Icarus

By Shahrezad1

Summary: There was only one man who could possibly help her. And the last time she'd checked, he was dead.

Disclaimer: The ownership of Incredibles…it does not exist.

Chapter 3: Running With Scissors aka Doing Stupid Things

"When they finally come to destroy the earth,

they'll have to go through you first.

I bet they won't be expecting that.

When they finally come to destroy the earth,

They'll have to deal with you first.

And now my money says,

they won't know about,

the thousand-Fahrenheit,

hot metal lights behind your eyes!

Invincible!

Oh, oh, oh!

You're Invincible!"

-Invincible, OK Go

~/~/~

"It's my lucky lipstick. I've only got one left, so I've got to keep it on me at all times. You'll understand once you start actually living, Haze."

A memory of words distinctly muttered fluttered from ear to ear, like a whisper on the wind; bringing back a conversation from a week previous, with Trisha talking long after Vi should have been asleep, as she was now.

Violet had been slowly preparing for bed, brush in hand and tatty robe enveloping her form, even as Trisha was preparing for a night on the town. Her words had seemed trite then, a smattering of words that only reinforced Vi's view of her as being a habitual flirt.

"What are you talking about? I am living."

"School and work don't count, Vi. You won't be a Super forever, and at the end of the day, after all the bad guys have been locked away and the camera flashes stop, who comes home? The Civilian, that's who. I don't know about you, but I don't plan on being a lonely old spinster like TsuNami. And you can try and pull that 'helping people' crap on others, but I know deep down that you don't want your life to become an endless courtroom either. There's still a girl under the Supersuit. You need a man, Haze. You need to start living. Start taking some risks already! Because you never know when what you care about will be taken from you."

"Might as well live with the time you've got."

"Whatever you say, Trisha."

~/~/~

Somehow, Violet didn't think this was what Trisha had meant when she'd said she should live a little.

After all, she was once again stuck on top of a building, looking down.

The rain was still pouring when Violet finally stepped out into the underbelly of Municiberg., and even with her hair slicked back and wearing a skin-tight suit, she was immediately drenched and shivering. The street had been empty and black as pitch, hot air rising from the trapped recesses beneath the crumbling city streets, only to be dampened by the outpouring of rain.

From there she had scouted out the area, finding only vagrants and bums to challenge her gaze. Then, from the shadows, she had just stood and thought things out.

It hadn't taken a genius to realize that she was missing a few things. A game plan, for one, and a clue for another. She had no idea if the man even existed still, and when it came to the location she was running blind. Essentially, Violet had three outcomes to the evening planned out.

The first revolved around not getting caught, somehow finding the 'deceased' Villain, and making it out of the situation alive. The second was more likely in that she would make her way through the NSA's quarters, only to realize that her actions were futile, Syndrome long-gone to the 'other side.' The last result for the evening's end was unthinkable. But something she had to face, should she fail--getting caught and subsequently suspended, demoted, or imprisoned.

Shaking her head ruefully, the Super examined the National Super Association's Municiberg location carefully. Built to resemble a common office building, it was made of rusty brick, old with age, and built in the rougher side of town. Alleyways surrounded the clay mausoleum, full of garbage and stray animals. The interior itself, however, was immaculate, and the reinforced walls blocked the smell out.

The location itself was to the benefit of all NSA-associated Supers, however, and all together had a reinforced steel frame, foundation, bullet-proof glass, and metal walls. A simple drill-through would only result in plenty of noise and possible discovery, making her father's usual mode of operandi futile in the extreme.

So she would have to use stealth instead.

In addition to silence, she would have to maintain strict self-control when it came to shielding and invisibility--a single false move could easily reveal her position, even with something as simple as raindrops sliding off an automatic bubble or a human-shaped silhouette appearing within the downpour.

Unfortunately, the college student really was better off going without the shields at this point. At least until she got inside, anyway. Then once Haze was within, the hero would dry off and then set her shields to a frequency matching most infrared cameras, effectively masking her form. Until then, however, the Super would have to suck it up and do what she came to do.

