The Rehabilitation Rejects

Felix Sparks, once known as the plasma-wielding supervillain “The Plasma Phantom,” just wanted to avoid prison and maybe get a quiet desk job. Instead, he’s stuck in the Supervillain Rehabilitation Program, teaming up with a ragtag group of washed-up bad guys to prove they can “do good.” But when their missions escalate from bake sales to city-saving showdowns, the team must figure out how to stop causing as much chaos as they’re trying to prevent. Packed with bungled heroics, absurd antics, and just enough heart to make it work, this is the story of how even the most unlikely villains can find redemption—one explosion at a time.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Being a supervillain was never as glamorous as it looked
in the movies. Sure there were the flashy costumes and
the occasional heist that went viral on social media, but
mostly it was just long hours, bad pay, and way
too many dramatic speeches. That's how I, Felix Sparks, ended
up here, sitting in the world's dullest office, waiting for

(00:23):
a job interview. Not a villain job, mind you. I'd
hung up my plasma gauntlets after that embarrassing incident with
Captain Starlight, long story, lots of property damage. No, this
was the government mandated supervillain rehabilitation program, where washed up
villains like me were supposed to learn how to become

(00:44):
productive members of society. Next, barked a voice. I shuffled
into the room, trying to ignore the fact that the
receptionist had just called me next like I was Delimeat
behind the desk sat a woman who looked like she'd
seen it all and hated every second of it. Her
nameplate read Deborah and her expression read don't waste my time.

(01:10):
Felix Sparks aka the Plasma Phantom, she said, squinting at
my file specialty energy based weaponry, minor heists, and stealing
sandwiches from breakrooms. Look, the label said John, But there
are a lot of Johns in the world, I mumbled.

(01:30):
Deborah sighed, why are you here, mister Sparks? To turn
my life around, I said, trying to sound earnest. Also,
my parole officer said I'd go back to jail if
I didn't show up. Charming, Deborah said, flatly, Welcome to
your new job. You'll be working with other ex villains

(01:51):
in low risk assignments while we evaluate your rehabilitative potential.
Low risk, I asked, what does that mean, filing paperwork
selling hot dogs? Deborah smirked, you'll see. Two hours later,
I found myself in the break room of a dingy

(02:11):
office building, surrounded by what could only be described as
the island of misfit villains. There was Laser Lenny, who
kept accidentally zapping things with his eye beams, Miss Misfortune,
who had a knack for making terrible things happen, like
the coffee machine exploding. And Greg, who just went by
Greg and insisted his villainous power was vibes, so I said,

(02:37):
Sitting down at the wobbly table, what exactly is our assignment?
Lenny shrugged, his laser eyes, accidentally burning a hole in
his coffee cup. Beats me. Last week they had me
alphabetizing files. Can't say I'm good at it. I got
stuck fixing office chairs, Greg said solemnly. I didn't fix

(03:00):
a single one. Miss Misfortune snorted. I got a signed
to HR. Two people quit on my first day. I
think that's a record, I sighed, leaning back in my chair.
This was going to be a long rehabilitation. Our first
real mission came the next day. Deborah handed us a

(03:21):
folder marked low level Threat and said, your job is
to investigate reports of a disturbance at a local warehouse.
We believe it's a minor tech smuggling operation minor. I asked,
how minor. Well, you won't need a superhero escort, Deborah said,
with a shrug, but try not to set anything on

(03:43):
fire or in your case, mister sparks plasma. No promises,
I muttered. The four of us piled into a van
that looked like it had been stolen from a discount
moving company. The words Supervillain Rehabilitation Program were printed on
the side in big, cheerful letters, which felt less like

(04:04):
a brand and more like an invitation for public ridicule.
When we arrived at the warehouse, I realized two things. One,
this was definitely not a minor operation. Two, Deborah had
clearly overestimated our competence. Inside, a group of very angry
looking smugglers was loading crates of high tech weaponry onto trucks.

