Helena Burnley vs Professor Endtimes: Part Seven - The Endtimes

              Howling engines had faded into a background noise and long since given up on acceleration, contenting themselves with maintaining a constant air speed. The Stunner welcomed this, since it meant they were no longer trying to push her through the seat she occupied on Professor Endtimes’ cargo plane. Her battered body could barely express how grateful it was for the long-awaited end of being thrown around by accelerating vehicles. It wasn’t sure how long the blissful state of non-concussive motion would last, but made a concerted effort to appreciate every moment of it.
                Although they were still climbing, their angle had decreased to something tolerably flat in which it was possible to move around. Professor Endtimes stepped slowly into view from a doorway at the front end of the compartment atop a short staircase. He crossed the floor, surprisingly well balanced despite the ascension of the plane, and took a seat next to The Stunner. His classic combination of lab coat, slacks, and slippers was still in play, as if they were his comfort or his costume.
                "Welcome aboard, Stunner." He said with a brave attempt at a smile. "It's been a long day for all of us, but this is a chance for at least a little rest and reflection. I hope you understand how much it pains me to leave The Chauffeur, my closest and most loyal associate, behind. Please do not think less of me for making such a decision. I know that you did what you could to bring him along; there was nothing more any of us could have done."
                The Stunner looked back at him silently, with countless questions vying for priority. Over the previous few hours she had been exposed as a double-agent by two of the professor’s associates and narrowly escaped both of them spilling the information, then seen the super-weapon she’d thought to be dormant getting upgraded and secretly completed. Professor Endtimes had escaped an attack he’d barely known was coming, and managed to do so without leaving any scrap of evidence for the ministry. Now they were on a plane heading to goodness-only-knew where with a skeleton crew of super-villains, and Endtimes himself was taking the blame for The Stunner getting The Chauffeur captured. It was all too much to comprehend, but something else, against all rationality, took pride of place in The Stunner’s mind.
                "Why was the plane moving? We could both have made it if it had waited for us."
                Professor Endtimes looked at the floor.
                "We hadn't expected any pursuit. The Super Stunner should have knocked out the whole city when it fired but... well I suppose we both know that X-directory must have failed to make the connections. We fired it as much as we could but the network wasn't complete enough yet to hit the whole ministry. The majority of the authorities seemed to have been pulled off for triage duties and crisis resolution, but we saw that The Chauffeur still hadn't been able to arrive alone. I couldn't risk being waylaid or boarded by the ministry, Stunner, so we had to start getting away. We all thought he would make it over, like you did. But even the best laid plans can fail." The remorse in his voice sounded real and formed an extreme juxtaposition to his typically upbeat and paternal demeanour. As far as he was concerned he’d lost a friend and colleague to the ministry because of his own actions. Agent Burnley’s couldn’t work the man out; moments ago he had electrified a whole city without a care in the world, and now he was hurt by the arrest of one man. He could probably have benefitted from a basic class on ethics.
                “I’m sorry, professor.” The Stunner apologised. Agent Burnley knew that this was an opportunity to cement his dependence on her now that The Chauffeur had been arrested, but a part of her felt frustratingly guilty about doing so.
                “We all are, Stunner. We all are.” He said, looking at his hands.
                "What are we going to do then? Where are we going?” The Stunner asked after a pause. With him feeling bereft of his previous confidant, Agent Burnley hoped that the professor would be willing to let her in on the secret. After exploiting the emotional vulnerability of someone who had just lost a friend, Helena wondered if she should also take the ethics class.
                "Operation Fuzzykins must carry on. We're going to Colombia, Stunner. To finish something I started a long time ago. But you need to get some rest. I’m sure you have more questions, knowing you, but they’ll have to wait. I still have some working out to do, especially now that we can’t rely on The Chauffeur’s support." He replied. It seemed that he still wasn’t much of an open book on the matter.
                “If I can be of any help…” The Stunner started, unsure of how far to go with her offer. She didn’t want to seem pushy about Operation Fuzzykins, and she certainly didn’t want to become his replacement driver.
                “I will most certainly not hesitate to ask anything of you, Stunner. Be assured of that. Now please, get some sleep. You have had an incredibly long day.” He said, slapping his hands onto his thighs as he stood up.
                “Yeah… I guess I have.” The Stunner replied, half muttering. The professor walked softly away from her and back up the staircase at the other end of the compartment. Once he was out of sight The Stunner turned to her side, where Windy Bill was slumped with an unreadable grimace on his seat.
                “Thank you, Bill. For catching me.” She said earnestly.
                He grunted, waving off the gratitude as if it were nothing.
                “We couldn’t just toi-let you fall. Used one of my best pull-chains to keep Windy steady.” Roger Toilet said, leaning forwards to see past Windy Bill. His voice was filled with pride at helping out, and general cheeriness at seeing The Stunner again. Perhaps he just hadn’t realised the gravity of The Chauffeur’s circumstances.
                “Much appreciated.” The Stunner replied, unwilling to shatter his bubble of oblivious happiness.
                “Sounds like things got pretty sour after we parted ways.” Confectionista observed from the Helena’s other side.
                “That’s one way of putting it. Shedder sucker-punched me and tried to sell me out.” The Stunner replied, eager to get her version of the story out as quickly as possible. Not that there was anyone left who might dispute it.
                “I knew he wasn’t right. He had it in for you right from the start.” Confectionista reflected with notes of offended anger. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
                “He already got all of the not-so-sweets you gave me.”
                Confectionista’s mouth fell open.
                “All of them?! That was enough to rot a whole mouth of teeth and sedate a thousand dentists.” She exclaimed in highly thematic metaphor.
                The Stunner shrugged. “I wanted to make sure he stayed quiet for as long as possible.”
                “After all that’s soaked into his system… he’ll have one hell of a sugar-crash.” Confectionista said, looking slightly into middle-distance as she thought about it.
                “What’s this?” Roger Toilet asked eagerly, trying to stay involved.
                “I borrowed some of Confectionista’s stuff and pumped it into Shedder. Drugged him up to stop him talking.” The Stunner summarised, leaving out the detail that it was technically a serious human rights abuse.
                “Nice. I’m always happy to lend you a toilet if you want.” Roger offered innocently.
                “Thanks.”
                “Maybe we can make an electric toilet one day! A cross-over weapon to really shock someone with their pants down.” He continued excitedly.
                “That would be… horrifying…” The Stunner said, picturing it and then rapidly regretting doing so. She let out a tired laugh despite herself.
                “Mind always on the job. Good attitude, Toilet.” Windy Bill said gruffly.
                “The professor was right, though.” Confectionista said with a yawn. “We’ve all been awake way too long, and you’ve had an especially crappy day, Stunner. I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
                “Yeah, me too.” Helena replied. “We can work out what our plan is once we’ve landed.”
                “Night Stunner.” Roger Toilet called out.
                “Night, Roger.”
 
                A red sunrise peeked over the mountain tops to see if the night was done yet. Long shadows extended away from it, pointing towards the retreating darkness and confirming that yes, it was time to get up and kick off the day. The moon, not one to argue against that kind of evidence, started to slink away.
                The same realisation overcame Helena as light crept in through the window. Having slept at an ill-considered angle, she awoke slowly but irreversibly as light crept in through the windows. She was heavily contorted in order to fit into her seat, to the point that she wondered if her body had been dismantled overnight and the parts simply piled into the chair; there was no conceivable way she could have made that shape without external assistance from a chiropractor of dubious morals. Every muscle was giving her a lecture about the previous day's intensity, and now her stiff, folded joints were joining in. Countless guest speakers littered her body too; there were bruises from being shaken and slammed around in the rear of The Chauffeur's limousine, a headache from exhaustion, a throbbing chest from Shedder standing on it, and a familiar roaring stomach from the distinct lack of meals, dessert in particular.
                A sweet smell played around the edge of her senses, growing in strength alongside her own progress to consciousness. It was like someone had hollowed out a strawberry and filled it with sugar, then dipped the whole thing in honey and made jam from the resulting product. It cloyed in the air, thickening it until it was almost unbearable.
                The Stunner opened her eyes and saw Confectionista next to her, curled up on the seat and sleeping quietly. An open pouch on her suit was spilling out with some thick, plaited strawberry laces. There was a reasonable chance that the smell alone was the weaponised aspect of these particular not-so-sweets, but despite the urging from her stomach, The Stunner elected not to help herself. The last thing she needed was non-prescribed medication.
                One leg at a time The Stunner made a brave attempt at straightening out and standing up, finding that her limbs didn't want to move with quite the same responsiveness that they had previously employed. Between stiffened muscles, fatigue and blazing aches, the best they could manage was a gradual unwinding, like a rubber band slowly stretching and melting. As her legs extended farther off the seat they acted as a lever, rolling her off the edge and onto her feet. Her lower back and pelvis wished for similar concessions on speed, making Helena fight for every minute degree of rotation until she could stand up with what loosely approximated to straightness. Immediately she staggered backwards, unable to quite find her balance effectively without blood in any of her limbs.
                "Hnnghhhuuggh" Helena commented eloquently, as she forced her spine to complete its uncurling.
                Warm aches and weariness flared through her thighs as she hobbled over to one of the small, circular windows along the hull of the plane. Each step she took in the sleepy half-light freed up her motion a little more, but also reminded her of how little energy she had left. Based on how she felt, there was a very real danger that she’d aged by forty years whilst sleeping.
                Outside she saw a mountain range stretching underneath the plane, saw-teeth running across the landscape with deep red-brown hues, blacks, greys and the occasional patch of scrubby green life in the faint glow of dawn. Grey roads snail-trailed their way through the valleys, joining small towns and villages to one another like fallen bunting. The Stunner briefly hoped that perhaps they were going to do some nefarious vineyard planting or infrastructure development, but she didn't really believe it would be the case. Still, even if she was forced to take part in a master-work of evil, or outed herself as a traitor got executed by a villainous regime, then at least it would be in a pretty holiday setting.
                She looked around at the row of seats; at the near end was Roger Toilet, hugging a porcelain lavatory to his chest and napping with his head hanging over the bowl. Windy Bill was a few seats further along, sleeping with a dusty workman's cap pulled down over his eyes and his arms folded. Confectionista was still neatly tucked up on the other side of The Stunner’s seat. Aside from the sounds of heavy, sleeping breaths, and the din of poorly insulated engine noise, there was nothing else to hear.
                The Stunner walked as softly as she could on the bare metal floor towards the cockpit, her boots making clanging gong sounds regardless. At the front of the cargo bay was a short staircase leading up to a closed metal door with a wheel in place of a handle. With even more percussive steps than she’d made on the bare floor, The Stunner climbed the staircase and approached the round porthole window in the door. A short thin walkway with doors to either side led away to a further door at the end, presumably closing off the cockpit from all else, or maybe just hiding a particularly fancy lavatory. The small window in the door implied it was unlikely to be the latter, but either way The Stunner thought she should find out.
                It took all of Helena's insubstantial bodyweight to get the handle turning at all. Eventually, after two full rotations, thick bolts from the door retracted from the door, complete with metallic squeaks and whirring bearings. Puffing slightly, she stepped through and pulled the heavy door closed behind herself, allowing it to rest in place without re-sealing it; she was already exhausted enough without having to battle the wheel again.
                Light from the door ahead was illuminating the narrow passage, the rising sun trying to hide in the plane and catch some of the shadier regions unawares. It made the window glow a uniform orangey yellow, starkly out of place among the dull greens and greys of the plane. Squinting against the brightness of the looming day, The Stunner peered closely through the window, which was tantamount to staring directly into the sun like she'd been repeatedly instructed not to. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw two hench-people in the pilot and co-pilot positions, both in expertly tailored pilot’s outfits. They held the controls steady and occasionally checked one dial or another on their wide bank of controls, appearing generally at ease with the situation. Helena didn’t think that to be surprising, given that they’d already been flying the plane for several hours. One of them seemed to be saying something amusing to the other, but no sound reached The Stunner through the heavy door.
                Pressing her face into the glass, The Stunner tried to scan for anything or anyone else of interest in the cockpit. She almost fell over backwards when Professor Endtimes’ face appeared behind the glass all of a sudden. At her side, the wheel handle started to turn on its own, and the door swung away from her to reunite her with the sound of the professor’s friendly chuckling.
                “I wish you could have seen the look on your face then, Stunner.” He said jovially.
                “I wish I’d seen your face a little sooner.” She responded. The professor laughed.
                “Wonderful. I’m glad that yesterday’s tragedies haven’t managed to bring us down.” He turned back into the cockpit. “Keep up the good work.” The professor called with a wave, before stepping out to meet The Stunner. If the pilots needed a reminder to keep doing their job well then perhaps her a warm feeling about the prospects of their flight had been misplaced.
                “I’m surprised to find you up so early. Or late, depending on which time zone you choose to think about I suppose.” Professor Endtimes said, leaving the door slightly ajar. “I was expecting that I’d have to wake you up after we’d landed.”
                “You and me both, but here we are.” The Stunner said evasively. “When is that going to be? Landing, I mean.” The urge to ask ‘Are we there yet’ was almost too much for her professionalism to resist, but she made it through.
                “Oh it won’t be very long now.” He assured her, opening the door to his right and waving The Stunner through in front of himself. Inside was a cabin which must have constituted first class for this particular vessel. Although the floor and walls were still bare metal, it came complete with a small table, tea service, and deeply reclining chairs. On the external wall was another of the small porthole windows. “I thought we might be more comfortable talking in here, rather than the cockpit. We stand less chance of accidentally stunning one of the pilots too.” He said cheerfully, pointing towards The Stunner’s wrists whilst he sat down next to the window.
                “Oh, right yes. That’s probably fair.” The Stunner accepted.
                “Please, take a seat.” He said, a little surprised that he still needed to make the offer.
                “Thanks.” The Stunner said, sinking into the plush cushions and wondering where this chair had been her whole life. Sleeping in a cargo plane seat had not been comfortable, nor had the box steel seating in the rear of The Chauffeur’s limousine. Learning lessons from the past, she chose not to shred the padding of this seat before sitting on it.
                “We should be able to see where we’re heading any moment now, as it goes. You’ve timed this very well.”
                “I do my best. I think.” She answered, peering out of the window as casually as she could. This would be the first glimpse she got of anything directly related to Operation Fuzzykins, and the anticipation was sweeping through her body like a caretaker with a new broom.
                “Sometimes I think you do everyone’s best all at the same time.” The professor complimented, still looking out of the window. In the wake of The Chauffeur’s loss he seemed to have forgotten all the suspicion and failure of the previous day, and The Stunner wasn’t about to question it. Under the circumstances, being a rebound villain was fine.
                “What are we looking for?”
                “I don’t want to give it away.” He said, shutting down her line of questioning. Given his most recent surprises for The Stunner, Helena’s anticipation was now accompanied by a deep sense of foreboding. Although that may also have been the G-force from the plane’s gradual descent.
                "How did you get out so quickly?” The Stunner asked after a few moments of silence. The question had been burning in her mind, barely restrained since stepping onto the plane. With nothing else being said, there was no stopping it. “You must have been out of the lair and over to the airport in the same time I spent searching for X-directory.”
                "I have you to thank for that, actually.” The Professor said with a half-smile. “I will admit to thinking you were acting suspiciously in your paranoia about a sudden ministry strike and mistrust of Shedder's intentions. But your fervour in needing to get out and find X-directory proved that you really did believe in the threat. If it was enough to get you riled up then I felt that perhaps there was merit in taking precautions."
                "So you fled to the plane just in case I was right?" She asked, trying to hide the desolation in her voice.
                "We did. And in doing so we saw the start of a ministry assault force closing in on the lair. We all hoped that you would be able to get the Super Stunner working in time to halt their attack, but sadly that wasn't the case. At least I had sufficient contingency plans in place to hide all the details of my work. However deep the ministry dig at my lair, they won’t find anything incriminating. All that’s left is an empty house." The professor announced in bittersweet triumph.
                The Stunner nodded slowly as she came to terms with the fact she had talked Professor Endtimes into fleeing just soon enough. Before the waves of regret could overcome her, however, she was distracted by the professor suddenly jolting upright in his seat.
                "There it is!" He exclaimed, looking over at The Stunner for her reaction.
                "Where? I don't see anything." She said, looking past him into the distant peaks.
                "Oh you might not be able to yet, it's probably fairy awkward from your angle. Keep looking though, it'll be there soon." He said with an encouraging nod and an excited smile.
                The Stunner leaned and bobbed a little, enough to put on a show of wanting to see what was out there but nothing too strenuous. To try any harder would have required her to lean across the professor, and she just didn’t want to start opening up that kind of personal-space invasion.
                Professor Endtimes smiled awkwardly and politely at her, maintaining his focus on her face to gauge her reaction in minute detail. With too little time to spark up another topic of conversation before the big reveal, they simply had to wait around in silence for whatever it was they were looking for to drift lazily into view. It would have been less painful if the plane hadn’t seemed to be turning slightly, so as to keep obscuring the target of their interest from sight.
                The Stunner kept staring out of the window, now as much to avoid Endtimes' gaze as anything else. Conflicting fantasies of what might lay ahead vied for priority in her mind, and she tried to force them all into the grey fog below conscious thought. It was time to have a clear head and assess the threats as they arose, not give in to imagination. Besides, much of what she had seen over the last months made her imagination pale into insignificance anyway.
                At long last, after what felt like several hours of awkwardly avoiding eye contact with Professor Endtimes and forcing herself to maintain a polite, interested smile, a larger peak started to slide into view. It grew taller than the surrounding range, towering above them and casting a deep V-shaped shadow across the valley below. Its sides were painted with thick streaky trails of black, as if the whole mountain had been iced by a giant cake decorator. Perhaps that was part of Operation Fuzzykins; coating several mountains with thick cake icing. The top of the mountain seemed to end with a jagged plateau, but prolonged inspection revealed that it wasn't a plateau at all; it was a crater.
                "Is that..." The Stunner started to think out loud.
                "Ah you see it? Well there it is! Nevado del Huila, my volcano lair. The seat of Operation Fuzzykins." Professor Endtimes announced grandly.
                The Stunner's jaw dropped. Nevado del Huila, focal point of the Colombia job, was right in front of her. Looking at it now she recognised some of the shapes made by the peak, but it was different to the newspaper photos. The eruption had drastically altered the tip of the crater, breaking off great chunks of the mountain and forging unstable deposits of igneous rock from solidified lava. Over the last couple of years those deposits had crumbled away, much like the work done by that cheap plasterer who had fixed up the halls outside Helena's flat, leaving a similarly uneven layer of rock on the ground below.
                "You have a volcano lair?” The Stunner asked incredulously and uselessly. She chastised herself immediately. Professor Endtimes had a volcano lair because of course he did. He's a mad scientist, or possibly a mad engineer, and that's what those kinds of criminals have.
                "I do. Do you see why I didn't want to give anything away? I thought the looks on all your faces would be too priceless when you finally saw it. I just wish The Chauffeur could have been here to see it too." He said with a note of maudlin regret. "Still, the show must go on, as they say. And at least I still have you at my side Stunner."
                The Stunner smiled back, unable to bring herself to say anything positive. She wanted all of this to be over. Setting up the Super Stunner had been bearable because she was working to bring Endtimes down, and hadn't ever thought it would be fired. Or maybe she had never considered what would happen when and if it did work. Now that she'd seen the consequences for real and tasted what it was like to have these plans come to fruition, the passion to impress had bled out of her.
                In the city she’d had a plan, and even though it failed it had still given her a reason to keep working. Out here, without any idea of how to stop Endtimes or bring the ministry down on him, she was clueless; there was no light at the end of the tunnel to keep her moving, and a whole volcano lair of darkness in her way. Add to that the signification decrease in the frequency of desserts and cakes she had experienced recently, and her passion to do anything at all was ruined.
                But the tenacious voice of Agent Burnley was still in there, whispering at the back of her mind. It told her to find out what was going on and make a new plan; she was still the ministry’s star agent, even if it happened to be hunting her now, and she would not be defeated. Plus, it told her, successful agents got all the dessert they wanted.
                "So... what are we going to do?" The Stunner finally asked.
                "All in good time Stunner. We both appreciate a good, thorough plan, but I had to do this one on my own. You'll be helping soon enough though, don’t you worry. We can get into more detail once we’re in the lair."
                "Right." She said simply. Feeling let down and still in the dark from the anti-climax, she went back to looking out of the window.
 
