Whistling tunelessly, Minion Three sticks a small round device to the large round door of the vault. It makes a satisfying squelch as it attaches to the metal surface. He twists the rim of the circle and a tiny red light winks from the center.
"Will you shut up with the whistling," Minion Two complains from his lookout post by the entrance to the vault room. He's cradling a huge, menacing gun between his palms the same way he cradles an overstuffed donair when he's starving after a long night of questionably legal activities.
Reaching into the nondescript black duffle bag on the floor, Minion Three pulls out another identical device and repeats the arming procedure on the other side of the big, complicated-looking lock. "I need to whistle when I'm doing the blowy-up shit. It helps me concentrate. If you don't like it you could help."
"I'm keeping watch."
Minion Three doesn't look up from his blowy-up devices. "Keeping watch for who? It's two in the morning. There's no one in this bank but us Minions."
Minion Two frowns, scrunching up his brow. It's true that the dim hallway beyond the door is eerily quiet. "You never know when a hero might show up. Concentrate faster. Professor Fapsalot said we only have fifteen minutes once they're activated."
"How long's it been?"
Minion Two's watch flashes a dozen complicated indicators he pretends to understand. He says, "Two minutes. I think."
"See? We're fine."
Minion Three takes his time placing the last three devices on the shiny metal vault. Minion Two shifts from foot to foot, alternating between peering out into the quiet hallway and glaring at Minion Three.
Suddenly shouts echo down the hall, followed by banging. A heavy thud.
"See? Trouble. Hurry up, Three."
Zipping the duffle bag shut, Minion Three presses to his feet. "Calm down. I'm done. Let's--"
A muffled BOOM. Minion Two jumps four feet in the air and looks fearfully up at dust raining from the non-existent rafters.
"What was--?"
"Shit."
The little round devices stuck to the vault all turn bright green at the same time, creating a perfectly symmetrical ring of light around the lock. The Minions stare at them in resignation. They beep menacingly.
"So much for fifteen minutes."
With an ear-splitting FWOOM, the vault is obliterated.
Meanwhile... In the lobby several floors above.
Minion One skids across marble floors, arms above his head to shield himself from falling debris. Something large and feathery swoops past his head, and he ducks reflexively. Heat sears the back of his neck, burnt hair stinging his nostrils.
The exploding vault shudders up through the floor. He loses his footing and falls hard on one knee. He winces, but not from the pain of the fall.
"Get up, dumbass," Minion Four shouts over the roar of the explosion, grabbing him by the back of his neck to haul him to his feet. "We just lost Two and Three."
"I know." Minion One shakes him off.
A crack judders open before them, marble tearing apart with a terrible groan. Hefting his ridiculously large gun, Minion One limps after Minion Four, who vaults over one of the empty teak teller desks, shouting, "This job's a shitshow."
Minion One dodges around the desk. "This's exactly why we never work with the scientist type. Their plans always sound great but soon as things go sideways, they're helpless."
Something swoops overhead again, and they both roll to avoid raking talons. The desk explodes into flaming splinters behind them.
"Who's the hero?" Minion Four pants as he ducks behind one of the inexplicable marble columns marching along the walls. "I don't know any birds."
"If you don't know, how the fuck should I know?"
Huddling in dubious safety, Minions One and Four peer out at the chaos in the foyer of the bank. Through the hazy air swoops a huge feathery creature who easily dodges blasts from Professor Force's gun, which appears to be made of clear plastic.
Minion One rubs at the stinging burn on the back of his neck. "This guy's a joke. Lookit that gun. It's a fucking toy."
Although it looks like it might spray a little water at best, the gun shoots lasers, or maybe some kind of paralyzing ray. Either way, it hurt, and fountains of rock dust spray from the columns where it hits. Professor Force, the incompetent asshole who hired them for this disaster of a job, guards the stairs to the basement vault with a bulging bag of burgled bucks in one arm. Marble dust fills his floofy hair and turns his black costume gray.
"Stay still so I can hit you!" he shouts, peeved, and blasts another pillar into rubble.
"If you insist!" With a dramatic swoop, Professor Force's feathery foe finally lands in the center of the lobby. Floor still buckling around them, they spread their snow-white wings to their full extent, filling the foyer from wall to wall. "Give yourself up now, villain! There's no escape!" The voice is feminine and surprisingly young. She sounds out of breath. She's also lying, because the glass of the front doors lies shattered across the marble floor, and it would be easy to escape by running right out the open doorway.
Now that the hero has stopped moving, the Minions can make out long hair so blonde it's almost silver cascading down the back of a blue-and-white costume. Her feet are huge, scaly, and tipped with talons as long as steak knives. They look deeply uncomfortable to stand on.
