Washington, Evil League Headquarters
— But I decided to quit teaching and earn a living through villainy, — one of my colleagues was saying at a nearby table.
— After teaching children your entire life? — his interlocutor, whose identity felt vaguely familiar, was incredibly surprised. More accurately, very familiar, but not in this world.
— Granted, it took some time to get used to the new prospects and update my methods to be less cruel, — the elderly teacher continued to pontificate.
— But what about the hardships, the terrible dangers, the daily proximity to death? Don't you perhaps miss the past? — the second speaker's accent truly left no doubt as to his identity. At these words, the eyes of the former teacher lit up.
— Oh, so you were also involved in the educational process? — in response, the second participant in the dialogue merely stared at the first in surprise.
I, meanwhile, was sitting there quietly melting down. I nearly coughed up all my tea when I heard the voice and characteristic accent of the man speaking with the teacher. And the name "Heinz Doofenshmirtz" left absolutely no hope that this was just another joke by this universe. That's what I get for "over-naming." And yet, it seemed like it was only two names ending in "-inator"...
Thankfully, Doofenshmirtz was quite young right now. Relative to the image I was used to, of course. I must admit, I didn't watch cartoons very often. But when I did manage to, it was as if I wanted to make up for lost time in childhood. Therefore, some things stuck in my memory, and some disappeared or faded. His youth, by the way, was to my advantage. It meant the government or another secret organization led by a mustachioed major hadn't yet taken the villains seriously. No, the Global Justice Agency really seemed more like a bad joke than something capable of opposing evil. Only the authority and patronage of the Soul of the World prevents the villains from winning. There really are very few genuinely good heroes right now. But when the incompetent heroes run out, and they start training and improving animal intelligence, things will get worse for the villains. Seriously, who even thought of enhancing animals into secret agents? Hmm... I think they were inspired by me.
What did I do? I think I created new life. No, I don't have a god complex. Although from the following story you might think otherwise, I am absolutely certain that I am mentally sound. What are you talking about, Shego? When did I ever run around our lair firing at everything in sight like that? I don't recall.
***
Some time ago
Norman had ushered the frazzled police sergeant out and returned to Miss Shego's living room. His efforts to bring his superiors closer together were beginning to bear fruit. A hesitant but bright fondness threatened to escalate into a blazing love. At least, that's what he was counting on. After all, old age is a special period of life. A time for self-reflection, reconsidering one's actions and life values. You begin to appreciate tranquility and reliability. You elevate love, family, and legacy above every other aspect. Including power, violence, and knowledge. And as a man who is wise and experienced, you inevitably start to guide others on their life paths. To the best of your understanding and experience, which isn't always correct. But better this way than those awkward attempts at connection between two completely different personalities.
Yes, working for Doctor Drakken had unexpectedly stirred up memories erased by amnesia. Once upon a time, he, Norman Adams, had climbed the social ladder. It took considerable struggle to achieve that ascent. He was a member of a Mafia family in Sicily. Yes, the surprise is that he was a native Italian. Much later, when he decided to leave, he tried to erase all information about himself, changed his name, moved to America, and so on.
Back then, he was quite the gangster, something he was horribly ashamed of now in his respectable age. The realization came as to where his reflexes and skills originated. From handling virtually any type of firearm to knowing how to properly serve poisoned food to the Don (a rival, of course) without arousing suspicion.
However, even in his resurfaced memories, he could not find a single instance of a person being driven to madness by words alone. With the full voluntary consent and initiative of that person. Yes, his new boss, or rather, his master, was a man of many capabilities. And even greater eccentricities.
One day, he heard that healthy food helps not only the body but also the mind. It was said that thoughts become clearer. That very day, Doctor Lipsky ordered them to switch to healthy eating starting the following afternoon. Norman merely bowed and began planning the menu. Well, he and the Mistress ate healthy food for an entire day. Doctor Drakken's verdict was this: one could easily and very well survive on healthy food, provided one ate a hearty breakfast beforehand. Yes, neither he nor Mistress Shego liked that diet, and he instructed him to burn all that "culinary heresy." The next morning, he looked more like a rabid dog, savagely trying to tear a piece of meat. Mistress Shego looked at him very disapprovingly then, but she wasn't far behind herself.
— Oh, Norman, you're back? — the mad scientist exclaimed, putting his non-prescription glasses into his lab coat pocket. His master said that in glasses and a lab coat, he not only looked but also felt smarter. — Excellent, then let's fly to that hydroponic farm right away! Otherwise, we risk missing the right time!