(04:27):
One of them spotted us and immediately pulled out what
looked like a ray gun. Er Guys, I said, backing
up slowly, I think we're out of our league. Laser
Lenny stepped forward, puffing out his chest. Don't worry, I've
got this. He fired a laser from his eyes and
promptly missed, hitting a light fixture Instead, the bulb exploded,

(04:50):
showering every one in sparks. The smugglers looked at each other,
shrugged and charged retreat. Miss Misfortune shouted, ducking behind a crate.
Why are we retreating, Greg asked, standing completely still. We
haven't even tried to negotiate. I grabbed him by the
collar and dragged him out of the way of an

(05:12):
incoming wrench, because they're shooting at us, Greg. The next
few minutes were a chaotic mess of bad aim, worse
plans and way too much yelling. Miss Misfortune accidentally knocked
over a stack of crates, which then triggered a chain
reaction that blocked half the smuggler's escape routes. Laser Lenny

(05:32):
kept zapping random objects, including somehow the van we'd arrived in.
Greg true to form, just stood there, radiating vibes and
occasionally yelling stop fighting, let's talk it out. In the end,
it was sheer, dumb luck that saved us. One of
Miss Misfortune's accidents caused a smuggler to drop his weapon,

(05:56):
which fired into a crate of explosives. The resulting blast
wasn't enough to hurt anyone, but it was enough to
scare the smugglers into surrendering. We stood there in the
smoky aftermath, coughing and looking extremely unheroic. Well, I said,
brushing soot off my jacket. I'd call that a win.

(06:18):
Deborah's voice crackled over my communicator. What part of low
risk did you not understand? Good news? I said, cheerfully.
We stopped the smugglers, and bad news, she asked, sounding tired.
Already we blew up the van. There was a long silence,

(06:38):
then I'll send another one. Back at the office, we
were greeted with a mix of exasperation and reluctant applause.
Apparently no one expected us to succeed, which made our
accidental victory even more impressive. I guess we're not total failures,
Laser Lenny said, slumping into a chair. Speak for yourself,

(07:02):
Miss Misfortune muttered, I'm still banned from the coffee machine.
As for me, I couldn't help but feel hopeful. Sure
we were a bunch of washed up villains, but maybe,
just maybe we could figure out this whole heroic redemption thing,
or at the very least stop blowing up vehicles one

(07:26):
step at a time. If our first mission was any indication,
the Supervillain rehabilitation program was less about reforming criminals and
more about seeing how much chaos a group of washed
up bad guys could create before someone gave up. After
the warehouse incident, as Deborah called it while pinching the

(07:48):
bridge of her nose, I thought we'd be assigned to
something simple like picking up trash or alphabetizing files again. Nope, congratulations,
deb said, dropping a folder onto the wobbly conference table.
You've been assigned your next mission. Is it another minor job,

(08:09):
I asked, using air quotes so big they practically formed
their own ZIP code. Deborah gave me a withering look.
It's a minor public disturbance. Reports of a rogue villain
causing trouble in the park should be simple, simple miss
misfortune muttered. Last time she said that we almost got vaporized.

(08:32):
I don't control your incompetence, Deborah shot back. Now get
moving and try not to make a scene. We arrived
at the park in a new van, a shiny, slightly
less embarrassing one. It still had the Supervillain Rehabilitation program
logo on the side, but at least this one wasn't
scorched yet. The park was bustling with families, joggers, and

(08:57):
a suspiciously large group of people gathered near the fountain.
We parked at the edge of the chaos and cautiously approached,
trying to look inconspicuous, which was hard considering laze Lenny's
eyes were glowing faintly, and Gregg had decided to wear
a cape that billowed dramatically in the wind. What's going

(09:18):
on here, I asked a bystander. She pointed to the fountain,
where a man in a metallic green suit stood holding
a microphone. He was ranting loudly about something, his voice
echoing across the park. Behind him, a small robot army
was rearranging the fountain's stone work into the shape of
a giant duck. Who's that, I asked, looks like Oh no,

(09:44):
Miss Misfortune groaned, burying her face in her hands. It's
Doctor Quacker's Doctor Quacker's, I repeated, seriously. That's his villain name. Yes,
she said, voice muffled, and he takes it very seriously.
Dr Quackers was a minor villain from back in the day.