Thankfully, if Violet's instincts were correct, the off-tempo patter of rain should help in masking her tread, though.

Having formed the kinetic energy in her hands into a bowl-shape, rather than a full sphere, VyletHaze suctioned her way across the slick brick to an available window. It was a trick she'd seen her mentor use once, only with water droplets spread across the skin of her palms, like microscope octopus suckers. Only the process of emulating it was more difficult than it seemed, taking two experiences of sliding down the steep incline before Vylet made the decision to be more thoughtful in her wall-crawling endeavors.

The effort was well-worth it, though. Soon the dark-haired intruder was picking out both the manual and the electrical locks guarding the window, the former a trick taught by her mother and the latter something she'd picked up through experimental short-circuiting in her high school's computer labs. Then without word or pause, her slim form folded inside like so many layers of origami.

Violet was in, soaked but safe. An automatic electrical shield rose to the foreground with a hummingbird-like buzz, almost simultaneous with her effort towards invisibility. The halo of water dotting her suit and skin as dealt with easily, utilizing one of Edna's special features in her new Haze suit. It vaporized moisture immediately, an added design she'd specifically requested when she was fourteen.

Then, recalling from memory the overall building plan, Haze mentally went through her itinerary step-by-step.

The NSA's Municiberg headquarters were held in a four-story structure, complete with a single elevator, which led straight down before stopping on the main level. A set of stairs existed for emergency purpose, but they were rarely used otherwise, she knew from experience. Rough due to being mostly cement, they were cold as ice in the winter and slippery when it rained, due to multiple dripping leaks. On nights like this, the stationed guards typically only made a cursory check of the dangerous exit, but no more than that.

Additionally, Violet acknowledged as she slowly, invisibly, made her way down, the building tended to have a ghostly echo as a clear deterrent, something she took into account as an added bonus.

So, while there was a slight risk of being caught on camera, she chose the latter path. From there she would stop on each landing, scanning through the walls of each level with a little gadget Edna had once created for her, traditionally utilized when navigating the sewers. In this case she had transferred its purpose to that of searching out heat signals or any recognizable passageways.

Nothing came up, however, as VyletHaze went, down the slippery old steps and to the main level. A visual scan revealed several hidden compartments, mostly comprised of safes, but no hidden entrance.

Which made no sense, Violet huffed in exasperation. The computer had given her exact coordinates regarding the prisoner's location, so there had to be--.

A puff of warm air cut her mental rant short. And, closing her eyes, the superhero knew she'd found it. By feel alone, the invisible woman followed the current, hands outstretched, until they met concrete once more. But not full concrete--a crack ran down the wall following the seam, to an almost exact point. Running a flattened disk of electricity through the break, like a knife through butter, suitably triggered the cues needed, and without pause the wall seemed to shift and disappear entirely, revealing a hidden elevator within.

Studying the door intently, the Super searched for a way in but couldn't find anything but the object itself. The panel was a solid plane of glass, uninterrupted by even a maker's seal, and in the area where one would normally find an up or down arrow, only a finger print scanner existed.

Wonderful she thought as she studied the pad.

A distant idea formed in the back of her mind, reminding the girl of something she had seen in a movie. It was a long shot, true, but she'd gotten this far only mostly on luck anyway. Then gently pressing her finger on the pad, Vi shielded the single digit in a flat cover of electronic skin, hoping that the computer would read the finger print traces left from the last person to use it.

Time passed in painstaking milliseconds, the hero holding her breath as it seemed to take forever. Finally the door opened as the screen flashed a single word:

CLEAR.

But before she could breathe a sigh of relief more words appeared underneath:

UNSCHEDUALED ACCESS, the electronic panel seemed to silently scream, and without thinking she sent another disk of electricity into the machine to cut off any signal that might alert the guards.

