Author's notes: About two days after I posted chapter four of this story, it occurred to me that men are considered to be notoriously bad at remembering dates, so perhaps it shouldn't have been such a surprise that the warden forgot Megamind's birthday. But then again, that is a stereotype. My dad and my husband are quite good at remembering birthdays and anniversaries. Also, I think that the warden, trying his best to be both mother and father, makes a special effort to remember all of his kids' birthdays.

And so we come to the end of this tale. Thank you very much for reading, and thanks to everyone who took the time to write reviews! It is always very heartening to receive feedback and it is much appreciated.

Chapter 5

As Parker approached the mechanic's bay he heard the subdued hum of the welder. He entered the room. The air was filled with the smell of grease and motor oil, and the sharp tang of metal.

The boy was welding one slab of metal to a framework. Minion, who was turned away from the harsh light of the welder, saw the warden enter. He sidled over to the boy, and gave him a nudge when he paused in his work. Blue glanced down at Minion, who nodded in Parker's direction. The welding mask swung in Parker's direction, and then Blue lifted the visor.

Parker walked over to them. Blue, his expression guarded, removed the heavy gloves and put them on the table. Parker cleared his throat, which had gone a little dry.

"Happy birthday," he said, holding out the wrapped package to him. "Or I suppose it could be an early Christmas present." He'd thought about hiding it behind his back, but that would've been a cheap attempt to get a delighted smile out of the boy.

A flicker of interest passed across Blue's careful mask of indifference.

"Very well," the boy said. "I'll open it later if you don't mind. I'm rather busy at the moment, but you may place it over there." He nodded toward the table.

Dust motes floated through the air. "All right," Parker said, putting the present down. He did feel a little disappointed. It was a video game, and his fifteen year old Sammy had assured him that it was one that any boy would kill for. Since Sammy was practically glued to his own games, Parker believed it.

He took a look at the metal framework on the table. "This is the core, right?" Blue shrugged as if allowing that it might be the core, or it might not. "Coming along okay?" Parker asked, bending over to peer at it. He couldn't really make any sense out of the jumble of wires and, what were they, motherboards? And circuits and whatnot.

"You could say that," Blue said taking the helmet off and rubbing his neck. He'd been leaning over the worktable for a long time.

The skeletal frame for the new robot body stood nearby, lashed upright between a couple of ladders. The warden walked over to examine it.

"It's...quite tall," Parker said.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be big," Minion piped excitedly.

"You're going to go through a real growth spurt, Minion," Blue said, grinning. They laughed and exchanged high fives.

"Don't you think this is all a bit much?" Parker said.

They looked at him with that special look that only children can give to clueless elders.

"You know the old saying, warden," Blue said, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth. "If you can't beat 'em, then build someone who can."

Parker frowned. "Now wait just a minute..."

"Oh, I don't mean it literally," the boy said. "Minion's advanced size will go a long way toward preventing fights. Because I have noticed that large men like Lenny rarely get into fights, while Sid, who is, shall we say, more diminutive, gets into them all the time. Granted, he loses his temper at the drop of a head covering, but still..." he shrugged.

There was a certain logic to that. He eyed the silent bulk. Minion might have trouble getting through doorways with shoulders like that. He turned and faced Minion.

"There won't be any trouble, will there, Minion," he said. It wasn't a question. Minion, trapped between his master and his warden, shifted his feet in a nervous little dance and darted a glance in the boy's direction. Blue tilted his head in a slight nod and raised an eyebrow. These little nods and twitches and shrugs were all part of their personal code. This particular set of signals may have meant "Go ahead and answer" or "Tell him what he wants to hear."

"No, warden," Minion said meekly. The warden looked solemnly at them.

"Because I can put a stop to all this if there is," he said, looking at Blue this time and gesturing around at the partially constructed robot suit. He knew full well that if there was any trouble, it would probably not be from Minion.

The boy blinked. "Of course, warden."

"This is all approved by the security chief?" Parker said.

The boy grimaced. "Yes, yes, yes, it's all taken care of," he said impatiently. "I've assured Mr. Schmidt that there are no lasers, or battering rams, or sharp implements. I showed him all the components that I will include in the new mechanized body. Not that he knew what he was looking at," he muttered. Parker frowned again.

"Nothing's going to explode," Blue said, rolling his eyes. He picked up the helmet again. "So if you don't mind, I would like to make some more progress here." With that, he snapped the visor down and picked up the welder again.