(10:04):
His entire stick was duck themed crimes, stealing bread from bakeries,
flooding mauls to create duck ponds, and apparently turning public
fountains into avian sculptures. He wasn't particularly dangerous, but he
was annoying. We should just talk to him, Gregg said,
adjusting his cape. Sometimes people just need a listening ear

(10:28):
or laser, Lenny said, firing up his laser eyes. We
could zap the robots and call it a day. No zapping,
I said, firmly. The last thing we need is another explosion.
Miss misfortune. Squinted at the fountain. I say, we let
him finish the duck. It's not a bad sculpture focus,

(10:50):
I snapped. We're supposed to stop the disturbance, not critique
his art. We approached the fountain cautiously, trying to look professional.
Doctor Quacker's spotted us immediately and froze his eyes, narrowing. Well, well,
he said, his voice dripping with disdain. If it isn't
the rejects from the villain retirement home. We're with the

(11:15):
rehabilitation program, I said, holding up my hands in a
non threatening gesture. We're here to er help you see
the error of your ways, the error of my ways,
he repeated, throwing his head back in a dramatic laugh.
I don't have errors, only masterpieces. Look at this fountain.

(11:36):
It's magnificent, a tribute to the majesty of ducks. Can't
argue with that, Gregg muttered. I elbowed him, look, I said,
trying a different approach. This is a public park. People
are here to jog and feed pigeons, not admire duck fountains.
Doctor Quacker's frowned. You mean they don't like my work?

(11:59):
They might, I said, sensing an opportunity. But maybe next
time you could get I don't know, permission, first permission,
he snorted, as if the city would ever approve my vision.
Before I could respond, one of the robots beaped and
dropped a massive chunk of fountain stone. It shattered on

(12:21):
the ground, and a jogger near by yelped, narrowly dodging
the debris. Ok, that's it, I said, Your robots are
officially a hazard team. Let's wrap this up. What happened
next could best be described as a text book example
of why we're bad at this laze. Lenny tried to

(12:42):
zap the robot that had dropped the stone. He missed
as usual, accidentally hitting the fountain and knocking off half
the duck's beak. This sent Doctor Quackers into a rage.
You dare deface my masterpiece, he shouted, attack my minions.
The robots, which I hadn't realized were armed, started firing

(13:04):
streams of water at us like high pressure hoses. Miss
Misfortune ducked behind a bench, muttering this is why I
hate ducks. Gregg, true to form, stood in the middle
of the chaos, yelling, can we please just talk about this?
Gregg move, I shouted, dragging him behind a trash can.

(13:26):
They're not going to negotiate. In the end, it was
miss Misfortune who saved the day. One of the robots
tripped over a bench she'd knocked over, and in the
process it crashed into Doctor Quackers's control panel. The entire
system shorted out, and the remaining robots froze mid spray.

(13:47):
Doctor Quackers stood there, stunned. My army, my beautiful army.
Yeah yeah, I said, hauling him away from the fountain.
You're coming with us, duckman Quackers, he snapped. It's doctor Quackers, sure,
I said, shoving him toward the van. Whatever floats your boat.

(14:11):
Back at h Q, Deborah greeted us with her usual
unimpressed expression. Well, you stopped the disturbance, she said, but
you also destroyed half the fountain and traumatized several joggers. Progress,
I offered weakly. She sighed, Just go, we'll debrief tomorrow.

(14:33):
As we trudged out of the office, Laza Lennie patted
me on the back. Hey, at least we didn't blow
up the van this time, true, I said, with a grin.
Maybe we're getting the hang of this after all. Miss
Misfortune snorted, don't get cocky, Sparks. We've still got plenty
of ways to screw up. She wasn't wrong, but for

(14:57):
now I was willing to call it a win, even
if the Ducks would disagree. Part three, The Heist Nobody
asked for. After the duck Fountain debacle, Deborah decided we
needed a break, or rather, she wanted a break from us.
She handed us a folder marked pr Assignment Public Trust

(15:20):
Exercise and shewed us out of the office with a wave.
So what's the plan, Gregg asked as we climbed into
the van. I opened the folder, squinting at the poorly
stapled packet of instructions. We're hosting a bake sale. There
was a long, awkward silence. Bake sale, Laser, Lenny finally said,

(15:44):
his voice dripping with disbelief. We're supervillains, or at least
we were. Now we're selling cookies. Miss Misfortune leaned back
in her seat. Honestly feels about right for us. Hold on,
I said, flipping through the pages. It's not just a
bake sale. It's a community fundraiser for the New Hope

(16:06):
Children's Hospital. All proceeds go to buying medical equipment. Oh well,
Greg said, his voice dripping with sincerity. That's actually quite lovely.
It's humiliating. Lenny muttered. I didn't sign up for this
program to frost cupcakes. You signed up to avoid prison,

