"I dunno, One," Minion Two says, binoculars pressed hard against his eyes. "This looks like a normal date to me."

Minion One shuffles his hands together on the steering wheel and rests his chin on his knobby knuckles. His eyes remain fixed across the street from under the brim of his #1 DAD baseball cap. "Can you put the binoculars down? You're making us look like stalkers."

"We're spying on our daughter on her date. The binoculars aren't the problem here."

"Her date with a hero. If Wonky Smell recognized us, Ishana could be in danger."

Minion Two tosses the binoculars into the back seat and puffs furiously at a limp cigarette, filling the minivan with acrid smoke. He's wearing a pair of coveralls from the stash they keep in the trunk next to the spare tire and the sticks of emergency dynamite Minion Three can't go anywhere without. A dark stain blotches the collar of the coveralls because someone is too lazy to scrub the blood out before throwing the work clothes in the wash, but no one's going to see them. They're keeping a low profile. That's kind of the point of a stakeout.

They're parked under a broad, leafy tree across the street from a classic-style diner. A red leather booth frames Ishana and Wynter inside the wide window, fluorescent-lit against the deepening evening. Ishana hasn't stopped smiling since they went inside. It's unsettling.

"She didn't recognize us," Minion Two says firmly around a mouthful of smoke. "The last time we saw her, we had our masks on."

"She had a mask too. Didn't stop us from recognizing her."

"Okay, true." Minion Two chews on his cigarette. "But. It was chaos in that bank, and she was focused on Professor Fandangle and his toy gun. We were just the hired help. There's no way she got a good look at us."

Across the street, the girls split a sundae. A sundae. Wynter scoops a saucy sample and offers it to Ishana. The Minions grimace and look away.

Minion Two says, "They're so wholesome I wanna puke."

"This's such a disaster," Minion One groans, knocking his hat askew as he clutches at the remains of his hair.

"Should we tell Dom?"

"And admit a hero the same age as our daughter kicked our butts? No, thanks."

"But what can we do about it alone?" Minion Two puffs furiously. "And we're not supposed to get involved in her dating life, anyway. We're evil, not bad parents."

"This isn't like we're saying we think her girlfriend's a bitch."

"No, this is serious. What if Windy Soliloquy is converting her?"

"Converting her?"

"Convincing her to be a hero!" Minion Two groans. "She's already such a goody-two-shoes! What if this girl uses her feelings to like, brainwash her into believing in the nobility of heroism?"

"Shan doesn't have a talent."

"It's not like that would've stopped us from training her if she wanted to be a villain, would it?"

"Of course not. Like, even Dom's talent is kinda useless in a fight but that never slowed her down."

"Shan's smarter than us. She could be the intellectual type. Inventing sentient weapons and transcendent-seeking traps." Minion Two gestures morosely, sparks flying off his cigarette to leave tiny burns all over the dash. "People do stupid things when they're in love."

In the diner, Ishana playfully smears chocolate sauce across Wynter's nose and the two girls collapse into giggles. Smoke hangs so thick inside the car that the Minions have to squint to see out the windshield.

"Can you open the fucking window?" Minion One complains, waving a hand uselessly through the toxic fog. "We quit for a reason, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, old lungs aren't gold lungs." Minion Two stubs the cigarette out against the dash, leaving a larger burnt spot to match the small ones, and slumps back into his seat with a huge sigh.

Across the street, Wynter waves down the server, presumably to ask for the check.

"Let's think about this rationally," Minion One says. "If Wilted Salad didn't recognize us, then Ishana isn't in danger. And a hero isn't gonna reveal their secret identity to just anyone."

"We can't risk it. Shan knows enough about what we do to be a big problem if she told a hero. The second she learns Windy Snake's identity it could be game over."

"Counterpoint: putting your parents in jail is pretty evil. If she turned us in, that'd mean she's willing to sacrifice anything for her goal. That's pure villain behavior. Wouldn't you be proud of her?"

"Okay, true." Minion Two scrubs a palm over his chin. "But also we'd be in jail, so. That's not ideal."

Still laughing and smiling, the girls split the bill and saunter out to Wynter's car, which is rustier than the Minions' trusty getaway minivan. Minion Two leans into the back to grab the binoculars again. Minion One waits until Wynter turns out of the diner parking lot onto the street before cranking the key. The minivan belches black smoke.

He follows Wynter's car at a carefully calibrated inconspicuous distance of one and a half blocks. Minion Two smushes the binoculars into his face and watches Wynter and Ishana for any sign they might be aware they're being followed. They're oblivious, too caught up in each other. This is good for the Minions' mission but bad for every other reason.

Before long... in a neighborhood full of modest houses crowded close together.

Streetlights flicker to life as Wynter pulls into the driveway of a narrow two-story house. Minion One jerks the wheel, coasting to a stop against the curb a block away. He yanks the parking brake.

Wynter and Ishana shoulder their backpacks and hop up the four cement steps to the front door. The door slams shut. Inside the house, a light flickers on.

Minion One creeps the car up the street until they can see into the front windows, then cuts the engine. Inside, Ishana and Wynter walk through the brightly-lit living room into the back of the house and vanish from view.

The Minions wait patiently, but the girls don't come back into the living room. After a while, an upstairs window lights up, but Wynter immediately appears and draws the curtains.