Parker took a stroll around the room again. He was the warden; he had every right to be there, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding. He paused by the door before he left. The boy was ignoring his presence with all the determination he could muster. Sparks flew. Minion was moving the arm on the new body up and down. Against his little spidery hand, the appendage looked massive.

Three weeks later

I can't believe I agreed to this, Megamind thought. The warden had been insistent, and had literally talked himself hoarse so Megamind had said he would do it, if only so the old man would shut up.

The boy marched stiffly across the frozen courtyard to where Henfling stood by the main building. At least he was alone. He didn't think he could stand it if Henfling's buddies were loitering around, soaking up every word.

Henfling glanced at Megamind, then surveyed the courtyard, face carefully blank. Megamind stood at a right angle to the guard. He caught himself rubbing the back of his shoulder and made himself stop. He hadn't done anything wrong! And here he was expected to act contrite for someone else's stupidity! He'd only agreed to this pretense of regret in order to get the old man off his case. He shoved his hands behind his back.

"Good to see you back at work, Mr. Henfling," he said in brisk tones. He glanced at the guard to see the effect. Henfling didn't look at him, but he nodded.

Prisoners milled around the snow-covered courtyard, guards patrolled the walls. All was as it should be, though there was a rather large amount of space surrounding them, as if he and Henfling were inside a force field. He could tell that the man was still favoring his leg, keeping most of his weight off it. Megamind bit his lip and looked away.

Why did this fool come back to work so quickly? he thought. Immediately his excellent memory supplied him with unwelcome details. Henfling, Joseph, age 32, wife Polly, four children, all under the age of six. Worker's comp currently paid approximately two-thirds of one's salary.

His jaw tightened and his hands felt hot despite the icy wind.

"Sorry about your leg," he burst out.

Henfling looked at him, then shrugged, his mouth quirking up at the corner in an embarrassed grin.

"Eh, it's all right," he muttered. "Wasn't that bad."

The hard knot in Megamind's stomach relaxed a fraction. That was odd, he hadn't even known it was there. The sound of the men in the courtyard talking and exercising swirled around them.

"Is that sufficient?" Megamind said, a little testily. Henfling looked at him.

Megamind ground his teeth in annoyance. "Have I fulfilled the correct so-see-all obligations of expressing regret?"

Henfling blinked. His mouth moved as he sounded out the syllables. "So-see-all?"

"You know, whatever has to do with politeness, the words and actions that relate to living together in society," Megamind said, frowning.

Comprehension dawned. "Oh, social," Henfling said, nodding. "Uh...yeah, I guess. I..."

"See you." Megamind turned on his heel and left. He had more important matters that required his attention.

Frank Wilson went to join the end of the lunch line. He was under the observer's balcony that surrounded the mess hall, right next to the pillar, when Megamind came around the side of it and leaned against it, crossing his arms. He felt the breeze at his back as the two inmates who had entered the mess hall behind him abruptly departed for another part of the room.

"Welcome back, Frank. How was solitary?"

Frank glowered. "What is this?"

"Interesting thing about this particular spot, Frank," the boy said. "It's what's known as a 'sweet spot.' Not immediately visible from all corners of the walkway. Kind of nice when you need to have a private conversation without the guards butting in."

The prisoners at the nearest tables were aware of the conversation. They were carefully ignoring it, but they watched from out of the corners of their eyes. Some of the uncles were hiding smirks. If the guards got wind of this little exchange, the fun would be over too quick.

Frank felt his face tighten. He'd just gotten out of that hole, and he was sure that the little freak was trying to get him into trouble so they'd dump his ass right back in there again.

"Get out of my way," he said.

And then he felt a heavy tread behind him, and heard the deep hum of extra-large servomotors. He turned to find himself face to face with a fierce-eyed Minion.

"This is Minion's new mechanized suit. What do you think?" the boy said.

Frank took half a step back from Minion, but he looked from one to the other, glaring at each of them. "I'm not playing your stupid little games. I know what this is. I won't have it. Not gonna get pushed around by some circus freak..." the rest of his words were obliterated by Minion's hand closing around his collar.

"Now, see, that's the kind of short-sightedness that can get a person in trouble, Frank," Megamind said, examining his nails. "You shouldn't call people names. Didn't they teach you that in shool?"