Relaxing slightly, she took a deep breath before stepping into the elevator and pressed the down arrow. After what felt like ages later, the door opened pleasantly once more. Ending the mounting claustrophobia and revealing a hidden interior one would have never expected, looking at the building's exterior.

Beneath the NSA's headquarter existed a controlled laboratory, bustling with robotic aides and sentries, hard at work creating bits and pieces that sparked and hissed from the heat and glare of flame. Against the wall, like a line of trophies, existed several tables surrounded by what she assumed was bullet-proof glass, as new products were tested and examined.

The first displayed a long tray of stretched material, like synthetic skin, pockmarked with wires and run with delicate creases. Each inch was being poked and prodded, much like her doctor had when she was a child, until, like a toggle being flipped, the entire length of washed-out material rose in a great wave of goosebumps, filling the four foot-by-four foot space. The Super could only stare in invisible awe.

The next table bore familiar-looking designs for flare-based flight, hovering slightly a foot above the table while being attached to a pair of plain looking sneakers. And the next after that held an Electro-Magnetic Pulse Inducer. The only reason why she'd been able to identify it being that the Police had hoisted the weighty thing out in order to deal with ElecToad, effectively cutting off all surrounding electricity, and thereby his access to power.

The most eerie of all the inventions, however, lay in several false appendages hanging from clawed hooks against the wall, like coats being hung up on your first day of kindergarten. They dangled lifelessly from the ceiling, yet bore complete digits and hair, looking like the amputated remains of a Terminator-rerun. And shelved above them, cybernetic eyes rolled indiscriminately, like Magic-8 balls, coming in assorted colors.

Amid all the Frankenstein-like glory of the laboratory, however, the one object that struck her dumb was no larger than a nickel, at most. Placed carefully within a molded placement, the item glittered innocently as its actions were anything but.

A purple electrical field was being expelled from the tiny ring, where upon the computers were instructing it to take on various forms and shapes. Such as the bowl-shape she had used just previously, then on to a sphere, a pyramid, and a cone. When the Intern finally tore away her gaze, it was with anger.

Someone had found a way to duplicate her powers.

She didn't have time for that now, though.

Moving invisibly through the room, Violet was grateful that instead of a typical door, the entryway was protected by an electrical field. All it took was a little determined thinking and she was through, her shield placed at a hummingbird's frequency to match the sun-hot fence that barred her way. It didn't even skip in its crackling beat, nor was she seen on the glowing cameras tucked in each corner of the room.

Had Trisha been present, she would have cracked a smile or a joke of some sort. As it was, Vi just focused on not dying in the next leg of her journey.

The area was clear, although through a glass enclosure the dark haired woman could see several guards posted in neutral blues, their identities shielded by featureless reflective masks. And as one slim, leather-encased foot was lowered to the ground, a series of spark seemed to be set off. Releasing a sharp beep within the guards' confines.

Immediately the two men straightened, and Vylet's boot shot back up. When nothing else occurred, the men seemed to relax. And with forced casualness, the girl allowed herself to breath deeply and just…

Let go.

Of her fear, and especially on gravity.

Soon she was levitating within the invisible barrier she had erected, floating just enough above the ground to bypass the sensors running along the ground. Then slowly, unseen, the undercover Super continued.

The building's hidden floor was mostly unoccupied, a long line of doors stretching out like Arkham Asylum before her navy eyes. Most of the cells were empty of occupants, but a few held a smattering of men and women.

Lightning Claud sat innocently reading a book within a room, complete with rubber padding and a foot-thick plastic door, clearly made to be bullet and electricity-proof.

Baroness Evil was surrounded by extreme light, her cell painted a cheery buttercup yellow to match the daisy border pasted round its rim. Keeping both her shadow puppets and her own delve into depression in check.

Last was Viperess' den. Her room was several degrees colder than what was comfortable, holding the serpent queen in a lethargic thrall. However, despite the protective measures surrounding the Villainess' lair, Violet couldn't help but shiver as she met unseeing slitted eyes, a past wound burning sharply on her upper arm in memory of the not-so-distant past.

