Helena Burnley vs Professor Endtimes: Part 4 - The Sweetest Intentions

               Helena stood in the yellow light of the hallway next to Professor Endtimes, the man she’d been hunting for months. He had orchestrated an assault on the town hall which left the mayor and his husband shackled to a gate on the ceiling. He’d funded Shedder and Garagio’s Garden Centre of the Damned, in which they had taken a woman hostage and tried to burn Helena to death. He’d masterminded the brutal beating, kidnapping and attempted melting of Agent Katter, and then instructed The Stunner to lead a heist of the mayor’s bathtub. Now he was cheerfully smiling at her, having invited her into his house, and was offering her a paper bag of lemon bon-bons.
                “Hello, it’s good to finally meet you too, sir.” The Stunner said with a nervous edge. “Thank you.” She added as she took a bon-bon from the bag. It gave her something to do with her hands for a moment, which helped to calm her down, and she also just happened to love them. She popped it straight into her mouth and tried to think of a subtle way to dust the icing sugar off her hands.
                “You’re very welcome. I’m surprised you didn’t think they’d be poisoned!” Professor Endtimes replied jovially. The Stunner’s face dropped when she realised how easily she’d been tricked. “Oh I’m only joking! No need to look like that.” The professor chuckled.
                Helena was entirely out of her comfort zone. Taking down spiteful and broody criminals was her specialty, as was battling with bravado and lumbering egos. Having a middle-aged gentleman making fatherly jokes at her was a battlefield with which she had little experience, but she was sure that it must be a trap. The Stunner had to maintain appearances however, so she allowed herself a relieved and polite laugh.
                “You had me going there.” She said through the bon-bon, the words feeling unnatural to say to the man who was both her new employer, and also public enemy number one. In fact, saying anything with a mouthful of sweets was peculiar.
                “The old ones are the best.” The professor beamed.
                A strong waft of cake billowed into the hallway from the kitchen at the opposite end. It was sweet and enticing, making The Stunner's mouth water instantly. She hadn't packed anything for breakfast when fleeing her flat, nor had she felt particularly like eating the previous night or that morning, but the feeling caught up with her as the smell reached her nose. As much as she tried to maintain her composure by not acknowledging her hunger, her stomach had plans which were quite to the contrary. It grumbled so loud that The Stunner was certain it would echo from the walls.
                “Oh, but have you eaten?” Professor Endtimes asked with genuine welcoming concern. “You can probably smell that I’ve been baking, one of my morning habits I’m afraid. Please come through to the kitchen and you can have a slice. Or I’ve got toast or cereal if you’d prefer for breakfast?”
                “Uh, well, certainly sir. Thank you.” The Stunner accepted gratefully, crouching down and unlacing her boots whilst Helena assessed the possibility that any of the breakfast materials listed could be poisoned.
                “A keen supervillain and you have impeccable manners? I grow more impressed by the minute, Stunner.” The professor complimented.
                Despite herself, The Stunner blushed.
                “Just trying to be respectful, sir.” The Stunner replied. Helena was suspiciously analysing everything the professor said. She was sure that this was a test or a trick, trying to lower her guard before unleashing his true spiteful nature.
                “You’re not trying, you’re excelling. And please stop calling me sir. Professor is fine.” He said slightly bashfully, heading down the hallway into the kitchen.
                ‘A trap? Trying to force me into informality and then reprimand me? I’ll take that risk.’ Helena thought.Helena
                “Cup of tea? Coffee? Juice?”
                “I… erm, tea please professor.” The Stunner replied. Helena was missing her morning cup of tea having woken up at the cannery, and the offer was all too welcoming. She was always willing to trust boiling water with a bag in it, even from a man like Endtimes.
                “Milk and sugar?”
                “Just milk, please.” The Stunner said as she looked around for an appropriate space to leave her solid jackboots. A pair of smart brown loafers sat in a neat pair by a coatrack at the bottom of the stairs, so she placed her boots alongside them as tidily as possible. She left her bag on top of them. Her pulse was racing, but not in the way that Agent Burnley’s did during a confrontation, nor in the way that The Stunner’s did when patrolling. It was racing like Helena’s did when visiting someone’s house for the first time, feeling awkward about their hospitality and not knowing exactly where to find the lavatory.
                The Stunner took a deep breath to compose herself and then walked across the soft, spongy carpet towards the kitchen. The deep pile was well cared for and comfortable to walk on, making the soles of her feet tingle at the softness as she padded along the hallway. The sharp transition to cold linoleum in the kitchen was most unwelcome.
                Taking the whole width of the house, Professor Endtimes’ kitchen was flanked by work surfaces on both sides, with a full complement of white goods and kitchen electricals. A window at the rear of the room overlooked the back garden, which was modest but well-tended with a flagstone path running through a short-cropped lawn. All-in-all it was the back garden of a model neighbour.
                “You can sit down if you’d like. I won’t be long.” The professor told her whilst taking milk from the fridge. A kettle was on its way to boiling and two mugs waited patiently in front of it for their piping hot gift, one of them bright pink with a picture of a unicorn, and the other a complimentary mug from somewhere called ‘Nevado del Huila’ with a picture of a volcano. The Stunner sat on one of the hard wooden chairs at the round pine table, with the freshly baked cake which she’d been able to smell sitting on a serving dish in the middle. A large knife, a selection of cake forks and two small plates were already laid out for use. Her stomach rumbled again. 
                With a gurgling rattle and a click, the kettle completed its boiling duty and the professor poured water into both mugs. Shuffling slightly to keep his slippers on his feet, he carried both mugs and the milk to the table, and set the unicorn in front of The Stunner.
                “Thank you very much, Professor.”  The Stunner said politely. Hearing her artificially deepened Stunner voice saying such normal, everyday things was deeply confusing to Helena. She felt more like a child playing than an agent in deep cover.
                “You’re very welcome. I’ll leave you to add your own milk because I’m useless with knowing how much is ‘just a dash’ or ‘some but not lots’.” He waved his hands slightly as he spoke to emphasise how much those concepts defeated him.
                The Stunner poured her own milk as instructed and then stood to return the carton to the fridge.
                “It’s alright, I can do that in a moment.” The professor said with a hint of embarrassment, half rising out of his chair.
                “You’re doing enough hosting, it’s fine.” The Stunner answered amiably. She was perfectly happy to walk a few steps over to the fridge, and Helena wanted to conduct some recon into what the professor might be chilling. Try as she might, she just couldn’t contrive any evil intentions from cheese, vegetables, and table sauces. Nothing more evil than normal, anyway.
                “Well, thank you then. It’s nice that you’re feeling comfortable enough to do that already.” He said earnestly. Helena supposed that he was used to his newer associates being nervous in his presence; after all, she felt that way deep down. But quite aside from fridge-recon, she just hated to see milk left out of a fridge for longer than it needed to be.
                When The Stunner sat back down, cupping her tea with both hands to enjoy the warmth on her palms, she saw that two slices of cake had been cut and plated up. The professor pushed one over to The Stunner with a small cake fork on the side of the plate, and then shifted his weight back in his chair and looked her in the eye.
                “Now, I suppose you’re wondering why I invited you here, is that right?” He started, whilst sinking a fork into his cake.
                “I presumed that it was initially to meet me face-to-face following all your notes, but I anticipate there’s something more than that.” The Stunner said. She mimicked Professor Endtimes and dived into her cake. It was a soft sponge with a generous layer of buttercream in the middle; too rich for most people at that time of the morning, but the cake which was too sweet for Helena Burnley to eat for breakfast was yet to be baked.
                “Not far from the truth. First, I would like to congratulate you for your success at the mayor’s house last night. I understand that there was some commotion with collateral damage and the ministry turning up, but that’s clearly no bother for you, is it?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her. “I never mind the mayor being taught a harsher lesson though, so it’s fine. It’s just a shame that I can’t send The Glazier over to repair the damage.” He stared distractedly at the table and chewed on some cake whilst he thought about his captured associate.
                “Um, thank you. I hadn’t anticipated needing to break quite so many windows, and Roger Toilet was a bit taken in by the rest of the mayor’s suite, but it all went well in the end.”
                “That it did. Roger certainly has his own tastes and priorities figured out in life, but he will apply himself fully to anything you ask of him. Did Windy Bill give you any trouble?”
                “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” The Stunner replied guardedly. She didn’t want to mention how she’d restrained him from shredding the mayor in a wind of broken glass.
                “Good, good.” He said, covering his mouthful of cake with one hand as he spoke. Once he’d swallowed he continued. “It pleases me to note that neither of them returned with any electrical burns or whip-marks. You must have learned to get along with other villains. How do you like your whip by the way? I was rather proud of it.”
                “It’s remarkable and highly-effective, si- er, professor. Thank you.”
                “Not at all. Seeing an artiste at work is its own reward, but I suppose that leads us nicely onto what I wanted to speak about next: your own work. You see, I noticed your persistence in wishing to acquire a transmitter mast of some sort or other, both from your unfortunate military entanglement at Stubbing Shopping Centre and your successful theft of the Freedom Pirate Radio mast. Using The Librarian and DJ Disaster as a distraction for that was clever, by the way. Drew the ministry right out of the way. But the point is, you have piqued my interest. What are you trying to achieve, Stunner? I’m sure I’d be keen to help you out.”
                Professor Endtimes’ question had caught The Stunner with a mouthful of cake. With a theatrical display she showed that she felt highly inconvenienced by her own chewing and would answer him as soon as physically possible. Helena suspected that it was a deliberate move to put her on the back foot, even though the professor’s comforting smile and patience contradicted such suspicions.
                “I’m building the Super Stunner, professor.” The Stunner told him as she swallowed. “An electrical stun-gun capable of incapacitating whole swathes of the city against which there will be no defence.” She continued with as much grandeur as she could muster whilst holding a tiny cake fork. The professor looked on with interest, finishing up his own slice. “When the time comes, I will raise the Super Stunner to the roof of Daubenton’s Cannery and connect it directly into the power grid, simultaneously blacking out the area and charging the weapon to full capacity. The police and the ministry will be stunned and blinded, rendering them completely incapable of stopping me from ransacking the industrial area of the city for whatever I please.” She relayed in her best villainous lilt.
                “Interesting, Stunner. Very interesting.” The professor said as he wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “You’ve seized the means of production at Daubenton’s Cannery to build a weapon which you’ll use to, well, continue seizing the means of production around it without resistance.” The Stunner nodded and the professor continued. “That shows vision. Most super-villains simply make a weapon and use it to rob a bank, but you’re making a weapon to seize supplies and resources. You’re taking industrial capacity with which you can create your own value and legacy, or build even more of… well, anything you should wish to.”
                The professor was looking farther into the future than The Stunner had allowed herself to. She’d not considered the reality of what she would really do once she’d stunned everyone and robbed the area, but Endtimes was already planning the next steps.
                “I think, perhaps, with a little help from me we could grow this ambition to something wonderful. But I don’t want to make promises that I can’t keep because it isn’t fair on you. I’ll need to give it the appropriate level of consideration and planning, I’m sure you understand. In the meantime, why don’t we discuss how you can fit into my organisation?”
                “Yeah, OK. That works for me.” The Stunner agreed. She suspected it would provide Helena with a more solid idea of Professor Endtimes’ own ambitions and how far his influence had spread. She also found it hard to argue with someone who had just given her cake and a cup of tea.
                “I was drawn to you because of your ability to just get out there and make things happen. An awful lot of people in our underground community are tremendous at generating ideas but lack the necessary drive and commitment to see them through. They are fearful of putting their plans into action. But not you; right from the very start I saw you taking control of your own destiny and making your dreams a reality. Even without my help you were gathering pieces of your Super Stunner. You made a plan and then set about bringing it to life. I cannot relay to you how much I respect people who fulfil their own goals like that, which is why I wanted to reward you and bring you into my personal community.
                Now, before you think that I’m just an old man flattering a pretty young lady, what I’m getting at is that I need your help as a facilitator. I can’t give personal guidance to all of the dreamers I wish to help, but with your assistance we could make all sorts of wonderful things come to fruition. With you helping to bring villainous plans into being they could be shaped from vague notions into real, efficient results. No more would collateral damage spiral out of control due to poor planning. No more would resources be wasted, nor would the police have to be maimed in pursuit of our goals. You have a gift for working these things out and avoiding such complications, last night notwithstanding. I know that you don’t necessarily have too many concerns over breaking through anything which gets in your way, but you leave the innocents alone. I can’t stand to see pain needlessly inflicted; I raise super-villains, not savages.”
                Helena remembered dragging Melanie out of the way of weaponised motorbikes and furious shed fires at Shedder’s Garden Centre of the Damned all too well. She struggled to believe that Professor Endtimes valued mercy towards innocent people, but he had also made no attempt to rescue either Shedder or Garagio. Only Gatekeeper had been mentioned in The Glazier’s demands, so it was possible that the story contained some consistency.
                “In recent times there have been… regrettable incidents. A lack of proper control. Embarrassingly tenuous wordplay. I need you to act as my enforcer and my hands in the field. Help my beneficiaries remember their true goals rather than petty vengeance. Arrange their plans so that we don’t see responses as aggressive as that which you felt after the Stubbings Shopping Centre job. Build their plans from abstract notions into coherent plots. Give them guidance and feedback on their use of puns. In return I will give you all the resources you require to make your Super Stunner a reality and a success.” The professor took a sip from his tea to signal that he had finished.
                “That sounds like the kind of task which is within my power. I’m positive that I can deliver a result and overcome any resistance.” The Stunner replied, throwing out puns to show that she was up to the task of mentoring other villains.
                “Marvellous, Stunner. Absolutely marvellous.” He sounded genuinely touched at The Stunner’s enthusiasm. “And if you do well with that endeavour then… well I might even ask for your help on a project of my own. But I won’t bore you with the details now because you’re kindly taking on a lot of work for me already. Maybe I’m getting carried away… but it’s just so heart-warming to see a young go-getter like yourself joining my community.”
                “It’s an honour, professor.” The Stunner flattered. Helena was mentally crossing all the fingers she had.
                “You’ll make my head too big to fit out of the door; enough.” He said good-naturedly. “Why don’t we just get down to business right away if we’re both so pleased with affairs? Follow me. You can bring your tea with you.”
                Professor Endtimes led The Stunner back into the hallway and through a door to one side, which opened up into a somewhat narrow lounge. A sofa was pushed back against the near wall, facing towards an old CRT TV set. A terrifying salmon, puce, and burgundy rug sat in the centre of the navy blue carpet, making Helena feel a little bit ill with its kaleidoscopic tangle of poor colour combinations. The large bay window faced out onto the street, where a bin lorry was having a stand-off with a bus in the one-lane-wide road space between double-parked cars.
                “Oh for goodness sake. Not again!” Said the professor with considerable irritation as he saw the vehicular showdown. “Last time this happened they were out there all day. It only stopped because the bus ran out of petrol and had to be towed away. Backing a tow-truck up the road went about as well as you can imagine as well; more than a few claims for scratched paintwork.”
                “It seems like it’s probably an avoidable problem.” The Stunner observed. “Actually, isn’t it a one-way road?”
                “Yes, it is. Astutely observed. It turns out, though, that whosoever designed the bus route didn’t know that. The drivers insist they have to follow the route, the bin-men refuse to back down, pardon the pun, and then we’re left with two engines running all day outside the window.” He shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it at the moment though.”
                “Hm, no I suppose not.” The Stunner agreed for the sake of filling the gap in conversation.
                “Now, if you’ll direct your attention to this rather lovely rug, I think you’ll like what you see.” Said the professor. Helena immediately questioned his judgement and motives when he called the rug lovely, and therefore had no reason to believe that she’d like what she was about to see at all.
                Stooping down, the professor took a grip on one end of the rug and started to pull. For a wonderful moment, Helena thought that he was going to throw it out of the window or into a fire; just the about the only things which could be done with the rug to make her happy. But then a third option reared its head, taking her quite off guard. Underneath the rug, the professor had unveiled a wooden trap-door in the floor of the lounge. It was straight out of a medieval castle, with black iron binding, oak planks, and a large iron ring handle to pull it open.
                “You… have an underground lair?” The Stunner realised out-loud. Her mouth was hanging open as she stared at the wooden hatch. “Seriously?”
                Professor Endtimes laughed with satisfaction. “I told you you’d like it. Go on, you can open it.”
                The Stunner walked slowly over to the trapdoor, crouched down and took a grip on the iron ring. With a quiet squeak it lifted away from the wood on its hinge. Lifting with her legs like the ‘Ministry of Extraordinary Crimes – Manhandling’ training video had taught her, The Stunner pushed off from the floor and felt the heavy wooden trapdoor rise up with her. She carefully laid it over onto its back, the wood sinking softly into the carpet, and peered into the depths.
                “Every bit as fun as you thought it would be?” Asked Professor Endtimes with a grin. “The look on your face was priceless. I expect you’ll get used to it quickly like you youngsters tend to these days, but there’s nothing like using a good old-fashioned trap door.”
                The Stunner smiled politely in response.
                The hole opened up by the trapdoor was lit with a dim glow from a light on the underside of the lounge floor. A set of wooden stairs led steeply down to a concrete base, with black and yellow safety tape lining the edge of each step; the professor was apparently safety conscious despite his villainous ways.
                Professor Endtimes carefully descended into the basement, the wooden steps creaking a song of greeting as his weight shifted from stair to stair. Agent Burnley quickly surveyed the angle from the street to the trapdoor, attempting to ascertain any safe surveillance spot to keep watch over the hatch. The street level appeared to be too low to establish an adequate vantage point, but the first floor window opposite had some potential. The net curtains would make things difficult, but they were notorious enemies of the state so that was to be expected. Conscious that she shouldn’t delay too long, The Stunner followed Professor Endtimes, unicorn mug in hand.
                At the bottom of the stairs The Stunner was presented with an external door, white plastic with a stained glass window and brass handle, standing at the end of the small antechamber into which the basement steps led.
                “You’ll have to excuse the choice of door here. I needed something to keep the noise and the draft out, and The Glazier had this one going spare.” Said the professor by way of explanation.
                “Looks like it does the job. You can use the letterbox in case of emergencies too.” The Stunner assessed, strangely desperate to make a useful observation.
                “Well, if I ever find myself in a post-related emergency I’ll be sure to bear that in mind.” Professor Endtimes responded with tolerant acceptance. Helena was impressed at his dedication to finding the best in a situation, or perhaps his dedication to flattering The Stunner and keeping her on side. Commissioner Harmon had told her that the professor wanted to use The Stunner, and the thought was not far from Helena’s mind.
                Professor Endtimes pushed the handle down and swung the door inwards, checking through the glass that no-one was in the way of the other side first.
                “Welcome to my true lair, Stunner.”
                They stepped into a wide, open command room underneath the row of terraced housing, stretching to at least the width of three houses above. It was brightly lit with white strip-lights running across the ceiling, reflecting from the papers scattered across a vast conference table in the centre of the room which could have seated over a dozen people comfortably. One chair stood out from the rest, taking the head of the table at the far end. All others were neatly tucked in along the sides. TV screens in vast banks ran the height of the rear wall, showing CCTV footage, news broadcasts, and bakery programmes in a range of different aspect ratios and colour balances, much like the window display of an electronic goods store. Vast posters with marker-pen scrawlings covered the walls, each one seeming to outline a different plot or conspiracy to destabilise something or other. As if there wasn’t enough going on already, additional doors led from either side of the room. Even if the adjoining rooms were half the size of this one, the cellar must have undermined several houses and broken even more planning laws.
                “This is…” The Stunner tried, but couldn’t finish the sentence adequately. ‘Big’ would have been a sufficient descriptor of course, but it somehow didn’t feel like a grand enough term to be worth saying.
                “It’s possibly a little bit ostentatious, but one must invest in high quality premises to run an effective operation.”
                “How did you build this without the local council finding out?” The Stunner finally managed, her mind defaulting to laws and regulations in times of shock.
                “I told the council it was for a wine-cellar.” He said in guilty, conspiratorial tones. “They’ve not been round to check since I showed them the initial plans, thankfully, so I seem to be in the clear. I had some acquaintances of mine carry out all the work because I knew they’d do a good job and charge me fairly, but that also meant that no-one else needed to find out. I suspect there several cellars like this in the area owned by other people who know builders.” There was a modesty in the professor’s tone which left Helena puzzled, but less so than the naivety about how many people could undermine the street without it collapsing.
                “It’s incredibly impressive.”
                “It does the job. You’ll have to forgive how empty it is in here at the moment. I don’t like to ask my henchmen to be in too early, or to come in at all if there’s nothing afoot. No-one likes to feel like they’re just clocking in from nine to five for no reason, do they?” He told her as they walked across to the conference table. “Besides, it’s probably overwhelming for my guests to come here for the first time and find the place thronging. Better to meet and greet in peace, don’t you think?” Professor Endtimes took the seat at the head of the table and gestured to The Stunner to take the seat on his right hand side. It was either highly symbolic or a matter of 50/50 statistics; Helena was yet to decide.
                With the TV broadcasts chattering quietly in the background, Professor Endtimes pulled one of the packs of paper towards himself and flicked it back to the beginning. A glossy Polaroid photograph was attached to the front page with a paperclip, showing a young woman wearing what appeared to be a cat-suit made from candy-stripe pinafores, complete with a matching caterer’s hat. Vertical red and white stripes were interspersed with white lacy frills, a veil dangled across her face from the hat, and she held a penny-sweet scoop in her hand. On the white space beneath the photo was a hand-written note saying ‘Confectionista’.
                “Confectionista has been creating a full menu of chemically laced sweets; tranquilising lollipops, hallucinogenic strawberry laces, laxative chocolate drops, the list goes on. Those bon-bons you had earlier were some of her work, but without anything in them. I hope!”
                “I don’t feel like I’m asleep or hallucinating.” The Stunner agreed, although she was forced to admit that sitting in the underground control room of a criminal mastermind wasn’t necessarily unlike a hallucination. “I don’t think I’m about to soil myself either.” She added, regretting it immediately.
                There was a silent pause.
                “Well that’s always good to know.” The professor said, slightly unconvincingly. In reality, it was probably nice to assume but awful to have verbally confirmed. “Anyway, Confectionista’s secret formulae have been proven effective on numerous occasions recently, which is wonderful for someone as young as her. If she wants to go further, however, she’ll need a much larger stockpile to draw on. For that, she needs a way to mass produce them. Confectionista has identified a facility within the city with the necessary equipment to manufacture her goods in sufficient quantities, and since you have experience in taking over factories, I thought you could offer her some help.”
                “Which factory are we talking about?” The Stunner enquired, relieved with herself for not mentioning bowel control again.
                “I’ll let you ask Confectionista that yourself. This file contains my notes on her, I’m sure you’ll find them to be-” Professor Endtimes stopped mid-sentence and cocked an ear upwards. “That’s the mayor’s voice!”
                The professor span in his chair to face the wall of TV screens. Sure enough, one of the several news broadcasts was showing an interview with the mayor, who was looking even more incensed about super-villainy than usual. Given the circumstances, Helena wasn’t surprised.
                “What does he have to say about our little game from last night, I wonder?” The professor said with a smirk, turning up the volume of the broadcast.
                “…sickness which plagues this city will be cured under my supervision. No longer will honest businesses be attacked, innocent people be robbed, or our dedicated police forces be assaulted by these lunatic vandals with improvised weaponry. Last night my own home was targeted, my windows broken, my family attacked, and my bathroom suite stolen, so believe me when I say that I am right here with you in this struggle.
                From now on you will see more armed officers on the streets. There will be an increased military presence in our city. The Ministry of Extraordinary Crimes will have greater powers to track down and neutralise suspected super-villains, and there will be tougher punishments for anyone who dares to terrorise our fair city. Together we can clean up the criminal sludge which spews from the sewers.
                And to any villainous scum watching this broadcast, especially The Stunner: I am coming for you. You can hide in your rat holes but I will smoke you out. Your free reign over this city is over. Thank you.”
                Professor Endtimes lowered the volume as the mayor descended from his podium, and turned back to The Stunner with an irritated expression.
                “It seems that this city’s dear leader doesn’t know when to back down and leave us to our own devices. Perhaps we need to send him another message. If he wants to bring rats into this, then rats he shall have!” He pressed the intercom button to the side of his seat at the table and drew a deep breath.
                “Ratsman! Fetch me the rats covered in jam!”
                “Rats? Are you going to release rats into his house?” The Stunner asked incredulously, making several leaps of logic to get there.
                “Yes! The rats will scurry into hard to reach places and deposit jam everywhere. It'll be a nightmare to clean up and they will never stand a chance of finding it all. The leftover jam will decay over time and they'll be with left rotting jam and putrid carpets! Cockroaches will roam the halls. The space behind the oven shall become a hive of decay and putrescence! And the mayor will regret ever crossing me!” He shouted with a maniacal grin, his fatherly mask morphing into rodent-and-condiment insanity.
                “I mean, personally speaking I'd be way more concerned with the fact that there were loose rats in my house than the jam.” The Stunner counter-pointed, her face pinching into sympathetic disgust.
                “Oh, no, you misunderstand me.” The professor said with concern. “The rats won't still be there when the mayor gets back. They’re going to be collected back up once their job is done.”
                “What? So you mean that…”
                “The rats are simply a dispensing mechanism for the jam, yes. They can get into all those hard to reach places which a man with a knife could only dream about.”
                “I see, right.” The Stunner said whilst wrapping her head around the, for want of a better term, logic at play here.
                “Ooh, and perhaps the rat’s inquisitive nature will be augmented by the sticky jam and allow them to climb up the walls! There will be jammy footprints all over the place! This is brilliant!” He was beaming.
                “I don't think jam is quite that sticky.” Argued The Stunner.
                “But we must try!” Professor Endtimes cried with eyes wide. He leaned into the intercom. “JAMSMAN! USE THE MOST ADHESIVE OF THE JAMS!”
                The Stunner ran the whole concept through her head a few more times but couldn’t shake her confused frown.
                “It just seems like a needlessly complicated way of spreading jam. Why don't you use a syringe or something?” She asked.
                “It lacks the elegance of the rat covered in jam, don't you think?”
                “Maybe, but you could inject it into those really awkward places like the corners of the staircase, or inside the sofa cushions, or use it to clog up the gas outlets on the stovetop.”
                “True, true...” he mumbled himself, lost in thought. “You can never hoover the corners of the stairs properly… and the rotting jam would have lint and dirt caught in it and be even harder to remove! You're a genius, Stunner!” He pressed the intercom again. “JAMSMAN, STOP JAMMING UP THOSE RATS AND BEGIN FILLING THE BIG SYRINGES!” He leaned back in his chair and excitedly swivelled it around in a circle. “This will be beautiful. A work of art! Now if I could only train the rats to use the syringes themselves...”
                “A great thought, but that would probably take too long to put into action here.” The Stunner said, eager to steer him away from that idea.
                “Yes, yes you’re right. I’ll strap the syringes to the rats and just remote operate them for the time being, it’s still terrifically villainous. You have paid for yourself already, Stunner.” Professor Endtimes said as he stood up. He swallowed the rest of his tea and pushed his chair back under the table. “Now, I’m afraid I must orchestrate this myself and without delay. Please, take the file on Confectionista, and my apologies for cutting our chat short of course, and work your magic with her.” He gestured with both hands towards the file, overflowing with anxious energy. “Once you’re done, come back and we will discuss your future further.” He started to walk quickly towards one of the side doors, then span on his heels. The smooth soled slippers made that particular move easy. “Lovely to meet you, by the way. I look forward to our next get-together.”
 