Frank was turning purple. He grabbed at the metal hand that was restricting the air supply.

"I suppose that, blow for blow, you got a lot worse than you dealt out, so there's not any real reason for Minion to start breaking limbs. This is just a demonstration, really. Stay out of my way from now on, and all will be well. All right, Minion, I believe the point has been made. You can let him go now."

Minion released him. Gasping, Frank backed away, rubbing his neck. A group of uncles, seated at a nearby table, burst out laughing.

The exchange had not gone completely unnoticed by the guards. It was clear that something was going on behind the pillar. Iverson marched over, bristling with officious wrath. "What's going on here! What's the hold up!" he snapped.

Megamind shrugged. "Merely having a talk, Mr. Iverson. Right, Frank?" Frank's face could have soured milk, but he didn't say anything. Megamind smirked. "Surely it's not against the rules to exchange a few pleasantries."

Iverson shoved him. "Just get back to your seat!" He turned to Frank. "Back in line!"

A look of pure, calculated fury flashed across Megamind's face before the crooked smile returned. "Of course," he murmured. Iverson was busy haranguing the other two latecomers.

"Hey kid, you guys can come sit here," said Sid. "There's room." The grinning uncles all looked at him expectantly.

Megamind said, "We already have seats over there. Come, Minion." He walked past their surprised faces to an empty table on the far side of the room. Minion hesitated a moment, glancing uncertainly at the staring uncles, then followed.

There was no rumble of disapproval, but the air grew thick in the silence. Sid stared after them, then turned to look down at his tray.

"Told you," Lenny said, taking a sip from his cup.

Sid stabbed some coleslaw. "Shut up, Lenny."

In the dark of the night, there were whispers.

"Sir, could you explain again why we're doing this?"

"Iverson needs to be taken down a peg, that's why. He's not going to get away with pushing me around!"

"But he's a guard, they're always pushy. And won't he, you know, sort of suspect?"

"There are, at this time, fifty-seven inmates who have sufficient mental capacity to pull off a stunt of this magnitude."

"But how many of them could get in here? And how many have the mental capacity to hook up a false video feed?"

"Thirty-eight. Okay, when I get to the top, hand up the bag."

"And what about motive? What about-"

"Oh, quit worrying, Minion. I have an alibi."

"Which is?"
"I am going to come down with a terrible case of stomach cramps, and shall be laid up in the infirmary for the duration. Wait a minute, just let me get the tether secured."

"Can't we just wait until some blueberry pie filling comes in?"

"Tch! That's too obvious. Cherry is a perfectly good substitute, and it'll wash right off. He's lucky it's not motor oil. Okay, I'm ready. Hoist it up! For heaven's sake, Minion, don't sigh like that. It's depressing."

After the trap was set, he turned off the recorder that he'd hooked up to the monitors. The pirated video feed showed empty corridors and themselves sleeping peacefully in their cell. And no one was the wiser for their unauthorized trip to the dry goods room. The bell sounded for lights-on, and the ebb and flow of daily prison life got underway.

Blue complained about a stomach ache. The guards were disinclined to believe it since he was so rarely ill, but he was so listless they sent him to the infirmary just to be on the safe side. After all, there was a stomach bug going around. Several inmates had been taken with it, and the guards themselves were short staffed.

After being in bed for four hours straight with a fake stomach cramp, Megamind couldn't stand it any longer. The warden had even stopped by, and as he left, there was a definite hint of suspicion on the old man's face.

What was going on out there? Where was the hue and cry? He sent Minion out on recognizance, and he came back, shrugging his over-sized shoulders.

"Well, did you get to see what was going on?" Megamind demanded.

"I tried, Sir, but they were getting suspicious enough as it is. I didn't even get to walk by the distribution counter. Mr. Chavez said you'd already gotten your linens for the week, and why did I want to go there anyway, and I couldn't think of..."

"All right, all right," Megamind said, waving off Minion's explanation. He flung off the covers and left the room, Minion clumping along behind.

"I'm feeling a lot better, Dr. Curtis, thanks to your stellar medical skills," he announced to the infirmary at large, and went out.

"I can't understand it," he said. "A million guards must have been in and out of there by now, and Iverson should have been the first one in there this morning, he was on the schedule!"

Security chief Schmidt appeared around the far corner of the hallway like a bad dream. Megamind's steps faltered.