What followed was a series of villains she had only ever heard about, men and women of her parents' generation that had mysteriously disappeared at the same time the Supers had. But none of them were Syndrome. It wasn't until the last, most heavily protected cell, that the hero discovered her target. A realization that came on slowly, as she had had to take a second look within, moving on automatic.

It had definitely been instinct that had stopped the Heroine cold, for nothing else had clued her in on his location. It had merely been a sense of certainty, washing over her in a skin-crawling wave of familiarity, like Déjà vu mixed with the fingers of death running across one's face.

And then Violet had stopped.

The room was unremarkable from the outside of its laser field. Unlike many of the other chambers, it had no door, and the interior was enveloped in darkness.

An almost expectant kind of black., As though the air itself had been lying patiently in wait, for something. A lion caged. Waiting for her.

Before further pondering could deter her, she moved in. Hand running across the pin pad just outside, effectively altering it to recognize her electrical patterns without worry. And then her shielded form was gliding through like a ghost in the machine, force field as close to her body as possible.

The room was as dark as she'd thought it would be, reminiscent of tar and twice as thick. But her eyes soon adjusted to see that it was more than just an empty room. Scattered objects littered the room like fallen toy soldiers, old and beaten with use rather than love. The angles on desk and cot were sharply slanted, and tossed throughout the room she could barely make out the pale color of paper. Sketches, millions of sketches piled on shelves and desktop and taped to the walls like wanted posters at the Police Station.

And in the midst of it all was a man.

The girl almost didn't see him at first, as subdued and still as his form was. It was actually the sound of a pencil on paper that gave it away, a slight scratching in the deathly, almost expectant silence. And then her eyes couldn't tear themselves away as she was confronted with the terror of her childhood dreams, the Devil of her nightmares.

The enclosing room suddenly seemed smaller all of a sudden, pressing in as the mission was lost in the face of her own fear. Pressing down on the young woman until all she wanted was to cry like a child.

Like a child…

The awareness of self snapped back fast enough to cause whiplash, the realization of the when and now slapping her in the face and effectively maturing her in seconds.

She wasn't fourteen anymore. She was a Super, on a mission, and she wasn't going to chicken out when she was so close to her goal. And he, the Villain whose almost ridiculous presence had nearly destroyed her family, was a prisoner of the state.

Metaphorically girding her loins, Violet took a step further into the room, passing an assessing glance over her nemesis and current target.

He was shorter than she remembered, although she attributed that to the fact that he was sitting down, in addition to the more subdued hair.

In fact, it was almost the dead opposite of what she remembered it being. Parted to the side haphazardly, as though it was regularly slicked back but had shifted as he had become caught up in work, his once flame-shaped locks had become almost normal in their tameness. Thereby cutting his villainous presence in half.

His shirt was a simple military-issued black, long-sleeved tee. His pants were camo-green, although the shadows kept her from checking to see if they were tucked into combat boots. No scars marred a face lightly dusted with freckles, and thick brows were furrowed over a distinctly wedge-like nose, half his face still in shadow.

Violet was surprised to realize that if she took away the Titanic-sized chin and darkened the hair a tad, he wouldn't look far distant from an adult version her brother Jackson. An eery thought if there was one.

But it brought home another truth. Syndrome, when all was said and done, was nothing but a man.

A man who had murdered a majority of the United States-based Supers single handedly, and had nearly destroyed her family, but a man nonetheless. One that was currently sketching furiously what appeared to be a rocket ship, destined for spaceflight.

Abruptly the shadow figure moved, arm rising to press the play button on what she realized was a nearby boom box. It immediately masked all sound within the room with its muffled melody, and Violet found herself tensing automatically as he wet his lips, then continued drawing.

"As much as I believe in emulation as a form of a compliment, I regret to inform you that I won't be sharing any of my schematics with you, Villain 'Equality' or no. Sorry."

His words were dry and droll, every ounce of the man sarcastic in a subtly forthright way, lips thin and wide twisting into an almost unseen sneer as he worked steadily on his design, not even looking up once.