                Assuming that it was the appropriate thing to do, Helena ascended back up into the lounge and paged The Chauffeur to collect her. Whilst waiting for a response she returned her mug to the kitchen, washed it up, and left it on the draining rack. She also helped herself to another slice of cake, since it would have been a shame to let it go stale. With a third slice wrapped in a sheet of kitchen roll for later, The Stunner walked towards the door. Helena’s eyes darted around the hallway, thirstily soaking up any details which might be of use, until their gaze finally settled on the staircase.
                Helena dropped Confectionista’s file onto her bag and looked up to the first floor landing, wondering if anything of note could be found from some brief reconnaissance. It was risky; if the professor came back up from the basement and discovered her snooping around the house then his newly administered trust would be eroded completely. There was no telling what he might do when he was angry, but she shuddered to think about the kinds of rodents she’d find roaming the cannery, and which condiment they’d be covered in.
                On the other hand, it seemed that he would be distracted with the jammy rat situation for the present, and no-one would be able to see her through the windows. The landing above was dark; the lights switched off and the doors presumably all closed, so the likelihood of being seen from across the road was also minimal. Helena told herself that a quick look couldn’t hurt, and she sounded just convincing enough to be believed.
                With soft, creeping steps, Helena snuck up the staircase, bracing herself against the banister to place her feet down as gently as possible. The old wooden stairs creaked despite Helena’s caution, ageing timbers rubbing against one another like broad-shouldered passengers on the tube; they would be worn smooth amid quiet grunts of disconsolation before ever making a move to change their circumstances. As her foot touched down on the top step, a loud beeping tore through the house, echoing from the walls and sending her heart into a furious beeping overdrive. Helena shot her gaze around, looking for any signs of traps or alarms, before realising with quiet, personal embarrassment that the beeping had been her own pager. Pulse racing from the panic, she read that The Chauffeur was waiting around the corner, due to the continued unpleasantness between the bin lorry and the bus.
                Helena took a deep, calming breath and completed her step up towards the landing. She was confronted with three closed doors: one ahead of her, one to the side, and one along the landing behind her. Each of them had been opened recently, judging by the marks left on the carpet.
                Aware that The Chauffeur was waiting for her, Helena allowed herself no time to worry over which door to open first. Gently gripping the handle of the door in front her, she tentatively turned it downwards and pulled the door outwards. It swung out so far that she nearly slipped over the top step as she stepped back and out of its way. Clearly there were more construction violations in this home than just the elaborate cellar arrangement.
                With the door open, Helena found herself staring at Professor Endtimes’ toilet. The lid had been left closed, the shower door was open, and the faint aroma of an air freshener drifted out to the landing. As much as she found herself interested in the professor’s bathroom, Helena elected that there wouldn’t be much to learn by looking at a toothbrush.
                Gently, she closed the bathroom door and turned to the next room. This door also opened outwards, but this time it merely squashed her against the handrail, rather than threatening to push her down the staircase. Behind it, Helena found a rectangular room set up as some sort of office. Old brown and cream filing cabinets sat in a couple of the corners, with trays and boxes of paper variously on top of and around them; either the professor had too many records in here, or he had fundamentally misunderstood the purpose of filing cabinets. A desk was pushed against the far wall with a PC sitting on top and a number of sticky-notes arranged around the monitor. A sad-looking swivel chair waited for occupation with threadbare upholstery and uneven arms.
                The office was a far more enticing prospect than spending time examining the lavatory, although Helena accepted that Roger Toilet would have had markedly different views. She crouched next to one of the boxes and skimmed through the papers resting untidily inside; there were home insurance statements, car insurance documents, household bills, receipts for furniture, and other such disinteresting financial records. Nothing suspicious.
                A little disappointed, Helena examined at the filing cabinet and saw that the drawers had been labelled. The top three drawers pertained to ‘Property’ and the bottom one ‘Minerals’. Electing that ‘minerals’ was an unusual filing category by anyone’s estimation, she pulled at the drawer and found it to be locked. So much for that avenue.
                Still acutely aware that she needed to get out before The Chauffeur grew suspicious, Helena spared herself the time for a quick scan of the notes around the monitor. The majority of them seemed to be phone numbers, marked variously as ‘Librarian’, ‘Glazier’, ‘Electrician’, and ‘Gardener’, among others. The cogs turned slowly in Helena’s head as her hand rested on her pager until, kicking herself, she realised that they weren’t phone numbers at all. Plans flooding into her mind, she snatched up a spare post-it from the desk and a pen from the pot by the monitor, and scribbled down The Librarian’s number.
                Her pulse racing from finding something more useful than the loo, Helena suddenly became incredibly nervous about the professor catching her. She carefully replaced the pen into its pot and crept from the room, gingerly closing the door behind herself. As quietly as possible she crept back down the stairs, pulled on her boots, lifted her bag and file on Confectionista, and left Professor Endtimes’ lair turning over what she’d learned in her head.
                Walking down the road in full view of the public wasn’t usually The Stunner’s style, but right now she had little choice and even less mental capacity to worry about it. With all this homework to do with Confectionista, the prospect of communication with Commissioner Harmon, and concern over whether she should really have taken those extra slices of cake, The Stunner had no time for all that hiding in shadows and sneaking about business. Thankfully for her, the viewing public was far too distracted by the growing queue of vehicles up and down the road, either side of the HGV standoff.
                Rounding the corner at the end of the road, The Stunner found The Chauffeur standing by his limousine, parked on double yellow lines with this hazard lights on and his bonnet open.
                "Oh no, is everything alright?" The Stunner asked, her heart sinking at the idea of a rescue vehicle coming out and finding two super-villains with a flat tyre.
                "It's all under control, ma'am." The Chauffeur reassured as he took her bag. "You weren't there for quite the whole night, then?"
                "Something urgent came up." The Stunner replied vaguely. Helena wondered if vengeance against the mayor was always more important than laying plans with a new right-hand woman. Then, her mind drifting in the intricate ways which are made possible only by paranoia and self-confidence problems, she wondered if it was just that rats were more important than her in general. When she snapped out of her rodent hierarchy pondering, she found The Chauffeur holding her door open.
                "Do you need any help? I can give it a jump start of legendary proportions, or you can just use the battery from my hammer?" she offered, wondering if the limo had simply run out of power.
                "No need ma'am." The Chauffeur told her assuredly.
                The door clunked shut behind her as she sank into the soft upholstered seats, and shortly afterwards The Stunner felt the car shake slightly as the bonnet was closed. The Chauffeur got in, started the engine without trouble and cut up an old woman unnecessarily to pull out.
                "Wait, what?" said The Stunner, puzzled.
                "A little advice for you, ma’am: if you ever want to park on double yellows without attracting attention, then just put your hazard lights on and open the bonnet. If you just park illegally then someone will question you, but if you need help then you'll be left perfectly well alone; practically invisible and perfectly untouchable."
                Beneath the professional exterior, Helena thought, The Chauffeur had the spirit of evil in him after all.
                "I'll bear that in mind, thank you." The Stunner replied non-confrontationally. Between this and helping Confectionista she would have to get used to aiding and abetting vile deeds without judgement.
                “Would you like to return to the Daubenton’s Cannery, ma’am?” he asked after relaying his evil wisdom.
                “Please. I’ve some planning to do.” The Stunner replied, hopefully vaguely enough to make herself sound scheming and mysterious. She suspected that The Chauffeur would be a fan of that sort of thing.
                “Of course, ma’am.”
                “How long have you been working with the professor, anyway?” Agent Burnley asked, hoping to gently tease out some information which didn’t centre on facilitating illegal parking.
                “Why do you ask?” The Chauffeur replied easily, hiding the suspicion in his voice but allowing the question out to explore the car on its own.
                “Just curious. Making conversation.”
                “You’ve not tried to make conversation during our journeys before, ma’am. Why the change of heart?” The Chauffeur persisted.
                “I just thought that if we’re going to be making these trips often then we should be able to have a chat.” She told him a little defensively. She might have been probing him for information but that was no reason to be suspicious of her.
                “I suppose it would make the drive a little more pleasant, as you say. But maybe we should leave the personal questions alone for the time being. Careless talk costs lives, as they say.”
                Helena was stuck. He’d shut down her line of questioning without directly confronting her, which meant that any effort she made to push the issue would seem either creepy or suspicious. But having also claimed to be wanting to make conversation she couldn’t just stop talking either, lest she raise The Chauffeur’s suspicion further. A grim sensation of being committed to talking to her driver washed over her like cold water from a flooded washing machine, but she had one last flannel to use.
                “Fair enough.” She said, trying to sound as casual as possible despite her existential dread. “Worked with someone called Confectionista much? I’ve got a file on her from Professor Endtimes, but it’d be good to hear something first hand.”
                “Yes, I’ve transported her on one or two occasions. She’s a pleasant young lady; you’ll get on well I would think.” The Chauffeur told The Stunner thoughtfully as he took the wrong lane onto a roundabout.
                “Take her anywhere nice?” Helena asked, doing her best to ignore the enraged hooters just behind her.
                “Nowhere in particular. If I recall we just drove a few laps around some dingy part of the city and then returned to her hideout. You’ll forgive me for not wanting to say where that is, I’m sure.”
                “Of course, that’s fine. I assume it was her idea to patrol the roads rather than go somewhere in particular?” Helena said, shifting her weight in the seat and reclining slightly.
                “It was Confectionista’s request, yes.”
                “Pass any sweet factories on your route?”
                “It’s perfectly possible. There was somewhere in particular which was both vibrant and industrial, I recall. It’s not a combination you see terribly often.”
                “No, I guess that’d stick out in your memory.” Helena thought about a mechanical unicorn for a moment to test the hypothesis, and decided she’d definitely remember anything which was industrial and vibrant. The professor’s mug was playing on her mind. “Didn’t take any sweets from her, did you?”
                “I did, as a matter of fact. I’d been having some trouble getting to sleep so she offered me some foam shrimps made to her own formulation. Certainly did the job.”
                “Glad to hear a good review.” The Stunner smiled. As dangerous as Confectionista probably was, it sounded like she might have her uses.
 