                With Nevado del Huila in sight the plane continued its descent, homing in on a short runway of hard-packed dirt on the mountain side. In Helena’s experience of flights, heading directly towards a mountain was considered to be a bad thing, and seeing an insufficient runway on it to greet them did surprisingly little to make her feel better.
                "Do I need to go and put my seat belt on?" The Stunner asked innocently. She had been standing and examining the tea service, impressed at how well it had survived the turbulence of the flight so far.
                "Only if you want to. I trust our pilot to see us down safely and evenly." The professor said with his usual confidence. But trust, it turned out, could be quite easily misplaced.
                The mountainous terrain had caused even gentle breezes to become harsh cross winds, buffeting the plane violently from side to side as they approached at alarmingly high speeds. Rocky protrusions and patchy vegetation rose towards the plane all too quickly, threatening to tear the hull open should the pilots confuse their ‘up’ and ‘down’.
                The Stunner hurried over to her cushioned seat and strapped herself in, unwilling to face the impending landing unsecured, despite the professor’s faith. As they grew lower the jet turbines whined higher, straining with all the power they had to slow the plane down on its approach to the improvised runway. From her newly lowered vantage point The Stunner could see only mountainside rushing backwards and upwards past the window. She had lost all sense of altitude, not that it was a sense she used particularly often, and was tensed in anticipation of the approaching ground contact.
                Turbulent, disrupted air close to the ground caused the plane to shake unpredictably. As they descended, the landing gear came into sudden contact with the ground; it bounced and bumped against the earth with no two wheels making contact at the same time nor remaining on the ground for more than a moment. It was like a localised earthquake in the tectonic plates of the aircraft's fuselage. Everything rattled. The seats tried to pull themselves free of their mounting bolts, the panels of the hull vibrated noisily in an attempt to emancipate themselves, and the hitherto unseen drinks trolley careened around hyperactively. Another huge crunch into the potholed runway sent The Stunner lurching forwards in her seat, throwing her into the seat belt and driving it into her shoulders. Outside the window, rocky faces whipped past disconcertingly quickly, despite the screaming engines and bumpy ground underneath. At the very least, the plane was now mostly remaining on the ground, which spoke of at least a small amount of progress.
                Rumbling onwards the plane went, the force on the Stunner's shoulder never abating as the mountains started to slow down beside her. Gradually, even the closest layer of blurred scenery came into focus as their speed dropped, but The Stunner was still concerned that they had taxied a long way compared to the length of the runway. This unfortunately reminded the runway of its own lack of extent. Right on cue, the plane bounced and crunched onto the wild earth beyond the end of the runway, giving a whole new meaning to the idea of a bumpy ride. Whatever speed they had remaining, and a significant proportion of the tyres, were stripped away from them by the dusty, rocky ground as it slammed into the wheels. With a final strangling crush from her seat belt, The Stunner felt Endtimes’ cargo plane skid to a halt.
                "Everyone OK?" Professor Endtimes asked loudly once they’d finally reached a standstill.
                Both the pilot and co-pilot confirmed that they were fine from along the hallway, sounding a little embarrassed as they did so.
                “I’m alright.” The Stunner confirmed.
                “Good, good.” The professor said idly to himself and The Stunner. “Not quite a textbook landing but I’m sure you’ll get there, you two.” He then shouted to the cockpit in his normal, supportive tone.
                Heartrate significantly higher than she wanted it to be, The Stunner unbuckled her safety belt and tried to free herself from the extreme comfort of her seat. It would have been hard enough under normal circumstances, due to her hands sinking into the padding every time she tried to push against it, but the plane had also come to rest at an angle, meaning that she had to travel uphill to get up. After a far more difficult time than she thought to be acceptable, The Stunner was back on her feet.
                “Would you like a hand, professor?” she asked, seeing him in a similar predicament.
                “Sweet of you to ask but I’m fine here for the moment.” Professor Endtimes answered, trying to look as if he was perfectly comfortable and contented in his seat. Either he genuinely liked being at an angle, or his pride had inflated vastly in value, robbing him of the will to accept her help. Either way, The Stunner wasn’t going to question it.
                “Could you please check on your colleagues and make preparations to disembark?” he requested.
                “Yeah, sure thing. Sure you’re happy there?”
                “Perfectly.”
                “Got it.”
 
                Emerging back into the rear compartment of the plane, The Stunner saw that Confectionista, Windy Bill and Roger Toilet were already up and gathering their things together. It seemed that they had all taken the reasonable precaution of stashing their equipment and belongings in a set of rustic military trunks along the side of the plane. Conversely, The Stunner’s own bag had exploited its freedom and made a new home for itself, jammed under the metal staircase which led up to the cockpit.
                A few minutes of impassioned tugging, tucking, un-zipping, subsequent re-zipping, and mild cursing, the bag was back under The Stunner’s control, although looking rather creased for its pleasure.
                “Everyone ready?” she asked, shifting her bag around until it was comfortably rested over her shoulders.
                “Sure am, sugar.” Confectionista confirmed with a smile.
                “Yeah.” Was Windy Bill’s short response.
                “Ready to say toodle-loo to this plane.” Roger Toilet said proudly.
                Grabbing a thick red handle in both hands and levering it down, The Stunner released the loading door on the side of the plane. It popped outwards with a satisfying clunk and slid surprisingly easily on its greased rails, aided by gravity and the plane’s new-found slope. Cool mountain air billowed into the plane, carrying the scents of dewy dirt, dusty rocks, and adjective-free vegetation.
                The Stunner hopped out first, sitting on the edge of the hull and then dropping to the ground on her feet. Roger Toilet followed immediately afterwards, also landing on The Stunner’s feet and making her gasp with the shock and discomfort. Once the various feet had been returned to a safe separation and Roger Toilet had commented on The Stunner looking ‘flushed’, the other two followed. A deep trench ran through the earth behind each of the landing-gear wheels, culminating in a moraine of earth in front of the abused tyres. Clearly, whoever had manufactured this runway could have done with borrowing some length from Frederick Montgomery.
                A sudden gasp from Roger turned them all spinning towards him, worry on their faces at what dangers he might have seen. He was raising a finger aloft to the sunrise behind the mountains.
                "The sky is red! The shepherds! It’s a warning!"
                It took a few moments for the others to comprehend what Roger Toilet meant, and a few more for them to come to terms with the fact that he was deadly serious.
                “We’ll bear it in mind, sugar.” Confectionista said, humouring him before The Stunner or Windy Bill could say anything.
                “Professor say where to go?” Windy Bill asked.
                “No, just to make preparations to disembark. I think we got a bit ahead of ourselves.” The Stunner admitted.
                Windy Bill shrugged with a nonplussed grimace.
                “Should we pass on the shepherds’ message to the professor?” Roger suggested urgently.
                “Probably best to let him come out and see for himself. Wouldn’t want him to lose anything in translation.” The Stunner replied. Confectionista shot her a look somewhere between amusement and chastisement.
                Right on cue, a metal clanking noise signalled the release of another door at the front of the plane. Disregarding the potential alert from livestock tenders for the time being, the four villains walked underneath the wing and towards the source of the sound. A ladder was slowly descending from the open doorway, each section clanging as it dropped to full extension and slid the next set of rungs down.
                A pair of smart brown leather loafers made steady progress from rung to rung, with slacks and a lab coat following them down every step. Professor Endtimes hopped off at the bottom and greeted his associates with a warm smile.
                “Welcome to Colombia, everyone. I trust that you all saw our destination from the window?”
                “Don’t think so.” Windy Bill replied promptly.
                “I was in-sulin my own little world. Wasn’t really looking.” Confectionista confessed.
                “Oh, that’s a shame.” Endtimes said. “How about you, Roger?”
                “I was busy admiring the toilet.” He said, as if that was a perfectly acceptable thing to have been doing. “But more importantly have you seen the warning?”
                Professor Endtimes followed Roger’s pointing finger up to the sky.
                “Ah, good work Roger. I’ll be sure to keep my rain mac to hand. Anyway, you’ll all get to see the big surprise soon enough. I’m afraid that we seem to have overshot the runway a little, so we’ll need to walk over to our vehicle.”
                “What about unloading the plane?” Confectionista asked.
                “The hench-people can handle that.”
                “There were hench-people on there? Apart from the pilots I mean?” Said the Stunner, a little surprised.
                “Goodness, yes. They were just in the crew’s quarters.”
                The Stunner tried to visualise where the crew’s quarters could possibly have been, since there didn’t seem to be enough space left in the plane for any hidden rooms, but gave up quickly. She settled on ‘somewhere’ and let the mystery remain.
 
                Lacking some of the epic grandeur for which Professor Endtimes had been hoping, he walked along the uneven, torn up ground of the mountainside with his cabal of super-villains, all of whom were carrying their hand-luggage. The going became easier once they were on the relatively flat and solid ground of the runway, although the dust they kicked up quickly dulled the shine of Professor Endtimes’ shoes. It did nothing good for his white lab coat either; The Stunner wondered if he’d thought to pack a few spares.
                A small outbuilding awaited them a short way up the runway, looking like someone had taken a shipping container, slammed it into a pre-fabricated hut, and then built a surrealists interpretation of the resultant wreckage. Without looking ramshackle or dangerous, it still possessed a certain improvised quality which emphasised a lack of architectural input. The bus sitting outside with its roof missing didn’t help matters.
                “There are facilities inside the hut if you have need, otherwise we should be getting on our way up to the lair.” The professor informed them. His use of the term ‘hut’ didn’t give The Stunner much confidence in the quality of the facilities held within.
                “I’m good to go.” The Stunner said, unwilling to risk it. Vague grunts of declination came from Confectionista and Windy Bill as well.
                “Are we talking a solid lavvy or just a long drop?” Roger Toilet asked studiously.
                “Long drop.” The professor replied, his tone carrying just as much derision as one would expect.
                “I’ll pass too, then. There’s nothing for me in there.”
                “Ah, one minor hurdle to overcome.” Endtimes said, having just had a realisation. “Without The Chauffeur we’ll need someone else to drive us.”
                They all looked at the demi-bus, and The Stunner suspected that somehow it was looking back at them.
                “I can drive it.” Windy Bill said with a nonchalant grimace. “Can’t be much different to my van.”
                “Wonderful, Windy Bill. Thank you. Climb aboard everyone.”
                One by one Professor Endtimes’ team of villains climbed the steps leading up the rear of the decapitated bus and settled into the threadbare bench seats. They reminded The Stunner of her sofa in Daubenton’s Cannery, mostly because the springs seemed to be on a personal crusade to drive themselves deeply into her flesh. Professor Endtimes took his place directly behind Windy Bill’s driver seat, watching with a polite interest as he tried to adjust the seat. Poor design and years of rust soon stripped him on any illusions that he could make any such adjustments, and so he resigned himself to driving with knees folded tightly and elbows held out wide to either side. Operating the gear stick would be a bridge to cross when he came to it.
                “Do you have the keys, prof?” Windy Bill asked, perfectly reasonably.
                “Ah, no. They would have been with The Chauffeur.” He replied apprehensively. The question of why The Chauffeur was carrying the keys to a vehicle on the other side of the world would have to be left until another day. “What we do have, however, is an old vehicle which is not robust to the charms of hotwiring.”
                Windy Bill shrugged and kicked off all the panels he could see ahead of him. An array of wires with unknown functions spilled out, dangling like vines in the jungle canopy but carrying greater voltages.
                “Which ones, Stunner?” Windy Bill asked, looking at the mass of cables.
                “Um…” she started, seamlessly buying herself more time to think. She’d not thought to learn about illegally starting public transport vehicles when reading up about Colombia at the library, thinking naively that it wouldn’t be critical in her life. “The usual ones.” She finally revealed.
                “I’m looking for them, but I think this is all set up differently. Proper colours aren’t there.”
                “Right… OK, well, just grab a few and jam them together.” She said sagely.
                “Not sure that’s how it works.”
                “Trust me.” She persisted, questioning herself immediately for doing so.
                “I’d probably recommend that dark grey one and that light blue one.” Professor Endtimes proposed as Windy Bill prepared to rend the wiring asunder.
                “Alright.” Windy Bill said simply, tearing the wires out of place easily and exposing frayed ends of previously twisted metal strands. A few strikes and sparks later, the engine guttered into life like a lawnmower on industrial scales.
                “Marvellous.” Professor Endtimes announced happily. “Now we’re back on track.”
                Track, it turned out, was the perfect term for what lay ahead. Nevado del Huila was not set up with road traffic in mind, least of all cumbersome buses, with the single trail leading up the mountainside being marginally narrower than the bus. It also seemed to be more suited to some kind of goat than an HGV. Quite how the bus had come to be at the runway in the first place was a mystery, but The Stunner was forced to suspect the intervention of a helicopter or a team of particularly strong Colombian bus thieves.
                Their ascent was immediately filled with the sounds of rocks and dirt mounds scraping against the undercarriage of the bus, vibrating the chassis and wearing it even thinner. Aged suspension somehow amplified the disruption of any lumps and bumps under the tyres, but gave an indication of its attempts to accommodate them by screaming in rusted, squeaking agony every time. At the very least, being without a roof prevented the ‘old-bus’ smell from getting too strong, and overall it was probably still in the top ten most comfortable bus trips of Helena’s life and times.
                Roger toilet had taken a seat at the front of the bus, idly fiddling with some U-bend piping from his bag whilst watching the scenery go by, completely in his own world. With Windy Bill busy driving and trying not to send the bus over the sheer edges of the mountain track, and Professor Endtimes giving him directions despite there being literally only one road in sight, Confectionista made her way to The Stunner’s bench and swung onto the seat next to her. She bounced slightly upon landing, somehow managing to encourage the springs to do their job, rather than stab her.
                “How are you doing, honey? Recovered from Shedder getting the drop on you?” she asked with almost maternal care.
                “I’m fine, thanks. Chest hurts a bit where he stood on me, and my head aches from the mug he dropped but I’ll be alright.” The Stunner told her, trying not to make a big deal of being assaulted. In all honesty, it was one of the least painful events in the previous forty-eight hours.
                “I’m not even going to pretend to understand how those things could have come about.” Confectionista said, bemused. “Sounds like he was trying to assault you with raw slapstick.”
                “Well he should have tried harder at whatever he was doing. I roughed him up pretty badly. Might have got carried away…” she said with a slight pang of self-disgust. As much as she hated Shedder, the memory of his slowly deforming face under fists wasn’t pleasant.
                “You did what you had to, I’m sure. I’m glad that my not-so-sweets could help you, even if I couldn’t.”
                “They may very well have saved my identity for a few days. Hopefully the ministry will think he hallucinated my whole other identity because of the drugs… you never know.” The Stunner hypothesised.
                “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I shouldn’t have let him be alone with you, seeing how much he was after a fight with you.” She said. Remorse had welled up quickly, looking unnatural on her usually smiling features.
                The Stunner paused for a second in shock. Was Confectionista blaming herself for Shedder? It was a peculiar branch of ‘logic’ that she must have followed to reach that conclusion.
                “You know that you couldn’t be any more blameless in this if you tried, right? He betrayed us all, no-one knew it would happen, not even the professor.” The Stunner rationalised, offering what comfort she could.
                “We chose not to think about it, but he was giving all the signs. I should have done something, but I let you down.” Confectionista sighed. “You know, back when I’d just finished my bio-chemistry degree, I was filled with all this optimism and ambition. I was going to solve the mysteries of science and come up with new medicines and make everything right, you know? But then I went back home to Scrubwick. There were no prospects, and everything I tried came up against roadblocks. I couldn’t afford to move away because I’m locked into the contract on my flat, and I couldn’t work with my degree because everything was closing down or derelict or failing. Tooth’s Bane was the only thing still running, and that was only because it’s floated by back-handers and tax evasion.”
                Helena made a mental note to investigate that when she got back to the city. If she got back to the city.
                “I felt so trapped, but I still wanted to experiment with something. So I bought a collection of chemicals from an industrial supplier that didn’t ask questions and started playing in my flat. One night I was trying to devise an enzyme which would break down sugars more efficiently when I accidentally inhaled the evaporated fumes from a radioactive strawberry bon-bon. No longer was I a shy chemistry graduate, struggling to get her life in order; I was Confectionista, the siren of sucrose, and I was going to take my revenge on the city which drove me to domestic chemistry. But I was still on my own, and I couldn’t get traction. I resorted to petty crimes and short hits but it wasn’t enough, all I really managed was to keep myself afloat.
                By the time Professor Endtimes contacted me and sent you my way I was ready to expect nothing but more disappointment. Education had delivered me toothless qualifications and villainy had provided little more. But then we struck Tooth’s Bane together, and you saw it through with me. You’ve helped me to make my dreams come true, you protected me and looked out for my interests, even when I thought they were somewhere else, like dissolving Securi-T’s legs. You had my back immediately, in a way that no-one else did, but I didn’t have yours and you nearly got taken down because of it. I promise I won’t let you down again.”
                The Stunner stared at Confectionista in dumb silence. She hadn’t signed up to many of the things she’d ended up doing, but being a role model for a young and impressionable super-villainess was a complete blind-side. Confectionista looked up to her like a mentor, and had clearly formed some kind of bond that she desperately needed. Whatever else happened, Helena wasn’t going to let herself break the girl’s spirit. Not knowing what to say or anything else to do, she simply opened her arms and pulled Confectionista into an uncomfortable and bumpy hug, shaken violently by the vibrations of the engine and buffeted by the wind.
                Holding the embrace, Helena had absolutely no clue of where to go next. She could promise that they would go on to commit grand, nefarious plots together, but that really wasn’t a message she wanted to start preaching. She could swear that she’d always be there to support Confectionista, but knew that in a few days at most she’d be exposed as a double agent and add betrayal to the girl’s fear of abandonment.
                “Don’t blame yourself for things you can’t control. I can look after myself and dish out more battery than I get. And you’re a bright, talented girl Confectionista: anything you want to do is within your ability, with or without me or Endtimes.” She finally settled on, keeping the rhetoric sufficiently vague that it didn’t have to apply to villainy. “Now why don’t you fill me in on what you’ve been up to since Tooth’s Bane?”
 
