Oh? Let’s see. Forgetting for a minute, that they make you sick, would you freely give up your powers, right now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh really? I don’t believe you.’

‘I don’t need them. I can be powerful without having Powers. Syndrome didn’t need them.’

‘Yeah, well I hate to break it to you, but Syndrome’s a hell of a lot smarter than you.’

‘Shut up! I was well on my way to being exactly what he is when he interrupted.’

‘And you think that’s a good thing? My, you really are warped.’

‘Screw you!’ Vex turned over in bed, and pulled the covers up over her head. This was stupid. What was she supposed to do anyway? If Syndrome was going to kill her there wasn’t much way to stop him. He’d killed practically every other that had crossed his path.

‘So you’re just going to let him kill you?’

‘Hell no! I’m not suicidal.’

‘Would you kill him?’

‘What?!’

‘If it were his life or yours.’

‘I- I don’t know. And I hope I never have to find out.’

 

---

 

The plane ride did not feel like ‘no time at all’ to Violet. It felt like five hours. Which was not cool. Luckily, the plane ride had been completely uneventful. This also meant it had been completely boring, and Violet had spent most of the time just staring out the window at the mostly cloudy skies.

It didn’t feel like they were going all that fast, but she definitely felt it when they started to slow down. She looked down at the vast, snow covered expanse that they were centered on, and saw mountains approaching in the distance.

She looked over at Dash, who was playing a gameboy, and then over at her father.

“So what’s the plan, anyway?” Violet asked.

“Well, your mother will fly us over the coordinates, and see if we can find anything. If we do, we go from there.”

That was what she had figured. Her dad was a real ‘touch and go’ kind of guy.

“So we’re close, right?”

He pointed out the window. “You see those mountains? That’s the general area we’re aiming for.”

So they were really close. Violet peered harder at the mountains. Was Sharon down there? Was Syndrome? Vi glanced around the plane. All of them were sitting there calmly, as if moments from a possible fight for their lives. What with how close they were, mom had probably been sitting up in the cockpit for the last half hour reliving the nightmare of the last time they had flown close to Syndrome’s base.

Vi tensed herself with the realization that yes, they might get shot at again at any moment, and she would have to be ready. Not like her failure last time.

It wasn’t a failure that Violet would repeat. She might not know exactly what she wanted to do with her powers, but at least she had the confidence to use them where appropriate. And, whatever else, using them to save her life, and the life of her family was appropriate.

Still conscious of possible danger, but more at ease, Violet sighed, and watched out the window again. It would almost be strange if they weren’t shot at actually.

 

---

 

Vex was awoken from a deep sleep by the insistent buzzing of the com-panel by her door. At first she thought it was her alarm clock, and she ended up slapping the bedside table several times before she realized that it wasn’t, and stumbled out of bed, to the panel.

She pressed the button. “H’lo?” she yawned.

“Vex,” Syndrome said, his face appearing in the small screen. “I need you down in the control center.”

“Okay,” she nodded, trying to wake up, and wondering what could be wrong.

“Make sure you put your mask back on,” he urged. “Syndrome out.”

The screen went dark.

It took Vex a minute as she grabbed her mask from by the bed, to remember all that was wrong with the world; that she was one sick super. Great.

She set her mask in place, and with a swish of her cape, thanked Maurice that the outfit she’d been sleeping in was wrinkle-proof. Who would be intimidated by a sleep-rumpled villain?

She ran her fingers through her brown hair, shaking it out, and hurried from the room, forcing the sleep away from her mind. Something was wrong, if Syndrome needed her right away.

This thought was cemented by the fact that as soon as she stepped out of the private apartments she was greeted by harsh, blinking yellow lights. Yellow alert. The base was on yellow alert. ‘How very Star Trek,’ she thought, taking the elevator down to the control room.

The doors parted, and she saw some of the mercs sitting at various terminals, Syndrome standing in the middle of the room.

“What’s wron-” she began to ask, but stopped, when she saw what was displayed on the main screen; a strange, high tech plane in their airspace. “Oh. Who is that?”

Syndrome shook his head. “We don’t know; they haven’t attempted contact yet.”

“Do they know we’re here?”

One of the mercs spoke up. “They shouldn’t be able to detect us within the mountain.”

“So we’re all set then, right?” she asked Syndrome. “I mean, they might just go away.”

“They might,” he agreed. “We’ll have to wait and see. Come over here.”

Vex stepped toward him, a bit leery. Did he think she had something to do with the plane?

But he put his arms gingerly around her shoulders and asked quietly, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she said, nuzzling her cheek against his arm. “I was napping.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s okay, it was important.”

Standing in his arms, she watched the pane as it came very close to where the hangar entrance was concealed, but if flew past. Vex breathed a sigh of relief. But before Syndrome could issue an all clear, the plane turned around for a second sweep.

“It looks like they’re trying to spy or something,” Vex observed.

“Yeah,” Syndrome agreed, frowning. “Yeah it does.”

The look on his face said he was considering his options. Vex was wondering what he was going to do as well, when she was caught off guard by the plane doing something decidedly not normal. It was hovering over the foot of the mountain. Hovering. And then it landed, straight up and down.

“Uh, Syn?” she looked at him concernedly.

He nodded to the mercs. “Ready the base defenses, and raise to red alert.”

And then something more troubling happened, and Vex felt Syndrome’s whole body tense. Four people descended from the plane, all in matching red suits and black masks.

“Oh holy…” Vex breathed.

“Do we have laser cannons out there?” Syndrome growled.

“We do, sir,” the merc confirmed.

“Then ready the-“

Vex put a hand on his shoulder. “Syndrome, do you think it’s a good idea to attack just yet?”

“Of course it is!” he snapped. “We’ll catch them off guard. I’ll finally have him.”

She saw his blue eyes getting that icy hardness again.

“But the base isn’t even at full strength,” she insisted. “Look at them. It doesn’t look like they know we’re here. I don’t know why they’re here, but unless you want to jeopardize the whole base…”

“You’re daring to tell me what to do?”

Vex breathed in deeply, half-afraid of his wrath, but this was one thing she was going to hold firm on. “No, Syndrome. I’m giving you my advice. Listen, Evil Overlord list number 17. ‘When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.’ They shouldn’t be able to detect us, why let them know we’re here? Why attack impulsively now, if they give you the chance to prepare everything perfectly to crush them? But that’s just my opinion. I don’t think you should initiate combat unless absolutely necessary, but it is certainly your choice if you think it’s a good idea.”

She saw his eyes shining with anger, and his chest puffed up arrogantly, but he diffused. “Fine. But if it even looks like they know we’re here…”

She nodded, amazed that she’d actually been able to get him to agree with her. Of course, a logical argument helped, but she’d expected his temper to get the better of him. Maybe he’d used up his temper for the day. Gods she hoped so. Was it still today? She wondered, or had she napped all the way into tomorrow? She’d have to check later.

She watched the Incredibles closely on the screen. Just like she had seen briefly in the paper a week ago, it was Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl (though Vex privately thought she ought to be Elastiwoman by now) and the two kids. A stick thin girl with dark hair, and a little blond boy. She watched the four of them speak together briefly, and then split up slightly, as if they were looking for something. Vex saw the little boy disappear suddenly, and a track of snow was kicked up. He must have super speed.

But it was the girl that had caught Vex’s attention. There was something oddly familiar about her… But what? She watched her carefully through a tense five minutes as Syndrome stood beside her, obviously itching to blast the shit out of the family.

He didn’t get the chance though, as the foursome soon reconvened, spoke a moment more, and then boarded the plane.

Vex had to bit her lip, resisting the urge to say, ‘I told ya so,’ to Syndrome.

They watched for another few minutes as the plane took off and flew away.

“End red alert,” Syndrome said, sounding disappointed, “I want those tapes gone over with a fine toothed comb. I know there are no voice recorders out there yet, so I want them installed, and in the meantime, see if you can piece together anything they said by lip-reading.”

“Yes sir,” the merc nodded.

“You can go back to your room, Vex,” Syndrome told her dismissively.

“Actually,” she said, “Do you mind if I take a look at the tape too?”

There was something really familiar about that girl, and Vex was going to figure out what it was.