Not that he would have been able to see anything of her anyway, her form cloaked invisibly from view as it was. Still Violet had to mask the surprise she felt in that he'd even noticed her presence.

And then there were his words: 'Emulation as a form of compliment'? 'Villain or no'?

Mind moving faster than her brother's feet, abrupt understanding clicked into place.

He thought she was a wannabe; an up and coming criminal out to steal his plans, assuming he was helpless within the confines of his metal cage. Which meant that the Villain community was aware of his existence, even if the Super one wasn't.

Feeling once again alternately betrayed and irritated, Violet shoved aside the feelings in favor of the moment at hand. She had a job to do. Then, low and husky, her voice penetrated the darkness and subsequent music, just as she had intended.

"Who said anything about me being a Villain?"

His one visible eye snapped to attention, front and center, and brilliantly ice blue. It blinked as though removing a shutter from sight, and she remembered belatedly that she was still unseen, regardless of his detection skills.

The expression didn't change. Bored, neutrally closed, with none of the giddy, almost insane enthusiasm she remembered from her youth. No laughing, no triumphant arrogance.

Only a single raised brow, where the edge of his mask would have covered.

"Then you are a very foolish person indeed," he scoffed, bitter smile twisting his darkened face.

"What I am or what I'm not doesn't matter. It's what I'm willing to offer that you should focus on," she deliberately kept her voice pitched smooth and dark. More of a mumbled rumble of words than a tangled line of ants. It was an unconscious echo of what she had seen Mirage do on numerous occasions, when dealing with coworkers and even her partner, the man who was now her husband. Once, when Vi had first turned eighteen she had asked the older woman how she did it. What had been the trick, the girl had queried, and why did people, men especially, react differently to it than other speech?

'It's the mystery of it, dear girl,' the pale-haired vixen had answered simply, 'give them just as much as they need to know--no more than that. And if they want to know the rest, make them come to you for it."

It was this precise memory that she played on now, the dark adding an elegant aspect to her hidden figure as she watched an incredulous, and slightly surprised, expression cross over his face, the realization of her gender and possible intent altering the criminal's perspective.

He stared through her warily, finally setting the sketchbook aside as he used the desk next to him as a leverage in order to stand. It wasn't until he stood, straight and tall a full head higher than her at a little over six feet, that the worry returned.

Just what had she gotten herself into this time?

Sudden anxiety battling with the stubbornness of a woman with no other options open to her, and desperation the size of Everest, she almost missed it. The flash of metal in pitch darkness, near Syndrome's feet.

No, not near his feet. They were his feet.

Her personal nightmare had no legs, from his knees downward. Where thick muscle should have existed, there remained only thin poles ending in a solid base. Peg-legs for a king.

The price he'd paid for mistakes in the past.

It was this revelation that was her downfall, and in that single second of distraction she found herself being crushed against the cell wall, his form crashing into hers. To any cameras it would have seemed as though he had merely lost his balance, and was leaning against the wall for support. But pressed inches from his skin, gasp torn from her lips, Violet knew better.

"And why should I even listen to what you've got to say?" he hissed directly, breath hot and angry in her face as he literally scowled through her. The dark-haired Super realized with horror that the side of his face that had always been hidden in shadow was glowing. A hot, angry red shining out from where his left eye should have been.

He'd apparently lost it in the explosion or later, replacing it with a prosthetic. A prosthetic with specialty heat sensors, she realized upon remembering the rotating eyeballs in the lab. Ones that apparently could not only see through her invisibility, but also the frequency of her skin-tight shield.

Great. Just great.

Realizing she'd just lost one of her best cards, Violet reshuffled the deck and came up with a possible way out. If only she played it right.

"…if it involved freedom, in addition to revenge against Mr. Incredible, I would say it was worth five minutes of your time. Unless you've got a pressing engagement to look forward to."

