I was sitting in Shego's living room, which was slowly turning into a negotiating room, and trying to look as distinguished as possible. Must remember the persona of the irresistible, genius scoundrel. Shego was hovering somewhere nearby. Opposite me sat a girl in her twenties. She was beautiful (maybe that's why Shego was hanging around?). A waterfall of golden and lush hair fell over her shoulders, her eyes were blue abysses. A slightly oval face with sharp cheekbones, a neat upturned nose. And a gaze full of dedication and a desire to work. Not like my henchmen. The only feature that spoiled all this beauty was her facial expressions.
— Doctor Drakken! Hello! My name is Lauren Adams, I'm the granddaughter of your butler, Mister Norman, — the old man standing next to her nodded approvingly, offering support. — I must confess, I always dreamed of working at the MFA! My grandmother taught me everything, they even fed me lemons to train the necessary facial expression!
I stared at Norman in incomprehension. This was the wife he ran away from to serve us here, in the loony bin... in Barad-dûr. The butler's look told me he had absolutely nothing to do with it. No, I am a villain, of course, but not so much that I would train a child from a young age to work in such an agency. And feeding her lemons on top of that. In short, I became a little afraid of Lauren. But even more so of Norman's wife.
— Well then... Have you worked in this organization, Lauren? I think such experience would be useful to you.
— Oh, it's not much of an organization. It's a special government structure where employees are officially allowed to mock clients, — surprisingly, Lauren was a very positive and sociable girl until she switched to work mode. — I worked there for about three years, but no prospects, alas...
— I see. You see, Lauren, I need a personal secretary, a lawyer, or even an administrator. You will have to combine a great many things. Resourcefulness and imagination will be essential for this job. Recently, heroes have been coming to me more and more often. They are learning to overcome the traps I set, and I just can't find the energy to constantly invent and update them.
— Oh... I will definitely try, Doctor Drakken! I'm a pretty fast learner.
— That's good. You will have to become a kind of sieve, weeding out the fools. Well, or the less persistent heroes. You will send them back for any far-fetched reasons you want, — at these words, her eyes lit up with understanding and confidence. Confidence that this was the job of her dreams. It seems she inherited her sadism towards humanity from her grandmother.
— Absolutely any? And I'll even get paid for it?!
— Well, it's desirable for them to appear plausible, but generally, yes, absolutely any. And, yes, payment from the League's funds, career growth prospects, mandatory medical insurance, and pension contributions. You are a pioneer in this field, but I am absolutely sure that other villains will also want to have such ADministrators. I admit, I initially thought of finding someone who had gained experience in a similar government agency. But it worked out very well that you have the necessary experience, the mindset, and the composure.
— I agree! I just need to finish up with my previous job. It's not easy to quit there either. I think I can start working for you by the beginning of December, — she was literally burning with desire to cause people a massive headache.
— Good. And could you... Well, get into character? I want to see you in action, — I decided to test my new future guard on myself. You know, in any self-respecting difficult raid, there should be intermediate bosses before the final one. Preferably ones that are so exhausting that the main villain will seem insurmountable.
— Of course! — she answered enthusiastically. Her face relaxed, her constantly moving eyebrows lowered wearily over her eyes. The former blue abysses now turned into a dirty swamp or even a murky puddle. The smile that had not left her face disappeared, and her mouth twisted into such a mixture of disgust and contempt that I even considered making a note of it. Her face now expressed universal weariness, contempt for life, a desire to kill, and a wish for a smoke break all at once.
— Good day, Lauren. I need to see Doctor Drakken, — I started the dialogue.
— Do you have an appointment? — honestly, I had an urgent desire to wipe my face, even though no one had spit on me.
— Yes, of course, — I lied.
— Do you have a League Permit, a license for heroic activity, and certificates for vaccinations against bubonic plague, measles, and hepatitis? — she asked in an incredibly tired, monotonous voice. Shego even stopped fussing nearby and was watching the performance as well.
— Um... Here, — I handed her imaginary documents.
— The League Permit is expired, dated yesterday. The letters on the license stamp are illegible. The certificates are on the wrong forms. Redo them. When you're done, come back, — Lauren turned away, indicating the dialogue was over. I was delighted.
— So, how was I? — she suddenly beamed. I can't even imagine how much effort it takes to turn such a lively girl into... an **MFA** worker. Norman's wife truly amazes me. She amazes me with her cruelty and relentlessness.
— Magnificent! You are the one I was looking for. Excellent, we'll sign the documents when you finish your affairs at your current job. You will start the day after signing. We'll prepare your workplace in the meantime, — I think I caught this sadism from Shego. The thought of the upcoming headache for uninvited guests truly delighted, even warmed me. Hmm, I wonder how Kim will handle this?