To be continued…

RavensHaelo: I hope I keep you and your crystal guessing. No, things aren’t looking especially bright between Vex and Syn, are they?

Artymas: Quicker isn’t always better, you know. But you’ll have to see what happens with Vex and the disease.

WormmonABC: Yeah, I really wasn’t very good back then. Well, it got better as I wrote it, but it still wasn’t great. Yay!! You got my Scar reference!! I love that whole scene. Interesting theory you have there.

Maya Beebop: Yes, it is loose/loose, isn’t it? Heheheheh. How will they get along now? Well, we’ll just have to see. Thank you for all your praise, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

Nini The Electrocuted Sheep: I’m glad you decided to give CCR a chance. I know the premise sounds bad. It’s been done to death in every fandom, but I hope I’m doing an okay job.

VegetandAru: Aw, I’m sorry things are rough. I’m glad you’re still reading. Remember, Syndrome wants you! To read CCR… lol

I really don’t think there will be as long a gap between chapters as over the holidays, but just remember, most fanfics don’t even get updated once a week. I try my best but sometimes things beyond my control get in the way. I am not going to quit CCR, so just be patient, and the story will continue. Hopefully in the next two days.

Love ya all.

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

BY Lejindarybunny

A/N: Again, apologies for the time in which it now takes me to post. I hope you believe the chapter to be of sufficient quality to be worth the wait.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, Syndrome, and all affiliated characters belong to Disney/Pixar. If they belonged to me, well, first of all Syndrome would have been the star, but second of all, I’d have bought myself an island named Nomanisan, with all that money.

Chapter 20: Evil’s Necessities

Violet couldn’t believe they hadn’t found anything. She sat distractedly in the plane on their return trip, her arms crossed, staring down at her knees. There was nothing there. No Syndrome, no Sharon, not a trace that they had ever even been there. Who had called Mirage? Had Mirage known that it was a wild goose chase? Vi suspected some sort of set up. But they hadn’t been attacked, so it wasn’t a trap. What was the point?

She needed to go back and find out, but just sitting there waiting for Mirage to make a move wouldn’t work. Violet knew she had gotten very lucky with her timing on the previous trip, either that, or she hadn’t been as unnoticed as she had thought. But she couldn’t approach Mirage directly either, because Mirage knew exactly who she was, and would tell Vi’s dad.

‘What’s the point of having two identities if everybody important knows who you are?’ she demanded silently.

What she needed was another identity, one that nobody knew was connected to her, not even her parents. Correction, especially not her parents. With the freedom of being unknown she could act as necessary, and confront Mirage.

Her parents’ friend Edna Mode had a non-disclosure agreement with all the supers she worked with. If Violet went to her for a costume, and asked her not to tell anyone, that was a secret the excitable little woman would keep.

So what did this mean? Had she decided to take up hero work? At least for this instance, yes, because her friend was in trouble. And afterward, she did want to keep the option open.

Vi sat back in her seat, trying to relax, and get rid of the vague feeling that there was something she was forgetting.

 

---

 

Vex sat in the control room, watching as two mercs reviewed the tape of he Incredibles’ little ‘visit’. She kept her eye on the figure of the young female super, whom she was certain that she had seen somewhere before. If only the mask wasn’t obscuring her face…

But what could she do about it? After all, that was what the mask was for, obscuring someone’s identity. But it was ridiculous, all it did was cover the eyebrows and a bit of the cheekbones. If you saw a super side by side with his secret identity it would be obvious who he was, but you never saw them with the proper frame of reference. But Vex certainly couldn’t go comparing the girl to pictures of everyone she had ever met. But…

She was struck suddenly by inspiration. What if she fed a picture of the super girl into photoshop and digitally erased the mask? Even if she didn’t immediately recognize her, it ought to give her at least a slightly better chance of doing so.

She sat down at one of the unused terminals, and brought up the security files, pulling out the recent footage, and selecting a shot with a good view of the mysterious super’s face. She saved the shot, and imported it into photoshop. Selecting the same basic color as the girl’s skin-tone, she carefully covered the black of the mask, until it was ‘erased’.

When she was done, she certainly didn’t have a perfect photo, but she had enough of an idea, to become… concerned. She stared at the screen in disbelief.

‘That looks like…’ she blinked, ‘that looks like… Violet.’

It couldn’t be. The quiet, troubled-seeming eighth grader could not be a super. Vex liked Violet, even despite her recent distance. Vex wasn’t sure if she was angry, or not. And if she was, was she angry at Violet, or at herself for never seeing that Vi was a super?

Vi was a super. Vi was a super. What kind of fair was that?

Vex stood up from the terminal, and walked away, dazed. Violet was her enemy. She suddenly felt very alone.

It wasn’t as if they had been close, but she had still felt like they were friends; that was why she had been so hurt to find that Vi didn’t seem to regard her the same way.

Vex felt strangely disconnected from the world, she wandered aimlessly through the base, walking through the barracks level. She found herself standing outside Mikhail’s room. She laid her hand on the door. Mikhail’s room was comfortable, lived in, it had a normal computer. It reminded her of her room at home.

But she had promised herself that she wouldn’t go in there again. Because Mikhail was dead, she had killed him. She had no right to go in there. She imagined herself sitting down at his computer, or laying in his bed, pretending she was at home, in her own room. That she wasn’t super, that she wasn’t dieing, that her life wasn’t completely turned upside down.

She looked away from the door disgustedly.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘You want things to be normal? Isn’t that what you ran away from? That is a door you closed Vex.’

‘I know.’

‘It sounds like you’re starting to regret that.’

‘No way!’

‘It sounds like you want to go home.’

‘No I don’t!… I just…’

‘Just what?’

‘I don’t know,’ she turned away from the door, and walked back down the hall.

 

---

 

By the time Violet and her family got home it was past midnight. She dragged herself inside, and sat down on the couch. Her mom came inside, and checked the answering machine. Vi’s ears pricked up when she heard Tony’s voice.

“Uh, hi Violet, it’s uh, Tony. I was just wondering where you were, cuz you know, you were kinda supposed to meet me at the movie theatre tonight…”

Vi’s eyes grew wide for a moment, and she slapped herself on the forehead. “Oh no, my date! I can’t believe it was tonight.”

“Well,” her mom said. “It’s a little late, why don’t you call him tomorrow and apologize.”

“Okay,” she agreed. But inside she was doubly upset. How was she going to explain missing Tony? What was she going to say, ‘Uh, sorry Tony, I was in Siberia?’ Yeah, that would really fly. Especially because she certainly didn’t need to keep her identity a secret. Of course not. Vi collapsed heavily, lying sideways on the couch, her arm thrown over the back. She would just have to tell Tony she’d forgotten, or that she’d had to baby-sit Dash, or something.

She didn’t like the thought of lying to Tony. But it was a necessary evil this time. At least he hadn’t sounded upset on the phone. A little confused, but not upset. It wasn’t like she had meant to not be there, she hadn’t even been in the country. Although, she hadn’t even remembered about it, all day. He hadn’t been an important thing on her mind.

Vi sat up, and pulled herself off the couch. It was time to go to bed. After all, she had to get to school in the morning… and… damn it! She hadn’t done her homework either.

‘Ugh!’ she though. ‘This is why being super sucks. You can’t get anything normal done at the same time.’

She resolved to try to get the work done on the bus in the morning. There couldn’t be that much of it, and even if she didn’t get it all done, it was just that once. She certainly wasn’t going to be making a habit of it.

She dragged herself up to her room, and collapsed on her bed, pulling off her hair band, and then switching from her super suit into her pajamas. She laid back, on top of the covers, and stared at the ceiling, a bit of her black hair falling in her face.

Life was so simple for normal people. They didn’t have to try to balance two separate lives in the same person. When they said they were going to be somewhere, it didn’t end in some sitcom-esque situation, with lies, and running back and forth trying to be in two places at once.

‘If only I were a normal person,’ Violet thought as she pulled the blankets up, ‘everything would be perfect.’

 

---

 

Syndrome was brooding in his lab, just sitting there, staring at the terminal. The Incredibles had found him. How had the Incredibles found him? It was impossible! Nobody knew he was alive, well almost nobody. There was Vex, Maurice, and the Agency, from whom he had hired the mercs. Had someone at the Agency sold him out?