                The Chauffeur pulled up to the roadside outside the hole in the fence of the Daubenton’s Cannery, the closest thing The Stunner had to a front door. His car was easily the cleanest and best-kept object in a wide radius, and on balance it was probably more valuable than the surrounding buildings too. The real estate prices around an abandoned factory hadn’t been skyrocketing.
                “If you ever have need of my services again you need simply page me, ma’am.” He said as The Stunner swung her bag over her shoulder. “I would suspect that the professor will send for you again before long, regardless.”
                “Probably, yes. Thank you very much, Chauffeur.”
                “Quite welcome, ma’am.” The Chauffeur tipped his cap and re-entered the car whilst The Stunner snuck her way back into the cannery. It was overjoyed to have her back again after such a short sojourn.
                Away from prying eyes in the office, The Stunner removed her mask and dropped it onto the sofa. It had been getting easier and easier to wear it for long periods of time, but the sense of freedom and relief she felt when removing it was still sublime. Helena wiped the sweat from her face, ran her fingers through the damp, messy hair she’d released from its rubber prison, and sank into a dusty, creaky swivel chair. On the desk at the edge of the room, facing the grimy window which overlooked the factory floor, lay Confectionista’s file ready for Helena to dissect and absorb. With the awkward shuffling motion which is categorically more effort than getting up and walking but nonetheless preferable to it, Helena wheeled her chair over to the desk. Leaning back and taking the file in her hands, she set about the process of introducing herself to the sweet purveyor of chemical menaces.
                Before she’d got as far as even opening the file, Helena found herself wishing that she had a kettle to make herself a cup of tea. And some water to put in the kettle. And a mug to then transfer it to. And a teabag to put in the mug and pour the water on. All in all, she was missing four out of four of the critical components for a cup of tea, which put a significant blocker in the path of her having a drink.
                Bereft of hot beverages, she settled into reading the file on Confectionista. The Professor's research was thorough in a way, but erratic in its content. Confectionista's bodily dimensions, age, weight, hair colour and preference in pasta type were all logged, but the motive was a vague 'distribution'. Aside from her personal profile were various notes made on loose sheets of paper. Some of them provided helpful information on her typical techniques, such as dropping her laced sweets into pick’n’mix bags at the cinema then stealing from the drugged victims. Others detailed her talent for boiling sugar with only rudimentary household objects. One of the notes read simply: “Lovely.” The Stunner didn’t know what she was expected to do with that information.
                Wading through the hostile landscape of data provided to her, Helena learned that Professor Endtimes seemed to attach value to his potential acquisitions not only by their potential capacity to cause disruption, and their self-driven successes in causing mayhem, but by the amount of help they needed. Many of the scrawled observations related to how difficult Confectionista would find the business of taking over the factory on her own, how she must have been having to work two jobs to fund her lifestyle, and how little sleep she must have been getting by keeping up her identity alongside the aforementioned occupations. The phrase ‘deserves better than this’ came up more than once.
                The Stunner, on the other hand, learned that she would probably have to take control of affairs to get things done. This justified why Professor Endtimes had asked her to help, even if that help translated to taking as much of a lead as she had on the mayor’s bathtub job. Photographs of many of Confectionista's sweets had been included, as well as some descriptions of her approach to problem solving, which left a lot to be desired; if it couldn’t be drugged or kicked then it was fled from; this presumably rendered her fairly incapable of dealing with locked doors.
                Reading through the mass of notes, Helena wondered exactly what Professor Endtimes’ file on The Stunner included, and how he found everything out. The CCTVs running into his conference room couldn't get him all of this data, and there was no way he could watch all of the screens at the same time anyway. Her mind turned the possibilities over for a short while, picturing a stack notes detailing her predilection for electrocuting people who live in abandoned canneries. Those thoughts were soon swept away, however, when she dived back into the tide of information regarding The Stunner's next job.
 
                After reviewing as much as she could of the professor’s notes, Helena picked up the post-it she’d dropped into the file at the lair. With The Librarian’s pager number in her possession, she was in a position to send messages to the ministry without fear of being seen or otherwise identified. But lack of identification was also a problem; the recipient would have no proof that any messages were from Helena, or The Stunner, nor would Helena know who could see it. Her ambitions of sending a message directly to Commissioner Harmon to inform him of Professor Endtimes’ location and intentions were still, therefore, unsatisfied. She pondered for a long while, staring at the blank screen of her pager and puzzling over what to do. If she sent a message addressed to The Librarian whilst masquerading as the professor, telling her his address as a meeting point, then the ministry would assume it was a trap, because the professor knew she was in custody. If Helena sent a message and signed it as herself instead, then the ministry would have no way of verifying it, and treat it as a trap again. Plus, even if they did believe her, then the military would find out immediately and launch a strike against his house. Whether they captured or spooked him they would never find out what he was cooking up in the background. No-one, not even a mad professor, invests that much time or resource into simply funding lunatic villains for the hell of it, so there had to be an ulterior motive. Unless they found out what he was really doing before they struck, the lead would be lost forever.
                She knew she had to send something soon, before the pager was analysed and then locked away in an evidence bag where no-one would see it, but there was no time to wait for a solid lead to transmit. Even telling the ministry the snippets she’d found thus far would place the operation at too much risk to be worth it, though.
                Overthinking things that much was hungry work. Helena’s stomach grumbled at her impatiently. The extra slice of cake she’d requisitioned from Professor Endtimes’ lair had been enjoyable to munch whilst reading, but if she thought that it counted as a decent meal then she was very much mistaken; her stomach had no qualms about pointing that out. Reading alone in the office had passed what remained of the morning and the beginnings of the afternoon, tactlessly sweeping lunchtime away without so much as a polite nod or a portion of chips.
                Having gone around in circles for longer than was tolerable, the added urgency of hunger provided the inspiration Helena so desperately needed. She grabbed the pager and simply typed “Await my instructions”, entered The Librarian’s number, and sent it. It was the best she could do to give nothing away but keep the ministry interested in the pager. With the possibility of further contact from Professor Endtimes they’d have it watched day and night, so she could be sure of a rapid response when she needed it. Hopefully Commissioner Harmon would be able to work out it was her by some masterstroke of logic too, but that was a pipe dream for the time being. Still, Helena was impressed with her own ingenuity and smiled to herself. Not only did she now have an open line of communication, but she could justifiably start to address the lunch situation; a double-win.
                There was no longer any food in the office of the cannery, and Helena hadn’t been able to bring anything with her when fleeing her flat the night before. The injustice of having to abandon a kitchen full of perfectly good food ate away at her, and it felt like her digestive system was doing the same thing but in a far more literal sense. Worse, though, was the knowledge that she’d forced herself to go shopping a couple of days before, all for nothing; she would actually have been better off by allowing her cupboards to remain bare just like her laziness had suggested at the time. Helena vowed to herself that she would never again give in to the craven voices which warned her against running down to the last tin of chick peas, but that didn’t help her immediate situation. Whichever gods looked down on undercover agents must have been frowning hard, because she had to go shopping all over again.
                She checked her purse and found a small amount of cash. It was enough to buy herself something for lunch, and maybe a few bits to keep around for breakfast and snacks, but she would struggle to support herself for long. With a groan she cursed Commissioner Harmon for telling everyone that she would be out of the city, since she couldn’t even use her card to pay for anything or draw money out. The military would certainly be monitoring her, whatever the commissioner told them, and her cards would lead them right to her, exactly where she shouldn’t be, inside city limits. Life on the run from the law was supposed to be glamorous and exciting, not full of logistical issues with getting a loaf of bread. At least the other villains could remove their disguises and blend in as just another person. Both of Helena's identities were secret, just from different groups of people, and both of them were likely to be wanted by the military.
                With a resigned sigh she got up and changed out of the rest of her Stunner outfit. Dressing herself in baggy casual clothing to disguise her general shape, she pulled a hood over her head and left to do some inconspicuous, and insufficient, shopping.
               