Minion One frowns. "Must be a rookie."
Minion Four nods. "Professor Fatrapper wasn't supposed to have a nemesis. She must be tryna make a name for herself."
Professor Force fires off a few bolts from his gun. The hero dodges with unnatural speed.
"I've already opened the vault!" the villain wheezes. "You can't stop me now!"
"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you. Not when you're facing--" The hero pauses, spreads her wings again because they'd wilted a little, and plants her gloved fists on her hips for extra effect. "--White Squall!"
Minion Four slaps a palm to his forehead with a groan. "Always the fucking weather names. Why can't some of these heroes choose creative names like The Quarter Pounder? You know, like when you beat someone up, it's called a pounding--"
"I get it," Minion One says, rolling his eyes.
"White Squall?" Professor Force sneers, waving his toy gun in a way that's probably supposed to be threatening but just makes him look amateur. "I've spent my whole life toiling beneath the thumbs of the ungrateful elite, working my ass off and getting nothing in return! Well, no more! I'm here to take what I'm owed, the money that was stolen from me by our cruel corporate overlords. Soon I will be richer than you can imagine! And there's nothing a little storm can do to stop me!" As he speaks, he searches behind him with a toe and takes a step backwards towards the basement door.
"He does know he'll be trapped if he goes downstairs, doesn't he?" Minion One asks.
White Squall jumps into the air. Enormous wings catch her. Wind gusts buffet the Minions.
The gale slams Professor Force into the wall, gun flying from his fingertips. The bag in his other arm splits, and cash whirlwinds out. He writhes against the ebony inlays, eyes wide and panicked. "To me, Minions! Take down this vile bird!"
Minion One looks at Minion Four. Wind whips the folds of their sensible brown coveralls. Minion One rubs the burn on his neck again. That was a close call. Professor Force could have taken his head off with aim like that.
He says, "We've already lost Two and Three."
"Are you suggesting we run?" Minion Four asks incredulously.
"D'you really wanna go down with him?"
"You say that like he's gonna lose."
"He is gonna lose."
"She's just a kid."
"Look at him. He's trapped. He's not getting outta this one."
"I'm not paying you if you don't attack her now!" Professor Force shrieks desperately, paper money whipping tornado-like around his head.
"How's he paying us if we all get caught?" Minion One says in a tone of unarguable reason. "Besides, doesn't Wimpy Scarf remind you of Ishana?"
White Squall swings her head around cautiously. Seeing no trace of movement, she turns back to face Professor Force, who is still pinned helplessly against the wall. Advancing slowly, massive wings beating up a hurricane, she shouts, "Looks like you're all alone, Doctor. You're going to jail tonight."
Minion Four looks down at his huge gun, then back out at the hero who does, in fact, remind him a lot of their daughter. "You're right, he's gonna lose. This is so unprofessional."
"Can we at least grab some of that flying money?"
They stare longingly at the money, but the hero is between them and the fierce whirling storm of cash.
"Not worth it."
Minion Four kicks morosely at an empty till on the floor.
The Minions run for it.
"Cowards!" Professor Force wails as they pound through broken glass into the foggy night. "I'm giving you zero stars! And it's Professor, you stupid self-righteous hero."
The Minions sprint all the way to the getaway car, a rusty minivan with a Baby on Board sticker in the back window. They're winded by the time they get there. Minion One slams on the gas and they squeal out the end of the alley, exhaust pluming black because somebody keeps forgetting to change the oil. They whip around one corner, then another.
"I think we're getting too old for this," Minion Four gasps, pressing a hand to the throbbing stitch in his side.
"That guy's just a hack. A proper villain would've had no trouble with that White Squall chick."
"And we should've had no trouble taking her down. Professor Flounder isn't the only one who's soft. Now she's taking him to jail, and we're not getting paid. Again."
"Have we had one good Henchr match yet?"
"That bakery job worked out okay."
"Oh yeah. Putting poison in their ex's wedding cake so all the guests would get the shits. A fantastic job."
"Hey, at least we got paid."
"In cupcakes."
Sirens whine in the distance, but with fog coiling thick through the downtown streets it's impossible to tell where they're coming from. Minion One turns onto a freeway and slows down to a respectable speed. They've been doing this long enough to know that the best way to avoid attention is to drive the speed limit.
A ping rings from the glove compartment. Minion Four pulls out their phone. There's a notification bubble on the icon of the black mask. He opens the Henchr app.
"What the fuck! Fartdongle really gave us zero stars! After Two and Three blew up for him! I hate this stupid app. Soon our rating's gonna be so low no one will hire us."
"Write him a bad review."
Minion Four frowns at the phone screen. "What should I say?"