Syndrome narrowed his eyes. The Agency would sell anything, provided it was for the right price. Syndrome didn’t know of any interested party, however, who had enough money to override the expenses he paid. Unless…

Mirage, he suddenly recalled, still had access to the account he had given her.

‘Wouldn’t it be ironic,’ he though with rising irritation, ‘if I funded my own being sold out?’

Well, he’d have to cancel those accounts, wouldn’t he? It would confirm to Mirage that he was definitely alive, but since she obviously already knew, it wasn’t like that mattered, and taking away her precious credit cards would cripple her. The bitch. Imagine, if you really had died she’d be living it up on your money for the rest of her worthless life.

Syndrome picked up his cell phone, and was about to call the bank, when a merc, Jordans, Syn thought his name was, appeared on the com-monitor.

“Sir, the garbage from the brig has been disposed of as per your orders.”

‘Ah, Mikhail,’ Syndrome thought, ‘good riddance to bad rubbish.’

Although that brought up another possibility as to how the Incredibles might have learned his whereabouts. The Russian could theoretically have contacted them before his attack, and subsequent demise. But how? Syndrome had run across no evidence that Doctor Rasputin had known the identities of any supers outside the reach of the Russian mob.

“Very good, Jorndans,” Syndrome thanked him. “Dismissed.”

The screen turned off.

Maybe the Russian, and not the Agency, had been the one to contact Mirage. After all, he had indicated that he had been watching the case on television, and it would be easy for the mob to get him the contact information. Mirage in turn, would have alerted the Incredibles.

Great. Mirage was certainly building up a case against herself for him to track her down and exact his vengeance. He had been willing to leave her on the back burner, as long as she stayed out of his business, but if she was going to be a nuisance, that was an entirely different matter.

He picked up the phone again. The first thing to do was still to rid her of funds.

Syndrome heard the swish of the door opening, and turned to see who was there. It was Vex, and Syndrome could tell immediately that something was wrong; she looked shaken, and unhappy.

“Hi,” she said quietly, stepping into the room, the door closing behind her.

“Hey, Vex,” he greeted, “Are you okay?”

She shrugged, and walked up, pulling over a chair and sitting down beside him.

“I’m sorry I was so pushy earlier,” she said, crossing her arms over the back of the chair, and resting her chin on them. “I shouldn’t have tried to tell you what to do.”

Oh, so that was what it was about, because he had snarked at her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay baby. You weren’t being pushy, you were just giving me your opinion. You gotta understand. Mr. Incredible? He really pisses me off, and so I snapped at you when I didn’t have a reason.”

“No,” she said, her shoulders slumping, “I’m always telling people what to do. ‘Don’t shoot them’, ‘sit at my table or I won’t talk to you’. Gods, I’m such a bitch. No wonder everyone hates me.”

Syndrome was taken aback by the sudden bout of self-loathing. It wasn’t, however, something he was a stranger to. He put his arms around her shoulders. “I don’t hate you,” he assured her.

“Sure, you don’t now . Hell, you barely know me. Trust me, once I’ve hung around for long enough, you’ll get pretty sick of my company. Just like everyone else.” She hung her head, the strands of chocolaty hair falling in front of her mask.

The redhead scowled. Feeling bad about yourself was a part of life he knew well, and he also knew that it wasn’t something that other people could snap you out of if you didn’t want to be snapped. But damn if he was going to just let her talk like that with no contradiction. He grabbed her shoulders more tightly, and swung her sound in the swiveling chair to face him. He put his face close to hers and stared deeply into her wavering brown eyes.

“Listen to me,” he growled. “You think I care what other people have to say about you? Screw that! So you’re a bitch, so what? Are you going to tell me I’m not one of the biggest bastard’s you’ve ever met?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Vex, baby doll, I love you, not despite your supposed flaws, because of them. Because you’re a fangirl, and because you’re a ‘bitch’. Because you understand what it’s like to be abused and ignored, and you haven’t curled up into a little ball, no way! You want revenge; you want to show them that they shouldn’t have messed with you. So one thing I’m not gonna tolerate is you being all down on yourself because of that. That’s weak, that’s giving in, and being what they want to make you. You have to be true to yourself, not who people want you to be.”

Syndrome hadn’t known he felt quite so strongly on the subject, but he felt the passion in his own voice as he half-consoled, half-consoled the confused young girl who stared up at him. Suddenly, as he finished his little monologue, the tears that were growing in Vex’s eyes spilled over, and she began to cry. She pressed herself into his chest, and threw her arms around him, crying on his shoulder. He put one arm around her waist, and stroked her hair gently with the other.

“I hate people,” she sobbed muffledly. “I hate them.”

“Shhh,” Syndrome said, holding her, and rocking her back and forth gently. “I know, I know.”

“It’s just so stupid, and pointless, and nobody’s ever who they pretend they are, but they still hold you up to this fucking mirror of perfection, and if you don’t fit it…”

“It’ll be okay, Vex, I promise we’ll make them pay.”

She looked up at him, her face red and streaked with tears. “Syndrome… do you really love me?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “More than I can tell you.”

“Even though I’m a super?” The look of insecurity was fixed firmly in her eyes.

Syndrome honestly thought about that. Yes, he was upset that she had these powers, but he would not, would not let that turn into bitterness against someone who understood him so well. “Even though you’re a super.”

“Syndrome?”

“Hmmm?”

“I don’t want to die.”

His eyes widened and he pursed his lips. “You think I’d let you?” he demanded.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, wanting to ease all the hurt that was inside of her.

Somewhere inside him, he had thought that once he had taken her away from her normal life, suddenly everything would be perfect for her. But that wasn’t true. Also, he realized, that same part of him, hadn’t even been rescuing her specifically. In a way he’d been trying to rescue himself, as he had been long ago.

But now he realized that nothing was ever perfect. Even if he had become Mr. Incredibles’ sidekick, what good would it have done? After all, heroism had been banned just weeks after he had been so callously turned away. Maybe some things were simply not meant to be. Maybe Vex and he were destined to be bitter and unsatisfied, to have to sneak and steal every moment of happiness they could have.

Fine then.

Syndrome and Vexxation each held each other tightly, clinging to the comfort and support that neither had had before in their lives.

To be continued…

My apologies that there are no review replies this chapter, I am pressed for time, and figured the bulk of people would want to have the chapter sooner, rather than review relpies. Anyone is of course, free to IM me about CCR, either at my AIM, Saevitia Snape, or at my yahoo messenger, lejindarybunny. Replies will hopefully return next chapter.

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

A/N: I want to thank Amanda Quick and her novel ‘Wait Until Midnight’ for reminding me of the joys of writing serially. It’s about a lady writer in the eighteen hundreds who’s chapters of mystery/romance are published weekly in the paper. Of course, she gets herself into a mess oddly reminiscent of her own writings. Go read it! (After you finish this chapter that is)

Thank you all for being patient with me. I told you CCR would be back.

Disclaimer: The Incredibles and all affiliated characters are the property of Disney/Pixar. Vex is mine.

Chapter 21: Initially Out of Hand

Mirage got the phone call a little past midnight.

“Hello?” she asked picking it up.

It was Mr. Incredible. “Hello Mirage.”

“Did you find anything?” she demanded immediately.

“No, it looks like somebody pulled your leg Mirage.”

She pursed her lips. “Nothing?” The man had seemed sincere on the phone, it was hard to believe that he was somehow having a laugh at her expense.

“Not a single thing.”

“Okay, well, thank you for looking into it Mr. Incredible.”

“Any time.”

With a sigh she hung up the phone, and sat on the edge of her bed. She gazed over at the dresser where a large canvas bag sat. Before Mr. Incredible had headed off, she had withdraw quite a lot of money from Syndrome’s bank account… just in case. But it looked like she had nothing to worry about.

Maybe she was foolish to think he was still alive. Didn’t they say everyone had a twin? The man who had kidnapped that girl just happened to look like her former… ’employer’, that was all. And the phone call was someone trying to harass her. Though god only knew how they had gotten her contact information.