                Confectionista talked at length on her exploits with a stockpile of not-so-sweets for the remainder of the bus journey. Armed to the teeth with various mind-altering but delicious substances, she had taken herself on a journey of mayhem throughout Scrubwick, targeting the movers and shakers of the area and punishing the corrupt councillors who had led it into decay.
                She spent a great deal of time detailing a high profile lunch meeting which had descended into chaos after no-one questioned the presence of a complimentary bowl of strawberry laces. Hallucinating officials had made some extremely bold claims to one another and the press, including accusations of hidden tentacles, carpet shop conspiracies, and a plot to turn the colour yellow into a slightly darker shade of yellow all across the city. Coincidentally, several attendees found afterwards that they had made some large transactions to unknown accounts, and were missing their wallets. Naturally the bank declared that transactions made under the influence of mind-altering substances, knowingly or otherwise, were still valid.
                “Sounds like you did a good job.” The Stunner said as her story wound to a close.
                “It certainly left a sweet taste in my mouth. Not as much as when I got the mayor with the same trick though. I don’t understand why every child knows not to accept sweets from strangers but grown adults will happily dive into a bowl of sweets in their office.”
                “Did you take a charitable donation from him as well?”
                “Oh, no. I just gave him a nap in the office. And some trouble controlling his bowels. I’ll bet my gifts to him weren’t the only not-so-sweet things in that room when he woke up.”
                Helena couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t just the release of tension at what was going to happen next, nor just sighing off some of the trauma from the previous day’s events; the image of the mayor realising what had just happened to him was far too priceless, and a fitting punishment for introducing General Montsourcil to the ministry.
                “I can’t possibly convey how proud of you I am.” She said once she’d composed herself. Being a double agent did have some fringe benefits.
                Whilst Confectionista speculated on some of the more graphic details, and on what else she could potentially slip the mayor, their bus rounded a tight bend on the volcano’s side and unveiled a coarsely carved tunnel into which the track led. Windy Bill slowed as he approached, making an optimistic but futile effort to turn on the headlights. It had been years since those bulbs served any practical purpose.
                “Keep going, Windy Bill. We’ll not be in the darkness for long.” Professor Endtimes reassured him.
                “If you say so.” He accepted easily. Either he was confident at driving in the dark, or trusted the professor’s word implicitly; Helena wasn’t sure which option she found to be more concerning.
                “I nearly brought a torch with me as well!” Roger Toilet informed everyone with a tone of mild annoyance at himself, misunderstanding how powerful his handheld light source wasn’t.
                The bus rumbled into the darkness, engine noise echoing from the close walls of the tunnel with a ghoulish resonance. Windy Bill slowed to a crawl as what little illumination the daylight still offered faded away, concerned at the prospect of another, similar dilapidated bus approaching from the opposite direction. Unlikely as it seemed, he couldn’t be too cautious.
                A dim light became visible in the distance of the tunnel, an orange spot at around the height Helena anticipated the ceiling to be. Having not seen it for very long, it was a vague estimate at best, but knowing that lights scarcely levitated of their own accord gave her a measure of confidence. Even when they were directly underneath it, the light was weak.
                “OK Windy Bill, stop here please.” Professor Endtimes instructed, still using Windy Bill’s full name despite how cumbersome it sounded.
                Obediently, Windy Bill brought the bus to a stop, and puzzled over how to turn off the engine without a key. Eventually he settled for stalling.
                “Deftly done.” Professor Endtimes complimented, standing up from this uncomfortable seat and stepping off where the bus’s front door used to be by the dim orange light from above. His team of villains followed after him, Roger Toilet once again stepping on The Stunner’s foot in the process.
                “Ow!” she yelped, snatching her boot away.
                “Sorry! At least U-bend and don’t break!”
                Helena wanted to believe that he was just a simpleton and hadn’t deliberately stepped on her foot again in order to make that tenuous pun, but lacked that much faith in his decision making.
                “Good one.” She said with marked restraint.
                Professor Endtimes had walked a short way along the rocky floor of the tunnel, up to a point where the darkness seemed to grow thicker and deeper somehow. A gentle sliding and scratching sound told The Stunner that he was running his hands across a surface and looking for something.
                “Ah, there we are.” He said quietly to himself. Faint tapping and clicking sounds emanated from his position, and a crack of light started to appear in front of the group. With a deep rumble of mechanical motors, two heavy steel doors slid slowly to either side, revealing the yellow light of an underground bunker in the side of the volcano.
                “A secret entrance! That’s so awesome!” Roger Toilet exclaimed, devoid of any subtlety or self-consciousness.
                “Quite so, Roger Toilet.” Professor Endtimes confirmed. “Follow me, please.”
                Seeing no need to disobey by standing in the darkness, they all did as requested and walked into the bunker behind Professor Endtimes. Another steel door at the opposite end of the short passage opened into a large antechamber, with walls comprised of what seemed to be giant sequins. Another steel sliding door covered the full width of the opposite wall. Maybe the professor’s plan was to make an infinite chain of doors and short corridors, useful for criminal acts of boredom but little else.
                “I’d like to finally welcome you all to the seat of Operation Fuzzykins, the project which has been the focus of my attentions for some time.” He said ceremoniously. The next set of doors slid open and revealed a wide, open room, much like a chromed warehouse. A silver painted conference table sat directly in front of them with dark grey seats arranged around it. A globe which reached from floor to ceiling rotated lazily at one end of the room, with a bright red dot plastered directly on top of Colombia. A number of doorways led off to goodness only knew where. But what held everyone’s attention was the enormous window running the length of the wall opposite the lift. Through it daylight poured, showing them to be sitting ten or so metres below the top of the crater of Nevado del Huila. They were inside the volcano.
                “A secret entrance to a volcano lair!” Roger Toilet squealed with excitement. “This is better than all my best toilets at once! Integrated cisterns and all!”
                “Now that’s the reaction I was hoping for!” Professor Endtimes laughed proudly. “I’d love to give you all a tour, but as you know we are working against a tight deadline so that will have to wait. Roger, why don’t you treat yourself to a look around the executive bathrooms?”
                Roger Toilet didn’t even answer, dashing off to look for the lavatories without a second’s regard for anything else, nor waiting for Endtimes to point him in the right direction.
                “It’s… unbelievable.” The Stunner managed, struggling for words. When she’d learned of the volcano lair she had expected something on the side of the mountain, or possibly at the top, but not literally built into the crater. The contents insurance premiums must have been astronomical.
                “Yeah…”  Confectionista agreed, staring around herself.
                “Pretty nice.” Windy Bill assessed with an approving grimace.
                “Maybe you’d be interested in our cooling and ventilation systems, Windy Bill?” The professor proposed, hoping to get a more extravagant reaction from him.
                “Maybe I would.” He responded, nodding. “Which way please, Prof?”
                “Down two floors. You’ll need to use the lift to your right. Left when you exit, and you’ll be in the system control room.” Endtimes explained with a smile.
                “Got it, thanks. I’m sure I’ll be a huge fan.” He said, slipping in a respectful pun as a mark of appreciation. With a nod to the others and a poorly hidden excited grimace, he strode off towards the lift.
                “Marvellous stuff!” Professor Endtimes cried, clapping his hands together. “Stunner, you- oh.” He said, noticing that The Stunner was no longer standing in place. He span quickly to see her peering down through the window, red glow from the magma and yellow light from the sun playing over the reflection of her face in the glass.
                “It’s a breath-taking sight.” He said with understanding. “Care to take a look as well, Confectionista?”
                “That’d be sweet!” she giggled, bouncing over to stand beside The Stunner.
                Helena was staring, open-mouthed, out of the window, awed by the panorama she was facing. She had thought that this lair would be just a little larger than the professor’s cellar. She was wrong.
                Extending in front of her was an arc of glimmering glass window, stretching away in both directions and covering a full half of the interior of the crater. Across the span, the bare half of the rocky interior must have been over one hundred metres away. Beneath the windows, Helena could see the dark grey metalwork of the volcano lair continuing downwards for several storeys, more than she cared to estimate, with the occasional shimmering pane of glass giving away where the windows were. They must have been able to withstand incredible amounts of heating and cooling; probably another relic from The Glazier’s tenure with Professor Endtimes.
                Far below them, towards the bottom of the lair structure, were a series of reinforced metal struts leading outwards from the walls. They came together over the centre of the crater, terminating in a solid structure of some kind, below which the magma was bubbling and spitting. If she didn’t know better, Helena would have said that a particularly thick one of these struts was actually a walkway leading towards the central structure. She hoped with all of her might that she did, in fact, know better. The prospects of what Professor Endtimes might be doing here were terrifying; between what she was seeing now and what she knew of the failed Colombia job, her wild, disregarded suspicions of the man causing a volcanic eruption felt all too possible.
                “What… what are you planning here?” she asked in stunned disbelief.
                “My magnum opus, Stunner. Something which I can look back on as a legacy. But I will reveal everything to you all together later. For now, I would like to give you both the chance to enjoy the parts of this facility which were set up with you in mind. Roger Toilet and Windy Bill are having their fun, after all.”
                “The ministry are onto us and they saw us leave, Professor. Is there really time for this?”
                “Of course. In fact it makes this all the more necessary. You need to be making use of everything I can provide here to give us a chance at success.” He paused, but The Stunner hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Before she got anywhere, he continued. “Confectionista, four floors below us you will find the kitchens. I have set up some special ingredients which you might find interesting for some of your not-so-sweets.”
                “All my specialities coming up, treacle.” She said with a wink.
                “And Stunner, on the very bottom floor is our electrical power station. We take the extreme heat of the magma in the crater and use it to generate all the power this installation uses. It’s highly efficient, it keeps us hidden from the authorities, and it’s completely carbon neutral; the dream of energy generation enthusiasts worldwide!” He declared theatrically, beaming with pride.
                “It sounds like that’s already doing the job. Do I need to go and tinker with it?” she asked, missing the point he was trying to make.
                “It means that we have a vast amount of power at our disposal, and that you can bend it to your own ends, Stunner.” Professor Endtimes explained, sounding a little confused at why The Stunner hadn’t made that connection on her own. “There are all sorts of other components down there and maps of the electrical networks running through the lair. Create whatever you can to help us defend this installation, and install it wherever necessary. The hench-people will help however they can.”
                “But if I don’t know the endgame here then how can I make appropriate designs or plans?” she persisted.
                “Stunner, please. All you need to know right now is that we have a need for protection. I assure you that if you needed to know anything else I would have told you. OK?”
                “Yes, yes OK. Bottom floor?”
                “Bottom floor. Both of you can take the same lift that Windy Bill did, but you’ll have to ride it all the way, Stunner.” He directed, giving an explicit instruction just in case The Stunner was confused about the concept of the bottom floor. “The power station is the only thing down there at the bottom. I’ll call for you when it’s time for the briefing.”
                The Stunner nodded to Professor Endtimes and tore herself away from the window. Everything inside the lair seemed dim compared to the brightness she had been facing, despite the over-chromed surfaces. It was as if Professor Endtimes had made the lair by converting a disused house of mirrors. Together, she and Confectionista crossed to the lift and pressed the bright red down arrow, a synthesised ‘bing’ sounding soon after to notify them of the lift’s arrival.
                In the lift, Helena allowed herself a moment to collapse her posture, bury her face in her hands, and wonder exactly when she would be able to eat something.
                “Everything alright sugar?” Confectionista asked.
                “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just hungry, I think. I haven’t eaten in about…” she did some quick mental arithmetic. “A day?”
                “Oh my goodness, and after the day you had yesterday? Come with me to the kitchens. I’m sure the professor won’t mind you delaying for a quick bite.” She said, the offer sounding as insistent as it was tempting.
                Helena knew she had to get away and work out what to do. Every moment could count, especially when she was being given almost free reign with the whole power infrastructure of the lair. But her stomach always won these battles, and even her head agreed that she’d be useless without having eaten at least something.
                “You’re probably right. We’ll see what he’s got cooked up for us.”
                Shining steel slid on its rails, opening the doors to a wide corridor with square windows at regular intervals. A sign hanging from the ceiling pointed in opposite directions for various locations on the floor, notably with the kitchens to the right and the canteen awaiting to the left.
                What they found at the advice of the sign’s directions wasn’t so much a kitchen as a laboratory with some ovens in it. It would be to take a furniture shop and describe it as a living room; all the elements were there, but their arrangement and concentration was way off the mark. Flitting between the workstations, which were masquerading as countertops, were five or so hench-people decked out in chef’s outfits which still, unmistakably, were of the professor’s uniform’s style. Sauces and reductions passed through burettes and flasks into large, wide dishes. Bunsen burners were being used to melt butter, boil water, and even act as an inverted grill. Someone was even making ice lollies, using test tubes as a mould.
                “This is surreal.” The Stunner said, eyebrows making a break across her face in opposite directions to express her extreme confusion at what she was seeing.
                “It’s perfect!” Confectionista counter-pointed. She was also pointing at the counters. “Making my not-so-sweets isn’t just cooking with drugs in place of spices, it’s a chemical process which happens to feature food.” She was filled with the same bright-eyed anticipation which had overwhelmed her at Tooth’s Bane. “I can do some of my best work in here, Stunner.”
                “If you say so then I’ll believe you. But can you do some of your least drugged work for me first?”
                “Sure thing, honey. What do you fancy?” she asked. It was fatal.
 
                The day was finally looking up for The Stunner as she stared at the whole cheesecake in front of herself. A rational part of her mind knew that she needed something with more substance if she was preparing for an unknown battle, but it was buried deep below the chanting throng of voices demanding dessert. Confectionista had worked quickly, finding some biscuits to crumble for a base and plenty of ingredients to make a soft, fluffy top. In that moment Helena forgot all about Operation Fuzzykins, the inevitable arrival of the ministry, and the fate of her undercover operation; all that mattered was the much-needed dessert which her new best friend had provided.
                It barely lasted for five minutes.
                “I take it that hit the spot?” Confectionista asked with an amused smile.
                “You have no idea.” The Stunner replied. “Thank you.”
                “Any time.”
                “I suppose I should get down to the power station though. From the sounds of it we need to be prepared for something heavy coming our way.” The Stunner said, standing up from her seat at the lab bench and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
                “Certainly sounds like it’ll be a trifle.” Confectionista answered with a wink.
                “Nice. Thanks very much for that. I’ll see you a bit later.”
                “No problem, honey. Good tinkering.”
                The Stunner walked herself back along the corridor to the lift, feeling far better with some food in her system, and wondered what on earth she was going to do next. Clearly Operation Fuzzykins had something to do with the volcano, but what exactly that could be was still anyone’s guess. What she’d overheard the professor saying to himself the previous day still didn’t make enough sense to give her a lead.
                The Stunner stepped into the lift and hit the lowermost button on the control panel. Staring at the ceiling, Helena tried to think. Causing an eruption would surely wipe out the whole lair, but it didn’t seem to have been built sacrificially. What else could he possibly want from inside the crater, though? Free access to magma? He was already using it as a power source, but expanding the world’s use of renewable energy didn’t exactly sound that nefarious. And it didn’t much tie in with the code word ‘Fuzzykins’. In fairness, however, not much did.
                When the doors slid open this time it was directly into what looked like an air hanger crossed with an industrial nightmare of spinning turbines, hissing steam, and glowing lights. A wall of hot, dry air slapped into her, once again making her regret the exclusively non-breathable fabric choices she had made when designing her outfit.
                The Stunner walked the room, curiously examining each piece of equipment she found. Every one of them came complete with a mounted circuit diagram showing exactly how it worked and what its overall function was, but very little of it meant a whole lot to Helena. At the end of the room was a workbench complete with an array of soldering, wiring, and metalworking tools, plus a full complement of personal protective equipment, eagerly inviting The Stunner to create whatever her electrical fascinations could muster. Crates of components, arranged by type and labelled in large, white letters sat in racks to either side of the bench, each one adorned with the piece’s current rating and impedance.
                In a set of drawers underneath the bench were blueprints for her battery sledge hammer, the whip Endtimes had given her, and even the Super Stunner pylons, among other speculative designs. On the wall in front of her was a plan showing exactly where power was directed around the entirety of the volcano lair. Full details of available power and structural strength had been included for each room and every major architectural feature.
                This was where Professor Endtimes wanted The Stunner to craft armaments for him, and point defences for the volcano lair, sufficient to defeat the Ministry of Extraordinary Crimes and ensure the successful execution of Operation Fuzzykins. Helena resolved that this time she wouldn’t allow herself to be taken advantage of. This time her creations wouldn’t be used to hurt her friends or those whose goals she supported.
                Helena laid out the blueprints in front of herself, studied the components, and examined the map of the volcano lair’s network. For whatever reason, Professor Endtimes had given her full autonomy in this task, not even leaving stationed hench-people to help manufacture or transport equipment. She was totally alone, and totally unsupervised. Feeling the fires of vengeance light inside herself, or possibly just the heat from the magma power generators around her, Agent Helena Burnley finally set about arming herself and planning the sabotage of Professor Endtimes’ volcano lair.
 
                Helena didn’t know how long she had been working. Without a source of natural light, tracking the passage of time became an indefinite art instead of a counting exercise, similar to predicting train fares. Various new trinkets, some half-built, were scattered across the workbench in front of her, and red pen lines had been marked up all over the map of the lair. Helena was delicately balancing two batteries into place when a crackle of white noise erupted from somewhere above her.
                “Calling all super-villains. Please report to the conference table on the top floor. The time has come to unveil Operation Fuzzykins.”
                The distorted voice of Professor Endtimes echoed through the power station and mingled with the whirring, grinding motors. It suffused itself with the mechanical hum, as if Helena was hearing the cogs turn in his mind as he spoke.
                The Stunner pushed her stool away from the workbench and stood up, stretching and arching her back to soothe the soreness from hunching. She grabbed her finished electrical atrocities and stuffed them into various pockets around her outfit. Looking at her map with its clear sabotage notes, she elected that it would be best to roll it up and push it to one side of the bench; leaving obviously traitorous materials out on display was just inviting problems.
                Finally, she drew a series of deep breaths to calm herself. Knowing the nature of Operation Fuzzykins would only be half the battle; she couldn’t allow herself to react negatively in front of the whole organisation and risk blowing her cover, especially after the suspicion surrounding Shedder’s arrest. Whatever she heard, she told herself, she would need to keep her emotions in check until such a time as she could do something about it. The rumbling of her stomach could be exempted, in so far as it might lead to a justice-enhancing dessert.
                Feeling as prepared as she ever would, The Stunner marched back through the towering rows of equipment and into the lift, pressing the topmost button and preparing for the great revelation.
                As she rose at indeterminate speed, more buttons illuminated on the control panel; The Stunner would be making some additional stops on the way up. When she reached the fourth floor down, the lift opened and The Stunner stepped aside to allow Confectionista some space.
                “Hey sugar! Have fun?” she asked with a wry grin.
                “I think I did, yeah. The professor laid on quite an array of stuff down there. I think he’s preparing for a war.”
                “Then we can only hope that the enemy soldiers like to stop and eat sweets.” Confectionista replied with a self-deprecating shrug.
                They made it up one more level when the doors opened again and Windy Bill stepped inside the lift. He nodded at both of them, oil covering his hands, arms, and portions of his face.
                “Press the up button, one of you. I don’t want to grease everything up.”
                “Already on the way.” The Stunner told him, wondering if he thought they’d just been standing in the lift all this time.
                “Nice one.”
                “Would you like a tissue, Windy Bill? I think I have some sugar paper on me somewhere…” Confectionista offered, patting down her various pockets.
                “Nah, I’ll be back on it soon. In the middle of building something special.” He declined with a knowing grimace.
                “Sounds exciting.”
                “It will be.”
                The doors slid closed again and the lift continued its journey upwards.