Schmidt walked closer, his face unreadable. "All better?" he said without a trace of irony. "We need to talk. Come with me," he said. He turned and began walking back down the corridor.

Megamind rolled his eyes and followed.

As they approached the cell block, Schmidt faced Minion and said, "Go back to the cell." Minion looked helplessly at Megamind, who shrugged. Well, there was nothing else for it. He clasped his hands behind his back to stop their trembling and followed the security chief. As they rounded the next corner, Megamind glanced over his shoulder. Minion was following, as discretely as his new, clanking robot suit would allow.

Parker regarded the three members of the Alien Oversight Committee, Whittier, Bentley, and Dogherty...or Witless, Get Bent, and Dogbreath, as the boy persisted in calling them, and try as he might, Parker could not get the imagery out of his head.

There they sat, as somber as judges, Whittier in his neatly tailored suit, Bentley with his fussy bow tie, and Dogherty, who usually dressed all in gray, but today he had thrown caution to the winds and had a gaudy red carnation attached to his lapel.

They settled into their chairs, opened briefcases, and shuffled folders around. The label 'John Doe' was neatly displayed. Parker wondered if it was all for show. There couldn't possibly be that many reports for one kid, alien or not. There was enough paperwork there to fill a room full of filing cabinets.

Their officially scheduled semi-annual meeting wasn't to happen for a couple of months, but they insisted there were important matters to discuss and it couldn't wait.

Whittier cleared his throat. "We have come here today, Mr. Parker, because of our concerns. It would seem that young John is...maturing, shall we say, in a very unhealthy manner." Whittier always used the boy's official name, and Blue typically responded as if he never knew who Whittier was talking about.

"There's nothing wrong with his health," Parker said. "Well, he seems to have picked up a stomach bug, but..."

"That's not what we mean," Whittier said. "It has come to our attention that he accosted a young lady."

Parker frowned. "What? Where did you hear that?"

Bentley sniffed. "The source isn't important," he said in his nasally voice. "The very same day he attempted to incite a riot, and set fire to his cell."

"There hasn't been any riot!" Parker said, perplexed. "I think I would've noticed."

"Well, I did say 'attempt.' We expect to be kept up to date on events of such magnitude, and quite frankly, warden, I find it disturbing that you don't seem to know anything about these matters."

Whittier raised a conciliatory hand as Parker bristled. "Gentlemen, please! It happened last month, Mr. Parker, right before Christmas. The twentieth?" The three of them peered at him, Whittier looking at him over his spectacles.

Parker huffed out a breath. "Oh. That." He leaned his elbows on the desk. "There's been some mistake."

"I'll say," Bentley muttered.

"There has neither been a riot nor an attempt to start one," Parker said loudly. "And he did not set fire to the cell, he burned a few papers, and he certainly did not accost a young lady, as you so delicately put it. Blue was watching people leave, and one of the prisoners got it into his head that he was eyeballing his daughter. Merely watching visitors depart is not an offense."

"But setting a fire is a major breach, is it not, warden? No matter how insignificant you seem to think it was?" Bentley said drily.

Parker gave him a hard look. "He has already been punished for it, I assure you," Parker said. Having to apologize to Henfling was punishment enough for that proud kid. Not to mention the surrounding emotional trauma of the unprovoked attack from a bigot, but Parker was not going to expose the boy's internal wounds. It was better if he just stuck to the facts.

There was general sense of pulling back and regrouping among the committee members. Dogherty leaned over to Whittier and whispered in his ear.

Bentley sniffed again. "Nevertheless, I should think that young girls who come to visit their fathers shouldn't have to put up with any sort of unwanted attentions from prisoners."

From one particular prisoner, you mean, Parker thought, heat rising in his face. "Perhaps I could duct tape his eyes shut on visiting days?" he said.

Bentley's jowls shook. "I don't think you're taking this seriously, Mr. Parker!"

Whittier tried to intervene. "I think we're getting a little..."

"Has an official complaint been filed for harassment, or assault?" Parker said. "This 'young lady' you're so concerned about, is she pressing charges? No? Is anyone pressing charges?" He looked around at each man in turn.

Bentley sighed. "No, as a matter of fact," he said. He sounded disappointed.

"Because nothing happened. I don't see that there is a problem here. Someone comes running to you with some wild stories, and you eat it up! I don't know why you're wasting my time with these rumors."