 

---

 

Syndrome was sequestered in his laboratory poring over Rasputin’s files. He’d been in there for hours. There was a half- empty coffee cup beside his elbow, just waiting to be knocked over, and a completely empty coffee pot next to that. His hair was slightly wilted. There were dark circles under his blue eyes, but those same eyes were possessed of a fierce determination.

Syndrome hadn’t felt this sleepless intensity on a project in… years. It was something that had been common in his younger days, when he had been inventing like a madman and gaining power a frightening rate. Once he’d actually had that power however, he’d stopped feeling that sort of fervor; urgency replaced by calmness and control. Let other people worry over sleepless nights.

But now the feeling returned in its fullest. It was a sort of half-feral state. No matter how hard the exhaustion pressed in, he would keep going until it was finished, or it wouldn’t get done. He stared down at his notebook; scribbles of schematics and remarks covered the whole page, many of them hastily, and angrily, crossed out. But the last one, that wasn’t crossed out, it was circled, and underlined many times. The pencil that had done the underlining lay broken in half next to the notebook.

Syndrome sneered at the computer screen. He had beaten them. Beaten Rasputin, and, once again, beaten nature herself. He took a deep breath, and leaned back in his chair satisfied.

Then he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

 

---

 

When Violet told her mother she was going shopping after school she immediately felt guilty. It was technically true… sort of. So she wasn’t going to the mall… and the clothes she would be getting would be provided as a gratuity…

But she wasn’t lying!… not any more than she had to, anyway.

Violet stared out the window of the bus, a few strands of hair falling in front of her eyes. She was lucky; she wouldn’t have to walk too far from the bus stop to Edna’s mansion. A super suit. She was going to get a super suit in order to interrogate Mirage.

It was both frightening and exciting at the same time. Vi looked around at the numerous people on the bus, quite a few of whom were more than a little creepy looking. What if something happened to her? Her parents wouldn’t even know where to look for her… But then again, how likely was it that anything would happen?

And she went doubting herself again. She needed to stop doing that if she wanted to be at all successful in- in what she was doing. And she found, strangely enough, that she did indeed want to be successful.

She heard the bus driver call out the name of her stop, and stood, making her way to the front and dropping her fare into the tin. Stepping down onto the street, she looked around at the ritzy neighborhood. She knew how to get the rest of the way, when she was small, her parents had occasionally taken her and then-baby Dash to Edna’s fancy parties. Sadly, fewer and fewer of the ex-heroes had come to attend over the years, until Edna had just stopped. As Violet walked down the gleaming pavement she found that this was the first time that thought had saddened her in a way that didn’t involve missing out on party food.

The house, though she wasn’t sure such a large structure even counted as a house, loomed before her, with its iron gates rising up and blocking her way. She looked over and found the intercom. She pushed the button.

“Who is it?”

“It’s, uh, Violet…”

 

---

 

It had been almost three days since Vex had found herself sobbing in Syndrome’s arms. A little while later he’d holed himself up in his lab, giving her instructions to monitor the entire goings on in the base while he was occupied. It wasn’t a particularly difficult task, she just had to make rounds and make sure that everyone was doing what they were supposed to and not slacking off somewhere. She hadn’t really felt like she could enforce her authority at first, since most of the mercs were quite a bit larger than her, but strangely they were quite inclined to do as she said. Most of this was obviously due to their wonderful training, but sometimes they actually seemed to be a little intimidated by her.

There was one incident in fact. A couple of guys were supposed to be on guard duty, and they kept sneaking off to play cards. The third time she’d caught them at it, she’d gotten pretty damn angry. After she’d gotten done yelling at them, after fifteen minutes or so, they hadn’t seemed inclined to shirk what they were getting paid to do again. Vex had left feeling rather self-satisfied, but needing some tea for her throat.

Of course, she’d gone to look in on Syndrome every little while, but he seemed quite absorbed in his work and not inclined to make coherent conversation. She’d give her report and he’d mutter incoherent ‘uh-uhs’. She was pretty sure he wasn’t even listening.

Vex sat at the kitchen table munching on a box of Keebler elves. She stared at the yellow and white-checkered tablecloth.

‘Why did Rasputin have a yellow checkered table cloth?’ she wondered, just before deciding, ‘I’d better go look in on Syn again.’

She sighed, pushing the three-quarters eaten box away, and stood up. She hoped he was alright. She didn’t think he’d slept in all that time. She headed out of the living quarters and knocked on the door of the lab. There was no answer.

“Syndrome?” she called.

Still no answer.

She sighed again. He probably couldn’t hear her. Well, she knew how that was anyway, her mother had complained about it often when she was writing. Vex tapped out the access code on the control panel, and the doors slid open. The sight that met her eyes frightened her quite a bit.

Syndrome was sprawled on the floor by his chair. His coffee cup was broken beside him.

Vex covered her mouth to suppress a shriek and rushed over to him, falling to her knees and grabbing his shoulders.

“Syn? Syndrome?” her eyes were wide as she shook him, trying to wake him up. He didn’t move. Her lip began to tremble.

‘Not dead, not dead, he can’t be dead.’

‘Why the hell would he be dead? Damn it girl think rationally.’

‘What should I?’

‘Remember those CPR courses? Check if he’s breathing.’

Vex cursed herself for being so irrational at first. She placed her hand next to Syndrome’s face and was relieved to feel his slow, warm breath.

She breathed a sigh of relief. He was just asleep. The big stubborn doofus had probably passed out, refusing to get up and go to bed.

‘See?’

‘Yeah, okay, now what? I can’t leave him here.’

‘So put him in bed.’

‘Yeah, how? You think I can pick him up?’

‘You do have a point there…’

Vex looked over Syndrome’s prone body. She noticed his hands were bare; he’d probably taken them off earlier. Which meant, she grinned. She could use them to pick him up! Vex had been looking for an excuse to try Syndrome’s zero-point gloves. She stood, and gazed around the room. They were lying next to the keyboard as she had expected. She picked one up and put it on. It was a little big for her, and heavier than she expected. Now, how to get them to work?

There were a few buttons on the wrist, but from watching Syn use them she knew that none of them activated the zero-beam thing. So that left inside . She felt around the inside of the glove, wiggling her fingers around. But she couldn’t find any kind of trigger mechanism. She frowned. It occurred to her that at some point, maybe she should have asked Syndrome how they worked.

With a sigh she took the glove off and set it down again. What now? She’d just have to wake him up. Great. She took a deep breath, and prepared herself. She really hoped he wouldn’t be angry.

She knelt down beside him again cautiously, and tried again. “Syndrome. Syn, wake up.” She poked him. He stirred, but didn’t wake. She poked him again. And again. She rolled her eyes. He certainly could sleep couldn’t he?

Well, she could do one of two things. She could either dump water on him, or tickle him. She weighed the two in her mind and wondered which of the two would be wiser, considering Syndrome’s fiery temper. She decided water was out. How pissed would he be to wake up sopping wt. Whereas tickling she could stop as soon as he opened his eyes.

She smirked amusing, and wiggled her fingers. She shouldn’t be enjoying this. Oh well. She put her hands on his stomach and began to tickle him.

It didn’t take long for Syndrome to start squirming and finally wake up with a cry of, “what the hell!”

Vex immediately backed off, though she couldn’t suppress a giggle.

Syndrome, sitting up and leaning against the desk, tried to glare at her, but couldn’t really manage it through his exhaustion. “Wha-?”

“You passed out,” Vex explained. “I couldn’t move you, so I had to wake you up. And you were pretty hard to wake up.”

Syndrome frowned at her, but didn’t seem to be able to argue with her logic. He yawned wide, and stretched, trying to get out the kinks from sleeping on the floor for however long he had been there.

Syndrome opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. The he grinned. “I did it, Vex.”

She looked at him questioningly. “Did what?” She realized that she hadn’t actually known just what he was working on.

He reached up and groped behind him on the desk until he grabbed the notebook. “It’s not a cure,” he admitted. “And I have to order some parts, but I’ve invented a device to stabilize your condition without plating anything in your head and… without obstructing your powers.”

Vex’s eyes widened with delight and she suddenly leapt on Syndrome and gave him a fierce hug. There were tears in her eyes.

Syndrome, though initially winded by the glomp, put his arm around her shoulder fondly. “Hey, I told you I’d take care of it, right?”