(16:26):
I reminded him, So, unless you want to test the
cafeteria food in lock up, I suggest you start practicing
your piping skills. The bake sale was set up outside
a local community center. Deborah had sent over a folding table,
a stack of flyers, and a box of chef hats
that no one wanted to wear, except Greg, who insisted

(16:49):
it enhanced the vibe between us. We had a total
of three baked goods Lenny's scorched brownies, miss Misfortunes, lopsided muffyanes,
and my attempt at cookies that looked and tasted like
hockey pucks. Great start, I said, staring at our sad

(17:09):
little display. Now we just need to convince people to
buy this stuff. Gregg smiled brightly. We'll charm them with
our personalities. Lenny snorted, yeah, because nothing says charming like
former supervillain. We managed to sell two muffins and a

(17:30):
single brownie before things took a turn for the villainous.
A van screeched to a halt in front of the
community center, and a group of masked thieves jumped out,
carrying duffel bags and yelling something about a cash donation.
They stormed the center, leaving us standing by our bake
sale table in stunned silence. Um Greg said, shouldn't we

(17:54):
do something? What do you mean do something? Lenny asked,
We're a bunch of ex villains selling bad brownies. What
are we going to do? Throw cookies at them? Miss
Misfortune crossed her arms. We could call the police, That's
what normal people do, right, I shook my head. No time.

(18:15):
They'll be in and out before anyone gets here. If
we want to stop them, we're doing it ourselves. Everyone
stared at me. You're serious, Lenny said. Look, this is
our chance to prove we're not screw ups, I said,
grabbing one of the flyers. Plus, if we don't stop them,
Deborah's going to make us alphabetize the archives for the

(18:37):
rest of our lives. That got their attention. We burst
into the community center like a slightly less coordinated version
of the Avengers. The thieves, who were busy stuffing cash
into their bags, looked up in surprise. Who are you
supposed to be? One of the masked, clearly unimpressed? Where ah?

(18:59):
I faltered, realizing we didn't have a team name. We're
the Bakesale Squad, Gregg said brightly. Lenny groaned, no, we're not.
Miss Misfortune shrugged. It's not the worst name I've heard.
Before the thieves could decide whether to laugh or shoot us,
Gregg marched forward and said, we understand that you've made

(19:21):
some poor choices. Perhaps we can talk this out. One
of the thieves rolled his eyes and pulled out a taser.
We don't negotiate with bake sale weirdos, thought, so I muttered,
all right, team plan B. What's Plan B? Lenny asked,
already charging up his laser eyes. I grabbed the closest

(19:45):
thing I could find, a tray of Miss Misfortune's muffins,
and hurled it at the thieves. To my shock, it worked.
The muffins, which were apparently dense enough to double as weapons,
knocked the taser out of the thief's hand and sent
him stumbling backward. Nice throw, Miss Misfortune, shouted, grabbing a

(20:07):
stack of flyers and using them like paper shurrikens. She
managed to hit another thief in the face, temporarily blinding
him with an ad for our charity cupcake Special Gregg,
true to form, tried to wrestle a duffel bag away
from one of the thieves, shouting, stealing is wrong. He
managed to trip over his own feet, but in the

(20:29):
process he accidentally took the thief down with him. The
real chaos started when Lazer Lenny finally got involved. His
eye beams, which were notoriously hard to aim, managed to
hit everything except the thieves, a vending machine which exploded,
a ceiling light which shattered, and a stack of chairs,

(20:50):
which somehow caught fire. Lenny, I shouted, dodging a piece
of flaming upholstery. What did I say about no zapping,
I'm trying, he yelled, squinting furiously. They keep moving. One
of the thieves, clearly fed up, grabbed a crate of
donated supplies and hurled it at us. Miss Misfortune ducked,

(21:14):
and the crates slammed into the vending machine, sending candy
bars flying everywhere. Oh cool, Gregg said, snatching a Snickers
out of the air. Free snacks. After what felt like
an eternity. We managed to subdue the thieves. By subdue,
I mean they gave up and fled, deciding we weren't

(21:36):
worth the trouble. We stood in the wreckage of the
community center, panting and covered in muffin crumbs. Well, I said,
surveying the scene. That was something. Deborah's voice crackled over
my communicator. What happened? I told you this was a
low risk assignment. Good news, I said, the thief waves

(22:00):
are gone. And the bad news, she asked, clearly bracing
herself the vending machine's toast. Also, some chairs may have
spontaneously combusted. There was a long pause. I don't even
want to know, Deborah finally said, just clean it up
and get back here. Part three, The heist nobody asked for.