               
                Late in the evening, back in the cannery surrounded by the selection of good’s she’d managed to requisition, The Stunner’s pager beeped at her. Confectionista’s pager number had been included in the file, and The Stunner had made contact with her just after she’d finished lunch. The Stunner’s priorities were set in stone when it came to work versus food, and her vocal stomach had not let her forget it.
                “Hi Sugar; let’s meet in the alley between Brick-Breaker Video and Computer-Fiend in Scrubwick, 21.30. Your help will be the icing on the cake. Confectionista.”
                Helena shuddered a little at being called sugar. The girl in the pictures hadn’t looked like a rancher girl from Texas but her language was certainly pointing that way. As a precautionary measure, Helena started the process of restraining herself from punching Confectionista there and then. That way, if she called her sugar again, The Stunner might stand a chance of not knocking her out immediately.
 
                After changing back into her outfit and sneaking out of the back, The Stunner made her way across the rooftops towards Scrubwick, a suburb on the outskirts of the city. It was neither large nor pleasant, but what it lacked in attractiveness it more than made up for in dilapidation. In most neighbourhoods The Stunner didn’t want to be seen at street level because it carried the risk of attack or arrest, but in Scrubwick the major deterrent to being seen was that someone might know she’d spent time in Scrubwick.
                It was obvious when she’d finally made it to the area; the colours of every shopfront were faded, patches of broken glass on the streets grew more frequent, and even the grey concrete pavements seemed a little greyer. Above a convenience store, which was now convenient only for those who sought to breathe in black mould, a group of scarred, twisted and battle-hardened pigeons cooed menacingly at The Stunner as she slunk by on the rooves across the road. Their leader regarded her coolly through his one working eye, watching her stroll casually through his territory without even as much as a nod of acknowledgement. He paced along the concrete lip of the roof, claws gnarled from past breaks and lumpy with scar tissue, and his head bobbed along in time with each step. He wondered if she might have any seeds or peanuts in her pockets. Even if she didn’t, half the fun was in finding out.
                He turned around to face his hench-pigeons and found them distracted by pecking at grit and gravel on the roof, their attention having already drifted from The Stunner. A short, sharp coo brought their heads jerking back up to attention, some with grit pinched in their beaks and some with their heads at impractical angles. The one-eyed pigeon regarded them with pity; he’d been like them once, so ignorant, vacant-minded, and weak. But that was before the incident, the fateful day when he’d pecked a piece of radioactive grit on the pavement. From that day forward he was The Pigeon, dedicated to fouling cars, stealing the sandwiches of the innocent, and cooing directly outside the window of anyone who was trying to get an early night. Dive-bombing people who strolled across his rooftops was just an added bonus.
                The Pigeon cooed an instruction to take flight and his formation of ragtag birds rose into the sky, flapping gracelessly. He swooped to the front as the vanguard and set his sight on The Stunner, who was currently negotiating her way over a chimney breast with approximately the same structural rigidity as hot custard. With so many pockets on her cargo trousers she must have had something tasty in one of them; The Pigeon would enjoy unleashing a hail of pecks upon her, tearing each pocket open with his razor-sharp beak and spilling the contents all over the roof. As he swooped close however, a tabby who had been crouched behind a skylight leapt from the shadows and took The Pigeon to the ground, ending his reign over the skies in a sudden, brutal strike as his hench-pigeons fled.
                The Stunner heard a strangled ‘coo’ behind her followed by a triumphant meow. Making the mistake of turning to look, she learned that this particular tabby cat liked to enjoy his meals in as many parts as possible. ‘I did not need to see that.’ she shuddered to herself, before continuing her journey towards the meeting with Confectionista.
                The tabby cat, having just caught a radioactive pigeon, found itself suddenly compelled to a new and unshakable purpose. Renaming itself to The Cat, from its previous identity of Montgomery, it dedicated itself to what it deemed to be ‘malign cattery’; laying in inconvenient places around the house, knocking glasses of water onto expensive items, and scratching anyone who dared answer its requests to be stroked. Despite a hard-fought campaign over many of the following years, his owners never noticed the difference.
 
                Brick-Breaker Video was far from being the poster-child of a successful establishment. Its windows were all broken or boarded up, the neon in its sign had long since escaped, and the selection of products inside was toeing the line between ‘embarrassing’ and ‘vindictive’. In short, it embodied Scrubwick perfectly. Crouched on the rooftop, looking down on the alleyway which ran from the main road to a narrow footpath behind the row of shops, The Stunner tried not to breathe in too deeply. A conspicuous odour had been lingering around the alleyway ever since she’d arrived, and whatever it was, she was sure that it had no business getting inside her nose or lungs. She glanced at her watch. 21.35. Confectionista was late. She wondered if poor-punctuality was one of the reasons that Professor Endtimes thought the sugary villain needed some assistance, but surely there would have been extensive notes to that effect which also effaced her enduring ‘loveliness’.
                Helena liked to think that she wasn’t an impatient person, but when the memory of a sickly-looking pigeon being torn apart by a cat was insistent on projecting itself on her mind’s eye, she would have been very grateful for the distraction of Confectionista’s arrival.
                Clicking ‘heel-toe’ footsteps echoed along the footpath behind the row of shops. Keeping herself as low as she could whilst remaining on the roof, The Stunner snuck along to the rear edge to get a better look at who was coming. Sure enough, Confectionista was walking confidently along the alleyway, wearing the same red and white cat-suit from the picture in Professor Endtimes’ file. Her blonde hair was curled into thick ringlets which cascaded down her shoulders and bounced in time with her steps. A satchel dangled at her waist, matching her cat-suit. She swung herself around into the alleyway she’d specified for the meeting, and looked relieved to find it empty. Some of the steadfast uprightness in her gait relaxed away, and she slowed her pace. Leaning against the wall she fished in her bag and produced a bottle of water, taking a small sip and placing it back. The Stunner was impressed at her practical preparation, if not her timekeeping.
                Swinging her legs over the edge of the roof, The Stunner span to face the wall and lowered herself down as far as her arms would allow. The single storey drop was an easy one. As she dropped down, directly in front of Confectionista, she heard a squeak of surprise and couldn’t help smirking.
                “Confectionista?” The Stunner asked by way of greeting. It seemed to be the done thing.
                “Yes, that’s me. You must be The Stunner. Nice to meet you sweetie.” Confectionista answered. Her voice was soft and well-spoken, and it sounded slightly unnatural for her to say ‘sweetie’. She must have been trying hard to establish her alias.
                “And you, I’m sure. The professor tells me you’re trying to get your hands on some production capabilities. Tell me about it.” The Stunner said, pressing into business. She presumed that’s how the professor envisaged her interacting with everyone, despite his own, far more paternal style.
                “Oh, erm yes. Of course.” The confidence in her voice wavered slightly, but soon got back on track. “I’ve identified a sweet-spot with everything I need, but it’s a liquorice-ky job. The gates are barred and you can sher-bet that the place has security guards patrolling who are never choco-late to check in.” She recited the description with practiced precision, to the extent that The Stunner could picture Confectionista rehearsing it in front of the mirror. “Long story short, it’s going to take more than knocking everyone out with a blackjack and setting up sweet-shop in there.” Finished, she leaned against the wall and looked expectantly at The Stunner for a response.
                “So, you want to charge in and take the place over?” She replied, including a small pun to communicate in the way Confectionista preferred, but keeping the question short.
                “Yeah, that’s the pra-line I’m going with.”
                “This might be a polarising comment but that plan sounds too static. How are you going to keep hold of a factory for long enough to make all your sweets? It’ll take a while to manufacture large enough quantities to warrant taking a sweet factory over, and there’ll be a response before that time is up.”
                Confectionista considered the question for a few moments, not looking so sure of herself.
                “I was hoping that you could help me out with that one. I’ve dib-dabbled with a few ideas but come up with nothing solid.”
                The Stunner shifted her weight slightly.
                “If security is as tight as you say then there’s no way your capture will go unnoticed for long. Anyone willing to pay for security guards at a sweet shop won’t just let you make sweets in peace once you’ve taken it over. They’d hit back quickly and hard, and you’d need an army of your own to keep them and the ministry at bay. That’s on top of having enough people to run the manufactory. Besides, I doubt the building was designed with counter-sieging in mind.” The Stunner dissected, not even bothering to insert puns to soften the blow.
                “Then we need to dig in and set up some kind of fortifications of our own. Something that’ll make them fall like skittles when they come.” She was clutching at straws now for both puns and plans.
                “I can’t see that working. You’d be better off just stealing what you need and setting up somewhere else. Every moment the ministry spends trying to work out where you are is time you can spend manufacturing, and you don’t have to waste resources fighting for no reason.”
                “How are we going to move all that equipment? Do you have a flying saucer?” Confectionista’s straws were holding. The Stunner had to admit to herself that that one was pretty good, and could scarcely have been pre-prepared.
                “A lorry, probably. Professor Endtimes can get us one, I’m sure.” She answered with devastating banality.
                “And where will we take it?” Confectionista persisted.
                “I have an idea about that, don’t worry.” The Stunner said, vaguely. “You’ll need people to run all the equipment and drive the vehicles though, do you have anyone?”
                “The professor has offered me some henchmen. Said they need to go to the tailor first though, to get uniforms which look right for working with me. They’ll be ready tomorrow night.”
                “Tomorrow?” The Stunner repeated, a little surprised. “OK, we can work with that. We’ll need to work out a proper plan first, though.” She thought back to the improvisation from the previous night and swore that it would never happen like that again. “Do you have a hideout we can use to discuss it?”
                “A hideout? Erm, I have my flat… will that do?”
                The Stunner was about to say no, but then remembered that she’d spent in the morning in Professor Endtimes’ terraced house. A flat was no more ridiculous. “As long as we won’t be overheard.”
                “I can hear my upstairs neighbour hoovering a lot, but if we talk quietly it should be alright.” Confectionista answered with innocent candour.
                “It’ll do.”
                “Alright, it’s just around the corner from here.”
                “You live in Scrubwick?” The Stunner asked in shock. She couldn’t help herself; Confectionista looked too clean and well turned-out.
                “Yes, I’ve lived here all my li- erm, I mean I’ve had my hideout here for years.”
                “And you’ve not been stabbed?” Tact wasn’t high on The Stunner’s agenda.
                “I’ve learned to look after myself.”
                “Must have done.” The Stunner muttered. With an open palm, she gestured for Confectionista to lead the way.
 
                Confectionista’s flat was in a dingy pebble-dashed high-rise, which offered excellent views over a cluttered car park, the back of the high-street, and some other high-rise buildings. It had been built in the late 70s, and from the state of it that was the last time anyone had taken the remotest interest in its structural integrity or cleanliness.
                The pair of them snuck into the lobby and paused whilst Confectionista checked her post box. Having discarded the stack of leaflets which had been diligently shoved in, she formed the vanguard of their three storey ascent. The Stunner noted sadly that the smell from the alleyway had an identical twin living in the stairwell.
                When Confectionista opened the door to her flat a whole new aroma engulfed The Stunner’s head, swirling into her nostrils and around her head. It was thick with sugar and syrup, combining every kind of artificial sweetness conceived by humankind into an eldritch sucrose cocktail. She physically flinched.
                “I’ve been cooking up some not-so-sweets; that’s what I’m calling my products. I guess you can still smell them a little, right?” Confectionista said, ushering The Stunner in. The door clunked shut solidly, and Confectionista drew a heavy deadbolt across after locking it. A pair of chains were also latched up for good measure. There were equal chances that the security was to keep the people of Scrubwick out, as it was to keep the zealous sugary scent in.
                “Yeah, a little. Would you like me to take my boots off?” The Stunner asked, still recovering from the calorific intake of breathing. The interior of the flat was much cleaner than everything outside for a good two mile radius, including most other residents’ dinnerware in all likelihood.
                “If you would be so kind.”
                The Stunner once again left her boots in a neat pair and walked into Confectionista’s living room. It was decorated in accordance with the minimalism of someone with a lot of taste but no money; there was almost nothing there, but all the empty spaces went together perfectly well. A sofa which was possibly older than The Stunner and Confectionista combined sat facing a coffee table, which had a lower shelf covered in papers and a couple of magazines. A standing lamp was set up to one side of the sofa, separating it from the large window with a rolling canvas blind drawn down over it.
                “I’m afraid you’ll have to sit next to me on the sofa. It doesn’t feel very villainy but I don’t have any other chairs.” Confectionista said with some embarrassment.
                “Works for me.” The Stunner said, trying to be agreeable without softening. She had an image to uphold.
                From the shelf underneath the coffee table, Confectionista pulled out a blueprint of some kind, with a few circles drawn on in red pen. By the looks of things, she’d even used a compass to get them perfectly round.
                “This is a plan of the Tooth’s Bane confectionery factory, a few streets over from here. It has everything I’ll need to get my operation underway and produce hundreds and thousands of my not-so-sweets. Here and here” she pointed to two circles “are the employee entrances through the external fence. There’s a guardhouse next to each one and a path which leads to the entrance of the building itself. The doors open into a corridor which we can follow round to the main locker room here” she traced a finger along the plans as she talked “and then into the factory floor via these doors. The other entrance to the factory floor is the freight entrance, where the crates of sweets are loaded directly onto the delivery lorries. You need to open it with the controls located just inside. Lorries exit onto Grime Street via a set of barriers next to one of the employee entrances, operated by the security guards in the guardhouse.
                There are patrols are every 15 minutes along every corridor, as well as the gantries which run over the top of the factory floor, so anything we do needs to happen inside 15 minutes, or after we knock everyone out.” Confectionista sat back up straight. “Any ideas?”
                “How on earth did you find all this out?” The Stunner asked, ignoring Confectionista’s question but impressed at her knowledge.
                “Internet. And I used to work there in the summers between university terms.”
                “Good job.” She said sincerely, making a mental note to confirm that the station’s own security wasn’t so vulnerable to probing. “We can make this work.”
 
                The Stunner and Confectionista spent hours making plans on exactly how they could hit every guard patrol without being seen, but they all required perfect execution and a lot of luck. With so many patrols and only fifteen minutes to get around the site, securing the factory without an alarm being raised and the ministry being informed would be a tough job. But The Stunner had told Professor Endtimes she would take care of it, so there could be no backing down.
                Mentally exhausted, The Stunner stood up from the sofa at last and checked the time; it was early in the morning.
                “OK, we know where we are with this. I’ll make the necessary arrangements with Professor Endtimes and meet you on Grime Street tomorrow night.”
                “Perfect. Thank you Stunner.” Confectionista said earnestly. She wasn’t sure if super-villains were supposed to thank each other, but The Stunner and The Chauffeur had both seemed perfectly civil people so she took the chance.
                “Don’t mention it.” The Stunner answered, which is known to be the most aloof way of saying ‘you’re welcome’ and therefore the most appropriate for villainous facilitators. “What you could mention, though, is why you want to do this? What’s the plan once you have your stockpile of not-so-sweets?”
                “I’m going to use them to earn enough money to get myself out of Scrubwick for a start. The old drug’n’mug works well enough, but I’m sure that a lot of people would pay well for my products and services. Once I’m set up, I’m going to punish the city council for neglecting Scrubwick for so long.”
                Helena felt hollow. She was enabling a mugger and poisoner, but she knew that the girl behind the mask didn’t seem evil. Something had made her this way and the cycle was going to self-perpetuate. The Stunner, on the other hand, simply shrugged.
                “Can’t say I blame you for that.”
                “Once the corrupt politicians are doped up on my drugs they’ll do whatever I say. Scrubwick will be regenerated in months.”
                “I think you’re overestimating how quickly the council can get things done.” The Stunner warned. “You’ll need to dope them for about 6 years to get a consultation approved on whatever it is you want, let alone have any action taken.”
                “Then I guess I’ll need an even bigger bag of pick’n’mix with me.” She replied with a wry smile.
                The Stunner chuckled at Confectionista’s determination. “Yep, that’ll do it. Until tomorrow, Confectionista.”
                “See you, sweetness.”
 