Whittier raised his hand to forestall Bentley's sputtering. "Actually, warden, this is probably as good a time as any to address our concerns. Clearly the level of freedom that he enjoys at this facility needs re-evaluation."

He glanced around at everyone, and let his gaze come to rest on Parker. "We should have prepared for his...maturity, long before this, but, well, there it is. No time like the present, and all that. Given the impossibility of his being able to engage in any sort of normal interactions, I think it would be a good idea to help him deal with frustration, I'm sure his...hormones must be a source of distress. But we can take steps to deal with it."

"What are you suggesting?" Parker said.

"Medication, to control his urges. It would be doing him a kindness, really."

Parker tapped his finger on the desk. He leaned back in his chair. "A kindness," he said.

"Yes," Whittier said. "And I should think it would be a great help to you, warden, it would make him more docile, more tractable, easier to control. Surely you see the need."

Schmidt headed straight for the dry goods distribution office. Megamind's hands tightened. He could feel his shoulders beginning to curl in on themselves and jerked himself up straight.

Schmidt went to the side door and unlocked it and, heedless of danger, walked right in. He frowned at Megamind hovering in the doorway.

"Well, come in!" he said. He moved absent-mindedly around the room, inspecting the shelves with their piles of uniforms and bedding. Megamind stepped across the threshold with extreme care. His eyes darted around the pipes and duct work that constituted the room's ceiling, trying to see what had gone wrong with his brilliant trap. Almost immediately he spotted the problem. It had been triggered, but the end of the tether had somehow gotten tangled around one of the guide hooks. It looked like a knot was all that was keeping the splatter bag up there. A knot! How had that gotten there? He'd checked the entire line twice, and it was smooth as could be. He tore his eyes down to ground level again at Schmidt's voice.

"There better not be so much as a paper clip missing when we're through here," Schmidt said, still facing the shelves.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Megamind muttered. Paper clip? Please! That pack of 'C' batteries, now, or that transistor radio with 'Property of Slick!' scrawled in red marker across it, those might be worth his time, if he had a mind for them. He could feel his neck muscles creaking under the strain of not looking up. Schmidt settled himself behind the desk in the back, and was immediately hidden behind the paperwork. He lifted a stack of binders onto the floor.

Megamind rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels. "So-o-o, where's Iverson? Out sick?" he asked.

Schmidt became visible as lifted another stack onto the floor. "Damn computers," he muttered. "Paperless. Ha! That's Mister Iverson to you. He's got the flu. Why?"

Megamind grinned, shrugged, waved his hands, and basically indicated it was a perfectly innocent question without any kind of ulterior motive or anything to be suspicious about, no sirree.

"Have a seat," Schmidt barked, growing impatient with his hovering. He gestured at the chair in front of the desk. Megamind came closer. Now he could see the splatter bag, right over the desk, and the desk's occupant. Who should have been Iverson, but rather horribly wasn't.

He realized he was tiptoeing, and slipped into the chair, gripping the edge of the seat in case a quick get away was in the immediate future. Schmidt glanced around the nearly-cleared desk, working his jaw as if something unpleasant were trapped in one of his molars.

He sighed heavily. "I'm a little short on time. But some things...look, I needed to get this done. I brought you here to apologize," he said.

"I didn't do it," Megamind said, on automatic. His mind flashed through the events of the past couple of weeks, searching for any other acts that he didn't want to come to Schmidt's attention.

Schmidt finally met his eyes and he almost smiled. "No, son, I meant that I should apologize."

Megamind's mouth fell open. He shut it. He glanced at the walls to see if they were beginning to freeze over, just as hell must have surely done. He wished there were a window nearby, so he could see if pigs were soaring through the air.

"Apologize?" he said weakly. Things were pretty serious when they started calling you 'son.' In the darkness above, the splatter bag began a slow rotation in some hidden air current.

Schmidt leaned forward. His hands fidgeted across the desk until they located a random pencil. He picked it up, twirled it in his fingers, and tapped it on the desk. "I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. That business with Frank Wilson. Remember?" He grimaced. "Of course you do. I've been thinking about it a lot, see, and I figure we're stuck with each other for a long time, until, well, you know." He looked at Megamind expectantly.

Megamind, who certainly did not know for how long, nodded anyway. This was unbelievable. Schmidt trying to be friendly was a crime against nature, like a fluffy crocodile. He think he would have preferred dealing with a crocodile. The beast might try to bite you in half, but it didn't try to win you over by acting all chummy.