                Shining chromed walls welcomed everyone back into the conference room. Through the windows The Stunner could see that dusk was drawing in; the clouds above the crater top were stained red, and a similar red-orange glow came from the lava below.
                Roger Toilet was already sitting at the long conference table, holding a glass in either hand. One was empty and the other full of water. He looked at them closely for a few moments, and then tipped the water from one to the other, making a ‘flushhhh’ sound as he did so. When the others took various seats next to and opposite him he continued, unembarrassed.
                “Hi Roger.” Confectionista said happily, expecting to snap him out of his pouring.
                “Hey everyone.” He answered, pouring the water back with another hearty ‘flushhhh’.
                “What are you up to?” she asked in her sugar-sweet way.
                “I’m investigating some new flush-dynamics. See if a crapper bowl shaped like this glass would be better, you know?”
                “Yeah, looks like real deep research.” Windy Billy assessed mockingly.
                “This is nothing. I’ve tried loads of crazy shapes. Corners are a real no-go.” He said seriously, as if everyone else were about to run off and add sharp bends to their toilets imminently.
                “Thanks Roger, we’ll bear that in mind.” The Stunner said, hoping to bring an end to that line of conversation.
                “As will I.” Professor Endtimes said, having appeared at the head of the table. They had all been too engrossed in Roger Toilet’s flushing demonstration to notice him approach, much to Helena’s shame. “Are you all ready?”
                A series of affirmative sounds told him they were. Roger Toilet even put his glasses down. Helena turned slightly in her seat to face the professor and noticed that he had changed into a clean lab coat. Her mind was laid to rest regarding the adequate stocking of his wardrobe.
                "Perfect. Well, thank you for joining me, everyone. As I am sure you are aware we have precious little time to bring Operation Fuzzykins to completion.  Even now I suspect that the ministry is close on our tails. We have intercepted communications from local shepherds regarding disturbances and disruption to their flocks. Sheep have been seen acting panicked, distressed and generally unsettled. I believe this is an indicator of significant air-traffic heading into the nearby military base."
                "I knew it! The shepherds were trying to warn us." Roger Toilet exclaimed victoriously.
                "Early radar from farmers notwithstanding we don't know exactly when they will arrive, but it is of no real matter. Tracking us down to this lair will take time; it is all but invisible unless the observer is floating above the crater. We proceed as planned and prepare for Operation Fuzzykins to commence tomorrow at midday."
                Helena was tense in her seat, legs rigid, buttocks clenched and stomach tight. This was the moment that she would finally understand what Professor Endtimes was planning, and could start putting an end to it.
                “Operation Fuzzykins has been my labour of love for years, and the road has not been easy. There have been failures. The Ministry of Extraordinary Crimes has meddled in my affairs, and even the army has launched brazen assaults on my home. Our numbers have dwindled, many grand plans have failed as a result of the mayor's crusade against us, and seats are left empty for X-directory, Garagio, The Varnisher, Gatekeeper, and even our dear The Chauffeur. But we will not be broken so easily, for we are stronger than that. We must press on and succeed in spite of their absence; not because we don't care or because we didn’t need them, but for them. This is their victory too, even if their role led them into capture."
                Helena couldn’t help feeling that the professor was laying on the martyrdom angle a little thick, but the others certainly seemed taken in, and she had to admit that he seemed genuine. He was impassioned in his speech, and driven by a sincerity of purpose. There was no sign of manipulative showmanship or pretension. He was even giving this rallying call-to-arms in the same pair of slippers he’d worn at his lair, as well as what looked suspiciously like the same pair of trousers. Perhaps Operation Fuzzykins required possessing many identical pairs of corduroy trousers, because otherwise it spoke of uncharacteristically poor laundry discipline from the professor.
                “I have supported you all in your various schemes and causes because I believed that you deserved the chance to be who you wanted to be, and to showcase your true potential as wonderful, talented people. Your goals truly became my goals, your hopes my hopes, and your appetites for dessert my responsibility. Especially you, Stunner.” Helena blushed while the others gave a murmur of laughter. “And that, my associates, is why I have brought you all here to witness and assist in the realisation of Operation Fuzzykins. You have all contributed much to my organisation already, but with this final act of kindness towards me we can eclipse all of our previous works tenfold.
                I believe that every person deserves to have their true potential unlocked and realised. I believe that they should be afforded all the opportunities I was blessed to be able to provide for you all, as well as the others within my organisation in the past. But the question of how has plagued me. I cannot reach out to, let alone mentor, the whole world. I cannot fund every worthwhile dream in the mind of an aspiring star. But I can give them the drive, the motivation, and the burning passion to commit themselves fully to a path of excellence.
                You have all felt it, this sudden clarity of purpose. You, Confectionista, with your radioactive bon-bon. You, Windy Bill, with your radioactive fans. You, Stunner, with your radioactive battery. It is this which I now seek to spread to the world.”
                Professor Endtimes clicked on a remote from his pocket, and the centre of the conference table opened out, sections of the surface sliding apart to reveal what looked like a large metal projector, pointing directly upwards. Once the table panels had settled into place, a bright light shone upwards from the projector and formed into a holographic display of an entirely underwhelming lump of rock. The Stunner peered at the holo-rock in some confusion; it was probably the most over-engineered representation of some boring stone that she had ever seen. Even a photograph would have barrelled past ‘sufficient’ and into the territory of too much display for too little interest.
                “This, my valued associates, is a lump of what I call ‘Endtimite’. It is a rock containing several radioactive elements, the effects of which should definitely be familiar to all of you.” The hologram hovered unnecessarily over the table as the professor spoke. It rotated slowly, showing off every unremarkable angle of an object whose key interesting characteristics were entirely non-visual. “Its particular blend of radioactivity makes it the perfect catalyst for realising one’s true calling. It holds a dear place in my heart, and I have worked with it extensively here in my volcano lair. You will all have come into contact with it around the lair in one way or another today.”
                "We've been exposed to it here?!" The Stunner exclaimed. Her horror was clear for all to hear on her voice.
                "Well, yes. Several of your components down in the power station will have been exposed to the Endtimite."
                "Why didn't you say something? Anything could have happened to us! We could all have severe radiation sickness!" She berated, looking around at the strangely calm faces of her peers for support.
                "It's hardly the first time any of you have contacted it, as I have said. In all my years I have never seen a villain's behaviour or identity change as a result of a second exposure, so please don’t worry. Anyway, this will, of course, be far beyond your second exposure."
                "Far beyo-... what do you mean?"
                "How do you think I got your cape to flow so smoothly and softly? It's thoroughly treated with Endtimite." Professor Endtimes said, as if The Stunner should have expected that from the start.
                Helena’s mind drifted inwards, away from the professor’s volcano lair. The cape.  Of course! Why hadn't she seen it? Aside from a total lack of reason to think it was the case, that is. Although of obviously high quality, it seemed so normal. She’d never heard of radiation making fabrics softer before, but then again the creation of super-villains had also been new once…
                “Oh god…” she uttered, mouth hanging open. The first thing she had done in her new cape was to go hunting for DJ Disaster. It had taken several days to find him, sure, but she had spent her time wearing it as a supervillain. It was after that confrontation with DJ Disaster that she’d successfully turned him against The Librarian, as a distraction to make off with the Freedom Pirate Radio mast and initiate construction of the Super Stunner. The very next job had been when she’d taken things too far and stolen the mayor’s bathtub, before finally going over to Professor Endtimes’ operation…
                Was it possible that she’d worn a radioactive cape and become a supervillain in earnest, finding her true calling in super-crime?
                Every drop of blood drained from Helena’s face underneath The Stunner’s mask. It would explain why she had found it so easy to be a criminal and so hard to bring Endtimes to justice. He’d sent her a gift and tricked her into becoming what she was pretending to be. As her senses started to dim and dull she felt as if she was looking at herself from a hundred miles away, from the end of a dark tunnel.
                Going too far for the operation was one thing. But to have been completely assimilated was another.
                “Stunner?” Professor Endtimes said worriedly, looking into her blank face.
                “Are you OK sugar?” Confectionista asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, but it didn’t register.
                Agent Helena Burnley, brought down by her own stupidity in accepting a gift from a man she was hunting. She cursed herself for getting so carried away. But even if The Stunner was who she truly was now, she wouldn’t take it lying down. She wouldn’t be used as a pawn by anyone. Whatever her reasons, in pursuit of justice or to assert dominance as a supervillain, the plan continued. Professor Endtimes was going down.
                “Yes, yes I’m fine. I was just concerned that I’ve been exposed to massive doses of radiation.” She said, feigning embarrassment. As the words came out, however, they sounded incredibly reasonable. She would add chemical attacks to the list of crimes against Endtimes, and then seek urgent medical attention.
                “Now, where was I? Right, yes. Back before my own epiphany turned me into the man you now see, I was a simple and innocent professor of natural sciences, engineering, and anything else which took my inexhaustible fancy. My world within research was hard, poverty-stricken, and often ended in wasted time and efforts. I loved my work, don’t get me wrong, but I also saw the darker side of it; I saw good people, passionate men and women, talented scientists and engineers, throw themselves into their work only to have their spirits broken. They had so much potential to do wonderful things in this world, but it was wasted by those who would stand in their way or refuse to help, refuse to clear a path. I saw so many hearts break that it started to break my own.
                One night, after hours of analysing conflicting data sets and getting nowhere, everything changed. I had been working continuously for hours beyond counting, with barely a dozen cups of tea and not a single dessert. Finally admitting that I needed to take a break, I made the mistake, no, the happy accident of gathering my notes together for review in the morning. But in doing so I picked up a radioactive draft of a paper one of my students was writing on the properties of Thallium!
                As I lifted that fateful document from the open container of radioactive waste on which it had been sitting, I felt a certainty and singularity of purpose surge through me. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I knew my calling in that moment, and it was to conduct evil research and create nefarious plots from the shadows, pulling the strings of the world from behind a curtain of mystery. Just as my poor, civilian identity had been trying to push the boundaries of tedious contemporary knowledge without recognition, my new enlightened form would push the forefront of dastardly scheming without notice. I had become Professor Endtimes! Armageddon, the end of the current world order and establishment of my own, was my destiny, my calling.
                Over the course of my illustrious career I committed heinous acts of the highest quality, and saw them vilified by those who could not comprehend the majesty of what I had wrought. I sowed mayhem and chaos, and profited from the poor planning of others, but it was while watching the rise of super-villainy from the private confinement of anonymity that I realised something. These other villains would understand my drive and motivation. They too enjoyed a clear viewpoint, knowing exactly what their over-arching passion could achieve if they committed themselves to it. But the world would not let them; those who had not felt their purpose calling to them and those who did not understand the potential they had inside threw up resistance. They didn’t understand that these grand heists, diabolical schemes, and heinous plots were works of art. With guns, shackles, and litigation they stood in the way of super-villainy, all to preserve the world they understood, and in doing so they have prevented us from realising what it could really be.
                But that will not be the case much longer. Soon, everyone will be in the same position." The professor clicked again on his remote and the hologram morphed from a lump of Endtimite to a cross section of Nevado del Huila, showing right the way down to the lava surface. This second hologram was a far more impressive and appropriate use of the projector. "I have spent years investing in rare minerals which, as you all know, is a part of how I funded my operation.  But those minerals include Thallium, Plutonium and other rare elements, all of them key ingredients in Endtimite. And I have amassed enough now to commence Operation Fuzzykins. At the centre of this facility is a vessel containing my stockpile. With my seismic agitators I shall cause Nevado del Huila to erupt once more. It will blast my Endtimite high into the atmosphere, where the jet streams will transport it all around the globe. Like rays of enlightenment from on high it shall rain down on the ignorant and deprived, filling their homes, their workplaces, their parks, and even their post boxes with opportunities for purpose. Tomorrow, the whole world will have the chance to realise their full potential. They will be given the gift of a focused, driven existence, free from the judgement of lesser minds who cannot comprehend their ambitions.
                Now, my associates, brightest stars of super-villainy, our time has come. Finally we may indulge ourselves in a nefarious plot of global scale, and usher in a new age of freedom for the villain!”          
                In his great crescendo, Confectionista, Roger Toilet, Windy Bill, and several nearby henchpeople all burst into rapturous applause and a standing ovation. The Stunner reluctantly joined in, watching her hands to make sure that huge radiation doses weren’t sloughing her flesh away.
                “That sounds so cool! Look, even the shepherds are delighted!” Roger Toilet said, pointing out of the window. Helena questioned how much clarity becoming a super-villain had really granted him, or anyone else.
 
                With the briefing over, Professor Endtimes led everyone down to the canteen for a celebratory dinner. It was a vast hall, not dissimilar to a gaudy, chromed cathedral, with a wall of massive, square windows facing into the crater. Every part of the room was infused with the red-orange glow of lava, giving it a warmth which Helena couldn’t help but find relaxing. Whatever his crimes, Professor Endtimes knew how to decorate effectively.
                In truth, the balance of celebration to dinner in their meal favoured the latter heavily. Rows of Professor Endtimes’ staff sat on bench seats at long tables, talking amongst themselves but not indulging in any displays of excitement and anticipation. Flying in the face of unity and cohesion, the four supervillains – Windy Bill, Roger Toilet, Confectionista, and The Stunner – sat together at one end of a table with Professor Endtimes in their own clique. Catering henchpeople, in the professor’s uniform stylised for serving staff, had brought plates of home-cooked food out for everyone, before eventually joining one of the tables themselves.
                “I can’t believe the Professor forgot to mention my origin along with everyone else’s.” Roger Toilet complained while Professor Endtimes was fetching himself a glass of orange juice after a hearty serving of unidentified broth. “I mean I was right there as a reminder! Pointing at myself and everything.” He pointed at himself to illustrate what he meant.
                “I’m not sure I know your story, actually.” The Stunner said, attempting to defuse him.
                “Me either.” Confectionista agreed. “Why don’t you tell us now?”
                “You want to hear it?” Roger asked, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
                “Sure. Can’t hurt to know who we’re working with, can it sugar?”
                “Nope. I’m certainly interested too.”
                “Alright! Well, it was a summer evening, towards the end of my shift at Plumbing the Depths. I-"
                “So, everyone” Professor Endtimes bellowed, cutting Roger off as he sat back down at the table “you are my most capable and most trusted associates. As such, I will need you in place tomorrow for Operation Fuzzykins to be a success.” Roger Toilet tried to open his mouth and continue his story, but the professor didn’t seem to notice. “I appreciate that there hasn’t been a lot of time to prepare, but we are in this together. The ministry has forced our hand into play early, very early, but we are still capable of making it work. Confectionista: do you have some not-so-sweets for us to deploy?”
                “Yes, treacle.” She said through a mouthful of custard tart, with an apologetic half-glance at Roger. They both knew his story was over. “There’s a stock built up and ready for distribution to all doorways, side tables and lavatories. Lots more bubbling away in the kitchens too.”
                “Perfect.” The professor said, clapping his hands together. “How about you, Windy Bill?”
                “I’ve made some gruntier models to go along with my wind gun. Might be able to mount them strategically as point defences too if it comes to it.” He grimaced, eating a bowl of jelly and ice cream.
                “Wonderful stuff. There were powerful enough components down there to work with, then?”
                “Not really, no, but I borrowed some bits and pieces to kick it into gear.”
                “Borrowed? Dare I ask where from?” Professor Endtimes probed, his smile remaining but seeming thinner.
                “Nowhere that it’ll be missed. You got your big reveal in just now. Let me have mine.” Windy Bill answered back, licking his spoon clean.
                The professor remained silent for a few moments, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of Windy Bill salvaging equipment within the lair, but swallowed his concerns and spoke again.
                “As you wish. I shall trust you and wait for the news. Stunner? Any progress?”
                “Yes, I… I’ve made myself some additional small armaments and traps to deploy. Mostly finished with some pylons to mount up too.” She said, only partially lying. Helena had been making pylon shaped devices for show, to give the inevitable CCTV something positive to report, but modified the internal electrics. But was The Stunner actually doing it for real after all? Was the irradiated part of herself, the real Stunner, making these infernal tools in earnest to defend Professor Endtimes from the forces of justice? She would have to review her own work to be sure that The Stunner hadn’t reverted her wiring to its original intent.
                “Good, good. Please do everything you can to get those pylons in place. Call on the henchpeople if necessary. With so few of my able combatant associates left we will need all the help we can get.”
                “Of course, Professor.” She said dutifully.
                “And last, but very much not least, Roger Toilet. Has your day been productive?”
                “Oh, yeah for sure. I admired your executive bathroom for ages.” Roger said, the memory of Endtimes’ bathroom immediately washing away the ill-feelings about his story being cut off. “You’ve got awesome infra-red taps, infra-red flusher, those fancy hand towels as well as a super-powered hand dryer; it’s a paradise in there! But the toilet! That beautiful toilet!” Roger slapped his palms on the table, spilling hot chocolate all over a henchman’s trousers further down the line. “Oh, I would have it hanging on my bedroom wall. The perfect contouring, the seamless cistern-to-bowl transition, the subtle floor bolts; it’s the gods’ own crapper. Mortals like me could only dream of placing buttock to porcelain on something so perfect, but there it was right in front of me!”
                “I’m glad you like-” the Professor started, but Roger wasn’t done.
                “And the flush! You could send a bus down that U-bend without disturbing the passengers it’s so powerful. You could use it to launch rockets!” Roger Toiler effervesced with enthusiasm and wonder. His joy spilled over and out of him like the rising horror of a blocked toilet just flushed, and flowed into everyone around him. The bath mat of Confectionista was saturated by his happiness. The floorboards of The Stunner were soaked by his mirth. Even the carpet-outside-the-door of Windy Bill was sodden, cracking a happy grimace.
                “I could live in that heavenly loo, Prof. Do you think, when all this is over, that I could?” he asked with disarming sincerity.
                “You can have a whole house of bathrooms like it, and that very toilet will be yours. But we need to get through Operation Fuzzykins first, of course. Have you been able to weaponise anything for our use then the operation begins?”
                “Oh, well, not yet. With such a hypnotic loo in there I got distracted. But I will have something. There’s enough kit in there to flush an army.” Roger Toilet said, trying his best.
                “Please do. We’re all counting on each other here. Now, is everyone done?”
                The four villains looked at one another, at their plates, and back to Professor Endtimes, not necessarily in that order. A series of non-committal murmurs followed, which the professor took as full agreement.
                “Good. Then I shall show you all to your quarters whilst I have you all together, and then leave you to the night’s business. There are still many preparations to make.” He said, unwinding his legs from the bench seat and standing up. The Stunner let her gaze rest longingly on some untouched desserts along the table, and then followed suit along with her peers.
 
                Professor Endtimes led his associates, still yearning for more dessert, back to the lift and pressed the “-5” button amid throwaway comments regarding how pleasant the avocado dip had been. On their designated floor the five of them exited into a foyer of some description, comprised of the same shining steel surfaces as the rest of the lair, but arranged like the entrance of a hotel. Sweeping in an elegant curve across one corner was a wide check-in counter with a smiling henchwoman behind it. She waved enthusiastically as the villains approached.
                “This is the dorm. Some of the chaps like to call it the barracks but I think that sounds awfully aggressive, don't you?” Professor Endtimes said, looking at the others for their approval. He found it in their nods. “You can collect your keys from the desk.”
                Behind the desk, the henchwoman waved again. She beckoned them all to travel the remaining few feet to the desk.
                “Hello! Can I please have your names?” she asked in just the wrong mixture of bubbly and professional.
                “They’re the only four super-villains we’re housing.” Professor Endtimes told her, with a tone of mild disbelief.
                “But the keys are assigned per name, Professor.” She explained.
                “I’m The Stunner.” Helena said before Professor Endtimes could speak again. Inter-personal drama between staff and employer was something she didn’t have time for.
                “Thank you, The Stunner. You’re staying in…” she looked down a list and started twirling a pen in one hand. Immediately, it flew from her fingers and clattered onto the desk, drawing her attention away to pick it up and start trying to twirl again. “…let me see… it’ll be room...” she dropped the pen again. Helena could feel the undercurrent of frustration flowing from the professor, and had to wonder why he’d made this elaborate hotel setup in the first place. “…found it! Room twelve.” The henchwoman beamed out with a smile.
                “And the keys…” Endtimes prompted.
                “Yes!” the henchwoman replied, disappearing under the desk. An unnecessary amount of metallic jingling went on, and then she reappeared with a shining brass key in her hand, extending it out towards Helena. “This is the key to your door, The Stunner.”
                “Thank you.”
                “Twelve is at the very end of the hallway to your right. No, my right. Your left.”
                The Stunner looked to her left at the door marked ‘rooms thirteen to twenty-four”, then to her right at the door marked ‘rooms one to twelve’.
                “Are… you sure?” she asked, not able to help herself.
                “Not really.” The receptionist replied candidly with a broad smile.
                “Just get the next key, please.” Professor Endtimes said, rubbing his temples.
                “I need another name…”
                “Confectionista, Windy Bill and Roger Toilet.” Professor Endtimes told her, trying to remain calm.
                “Con… Confec… Confectionista…” she scanned down her list again. “Not sure I see it here…”
                “Oh for goodness… let me.” The professor leaned over the desk and picked up the list. “Confectionista is here, next to The Stunner. In fact, there are only four names on this list, and they are the four names I gave you. Why you even needed the names at all is…” he stopped himself, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. “Please just get me the keys to rooms… twelve, twelve and…” the professor pinched the bridge of his nose “why have you booked all four of them into room twelve?”
                “It saves on housekeeping. It’s a six-bed dorm.” She turned to the four villains, staring disbelievingly at her. “Are you all OK sharing one key? It saves me having to go under the desk again.”
                “Please… please just give me the keys to three other empty rooms.” The professor asked, whilst Confectionista tried to stifle her laughter and the others looked away awkwardly.
                “Which ones would you like?” The receptionist counter-questioned.
                “Any three will be fine.”
                “Certainly.” She disappeared back under the desk. There was another jingling followed by a louder crashing of keys. With her hair unaccountably ruffled, the henchwoman re-emerged with a fistful of keyrings but her smile unwavering. She dumped the brass onto the desk.
                “OK, there’s the keys for rooms eleven, thirteen and one.” The henchwoman told Professor Endtimes confidently.
                “And those rooms are all currently unoccupied?” he said, pressing for confirmation which shouldn’t have been necessary.
                “Yes, professor. All the keys seemed to be there, anyway.”
                Professor Endtimes sighed.
                “OK, fine. Good enough. Would you please show Roger Toilet here to room thirteen? It’s in the opposite direction to the other rooms so I’ll take the other three.”
                “You’ve got it.” She said, fumbling to lift the hinged section of desktop which served as a gate. After a few futile efforts, in which she seemed resigned to failure before she’d even started, the henchwoman flopped herself over the counter and onto her feet on the other side with practiced precision.
                “This way please, Roger Toilet.”
                Roger and the henchwoman walked towards one doorway and Professor Endtimes led everyone else towards the other.
                “That was more difficult than I had anticipated it would be.” He said softly when they were a few paces away. "She's..." there was an uncharacteristic pause in the professor's generally confident and optimistic speech "...lovely." He finally finished. Helena looked into the henchwoman's unknowing face as she talked happily to Roger Toilet, and sighed to herself. This was henchwoman 32, the woman who had made a career for herself despite being neither hard working nor tremendous, but measurably lovely.
                “This is room one.” The professor said redundantly, next to the door with a large steel ‘1’ on it. “Since The Stunner already has room twelve, which of you two would like this one?”
                “I’ll stay up next to The Stunner.” Confectionista said casually but brightly, getting in there quickly.
                “Suits me.” Windy Bill said with a contented grimace. “Means I can have my fans on louder without disturbing you two.”
                “Wonderfully decisive of you both.” Professor Endtimes complimented, glad to be conversing with people who could be relied upon. “Here is your key Windy Bill. I’ll have the henchpeople bring your other equipment up from the plane to your room.”
                “Thanks professor. See you a bit later ladies.” Windy Bill said, unlocking his room and stepping inside.
                “Right, farther along this way please.” Professor Endtimes said to The Stunner and Confectionista as they walked along the corridor. “I thought that my associates deserved a slightly more upmarket residential solution than the henchpeople, but I’d anticipated having more of my people around by the time I got here.” He said with a note of melancholy. The Stunner was suddenly grateful that Shedder had chosen to betray her before they could go ahead with the jailbreak, otherwise things would have been disastrous.
                “Here we are. Your key, Confectionista.”
                “Thank you, Professor.” She said, throwing a glance at her reflection in the shining steel at the end of the hallway.
                “Not at all. As with Windy Bill I shall have your other equipment and clothes brought up, Confectionista. Stunner, I realise that there was no time to acquire such changes of clothing for you before we fled the city. One of the henchmen was sent out on an emergency trip for clothing, but you’ll have to make do with your current costume until you can make a spare, I’m afraid.” The embarrassment was plain on the professor’s face.
                “No problem. Thank you for sorting out some clothes at least.” She said, maintaining her composure in the face of persistent sweaty clothing.
                “It’s the least I can do. There should be a toothbrush and some toiletries in your room. If you need anything else then you can try the desk, or just ask someone else. Anyone else, in fact. Whichever you feel will be quicker.”
                “Thanks.”
                “Now, I have my own work to attend to; we are more rushed than I care to think about. Please do all you can to complete your preparations tonight, both of you. I don’t know how long we have until the ministry catches up to us, so it is imperative that we are able to initiate Operation Fuzzykins by midday. There will be time for settling in once the operation has been completed. If you need anything else to eat tonight, the kitchens will be able to provide for you.” Professor Endtimes told them, reverting into the perfect host he had been back in his terraced house.
                “Of course.” Confectionista said politely.
                “Yeah. Thanks.” The Stunner added.
                The professor nodded and then made his way back along the hallway.
                “I really just wanted to give that receptionist a hug! She was the sweetest!” Confectionista blurted once Professor Endtimes was out of earshot, finally letting the laughter run free.
                “Yeah, tell me about it! Bless her heart she was trying.” The Stunner agreed, breaking a smile despite herself.
                “I meant what I said earlier, Stunner. You seemed a bit shocked by a lot of the professor’s briefing but it sounds like something else is going on. If you need someone to be there, or just to talk to, then I’ve got your back, no questions asked, alright?”
                “Yeah, no I’m fine. But thank you.” Helena said, genuinely grateful for the offer but fully aware that she could never take her up on it.
                “I promise, I’m here for you.” Confectionista reasserted. “Now I’m going to freshen up before I get back to the kitchens. I’ll try to avoid needing to ask the desk for anything.”
                “Yeah, me too.” The Stunner replied with a smirk. “See you in a bit.”
                “See ya honey.”
 