"Unprepared. Unprofessional. Contractors were vaporized 'cause of his incompetence. We've done thousands of vault jobs. This should've been a cakewalk."
"Even his profile looks amateur." Minion Four prods slowly at one button after another. "Why'd we take this job, anyway?"
Minion One scowls at the dark, misty road. Neon lights glow on either side. A police car screams past in the other direction without a second glance at their rattly, innocuous family vehicle. "The ad looked good. Sure, ten percent of the take was low for four of us, but the guy had a clean record. No nemesis should've meant an easy job. It's not like there's anything better out there these days."
Minion Four says wistfully, "I miss the old days. Remember when we were full time for Black Hemlock? Cushy salary. We lost Five and Six in that vat of acid and scammed Hairycock out of two whole life insurance policies."
They both chuckle, then sigh nostalgically.
"Professor Flopbanger probably didn't have a nemesis 'cause he's a high school science teacher who invented a freeze ray and decided that made him a villain," Minion One says sadly. "Add Didn't disclose that it was his first time running a job."
They double back several times to be sure they aren't being followed, but the roads are quiet. No sign of pursuit.
Soon... in a quiet, leafy neighborhood with gated driveways.
The house is dark. They park in the garage next to a sleek black sports car and take the secret elevator down to the lair. Under the ice-cold safety shower, they strip out of their dusty coveralls.
Teeth chattering, Minion One towels off quickly. "Think they're ready yet?"
Minion Four nods.
They blink and flow sideways. When they open their eyes, they're six inches shorter, and there are four of them. They're all naked. Minion One makes a mental note to buy more coveralls. They're starting to run low. Too many deaths.
"I really hate getting blown up." Minion Three shakes out his limbs uncomfortably. "Makes me itchy for days."
"Tell me about it." Minion Two slumps onto the leather couch across from the wall-mounted big-screen TV. "I could use a sandwich."
Minion One crosses his arms. "What happened to you two?"
Tugging the chain of the safety shower, Minion Three steps into the freezing water. "Faulty timers, I think. Or Professor Fucknugget activated them remotely. I hate working with borrowed equipment. Never know what to expect."
"You just don't wanna admit you fucked up," Minion Two grumbles.
"Hey, if we're playing the blame game, then this's your fault for leaving me alone with the explosives in the first place. You were only keeping watch to get out of doing your share."
Minion Two farts loudly and scratches his balls. "Can we at least agree that taking jobs from that stupid app is gonna get us killed? Like, for good?"
"We've got no choice if we wanna work," Minion One reminds them. "All the villains are using it."
Minion Four snorts. "Yeah, 'cause it means no contracts so they can pay us shit and they're not at fault when something happens to us. Whatever happened to workers' rights?"
The shower slows to a trickle, and Minion Three kicks the small puddle towards the drain in the middle of the cement floor. Grabbing the fluffy towel off the rack, he says, "Whoever invented Henchr is more nefarious than any villain I've ever met. When was the last time we did a job we're proud of? Or got paid what they told us we'd get paid?"
There's a rumble of discontent.
"Maybe it's time to throw in the towel." Minion Three shrugs and settles onto the couch next to Minion Two. "Retirement might not be so bad. Dom likes it."
Straightening from the mini-fridge, Minion Four tosses a bottle of beer to each of them. "We've had a good run. Put some money in the safe. Lived longer than most. Maybe this game just isn't for us anymore."
Minion One cracks open his bottle against the heavy iron coffee table and takes a long sip. "But what will we do if we retire? We're Minion, for fuck's sake. Who will we be if we're not?"
The Minions finish their beer in pensive silence.
Then they stand, and stretch, and blink in unison. When he opens his eyes, Minion is alone.
Upstairs, there's a faint blue light under his daughter's door. Minion thinks about telling Ishana to go to sleep, then decides against it. She's probably texting that new girl she's been gushing about. His little baby has grown up so fast. She's already looking at colleges. Minion wipes a tear from his eye. Yep. Definitely getting soft.
In the spacious master bedroom, his wife is asleep. He slips into bed next to her. She looks temptingly evil with her dark hair fanned out across the moonlit pillow. Minion can only see the lines around her full mouth when he's looking for them, but they're both older now. Dominatrix is no longer one of the most feared villains in Big City. It doesn't seem to bother her that people only remember her villain days in the past sense.
Minion is sore, and itchy all over, and can still smell the marble dust in his hair. The burn on the back of his neck throbs. And he didn't even get paid tonight. Retirement really doesn't sound so bad in comparison.
. . .
Thank you to J, without whom Minion would not exist.
Cover image from Canva.
Copyright © 2020 by CC Starfield. Do not reproduce in any form without permission from the author. This book is solely available for free on Wattpad. If you are reading it somewhere else, it has been stolen.