The security chief's chair creaked as he leaned back in it. "See, I haven't seen my own kid for a few years, you know. He's about your age. My ex tells me he's gettin' to be a handful too. Noticing girls."

Megamind shut his eyes. "That's all right, Mr. Schmidt," he mumbled. Do not start telling me about your own troubled childhood, don't start trying to relate...

"It may be hard to believe, but I was young once too. I can remember..."

Megamind gave a little sigh. His eyes strayed back up to the splatter bag doing a slow rotation in the darkness above. It was leaking. In glum fascination he watched as a sticky dark drop of red formed on the side of the bag and fell onto the shelf behind Schmidt. Another drop appeared at the edge of the shelf and slowly, saggingly, made its way to the next shelf down.

"No," Parker said. "Absolutely not."

Dogherty pursed his lips and scribbled on his legal pad.

Bentley scowled. "Oh come now, warden! I think you're losing your objectivity. Now, we know you've had some personal problems lately," he said with a smug all-knowing grin. "Trying to get your eldest back on his feet, very stressful, it's all..."

"Dan has moved out," Parker said shortly. As you well know, since I'm sure the offices of city hall were all a-buzz with the gossip. "It has nothing to do with the situation here. Blue hasn't attacked anyone! And you want to sedate him? It's unconscionable. He doesn't need medicating."

"We have to consider public safety," Bentley said. "And you are hindering our work!"

"How about if he is confined to his cell during visiting hours?" said Whittier hastily. "Surely that's a reasonable compromise."

Parker let out his breath in an exaggerated huff. "Are we even having the same conversation here? Confining him is a punishment, not a compromise."

"There are other ways," Bentley said, piggy eyes gleaming. "I've heard that electro-shock therapy can work wonders."

Parker's felt his fingernails dig into the desk. Whittier looked mildly disturbed, as if a waiter had brought him the wrong type of salad dressing. "Really, Bill, I thought we'd agreed to that as a last..."

Parker's voice was just short of a growl. "So now you think he's mentally disturbed? On what evidence? Under what twisted belief system are you operating? I'm having serious doubts about your fitness to be on this committee, Mr. Bentley."

"How dare you! I have half a mind to..."

"Half a mind would be an improvement!"

"If we have to get a court order to get you to do your duty, then we will!"

A court order! Who did they think they were talking to? "My duty?" Parker said. "I know damn well what my duty is, and it's not to drug the kid up or subject him to some barbaric 'treatment'! He needs an outlet for his energy, he needs more exposure to the wider world, completely supervised, of course," he added over the chorus of protests. "Not to be locked away for the rest of his life!"

"I had my own gang I hung out with, well, not a real gang, just a bunch a guys, we all hung out together..." Schmidt's voice was a steady background drone.

Wasn't he just saying how busy he was? Megamind thought. When is this torture going to be over? But it seemed that Schmidt was in the mood to reminisce.

If that bag fell anytime within the next few minutes, Megamind was pretty sure that Schmidt wouldn't waste time checking the video recording, or asking the other guards if they'd noticed anything suspicious, what with the Number One Suspect sitting before him. He had a habit of leaping to conclusions. Just because this happened to be the right conclusion in this case didn't make it any less inconvenient.

Megamind spent a productive few seconds judging how long it would take to make it to the door.

"...you know what I mean?" Schmidt stopped talking and looked at him. Megamind grasped frantically at the lost threads of the conversation.

"Um, yes?" he said.

It seemed to be satisfactory. Schmidt nodded. "What I'm tryin' to say is, I know what it's like, bored, restless, but no reason why we gotta butt heads all the time. I'd appreciate it if you showed the guards a little more respect..."

A red pearl of cherry syrup gathered steam and colonized the third shelf down. And Megamind, ears straining, definitely heard the tiniest of creaks from the frayed tether.

"...you respect me, and I'll respect you..."

It sounded like the security chief was wrapping up his little chat. Megamind pulled his gaze away from the bulging sack and nodded vigorously.

Schmidt stood up. "Okay, Megamind?" he said, and stuck out his hand. Megamind stared at it.

Oh. He lunged to his feet, making the chair scrape across the floor and jabbed his right hand in Schmidt's general direction. He had to repress a shudder as his slim fingers were enveloped in that ruddy paw.