Norman escorted his granddaughter out, and Shego went to change. Time to fly to Washington. The World Evil Holiday is approaching. We still have a dress rehearsal to run, and the stage to prepare. In short, there was plenty to do, and time, as always, was running short.
***
Our corporate party was going wonderfully. What could go wrong when practically all the villains in the world gather in one place? More accurately, the question should be phrased slightly differently. What could go right?
We had everything: contests, riddles, a kidnapping. All in a villainous setting, naturally. Contests for assembling the best weapon from provided materials. Contests for the best costumes, the best villainous speech in a given situation. In the latter, by the way, I was the recognized winner. Although my situation was an interesting one: what to say to a hero who catches you buying swimming trunks and an inflatable ring? My monologue went something like this:
— Oh, look who it is. Here's the hero. — Here, you have to dramatically pull on the elastic of the swim trunks so that it smacks you. — And I'm here preparing for global warming. Which I'm planning to cause. Don't worry, only most of the land will be flooded. And the rubber ring is for me to enjoy the screams of the drowning. By the way, have you seen where they sell cocktails around here?
The contests were truly diverse. And everyone was having fun. Then came our performance. Not without flaws, of course, but that's just my opinion. The audience was whistling and applauding contentedly. It was the first time something decent had come together. I think I even saw our Leader tear up. Then there were villainous riddles. We composed them, shuffled them, and then solved them. By the way, artistry was also assessed here. Doesn't a riddle have to be properly posed? Cheshire was the undisputed winner here. His imitation of the ancient Egyptian sphinxes, who doomed heroes and their companions with their treacherous riddles, was unparalleled.
Then there was the exhibition. An exhibition of everything and anything that a villainous mind could conceive. Shego and I spent a very long time walking around here. I was drawing ideas, and my sidekick seemed indifferent, as long as we were walking together. There were paintings, devices, traps, and all sorts of things. The icing on the cake was my compilation of hero fails. It was even recorded for TV in the form of an infamous Oscar award ceremony. They showed the most epic fails, and then mysteriously stalled for time, examining the result in an envelope. This, incidentally, was my idea, to broadcast it on television. The videos themselves were freely available to us in the League. Didn't I tell my mother I was working in television? There. And I won't be lying. And I'll fulfill my promise to show the results of my work. And the heroes who are shown should be ashamed. And we'll even send the winner a prize. Preferably an indestructible one with the engraving: "To the Best of the Worst from the League of Evil."
Then we kidnapped some hapless little hero and trumpeted it everywhere we could. And then we hid him. There were chases, fights between our assistants and ourselves with the Agency that tried to save the poor guy. Shego was having a blast. She pummeled those arrogant champions of justice with her hands and feet. And she did it using her superpower. So she didn't get tired at all, and even seemed livelier than before. We dressed the kidnapped guy in different costumes. Hid him among the crowd, in plain sight, only to then hide him in the darkest corner. But our competitors still managed and reached the lost one.
But shouldn't any stolen item be properly stored? And guarded appropriately. Oh, there were so many arguments. What's better: lasers or machine guns? Circular saws or stakes? Plus, these heroes know how to bypass any security system without triggering an alert. I suggested a reliable, old-fashioned method. You know those plastic cake containers? The ones that make a nasty crunching and squeaking sound if you only slightly disturb their state of rest. Preferably with those primitive latches that are secured by simple force.
We made one like that. We poked holes in it and put the sedated hero inside, like a hamster in a box. Security system ready. And then we decided to use everything from the previous contests as traps. All our inventions and riddles harmoniously formed a labyrinth. The riddles guided the heroes along the correct path (and sometimes misled them). The inventions fired, burned, froze, and stopped the heroes, whose fate seemed unenviable to me.
And then we left, leaving the labyrinth as it was. The traps wouldn't last long anyway. And I felt bad for the guy. All in all, everyone was immensely satisfied. But plans for world domination won't build themselves, the henchmen will get completely lazy without close supervision, the inventions will gather dust, and the heroes will disappear. So we dispersed. Dispersed, to meet again next year.
***
Meanwhile, at the Evil Lair
Possible and her assistant had once again sneaked into Drakken's place. On their approach, their flying beauties were shot down by concealed anti-aircraft defenses, which almost made Kim cry from the loss. But Wade calmed her down, saying he'd get more. So they were cautiously and slowly creeping past the local inhabitants. Jumping over opening pits. Trying to avoid traps. Reviving Ron.
The journey was extremely difficult for them. Drakken was incredibly clever and cunning, after all. And so he tried to update the traps. Or simply move them to a different location from the last time. Finally, Kim and her friend reached the coveted laboratory.