                The Chauffeur dropped The Stunner outside Professor Endtimes’ lair the following morning, responding to a very late, or possibly very early, message on his pager. It seemed to him that she had absolutely no perception of reasonable working hours or when it was socially acceptable to contact someone, so had once again reminded her that a visit would be conducted during daylight hours at least.
                For a second time The Stunner braved the yellowed and decaying doorbell. She’d not contracted hand-rot from it last time, but still took the precaution of using her elbow instead of her finger.
                "The Stunner! Hello again. I must apologise for how abruptly our discussion was cut short yesterday. I do hope you have managed to make headway regardless?" Professor Endtimes greeted warmly as he opened the door. "Come in, come in."
                "That's fine professor, and yes it's with regard to Confectionista that I'm here. We have a plan to take control of the Tooth's Bane factory, but it requires some more resources from you." The Stunner told him, wanting to get the news out in the open as quickly as possible.
                "Come through to the conference room and we can discuss everything there. You never know who might be trying to look in through the windows." He said, looking askance at his own glazing.
                Once again they descended into the basement of Professor Endtimes' house, his true lair, and took seats at the long conference table. This time, however, the room was not empty; men and women in a grey uniform strode purposefully from room to room in the underground complex, sometimes carrying papers, sometimes muttering into walkie-talkies, and always smiling welcomingly at The Stunner; it seemed that the professor enjoyed a friendly workplace atmosphere.
                "OK, now how are you today Stunner? Are you well?" Professor Endtimes asked once they’d settled into their seats.
                "Um, yes I am very well thank you. Erm, how are you?"
                "I’m marvellous! The syringes worked a treat on the mayor's carpet, got the jam right through to the underlay so it'll rot from below. By the time he’s realised it’ll be far too late." He beamed.
                "Yeah? That's great news. But I needed to ask your help with-"
                "Oh, sorry to interrupt, but before you carry on, would you like any tea? Coffee? I didn't ask upstairs and I feel terribly rude." The professor asked, pulling a caricatured version of a concerned face.
                "No, no that's fine. Thank you." The Stunner assured him.
                "OK, but if you do change your mind then I can send one of the henchmen up. I have a full staff in today so it's no bother." He pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly to make sure she fully understood how little of a bother it would be.
                "Yeah, I’ve noticed it’s a little busier down here right now. But I'll admit that I’m impressed you had a ratsman and a jamsman on call yesterday, even when you didn’t a full staff in."
                "Well," Professor Endtimes said, blushing slightly and putting one hand on the back of his neck. "I must confess that those two are actually the same person. He just happens to be good with both rats and jam."
                "Even so, it's not the kind of staff member many people would consider critical on a skeleton-crew day."
                “What can I say? A man needs to be confident that he can have jammy rats when he needs them." was the only explanation the professor offered.
                "I suppose so. Anyway, I need to make a request for Confectionista. The plan to take over the factory isn't going to work, but repositioning the equipment will. To do that we’ll need to get our hands on some heavy machinery to tear it out of the floor, and some lorries to load it onto. And we need it tonight, along with the new henchmen."
                The professor raised his eyebrows.
                "You certainly make ambitious requests, Stunner, which is laudable." He drummed his fingers on the table "Where am I going to get... maybe if... jam and rats won't help much but..." He thought out loud. The Stunner looked on awkwardly, feeling like she wanted to offer some insights, or even some questions, but didn’t have a clue what he was going on about. His train of thought wasn’t so much off the tracks as airborne. “Yes, that’s it!” he exclaimed suddenly. “I can help you with that, Stunner. I’ll have the henchmen bring everything along at your signal.”
                "Just like that?" she asked, surprised.
                "Just like that. When a nice young lady asks for my help I can't very well say no, can I?"
                Helena took a chance whilst he was feeling amiable, which in fairness seemed to be all the time. "If you don't mind me asking professor, how on earth do you fund all this? Do you take a cut from jobs you help out with, or have an embezzlement operation on the side or something? Corrupt politicians?"
                The professor chuckled "Oh, no no. I just invest wisely in rare minerals and property. I have a wonderful portfolio I could show you some time, it has glitter glue on it and everything."
                "So smuggling or...?" Helena pressed.
                "No, it's all above board. You don't need to be a criminal to make money, you just buy low and sell high." The professor said brightly.
                "Huh, fair enough. Well, on the subject of money, Windy Bill said something about you probably having opened an account for me… is there any truth to that?" she asked, surprised at her own boldness.
                “Oh my goodness! Yes of course! I had completely forgotten!” The professor looked horrified, as if she’d just caught him strangling a puppy with a set of pliers. “I am so sorry Stunner. How can I expect you to run around doing odd jobs for me if I don’t pay you? There is indeed an account set up for you under an assumed name. I’ll have someone bring the details and card around right away.” He leaned into his intercom. “Would someone please bring me The Stunner’s account pack as soon as possible?” He looked back up at The Stunner. “Forgive me, please. An old man will forget himself from time to time in the excitement of meeting a young lady with potential like yourself. I hope I haven’t left you out of pocket?”
                “No, no not all. I felt quite embarrassed asking about it, honestly. It’s not a big deal.”
                “Well it’s a big deal to me. If you’re in my employ then I need to look after you.”
                “Thank you very much, si- er, professor.”
                “Now, back to the matter at hand. Page The Chauffeur when you wish for the henchmen and equipment to arrive, and they’ll be there on the double. Confectionista is absolutely going to love the uniforms, bless her heart. I had them modelled on her own outfit, which I think is what she would want, but obviously toned down a bit so that everyone knows she’s in charge of them. Standard procedure with henchmen really. Have you ever worked with henchmen or henchwomen?” He asked curiously.
                “Uh, I can’t say that I have. They’re not really my style; I prefer to move in quietly, hit hard and move out again.” She said, making the most generic excuse she could.
                “A classic lone wolf, aren’t you Stunner? Such a shame because you’re so perfectly charming and anyone would be thrilled to work alongside you. I know Roger Toilet thought very highly of you. I had to follow up on that, you understand, just in case you’d got a bit whip-happy and given him a shocking. Lovely lad he is, really, just needs some patience and some direction.” The professor jabbered aimlessly.
                “Yeah, he’s alright isn’t he?” The Stunner offered, not entirely knowing how to engage with the situation. The professor carried on obliviously anyway.
                “Well I’m sure Confectionista will take to leading a team of henchmen like a duck to water, and if not you’ll be able to sort her out. The best advice I can give is to be clear and concise, and to speak in puns and euphemisms if at all possible; the henchmen and henchwomen lap it up and can somehow follow instructions better like that.” he told her with a shrug.
                “What are their names, please, in case I need to get their attention?” The Stunner asked.
                “We don’t trade in names, Stunner. I’m sure you can understand that everyone here values anonymity.” Professor Endtimes told her with the gentle authority of a primary school teacher.
                “Yeah, no, of course. That’s fine. I’ll find a way.”
                “That’s the spirit! You’ll go far with that confidence Stunner.”
                Helena questioned exactly how far she would go for this operation; it seemed she was yet to find the line.
 
                Back at the cannery that afternoon, Helena reviewed her case against the professor so far. She had him for aiding and abetting the theft of a bathtub, unregulated building work, probably not obeying employment law with his henchmen and associates, and definitely breaching the terms of service of his storage garage at Totally Trustworthy Self Storage. Even when she added all this to surveillance of other people and funding the coup of a sweet factory, however, it still wasn't enough. She needed real evidence of legitimately super-villainous activities before she could risk confronting him or notifying the ministry, and that meant she had to embed herself deeper. Tooth’s Bane would have to take one for the greater good.
 
                The night was warm and clear, bright moonlight shining palely over the quiet streets around the Tooth's Bane sweet manufactory. Empty snack wrappers roamed the empty road in great herds, huddling themselves around the streetlights, dancing in the light breeze, and generally finding their way to anything which wasn't a bin. The Stunner wondered if this was a deliberate design feature from the manufacturer to increase advertising levels.
                In lieu of any suitable rooftops on which to lurk, The Stunner had settled on leaning behind a broken lamppost; she'd still be able to make a dramatic entrance from out of sight, but it depended on Confectionista approaching from just the right angle. The geometrical approach aspect of villainous arrival was just one more subtlety Helena had been forced to learn on the job.
                Tucking herself in and holding her cape close around herself, The Stunner looked up at the Tooth’s Bane sweet manufactory. Vibrant and industrial had been The Chauffeur’s description. The Stunner would have settled on ‘spitefully gaudy’. Drawing inspiration from the products created therein, the factory had been painted in a series of fluorescent colours, arranged specifically to clash with one another. A bubble-gum pink chimney rose to the sky with a lime green band around the centre, and the building itself was bright yellow but covered in back-lit polka dots of various other colours. They shone out into the night like beacons of poor decision-making. Although the paintwork was loud, Tooth’s Bane waited silently for The Stunner to sneak in and gut it, displaying an admirable amount of patience and acceptance. Or perhaps its spirit had simply been broken by the visual humiliation; there was no way of telling.
                The distant whooshing of cars along the main road was the only sound in the night air, until of course the clacking footsteps of Confectionista gradually unrolled their way along the street, channelled by the rows of buildings on either side. The Stunner wrapped her cape close around her body and positioned herself opposite to the road of Confectionista's approach, trying to gain as much cover as possible from the lamppost. Unfortunately that necessitated standing in a puddle of unknown origin. It was for reasons such as these that Helena considered herself to be particularly dedicated agent, staying undercover and getting the job done even the going was tough.
                Confectionista's footsteps grew ever louder but still she had not emerged. They must have been deafening up close, running the risk of not only waking the residents of nearby houses, but probably shattering their bedroom windows too. The only explanation was that she had worn high-heeled clogs to participate in the operation, a choice of footwear which is unsuitable for any application at all. The Stunner wiggled her own rubber soled boots on the ground and gave them a few test taps, not producing any such percussive note and proving to herself that she had made a superior and a more subtle selection.
                For a full minute The Stunner lurked silently in her mystery puddle, waiting whilst the thunder clogs stormed along the street. Confectionista's footsteps were a cacophonous masterpiece for such a slight girl, shaking the neighbourhood with the whole half-a-gram of her body mass. The Stunner started to become genuinely fearful that the lamppost would collapse on top of her if the earthquake continued. At last however a figure in a knee length trench coat marched into view in perfect time with the thunder, completely inconspicuous except for the exposed bright red and white calves and high heels. Soon it would be time for the Stunner to emerge. She shimmied around the lamppost to keep herself concealed as Confectionista drew near, in anticipation of big reveal.
                "Good evening my sweet." The girl said, her voice oozing with syrup.
                The Stunner remained silent, hoping that Confectionista was talking on the phone, but not really believing it enough to commit. After a few seconds she stepped out awkwardly.
                “How did you know I was there? I should have been hidden.”
                “You splashed in that puddle of… erm… whatever it is. Best not think about it, but you should probably clean your boots later.” She advised with the unfortunate weight of experience.
                “Ugh. Fine. I spoke to the professor and we’re good to go. On my signal to The Chauffeur we’ll have henchmen and heavy machinery arriving to load up the equipment.” The Stunner declared, trying to restore her sense of authority.
                “You’re a real honey, Stunner.” Confectionista said, sincerity overflowing the turn of phrase in a way that The Stunner’s grasp on tone of voice couldn’t quite reconcile. It threw her right off her stride.
                “Guilty as charged.” The Stunner replied uncertainly. She was trying to agree amiably, but sounded somewhere between flirty and panicked.
                There was silence.
                “…so, shall we get to work?” Confectionista finally asked, desperate to move the subject along.
                “Yeah. After you.”
 
                Sticking to the shadows and dampening Confectionista's footsteps as best they could, the two of them crept around to the side of the site along the high steel fence. Sharp and corrugated, the tall bars of the fence wouldn't have been a good prospect for The Stunner to climb, unless she happened to fancy having her hands cut to ribbons. On balance, she did not. Thankfully for her hands, Confectionista had planned for this and the situation was under control.
                "Too many sweets will rot your teeth." She said gleefully to the Stunner as she painted a treacle paste over two of the vertical fence rails. The guard house further down the street at the employee entrance glowed with yellow sodium lights, and the security guard inside did a particularly bad job of noticing that there was a break-in in progress.
                Immediately on contact with the steel the paste hissed and spat angrily, fizzing into a nightmarish lather. Confectionista kept spreading it until the paste reached from ground level up to head height whilst The Stunner kept watch.
                “You cooked that stuff up in your flat?” The Stunner asked incredulously as the steel was eaten away.
                “Yep. It’s my own special formulation. Dissolved more than a few pans trying to get the recipe right as well.” Confectionista said proudly.
                They waited for half a minute as the treacle worked its magic, a hybridised scent of sugar and molten metal emanating from the effervescent sludge, and then Confectionista drew a fist-sized jawbreaker from a pocket inside her coat.
                “Shall we make a cavity?” she said with mischievous glee. “From jawbreaker” she held the sugar sphere high in her hand “to fence breaker.” Swinging it hard, she slammed the hardened sugar orb into the weakened steel with a dull thud, dampened by the viscous layer of treacle and dissolved metal. The blow shattered the fence inwards with a lot more dripping and spraying than The Stunner would normally expect from stainless steel, leaving a gap just wide enough for the two of them to pass through.
                “Wow!” Was the best The Stunner could do to articulate her shock. Even though they’d discussed this part of the plan the previous night, she still hadn’t been prepared for seeing it in action. Confectionista definitely had as much potential as Professor Endtimes had made out. And far from being defeated by a locked door, she was entering the factory through a solid boundary.
                Taking care not to touch the soup of sugar and molten steel on the concrete, the pair of infiltrators snuck through the hole in the fence. Confectionista had selected their entry point deliberately, ensuring that they would be within a blind spot of the guardhouse once inside the boundary line. Hunched low they both jogged their way towards the small hut, and took up positions on either side of the doorway when they arrived. The Stunner checked the time; the security guards wouldn’t be reporting in yet. She signalled to Confectionista that they were good to go.
 