She nodded.

He lifted her chin up with two fingers so that their eyes met. “You doubt me?”

She shook her head. “Not for a second.”

He leaned in close and kissed her softly. Vex felt her heart flutter.

Syndrome ran his fingers through her hair. He yawned again.

Vex frowned concernedly. “You oughta go to bed.”

Syndrome shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Come on,” Vex stood up, and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him up with her. He tried to get up, but clumsily slipped back to the floor, pulling Vex down with him. She both winced and giggle as she landed on top of him. Syndrome chuckled as well, and pulled himself to his feet, dragging her up with him.

“Yeah,” Syndrome said, finding his balance. “bed would be a good idea.”

 

---

 

The small, excitable woman ushered Violet into the huge mansion, chattering away all the time, as Violet started around at the place she hadn’t seen since she was a small girl. Most places from your childhood looked smaller when you saw them older, but not Edna’s. It looked just as big as ever.

“It’s wonderful to see you dahling, I have to admit I hardly thought I’d see you coming her all on your own…” at this Edna looked back, and her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Uh, yeah. I wanted to talk to you… by myself,” Violet mumbled.

“Yes? Well, come, come, sit, sit. Now, sit down my dahling, please,” she tapped her foot as Violet sat down cautiously in one of the chairs.

Vi wiggled nervously in her chair. What if Edna wouldn’t do it for her? What if she told her mother what she was trying to do? She gulped. But it was too late now. Edna would demand that Violet tell her why she was here.

“Now, my dahling, what brings you here to my home, hmmm?” she folded her hands on her lap, and peered at Vi, questioningly.

It made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. “I well, that is… I wanted to… see you.”

“Oh! So you enjoy my company hmm, I remember when you were a little girl, yes dahling, always just, disappearing in the middle of a sentence, yes? Very amusing but!” Edna’s tone of quick but fond remembrance turned suddenly slow and insinuating, “we both know that is not really why you are here…”

Violet’s resolve died under her knowing gaze. “I…”

“Well! Out with it! Come, come my dear, I haven’t got all day.”

Violet didn’t say anything.

Edna leapt out of her chair. “What are you waiting for!”

Violet winced. She didn’t like being yelled at. “I want a suit,” she muttered.

“What was that dahling? I couldn’t quite hear you,” she said in a sweet, singsong voice.

“I said I want a suit,” Vi repeated more firmly, crossing her arms.

Edna grinned. It was almost a sneer. “Oooooh, you want me to make you a suit do you? Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with the one you already have, unless…” her eyes narrowed again. “Your mother, does she know you are here?”

“Well, no…”

“I thought so! Yoooou want to go into solo work, am I right? Don’t try to deny it girl I know my business yes? You’re tired of always going out as a team, you want to be your own star!” she gestured wildly.

“Well, that’s sort of it,” Violet agreed hesitantly.

“I like it!” Edna grinned. “Hmm, lets see, you need a new costume, yes, and you’ll want to do something about that hair, much too telling, hmm? But you can’t just cut it, that would give you away also. I take it you won’t want your parents in on your new identity?”

Violet was shocked at how, not even nonchalantly, but excitedly, Edna was taking her request, which she realized she hadn’t even gotten to specifically ask. “Right,” she nodded. And Edna didn’t have any problem hiding it from her parents! Vi had known the designer had a subversive streak, but this was just too cool.

“That makes it more difficult, yes… But! I am up to the challenge! Now! Shoo! I have work to do! Come back in week, nice to see you bye!” Edna waved at her, all the while leading her back outside to the driveway and to a limo with a tall driver standing beside it. “This is James, my chauffer, he’ll take you home, won’t you dahling? Oh, but make sure to drop her off a block away, yes?”

A thrill of infectious excitement went through Vi’s spine. Things were going better than she ever could have planned. In one week, she’d have her own secret identity.

To be continued…

 

 

PREVIOUSLY ON CCR: Vex had appeared to contract a disease related to her newfound super powers, caused by erratic activity of the parawaves in her brain. Syndrome worked long and hard to discover a cure or treatment, based on the research that Dr. Rasputin, the previous owner of Syndrome’s new lair, had made years earlier. While successful in inventing such a treatment, Vex arrived to find him passed out from exhaustion. Meanwhile back in the suburbs Violet Parr continued in her personal evolution as a super, seeking a new costume from the famous designer and friend of the family, Edna Mode.

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

Disclaimer: The Incredibles and all affiliated characters are the property of Disney/Pixar. Vex is mine.

Chapter 22: Reflections and Consequences

Mikhail could be patient when the situation called for it, but he wasn’t really patient by nature. Long-suffering was really more of an adjective he might use to describe his waiting habits. And so, the Russian avenger paced around his small, shabby apartment, ruminating on his earlier phone call to Mirage.

Nothing, she said. They had found nothing when they went to the base. How could this be? Granted it was invisible from outside, but how could that bastard Syndrome have failed to alert them to his presence. All of Mikhail’s contacts assured Mikhail that the grudge Syndrome bore Mr. Incredible was as powerful as Mikhail’s to Syndrome! (Though in no way as justified of course).

And yet the American ‘heroes’ had gone home, believing his information to be false! It was so frustrating, so very unbelievably frustrating.

One of his ‘rats’ chattered anxiously at his feet, reflecting his mood. Mikhail clenched his fists and kicked a wall. Damn that Syndrome. Damn him to hell along with that deluded wench of his!

 

---

 

The cuffs sat on one of the long, cluttered tables in his private workshop. It had taken only two days to have the key component flown in, and after receiving it; the only thing left was to put it together. And of course, to see if it worked.

Syndrome leaned forward, peering at the device, his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. All the tests indicated that the cuffs should act as a stabilizing agent, to stop the deteriorating condition of Vex’s ‘parawaves’. When switched on, the cuffs would emit a low-grade electrical field that would mesh with her brainwaves and calm the irregular spikes and low points that were causing her powers to harm her.

And then, Syndrome sighed to himself, she’d be able to use the powers to her hearts content without any ill effects. Joy.

The villain glanced over at the machine that was used for measuring the amount of parawaves, of super potential, that a person had. If Syndrome stuck his head in there, he knew how it would read. All levels normal.

He rubbed his gloves hands together. It didn’t matter; it didn’t matter a bit! He was as powerful as any super there was. More powerful even! Wasn’t that what he had set out to achieve in the first place? When he had struggled to get to Mr. Incredible’s side as Incrediboy, all those many years ago, that was what he had claimed. That you didn’t need powers to be somebody.

He snorted. Well, he certainly was somebody now, wasn’t he? A little heard side of his personality muttered. Oh yes, a rich and powerful businessman. A billionaire. An arms supplier, who sold his inventions to third world nations so that they could slaughter one another. He was Syndrome! He’d killed dozens of supers too, and wasn’t that just the neatest thing? Don’t forget the most recent one. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor!

Syndrome told his conscience to go take a hike. Too little, too late. To regret what he’d become would be naïve and foolish. In the course of his life Syndrome had done and gotten exactly what he wanted.

Exactly what he wanted.

Supers were weak compared to him.

Everything he wanted?

Syndrome’s gaze flickered up to the clock on the wall and he contributed his confused thinking to the late hour.

“I need more coffee,” he moaned quietly to himself, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face and back above his head where it belonged. He wondered if Vex was asleep, and if she was, should he wake her up to give her the cuffs, or just go to sleep himself?

Well, he’d figure that one out when he got there. He picked the cuffs up, and stood, exiting the lab.

Despite the late hour the base still hummed with activity, a sight that gave him much comfort. Minions in threatening body armor proceeded up and down the corridors in their various duties, the fluorescent light gleaming on their reflective glasses, their steps measured as they carefully avoided any and all deathtraps. If he went into the main construction bay he’d be able to see how construction of his latest weapon was proceeding. He was tempted to take a detour in order to do just that, but no, he was looking for Vex right now. And coffee. He definitely needed coffee. Now, preferably.

He stopped a random minion. “Get me some coffee,” he commanded, “I’ll wait here for it.”

The minion didn’t even hesitate. He just nodded, said, “Yes sir,” and trotted off, presumably in the direction of coffee.