The fury bleached from his skin, becoming a stone edifice as ferocity was tucked away for another day. The robotic eye kept moving, and although it glowed eerily, now that her eyes had adjusted she could see that in regular lighting it would appear almost normal.

He was still nothing but a man.

She could deal with a man. And the Super still had the upper hand. So when he frowned speculatively, scheming curiosity piqued on features sharpened with age and time, she knew she had him.

"I'm listening."

"I'm trying to get to Nomanisan."

An immediate laugh barked out, harsh and rusty, as though it hadn't been used in a long, long time, "I take back what I said, then. If you want to take a short trip off a long pier, be my guest."

She moved stubbornly onward, ignoring their close proximity in favor of a business-like visage. Imagining that they were across the room from one another, she defending her case with all the stubbornness of the lawyer she hoped to someday be, seemed to help some. But not enough to dispel the uncomfortable blush coloring her cheeks just beneath the mask.

His intent was pure evil, and he was twice her age at the very least (she guessed), but it had still been quite some time since she had been close to any man younger than her father that wasn't in high school or below, much less one that was an equal to her.

Ignoring this, Violet continued, "another Villain seems to have taken it as his--or her--new base."

The looming form above her own froze. Then what came was a puzzled expression of surprise, effectively youthening his features by nearly a decade. Causing him to look, if only for a second, like the enthusiastic criminal she remembered.

"What are you talking about? I thought the NSA…"

"Decommissioned it and turned it into a wildlife preserve? Yes. But lately people have been disappearing, and it all points to the island. It's a proverbial Bermuda Triangle right now."

Bushy brows furrowed over a small hawkish nose, lightning-blue eyes focused not on her, but through her in thought. As though, to his mind's eye, she really was invisible. And the line of red hair running in a short goatee along his chin seemed to puff up like an affronted parrot.

"…who is it?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

Fierce blue eyes ones again zoned back in on her features, annoyed scowl returning once more.

"All information regarding the island has been deleted," other than what Dicker had managed to smuggle into her hands, "and the Supers are systematically disappearing. Including the Agent Meredith Murphy, otherwise known as Mirage."

Speculative silence met her words as he just stared, as though he was piecing together her dark ponytail and purple suit, a glimmer of recognition floating on the edge of his mental horizon.

And then came the words, "Let me get this straight...you, 'Super-Ninja-Something-Or-Other-Girl', are offering to break me out, 'Syndrome-The-Super-Killer,' just so I can tour guide you around the island? For some 'Save the Cheerleader, Save the World,' hero crap? I ain't buying it--I'll be straight with you on that. And where does the revenge come in at, anyway? Before or after I get sucked into some ploy to take someone else's fall. If you'll pardon the pun."

Violet winced despite herself. Again wishing that she had somehow known beforehand what she was getting into, VyletHaze took a slow, calming breath. And merely spoke the truth, "no one is asking you to take the fall. All I need is a heads up on the setup of the island and possible codes in order to get through the traps. From there…you're free."

Although she couldn't help but wince as she said it. Knowing instinctively that somehow that the decision would come back to bite her in the rear.

"You honestly want me to believe that there's no big guy pulling the strings?" he scoffed.

"Look, as I already told you. No one's asking you to stick out your fat neck!" was her repeated retort, albeit somewhat harsher. And as he raised a pointed brow, one real eye pointedly turning to look at the video camera above them, Vi sternly brought her temper back, "…but you're right about one thing--the idea wasn't mine."

Silence iced the air. When the former criminal finally spoke it was with thinly veiled impatience, "all right then. Whose was it? Which shmoe am I going to have to pay back, double-time?"

"Are you familiar with a man named Rick Dicker?"

The response she received was startling. Eyes widening, Syndrome's head seemed to jerk back in surprise. Even his hands lifted off the wall they were planted on, to either side of her head. Then something…positive seemed to flicker in the corner of his one real eye, a hint of a smile tugging at formerly angry lips.

"Good ol' boy scout. I thought he'd forgotten about me."

What? What was that supposed to mean?