                Being a security guard for a sweet factory was good, honest work for Hugh Thompson. He was a simple kind of man who didn't claim to understand why a confectioner's industrial plant needed its own private army of security guards, but he also didn't question it. If Tooth's Bane were willing to pay him to look after their assets then by gosh he would do it. They must have been worried about a military legion of children storming the gates, seeking the greatest sugar high of their lives, but he had never observed such an attack during his employment. He glanced at the CCTV monitors covering the guard house and parts of the fence line; all calm and all quiet as normal. Perfect.
                With his feet up on the desk he flicked through a newspaper, wondering if the claims that the mayor had broken into his own home for insurance purposes were true. The break-in had certainly had let him step up his war against super villainy, so he had a reasonable motive to do it himself, Hugh supposed. It wouldn't explain going to the lengths of ripping out his own toilet and crushing his petunias, but maybe that kind of depth was the true beauty of the deception.
                A smart knock at the door distracted him from his conspiracy theories. ‘That must be Chris with a coffee. What a guy.’ Hugh rationalised incorrectly. He opened the door with a wide smile, filled with lust for caffeine, which quickly dropped away when he saw the infamous Stunner facing him.
                “It’s a cold night; you should have worn some insulation.” The Stunner said mercilessly, before firing a stun dart into Hugh’s chest.
                Helena felt guilty for attacking an innocent man like that. She’d have felt guilty for attacking an innocent man in any way, truth be told. But The Stunner knew that it was necessary; if they left any of the security team free enough to set off the alarm then the military would not be slow to arrive. Electrocuting and cable-tying Hugh, gagging him with one of Confectionista’s giant gobstoppers, and then leaving him on the hard ground of a guardhouse was the only option available and completely necessary. Stealing his wallet, however, was just pure devilment.
                “He’s got a library card! I haven’t seen one of those for years.” Confectionista said, leafing through as they snuck along the path to the factory entrance and dropping each item as she went.
                “I’ve seen far too many.” The Stunner shuddered, stepping on one of Hugh’s discarded family photos.
                The emptied wallet landed neatly in a bush as The Stunner and Confectionista reached the end of the path. Black double doors pushed open easily into a recessed nook of a brightly lit corridor, and The Stunner wiped her feet on the threadbare door mat as she snuck inside. According to the patrol schedule, someone would walk past within the next thirty seconds. She and Confectionista pressed themselves flat against the wall and waited.
                “I’ve got this one.” Confectionista whispered, taking a position closer to the corner where the nook met the corridor. The Stunner nodded, but kept a hand on her whip just in case sweets proved less effective than electrocution.
                Quiet leather-soled footsteps began to approach in a brisk but casual rhythm. Confectionista crouched slightly and braced to strike out, unable to repress an excited smirk at getting stuck into the action. She was eager and talented, two reasons that Helena supposed Professor Endtimes wanted her mentored and guided. Despite the slightly questionable behaviours being encouraged, Helena was heartened to see that someone was taking an interest in recognising young achievers.
                The patrol was nearly on top of them. Confectionista winked at The Stunner, then pirouetted into the corridor and threw a handful of irritant sherbet into the security guard's face, forming a cloud of white dust which engulfed his head. With a yelp he reeled away and bent over, clutching at his streaming eyes and coughing heavily. With the grace of a ballet dancer, Confectionista lifted her leg up high then brought it down heel-first on the guard’s back, sending him collapsing to the floor.
                The Stunner stepped out into the corridor and saw the incapacitated man, face red and streaming, laying on the floor.
                “I’m pretty sure normal sherbet would do perfectly well as an improvised pepper spray.” She observed whilst cable-tying his hands to his ankles. “Adding in the extra irritants is probably overkill.”
                “I just like to go that extra mile and add some flavour to my work.” Confectionista winked back with a flourish, handing over another gobstopper gag. Together they dragged the hog-tied guard outside, tucking him between two of the bushes where he wouldn’t be noticed by another patrol. Hugh’s wallet fell onto his head and reminded Confectionista of the looting potential.
                Twenty pounds richer, they re-entered the corridor and followed it around towards the main locker room. Empty rows of coat-hooks and lockers stood stoically in the darkness, their day’s work done and enjoying these moments of hollow relaxation.
                “Seems clear.” The Stunner assessed, eager to keep moving. The longer they delayed, the more chance there was that the absence of two guards would be noticed.
                “One sec.” A whole body suit of red and white stripes was unveiled as Confectionista hung her trench coat up on one of the hangers, despite it being clearly labelled with someone else’s name. They’d even gone to the trouble of writing ‘only’ after their name, underlining it, and putting exclamation marks at the end, which The Stunner suspected to be the main reason her accomplice had chosen that hanger in particular. “I didn’t go to all the trouble of making this suit just to keep it covered the whole time.”
                “Fair enough.” The Stunner accepted. “It’s a nice suit.”
                Pouches and pockets had been sewn around the waist band to store supplies of various not-so-sweets since the previous night, and it looked like she’d even refreshed the lace around the cuffs. Confectionista was trying hard.
                Through the quiet corridor they crept, advertising materials and posters of new products staring down at them from the walls. ‘Life is sweet!’ claimed a blonde, pig-tailed child with a lollipop twice the size of her head. ‘Indulge your gluttony!’ bellowed a poorly drawn pig in a pool of fruit gums. ‘You’re an awful person if you don’t buy Forgiveness Fruits!’ lectured an angel in a judge’s wig. He held a gavel in one hand and brandished a fistful of brightly coloured gummy laces accusingly in the other.
                “Are you sure this place isn’t already run by a super-villain?” The Stunner asked.
                “If it is then they’re wasting the potential. This is fun-size compared to what I could do.”
                “You won’t be able to hide what you steal from here for long, remember. Whatever happens, the manufacture needs to be fast.” The Stunner warned. Helena knew that if she had been assigned to the case, she’d have manufactory-scale equipment tracked down within hours.
                “I won’t let it go without a fight.” Confectionista told her with determination.
                “Yes you will.” Came the sharp correction. “If you fight the army then you’ll lose, and all this effort will be wasted.”
                “So what? We just let it go?” she snapped back.
                “Exactly. You build up a stockpile and you get away with it. Get yourself a days’ worth of weaponry and keep your freedom. The alternative is a weeks’ worth of not-so-sweets rotting in the evidence room while you’re in a ministry holding cell.”
                “I won’t go down in history for abandoning my first big score.” Confectionista growled.
                “You remember the helicopter crash at Jellin’s park, recently?”
                “Yeah I heard about it, what does that have to do with anything?”
                “It’s what happens when you don’t let go of a score that the military is chasing.” The Stunner said bluntly.
                A beam of light shone into The Stunner’s eyes, dazzling her and startling Confectionista.
                “Who the hell are you?” demanded one of the Tooth’s Bane security guards. He was standing outside the gents’ toilets, shining a torch at them and looking distinctly displeased.
                “Crap.” The Stunner said, although not in direct response to the man’s question. She’d let herself be distracted by conversation, one in which she was trying to make Confectionista a better villain. Helena cursed herself; she was getting too wrapped up in trying to impress Endtimes. But there were more immediate matters to resolve, like this hopefully post-loo security guard about to raise the alarm.
                She lunged forwards and lashed out with her whip, flicking the torch out of the guard’s hands with a crackle. Another handful of sherbet dust burst forwards, and through it a white-gloved fist connected cleanly with the blinded man’s nose. The guard hit the floor with a sound like chairs scraping backwards in a hurry. So like it, in fact, that The Stunner wasn’t sure the sound had come from him at all. Opposite the gents’ door was the break room, lights on and door open. Raised voices were starting to spill out of it like molten sugar into a fruit-shaped mould.
                “The patrols aren’t all out!” The Stunner hissed urgently whilst Confectionista gagged the guard. “The lazy sods have ignored the schedule!”
                “Then we’ve found a selection box to share!” Confectionista said hungrily.
                The Stunner shook her head as she dashed to the open doorway. She slammed the door shut in the face of one of the charging guards, cracking the glass and prompting a series of aggrieved grunts from inside. She peered through the cracked glass, then snapped back against the wall.
                “There’re about ten of them in there.” She warned Confectionista, but there was no time to waste on planning. Any one of them could set off an alarm, call the police, or put a metal object inside the microwave if they delayed.
                “Break out the rest of the window and brace the door.”  Confectionista instructed in response. The Stunner whipped the remaining glass hard, shattering it into the break room to rain down on her previous door victim, and in the same motion she sank to her knees and leaned into the door.          
                "Let's see how they like my lolli-POPS" Confectionista cried, lobbing a lolly the size of her own fist through the broken window and diving down to meet The Stunner. An ominous thin white smoke trail lingered in the air as the lolli-POP clattered onto the rubber flooring of the break room. Muffled, concerned voices were mingled with a hiss and a fizz, before everything was drowned out by a loud crack. Onomatopoeia was not the only threat posed by the lolli-POP, however. Hard, boiled sugar shrapnel zipped outwards and filled the room, ricocheting off every surface, shattering into sweet dust wherever it impacted, and inflicting heavy scratches and stinging wounds on the unfortunate guards.
                With the security team variously cowering, stunned, and incapacitated, The Stunner flung the door open and leapt into action. Confectionista was close behind, eager to continue her sugary rampage. Stun darts fired from both The Stunner’s wrists simultaneously, one landing true in the waist of a man who was clutching his arm, the other missing and shattering a cafetiere. Broken Perspex and inexpertly brewed coffee added to the already significant havoc wrought by the lolli-POP, unleashing the otherworldly stench of an over-used coffee pot. The guards who had been knocked out cold by the sugar shrapnel were spared a nasal assault, but their lucid colleagues were forced to endure further agonies.
                The Stunner retracted her darts and leapt onto one of the cheap tables, unsheathing her battery hammer and swinging it into clobbering position. A blonde security guard with thinning hair and compensating gut was making a dash towards the wall-mounted phone, attempting to alert the outside world to the ongoing assault. A dart sailed cleanly into his buttock and electrified him out of such notions.
                “You guys are a real fruit salad!” Confectionista laughed, spiralling a high kick into the side of an already distressed man’s head. His cap tumbled off to one side while his body fell to the other.
                “You’ll pay for that!” cried one of his colleagues, rubbing at a cut on his face. A modest chunk of lolly was still sticking out of it, fuelling his anger. He motioned to lunge forwards, but was stopped dead by a mass of strawberry laces slapping into his face and wrapping round his head like an artificially flavoured jellyfish.
                “And that one’s for free!” she cackled maniacally.
                “So’s this.” A gruff voice barked behind her. The Stunner span around just in time to see a dark-haired gorilla of a man, tree-trunk arms covered in thick hair, whack his torch into the back of Confectionista’s head. With a spine-chilling squeak Confectionista crumpled to the floor.
                “That’s not free, ape. It carries a heavy charge!” The Stunner screamed on the edge of hysteria, already airborne. An arm the width her waist rose up to meet her, the rock-hard muscle completely unyielding as The Stunner’s abdomen slapped into it. It wasn’t as unyielding, however, as the car battery which arced down from above her head. The battery found bone at the end of its journey, crunching into the guard’s monolithic shoulder and discharging angrily through his body. His bulk flew backwards into a table and chairs, and The Stunner landed awkwardly on her feet, gasping for the air which had been forcibly propelled from her body. Unfortunately, worrying about her breathing would need to take a back seat for the moment.
                The Stunner turned to look for her next target, but he had enthusiastically made his own way to her with the gift of a clumsy right hook. She dipped out of the way and caught him in the gut with the head of her battery hammer, turning his charge into a collection of jerky spasms which ended in spontaneous rearrangement of the furniture. Mostly using his face.
                Panting, Helena took stock of the situation. The security team were all incapacitated to some degree, but no-one was in extreme danger. No alarms were sounding, which meant that she could avoid an entanglement with the ministry for a while longer. Confectionista was motionless on the floor, her blonde hair slowly turning red; that was probably a problem. The Stunner dropped to her knees and rolled the slightly-more-red and white girl onto her back, her eyelids flickering open at the sudden change of orientation. The Stunner sighed audibly with relief.
                “Can you hear me? See me?”
                “Urghh.”
                “Yes ‘urgh’, or…?”
                “Yeah, I can see you. I feel sick though. What happened to my head?” she asked, even though she probably could have worked the answer out herself.
                “Too many sweets.” The Stunner said, helping Confectionista back onto her theme despite the medical problems. “We need to keep going.”
                Too groggy to argue, Confectionista allowed The Stunner to help her up, then leaned on her as the walking wounded. Quickly she found that high heels were sub-optimal footwear for the aftermath of a headwound, as her ankles toppled side-to-side with her disorientated staggering. Helena had never found it necessary to learn that lesson the hard way in either of her personas, but felt that the time for lectures regarding appropriate dress codes for work were better given when the risk of concussion was lower. She needed to prioritise getting Confectionista away from the guards before they came to. Which reminded her of something.
                “Damn it, I need to tie them up. Hold on for a sec.” she told her patient, gently lowering her into a seated position on the ground.
                With the frenzied passion of a woman who had abdominal bruising and someone else's cranial trauma to tend to, The Stunner dashed around the break room performing all necessary cable tying, even of the over-length microwave power cable. Then, with Confectionista once again supported, she switched off the break room lights and headed out for the factory floor.
                “How big did you say the security team was?” she asked.
                “Fourteen. Twelve in the factory and two at the guard houses.” Confectionista told her.
                The Stunner did some quick mental arithmetic.
                “Then there’s probably still someone in here to deal with. And someone outside.”
                “I think I might be able to walk by myself, Stunner.” Confectionista said, not really paying attention.
                The Stunner looked at Confectionista questioningly, then tentatively started to pull her support away. Despite some swaying and a series of potentially fatal moments for her ankles, Confectionista established her own balance.
                “You alright?” The Stunner asked, giving her the chance to revise her decision.
                “Yeah, I’ve got this.” She replied. When reassurance is required that someone is able to stand unassisted, the situation tends to be poor at best. With short, cautious steps at first, Confectionista began to walk towards the double doors which led to the factory floor. Keeping herself within catching distance, The Stunner followed and hoped that the last guards were somewhere far away.
                The double doors unveiled a curtain of plastic strips, through which Confectionista and The Stunner pushed into the manufacturing floor. Like travellers in an abandoned alien city they entered the factory proper, a cavernous warehouse with collection of cyclopean manufacturing engines and sugar combiners which seemed not to belong on the Earth. Together, Confectionista and The Stunner wound through brilliant white machinery and benches, leaving dirty footprints on the white floor and ignoring the various signs to wear a hairnet and gloves at all times. All around them were the tools of war against tooth enamel. Vast iron melting pots like sterile cauldrons were hinged at the end of moulded tables, recessed with the likeness of various farm animals, fruits, and household appliances. Huge blenders towered over them to spin and pull sugars into candy floss and toffee. Cylinders of artificial flavouring and colouring bubbled quietly on their stands, lurid IVs dripping the industry’s lifeblood into all manner of sugar syrups and chewy pastes. The Stunner surveyed them all with distrust and apprehension; she’d consumed more than her share of products from these machines, but seeing them like this with such industrial sterility put her more in mind of biological experiments than comfort eating.
                Confectionista, on the other hand, stared around herself with a mixture of ecstasy and lust. She was a Disney princess prancing through an enchanted forest of chemical infusions and industrial confection, although that may well have been down to the concussion.
                “I feel like a kid in a sweet shop!” She said dreamily.
                “That’s because you literally are one right now.” The Stunner answered distractedly. She knew they weren’t alone in the factory. The security guard could have been anywhere, alerting the guardhouse, calling the police, or possibly even filling the toilet with custard powder.
                “How many lorries did Professor Endtimes get us? I want to take it all!” Confectionista asked excitedly.
                “I don’t know.” The Stunner told her, with more important matters on her mind. “The patrol routes go through here, right?”
                “Yeah one of them, probably.”
                "Stop right there, criminal scum!" A strained voice cried out. It echoed from the machines of sugary fabrication and seemed to surround them with ineffectual command.
                "Someone else trying to dip their hand in the sweet jar?" Confectionista shouted back, wincing at the pain in her head as she spoke. It seemed that the promise of a fight could snap her out of any confectioner’s lust.
                "This place is under my jurisdiction, and trespassers will be persecuted with extreme prejudice."
                "Do you think he means prosecuted?" Confectionista muttered to The Stunner, who refused to speculate one way or the other. "Could you ask him?" she followed up.
                The Stunner sighed in resignation.
                "Did you mean prosecuted?"
                "Not even slightly." His voice seemed to have moved around the room, the disruption of the manufacturing floor confusing and masking everything. As if from nowhere a flash of steel zipped from between two melting pots. Flying handcuffs spiralled through the air like a discus and locked The Stunner's wrist to Confectionista’s.
                Confectionista tried to snatch her wrist away but jerked to a halt against The Stunner’s disproportionate inertia.
                “Handcuffs.” The Stunner reminded.
                “I’ve noticed, sweetie.”
                “This doesn’t fit with the rest of the security guards.” The Stunner observed, her mind trying to find the end of the thought it had started. It was there somewhere…
                “No-one breaks into a building overseen by Securi-T and gets away unscathed!”
                That was it, the reason his handcuff skills and speech seemed off – it was super-villainous behaviour.
                “Securi-T? I’ll punch through you like a boiled sweet through hot butter.” Confectionista answered back to him, unafraid.
                “How well do you think you can fight whilst cuffed to me and bleeding from the scalp?” The Stunner asked. It was nice that she was finally able to ask that question without it having to be heavily hypothetical.
                “Well enough.” Confectionista replied confidently. “I think.”
                A beam of brilliant light shone between towering sugar-spinners and bounced off every shimmering white surface. It was like standing inside of a sugar-scented solar flare, only brighter.
                “Was Securi-T honestly the best you could think of?” Confectionista taunted, shielding her eyes with her free hand.
                “I'm asking the questions here, trespasser. I'll expose all of your insecurities.” Securi-T’s voice echoed through the manufacturing floor.
                “Like we found yours? There must be hundreds and thousands of them. Busting in here was a piece of cake.”
                “Stop moving around so much.” The Stunner hissed. She was attempting to pick the lock on the handcuffs with a hairclip, lamenting that she hadn’t brought her own handcuff keys with her.
                “Mock away, common burglar. I am a master of monitoring boundary lines and vetting visitors. For years I worked here at Tooth's Bane, mild-mannered, meek, and unassuming. I held a position of authority but none respected it, laughing off my threats, disrespecting my instructions, and assuming they were entitled to access. Entitled! Permission is mine to give or take away, based on my own assessment of threat and false identities, but these people, these employees, they thought that working here and having a gate ID granted them immunity from my scrutiny! But one night, I accidentally found myself walking a radioactive patrol route around the building, and I was transformed. No more was I a wilting flower and a subject of idle dismissal. I am a God of gate control and security. Nothing comes in or out of here without my notice, and that includes you. You're going to be trapped here for a long time!” He monologued.
                “That’s pretty unlikely. The staff will have to come into work in the morning, and they won’t just let us hang around here handcuffed like this.” The Stunner shouted back, goaded into speaking by his poor logic.
                “…” Securi-T replied with loud silence. The light disappeared.
                “Where do you thi-“
                “Shh.” The Stunner shushed. She stood as still as possible, no longer rattling the handcuffs, and tried to listen for any footsteps or breathing. Nothing.
                “Are you going to keep trying to unlock us or…?” Confectionista enquired.
                “Stop talking. I can’t hear where he is.”
                “That’s what you get for pointing it out when people say stupid things.”
                “Apparently.”
                Another blinding whiteness engulfed the room, setting it ablaze with incandescent light. The Stunner and Confectionista both flinched their heads and scrunched their eyes shut, afterimages burned into their vision.
                “Time for a coffee break!” Securi-T bellowed, his voice suddenly much closer. Thudding boot-steps pounded against the ground. The Stunner opened her eyes just in time to see a coffee mug on a direct vector towards her head.
                With feline agility she ducked the blow, but with human inelegance she found that one wrist refused to follow her; it seemed far more interested in remaining near to Confectionista. The coffee mug, too, seemed to fancy heading that way, guided as it was by one of Securi-T’s black-gloved hands.
                Not one to be intimidated by ceramics, Confectionista didn’t duck the blow. She instead flung her free hand up and grabbed at the mug, spilling boiling coffee over the edges in a smouldering brown rain. Shackled to the grounded Stunner, Confectionista was unable to move her other arm out of the way and found dark, scalding patches appearing across her red and white suit.
                “Argh!” she screeched, tensing with the shock and head throbbing.
                Hearing another pained wail from her accomplice spurred The Stunner into action. Her whip hand was otherwise engaged in helping to burn people she liked, so it was up to the inexperienced left arm to take care of business.
                “You should have been on your guard!” Securi-T bellowed, snatching a baton from his belt. “Now yo- aargghh!”
                Whipping left-handed was tricky. Fortunately it wasn’t necessary to do it very well when the whip also carried a large electrical current. Securi-T performed the dance of high-voltages, dropping his baton and falling to the ground. He wore the traditional arm- and shoulder-patched jumper of the security guard, complete with black trousers and an array of ID badges swinging from his waist like a skirt of personal information.
                “What on earth was another villain doing here?” The Stunner wondered out loud. Securi-T groaned in pain.
                “Burning me! Who fights with scalding coffee?!” Confectionista demanded angrily.
                “The same sort of person who throws sherbet in someone’s eyes.”
                “It’s only sugar. What are you worried about, eye-abetes?”
                The Stunner snorted in her efforts not to laugh.
                “God damn it.” She said simply; unable to construct a suitably derisive response. “I don’t really want to dig through his pockets for the keys.”
                “How are you going to get us out of these then?” Confectionista demanded, raising her wrist up in case it was unclear what she was referring to. It wasn’t.
                “You melted a steel fence a few minutes ago, just slather some of your paste on it. It’ll take all night for me to pick the lock.” The Stunner said, ignoring that she herself had only just thought of it.
                “Oh yeah. Funny the things you forget in the heat of the moment, even the Twix you have up your own sleeves.” If she was resorting to brand names, then Confectionista couldn’t have many more puns left.
                “Speaking of heat, is your arm OK?” The Stunner asked, directing the subject back to immediate problems.
                “It’ll be fine. You don’t spend all night melting down sugar and lacing it with horse tranquiliser without getting used to burns.” Confectionista answered idly whilst fishing in her pouches.
                Exercising the best one-handed caution she could, Confectionista spread her paste over the chain linking the two handcuffs together. Impressively, she managed not to smear any on either herself or The Stunner, and only narrowly avoided pouring the rest on Securi-T’s legs. That, however, was mostly thanks to a sharp intervention from Helena’s best ‘I know what you’re up to and we both know you shouldn’t be doing that’ looks. She’d not had a chance to use it since her last operation with Agent Carmichael. Suddenly, standing in a factory over the groaning body of a deranged security guard, linked to a serial poisoner by smoking handcuffs and preparing to steal industrial machinery on an old man’s orders, Helena missed Lisa. Somehow, even Lisa’s interesting life choices hadn’t carried this much bewildering peril.
                “OK, pull against me.” Confectionista instructed, snapping The Stunner out of her thoughts.
                “Hm? Ah, right, yeah.” She replied seamlessly, covering her lack of attention with masterful subtlety. Eroded by sucrose-rich horror, the chain-links of the handcuffs pinged apart, transforming them from tools of restraint to a pair of fashionable, if tight, bracelets.
                “I won't pat-roll over and let you win.” Securi-T wheezed from the ground, attempting to stand up. The Stunner glanced down at him disgust, then gave him another shock with her whip.
                "We should tie him up." She said.
                "Could just keep shocking him instead.” Confectionista proposed. “But you're right, I guess." She conceded after another stare.
                With rather less care than they’d exercised in their previous efforts, the pair of them hog-tied Securi-T, forced two gobstopper gags into his mouth, and slid him out of the way by the bins.
                "That should just leave one more, out by the roadside gatehouse. He'll be getting suspicious if we don't act quickly though." Said Confectionista.
                "I can go and deal with him. You just sort out what we're taking and get the front shutters open. Soon as they're up I'll call in the backup."
                Confectionista nodded and The Stunner jogged away from her burned and bleeding companion, leaving her sifting through Securi-T’s wallet. She wound a path through the throng of machines until she reached the ceiling-high shutters which served as a freight door. Next to it was a far less aggrandised hinged door, a much more suitable choice for a human of The Stunner’s stature. With a gentle push the door inched open to a crack, and The Stunner peered out to catch sight of her last target, sitting innocently in his hut. Darkness was perforated with patchy spotlights, leading a trail along the pathway past the guardhouse and out to the street by the road barrier. The guardhouse light spilled weakly out of the windows, although every light now felt weak compared to Securi-T’s torch.
                Creeping softly into the night air, The Stunner found that her new bracelet was a tremendous musician, tinkling and clinking its own impassioned melodies to the beat of her steps. She pulled it in close to her body, using her other hand to dull the chiming, and kept moving forwards, now looking like a deranged and waterproof hunchback. A security guard shaped silhouette moved to the window and then stopped. He was staring straight at her and probably drawing wild conclusions about Notre Dame residential staff going on a rampage for sweet treats.
                The guardhouse door opened and the silhouette walked out, transpiring to be a human after all.
                “Alright, hold it there! What are you doing here?” he demanded authoritatively.
                “Currently? I’m a charge in motion.” She said electrically, opening her arms and drawing her whip. The guard’s eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, tripping into the guard house.
                Helena took stock of what The Stunner was doing, charging at an unarmed man whilst he was down, with a whip drawn and ready to punish him for the crime of doing his job. She knew she would hate herself for striking him like this; he was no more special than any of the other innocent people she’d stunned, but seeing him defenceless on the ground was too much. Giving herself the best compromise she could, and still thinking herself a monster, she lowered her whip and fired a single dart into his chest.
                ‘I hope this is all worth it.’ She told herself, having already drawn a conclusion.
 