Schmidt felt a rare twinge of sympathy. The kid had probably never shaken anyone's hand before. He looked the boy in the eye and shook his hand once, firmly, then released him.

Ramrod straight, Megamind yanked his hand back. "Can I go now, Mr. Schmidt?"

Schmidt had settled behind the desk again. He nodded and gave a curt wave. He opened a binder and began leafing through it.

Megamind sailed back out into the hall, and reached behind him for the doorknob.

Hey! He didn't call me Blue! Instead of triumphant, he felt weirdly indignant. Probably thinks he can win me over by using the name I have rightfully chosen for myself! His logic was warped and made no sense, but he'd been correcting everybody for so long, it was rather a shock to hear the name 'Megamind' come out of someone else's mouth.

There was a very loud snap from inside the dry goods office as the overworked tether gave way. Schmidt looked up. Megamind slammed the door.

There was a gigantic SPLAT as if the biggest paint ball in the world had exploded.

Megamind ran for it.

The guards at Checkpoint B looked up at the sound of skittering feet. There was a moment's silence, then Blue walked around the corner. The guard on the near side got to his feet.

"Spread 'em," he said, as the boy approached.

The boy 'tsk'-ed and rolled his eyes, but he raised his arms and the guard patted him down.

"He's clean," he said, and the other man nodded and pressed the buzzer. Blue stepped through the gate.

"I'm sure the pleasure was all yours," the boy said snidely, and continued on his way.

"Hey," the second guard said. Blue froze.

"You tell Minion he can't keep hanging around here. I have to keep telling him to get lost. Can't loiter around here," he grumbled.

"We can see his shadow," the first guard said loudly. The shadow in question shuffled further back around the corner.

"I'll...do that right away," Blue said, and marched down the corridor. The guards began to settle back into their seats when another figure, dripping with cherry syrup, came into sight.

"What the-"

They turned, but Blue was gone.

Megamind jogged along the hall, slowly, so Minion could keep up.

"Have to build some speed into you," he muttered.

"Sorry, Sir, I'm trying. These legs are heavy."Not that it required any real physical exertion for Minion, but the length of time it took to swing each appendage forward at a decent speed took forever.

"Remember when I said I that it was time to stand on my own two feet and face the world?"

"Yeah, like a man should, to face whatever adversity might come? It was a very inspiring declaration, Sir."

"Yes, naturally. Except, perhaps ...there might still be occasions when it might be... prudent, as it were... just this once, mind you... to seek refuge, even quite possibly shelter..."

"From the warden?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth. What are you stopping for?" Megamind looked back at him.

"I was thinking I can try pointing him the wrong way," Minion said bravely.

Megamind looked at him with admiration. "Minion, you are one fantastic fish." And ran for it.

It was with considerable relief that the guards at Checkpoint B buzzed the security chief through. No words were exchanged. Schmidt strode forward as if he would walk right through the gate and they lunged for the buzzer.

They watched as he walked stickily away, leaving red footprints on the floor.

"Kid's dead," one of them muttered.

The other nodded. "Least he won't be able to sit down for a couple months."

When Minion saw the glowering, cherry-colored Schmidt, he wished his robot suit was a lot bigger. Like something the size of Metro Tower.

As the security chief stalked toward him, Minion raised a trembling digit.

"Um, he went that way," he squeaked, pointing toward the laundry. Schmidt jabbed an accusing finger at him and skewered him with a look that said that a certain ichthyoid was going to be spending a lot of time in the aquarium real soon, and went the opposite direction, toward the administrative wing.

Well, I tried, Minion thought.

Avoiding the cells completely was impossible. The guards got out of Schmidt's way, and refrained from giggling at least until he was out of earshot. The hoots and catcalls from the prisoners thundered in Schmidt's ears as he squelched his way to the warden's office. He took off his belt for use as a handy strap.

After some more arguing and useless debating, the meeting collapsed under its own weight and came to an end. Parker wouldn't budge on the medication issue, and Bentley was annoyed that the other committee members hadn't backed him up on his shock therapy idea.

Bentley shoved his arms into his coat sleeves in a disgruntled manner. "It's far too early to say when he will be allowed into greater society, warden. Not until we have total assurance that the public will not be at risk."

Parker sighed. They wandered into the outer office. "Well, how about some kind of time frame? Say he behaves himself for a set number of weeks, then..."