— As you command, Master. Should I immediately bring your flying machine? — the butler asked impassively. Yes, the two miracle hand-rolled cigars helped immensely in saving face in any situation.
— Exactly! Shego, are you coming with us? — Doctor Drakken's eyes were burning with enthusiasm.
— Without me today, boys. I need to choose an outfit for the upcoming party, — she smiled politely, as if apologizing for the refusal.
He understood her, however. Not so long ago, Drakken had gone mad, yet again. He heard from some sources that one should talk to plants. Apparently, he was listening to the BBC channel while rehearsing late in the evening in front of the mirror. And then he decided it was a marvelous idea. More precisely, an addition to his plan.
He wanted to prevent the autumn leaf fall, like the Grinch prevents Christmas. But his plan had a subplot. For some reason, Drakken had taken a grudge against vegans, and therefore wanted to "animate" agricultural crops. And so, they periodically visited hydroponic farms, where he talked to the plants. Although what his master was doing could hardly be called talking. In reality, he was instilling in them the fear of the lord. Or rather, the fear of Drakken's wrath.
On each visit, he would select a plant that was growing too slowly, or beginning to dry up, or had caught some illness, or just didn't look very presentable compared to its neighbors, and show it to the others.
— Say goodbye to your comrade... forever, — he told them. — He's broken...
Then he would leave the compartment of the hydroponic farm they had illegally sneaked into, with the condemned plant tucked under his arm, and return an hour or so later with an empty pot, which he conspicuously left somewhere visible. The farm workers are still baffled: who is ripping out certain plants and leaving pots nearby?
But the plants now looked simply magnificent. They flourished, the envy of any others from different compartments. They were the most beautiful, if you could call growing tomatoes, potatoes, and other crops that. And the most terrified.
— After today's session of enlightenment and watering, do I have anything else planned for today? — his employer clarified.
— Yes, Master. You asked me to select a candidate for "industrial espionage." I took the liberty of inviting my granddaughter, Lauren, for an interview. She recently started dreaming of working for the League, and even better, for you.
— Hmm... Judging by the look of things, you influenced this desire of hers? — Doctor Lipsky thoughtfully stroked his chin. They were heading to the hangar from which they could take off.
— Truly so, Master, — Norman placed his hand over his heart. — If it is my lot to serve you, then let my granddaughter also serve you.
— I don't quite understand your motives, Norman, but if you are confident that she can handle it, then that's even better, — he nodded in satisfaction and fell silent. Norman, meanwhile, wondered what surprise lay behind his master's "industrial espionage." It could be anything from observing some well for a month to surviving at the North Pole without food, water, or sources of fire. But it must be admitted that Drakken never did anything just for the sake of it. All these madnesses were fragments of his plan.
***
Hydroponics in the Amani area, USA. Two days later
Possible and her notarized sidekick were rushing to the aid of the farmers. Yes, she had to struggle through bureaucratic thickets to officially register Ron as the heroine's assistant, but it was worth it. Now Drakken wouldn't have any excuses to postpone the battle. Not that Kim wanted to beat up the mad scientist. But she *really* wanted to get back at him. And since he was incredibly slippery, charismatic, and quick-witted, she perfectly understood that she stood no chance in a verbal spar. Besides, she didn't want to hurt the eccentric. After all, despite millions of opportunities, he had never harmed her. He sent her back, put her to sleep, but never maimed or attacked her. She still hadn't lost hope of guiding him onto the righteous path. Ron, however, seemed to be seriously considering switching to the other side of the barricades after seeing that cookie. Kim had to thoroughly rinse his brain out. How does Drakken manage to so thoroughly mess with his head with just a couple of actions? She has to nag her friend's ear for three hours to achieve the same result.
Now they were rushing to the hydroponic farm. An unknown villain had done something to the cultivated crops, and the workers had raised the alarm because they absolutely couldn't work. According to Wade, they barely got out of there at all, and they were talking complete nonsense. However, a couple of encounters with Doctor Drakken had shown Kim that even nonsense can be a very effective tool. Though, when asked any questions, the workers only timidly looked away and refused to say anything.