(22:25):
After the duck Fountain debacle, Deborah decided we needed a break,
or rather she wanted a break from us. She handed
us a folder marked pr Assignment Public Trust Exercise and
showed us out of the office with a wave. So
what's the plan, Gregg asked as we climbed into the van.

(22:47):
I opened the folder, squinting at the poorly stapled packet
of instructions we're hosting a bake sale. There was a long,
awkward silence. Bake sale Laser, Lenny finally said, his voice
dripping with disbelief. We're supervillains, or at least we were.

(23:07):
Now we're selling cookies. Miss Misfortune leaned back in her seat.
Honestly feels about right for us. Hold on, I said,
flipping through the pages. It's not just a bake sale.
It's a community fundraiser for the New Hope Children's Hospital.
All proceeds go to buying medical equipment. Oh well, Gregg said,

(23:30):
his voice dripping with sincerity. That's actually quite lovely. It's humiliating.
Lenny muttered. I didn't sign up for this program to
frost cupcakes. You signed up to avoid prison, I reminded him, So,
unless you want to test the cafeteria food in lock up,

(23:52):
I suggest you start practicing your piping skills. The bake
sale was set up outside a local community center. Deborah
had sent over a folding table, a stack of flyers,
and a box of chef hats that no one wanted
to wear, except Greg, who insisted it enhanced the vibe

(24:12):
between us. We had a total of three baked goods.
Lenny's scorched brownies, Miss Misfortunes, lopsided muffins, and my attempt
at cookies that looked and tasted like hockey pucks. Great start,
I said, staring at our sad little display. Now we
just need to convince people to buy this stuff. Gregg

(24:36):
smiled brightly. We'll charm them with our personalities. Lenny snorted, yeah,
because nothing says charming like former supervillain. We managed to
sell two muffins and a single brownie before things took
a turn for the villainous. A van screeched to a

(24:56):
halt in front of the community center, and a group
of mass asked thieves jumped out, carrying duffel bags and
yelling something about a cash donation. They stormed the center,
leaving us standing by our bake sale table in stunned silence.
Um Gregg said, shouldn't we do something? What do you

(25:18):
mean do something? Lenny asked, We're a bunch of ex
villains selling bad brownies. What are we going to do?
Throw cookies at them? Miss Misfortune crossed her arms. We
could call the police, That's what normal people do, right,
I shook my head. No time. They'll be in and
out before anyone gets here. If we want to stop them,

(25:40):
we're doing it ourselves. Everyone stared at me. You're serious,
Lenny said, Look, this is our chance to prove we're
not screw ups, I said, grabbing one of the flyers. Plus,
if we don't stop them, Debrah's going to make us
alphabetize the archives for the rest of our lives. That

(26:01):
got their attention. We burst into the community center like
a slightly less coordinated version of the Avengers. The thieves,
who were busy stuffing cash into their bags looked up
in surprise. Who are you supposed to be? One of
them asked, clearly unimpressed, We're ah. I faltered, realizing we

(26:23):
didn't have a team name. We're the bakesale Squad, Greg
said brightly. Lenny groaned, no, we're not, Miss Misfortune shrugged.
It's not the worst name I've heard. Before the thieves
could decide whether to laugh or shoot us, Gregg marched
forward and said, we understand that you've made some poor choices.

(26:45):
Perhaps we can talk this out. One of the thieves
rolled his eyes and pulled out a taser. We don't
negotiate with bakesale weirdos, thought, so, I muttered, all right,
Team plan b what's plan be Lenny asked, already charging
up his laser eyes. I grabbed the closest thing I

(27:07):
could find, a tray of Miss Misfortune's muffins, and hurled
it at the thieves. To my shock, it worked. The muffins,
which were apparently dense enough to double as weapons, knocked
the taser out of the thief's hand and sent him
stumbling backward. Nice throw, Miss Misfortune shouted, Grabbing a stack

(27:28):
of fliers and using them like paper shurrikens, she managed
to hit another thief in the face, temporarily blinding him.
With an ad for our charity cupcake Special Gregg, true
to form, tried to wrestle a duffle bag away from
one of the thieves, shouting, stealing is wrong. He managed
to trip over his own feet, but in the process