                After remaining in her room for long enough to be convincing, and taking the opportunity to rinse out the inside of her mask, The Stunner exited and made her way back to the power station. She could still scarcely believe what she had heard; not contented with using Nevado del Huila as a weapon in and of itself, the professor was planning to turn it into a cannon, a distribution mechanism to spread radioactive material across the world and create a whole legion of super villains.
                In her earlier days of idealism, as an agent of the still fledgling Ministry of Extraordinary Crimes, she would have been cynical about the professor’s words. She would have said that he was making an army for himself to establish dominance of the globe. All of those new supervillains would need his guidance, and so find themselves under his thumb. But having spent several weeks in his company, as a trusted and dare-she-say genuinely valued member of his organisation, she wasn’t so sure. His words rang true with his actions towards her and the other supervillains. Maybe he really did just want to help everyone realise their true potential, outside of the boundaries of normal society and the rule of law. Maybe he was just sick of seeing people put down and demoralised because their passions were extreme or didn’t meet the objectives of those in a position of power. Sure, he’d used his villains to create a lair, build weapons and sow mayhem, but he had also provided for them all.
                Regardless of his intentions, what he was proposing to do was utter madness, and it needed to be stopped. The Stunner just hoped that she could end it all before blood was spilled. The military would be after Professor Endtimes with full force, and it was up to her to protect him; for the sake of serving real justice and allowing the ministry to learn everything they could from him.
                Back in her power station, The Stunner once again reviewed the wiring maps of the lair and looked for any potential sweet-spots for sabotage that she’d missed. Frustratingly, there was nothing which showed the arrangement for operating the vessel extending to the centre of the crater. There was, however, a power line serving that whole floor, four storeys above her power station. She made a note on the map to cut that off as soon as she could get away with it.
                There were countless opportunities for new gadgets and locations for sabotage, and The Stunner knew that there was no way to make use of them all in such a short time-span. Without knowing when the ministry or the military would find them and carry out their strike, she didn’t know how much preparation time there was. The best she could do was take priority one first and work downwards. Despite having a six-bed room all to herself, allowing for the dream scenario of a different bed with fresh sheets every hour or so, it was going to be a long and wakeful night.
                Taking her electrical map and one of the newly constructed pylons with her, The Stunner walked away from her workbench and back into the lift, heading directly for the vessel floor.
 
                A small antechamber greeted The Stunner, facing out towards the vessel. There was no window, no conference room, and no furniture; just a small, square lobby with a heavy set of doors at the opposite end, an internal door to one side, and an entrance to the stairwell on the other. Thick electrical conduit boxes ran along the ceiling and out through the wall. The doors themselves were plastered in warnings of extreme heat, threats of danger of death by falling or burning, and the necessity for pregnant women to stay away from the area. Professor Endtimes was, as ever, a contingency planner of the most extreme variety.
                The Stunner approached the robust doors, despite her lack of fireproof clothing and no negative pregnancy test to present as evidence, and pushed against them, for the sum total of nothing happening. She tried pushing her fingers into the gap between the doors, but still they wouldn’t move. With a heavy sigh she understood that they had been locked, as was practical and sensible for doors leading into the crater of a volcano.
                Tracing the conduit box back The Stunner saw that it led into a junction box next to the lift controls. This door thankfully opened without persuasion, and she was confronted with a neatly ordered and colour coded selection of wires, the complete antithesis of X-directory’s own handiwork. Referencing her electrical map and remembering as best she could, The Stunner wired up her pylon and left it standing on the ground, just next to the lift exit, sincerely hoping that her modifications would work properly. Since there had been no way of testing them ahead of time, hope was all she had.
 
                Deeper and deeper into the night The Stunner pressed on, dragging pylons into position throughout the lair as an excuse to learn the layout first hand. When the time to rise up finally hit, she wanted to be completely prepared for it. She patrolled through the conference room and tried to learn where every door led, finding several smaller meeting tables but mostly empty spaces; the lair really had been visited long before completion. Even though the undercover operation had escalated beyond rationality, Helena at least took heart that she’s made Operation Fuzzykins more difficult for Professor Endtimes to instigate.
                A tour of the kitchens delayed Helena’s progress, since a few trays of leftover desserts called out to her. Worried that this might be her last moment to enjoy a good cheesecake binge, but mindful that there was no time to spare, she helped herself to but a few of them, feeling bloated but all the better for it. Her subsequent investigation of the food-stores and canteen passed much more slowly and required the odd pause for breath, however.
                Windy Bill’s air circulation room held few surprises. There were detailed maps of all the ventilation shafts in the lair but they showed little sign of being used. His own crates of components and workshop area, however, could have been reasonably thought to have been in use for a decade. Oil, stripped wire, filings and all sorts of modified parts littered the area, as well as a huge quantity of thin metal sheeting. Windy Bill had said he’d been manufacturing a few extra wind guns, but it looked like he was trying to become an arms dealer.
                After leaving the ventilation control room, The Stunner went down another floor. This time the lift doors unleashed upon her a flood of light from the lava below, shining through floor-to-ceiling windows with a bank of mirrors positioned on the ceiling just inside, allowing further views of the lava below. Apparently some kind of viewing platform, the level was a single, open room, with decorative handrails running along the majority of the line of the window. In the centre was a gap, allowing tenants of the lair to approach the glass directly and look out at the lava, still a few storeys below but much closer than it was from the conference room.
                Once again, The Stunner found herself drawn to the sight of the bubbling molten rock. It was a terrifying force of nature, and one with which Professor Endtimes seemed to be playing lightly. At this level, Helena was level with the top of the central vessel in the crater, containing Professor Endtimes’ payload of Endtimite, the radioactive poison with which he sought to infect the world and create super-villains without number. It looked an awful lot like an Easter egg from the viewing platform, and Helena would have given anything for it to be just as disappointingly hollow.
                Double doors leading from the viewing platform led to a wide, shallow staircase. It ran down into a long, rectangular, high-ceilinged room filled with rows of empty desks running parallel to the crater wall, each of one separated from the other by impractically large glass monitors. What exactly they were intended to monitor or control goodness only knew, but Helena felt that she should make sure the power to the room was killed before Professor Endtimes could make use of it.
                At the opposite end of the room, a doorway led back into the vessel antechamber, where she had planted her first pylon. With her reconnaissance of the lair completed as best it could be, and long after the only light outside the window was the subtle red glow of the lava below, The Stunner returned to the power station. All that remained was to make what final trinkets she could and get ready for the end. Agent Burnley hoped with all her being that the ministry would attack before midday tomorrow; she didn’t much fancy her prospects of stopping Operation Fuzzykins alone.
 