She, having learned from past defeats, moved Ron behind her back to enter the room first. The laboratory met them with silence. There wasn't even any light. Kim was about to pull out a flashlight, but her comrade simply flipped a regular light switch by the entrance, illuminating the entire space.
Kim gave him a smack on the back of the head. What if that switch had been electrified? Leaving empty-handed again? No way! She began to look around. But everything here said only one thing: the owner is not home; why did you bother coming?
A sudden anger seized Kim. So, she prepares, learns the rules, studies the code, prepares gadgets for any surprise, and Drakken simply goes away?! Outrageous. Why does a villain get a day off? Shouldn't he be constantly plotting evil schemes every day?
Her gaze unexpectedly fell upon a reminder written on the floor. It was as if Drakken was constantly reminding himself of this. Or he simply anticipated that a heroine would break in and what she would be thinking about. The inscription read: "Good generally does not slumber, and consequently, poorly understands why anyone should sleep at all."
For some reason, she felt like breaking something. Preferably something that belonged to Doctor Drakken. She cast a furious glance across the entire laboratory, catching sight of a very ordinary lever with a red handle. What drew attention to it? Another inscription.
"Doomsday Switch," the text enticingly (for villains) declared. Kim nudged her friend with her hand and motioned towards the switch. They cautiously approached.
— See, Ron. Drakken is a true villain after all! This switch surely charges the ion cleaner into combat mode. And then wipes all life off the face of the earth, — Possible wound herself up more and more.
— I think you're exaggerating, Kim, — her assistant replied lazily.
— What? Are you defending Drakken? — she flared up.
— No, no. You just have a vivid imagination. I mean, remember this charismatic but harmless villain. This switch probably just turns off the lights somewhere, — Ron suggested.
— What about the race of aggressive plants?!
— Well, everyone has their slip-ups, — he shrugged. — Besides, everything ended well, right?
— Only thanks to me... — while she was bragging, her comrade unceremoniously pulled the lever down. — NO!
They fell silent, tense, waiting for the outcome. Suddenly, shouts were heard from below: "HEY, boss, no! Bring the light back, pleeze!" It seemed the switch really just turned off the light. In the henchmen's barracks. Suddenly, another sound was heard. "Lens or camera focus," Kim recognized it unerringly. She and Ron simultaneously turned their heads to the right, only to see a camera. There could be no mistake. Now Drakken would laugh at them for being ready to cause Doomsday out of carelessness and curiosity.
A monitor behind them turned on, showing Drakken adjusting the camera. He was wearing his suit and lab coat. Shego stood behind him, tapping her foot impatiently. Her gaze was clearly hurrying the villain along.
— Ahem-ahem, this message is recorded. Kim, if you actually poked this switch, know that I am impressed by your curiosity. Ron, if you did it, know this: the offer of that cookie is still valid. Oh, yes. Could you please also press the bright orange button within the next half hour. You won't mistake it; it's labeled "Ragnarök." Someone needs to stimulate the henchmen. They're sleeping, and then snap, a drill alarm.
— Why would he have a drill alarm for Doomsday and Ragnarök? — her loyal friend asked from over her shoulder. Kim simply shrugged. Drakken continued to speak.
— Doomsday turns off the light. What if the generator breaks down? But the fire alarm and auto-ignition button for the barracks I proudly named "Ragnarök." Alright, kids, we've flown off to celebrate, we'll be back tomorrow, don't miss us, — the truly mad scientist said, raising his index finger importantly. Who in their right mind would set fire to workers' bedrooms for fire drills? Although the answer came to mind immediately. A villain. The recorded screen had already gone dark. Kim didn't know what to do. Go back? Then why did they fly here? Stay? In the Evil Lair, seriously?
— Young people, the Master entrusted me with preparing lodging for you, — an elderly voice sounded very close. Kim abruptly jumped away. Ron clutched his heart.
— B-b-b-butler? — the Sidekick stammered out in fright.
— My name is Norman. At your service, — he bowed, pressing his hand to his heart. Then he straightened up, looked at them, turned around, and headed for the exit. — Follow me.
— Why should we trust you? — the heroine asked, catching up to the old butler.
— The Master could have harmed you many times while you slept. And I could have while you watched the recording. But I didn't. Besides, in the morning you can meet Doctor Drakken and fight, if you so desire. Sleep on it, — the old man answered completely calmly. Kim had nothing to say to that.
They followed the butler. Kim still didn't trust him. Of course, he probably wouldn't harm them somehow, but putting them to sleep and sending them back, like last time, was quite possible. But he didn't do anything. On the contrary, he assured them that the rooms only lock from the inside. And if anyone tried to break down their door, they would certainly hear it.
— What time would you like to be woken up in the morning, Miss? — the butler addressed Possible.