(27:49):
he accidentally took the thief down with him. The real
chaos started when Laser Lenny finally got involved. His eye beams,
which were notorily hard to aim, managed to hit everything
except the thieves, a vending machine which exploded, a ceiling
light which shattered, and a stack of chairs which somehow

(28:11):
caught fire. Lenny, I shouted, dodging a piece of flaming upholstery.
What did I say about no zapping. I'm trying, he yelled,
squinting furiously. They keep moving. One of the thieves, clearly
fed up, grabbed a crate of donated supplies and hurled
it at us. Miss misfortune ducked, and the crate slammed

(28:34):
into the vending machine, sending candy bars flying everywhere. Oh cool,
Gregg said, snatching a Snickers out of the air. Free snacks.
After what felt like an eternity, we managed to subdue
the thieves. By subdue, I mean they gave up and fled,
deciding we weren't worth the trouble. We stood in the

(28:57):
wreckage of the community center, panting and covered in muffin crumbs. Well,
I said, surveying the scene. That was something. Deborah's voice
crackled over my communicator. What happened? I told you this
was a low risk assignment. Good news, I said, the

(29:18):
thieves are gone. And the bad news, she asked, clearly
bracing herself the vending machine's toast. Also, some chairs may
have spontaneously combusted. There was a long pause. I don't
even want to know. Deborah finally said, just clean it.
Up and get back here. By the time we returned

(29:41):
to h Q, we were exhausted, but weirdly proud of ourselves.
Sure we hadn't exactly handled the situation gracefully, but we'd
stopped a robbery. For once, we'd actually made things better
instead of worse. Well, Lenny said, slumping onto a couch.
That was the weird didst bakesale ever? Miss Misfortune? Nodded,

(30:04):
but also kind of fun? Greg grinned we should do
it again sometime. Let's not, I said quickly, But deep
down I couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope.
Maybe we weren't total disasters after all, or maybe we
were just disasters with good intentions. Either way, it was progress,

(30:25):
sort of. Part four, the final test. The fallout from
the bake sale debacle, now capitalized because Deborah insisted on
filing all our disasters under official names, had been surprisingly minimal. Sure,
the vending machine was toast, literally, the chairs were still smoldering,
and Greg had somehow managed to glue his hand to

(30:48):
a table while helping clean up. But we'd scared off
a group of thieves and recovered most of the stolen cash.
That counted for something. Right, Deborah didn't see it that way.
You're lucky the community center isn't pressing charges, she said
the next morning, glaring at us from behind her desk.
But I can't keep covering for you. H Q wants results.

(31:12):
They want to know this program works. So what's the plan,
I asked, though I already knew the answer wasn't going
to be good. She slid a folder across the desk.
It was thicker than usual, and stamped on the front
were two words that made my stomach drop High priority assignment.

(31:34):
This is your final test, Deborah said. If you mess
this up, the program's done. No more second chances. Lenny groaned, great,
no pressure. What's the mission, Miss Misfortune, asked, flipping through
the folder. Our high tech villain, calling himself the Glitch,
has hacked into the city's traffic control system. Debrah explained,

(31:59):
his cause in gridlock across the entire downtown area. We've
tracked his location to an abandoned skyscraper. Your job is
to infiltrate, shut down his operation, and bring him in wait,
I said, raising a hand. You're sending us to take
on a high tech villain. That's the job, Debra said,

(32:19):
Think of it as a graduation exam. Either you prove
you're capable, or well, I'll let you figure out the alternative.
We all exchanged nervous looks. Even Gregg, usually the optimistic one,
looked uneasy. We piled into the van, our shiny replacement,
which miraculously was still intact, and headed downtown. The traffic

(32:44):
was exactly as bad as Deborah had warned. Cars were
bumper to bumper, honking furiously, and a few drivers had
resorted to abandoning their vehicles entirely. One guy was eating
a burrito on the roof of his car, looking prizingly
zen about the chaos. This is insane, Lenny said, staring

(33:05):
out the window. What kind of villain messes with traffic?
The kind who's clearly never been in rush hour, I muttered,
inching the van forward. All right, here's the plan. When
we get to the skyscraper, we wait, Gregg interrupted, shouldn't
we have a team name, you know, for inspiration? No,