                In the artificial light which deprived her of a day and night cycle, The Stunner looked at her work bench with great interest. The gadgets and odd components thereupon were all products of her own hand, or maybe what Professor Endtimes had made of her hand, but that wasn’t why they were now holding her attention. Nor was it a simple case of them being the first thing she saw upon waking, a blurry-eyed focus striving to remember where it had been when it fell asleep. It was because of their motion. She hadn’t included any motors or moving parts in these new tools of The Stunner, but here they were vibrating and jiggling across the surface of the workbench. They definitely weren’t supposed to do that, if for no better reason than it made them more difficult to handle or store. Holding it against them would be the villain calling the criminal evil though, since she too had started to adopt a more oscillatory position than intended. Even among the whirring and vibrations of the power generators it was strange. The Stunner thought her body should know better than to do that sort of thing, especially when it was trying to sleep.
                Creeping upwards into audible range was something else, like a strong wind being cut up for fire-wood, or possibly for fire-air. It was dulled and muffled through the belly of the volcano, but still powerful enough to reach her. Something was afoot outside. Perhaps her judgement of body and gadgetry had been too harsh; the whole lair was shaking, and that made a little bit of oscillation difficult to resist.
                Agent Burnley snapped back into consciousness from the sleepy recesses of The Stunner’s mind. A rumbling was either the initiation of Operation Fuzzykins, an unrelated eruption of Nevado del Huila, or an assault on the lair. Whatever the case, being in the power station wasn’t going to help her.
                She pushed off the workbench and sprang to her feet, despite the protestations of her aching body and her injuries from the previous days. With a wild snatch of her arm she grabbed her new gadgets and thrust them into her pockets. Battery hammer across her back and whip on her hip, The Stunner ran among the turbines once more. Adding to the pounding of her boots on the metal floor, the electronically distorted voice of Professor Endtimes rang out over the tannoy and echoed through the power station.
                “All personnel to high alert. We are under attack. Initiating emergency protocols. Operation Fuzzykins must go ahead.”
                The Stunner arrived at the primary junction box, which diverted power to the rest of the lair like a particularly pompous fuse box. Dangling from the box was a mess of wires, all leading to a home-made switch which failed to conform to even the most lax safety regulations. To use it was to take her life into her hands, but The Stunner drew a deep breath, lifted the tatty box of wires, and flicked the switch.
                An underwhelming amount of nothing happened, until a slight sparking of the switch-box made it jump out of her hands. It dangled on its wires, smoking gently, and swung from side to side until it lost all momentum. Helena crossed her fingers and hoped that the pylons had done their job, killing power to everything but the lights and the lift. She had no idea how many point defences, if any, the professor had managed to install, but now they should be lifeless. A part of her felt a strange guilt at not unleashing the stunning power of the pylons on Professor Endtimes’ staff. If a whole city of innocents could be shocked, then it didn’t seem fair to hold fire on a group of supervillain’s henchpeople. But Helena’s obtuse moral streak couldn’t shake the image of shoppers writhing in the street. No-one, Endtimes’ henchpeople included, deserved that.
                Her first act of defiance completed, The Stunner dashed up to the lift, amid deep rumblings coming from elsewhere in the volcano. Her heart pounded harder. This was it, the moment when she could finally depose Professor Endtimes and end her uncover ordeal. She could soon go back to doing good, or at least stop doing evil. Inside the lift The Stunner slammed the button for the vessel level and the doors slid closed.
                Riding upwards, it occurred to Helena that she was using the lift in the event of an emergency, the exact thing she had always been advised not to do by makers of elevator signage across the globe. It had never even crossed her mind to take the stairs instead, the safe and sensible choice of elevation alteration method for such circumstances. But, she consoled herself, there was no time for stairs. This risk was worth it. The fate of the free world, as well as that of her thighs, depended on it.
                Bass notes of an explosion vibrated through the rock and struck the elevator shaft, shaking it disconcertingly around The Stunner. Adopting the wide-legged and spread-armed pose of the alarmed spider, she tried to brace herself against the rattling walls of the lift and keep her balance. Above her head she could hear the winches and cables groaning, grinding, and otherwise behaving as if their current circumstances were less than ideal. They were quite right to do so, but the appropriateness of their behaviour provided little comfort to the woman sealed inside.
                A particularly violent rumble overcame even The Stunner’s braced position and sent her crashing to the floor. Frantically she scrambled back up to avoid setting off any of the improvised gadgetry in her pockets, and slapped at the door open button; it was rapidly becoming clear that the lift was not a safe place to be. Ever upwards it continued to zip, however, paying no heed to The Stunner’s frenzied requests for it to stop, even when it ground against the interior of the lift shaft. The floor counter above her was cycling upwards hurriedly, taking her far past the vessel level already. Not only was the lift trying to kill her, but it was disobeying her at the same time. Two strikes.
                As she fumbled to get any source of electricity into her hand and shock the control panel, the lift wound to a halt and let out a relieved ‘bing’ as the door opened up at the top level; the conference room.
                Dark grey smoke billowed into the lift, illuminated by the red beacons flashing on the ceiling as shouts and cries rang out unseen all around her. Taking a grip on her whip, The Stunner crept forwards and felt a harsh gust of wind tear the smoke away from herself. Hench-people ran towards the external doorway, clutching what looked worryingly like weapons and confusingly like leaf blowers, attempting to clear away the smoke and gain their sight back. Makeshift barricades had been set up across the room, comprised of chairs, tables, wood, and sheets of metal, but there was no time to think about where they could possibly have come from.
                A scream surged upwards as men in military uniforms helmets burst from the smoke clutching stun batons and riot shields. The Stunner almost breathed a sigh of relief, but then she saw the rifles slung across their backs; they had breached with the intention of non-lethal combat, but had still made allowance for things to get worse.
                For their part, the hench-people who ran to meet them held lengths of plumbing pipe, U-bends, or cisterns. Scattered around the floor were bowls, or pieces of bowls, filled with brightly coloured not-so-sweets. Paper confectionery bags dangled from waist bands here and there. Professor Endtimes’ organisation, too, was prepared for war, or some horrifying parody thereof. Soldiers were bowled over by gusts of high-speed air fired from the weapons manufactured by Windy Bill. Cisterns and piping crashed into shields and bodies, thanks to Roger Toilet. Sticky laces bound themselves to visors and faces as a sucrose blindfold, courtesy of Confectionista. But at least the only stunning going on was by the side of justice, henchpeople crumpling under stun-baton strikes.
                Beyond the rushing, clashing troops, The Stunner could see dawn breaking through the vast window. A glow of emerging daylight crested the crater’s lip, as did a series of rappel lines. Even more worryingly, they had been joined by a helicopter, slowly lowering itself into the crater. The whole lair was going to be overrun simultaneously.
                “Where is the professor!?” The Stunner shouted, grabbing a nearby henchwoman by the shoulder.
                “I don’t know.” She had time to say, before a stun baton caught her on the side of the head.
                “Ugh.” The Stunner grunted, impatience trumping her feelings of guilt, before throwing the unconscious body towards her attacker. Diving into a bank of smoke, The Stunner rushed for the staircase. She had a good suspicion that the Professor would be heading down to the vessel, and the lift had already refused to take her there.
                Dark boots thumped into the long window as The Stunner ran past, abseiling downwards in the crater. The ministry were committing everything they had to this, taking drastic measures to ensure that they got to the professor. Something in Helena was desperate to get there first though. It might have been her pride getting in the way, wishing to be the one to make the arrest after all her hard work. Or possibly it was fear that they’d just execute the man, rather than trying to bring him in. Whatever the case, it was critical that she was there before the professor fell.
                The Stunner kicked the stairwell door open and flung herself down the first flight, barely allowing her feet to touch the steps as she hurried. Ahead of her the door to the second level burst open, a henchman flying backwards through it followed by a military operative clad in black. At the sound of The Stunner’s stamping bootsteps he turned to face her, bringing his stun baton up to face level and shouting something at her in Spanish.
                “I’m with the ministry! Agent Helena Burnley.” She shouted back, lifting her mask. With a dark visor covering his face, Helena was unable to look for recognition in his eyes, but his body language told all the stories it needed to. He was braced and defensive against her, keeping his baton held high and preparing to swing. The Stunner pulled her mask back down; this wouldn’t work.
                As she started moving again, the soldier lashed out, but found himself slammed into the wall by the henchman who had returned to his feet once again.
                “Thank you.” The Stunner started to say, but the henchman was already leaping in a tackle towards her, having been privy to her declaration and able to speak the language. Just barely she slipped herself out of his way and sprinted onwards down the stairs, but she only made it two more flights before disaster once again presented itself; where the rest of the staircase should have been, there was nothing but a group of eroded, slimy stubs, fizzing gently and bubbling. A sweet stench mixed with the smell of hot, oxidising metal rose up to meet The Stunner’s nose as she peered over the edge at the strewn wreckage of the staircase far below. It was instantly recognisable as Confectionista’s potent mixture from their night at Tooth’s Bane, capable of eating through steel in seconds and mercifully untested on the human body.
                “God damn it!” Helena shouted at the staircase. It was wholly unfair to hold it accountable for the situation, and it made a mental note to speak to the union about it. Meanwhile, The Stunner turned on her heel and kicked through the door, into the main kitchen level.
                Unconscious bodies littered the floor inside the doorway, covered in blinding sherbet, tranquilising foam shrimps and hallucinogenic strawberry laces. Among them were henchmen with more traditional wounds from ministry stun batons and fists. Sparing no time for triage The Stunner sprinted between the bodies and over to the lift, throwing caution to the wind for a second time. If there were no stairs at all, then it had to be her best option. The lift, however, disagreed; its red LED sign beaming ‘Out of Order’ defiantly at her. In fairness, that is how she would have described it the last time she had been in there, but fairness wasn’t the main thing on Helena’s mind at that moment.
                Punching the control panel did nothing to mend the lift’s fault, and so The Stunner’s maintenance techniques were proven ineffective. She looked around herself aimlessly, desperate to think of another way of beating Endtimes to the vessel. Maybe there was another staircase she’d missed. Maybe an emergency lift. She’d take anything.
                Rushing back through the impromptu floor dormitory, The Stunner kicked into the dining room, once again electing that it was easier to raise her foot than use her hand. A wall of heat slammed into her immediately. It was carnage inside; the tall windows facing out into the crater were shattered, subjecting the whole room to the full heat of the volcano. Everyone seemed to have more important matters on their mind than air conditioning however, engaged as they were in fierce hand-to-hand, and sometimes hand-to-confectionery combat.
                A pair of hands grabbed The Stunner, tucked away to one side of the door. Instinctively she snatched herself away and lashed out, only to find herself backhanding a henchwoman hard across the cheek.
                “Sorry! No!” the woman shrieked, cowering. “I’m on door guard, thought you were ministry.”
                The Stunner said nothing and carried on into the room, weaving through pockets of combat, ducking flying not-so-sweets and trying not to breathe in any of the sherbet clouds floating in the air. Several ministry officers seemed to have been stuck to the floor with a viscous, pink toffee substance. Glistening in the light, the toffee traps engulfed whole feet, encasing them in an adhesive sugary snare and preventing their escape from lolli-POP explosions and sherbet dust attacks.
                A wave of shouts followed her through, with henchpeople begging her for help and ministry soldiers shouting panicked orders for someone to stop her. As much as she wanted to help them, wanted to tear her mask off, declare her true identity and help to end the conflict, every wasted second put Operation Fuzzykins closer to completion. As if to agree with her, a deep seismic rumbling emanated from far below.
                A distinctive ‘thunk’ noise pulled The Stunner’s attention to one side. Using one of Windy Bill’s wind guns like a glorified peashooter, Confectionista was launching globs of the sticky pink toffee across the canteen, slapping it into unsuspecting invaders and binding them to anything nearby, including themselves.
                “Have this, Stunner!” came a shout from behind her, as something jammed hard into her back. The Stunner arched her spine and stumbled forwards, but kept her balance enough to spin on her toes and face her assailant. A ministry soldier stood in front of her, flicking a confused glance and up down between The Stunner and his baton.
                “What the…” he said, before a high-heeled bright red shoe crashed into his chest and sent him flying backwards over a table.
                “Stunner! Honey, where have you been?!” Confectionista asked, stepping her foot gracefully back down. The toffee launcher was held casually by her side.
                “I had some trouble with the lift up from the power station.” She said evasively. “I need to get to Endtimes right now but the lift’s broken and the stairs are gone.”
                “You need… argh but that was the plan sugar! If the lift and stairs are gone then the ministry can’t get to Endtimes. Course, they’ve made their own way down the outside, but the windows only go so far and Windy Bill’s holding it at the bottom.”
                Another soldier swung through the window, and Confectionista immediately glued his legs together. The Stunner looked away as henchpeople descended on him.
                “So the only way down is…” The Stunner trailed off, looking over to the window.
                “Yeah, but surely you’re not thinking of doing that!”
                “I need to get to Endtimes! He needs my help.” The Stunner lied. It slipped easily off her tongue. Effortlessly in fact, as if she really believed it. Agent Burnley’s stomach churned, worrying if The Stunner was really taking over. She walked to the broken window edge and peered upwards, carefully. Helicopters still hovered above the crater, and more soldiers were rappelling down
                “Then I’ll help too.” Confectionista decided behind her. “We’ll stand a better chance of getting to Endtimes if we go together.”
                “No. We’ve got more ministry climbing down, and a whole lot coming in from the top floor of the lair. They’re already inside and they’ll break through to here eventually. You need to keep them off my back so I can get down there." The Stunner commanded, examining a rope hanging directly in front of her.
                “The henchpeople can handle it.” Confectionista dismissed.
                “Not without a leader they can’t.”
                “Don’t be a martyr, Stunner. It’s dangerous and I’m going to protect you.”
                “If you want to protect me then make sure I’m not chased, Confectionista. Better that they never get to me than you help me fight them off.” She lectured. ‘And better that you can’t stand in the way of what I want to do.’ She thought to herself.
                Confectionista didn’t like it. She felt like she was being fobbed off, the orange wine gum being neglected at the bottom of the bag. But The Stunner had been right about these sorts of things before, so she swallowed the bitter pill of her pride.
                "Fine. You got it. Good luck sweetness." She said begrudgingly.
                The Stunner grabbed her rope, held her breath and pulled her weight up from her feet. Out of the lair and into the open crater she swung, finding that the heat there was somehow even more intense. Her gloved hands were closed tightly around the rough rope, the heat it had absorbed coming through to her skin regardless. The rubber pinched and puckered under her grip, creating rough ridges which dug in and pulled on her flesh, but The Stunner’s held on.
                Above and below her on either side were ministry soldiers and officers capable of much more confident movement in their harnesses, bouncing quickly down the edge of the wall. All The Stunner had was her own two hands and determination, but she ignored her fear and started her steady progress down. Mercifully, the abseiling ministry officers hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t one of them, their attention rather more focused on breaching the volcano lair than examining their colleagues’ backs. Effective back examination was just one more lesson she could teach her colleagues after all this was over.
                Confectionista make an ‘OK’ sign with her hands and turned her back to the window, ready to defend The Stunner from pursuit or anything else inside the lair. Feeling like a traitor to everyone else in the facility, villain or ministry, Agent Burnley slowly disappeared beyond the canteen floor level. She was terrified of slipping and falling into the lava below, wary of threats from above, and apprehensive of what might lie ahead. In simple terms, there were no directions with which Helena was at ease.
                Now clear of the canteen windows and their broken glass, The Stunner extended her legs to the hot steel of the walls and began to walk down. The viewing platform a few storeys below was the last floor with external windows; everything in the lair below that point had to be accessed from inside, and Windy Bill was acting as the gatekeeper. Glances below her mostly reminded her of the horror of willingly descending towards a lava pit, but occasionally showed her ministry soldiers swinging in through broken windows, or tossing smoke bombs or flash bang grenades inside.
                As she approached the viewing platform, a rising, wailing whine erupted from inside, audible even over the helicopters and sounds of conflict. Immediately afterwards, she saw one of the ministry soldiers come flying out again. Then another. And another.
                Helena paused her descent just above the glass as she watched half a dozen ministry soldiers thrown from the window. Some, still hanging from their rappel lines, were being held forcibly away from the wall by some unseen force, their lines bowing outwards from the straight line of descent as they slid down its length on their carabiners. Others were dangling precariously from the edge of the precipice by their fingertips. If someone didn’t help them… she didn’t want to think about it.
                Gradually the whining sound died down, and a pair of heavy work boots appeared at the edge. Dirty work overalls above them hung loose from Windy Bill’s body, the upper half unfastened and folded down to the waist. Helena gasped when she saw that his sweaty arms were wrapped around what looked like a jet engine. Exactly like one. In fact, Helena went so far as to decide that it was definitely one of the smaller jet engines from Professor Endtimes’ plane; borrowed from ‘somewhere it wouldn’t be missed’ indeed.
                Windy Bill’s grimace was twisted into a smirk. Looking down at the men clinging desperately on to the floor of the viewing platform, his shoulders started to shake. It took a few moments for Helena to pick the sound out, but he was laughing; laughing at their mortal peril, like a super villain would. Like someone whom Agent Burnley had a duty to defeat. Those men clinging on were soldiers of the ministry, who had risked their life to keep the world safe and share pasta recipes far and wide. They were hers to defend.
                "You're twistering my arm here boys. Little piggies from the ministry trying to avoid being fried! But you came into Windy Bill's house, so I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow you all down!" His turbine gun started spinning up again. "Forgive me father, for I have wind!" He cackled triumphantly.
                Rubber soles crunched into Windy Bill's face, flipping him over backwards as Agent Burnley swung into the viewing platform.
                Windy Bill skated across the floor on the backpack power supply of his turbine gun, whilst The Stunner flew out of the window again on her rope’s backswing. She hadn’t considered events that far ahead, and finding herself facing down at the lava reminded her of how pendula worked. When she ended up back inside she released her rope-sore grip and slapped loudly onto her feet.
                “Again?!” Windy Bill roared with an enraged grimace as he hauled himself back to his feet, blood running down his face. “You did it again! Saved the ministry dogs, too scared to let me finish the job! I should have had you back at the mayor’s when I had the chance.”
                “I won’t let you murder people, Windy Bill!” The Stunner told him.
                “You won’t let me!? I don’t answer to you, girl. You’re soft! You don’t have the guts to do what it takes to be a real villain.” he shouted back, raising his turbine gun back up.
                “That’s because I’m not one!” Helena shouted involuntarily. The confession had been pressing against the inside of her throat for weeks, begging to be set free. “I’m an agent of the Ministry of Extraordinary Crimes, and I won’t let you kill my men!” She bellowed, firing one wrist dart at Windy Bill’s chest, but he was ready for her; with a grunt he swung the huge turbine gun into the way, and her dart ricocheted off harmlessly.
                “You’re a traitor, Stunner. Prepare for the hurri-pain!” He shouted. Piercing, whining noise began to emanate from the turbine gun, rising threateningly and promising to blast Helena out to the fiery depths of the crater.
                “I’ve heard that one before, windbag.” Helena spat back, lunging away from the window and unsheathing her battery hammer.
                “I should never have saved you on that runway.” Windy Bill lamented furiously. Fan blades within the barrel of the turbine gun blurred as it swung after her, tracking every motion she made with murderous intent. “We let The Chauffeur get captured just to save a double-crosser? Well you’re going to feel my very cross-winds.”
                Voluminous gales of backblast erupted out at Helena, sweeping her backwards like a rubber-clad crisp packet. Boot soles squeaked shrilly against the smooth floor as she slid, catching a grip occasionally and conspiring to trip her. She leaned into the wind, trying to use her inconsiderable weight to brace herself, but it was to no avail. Helena’s feet finally shot out from underneath her and she lost balance, soaring back and crashing into one of the decorative railings. Torn from her grip, the battery hammer shot backwards and shattered yet another window as it flew into the abyss.
                Windy Bill kept his turbine gun spinning and held Agent Burnley in place with his mighty winds, forcing her against the steel bars and pressing them into her spine. Helena fought against the air pressure but it was too much; every time she raised an arm the rushing gale snapped it back into place painfully. When she tried to speak her cheeks filled with air and puffed into her mask, but at the very least it was a refreshingly cold breeze after the heat of the volcano.
                “I should have trusted my gut.” Bill shouted, creeping forwards slowly. With every step he took the pressure grew, forcing her harder against the steel rail and causing her bones to shriek in agony. “Should have known it wasn’t paranoia but genuine wind. You saved your precious mayor. You saved that agent from The Chauffeur. But there’s no-one here to save you. Those men on the edge are still going to fall, but now you’re going to join them, girl.”
                Onwards he paced, taking vile pleasures in Agent Burnley’s helpless torment. To think that she had lied to them all, ordered him around, and stopped him from taking out the mayor when he had the chance sickened him. He hefted the turbine gun up onto one shoulder and, from his waistband, pulled out a wide fan blade, sharpened to a razor point.
                “These winds’ll cut right through you.” He growled with a sneering grimace, pressing the edge of his fan machete against the pinned Stunner’s cheek.
                “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Confectionista shrieked, skidding across the floor on her knees from the direction of the window. Deftly she slipped back onto her feet and grabbed Windy Bill’s wrist, holding the blade back.
                “Get off me! She’s a traitor!” Windy Bill shouted.
                “What?!” Confectionista looked at Helena, contorted painfully against the steel. “You great ogre, she’d never betray us! She’s Endtimes’ most trusted villain for Christ’s sake!”
                “Shedder must have worked it out, and she shut him up before he could get back to the prof. She’s ministry! Now she’s trying to save their tin soldiers. She attacked me!” He bellowed in aggreivement, his bloodied face lending credence to his claims. The turbine gun was still bearing upon Helena, and she felt like her bones might snap at any second.
                “I don’t believe you. You don’t look electrocuted to me.” Confectionista denied.
                “That’s because I’m not the kind of easy target she’s used to. Now get your hands off me so I can deal with her!”
                “I can only see one of you attacking the other right now, Bill, and it’s not her.” Confectionista refused, her face twisting into a frown.
                Windy Bill’s grimace deepened into impenetrable disgust.
                “You’ve got one more chance to let me go, sweetheart.” he threatened, his rage morphing into calculated coldness.
                “She’s under my protection, Bill.” Confectionista snarled back.
                “Pah!” he laughed, jerking his arm out of her grip and whamming it into her stomach. Confectionista doubled over, hugging an arm around her gut.
                “You’ve got her fooled, but not me Stunner. There’s no light at the end of the wind tunnel for you.” His arm brought the blade above his head.
                Before he had a chance to bring it down, Confectionista sprang back up and slapped sherbet dust into his eyes.
                “Arggh!” he wailed, twisting to one side and rubbing his eyes into one elbow. The turbine gun fell to the ground heavily, and immediately the pressure was released from Helena. She collapsed away from the railings, pathetic squeaking sounds escaping from her mouth as her punished joints folded back into shape. Through eyes blurred and watery from the winds and the pain, she saw Confectionista kick the blade out of Windy Bill’s hand.
                “Get up, Stunner! I’ve got you.” Confectionista called.
                The Stunner was curled on the ground, limbs shaking as she tried to stand, and trying desperately to slow her breathing. Everything hurt.
                “You’re both going to pay now.” Windy Bill growled, wiping at his face with one great hand.
                “No-one hurts her without going through me first.” Confectionista shot back, sounding more bureaucratic than she intended.
                “Not a problem.” Windy Bill promised, lunging forwards with a haymaker, the turbine gun power cables trailing behind him. Confectionista pirouetted out of his way.
                “Get up Stunner!” she pleaded again, hopping backwards to avoid another blow. Even with the vast weight of his turbine gun pulling against him like a ball and chain, Windy Bill was throwing out crushing blows like set of fleshy pistons.
                Helena panted and pressed upwards into a crouch, watching the turbine scrape slowly across the floor. The vast apertures at either end were too inviting. With one hand she fumbled in her pocket, and pulled out a hastily soldered collection of wires, triggers and batteries.
                Windy Bill feinted left, then swung out his right arm when Confectionista took the bait. His hammer fist crashed into the side of her head and sent her straight to the floor.
                “Another worthless piece of windfall.” He grizzled.
                Helena threw the improvised ball of electricals directly the barrel of Windy Bill’s turbine gun whilst he was distracted with gloating.
                “The lighting storm’s just beginning, Bill.” She wheezed. He looked over at her darkly and balled his fists, then yelped as his power pack erupted in fizzing, jolting, sparking arcs of electricity. From the inside of the turbine gun, The Stunner’s battery grenade was pulsing electricity out and short circuiting the vast power cells on Bill’s back. His muscles went into spasm as current surged through him, collapsing his body to the ground and sending him dancing across the floor. Steel scraped against the floor as he writhed and the turbine gun wobbled behind him like a tail. Finally, with a pop and a crackle, the power pack burned out. With smoke gently rising, Windy Bill lay still on the ground, breathing laboriously and no longer prevailing upon anyone.
                “Jesus! That was one hell of a shock.” Confectionista said without a hint of irony, pressing one hand to the side of her head. “Are you alright?”
                “I’m good. I’m good. Thanks.” Helena said, wincing as she tried to straighten out her back.
                “What the hell happened?” Confectionista asked, woozily finding her feet.
                “He was going to murder people. I don’t do murder.” The Stunner said. “Although if you hadn’t arrived then I think it would have been done to me. Thank you.”
                “I couldn’t just hang around and let you go running into danger like that, Stunner. When I saw your hammer fly out of the window I didn’t think twice.”
                “Apparently not. But speaking of danger…”
                The Stunner looked over at the window edge, and saw the inconvenienced ministry soldiers pulling themselves up. More officers on rappel lines were supporting them from outside and preparing to enter. She had to get moving.
                “I need to get to the professor.” Helena reiterated.
                “Go. I can deal with these guys.” Confectionista said, rubbing at her head where Bill had punched her.
                Helena looked at her had terrifying visions of the girl getting herself shot, trying to take the world on solo to protect her friend. She’d already paid more than her dues to The Stunner.
                “I’m afraid not, Confectionista.” Helena murmured.
                “What?” she asked innocently. Suddenly her eyes went wide, facing directly into The Stunner’s, as a full discharge from the battery whip coursed into her body.
                “I’m so sorry, honey. This is the only way to keep you safe.” The Stunner said, grappling with the jerking girl’s body and lowering her gently to the floor. Even through the twitches and flinching, betrayal and confusion were carved into her face. “No time to explain.” Helena said, tears forming unbidden in her eyes. “I need to stop the professor.”
                Unwrapping her arms from underneath Confectionista’s stunned body, Agent Burnley ran through the double doors leading down to the operational control room before the ministry soldiers could get to her. From there she would be able to reach the vessel antechamber and find Professor Endtimes. She only hoped that capturing Confectionista would make the ministry pause for long enough to let her get away.
                The wide, shallow staircase led down to the same, still unmanned, desks she had seen the night before. As she sprinted along the space between wheelie chairs and workstations, she was half relieved and half concerned that a wide array of machinery in the volcano lair was apparently not being controlled. Killing the power to it had seemed like such a good idea before, but now she considered that perhaps some of those machines were intended to keep the lair safe from a volcanic eruption.
                A red dot appeared on the glass monitor in front of Helena, distracting her from her hypothesising. She looked curiously at it for a second as she kept approaching. From behind an explosive sonic-boom filled the room, and the glass monitor in front of her shattered. She skidded to a halt.
                “Stand down, Stunner.” Agent Porter’s voice ordered.
                Slowly, Helena turned on the spot and looked back up the room. Agent Porter and a squad of ministry soldiers stood in a tight group at the top of the staircase, rifles all aimed at her. Red laser sights danced across her body.
                “Porter? I’m Agent Burnley and you know it. We have to stop Professor Endtimes now! He’s going to make the volcano erupt and-”
                “Silence! Lay down your weapons and get on the floor Stunner.” Agent Porter ordered. His face was bruised and cut from being slammed into the road barely two days before, and he didn’t seem in the mood for a tearful reunion as he approached down the staircase.
                “He’s planning to release radioactive material in the eruption! I need to stop him!”
                “I said to lay down your arms and get on the floor.” He repeated, marching onwards with his weapon raised whilst his squad held positions on the stairs. “Now!”
                “Damn it, Porter! I’m on your side!” Helena pleaded.
                “Then those lightning pylons were your way of helping us were they?” he said, apparently sore about the mass electrocutions.
                “The Super Stunner was a mistake, it-”
                “The Super Stunner?! Listen to yourself you vagrant. You’ve named a superweapon which struck the whole city. There were people laying in the road, unable to move! You fried the whole station, blew out our equipment, and injured our people! You attacked me in the street whilst stealing Shedder from our custody! And you’re on our side?!” Agent Porter yelled, displeased by an awful lot of The Stunner’s antics.
                “I’m sorry, Porter! It wasn’t meant to be used. I didn’t mean for things to go that way.”
                “Save it. We’ve all had Apologiser defence training, Stunner. Those tricks won’t work anymore.” Porter sneered, almost on top of her. “We saw how you nobly sacrificed Confectionista to buy yourself time, but thankfully it doesn’t take more than one of us to subdue an unconscious girl. Now get on the floor or we’ll subdue you too. Unless you’d rather wait for Agent Carmichael and her assault team to get down here and have the honour?” he threatened, sending all the blood out of Helena’s stomach. Using gun-violence against a fellow officer like this was bad enough, but holding the threat of unleashing Lisa Carmichael was straight-up evil.
                A crashing of metal hitting the ground snapped Agent Porter’s attention away. At the side of the room a large section of metal casing, like a hollow cabinet, had fallen away from atop a long server rack. Atop it was Roger Toilet, sitting astride a backwards facing lavatory. Judging by the unusually fine shaping it must have been the professor’s executive loo, and perhaps not the best item to wrench out. Like the tentacles of a fallen squid, pipes ran out of the walls and into his own porcelain throne, whilst several other toilets of various designs ran along the server rack to either side of him.
                “If you’re feeling hot then urine luck!” he cackled, his voice amplified through a toilet bowl precariously balanced near to his head, before pulling the flush lever down. An ominous rushing and gurgling swelled from behind him, shocking a pressure wave of tension along the flexing pipes. A cacophanous burst of noise accompanied the rushing of water as Roger aimed the toilet’s outlet pipe like a cannon, blasting a jet stream out to overcome the ministry’s men in white foaming torrents.
                “Let me tell you a lavastory!” his voice boomed, reverberating around the room. Astounding as the volume of rushing water was, Roger’s toilet bowl auditorium amplified his voice over the water sounds easily.
                “It was a summer evening, towards the end of my shift at Plumbing the Depths. I’d almost sold a top-of-the-line FlushMaster Turbo when the buyer pulled out at the last minute. My price had been undercut by those knobheads at Massive Waste over the road.”
                Roger hosed down the squad of men until they were flowing down the waterfall, which had until recently been a flight of stairs. Some had dropped their weapons, all had lost their footing, and most were giving up any intentions they had of volunteering for these kinds of missions again. Agent Porter’s gaze flicked between The Stunner and Roger Toilet. The conflict on his face between locking down The Stunner and helping his squad was plain to read.
                “I was having a good old mope in the corner of the sales office, waiting for the call to say it was over. That was it for me, I thought. My bundle. Head office wanted to kick me out for underperforming and that sale had been my last shot to turn things around as the store’s assistant manager. But I hatched a plan to get my own back before they could fire me.”
                Whether suffering a crisis of conscience or worn down by Roger Toilet’s monologue, Porter swung his weapon up to face the loo menace. Helena didn’t waste a second in lashing out with her battery whip, cracking it across his knuckles and spilling the rifle out of his hands. Two more quick blows against the backs of his knees in rapid succession put him on the floor, but he wouldn’t stun; he must have still been wearing his insulated under-armour.
                “I pulled my bicycle up to the back door, ready to load it up with as many toilets as I could carry on the cross-bar, but in my frenzy I accidentally stole a radioactive toilet that someone had stashed out back! The change in me was immediate and complete; I knew that I was no longer the struggling assistant manager I had once been. I had become the Porcelain Prince, the Basin Bandit! Truly then I started to plumb the depths of loo-nacy, and I’ll cis-turn the world into my own personal bathroom!”
                Helena couldn’t help but feel for Roger Toilet. She knew that he was trying to sound grandiose and fight like a true villain, but his words just made him sound like he was planning to soil himself wherever he chose. Shouting it out whilst sitting on a toilet, even in reverse, did little to help that image. Still, at least he’d listened to her advice and found a better context for his cistern pun. Ex-cistern-ce was still better in her opinion, but Roger had to find his own way.
                “I’ve got you covered!” Roger Toilet shouted down to The Stunner whilst hosing down the men. “Zap ‘em!”
                “No time! I need to help the Professor!” she claimed, reluctant to take down a whole squad of ministry soldiers this close to Professor Endtimes. She might need the backup.
                “Alright, I’ll handle them then. You go.” Roger said acceptingly. He was far easier to get around than either Windy Bill or Confectionista. He even swung his water-cannon around and gave Agent Porter a soaking for good measure.
                With Porter incapacitated, The Stunner ran for the doors at the far end, hearing shouted orders and grunts behind her. Skidding to a halt she grabbed at the handle, pushing it down so hard that she thought she might lift herself off the ground, but it didn’t move.
                “Roger! It’s locked!” she shouted up.
                “Oh yeah! I did that. You’ll need the key.” He said helpfully but uselessly. “One second.”              He dug around in one of his pockets and produced a single, round-ended key, holding it out proudly to show The Stunner.
                Helena let out something between a roar and a sigh of frustration. As she motioned to run towards Roger a gunshot made her jump almost out of her skin, and a moment’s fear that Roger had been killed swept over her. She shot her gaze up towards him and saw the stream of water from his toilet cannon splutter out, and the pipe behind him rupture from a bullet hole.
                “Low-flush won’t save you any more than it’ll save the planet.” Roger Toilet shouted, exposing his questionable opinions on environmentalism for the sake of wordplay. Agent Porter, on his knees with his rifle raised, was training his sights back on the self-styled Porcelain Prince.
                “Be careful Roger!” Helena shouted.
                “Fear not! They’re no match for my U-merangs!” Roger shouted, ducking behind his cistern for cover. A few moments later he popped back up hurling out U-bends distorted into boomerangs with startling accuracy. Helena couldn’t help wondering if this is what he’d spent his days doing at the plumbing shop as the thick PVC piping struck soldier and ground alike, sounding like a plastic digeridoo at every impact. Agent Porter was knocked off balance by a direct hit to the groin, which was doubly impressive considering that he was crouched.
                In the brief respite afforded to him by the U-merangs, Roger Toilet ran along the row of toilets on the server rack and kicked the last one off the end, hopping down after it. Sweeping it into his arms like a ceramic baby, he dipped and darted between the rows of desks until he reached The Stunner, running back towards the doors.
                “You will both stand down this instant!” Agent Porter bellowed to Helena and Roger. When they ignored him, he fired off a pair of warning shots into the doorframe above their heads and started to sprint over.
                Roger plonked his toilet down and crouched behind it for cover, The Stunner following suit.
                “He’s got us pinned down. I can try one of my stun grenades but he’s insulated. It might not work.”
                “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” Roger said, ripping the toilet seat off and elegantly tossing it out in a single crouched pirouette. Perhaps stunned momentarily by the boldness of what he was seeing, Agent Porter didn’t even try to move out of the way. The seat struck him squarely on the forehead, and Roger Toilet immediately leapt out and unlocked the door.
                “There you go, Stunner.” He said, waving her through. Accepting his invitation she rushed through, and immediately heard the doors slam shut, with Roger still on the other side, locking them.
                "Get to the professor. I'll give you all the time I can." He said with a commanding confidence that Helena had never expected from him. He disappeared for a second then re-emerged with his toilet in arms. With a single swing he smashed it down onto the door handle, shearing it off and rendering the door inoperable from his side.
                "Good luck, Stunner." He said with a nod, before unhooking two chain-flush nunchakus from his toolbelt. Swinging them threateningly towards Agent Porter and his men, he didn’t seem to grasp the consequences of his adversaries all possessing firearms, whilst he himself was wielding plumbing equipment.
                “Roger, no!” The Stunner screamed through the door, terrified that he was about to get himself killed.
                “Roger, yes!” Roger Toilet bounced back, before leaping forwards to meet his foes and disappearing among the banks of computers.
                Helena forced herself to turn away from the door. She would have loved to say that she was sure Porter wouldn’t kill him, but lacked that confidence. The best she could do was make sure that Roger’s entirely unnecessary sacrifice hadn’t been in vain, by doing the exact opposite of what she’d told him she was doing.
                Standing patiently by the wall, tendrils of wire winding out of it, was The Stunner’s last pylon. It was right where she’d left it the previous night, still plugged into the wall and looking undisturbed. Helena hurried to the heavy external door, which felt a bit over-specified now that half of the upstairs windows were gone, and looked through the glass. Despite expecting to see him, and having gone there actively looking for him, she still gasped when she saw Professor Endtimes standing out there on the walkway. He was pressing buttons and turning dials on a control panel mounted to the side of the huge egg-shaped vessel. It seemed that her pylon hadn’t killed the power to it after all. Within it was the full payload of Operation Fuzzykins, Professor Endtimes’ nefarious plot to ‘unleash the potential’ of everyone on the planet. Whatever altruistic contrivance he tried to use as a justification, Helena wouldn’t let him poison the whole world, or turn them into maniacs like Shedder or The Librarian.
                Her heart pounding, The Stunner returned to her pylon and checked every wire. Frustrated when she could find no fault, she tore another bunch of wires out of the wall and stabbed them against the pylon’s frame. Electrical clicks and hums immediately began to chatter their way along it, building up for a violent discharge. It took only a few seconds before firing, but this time it wasn’t into any innocent bystanders. The full pounding charge slammed back into the power circuit in a single, righteous lightning strike. One by one in rapid succession the bulbs overhead exploded, showering glass over the antechamber. The background whir of air circulation died away, dropping a layer of silence onto Helena like a feather duvet. The faint sounds of conflict elsewhere still made their way to her through the walls, and the disconcertingly deep rumblings continued unabated.
                All along the walkway the floor lighting had gone dark, something which had not escaped Professor Endtimes’ notice. Puzzlement overran his face briefly when he saw The Stunner through the window, but then he went back to his tinkering, entirely unfazed. Helena cursed; even now her pylon hadn’t killed power to the vessel. He’d isolated it. Helena cursed him and the way he always thought of everything. But she wasn’t giving up.
                She leaned hard on the handle, and it leaned right back against her, unyielding and distinctly locked. Frustrated and desperate, she kicked the door once, twice, and a third time, but it wouldn’t give. Endtimes looked up again at the commotion and, seeing The Stunner trying to bust through the door, waved his arms in an urgent ‘stop doing that!’ fashion. Not so much to his satisfaction as his slightly decreased horror, the Stunner obeyed, although in reality it was more to do with the pain in her foot than any respect for Endtimes’ orders.
                Helena knew she was running out of time. There was no force in the world that could hold back Agent Carmichael on a death-charge, and with a whole military strike force to give her momentum Helena was terrified of what might be coming her way. She’d probably be leaping down the gap in the staircase at that very moment.
                Broken lift on one side, Porter’s squad on another, and a collapsed staircase on the last, there was no way to go around. Helena had to get through the door, and wished she hadn’t lost her battery hammer, but there was something else which might work.
                Thick rubber keeping her hands safe, The Stunner heaved her pylon over to the external door, wires tearing free of the conduit running overhead and falling behind her. Agent Burnley lifted the pylon high above her head, tip towards the window, and caught Professor Endtimes’ warning eye through the glass. It was like that of a cat owner watching a paw hover next to a full glass of water at the table edge, daring it to find out just how dire the consequences of poorly chosen actions could be. The Stunner looked back, not breaking eye contact for even a second, and brought the steel frame crashing through the glass. It was very much not in the spirit of the professor’s request for her to stop kicking the door, and the expression on his face made that perfectly clear.
                “What are you doing!? Hold them off me, I just need a few more minutes!” He snapped at her as the familiar wave of heat slapped her in the face.
                “You’ll get nothing more.” The Stunner said, awkwardly clambering through the broken window. Shards of glass poking from the frame scratched at her, tearing the rubber and leather of her suit as she birthed herself onto the other side of the door. Hands first she landed on the walkway, crumpling into a heap and then composing herself. Professor Endtimes was looking at her suspiciously.
                “What’s going on, Stunner? You have your orders to defend me, now do your job!”
                “I am doing my job, professor.” Helena replied humourlessly. She held the pylon up in front of herself, then tossed the live end onto the metal walkway. Still connected to the main power supply of the lair, current surged through it and electrified the whole structure. Sparks crackled and flickered where every burst bulb had been. The pylon ticked and crackled like electric fencing, threatening anyone nearby to the shocking of a lifetime. And Professor Endtimes stayed standing, now looking distinctly unimpressed.
                “Did you really think that would work? That I wouldn’t have taken precautions against that kind of treachery?!” he shouted, fury sounding alien but terrifying in his tone. He seemed more offended by the assumption that he wouldn’t be insulated than The Stunner’s actual betrayal. “I would have thought that by now you’d understand; I have planned for everything!”
                Agent Burnley fired her other wrist dart out, slamming it home perfectly in the centre of his chest. It stuck fast in the jumper under his lab coat, but still nothing happened.
                “Honestly, Stunner. Give it up.” He said, yanking it out then quickly turning around and hammering a few more of the vessel controls.
                “Not another move, Endtimes!” Helena shouted at him.
                “Or you’ll what? Fail to electrocute me again? I thought you knew better than to fight a lost battle. I knew you were ambitious but this is hardly the right time for a power play. You’re in my lair, surrounded by people loyal to me. Curb your enthusiasm before it’s the end of you.” He chastised her, showing remarkable restraint. “I suppose your pylons killing the power wasn’t a malfunction after all?”
                “Stop right now, or I’ll shoot.” Helena ordered, ignoring his question.
                Professor Endtimes turned to face her again, a curious frown on his face. The Stunner had pulled a revolver on him and was aiming it strangely low.
                “That’s not your style.” He said with narrowed eyes.
                “Yes it is.” She said, reaching up one hand and pulling her mask off. “I’m Agent Helena Burnley of the Ministry of Extraordinary Crimes, and you’re under arrest for super-villainy of the most diabolical order. Step away from the vessel.”
                Professor Endtimes stared at her. His expression was as static as a photograph of a painting of a mountain. His eyes still had some of their fatherly compassion, even through the anger and the evil intent, but if he’d been at all affected by her revelation then they gave nothing away.
                “Maybe you were her once, but not anymore.” He answered finally, his fury apparently dissipating. “You’ve grown beyond her into something better, someone who can shape the world as she sees fit.”
                “Step away!” she repeated.
                “How many more of my villains did you bring down as The Stunner than Agent Burnley, hm? How much more effective have you been? How much more freedom have you enjoyed?”
                “Vigilantism isn’t justice.” Helena countered.
                “But you did it anyway, and you got results. Results that the ministry have been desperate for.”
                “I…”
                “And you can keep doing it. I never held it against you. I had to stop you for a while otherwise I wouldn’t have had an organisation left, but Operation Fuzzykins is done now. You can follow your own moral compass, your own way, with me.” Professor Endtimes offered.
                Helena shook her head to break the grip of his words.
                “No. I took things too far. People got hurt.”
                “People have to get hurt sometimes. It can be the only way to save them. I won’t pretend that you aren’t hurting me now with this ingratitude. But if you offer it, then I will still accept your contrition, Stunner. It's more than the ministry will. You have a gift for this and it's not a surprise that you were the star of the ministry in a previous life.
                I realise now that you must be feeling conflicted. This isn’t a case of selfish ambition but a crisis of conscience and I can respect that. But it's not too late to come back to me. You have acted according to morals and to what you thought was right, and you have still been startlingly effective, which I can respect. I am willing forgive you even for taking The Chauffeur away from me, but I take it from your lack of escort that your old ministry friends have been less accepting of your actions?"
                Agent Burnley’s hands shook, the barrel of her revolver quivering.
                “I need to pay for what I’ve done. They shouldn’t let me off.” She told him, not sure which one of them she was trying to convince.
                “Paying for living a double life in pursuit of justice? For doing your job? Is that what you think you deserve?” Professor Endtimes asked her with his characteristic paternal concern.
                Helena moved her mouth to answer, but a bright white floodlight took her off guard, blinding her. She raised both arms across her face, and the professor made a series of rapid movements across the control panel, pressing buttons like a concert pianist.
                “We have you surrounded. Cease your nefarious activity and submit quietly.” A loudspeaker boomed into the crater from above.
                “Looks like you have some attention of your own there, Stunner. Do they seem friendly to you?”
                “I don’t care anymore. I just want this mission to have been worth it. This is going too far, Endtimes, you must be able to see that. You don’t want people to suffer or die. But you’d better believe me when I say they will if Operation Fuzzykins goes ahead.” Helena argued.
                “The fun thing about beliefs, Stunner,” he said, turning his head towards her and smiling “is that no matter how strong they are, the truth is still the truth. They can’t change it. Operation Fuzzykins is for the good of everyone.”
                “The truth? Like that truth that you were here before and failed? Like the truth that you realised you needed to hire in help, because you couldn’t do it all alone? Like the truth that you want to create yourself an army of supervillains so that you can truly be in charge?” Agent Burnley reacted angrily, his dismissive tone irking her.
                Professor Endtimes chuckled. Then he snorted. Then he laughed deeply, from the belly.
                “Oh, Stunner. You don’t really think I came here and did all the dirty work myself do you? It probably would have gone better if I had been on my own, granted, but no, I had henchpeople here with me; tens of them. The government thought I was an environmental researcher and just let me bring everything up without question. I doubt they even realise their mistakes now.” He said with sounds of faint amusement.
                “But… the employment records on your machine all start after the Colombia job…”
                “I went through some turnover. Like, the turnover of my lair into the crater, with the doors locked, and anyone who’d failed me and might have opened their mouths sealed inside.” Professor Endtimes told her emotionlessly.
                Helena’s jaw dropped. She’d dismissed it out of hand. Not for a second had she entertained the idea that he might have gone that far.
                “What? You…”
                “I killed them all, Stunner. They failed me and died for it. It transpires that there were flaws in my designs, glaring flaws which should have been obvious to anyone working on the equipment. But I heard nothing of this until it was too late, and my previous vessel of hard-won materials was engulfed, intact, by the rising tide of magma.” His fist clenched and released. “No-one said a word to me, as they built something doomed to failure from the start. But I learned a lesson, a very necessary one. The people in my organisation were scared of me, and wouldn’t bring me the information I needed in case it displeased me. My wrath was so… passionate that it kept them at bay.
                I lost my temper in the Colombia job, one last act of childish rage, but it gave me the chance to start over fresh. I knew that something had to change. So I adopted a new stance of forgiveness, biting my tongue and welcoming my associates as valued members of the organisation, even if they bore bad news. It was difficult at first, swallowing my instinct to throw fury in their faces, but as time went on it just became second nature. And do you know what? Suddenly, by supporting them, I started to know everything. My henchpeople and my villainous associates came to me with everything, good and bad, because they felt like I cared. I was able to run more effectively than I ever thought possible because I knew when things went wrong. The Librarian told me immediately about The Glazier’s capture and the failure of our kidnapping. I knew the instant that Shedder’s Garden Centre of the Damned went up in flames. And you know that I was told about Confectionista’s airport sweet shop being raided whilst it was still happening.
                Nurturing my people’s own plans soon followed. I wondered how far I could take the nice act. As soon as I gave a show of care and faith, as soon as my people thought me their kindly, bumbling friend, they would do anything for me. Anything. And they would do it so well! You don’t get loyalty like The Chauffeur’s without that. You don’t convince henchpeople to dress as confectioners and burgle a sweet factory without that.”
                “You manipulated them all. Used them. Used me.” Helena said, stating the obvious.
                “I behaved in a certain way, and you all freely offered your help. What difference is there between me doing all the things that a nice person would do, and me actually being nice?” he countered. “I don’t think there is one. Eventually, helping my associates to develop felt… different. It became enjoyable, not just a means to an end. Look at how far I have helped you come along! I feel such pride! You could do such wonderful things now, Stunner. You’ve even been able to stage this little act of rebellion here, in a lair filled with those loyal to me as well as my enemies. I am offering you the chance to stick with me and oversee the new generation of super humans. We are only criminals because our passions don’t fit into the moulds that society has given us, and you’re so indoctrinated by the ministry that you’re still tied up in that belief. But give everyone this clarity of purpose, our singular goals, and no-one is a villain anymore. We are all free to be who we have the potential to be.”
                A red laser dot scanned erratically across The Stunner’s chest, as if trying to tempt a nearby cat into pouncing. She shot her focus upwards and saw a dark shape with a red laser flashing from it, gradually resolving into the shape of a man, slowly descending on a rappel line from the helicopter above and trying to hold his rifle steady. Thick harnesses covered his body, and an open-faced helmet secured his head. It was certainly bold of him to think that he might be able to aim accurately whilst suspended from a helicopter in turbulent volcano air, but considering how frequently the red dot was on her body, he wasn’t doing too badly.
                Being successfully aimed at snapped Helena out of the argument, and she remembered her urgency.
                “Why are you telling me this? Do you really think you can sway me? You said yourself that standing around expositing your plans is a rookie move.” Helena asked, thinking out loud. She realised what was going on as she spoke.
                Another deep rumble swelled up from the bottom of the crater. Like thunder it rolled upwards, channelled by the walls, and the walkway started to tremble.
                “Oldest trick in the book.” Professor Endtimes said, smiling as he casually flicked another switch. Another rumbling, louder and more sustained than before, gurgled up and vibrated the rocky walls around them, until small chunks of rock crumbled away and fell into the lava below. “My seismic agitators are at full power now. Thanks to you killing the power, I had to come out here and do everything manually, so I also had to keep you talking long enough to let that happen.” He said with an almost apologetic half-smile. “One more blast like that and I think we’ll release enough pressure for Nevado del Huila to erupt again. And our payload here” he patted the metal vessel with one hand “will release when the pressure hits its trigger. It’ll fly high and set the people of this world free. They’ll be unbound from what holds them back, ready to become everything they truly could be inside, and it’s all thanks to us.”
                “Power them down.” Helena ordered, furious with herself for being duped by the professor yet again.
                “The eruption is happening. It may as well already have happened, in fact. I can’t stop it anymore. You can’t stop it anymore. Nothing can.”
                “Lower the gun and remain still, Helena.” Another voice boomed from the megaphone above. This time it was one she recognised, despite the distortion and noise. Helena looked up and her stomach back-flipped as she put the images and the sounds together; it was Agent Katter. He was better. He was here. And he was aiming a weapon at her.
                “I have you in my sights.” He exaggerated, wobbling on the unsteady line. “Don’t harm the hostage. We can talk this out, but if you move, I will fire.”
                “It’s Endtimes!” Helena screamed upwards, frustrated, but Agent Katter showed no sign of having heard over the din of the helicopter.
                “You see, Stunner? They think you’re a hostage taker! They’ve turned on you. No matter how brightly you shone before, they have forsaken you.” Endtimes persisted.
                “Oh who even says ‘forsaken’ anymore you old coot?” Helena snapped. “And stop calling me Stunner!”
                “What else could I possibly call you? You’ll always be The Stunner to me, and I shall always be proud of you. Not like them. They’ve already written you off.”
                Steel screeched as the walkway shifted and the vessel started to list over to one side. Vibrations from the rumbles had gradually become quakes, attempting to shake the volcano lair apart and not doing a half-bad job. The lava down below grew more violent in its activity, spitting great plumes of molten rock into the air and showering glowing detritus across the crater walls. Professor Endtimes was serious; he’d actually, seriously, genuinely made a volcano erupt. Helena could add ‘seismologist’ and ‘geologist’ to ‘mad scientist and engineer’ in her report on the professor. Or her confession to the ministry. Whichever one they let her give.
                “There has to be a way to put an end to the eruption.” She said, trying to ignore his words.
                “No, there doesn’t. We’re past the point of no return. But one more button is all it will take for us to complete Operation Fuzzykins, Stunner. In a few moments we will have succeeded, think about that! You can taste the pride of a truly grand nefarious plot coming to fruition, dwarfing the Super Stunner.” The metal walkway underneath Helena groaned and twisted, rivets popping free from their holes as stress moved through the structure. The vessel platform on which Professor Endtimes was standing was creeping further over onto its side. “You’ll understand the right of what we’ve done here, in time.” He said, completely calm, as he started to raise his arm towards the control panel. He really believed that she would come back to him, and he had a track record of success. The thought of it played on Helena’s mind and scared her.
                “Hold it right there!” She screamed at him, thrusting the gun forwards as it he might have forgotten about it. “An eruption is bad enough. I won’t let you release the payload!” She forced herself to focus on the present moment.
                “Relax Stunner. It’s natural to get cold feet, even with ground this hot.” He said with his paternal chuckle.
                Drifting forwards like a heavily armed pantomime fairy, Agent Katter kept his weapon trained on the vicinity of the Stunner, which was really the best he could hope for under the circumstances. Still deaf to the shouted confrontation below, Agent Katter repeated his orders to Helena.
                “Let the hostage go, Agent Burnley. Do not harm the scientist.”
                “It’s the professor, damn it Katter!” she shouted up in futility. “I promise you, professor, I will fire if you try to press that button.” She said, turning back to him and hoping that she wasn’t bluffing. She couldn’t tell anymore. “I’m getting out of this crater unburned, and you’re coming with me, right now.”
                “If only we’d had more time, Stunner, I would have agreed. I had been working on the automated trigger but after your escapades with Shedder we had to make an early move.” Professor Endtimes paused, and then sighed. “I suppose he was only trying to warn us about you when you got him arrested, wasn’t he? I just wish he’d waited until after the jailbreak; at least then the ministry would have been too distracted to chase me down here. That was the plan, you know. And I should have made it clearer that he stuck to it before making any rash moves of his own. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but always comes a little late to be useful. Regardless, I ran out of time, so now we need to be here to set the trigger appropriately.”
                Agent Katter’s shadow passed across her as he swung pendulously overhead. Turbulent spurts of hot air were rising from the aggravated lava below, and the helicopter pilot was struggling to keep control. Suspended by several metres of rappel line, Katter was feeling every lurch and swing amplified, but still valiantly attempted to display some kind of dignity and authority.
                Under Helena’s feet, sections of the reinforcing structure squealed against one another, grinding a way downwards as they buckled. The vessel started to shake more vigorously as its support structures buckled away. She knew that they’d both die if they didn’t get out of there soon, but she couldn’t bring herself to execute an unarmed man. Least of all one who was actively trying to forgive her. She’d get him out of here, even if it meant carrying him. If only Katter would stop aiming at her and let her move.
                “As your arresting officer I am ordering you to step this way! It’s not safe here.” She shouted.
                “Don’t be silly, Stunner.” The professor chuckled. “You’re The Stunner, not my arresting officer. And if we’re in danger then you can thank yourself for turning off all my countermeasures and fine tuning equipment. The lair wouldn’t be collapsing if it was all still working. But we’ll be fine. We have time. Just calm down.” His arm rose further.
                Katter was nearly on top of her, in a very literal sense. Her time was running out.
                “Just come quietly! I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t make me do this, professor!” Helena pleaded. She wished that he would take the threat of her weapon seriously.
                “Trust me, Stunner.”
                “Please!”
                “It’s for the greater good. We will need to run once I hit the button, though, I grant you that. We can’t be here through the eruption, and neither can they.” He said, nodding up towards the helicopter.
                “I can’t let you do this!” she warned with her voice cracking and tears rolling down her face.
                “You won’t shoot me. I know that this is right for the world and so do you. We’re in it together.” Professor Endtimes said with sincere confidence and reassurance as his fingers made contact with the button.
                Her gunshot echoed inside the crater, bouncing off the craggy, crumbling walls and assailing her from every angle. She’d fired just as much to prove him wrong as to stop Operation Fuzzykins, and on some level she hoped he knew that. Professor Endtimes folded backwards with wide, shocked eyes, staring at the control panel drifting slowly away from him. Blood started to soak the left knee of his corduroy trousers. His hand was stretched outwards towards the button still, fingers extending as far as they could go to arm the trigger, but it was out of reach. His back slammed into the guardrail at the edge of the tilting vessel and became a fulcrum, over which he flipped backwards into the air. A single instant was all it took, and Professor Endtimes was gone.
                Helena didn’t move, engulfed by a wave of numbness; the numbness which accompanies clarity following a wrathful act. She’d taken this job as an agent of the ministry, entered the volcano lair as a super-villain, and now she was a murderer.
                Timing the drop to avoid plummeting into lava, Julian released his harness and crashed onto the ruined walkway behind Helena. He was back on his feet in an instant.
                “Hands where I can see them, Burnley. It’s over for you. Where’s Endtimes? Where’s the hostage?” he barked, barrel of his gun trained on her back
                “That was him! It was Endtimes!” She said angrily as she turned around. The vessel let out a metallic shriek and continued grinding its way over to one side.  “He made me do it, Julian! I had no choice but to fire. He was going to release the payload. I didn’t mean to kill him! Why wouldn’t you let me move over to him!” she shrieked through the tears.
                “Drop the gun, Burnley.” He ordered, ignoring her.
                “I’m still on your side Julian!” She cried, her own shaking masked by the rumbling of the walkway.
                “Those pylons in the city weren’t. Did you build them?” he demanded.
                Another squeal sang out from the collapsing girders, overriding her guilt with a reminder of her own mortal peril.
                “This is not the time for that! The volcano is going to erupt! We need to get out of here!”
                “Did you build the pylons, Burnley?” he repeated.
                “They were never supposed to-”
                “Did you build them?!” This time it was a shout.
                “Yes, but-”
                “But nothing.”
                “For Christ’s sake I saved you, Katter! And I took down the bastards who tried to kill you! I pulled your bloody body out of a glass house in burning field! I took down The Glazier, The Librarian and X-directory for doing that to you!” she screamed, furious with him for not seeing that already.
                “And then you built a superweapon which could have killed people.”
                “Now is not the time for this! You can berate me as much you like later, but we need to get away from here before the eruption.” She snarled in frustration.
                “Then drop the gun.”
                “For… fine. You can have it, here.” She said, roughly thrusting it towards him handle first. He flinched at her sudden movement, but took the gun. “Now tell everyone to get out! They’re all in extreme danger!”
                Agent Katter fixed her with a suspicious glare, but then picked up his radio.
                “All units, this is Agent Katter. The volcano is erupting, repeat the volcano is erupting. Evacuate immediately. Endtimes is down, and I have The Stunner, over.” He said curtly, before returning it to his belt.
                “Thank you.” Helena said, hurt that he had called her The Stunner, but his face didn’t soften.
                “The chopper needs to get out of here. It can’t fly in this turbulence. So we’ve got to walk up. You first.” He ordered.
                Helena stepped past Julian and started to trace back along the distorted, shaking walkway. Every step was a gamble, with the steel frame juddering underneath her, and more than once she lost balance, staggering against the hand-railings. Red hot steel hurt her hands even through her insulated gloves. Eventually, however, they made it back to the door, with her last pylon still buzzing away next to it.
                “Rubber armour’s a standard now, I take it?” she said, observing correctly that Agent Katter wasn’t being electrified.
                “Can’t be too careful.” He said dismissively.
                “I won’t hurt you. I’m on your side.” She reiterated. He didn’t respond.
                Through the broken window Helena climbed, waiting for Agent Katter on the other side with her hands clearly visible; she wanted to do everything she could to avoid him cuffing her. As he pushed himself through the gap after her, a particularly violent rumble shook the room. Helena lunged forwards and grabbed Agent Katter’s arms before they could slip onto some of the remnant glassy shards. He shot her a threatening glance, but then relaxed a little as she helped him through.
                “Agent Katter, what is your location, over?” Agent Porter’s voice crackled through on the radio. He sounded ragged and out of breath, like Roger Toilet had put up a good fight.
                “Inside. Level with the container, over.”
                “Hold your position and clear the brown double doors, over.”
                Helena and Agent Katter both looked at the brown doors in front of them, leading back into the operational control room, and took a step back.
                “Are you clear, Agent Katter, over?” Porter asked.
                “Clear, over.”
                A room-shaking boom tore through the antechamber as the doors burst into splinters. It was the kind of noise which is felt in the stomach before it's heard, vibrating the ribcage and working its way up the neck to the ears, by which time it has worked up enough of an appetite to be unreasonably loud.
                “Fire in the hole, over.” Agent Porter transmitted as an afterthought. “Hurry up, Katter. Things look pretty dicey and I don’t know how much longer the lair will hold together, over.”
                “Thanks for the warning, Porter. The eruption will do well enough at breaking this place up, so remember that next time you want to blast a god damned hole in it!” Agent Katter shouted into his radio. “Over.” He added, before pushing Helena forwards. “Keep moving.”
                Agent Katter and Helena jogged through the banks of computers, the floor covered in a respectable depth of water and U-merangs. Julian scanned around as they went, looked perplexedly at the neat row of toilets along one wall.
                “Roger Toilet.” Helena said tentatively, reading her colleague’s expression. “Turned one of them into a water cannon.”
                Agent Katter shrugged.
                Up the dripping, water-slick stairs they ran, emerging onto the viewing platform. Kneeling in a row by the edge of the window were Windy Bill, Roger Toilet, and Confectionista. Each of them had their hands cuffed behind their backs, and they were all struggling to stay upright as the lair shook. Windy Bill’s back was raw with burns from his overcharged power pack. Roger Toilet’s face was bruised, his clothing torn, and his toilet confiscated. Confectionista just somehow sagged.
                A familiar pang of guilt sat heavily in her gut as she looked at them, the same feeling she had experienced when watching The Chauffeur get dragged away by Agent Carmichael two days before. But two of these people had saved her life mere minutes ago, and she had betrayed them regardless.
                Fragments of the broken windows fell away into the crater as the window frames vibrated, and even one of the frames had started to bow outwards; the lair was falling apart, and everyone needed to get out.
                “What’s going on here?” Agent Katter asked when he saw the row of prisoners at the window.
                “Extraction.” One of the ministry officers told him, holding his stun baton defensively at the sight of Helena.
                “Looks more like an execution.” Julian replied with deep concern. “And put that down. She’s in my custody and no longer a threat.”
                The officer looked uncertainly at The Stunner, who didn’t look particularly disarmed, but listened to Agent Katter.
                “The lift cable’s been severed and the stairs are, well, they’re broken. Agent Porter has gone ahead, and we’re sending the prisoners up the ropes after him.”
                “What did you people do here? No way to escape? Was the professor going to kill you all for this?” Agent Katter asked Helena.
                She didn’t know how to respond. Even five minutes ago she would have claimed that he’d planned a way out for all of them but now, since he’d confessed to the murder of his whole previous staff, it was hard to be so sure.
                “I guess so.” She told him quietly.
                “Stunner?!” Roger Toilet said, shocked. “Did they get you too? Did the professor complete Operation Fuzzykins?”
                “Not if she had anything to do with it.” Windy Bill seethed. “I told you, Toilet. She betrayed us. And now that she’s here, shall we see if she joins our little line?”
                Helena couldn’t bring herself to speak. She just looked at the floor.
                “Didn’t gag them at least? Very progressive of you.” Agent Katter said drily to the officer, who didn’t really understand.
                After radioed orders from Agent Porter, rappel lines were passed around Windy Bill, much to his distaste. But despite his grumblings he didn’t fight against it, recognising that it was better to be a prisoner than remain in the collapsing lair. Once his rope harness had been secured, the ministry officer gave the all-clear and the line went taut, lifting Bill from the ground and swinging him out of the window. Upward he rose in short pulses, slowly rotating on the end of his line. Every time he faced towards Helena, he stared darkly into her eyes, with even more of a grimace than usual, until she looked away.
                Confectionista was next, rising much more quickly than the bulky Windy Bill had. Helena tried to make eye contact with her and say sorry, but her face was turned down the whole way.
                Roger Toilet was last, seeming muted but less hopeless than the others. Helena presumed that he had once again failed to fully comprehend the true implications of his situation, but consoled herself by thinking that it was probably better for him that way. She would do all she could to secure leniency for him and Confectionista; it was the least she could do.
                “We’ll bring up the rear.” Agent Katter said to the ministry officers.
                “Want any help binding her?”
                “She’s my prisoner, not Porter’s.” Julian said, foregoing the use of medieval bindings. “I’ll be fine with her like this.”
 
