The lair smelled faintly of ozone, hot solder, and whatever industrial cleaner had failed valiantly to remove the smell of old takeout.

Beneath a ceiling of flickering fluorescent tubes stood Dr. Percival Vexlin, certified genius, self-appointed harbinger of doom, and currently vibrating with triumph. His lab coat fluttered as a nearby turbine spun down, and a row of monitors behind him displayed graphs that meant everything to him and absolutely nothing to anyone else.

In his gloved hands was a device no larger than a cordless drill.

Sleek. Chrome-plated. Humming softly with restrained menace.

Across the room, leaning against a vending machine that wheezed like it had asthma, stood Bruno.

Bruno was built like a refrigerator that had learned to walk. His neck was wider than his head, and his black-and-yellow henchman uniform strained bravely against his shoulders. He was elbow-deep in a bag of popcorn, chewing loudly, watching one kernel at a time fall tragically to the floor.

Dr. Vexlin turned, eyes blazing.

“At last,” he said, reverent. “After seventeen sleepless nights, four electrical fires, and one very judgmental visit from the fire marshal… it is complete.”

Bruno nodded slowly.

“Dat’s nice, boss.”

“This,” Vexlin continued, raising the device, “is the Mild Inconvenience Ray.”

Bruno squinted at it.

“…dat it?”

“Yes,” Vexlin snapped. “Because true villainy is not chaos. It is precision. This ray does not destroy. It does not kill. It does not even wound.”

He smiled.

“It irritates.”

Bruno blinked.

“…like allergies?”

“Worse.”

Bruno considered this gravely and put another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Vexlin strode to the center of the room, where a large red X had been painted on the concrete floor.

“Bruno. Stand there.”

Bruno looked down at the X.

“…why?”

“For science!”

Bruno shrugged, shuffled over, and planted his boots directly on the mark. One foot smudged the edge of the paint.

Vexlin lifted the ray gun.

“Observe.”

He pulled the trigger.

The device emitted a quiet bzzzp — not a laser sound so much as the noise a printer makes when it’s disappointed in you.

Nothing exploded.

Nothing smoked.

Bruno shifted his weight.

His boot made a schrrrk sound.

He frowned, lifted his foot, and tried again.

Schrrrk.

“…huh.”

Vexlin leaned forward eagerly. “Do you feel it?”

Bruno lifted his foot again. The sole stretched slightly as it came free.

“…floor’s sticky.”

“Yes!” Vexlin cried. “Exactly! The molecular adhesion field has temporarily increased surface tackiness by precisely—”

“Ohhh,” Bruno said, nodding. “Yeah, dat happens.”

Vexlin froze.

“…what.”

Bruno crouched, pressed a finger to the floor, and sniffed it.

“Paint’s still wet.”

“It is absolutely not wet,” Vexlin snapped. “I painted that three days ago!”

Bruno wiggled his finger.

“Feels wet.”

“It is the ray!”

Bruno stood, already wandering toward the janitorial closet. “I’ll grab a mop.”

“No— Bruno, stop—!”

But the goon was already gone, boots peeling softly with every step. He returned moments later dragging a mop bucket that sloshed ominously.

“Maintenance don’t mark stuff,” Bruno said wisely. “Always gotta assume wet.”

He mopped directly over the red X.

Vexlin stared at the now-pristine floor, twitching.

“…you just erased the test zone.”

“Yup.”

“That was a calibrated environment.”

Bruno smiled proudly. “Safety first.”

Vexlin inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. Round two.”

Bruno perked up, enjoying another mouthful of popcorn. “Oh, cool.”

The villain aimed again.

Bzzrt.

Bruno paused mid-chew.

His jaw worked a few times.

Then he stopped.

“…ngh.”

Vexlin’s eyes lit up again. “Yes? Yes?”

Bruno stuck out his tongue slightly, fishing around with it.

“…got a kernel.”

“A kernel,” Vexlin repeated flatly.

“Yeah,” Bruno said, jaw shifting. “Right in the back.”

“That is the ray!” Vexlin barked. “Localized oral discomfort! Minuscule, persistent, inescapable!”

Bruno frowned thoughtfully.

“…nah.”

Vexlin’s eye twitched.

“What do you mean nah.”

Bruno reached into his mouth with a thick finger, grimaced, and failed.

“Happens all the time,” he said. “Popcorn’s like dat.”

He walked over to a reflective panel, baring his teeth at himself.

“See? Always gets stuck right there.

“That is not coincidence,” Vexlin said. “That is engineered irritation.”

Bruno shrugged, grabbed a toothpick from a cup holder, and poked carefully.

“Ah— got it.”

He smiled.

“Fixed.”

The lab fell quiet.

The ray gun hummed, still warm in Vexlin’s hands.

“…you felt no frustration?” he asked weakly.

Bruno tilted his head.

“Should I?”

“Yes!”

Bruno thought hard.

“…nah.”

Vexlin stared at him. Then at the ray. Then at the ceiling.

“…I spent six months on this,” he whispered.

Bruno patted his shoulder, leaving a faint smear of butter.

”Hey, boss,” he said kindly. “Still better’n the time you made the automated toaster helmet.”

Vexlin groaned.