Syndrome smiled. Yes, life was good. He had his money and power, his base, his minions, his schemes, his weapons and his lovely assistant. All he needed was exactly what he was working for, his revenge.

He hadn’t been sitting idly by since the Incredibles’ little scouting mission, oh no. His minions were working on a couple of different projects he had planned. The biggest was of course what he called ‘Weapon X’. The omni droid had failed in the end, for a simple reason. It was a machine, and it thought and acted like a machine. It had no human intelligence to react to commands and changing situations.

Weapon X was not a robot, it was a machine designed to be piloted by a skilled human or humans. It would have a minimal AI ‘autopilot’ but nothing that could conceivably work against him.

Unlike the Omnidroid, Weapon X was bipedal so that the controls would be more intuitive to a person. It was a ten story giant mechanical warrior with an insanely powerful arsenal. Syndrome began to laugh at the idea of treading through the city, leaving house-sized footprints in his wake only to bend over, and politely tap on the door of Mr. Incredible’s lovely suburban home. And when he answered…

Syndrome’s chuckle had become full out maniacal laughter by the time the minion returned with his coffee. Syndrome calmed himself, coughed a bit at the end of his laugh, and took the coffee. The minion didn’t comment.

 

---

 

Violet was sitting in math class when it occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Tony, even in school, for over a week. That wasn’t such a surprise, since they didn’t actually have any classes together, but… she hadn’t seen him in the hall, or at lunch either.

First Vi felt bad and embarrassed that she hadn’t even thought about him for days. With her mind on other things such as Mirage, and her own impending costume, it had just slipped her mind. Then she realized that she hadn’t even remembered to call Tony and apologize to him for missing their date!

Now she felt really embarrassed, and even a little angry. Was he avoiding her because he thought she had stood him up? It wasn’t like that at all! She’d just been… too busy to care? Did that fall under the heading of standing up anyway, even if it hadn’t been her intention?

There was no help for it. She would just have to find him and apologize.

Her resolve strengthened to smooth out the understanding, she began to stand up. Then she realized she was still in class and it would have to wait for a few minutes.

Violet sighed and tapped the butt of her pen on the desk. She liked Tony, she really did. But lately he didn’t seem to be taking up as much of her life, as when he’d been an unattainable crush. She was a little confused about that. Shouldn’t she be thinking about him more, now that they were really going out?

No, that wasn’t the problem. It was really just that things kept getting in the way.

The bell to end class rang and Vi stood up. She had one thing in mind. Find Tony, apologize to him. Was that technically two things? Not important, she decided.

 

---

 

Vex was not, in fact, asleep. She didn’t like to admit it, but she was having trouble sleeping so she’d commandeered one of the plush minion rec rooms, complete with couches, TV, snacks and even a ping pong table. She had hung a hastily scribbled sign on the door. It read:

DO NOT DISTURB!

(unless it’s important)

All too often in movies, villains either missed crucial information, or ended up killing servants for disobeying them all because they were ‘not to be disturbed under any circumstances. And, while Vex wasn’t teleconferencing with foreign dictators, or watching Our Hero writhe in a terrible death trap only to leave at a crucial moment so he could escape, she did want a little privacy.

She was watching Star Wars.

She lay, stretched out on the largest couch, wearing comfortable cloudy-blue flannel pajamas, with a bowl of popcorn. There were two empty cans of cola on the coffee table, and she was working on a third.

Vex had raided the minions’ video library to find her choice. There hadn’t been much in English, and even A New Hope had subtitles in Cyrillic at the bottom. That didn’t bother her however, the familiar movie was comforting, and that was what she needed.

Vex had faith in Syndrome, gobs of faith, oodles. That didn’t stop her from being nervous, however. Although she fought to keep it in check, every so often her hand would pass right through something, and pain would lance through her body. It wasn’t a great state of affairs.

But she could quote most of the movie, and the hum of lightsabers was stupidly soothing, and the popcorn was well buttered and soda was her friend, and everything would be all right. She would help Syndrome command his minions, and crush his enemies, and not die.

Listening to the Imperial March, Vex wondered what it might be like to rule the world. Certainly Syndrome already came close, with his tons of money that could buy preferential treatment over the President of France. If she were honest with herself, Vex would admit that she did feel a little different than she had before all this. For instance, it was easy to give orders to minions once you discovered that they actually obeyed you, rather than laughing in your face. And watching the construction of a tremendous mecha was thrilling. The confident personality that Vex had only played at in her former life seemed to be merging with her own; except when she took off the costume.

Then she was just plain, fangirly little Sharon.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said, immediately pausing her movie. She was a little worried about what could be important enough to disturb her.

She heard the door open, and she turned to find syndrome standing in the doorway, holding a tall paper cup of coffee.

A smile broke out on her face, which had been filled with doubt.

“It took me a while to find you,” he said, with a smirk.

“Sorry,” she shrugged.

“Star Wars?”

“Hey, it was that or Doctor Zhivago.”

“In that case,” Syndrome replied with a wry grin as he sat down beside her, “I applaud your discerning taste.”

Vex laughed.

Syndrome put a hand on her wrist. “I have something for you.”

Her heart fluttered a bit.

“It’s finished.”

Syndrome showed her the other item he was holding, a pair of bracelets, or manacles of a metallic sheen. Inside she could see circuitry winding around them, outside they had inset four ovals of pure green jade.

“They’re beautiful,” Vex said, laying her fingers on one.

“They’re not a cure,” Syndrome admitted. “You’ll have to wear them all the time, but they’ll stabilize your brain wave patterns. You’ll be able to use your powers.”

Vex looked from the bracelets, to Syndrome’s freckled face. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Here,” he picked up one of the pair and opened it. Vex offered him her wrist with no hesitation, and he latched it on. She felt a tingling sensation for a moment, and again when the other one was snapped on. And then nothing. Just relief.

“You shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“Good,” Vex nodded, resting her heard against Syndrome’s shoulder. “That means I can concentrate on helping you with the Plan now.”

“Good,” Syndrome grinned. “But not just yet.”

He hit play on the remote and the movie resumed.

They sat in silence for a few moments, relieved and tired, enjoying the company of one another.

After a little while, Vex spoke.

“Syndrome,” she asked, “do you think you could really build a lightsaber.”

“You know, I never thought about it,” he admitted. “Probably.”

 

---

 

Violet’s free period was spent hurrying up and down the corners of her school, searching for Tony, whom she knew also had a study hall at the same time. She knew this, because, well they’d spent the time making out one day a few weeks ago…

Now he was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t in any of the designated study rooms, or in the library, or the gym, or the cafeteria, or hanging out by the lockers. With ten minutes left before the next class, Violet had begun to regret bothering. Maybe he wasn’t in school at all today. Maybe she hadn’t seen him in days because he was ill and had to stay home.

She sighed. She had time to check one more place, and then she’d have to go up to history class.

Vi headed down the nearly empty, dimly lit corridor, resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t find him. If Tony was here today, he was doing his best to be inconspicuous.

He place she was headed to was in the far wing of the school. Under the stairs that led to the second floor, there had several years ago been a small alcove there, and it had been a popular place for skipping class. During recent building renovations however, they’d put a door over the alcove, and everyone just assumed that it was locked, and generally forgot that the alcove, and even the door, existed in the first place.

Violet knew a secret. The door wasn’t locked. And anyone who had the cunning to slip into it while no one was looking would have complete and utter privacy. It was where she and Tony had gone to make out that one time.

He wouldn’t be there of course, but she had decided to search for him, and she had to be thorough about it, just to prove to herself that he wasn’t around, and that she had tried her hardest to apologize.

Violet rounded the corner to the stairway, and put her hand on the doorknob.

She heard a noise from inside, and blinked. Nobody else knew about the alcove, did they? She turned the knob, and opened the door, just a crack.

She peered inside.

A moment later she closed it again, and practically ran back down the hallway, and to the bathroom, tears welling in her eyes and a fierce anger clutching at her throat.

Oh, she’d found Tony all right.

She’d also found her classmate, Claire Brewster.

To be continued…

 

 

Comics Cookies and Revenge

By Lejindarybunny

Disclaimer: The Incredibles and all affiliated characters are the property of Disney/Pixar. Vex is mine.