                Climbing up the line with the whole lair shaking was more than a little nerve-wracking. Chunks of rock rained down from above as the volcano shook itself apart, the rocky walls failing to withstand all the wobbling around. Glass shards and fragments of broken furniture also fell from higher windows as the quaking shook them loose, many of them passing far too close to Helena for her own comfort. A small mercy was that Agent Katter still had his harness, and he’d secured Helena’s line through it as well as his own. Even if she got knocked out by a falling rock, he would be able to drag her unconscious body to the top. Part of her wished that would happen, just so that this would be over with.
                Porter’s squad hauled on the line from above, and towed them all the way in through the conference room window. With the top of the volcano crumbling there was no way they could safely climb over that ledge, and even less way they could trust any line secured into the earth up there. It went against every piece of climbing best-practice out there.
                Helena’s jaw fell open once more when she saw the carnage which had followed the conflict on the top floor. Barricades were splintered to pieces, fragments of wood and metal strewn across the floor as if they’d been dropped from orbit. Improvised wind guns rested broken in piles of crushed sweets and pipe sections. Where the globe had once stretched from floor to ceiling, there were only shattered pieces of curved metal and glass, leaving a rotating axle spinning pathetically on its own. The conference table had been flipped over as makeshift cover, ripping cables from the floor to do so and exposing the hologram projector to conditions far outside its recommended environment; the warranty was almost certainly voided.
                The final few of the injured and prisoners were being marched through the giant-sequined antechamber and out to the secret entrance tunnel. Helena wondered how they’d coped with finding a decapitated bus in the darkness on their way in, but decided it was probably not the largest problem they’d have encountered. Knowing Lisa, she’d probably just gone straight through it.
                Confectionista, Roger Toilet and Windy Bill were at the back of the line, being ushered through with firearms pressed into their backs. Criminals being forced to leave a collapsing, erupting volcano at gunpoint was a strange dynamic to witness, but witness it Helena did as she and Agent Katter took their place behind them. Helena cast one last glance over her shoulder at the volcano lair, the site of her absolution, or maybe her condemnation, and stepped into the darkness of the tunnel.
                Just as it had been when they’d come in, the tunnel was blanketed in pitch blackness outside the lair entrance. The ministry clearly hadn’t anticipated any need for portable floodlights, and so they must have charged blindly into the black to reach Endtimes’ lair; classic Lisa. The road underneath was rubbly and uneven, making the going even slower behind the walking wounded. Even so, they soon moved far past where the bus must have been left. Helena made a mental note to ask Lisa if she’d had a hand in its disappearance.
                Occasional calls to establish that the convoy was still together, and the shuffling, crunching footsteps across loose rocks, echoed around the tunnel until Helena couldn’t work out where each one had come from in relation to her. But underneath those sounds there was something else, lurking in the background. It was faint and indistinct, like the white noise audible in a low quality recording. Helena strained to listen to it, and noticed that there was also a familiar smell. It didn’t fit in to the aroma of dry earth, sweaty combatants or electrical equipment; somehow it was more like a corrosive chemical, and strangely sweet. A flash of a dissolving staircase and a melting fence entered Helena’s mind, and with them the memory of Securi-T’s handcuffs being easily defeated by Confectionista’s corrosive paste.
                Helena’s realisation was punctuated by the faint ‘plink’ of a metal chain falling apart, and handcuff bracelets rattling free from one another.
                “Urk!” one of the ministry officers groaned in the darkness after the sound of a dull impact. Shuffling feet and jostled grunts were audible in a wave running forwards along the tunnel.
                “Confectionista’s broken free!” the officer warned. “Be careful!”
                “Good on you, girl.” Windy Bill shouted into the darkness. “Coming back for us?”
                “Shut up.” His guard hissed, prodding him a little harder with the barrel of his gun. Helena could have sworn she felt something whip back past her cheek, towards the entrance of the lair, but with the tunnel opening up ahead it could easily have been the wind blowing in.
                With Nevado del Huila only getting angrier in its quaking there was no time to stop. Cautiously the human train kept moving through the tunnel, anticipating an attack from Confectionista which never came. When they spilled out into the light at the other end there were several urgent exchanges between ministry officials, but no-one had seen Confectionista come out of the tunnel, and no-one had noticed any contact with her inside beyond her initial dash away from the arresting officer. She was just gone.
                With the eruption imminent, it was too dangerous to set up a search for her in the dark tunnel. Air support would be impossible through the ash and debris thrown up into the sky, so they couldn’t even send a helicopter up to scan the area. Helena stared longingly into the tunnel mouth until she was loaded into an open-backed military truck with Agent Katter, and the lair entrance slowly shrank into the distance. For what it was worth, Helena willed Confectionista to get herself away to safety, wherever she may be.
 