Whittier raised his eyebrows. "A time frame?" he said. "Something like: '72 Days Without An Explosion'?"

"Something like that, yes," said Parker. "He could be rewarded for good behavior with an outing of some sort." He looked at their stern faces. "Under supervision," he added.

Bentley said hotly, "It would have to be very good behavior indeed, if I have anything to say about it!"

"How about a visit to the Natural History Museum?" said Dogherty. "He likes fossils, doesn't he?" They all stared at him. It was, quite possibly, the first time he had ever volunteered an original suggestion in any of these meetings. Perhaps Dogherty was the one on medication. It was a good idea, too, or would have been a good one a few months ago.

Parker took a deep breath. "I think he's outgrown the dinosaur phase," he said carefully.

There was the sound of running feet. Blue screeched to a stop in the doorway.

"Let's see what he has to say about this proposal," Parker said. Up and about, I see. What a surprise. Well, he'd suspected the boy hadn't really been sick, but he hadn't had time to figure out what he was up to. He gave him a stern look, willed him to be civil, and gestured curtly for him to come closer. "Why don't you come over and..."

Whittier nodded and said, "Hello, John."

Parker rained silent curses on Whittier's head. Why, why, WHY in God's name did this imbecile insist on calling the boy by the one name that he despised above all others? Just because it was on the documents!

Then Parker realized Blue was breathing hard, but his hunted demeanor quickly evaporated, as the boy drew himself up and gave Whittier an evil grin.

"That's Megamind, Mr. Witless. And I'm afraid I don't have time to talk," he peered back around the corner, then, with lightning speed, he flew into Parker's office and slammed the door. The lock snicked into place.

"Did he just call me 'Mr. Witless'?" Whittier said, scrunching up his face.

Bentley looked at Parker. "Megamind?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "Is he mentally stable?"

An apparition covered in cherry pie filling loomed around the doorway, but Schmidt's features were recognizable under the mess. He didn't blow up the kitchen again, did he? Parker thought in bewilderment. Then he saw the belt in Schmidt's hand.

Parker raised his hands. "Now, just take it easy, Walt, just..."

Schmidt's eyes could have ignited the room. "Out of my way," he growled. As one man, the stunned committee stepped to the side, dignity forgotten. Even the warden's assistant looked ready to dive under the desk. Parker was all alone in the center of the room.

"You need some time to cool off, now," Parker warned. "I won't let you do anything you'll regret."

"I won't regret it. Believe me," Schmidt said in a deadly voice. Parker couldn't help noticing that a cherry was stuck to the side of his head, perched right over his ear.

"What the hell is that?!" Dogherty screeched. A jittery Minion, all four hundred pounds of him, quickly ducked back out of sight.

"It's just Minion, Mr. Dogherty," Parker said. A slightly hysterical feeling was bubbling up in his chest. The words He's gone through a growth spurt, were lining up in his head, and he barely kept them from bursting out. There was not anything remotely funny about the situation, not in the slightest, he told himself firmly.

Parker convinced Schmidt that he would feel a whole lot better after a shower and a change of clothes.

Getting the boy to come out of the office took quite a long time, especially after Parker unlocked the door and realized he'd been talking to an empty room. The boy had escaped through the vents. Bentley drily asked if this was his normal way of travel, and wondered if the boy was really spending as much time in his cell as the warden seemed to think. Parker used the intercom to make a blanket announcement of amnesty. The boy turned himself in because it was better than waiting to be found by Schmidt, who, though newly clean and scrubbed, was still dangerously angry.

While they were negotiating the terms of his punishment, which was to clean the entire dry goods distribution office by himself and take on extra KP duties until his eyebrows turned gray, Megamind noticed that the warden was having a little trouble talking. A few times he made an odd choking sound, as if something had gone down the wrong pipe.

It was almost as if the warden were trying not to laugh, but surely that couldn't be.

I know it may seem a little strange that Megamind would take off and leave Minion to confront Schmidt alone, after all that hassle in chapter 2 to keep Minion out of the aquarium, but the circumstances are a little different here. In chapter 2, injustice and unfairness were the issues. Schmidt was attempting to punish Megamind for something he didn't do. In this chapter, Megamind DEFINITELY was the culprit, and what's more, Schmidt is directly going after HIM.

Thank you again for reading!