Chapter 23: New Inventory

Syndrome leaned on the metal rail watching as below him in the construction bay, Weapon X was being assembled. It was easy to see the progress from day to day. At the start they had assembled the basic endoskeleton, making sure all the joints were in the right places. For the past week they’d been building the ‘musculature’ of the mecha, weaving wires and cables like sinews and nerve endings. When they finally put the armor plating on it, then it would be time to take that baby out for a test drive.

The red head stood, and swaggered away from the viewing platform and was immediately accosted by a saluting minion.

“Lord Syndrome,” the man addressed.

Syndrome fought the urge to roll his eyes. The urge won He had a fairly good idea where that mode of address came from. He wondered idly if he ought to hide the Star Wars movies from Vex. She seemed to be getting a little… obsessive in the past few days.

“Yes, what is it?” Syndrome asked.

“Its one of our ships, sir. Its been captured by pirates.”

The redhead stared at his minion in disbelief. “Pirates,” he repeated. “You mean Pirates as in eye patches and ‘x marks the spot’?”

“Uh, no. Pirates as in seafaring bandits with machine guns and motorboats. They killed the entire crew, sir.”

“God damn it. Well, which ship was t?”

“The Banquo’s Ghost, sir. An arms shipment to Prince Abachaba.”

“Oh wonderful, just wonderful. The bastard probably high jacked it himself,” Syndrome grumbled. “Fine, send him a message; tell him it’ll be late.”

He wouldn’t be happy about it, but tough luck. Syndrome made a note to revise his mental image of pirates, which was apparently outdated. Classic, but outdated.

“Is that all?”

The minion nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

His eyes rolled again, almost by their own volition. Well, maybe it was better than ‘Boss’ which smacked of ‘Inspector Gadget’ and it wasn’t ‘Herr Docktor’ which was a good thing.

“You’re dismissed.”

Coffee: that was what he needed. And food. And to see what Vex was up to. With that resolve he proceeded away from the viewing platform out into one of the many labyrinthine corridors of the mountain lair. They were lit with florescent tubing that gave the whole place a very sterile, hospitalish feeling. Syndrome thought he was one of the few people that actually liked hospitals, they gave him a feeling of controlled chaos; a space wherein men and women fought to combat the inevitabilities of nature with the weapon of medicine. In a world without Supers, Buddy Pine might have become a doctor. He liked to think he would have been a good one.

But that wasn’t how life had played out, and now Syndrome made giant robots and light sabers in order to impress his control upon the uncontrolled universe. It was a little bit more visually impressive than medicine, anyway.

Syndrome was surprised when he didn’t find Vexation in viewing room A. For the past few days she had been holed up in there, playing one of the Star Wars video games. He had to admit her mood had improved since he’d presented her with the Parawave Stabilizers, and while only natural, that change for the better please Syndrome greatly. It had been disheartening to see the normally exuberant girl moping about the base.

Well, if she wasn’t playing video games, or watching movies, where would she be? Perhaps she was in the computer hub adjacent to his lab checking her email or something. Perfect, if that was where she was he’d have a chance to show her the fruits of his most recent effort.

When he arrived at the lab it was dark, and the hulking equipment cast eerie shadows on the walls that loomed like beasts. He heard from across the room however, the soft tip-tapping of a keyboard. His guess had been correct.

Quietly, without turning on the lights, he crept across the room towards the place where a door was ajar and light spilled out. He picked up the small, cylindrical item from his work bench, and continued his sneak up.

Syndrome smirked to himself as he opened the door without so much as a creak. There was Vex, in costume, her cape detached and slung across the back of her chair, framed in the hazy light of the gigantic computer monitor. He watched her for a moment, typing with that odd fervor, and when she still failed to notice him, walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

Vex yelped and almost jumped out of her skin. Panting, she cast a wide eyed glare at Syndrome, who was shaking with laughter.

“Don’t dopooooo that!” she exclaimed.

The red head took a deep breath and leaned heavily on the chair, regaining some of his composure. “Heheh, sorry, you’re just too easy.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, crossing her arms.

“Consider it payback for the ‘lord Syndrome’ thing,” he teased.

“What you don’t like that?” she giggled. “Anyway, its not like I told them to call you that. They just heard me say it and assumed it was correct.”

“Oh is that so?” he raised his eyebrow.

“I can stop, if you want.”

“Nah, its fine.” He turned his attention up to the monitor. “So, what are you writing?”

“Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic fanfic,” she admitted.

“Uh-huh.”

“HK-47 gets transferred into a human body as the result of an accident.”

“How’s that work?” he asked curiously.

“Well, its really more of a psychological piece about how he reacts to it.”

“So in other words you have no clue.”

“None whatsoever,” she said, returning his wry grin, “You’re not supposed to put it that way though.”

“I’m hungry,” Syndrome said, changing the subject completely. “You want to get something to eat with me?”

“Um…” Vex blinked a few times.

“What’s up?”

She laughed. “I just realized I haven’t eaten in the last seven hours or so.”

“I’m taking that as a ‘yes’. Eat now, write incredibly bizarre Star Wars fiction later,” Syndrome took her gently but firmly by the shoulders, and led her out of the room.

She didn’t even argue the point. Well, not very much.

 

---

 

Someone was knocking on her door again; Violet bet that it was her mother.

“Sweety, are you all right?”

Yep, she was right.

“I’m fine mom, I’m just doing my homework.”

“Are you sure?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes mom, I am sure.”

“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

Violet waited until her mother’s footsteps were down the hall to let out a tremendous sigh. She was laying on her back on her bed, with her head over the side. The whole room was upside down. Three days ago she’d found out that Tony was cheating on her with Claire. Not only that though, that wasn’t the part that made her so amazingly angry.

Later that day she had happened to be in the girls’ bathroom, when she heard what she should have known from the start. Tony had been with Claire the entire time he and Violet had been dating. Vi was nothing but a side dish. A joke.

Vi had practically gone nuts. She was humiliated, crushed. But she still couldn’t confront Tony on it, not face to face. Everyone would laugh at her. Everyone had apparently known… except her. Well, maybe Claire didn’t know either, but even that was suspect.

That day she’d come home and said nothing, just locked herself in her room, without talking to anyone, and hadn’t come out for dinner. Then she hadn’t gone to school yesterday. Her mom had wanted to know what was wrong, but luckily, she hadn’t pressed the issue. Violet knew she’d have to answer soon, but that was going to have to wait until she felt less hurt and betrayed.

Vi had gone to school today though, and done something that she shouldn’t have, something that she was ashamed of. She had brought her costume with her, wearing it under her normal clothes, she hadn’t known then what she intended to do with it, but she knew she was going to do something.

What had ended up happening was that she had, invisibly, watched Tony putting in the combination to his locker. Later, when no one was in the hallway, she had opened the locker, taken out everything in it, books, notebooks, personal items and all, and dumped it in the trash.

Vi had thought it would make her feel better, it did, a little bit but it seemed so petty in comparison to what he’d done. Just the same she felt guilty about it. Two wrongs didn’t make a right after all.

She sighed again and sat up, glancing at the clock. It was only four thirty. It wasn’t quite time yet. Still, maybe she should explain to her mother what had happened to make her so upset, before she went skipping off into the night.

She stood up and opened the door. “Mom?”

 

---

 

They were in a Mexican restaurant. Well, technically it was a Russian restaurant that served Mexican style food. It was a Mexican restaurant in Russia. Vex wasn’t sure if she’d been able to Syndrome exactly why that was so odd.

It was, however, quite nice to get out of the Lair for a little bit, Vex thought. The seemingly endless series of corridors was filled with hazy electric lighting no matter what time of day it was. Granted, a snowy afternoon in Saint Petersburg wasn’t exactly sunshine city, but at least there was some natural light. The people in the restaurant were eye-catching now, simply because they weren’t wearing face concealing body armor.

“Can you speak any Russian? All the conversations in here sound like gibberish,” Vex asked. She was a chronic eavesdropper in public places, and not being able to understand anything was a little unnerving.

Syndrome was sitting across from her in a maroon sweater and khaki pants, his hair back in a pony tail. He shrugged. “A few words. The menus are in Engl- well, Mexican… sort of. Well, you’ll be able to figure out what the food is, anyway.” He grinned.