                Once they were a few kilometres down the mountain trail, the truck pulled up at the side of the road whilst the rest of the retinue kept moving past them. Agent Katter, looking puzzled, leaned into the front cab and held a hushed conversation with the driver, then sat himself back down. Finally, he spoke to Helena.
                “You’ve got a visitor, Helena.” He said, sounding tired. It was the first time he’d spoken since leaving the lair.
                The sound of a jeep door opening and closing came from somewhere just ahead, and shortly afterwards Commissioner Harmon appeared behind the truck, climbing into the back. He wore the same bushy moustache he’d always had, but it somehow seemed much larger now. Helena studied his drawn face and realised that it was because he’d visibly lost weight, his whole head now smaller by comparison to his impressive facial hair.
                “Agent Burnley.” He said curtly, taking a seat next to Agent Katter. The truck pulled away again.
                “Commissioner Harmon. I’m so sorry.” She said.
                “For what, Helena?” he asked. “You brought down Professor Endtimes, as well as several of his lieutenants along the way. Whatever he was planning here in Nevado del Huila has been thwarted, or mostly so, and he has been taken out of the picture. You’ve done an admirable job.”
                Helena looked into his eyes, waves of relief that he wasn’t angry washing over her, but not feeling such conviction in her own success.
                “How did you get here so quickly?” she asked. It was all she could bring herself to say.
                "After the tip-off to look into Nevado del Huila a few weeks ago we contacted the Colombian government. It transpires that an environmental group had been conducting some kind of research on the volcano around the time of the eruption, so we looked into it a little further and discovered that the environmental group was just a shell. It basically never existed in anything other than name, and even that was tenuous. ‘Not-Evil Environmental’ doesn’t scream legitimacy to me.”
                Agent Katter nodded sagely, agreeing with Commissioner Harmon’s assessment.
                “Unfortunately, the Colombian authorities were reluctant to allow us to investigate the site of the environmental group, claiming that we had no jurisdiction or something else similarly ridiculous. However, when Professor Endtimes’ plane fled Frederick Montgomery and was traced to Colombia, there was only one place he could have been going to, and we were able to give chase under anti-terrorism laws."
                Helena sighed deeply, sinking deeper into the seat somehow. All the aches and tired muscles were catching up to her, and she hadn’t thought they were very far behind in the first place.
                “You got my messages then. I was worried that Montsourcil might have withheld it all from you.”
                “Oh he tried, but he underestimated the loyalty of ministry personnel.” Commissioner Harmon said with satisfaction. “All of them.” He added, giving Helena a knowing look.
                “And he was willing to let you take the lead on bringing Endtimes in? On chasing us down here?”
                “He didn’t have much choice. The electrical attack on the city blew out a lot of equipment, and General Montsourcil loves to surround himself with feeds into every radio frequency and comms channel. He was sufficiently laid up that I could reassert my authority and order the extraction. Stopping Endtimes was one objective, but this was also a rescue mission, Helena. I want you to know that.” Commissioner Harmon said, making pointed eye-contact.
                Helena thought about Agent Porter’s reaction, and Agent Carmichael’s chase at the airport.
                “I’m not sure that everyone else would agree, sir.” She said weakly.
                “And I’m not sure I care. My orders are my orders, and whether or not my people agree with them I expect them to be followed. They’ll come around in time.
                “I’m glad the Super Stunner, the pylons from the electrical attack, I mean, were able to do something good. Or at least something which wasn’t…” she couldn’t finish.
                “I have faith that you were acting in our interests, and I can forgive you for it all, Helena,” Commissioner Harmon said softly. He sounded almost like Professor Endtimes “even if you never will. Perhaps it's for the best. It's a reminder of how vitally important the ministry is, and what it is we’re stopping. Undercover work is the hardest thing we can be expected to do, and sometimes you have to do things you’re not proud of, but the end result has justified the means as far as I’m concerned. Everyone else will come around to that in time, even if I have it beat it into the mayor myself.”
                “Is everybody at the station alright? Officer Dunner? Lisa?” Helena asked, changing the subject.
                “Good as can be expected.” Julian answered. “Things got pretty bad by the end, though. None of us gave you up to Montsourcil, but I think it was getting harder for Agent Porter to hold his tongue. DJ Disaster dropped a pretty devastating diss track about you in the holding cells and even the uniformed officers were into it, grammatical mistakes and all. They thought you’d abandoned them, but when they hear the truth you’ll win them back.” he said, finally sounding like the friend he used to be.
                “I think there’s something else you need to say to Agent Burnley, Agent Katter.” Commissioner Harmon prompted.
                “Oh, yeah. Thank you, Helena. For saving me from The Glazier.” He said sheepishly.
                “You’re welcome. Thank you for saving me from the ministry.” Helena responded with a pained, tired smile.
 
                Helena looked out of the back of the truck as it rumbled down the mountain. The peak of Nevado del Huila was visible high above. It spewed out ash and debris, but at least it wasn’t thoroughly doped with Endtimite. The tip of the crater was painted with a bright orange glow as lava started to flow down, scorching a new path for itself. Thinking about Professor Endtimes, the nicest evillest man in the world, falling away into that fiery pit was almost too much, but she would have to do it. The remnants of his organisation were out there, waiting to be dismantled, and it would be up to her to do it. Goodness only knew how far his fingers had truly reached, but finding all of his hidden material from the terraced lair would be a good start.
                 More importantly, Confectionista was still on the loose and she would waste no time in preparing to take her revenge. Agent Burnley was quietly glad that Confectionista had got away, and a small, naive part of her hoped that she would give up the criminal life in light of what she’d seen. Unfortunately, not even that part of her believed it for a second. At the very least, Agent Burnley hoped that Confectionista would keep herself safe, even though that meant that Helena probably never would be. The realisation that she could never again trust or accept a free dessert was a cold, bitter truth. It was possibly her greatest challenge to date, but that was a price she could willingly accept because it meant that they would meet again, one day. And knowing Confectionista, it would be one day soon.