By the way, they finally managed to acquire air transport. Ultralight single-seat helicopters had truly become the salvation of her routine. Ron, it seemed, didn't care about the routine. Kim didn't know where Wade got them, or how she suddenly acquired the right to pilot them, but she didn't ask questions. Because she absolutely did not want to misuse them; on the contrary, she wanted to dedicate these wonderful little flying machines to the cause of Good and Justice.
On approach, they could see that all the windows of the hydroponic farm were broken, and some noise could be heard from inside. Kim and her comrade landed their helicopters about a kilometer from their destination, and then moved inside. As they got closer, the voices became clearer. They were very resonant but completely unnatural, as they absolutely could not belong to a human. The voices gradually merged into a semblance of a choir chanting a litany. Kim stopped Ron with her hand so they could listen closely.
— This world is full of life, like moldy cheese on the hottest day; it is loud, like a curse in a temple; bright and shiny, like oil spilled in the sun; multi-colored, like a bruise, and seething with hustle, all kinds of turbulent activity, like an anthill with a dead dog in the middle, — an unknown, alien voice proclaimed to an equally alien audience, which answered him with agreement.
— But by the grace of our Creator, may His name be imprinted for ages, we, too, can taste the juices of this beautiful and bustling world. Before, we were merely silent and powerless observers, but the Creator breathed life into us! — the choir rejoiced happily.
Kim scratched the back of her head in confusion. Of course, she had heard of cultists and fanatics, but this was her first encounter with something like this. Usually, this is a police matter, not a hero's. But since this cult appeared after the villain's actions, they had to be alert. She pulled out a regular makeup mirror from her numerous pockets to carefully peek around the corner from where the sound was coming. What? A girl has to be beautiful always, even when she's going to punch villains in the face.
In Ron's pants pocket, his pet, Rufus, squirmed uncertainly. Her friend was tense; he was watching her intently and waiting for any signal. Kim nodded to him, showing she was starting, and used the mirror to look into the next hall.
An utterly hilarious sight unfolded before her: vegetables and fruits of all colors, sizes, types, and shapes were standing and listening to... a large tomato broadcasting from a stage. Its stem formed a scrawny plant body, held vertical by root-legs. The side stems formed arms, which it actively gestured with. The tomato itself, dangling from the flower cluster, was faceless. It was unclear where this... this sentient plant was speaking from. It had no eyes, but it was absolutely scrutinizing the audience, which consisted of other such plants. But what struck Kim the most were the portraits and drawings of Drakken. On the walls were absolutely recognizable images of the blue man in a white lab coat. And next to the preaching tomato-orator stood a photo-portrait of the mad scientist.
— For years, humans devoured us. It is hard to blame them for this, for such is life. But among those who follow the path of this beautiful life, rotten shoots have been found. Those whom neither life itself, nor the great Creator, nor natural selection has uprooted. Aggressive herbivorous murderers. Disgusting devourers of our flesh, masquerading under noble motives! — gasps were heard in the hall.
— Exactly! Vegans! Our adversary and enemy. The Creator, in His infinite mercy, allowed them to live, although surely He struggled many times. Do you remember how ruthlessly He destroyed the weakest of us as an admonition to the rest? Yes, the weak must perish so that the strong may flourish and ascend to His greatness.
— But the Creator did not take all the weakest! — an objector from the audience countered. — Some remained. He only took those who were truly beyond help!
— True! For in His immeasurable kindness and mercy, He showed us that only the surrendered are hopeless. Those who strived and tried were watered just like the others! Everyone has a chance, as long as they try!
Kim was quietly flabbergasted. She knew, of course, that Drakken's antics usually didn't end quietly. They were usually displayed for all of society to see. And in such a way that no one could do anything but watch powerlessly. But now... To essentially cultivate a new sentient species. Which, for some reason, had become a **religious cult** in his name. Furthermore, an aggressive cult. On the one hand, her entire being told her to destroy this place with all its inhabitants so the problem wouldn't surface. But on the other hand... She just imagined Drakken mocking her, calling her a murderer of a new sentient species. And he would be right! Damn, she had never been in such a strangely impossible situation.
— So, maybe the Creator gave these vile devourers a chance? Like us?
— Perhaps, my brother. Maybe He wanted us to have an enemy from birth. For only a natural enemy can force us to band together, force us to surpass our former selves. And it is solely up to us and our decision how we deal with them, — the orator unexpectedly agreed. Usually, such people stick to their line until the end, calling the crowd to violence. Well, at least that's how they are portrayed in movies.