"Don't think waving his name in front of my face is going to get me to help you, though," was the sneered follow-up, "for all I know you're out to get me and my pocket change, too."

WHAT?!

"When you're under lock and key?! Th-that'd be…?!"

"Against the rules?" his gravely voice pitched mockingly, "'Bad Form'?"

"Do you really think I would be unintelligent enough to murder a man in cold blood while he's in the clutches of the NSA?"

Syndrome shrugged. And as he did, it was the rolling of boulders down a mountainside, the breadth of his shoulders towering high above her head.

"I think lots of things. And usually I'm right. Why wouldn't you be here to kill me, anyway? I make for an easy target. You wouldn't even have to worry about me trying to run," he stomped a single metal peg, "It wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to 'off' me in six years, either. Do you really think the Supers are the only ones I've pissed off?" the Scientist smiled then. A cold intelligent smile even as he remained pressed close, his hands drawing closer to either side of her head.

"Besides, girly, you can trick the cameras--you've already figured that out, haven't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have tried something so stupid."

"How--!"

His broad features were once more devoid of life, or even a spark of his mocking humor, "I didn't just lose my eye and legs, you know. I had to replace my eardrums, or the bleeding wouldn't stop. Not that I'm complaining," he remarked mockingly, "the improvements are better than the old ones anyhow. And they tend to help in hearing alarms go off. But then again, the floor sensors only sounded for less than a second, didn't they? Not long enough to bother the guards."

Cold inquisitive eyes latched on hers curiously, as his hands finally planted themselves to either one of her cheeks. Then he examined her like a frog ready to be dissected; a cold lifeless thing meant only to be torn apart. Within that gaze the Super felt alternately frozen in place and burned, his irises light as a surgeon's laser in the pulsing darkness.

"Just who are you? And how do you know about Mr. Incredible? No one knows about him--I made a point of that."

Her shield sprung his arms off and away in a circular bubble round her head, so that he had no choice but to lean once more against the wall or fall to his knees. Then only when his now-mocking gaze was back on her, did she fold her arms defiantly over her chest, "I have my sources."

"I bet."

"What does it matter who I am, anyway?" she continued quietly, darkly, "I'm offering you what you've been dreaming about for years. Freedom and revenge. Isn't that answer enough?"

"Sweetheart, if you were offering your body too, I'd trust you more."

Automatically Violet blanched. Which was exactly the test he was aiming for, she realized as he slowly smiled. A satisfied, Cheshire grin, full of knowing and sudden epiphany.

"Ah, hah. Reacted to that, did you. There's one thing you failed to realize in your plan, and it's that Villains don't go into the business for the women, or power, or money," A wince and a shrug, then, "Okay, maybe for money. But it's really all about the publicity. The Style. True, you stated upfront that you are not a Villain. But neither did you state that you were a Super. But, if as insinuated, you were a true mercenary, unchained by either good or evil, you would have offered your body. Because then you would have been 'In Character'."

Confused, the girl outright stared. But he, warming up to a subject he had clearly though over, continued his explanation.

"Nothing would have come of it, nor would you have trusted me near you. But then I'd have known without a doubt, even if I had no idea who you were, that I couldn't trust you," pausing to let his convoluted thought process sink in, the man smiled quietly, "And I would have been able to trust that, because I know how to deal with those I don't trust. Leveling out the playing field, because you would have known that I knew the truth. Making us equals."

A mocking scoff, "No, you're far too wholesome for that. And I don't trust 'wholesome.'"

Dropping the humor from his face in another round of hot potato, as she'd come to associate his emotions with, Syndrome's expression became deadpan at best, and bitter at worst. But at least his deadly eyes were no longer on her, granting Vi some small amount of reprieve.

"No, 'wholesome' speaks of heroism. And heroism means Truth, Justice, and the Elitist-Holier-Than-Thou Super way. No thanks, darlin'. I think I'd rather rot than take any of Rick's handouts, thanks."