                The shutters of Tooth’s Bane finally juddered their way upwards, slowly unveiling the loading bay and a cityscape of white confectioners’ machines to the empty streets, amid the metallic rattling of steel articulations. Shuddering at the noise, The Stunner wondered why they’d bothered to stop anyone raising an alarm; the shutter noise would be audible enough from the police station to tip anyone off.
                ‘Sent’ popped up on the screen of The Stunner’s pager as a message wound its way outdatedly to The Chauffeur, who in turn would summon a legion of henchmen and heavy plant. She’d gone from fixer, to bodyguard, to medic, to secretary in one night already, and she suspected that she would soon be a site foreman whether she liked it or not. If nothing else, the life of a super-villain in Professor Endtimes’ operation granted a wealth of diversity.
                “Everything we’re taking marked up?” The Stunner asked when she returned to the factory floor.
                “In a manner of speaking.” Confectionista said, avoiding The Stunner’s gaze.
                “So, no?”
                “Well it’s all marked by being in this room. That’s the delineating factor here.” Confectionista clarified.
                “You were serious when you said you want all of it?!”
                She nodded guiltily.
                “We need to clear out the warehouse too. There’s enough raw material in there to fuel my production for a month!”
                “I told you, you’ve got a day! Two at best. This won’t go unnoticed. You can’t just hide it all in a closet and claim that your power bill is high because of a new hairdryer.”
                “Then I’ll do a month’s work in a day.” Confectionista said defiantly, scrunching her mouth up into a tight, determined frown.
                The Stunner raised her hands in the air and shook her head. She’d said all she could.
 
                Having presumably exploited the same parking magic employed by The Chauffeur, the henchmen in their fleet of heavy vehicles took mere minutes to arrive at the freight door. Even before they had exited the cabs their uniforms stood out against the dull greys and blues of the vehicles, but once they disembarked the dark world outside the manufactory and the bright world inside were both burst into red and white arrogance.
                Whichever tailor Professor Endtimes used was a magician of fabric, a sorcerer of cloth, and a deviant of design. All of them, men, women or otherwise, were clad in expertly fitted 3-piece suits made from the same red and white stripes as Confectionista's own bodysuit. Ties were neatly pinned into place beneath waistcoats, the correct number of suit-jacket buttons were fastened, as governed by the arcane and complex rules of suit buttoning, and even their brightly polished shoes carried the same colour scheme. They looked like the footwear of bowling enthusiasts gone insane.
                “Wow.” The Stunner said simply.
                “They’re incredible! My own team of Confectionites to sweeten the world in my own flavour.” Squealed Confectionista. She was bouncing up and down on the spot.
                “Something like that.” was the most diplomatic answer The Stunner could muster. She was surprised that she’d been able to hear Confectionista say anything over the loud costumes on display.
                “OK my sweeties!” Confectionista shouted to her assembled red barcodes of hench-people. “We’ve got a manufacturing floor to load up and enough sugar to make even little ol’ me look bitter. Get it all on board.” The commands seemed to come naturally, her demeanour making infinitesimal changes to match her position of authority.
                The team of stripe-suited Confectionites stood and looked a little lost. They didn’t seem to have quite enough initiative between them to spontaneously instigate a huge logistic activity such as that.
                “What are they waiting for?” Confectionista asked The Stunner quietly from the side of her mouth.
                “Instructions I think.”
                “But I just told them the plan.”
                “I think they need something more detailed.”
                “Oh. Erm, any ideas?”
                The Stunner sighed. She’d suspected it would come to this.
                “Alright everyone. Let’s get the winches in here first…”
 
                The Stunner could see tomorrow’s news story unfolding in her head already. ‘Grand theft at Tooth’s Bane. A tonne of sugar and a factory of equipment stolen’. Using the word ‘factory’ as a collective noun was exactly the sort of despicable thing that a media company would do. They’d bang on all about the quantity of equipment that had gone missing, wax lyrical about the value of everything, and marvel at the fact no-one saw it happening. Speculation would run wild as to why someone would do this; a personal grudge against Tooth’s Bane? A message being sent by the dental industry? A PR stunt? They’d never find the true answer, and they’d probably never look for it, but they’d provide enough potential options to scare most of the populace in some way or other.
                There’d be a whole segment on where the equipment could have been taken to, too. Some intern would be tasked with drawing a red circle on a map to indicate the maximum distance it could all have been transported, based on nothing of course, and then plop big X’s on likely locations. Many of them would be in rivers and roadways, but no-one would look closely enough to realise that.
                What none of them would appreciate, however, was the titanic logistical and organisational effort required to shepherd a team of inappropriately dressed Confectionites to pick it all up without breaking anything. Matters were only complicated further by the fact that none of them knew how to use the heavy plant equipment, but The Stunner had organised them regardless. There wouldn’t even be a throwaway one-liner about that in the middle of the article. Nevertheless, The Stunner was proud of herself.
                The efforts had started off carefully, trying to find how best to unsecure the equipment from the floor and raise it gently into the air. It turned out, however, that it was far more efficient to simply fit chains around the brilliant white machines, attach those chains to the tow bars of the lorries, and then drive away from them. It didn’t do the floor much good, but when moving industrial equipment quickly in the middle of the night, floor-care isn’t really the top priority.
                It only took a couple of hours, despite the steep learning curves and even steeper lifting curves. For all their lack of experience with heavy plant and their restrictive tailored suits, the Confectionites worked quickly and without complaint once they knew what they were doing. None of them even mentioned the bound and gagged Securi-T shouting muffled profanities through his gobstoppers. Professor Endtimes clearly had a thorough vetting process, rigorous training regime, or absolutely sublime benefits packages for his direct employees.
                With the whole manufacturing floor loaded up, the warehouse cleared out, and the resale value of the property severely degraded, The Stunner and Confectionista climbed into the cab of the lead lorry. Tooth’s Bane had been ravaged, and Confectionista was giddy with excitement.
 