“How do you pronounce ‘Coca-cola’ in Russian?”

“I think its just, ‘coca cola’, babe.”

“They’re not going to put any alcohol or anything in it, are they?”

Syndrome raised an eyebrow. “Why, do you want some?”

“No, it makes the coke taste nasty. I just always heard that Russians were famous drunks.”

Syndrome laughed. “You better hope nobody in here speaks English!”

“Everything I know about Russian I learned from Pavel Checkov,” Vex grinned sheepishly.

“Wow, and people used to say I had no life.”

“Oh yeah? What stopped them?” Vex shot back.

“Mostly the laser-wielding robots.”

She really didn’t have a witty response for that. “Yeah… that’d about do it.”

“Oh hey, speaking of your rampant fangirliness, I have a present for you.”

Vex brightened up immediately, but before she could enquire further, their waitress, a svelte young woman with long black hair and heavy mascara appeared at their table to take their order. Vex, who couldn’t make out a word of her ‘bizarre lingo’ got away with pointing at the menu and hoping she knew what she was ordering.

“So what’s this present?” Vex asked curiously as the waitress retreated to the kitchen.

“Well, I had meant to show you while we were still at the lair, but I forgot. So you’ll have to wait.”

“Bastard,” she pouted half-convincingly and crossed her arms. “I want it now .”

“Well you can’t have it now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not the sort of thing you wave around in public. Well, okay, not the sort of thing most people wave around in public. And it would be too attention drawing.”

Vex raised an incredulous, “Is that an innuendo ?”

He laughed. “Not quite.”

“Well, tell me what it is then.”

“No, then you’ll want me to give it to you even more.”

Vex thought for a moment. “I’m going to come over there and attack you for it, in a minute.”

“I’d like to see you try that,” he grinned roguishly at her.

“I just might!”

The waitress set their drinks on the table, along with water, and straws. She said something that Vex again, didn’t understand a word of. She assumed it was something to the effect of ‘your dinner will be ready shortly’.

Vex took a sip of her coke. It tasted normal. She took a longer gulp to show her approval. Syndrome meanwhile was stirring sugar into a cup of coffee so black Vex was surprised it wasn’t drawing nearby planet’s into its gravity.

“Tell you what,” Syndrome said finally, “I’ll give it to you when we get outside after dinner, alright?”

Vex agreed to his terms, and the conversation turned to other topics as their waited for their food.

 

---

 

Once again Violet stood in front of Edna Mode’s imposing properties. The fashion designer had asked her to come back in a week, and that was how long it had been. Plus an extra day, just for good measure. She pushed the intercom button hesitantly, expecting to be greeted by the imposing security guards. Instead, it was Ms. Mode herself.

“Hello?”

“Helloooo?” the pitched voice of the designer rang out from the speaker. “Oh! Violet my little dahling it IS you! Come in come in come in I have been expecting you!”

The gate swung open, and now security did greet her, with a golf-cart type vehicle that took her up to the mansion. Edna was waiting for her at the door.

“Violet! You must come in! I have much to show you! I triumph! That is the nature of my project, yes! Hmmm, come with me dear.”

Vi allowed herself to be led through the halls by the hyperactive little woman, feeling just a little uncomfortable, but glad to know that she wasn’t unwelcome. Disarming her security measures Edna led Vi into a small viewing room, where they sat down and Violet was offered some tea.

Behind a glass window there was a mannequin in Violet’s size was wearing what she presumed to be her new costume. She had too admit, it was pretty cool looking. It was a mostly black bodysuit with silver highlights around the shoulders, forearms, and boots. There was a belt and a belt-pouch.

Edna pointed to it ecstatically. “Isn’t it lovely my deah? High grade, stainless tight weave. Nearly unrippable. Of course like your old costume this one will also disappear with you. And I have elevated shoes to make you appear a bit taller than you are. But, now I will show you the real masterpiece.”

Edna Mode picked up from the table a small metal ring, She held it up to the light, and Vi could see circuits around the inside. Then, abruptly, Edna grabbed hold of Violet’s hair, and pulled it back. Shocked more by the suddenness of the action than its presumptuous nature, she held still as the ring clasped her hair into a pony tail.

Edna held up a mirror. “Now, look, look my deah.”

Violet stared into the mirror, shocked. Instead of just seeing herself in a ponytail, the face that looked back at her was… older, and didn’t quite look like her.

“What do you think?” the designer chirped.

“Its… wow. How did you do that?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Nanotechnology, 3-d image generation. Its only a miracle of modern science and fashion dahling. It can also reconfigure your hairdo as well. Look!” Edna was holding a simple black domino mask, but it seemed to control the metal band somehow, because when the side of it was pressed, Violet watched in amazement as her hair seemed to creep up her shoulders, until it hung Cleopatra-esque around her chin.

“I look like a totally different person…”

“Impressive, no? Now you will not have to worry about even your parents recognizing you!”

“Its amazing! Thank you so much!” She turned around and hugged the diminutive woman.

Edna almost seemed embarrassed, despite her gregarious personality. “Well, I am only doing my duty to fashion and the world dahling, but I am so glad you like it. You will make me proud, right my little dahling?”

“Oh of course, I promise!”

“Now, let me show you just how it works and we will see you off home. Though I doubt you will be staying there so very long tonight, hmmmm?”

 

---

 

“Check please,” Syndrome asked the waiter in Russian. Well, vex assumed that was what he said. For all she knew he could be propositioning the woman. But seeing as they were shortly brought a bill for their meal, it was probably about the check.

“I’m full,” Vex said. “I had no idea Russians could make decent Mexican food.”

“It’s a niche market,” Syndrome replied, as the waitress handed him back one of his dozen or so credit cards. “So, I guess you’re going to wanting that present in a minute, huh?”

Vex sat straight up in her chair. She’d almost forgotten about that. “Yes, definitely!” she exclaimed.

“Well then, let’s be on our way.” He offered her his hand, and pulled her up and into his arms. He kissed her on the nose.

Vex giggled and followed him out into the snowy streets of the city. It was twilight, and the last shards of daylight were clinging like embers to the hem of the horizon. They stood under a street lamp that winked on as they approached it.

“Now, I worked hard on this, so you better like it,” Syndrome said with a grin.

“Well, by the way you were hyping it, I’m sure I will. Now gimme,” she demanded good naturedly.

Syndrome reached into the pocket of his long coat and produced what appeared to be a metal cylinder, about ten inches in length.

Vex stared at it for a moment before realizing what it was. Her mouth practically fell open. “A lightsaber! You built one! Does it really work?”

Syndrome nodded. “Mostly anyway. Its not actually a contained energy beam, because there’s no practical way to cut the laser off like a sword, it just keeps going. When you switch it on, a metal rod, like a filament, quickly telescopes, and produces light, heat and electricity, creating a combined burn/shock to anything itcontacts. It won’t actually cut anything, but it’s a real weapon and it looks exactly light a lightsaber when it’s on.”

“Can I see? Can I turn it on?”

Syndrome handed her the hilt. “You can find the on/off switch, I’m sure, just make sure its pointed away from you or me.”

Vex was grinning like a maniac as she held it in her hand. “Its heavy,” she commented. “A good weight.”

Vex pressed the button, and a beam of deep blue energy seemed to erupt from the hilt of the weapon. It even made ‘the lightsaber noise’. She stared at it, entranced as it hummed and lit up the cold, dim air. It was like she was holding a real lightsaber. She waved it back and forth.

“Its beautiful,” she gasped.

“Deadly, too,” Syndrome added. He looked quite pleased with himself. “You’ll have to practice with it in the gym. I built in a stun/kill setting also.”

She played with her new ‘toy’ for another minute or so, and then shut it off. She tackled Syndrome with a giant hug.

“Thank you! Thank you so much! This is the best present ever!”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else, but for you…”

“I absolutely love it!”

It was just a whisper in her ear. Barely audible, but she knew it was real. “I absolutely love you,” Syndrome said.

To be continued…

A/N: Again, I’m really sorry for the long wait between chapters everyone. I’ve been having a hard time juggling my new life, working and living on my own, but I think I’m starting to get the idea. Hopefully I will be able to write more often, but no promises.