(33:27):
miss misfortune, and I said in unison. By the time
we reached the skyscraper, the sun was starting to set,
casting long shadows across the city. The building loomed over us,
dark and foreboding, with a single floor near the top
lit by flickering blue light. Looks like that's him, Miss

(33:49):
Misfortune said, pointing right, I said, trying to sound confident.
Let's move. The lobby was abandoned, the elevators out of service.
We have no choice but to take the stairs, thirty
flights of them. By the time we reached the top,
we were wheezing like a group of unfit asthmatics. Who

(34:10):
builds skyscraper's this? Tall, Lenny gasped, leaning against the wall. Focus,
I said, though I wasn't exactly bursting with energy myself.
We're here to stop a villain, not die from cardio.
The Glitch's lair was about what you'd expect, a mess

(34:30):
of wires, glowing monitors, and way too many flashing lights.
In the center of the room sat the glitch himself,
a wiry guy with neon hair and a smug grin,
typing furiously on a keyboard. Well well, he said, looking
up as we stumbled in. If it isn't the rehabilitation rejects,

(34:51):
what's the plan? Gonna bake me some muffins? That's funny,
I said, stepping forward. I was about to ask if
you're in the mark for a laser eye tan. Lenny squinted.
I don't think that's a thing. Quiet, I hissed. The
glitch laughed, clearly unimpressed. You're out of your league. Do

(35:14):
you even know what you're dealing with. I've got control
of the entire city grid, traffic, power, water. I could
turn this city upside down with a single keystroke, or
Greg interrupted, you could not. We all stared at him.
What Greg said? Sometimes people just need to be asked nicely. Predictably,

(35:39):
the glitch didn't respond to Greg's suggestion. Instead, he hit
a button and the monitors around him lit up with
flashing red text. System overload initiated. What did you do?
I shouted, running toward the monitors, Just a little failsafe,
the glitch said, smugly, you've got five minutes before the

(36:00):
system crashes. Good luck stopping it. He bolted for the door,
and Lenny immediately fired up his lasers. He missed, of course,
but the beam ricocheted off a metal panel and hit
a monitor, which exploded in a shower of sparks. Stop
destroying things, I yelled, grabbing the nearest keyboard. We need

(36:21):
to shut this down. Do I look like an it guy,
Lenny snapped, definitely not. Miss Misfortune muttered, yanking open a
panel and poking at the wires inside. Gregg meanwhile was
chasing the glitch, who was surprisingly fast for a guy
who probably hadn't left his lair in weeks. Wait, Greg called,

(36:43):
can't we talk about this? Greg? He's not going to
I started, But then something incredible happened. Greg tripped in
true Greg fashion, His clumsiness turned out to be the
exact stroke of luck we needed. He fell into the glitch,
sending both of them crashing into a pile of cables.
The Glitcher's head hit the edge of a desk and

(37:05):
he slumped over unconscious. Huh, Gregg said, blinking. That worked.
With the glitch out cold, we turned our attention to
the flashing monitors. Miss Misfortune managed to jury rig the
wires she'd been fiddling with, slowing the countdown timer. Lenny,
against all odds, actually zapped a circuit that needed to

(37:28):
be fried for once, and I managed to cancel the
system overload with one second to spare. When the monitors
went dark, we all collapsed on to the floor, completely spent.
We did it, I said, staring at the ceiling barely.
Miss Misfortune muttered, I think I'm allergic to wires. Gregg smiled.

(37:52):
Team work makes the dream work, no, Lenny said, flatly,
stop saying that. Back at h Q, Deborah greeted us
with something resembling a smile. You stopped the glitch, she said,
The city's safe. The program might actually be working, see,

(38:13):
I said, grinning. I told you we had potential. You
also destroyed three monitors, a server rack, and part of
the ceiling. Deborah said, her smile fading. But I guess
that's progress. As we shuffled out of her office, I
couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Sure we
were still a mess, some more than others, but for

(38:36):
once we'd saved the day without causing too much damage.
Good job, team, I said, clapping Lenny on the back.
Don't touch me, he muttered. Miss Misfortune smirked. So what
do we do now? I shrugged. I guess we wait
for the next disaster, because, let's face it, with a

(38:57):
team like us, disaster was never far away. But hey,
at least we were getting better at cleaning it up,
sort of