                The convoy made fast progress through the empty early morning streets of the city. The Stunner had insisted on driving safely and sensibly, on the premise that it would only draw suspicion and attention if the trucks were seen speeding around. Whilst she did indeed think that to be true, it was of more concern to her that they didn’t have an accident and plough through a building or early-morning driver. Unfortunately, their normal and safe driving habits did mean that whilst joining the arterial road their convoy picked up a distinctly confused hatchback in the middle, determined to assert his right of way and not be intimidated by HGVs. The driver immediately regretted his decision, of course; being entirely blind to the road ahead of him and behind him due to the wall of huge vehicles meant that he missed his road-sign, and subsequently his junction. Inconvenient as that was, it gave him time to ponder that in all his years of driving to work at that time, he had never seen such an important sugar delivery taking place.
                A set of smashed barriers over a slip-road signalled the convoy’s junction. Abandoning the confused hatchback to its continued journey into the distance, far away from where it really wanted to be, the row of heavy vehicles ground the barrier-wreckage into the tarmac and ploughed towards the Frederick Montgomery Memorial Airport.
                “The old airport?” Confectionista asked as it faded into vision through the darkness.
                “It’s huge, it’s empty, and no-one has any reason to come here. If you can get away with manufacturing not-so-sweets anywhere, it’s here.”
                “It’s not very… well, on-theme, is it?”
                “Loads of people buy sweets in airports. And they’re hideously marked up. It seems like the perfect place for evil confectionery generation to me.” The Stunner argued. Confectionista smiled.
                Pulling up to the terminal, Helena saw in the distance the broken fence where Agent Carmichael had taken her high-efficiency route through to the runway. She wondered how Agent Katter was getting on with his recovery; it felt like forever since rescuing from him here and taking The Glazier down.
                “Is there a problem?” Confectionista asked, trying to get out of the cab past her.
                “Hm? Oh, no. Just thinking about the next moves. We’d best get unloaded quickly.” She covered.
 
                The unloading passed even more smoothly than the theft, by virtue of everyone knowing how to operate their equipment. There had been some necessary modifications to make to the terminal doors since they hadn’t been designed with freight in mind, but the robust vehicles sourced by Professor Endtimes saw to that without issue.
                Over a carpet of broken glass, the equipment had been winched and deposited by check-in at Confectionista’s direction. Heavy power cables were trailed directly through the taxi-rank into the power substations nearby, and crates of ingredients were stacked high by the escalator to the mezzanine. Under banners of glorious holiday destinations Confectionista’s ambitions were realised. The sun was cresting the horizon, and her not-so-sweet operation was ready to start in earnest.
                “This is going to be incredible! Thank you so much Stunner, you’re the sweetest.” She said, bouncing up and down on the spot.
                “You’re welcome. Professor Endtimes sees potential in you, so prove him right.” The Stunner replied earnestly. Then she remembered again what she was wishing on the world.
                “I’ll do more than that don’t you worry.”
                “And remember, you’ve got a day, two at most. Be quick, be efficient, and be gone. If you get yourself arrested, or worse killed, then this will all have been for nothing.” She said, with enough gravity to quell the bouncing for a moment.
                “I’ll stay safe. You can take the girl out of Scrubwick, but you can’t scrub off that perpetual sense of impending danger.” She said with a smirk. The Stunner suspected that, tragically, it was true.
                “That’s what I like to hear… I think. Now I’m going to get some sleep. I expect I’ll hear more from you soon.” Before she could turn away, Confectionista bounded forwards and threw her arms around The Stunner.
                “Thanks again honey.”
                The Stunner gave her an awkward hug back, then pushed her away gently.
                “No worries. See you later.”
                “Bye, sugarplum.”
 
                The Stunner fell asleep almost immediately in the back of The Chauffeur’s car. After being awake for nearly 24 hours, spending a lot of it directing industrial crews and assaulting night-shift staff, the day had caught up with her.
                When she finally woke up it was early in the afternoon. The light of day was reaching dimly into the office of the Daubenton’s Cannery, and she was laying underneath a blanket on the sofa. Distinct aches competed for attention across her body from both the night’s antics and from sleeping on an old, abused sofa. She wondered if Professor Endtimes would invest in a bed for her, and then remembered the bank card he’d given her; perhaps she’d have the luxury of being able to buy a bed of her own.
                Before trying that, however, the bank card bought Helena entry to the local swimming pool and thus access to a much-needed shower. Two nights of crime and then sleeping in an old cannery had done nothing good for her personal musk. Add to that the dire need to do laundry and she really wished that she'd had a second Stunner suit made for adequate washing cycles.
                Once all was said and done however, she felt much fresher and less like a septic tank of sherbet dust and toilet porcelain. From a back-street convenience shop where few people would see her, Helena bought a few groceries and some supplies to make life a litter easier, then returned to the cannery. It was the early evening by the time she was finished, and although she wanted to report back to Professor Endtimes she remembered The Chauffeur’s repeated chastisements regarding out-of-hours calls. He’d had a long night behind the wheel as well, she supposed, and so was entitled to an evening off.
                Helena rested on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. She knew that she should be working on the Super Stunner to keep Professor Endtimes impressed, but couldn’t bring herself to work towards even more criminal activity just then. After three nights on the job, she was tired and she wanted a break from breaking the law.
                She idly turned the pager over in her hands, staring at the blank screen. One little tip to the ministry was all she needed to give, and then her day would at least have started to help the world. But what could she safely tell them of any use? By now the security guards would have been found and Tooth’s Bane investigated. Testimony and wounds would have proven that The Stunner was there alongside a girl who played with her food, and if she gave any more details of where the equipment was going to or what it was for then it would collapse Confectionista immediately, and The Stunner’s results would look poor. But she wanted to do something, at least.
                ‘Operation at Tooth’s Bane a success.’ She typed into the pager and sent to The Librarian’s number. At best she would be confirming existing suspicions of the professor’s involvement, but it made her feel at least partially useful.
                Overcome with fatigue again, Helena closed her eyes and fell into the kind of sleep which allows one to ignore errant springs beginning to push their way through ageing sofa cushions into one’s buttocks. A warm sense of contentment swelled around the office as the cannery looked on fondly, just pleased to be seeing The Stunner so much over the last day.
 
                Wakefulness once again found Helena, despite her devious hiding place of sleep. Dawn was making a committed attempt to pierce through night and assert itself, turning the sky red to relay an urgent and sombre message from the shepherds.
                With consciousness seeping back into her mind, Helena became acutely aware that a coil of metal was working its way deeply into her flesh. It was no longer coddled and excused by sleepiness, and so Helena took the affirmative action of rolling to one side and rubbing vigorously at the affected area. This change of perspective brought her pager, sitting patiently on the desk, into her line of sight; complete with a new message notification.
                Helena leapt eagerly from the sofa and ascertained quickly that one of her legs was still asleep, in defiance of the rest of her body. Once again adopting a hunchback’s limp, albeit for a new reason this time, she hobbled until the pager was within arm’s reach and then limped backwards to sit down on the sofa. With one hand encouraging blood back into her limbs, she read the message.
                ‘Ma’am. Professor to see you in the morning. 9am. The Chauffeur.’
                She dropped the pager onto the sofa and rubbed at her face in time with the rubbing of her leg. Debriefs were normally tedious, but this one would come with tea and cake, plus additional intelligence on Professor Endtimes. The day would be a good one.
                The Chauffeur’s next message arrived at half past eight, informing The Stunner that he was outside and awaiting her presence. With a small bag over her shoulder, she emerged from the cannery into the overcast daylight.
                “Morning Chauffeur.”
                “Good morning, ma’am.” He said with his usual cool professionality, one hand extended for her bag. “I trust that you are well-rested?”
                “I think I’ve slept more over the last two days than I did for the previous month.” She said with contentment.
                “Glad to hear it.” He was holding the rear door open for her.
                Once the bag had been deposited and The Chauffeur had entered the vehicle, The Stunner asked somewhat sheepishly:
                “Did you put me to bed after Tooth’s Bane?”
                “You seemed to be in a deep sleep, ma’am. I’m not convinced I could have woken you if I’d tried.” He replied diplomatically.
                She blushed under her mask.
                “Well, thank you.”
                “You’re welcome. At least you were dry this time.” He said with a smirk, and then pulled away. The mystery of her escape from the Jellin’s Park pond was solved.
 
                “The Stunner! Right on time as ever. Do come in.” Professor Endtimes said with his characteristic paternal smile. Helena thought that compliments on her timeliness were a little misplaced, given that she’d been picked up by his own personal Chauffeur at a time dictated to her, but accepted it none-the-less.
                “How are you today si- er, Professor?”
                “I’m in the company of my star mover-and-shaker. How could I be anything but tremendous?”
                The Stunner laughed sheepishly. It seemed that everyone was determined to make her feel embarrassingly cared-for today.
                “Come on down to the control room. I’ll have one of the henchmen bring you a cup of tea. Would you like any breakfast? I have croissants.”
                “Yes, please. If it’s alright?” she said amiably. It just wasn’t in her nature to refuse pastries.
                “Anything for you, Stunner.”
                They descended yet again to the grey conference table, television screens casting a white illumination behind, and sat in their usual place.
                “I’m impressed as ever with your work at Tooth’s Bane, Stunner. You and Confectionista make a terrific team. No calls out to the police or the ministry, no casualties, and you even dealt with Securi-T humanely.” The Stunner wasn’t sure what he meant by humanely; he’d been electrocuted, hog-tied and gagged. But compared to the dissolving that Confectionista had wanted to give him, she conceded that it wasn’t too bad. “And the airport was a stroke of genius. Paying your respects to The Glazier’s fine work I imagine.” The Stunner nodded tensely; the only respects she wanted to pay to The Glazier would be via her whip. “You’ll be pleased to know that Confectionista made it out with lorry-load of her, what does she call them? Not-so-sweets? Marvellous things.”
                “What do you mean made it out?” The Stunner asked urgently.
                “Didn’t you hear?”
                “I’ve been mostly asleep since then.” She said sheepishly.
                “Ha! Well, I suppose you needed the rest. But yes, there was a strike at the airport early this morning, it’s all over the news. A military strike at that, just like that trumped up mayor threatened. I’m not sure how they found the trail so quickly.”
                The Stunner’s stomach fell through her body, tumbling past her intestines and settling down for a new life next to her feet. She’d warned the military that the Tooth’s Bane job was for Professor Endtimes. They must have committed everything they had to tracking the convoy down.
                “Perhaps they were keeping an eye on it ever since The Glazier used it.” The Stunner suggested to provide a plausible excuse. “But you say that Confectionista made it out?” she asked, to satisfy her paranoia and guilt.
                “Yes, she was away just in time. She said that you were… how did she put it… ‘banging on about it so much that it probably made sense to listen’ apparently.” He said with a jovial smile.
                “Thank goodness. Is she somewhere safe now?”
                “I understand so, yes. Or as safe as Scrubwick ever is. But there are implications from this, of course.” He thought out loud. “If the city is going to respond with such unreasonable force to a little bit of burglary then I will need to move more quickly. We need to get Operation Fuzzykins underway in earnest before it turns to into a repeat of the Colombia job...” his voice soured as he mentioned Colombia, a brief crack in his usual warm countenance which allowed a glimpse of bitterness and rage.
                “Operation Fuzzykins?” The Stunner asked quizzically. Unless it was a mission to turn teddy bears into weapons of mayhem, she had no idea what the name could refer to. She was equally fascinated by whatever the Colombia job was, but future crimes took precedence over past misdemeanours.
                “You don’t want to worry about any details of that for now. I promised you that I would help with your Super Stunner after working with Confectionista, and you have more than earned it.” Professor Endtimes waved off.
                Contrary to the professor’s assumptions The Stunner in fact wanted nothing more than to worry about the details of Operation Fuzzykins. Or even the headline facts.
                “Of course, yes. But if I can help out with Operation Fuzzykins, if it’s time constrained then-“ She tried, but the professor cut her off.
                “Nonsense, Stunner. You’ve done enough for everyone else around you. Let’s focus on your problems for a while.” The professor insisted.
                “Thank you, professor.” She said with forced gratitude. Her lines of investigation had been stalled again.
                “Now, I was thinking about your stunning tower idea, and I loved it. It’ll be tall and wonderful, a monument to you, and it will mean that no-one has to get hurt by trying to get in your way at all. I do so love it when no-one needs to get hurt. But then I thought to myself that you can’t possibly keep the whole city under control with it, and someone might try to move against you from outside the radius. Anything could happen. We can’t have that, can we?” He asked leadingly.
                “No, I should think not.” The Stunner replied, taking her cue.
                “So then I thought to myself, why stop at one?” he smirked. It was the kind of parental smirk worn when offering an unsuspecting child a second piece of cake.
                “You mean…”
                “A whole network of them, reaching every corner of the city. The flick of one switch and you can put everyone to sleep, then move without fear of hurting yourself or anyone else.”
                “That’s certainly ambitious, professor.” She said uncertainly. But the professor would be expecting more. “I love it.” She added for appearances sake.
                “I thought you might. I do too. In fact, I would like to take a personal role in this, if that doesn’t tread on your toes? I must confess that tinkering with electronics and toys like this is a passion of mine. Comes with the territory of being a mad scientist and engineer.”
                “Of course, that’s fine.” She agreed.
                “Always so accommodating! You’re a treasure, Stunner, you really are. I was banking on you saying so anyway, because I’ve already taken the liberty of drawing up some initial plans for Super Stunner locations.”
                The Stunner forced a smile and Helena wanted to cry. So this was undercover work; helping an insane old man bring a city to its knees, and grinning while doing do. But, Agent Burnley told herself, it was necessary for her investigation. If she worked closely together with him then she could unravel what had happened with this Colombia job, find out what he was planning with Operation Fuzzykins, and stop him once and for all.
                “Let’s get started then.” She suggested brightly, gritting all the internal teeth her imagination could muster. The Super Stunner awaited.