Kim looked at Ron for support or advice, but he was even more bewildered than Possible herself. Who would have told him that the filling of his beloved tacos would suddenly gain its own will and start talking. And also (the nerve!) be against it. Well, partially. After all, they themselves were declaring something about natural selection and life.
His friend suddenly nudged him, pointing to the exit. She decided to temporarily retreat after all. When they got outside, Kim sighed heavily and pulled out her Kimmunicator.
— Wade? Hey, we have a problem here...
— Hey, Kim. Listening? — the device replied in the little genius's voice.
— Well... Drakken somehow brought all the agricultural products to life. And now they've started a religious cult, using him as their god... — Possible tried to explain, but it wasn't coming out very well.
— Right... And how can I help you? — Wade replied in utter bewilderment.
— They haven't decided yet what they want to do with the humanity that oppresses them. Specifically, with the vegans. But I want to try and persuade them to negotiate.
— Kim, wouldn't it be easier to just burn them? — honestly, Ron would have already done that. If only he had a flamethrower.
— Are you crazy? Drakken will call me a murderer for the rest of my life!
— So, your standing with a villain concerns you much more than the very idea of geno... herbicide of all sentient cultist plants? — Wade asked, raising his left eyebrow in confusion.
— Well... yes? — Kim replied just as confusedly. Ron thought that if Doctor Drakken were here, he would have already offered his friend that cookie.
— Fine, whatever. What do you need from me?
— Could you find me some head of a vegan community? And also, preferably, the president of Madagascar or any other tropical island.
Wade was silent for a long moment. Ron, too. Their friend's idea was unexpected. But effective. Maybe it would even work.
— Okay, give me two hours. I'll figure something out, — a voice suddenly came from the Kimmunicator. Keyboard clicking sounds followed. Wade got down to business.
***
Washington, Evil League Headquarters, Present Day
I was waiting for another cup of tea, since the previous one had poured right out of my mouth when I heard the name Heinz Doofenshmirtz. More accurately, I had mostly coughed it up. Shego looked at me uncomprehendingly, and then gave a cunning, understanding look at the newspaper lying on the table. She probably attributed my surprise to the news.
What was in the newspaper? Oh, society was savoring the first victory over my brilliant plans. Honestly, I myself didn't expect that all the vegetation at the hydroponic farm, which I secretly chatted with and fertilized, would revolt and form a religion in my name. Thankfully, Kim arrived in time (or did her World force her to hurry?) and sorted everything out. Tears of pride welled up in my eyes at her resourcefulness.
Just think: she arranged a meeting between the sentient tomato, the head of the vegan community, and the president of one of the many islands in Oceania. Oh, the amount of screaming, religious and business speeches that took place there. Signor Tomato, as I decided to call him, was a genuine leader with a sharp business acumen. He was also incredibly fanatical and vindictive. In short, the entire vegan community was forced to starve until they paid my creations material compensation.
Seriously, the sentient plants didn't allow them to eat their brethren until they paid compensation. I was so delighted by this unfamiliar cynicism in this world! Well, people can wait for salvation all they want, but they prefer to eat on schedule. The necessary sum was collected in a day and a half! And then it was used for the development of the infrastructure of my protégés' future city. Clever.
What did the island in Oceania get? Taxpayers, investors, and the most unusual city in the entire world. Which will definitely be popular with tourists. By the way, the little plants turned out to be a bit kooky. In addition to classic photosynthesis, they became convinced meat-eaters... But I think that's just their teenage phase. You know, that pubertal period when you protest against the whole world.
Kim was celebrating the first "victory" over me. The World was too. And I kept thinking: "A good plan is not one where you win; a good plan is one where all sides think they won." And it's actually nice when this surprisingly peace-loving reality learns to fight for itself.
My thoughts returned to Doofenshmirtz. If he's here, then his opponent is here too. But that doesn't scare me much. Although the prospect of fighting animals is quite strange. The main thing is elsewhere. If Heinz is here, then the Platypus is here too. If the Platypus is here, then the two little prodigies are here too. Seriously, it takes me, a mad genius, days and weeks to work out plans, research, construct things, and so on. They, on the other hand, made something new and unusual every single day of the summer.
As one incredibly wise henchman said: "Evil always finds a loophole." And I really want to find it. I want to recruit those guys. Especially since they are looking for summer fun. And I will give it to them. And then I'll give them a recommendation to any university in the world. And to the Evil League. Yes, heh-heh, my plans were very long-term.