— At the same time as Ron, please, — it's a day off tomorrow, after all. Or rather, for once. All these evening outings after school to villains' lairs were not conducive to getting enough sleep. The old man nodded knowingly, taking her words into account.
— And you, Sir? — he inquired of her friend.
— Eight o'clock, please. Just keep in mind, — he said jokingly, — I'm a very heavy sleeper, and only a long kiss from a sporty beauty can wake me up!
— Very well, I will warn our spear-wielding fairy-handy-woman, Jamshan. Just don't lock the door so the beauty can wake you, — the butler bowed impassively. Kim was looking at Ron very disapprovingly.
— No, no, don't bother, I changed my mind! — her comrade suddenly began to deny, but Mister Norman was already walking away. And, it seemed, was deaf to pleas.
***
It's strange: waking up in bed in a villain's lair. She had told her parents yesterday that she was staying at a friend's house. Ron confirmed it. So she unexpectedly got a good night's sleep. No one was yelling in the morning (her younger twin brothers), no one was blowing anything up (the brothers again), no one was rustling a newspaper (that was her father). She woke up on her own. And for some time, she studied the unfamiliar ceiling. A little later, she heard a clear struggle outside the door. As if Ron was trying to prevent the door from opening. She was politely knocked upon, warning her about breakfast.
The apartment assigned to her contained not only a bedroom but also its own bath, toilet, and even a semblance of a miniature living room. So she freshened up after sleeping and went out.
Ron looked disheveled and a little tired. But his friend didn't pity him, as he had brought the punishment upon himself. Mister Norman's appearance hadn't changed at all. It seemed as if nothing could alter his expression or the number of folds on his frock coat. He invited them to the table, where they found Doctor Drakken and his assistant, leisurely having breakfast.
— Oh, Miss Possible! Everyone knows that the morning is never good. Therefore: Evil Morning! — the eccentric villain greeted them, waving his spoon. Shego mumbled something indistinct and not very friendly at them, continuing to eat her porridge.
— And to you, Doctor Drakken, — no matter how much she wanted to defeat and pummel him, Kim was a well-mannered girl, and so she didn't respond with rudeness to politeness. She and Ron sat down at the table. Drakken engaged her friend in conversation, starting with an expression of his admiration for his recklessness. Kim didn't listen after that, suspiciously examining the porridge. Last time, after dining with the mad scientist, she woke up in the park of her hometown. Now, she was clearly doubtful that she would be able to simply eat. Most likely, it would be some nasty trick again.
— ...And then Jack cut down the beanstalk, adding murder and ecological vandalism to the already mentioned theft, seducing a minor, and illegally trespassing on private property, but he escaped punishment and lived happily ever after, with no remorse for what he had done. This just proves once again: if you are a hero, you can get away with anything because no one will ask inconvenient questions, — Drakken was explaining something to Ron when Kim began to listen to their dialogue.
— Alright, Drakken, stop recruiting Ron! Why can't you just order your assistant to attack us, like a normal villain?! — Possible went on the offensive.
— New fashion, — the villain stated with deadly seriousness. He looked very important.
— What "new fashion"? — the heroine lost all her momentum.
— The current fashion is for charming and articulate villains. And as its founder, I must conform 100%. Even 200%. How's the porridge? Norman outdid himself for our guests today.
— Uh... Yes, thank you very much for the porridge! — Kim politely tried to avoid the topic.
— But you haven't even tasted it, — Drakken noted nonetheless.
— Yes, but... I examined it very carefully, — the heroine found a way to answer.
Soon, everyone, except for the paranoid Kim, had finished breakfast. They remained sitting at the table, Drakken was reading a newspaper, just like her father. Shego was filing her nails, and Ron was simply relaxing, leaning back contentedly in his chair. An idyll. Wait.
— When are we going to fight?! — Kim burst out. All this comical seriousness was frankly irritating her. She had fallen for this so many times.
— Mmm... Maybe after lunch? — Drakken suggested, lowering the newspaper and glancing at Shego.
— That works for me, — she replied just as seriously.
— We're fighting now! — Kim exclaimed, jumping onto the table. That's it, now the villain wouldn't have a path to retreat.
— Well, alright, alright, you've convinced me, — he neatly folded the newspaper and slowly stood up, adjusting his clothes. Shego stood next to him in a fighting stance. Kim bared her teeth in an anticipating smile. She was already preparing to explode with a series of blows when she felt a slight tingling sensation through her sweater. The heroine looked down to see two wires from a perfectly ordinary taser.
— Curse it... — was all she managed to say before she was zapped, and the world in her eyes went dark. "He outplayed me again. Next time, I'll come in armor," was her final thought.