And then he was stumbling back away from her, and despite the lack of grace it seemed an almost dignified move. It was a proud walk back to his desk and sketchpad, and despite her incredulity at his refusal, she couldn't help but admire his forthrightness, just the tiniest bit.

After all, she'd run into two-bit criminals that had squealed for less. Especially in the comparison to what she was offering now. It took a strong man to live up to his own personal ideals, even if such ideals were based on lawlessness and revenge.

Which meant that she would have to take a different tactic.

"Freedom, revenge, and my identity."

"What?!" he had to have whiplash from a turn like that, she noted emotionlessly, not allowing her own words to sink in completely, "you…you can't be serious!"

Immediately he cut himself off upon remembering that he could still be seen by the video camera stationed on the ceiling of his cell. Darkness couldn't complete cover his movement, and music could only muffle so much noise.

"Not my real identity, of course, but my alias as it is now. And I'll tell you what I'll be getting out of the situation, as well. After all, I'm neither a Villain, nor a Mercenary, as you've so eloquently stated. But it's the least I can do, to level the playing field. Maybe then you'll see things my way. Deal?"

Buddy, however, wasn't as impressed as he had been just seconds previous, "Look, you're throwing a joker into the deck, Lady, if you think you can tempt me with an alias."

"And what if I said I was known as VyletHaze…?"

"Which means what to me, exactly?"

"…formerly known as Invisigirl, daughter of Mr. Incredible?"

Mouth agape, Buddy Pine, inventor, scientist, and Villain, stared.

"You."

"Yes."

"You're his kid?"

Pausing, her arm was suddenly front and center, balancing three different glowing orbs along the surface of her hand in a move she'd seen in a movie a long time ago. Only when all three were synchronized, like pearls on a string, did Vylet smile, "I can trick the cameras, remember? And how do you think I kept myself from touching the floor? Oh, not to mention," here she moved ever so slightly, sweetly forward, blowing one of the bubbles into his face, "there is the little magic trick of being able to get through the force field without being turned into Kentucky Fried Chicken."

From there it was no effort to emulate Mirage's smile; to take on in an instant the charismatic personality VyletHaze was known for, "I'm just what the escape artist ordered. And I came specifically to break you out. Merry Christmas, Syndrome."

He wasn't completely satisfied, however, burly, freckled arms crossing over a barrel of a chest, "Not so fast, Super. You still promised a story. What's your incentive?"

For a second, just a second in time, she dropped the act, "my parents are missing too, as well as my roommate. And there are many others--I saw the list, and it's getting longer."

"And what about that revenge you were talking about?"

Her mind blanked. And then without warning VyletHaze once again took over.

"What better revenge is there than to see the look on Mr. Incredible's face when you come striding in to save his sorry self, the man he thought he had destroyed? Then, forcing him to watch as you walk away, a free man, after having repented of your sins through your Heroic deeds. And all because of his daughter, a daughter who will be turning against both her training and inherent moral code in order to spring you from prison. Is that revenge enough for you?"

She said it sweetly, all innocence portrayed in a single shimmering form within his altered eye. And unbidden, despite all self-control, he couldn't help the wicked grin that curled across his face, Grinch-like in every aspect.

"Fair enough. It looks like you've got yourself a deal, Wannabe."

~/~/~

AN:

Soooo. Instead of being typified as the Invisible Woman, from Fantastic Four, I think I've made her out to be Green Lantern. Unintentional, I assure you, however…interesting in its possibilities. Hmm. *scratches chin absently*

BTW this scene has existed since the very beginning. You have no idea how long I've actually waited to post it. ^__^;; I'm not sure if the chapter came out as smoothly as I would have liked, but it's a fair enough portrayal of what's in my head. Although my roommate, who is also my beta, stated that I was, "very in-tune with the voices in my head," for this chapter. Which can be either a good thing or a bad thing. –laughs-

The corresponding images are posted on both Deviantart and my fanfiction-dot-net bio. Check them out if you have the chance.

And last but no least…!

Please review! It makes me want to write more. XD