Foiled.

The Minions look at each other.

"What now?"

Minion One scratches his head.

Minion Two tugs at his earlobe.

This is the point at which a villain would usually tell them what to do.

"I'm starving," Minion Two offers at last. "Maybe we should just go home."

It's almost full night now. There are no other cars parked in Wynter's driveway, no other lights being turned on or off. No one else is home, and the girls are probably a little... busy.

"We should do some recon," Minion One says finally. "She's gotta have like, the hero's version of a lair in there, right? Maybe we can find proof that she's Wide Square."

"What good will it do to have proof?"

"I dunno. Maybe we can talk to Dom. We'll figure that out once we have it."

They dig spare masks out of the trunk and Minion Two keeps watch while Minion One changes into matching brown coveralls.

"Here." Minion Two tosses a communicator to Minion One and burrows a matching earpiece into his own ear. "Testing, testing."

"I don't have mine on yet, dimwit."

A dog walker appears around the corner.

"We got company."

Still half-naked, Minion One ducks down in the backseat. Minion Two pulls out another cigarette. He lounges against the minivan door and lights it as though he has all the time in the world.

The woman and her tiny dog have the same fluffy white hair and matching arrogant gaits, lifting their knees too high with every step. They perk right up to Minion Two. The dog sniffs eagerly at his shoes. He regrets not cleaning them more thoroughly after that messy job at the fish market last month, but with superhuman willpower, he refrains from kicking the repulsively fluffy creature.

"Hello!" the woman says, with this huge, unnaturally friendly smile on her face. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"

Dogs and friendly strangers. His two least favorite things.

"Yo," he says gruffly, then jams the cigarette back in his mouth.

The woman deflates a little at his lack of enthusiasm. Tugging at the dog's leash, she continues on with her shoulders slumped until she's out of sight. Grimacing, Minion Two shakes his foot.

Eventually, the Minions are ready for an evening of casual breaking and entering. Minion One locks the minivan and secures the keys in the inside pocket of his coveralls. Now that they've got their masks on and are acting instead of thinking, their confidence returns. Minion One tosses the handgun and silencer to Minion Two, then hefts his own upgraded rifle. They nod at each other

"Let's split up."

Minion Two creeps into the front yard, alert for any more dog walkers or neighbors out and about. A soft wind rustles the trees. The huge, yellow moon throws long shadows down the quiet street.

His voice crackles through the headset. "All clear out front. No sign of security. House is dark except for upper right window. No movement observed."

Minion One sneaks around from the back cradling his gun, scanning intently for the red flash of security cameras. There's no garage and no fence, just a small stretch of dry yard that runs into the dusty gravel alley. Rattling the back door handle, he isn't surprised to find it locked. "Back door locked. Checking patio doors next."

He's halfway to the sliding glass doors when the light by the back door flashes on. The lock scrapes. He dives for cover behind the peeling porch swing. Just as he tucks into the too-small space between swing and house, the back door creaks open.

"Okay, Eddie, jeez. If you're gonna be that energetic you can run it off out here."

The voice is Wynter's. Minion One tenses and readies his gun.

A huge, shaggy beast with floppy ears and paws like dinner plates bounds out into the moonlight.

The door bangs shut, but the lock doesn't turn. That's his way in, if this ferocious animal doesn't eat him first. Minion One stays perfectly still.

Eddie saunters through the yard, tail waving. He snuffles at the dirt and digs at a patch of long grass with long, ragged claws. He lifts his leg against the round brick firepit. Satisfied, he turns in a circle, and with relief, Minion thinks he's about to settle.

Then Eddie's tail goes stiff. His nose shoots down to the ground. He snorts, ears flopping with the force. Three steps closer to the house, following a scent. Heartbeat speeding up, Minion holds his breath.

Rustle. A small rodent in the alley. Eddie's head pops up and he trots away.

Minion One springs to his feet.

His headset crackles. "Update, One. Have you secured entry?"

Eddie spins around. His eyes catch the moonlight, glowing an ominous yellow. The creature stares straight at Minion One, then leaps.

"Motherfucker," Minion One hisses, settling into a fighting stance, gun leveled. "We have a situation. There's a dog."

Eddie barrels at him, tongue lolling between large fangs that glint menacingly.

"I repeat, there's a dog coming right at me." His voice squeaks. He lifts his gun. "Preparing to execute the animal."

"Execute the-- You fucking idiot, put the gun down!"

Hands shaking, Minion One stares down the length of his rifle into the face of ferociously fluffy death bounding towards him, a string of drool trailing from its flapping lips.

"If you kill Whiny Snot's dog she'll know we were here! Put the fucking gun down, One! Please!"

The rifle busts out into "We Are Family" at a dangerously loud volume.

Growling at the weapon to shut up, Minion One lowers the gun just as the dog bashes his chest with both paws. His head bounces off the siding. A pink tongue slobbers his face.

He shoves, but the dog is more agile than most heroes he's faced. He's on his hind legs again before Minion One can get his footing. He bodyslams Minion One into the house.

Bright disco music dances in the night air. The dog is heavy. Paws bat at his chest. He tries to grab the animal around the middle but gets only handfuls of yellow fur. Drool soaks his mask.

Minion One grabs the dog by the snout and wrestles him to the ground. Eddie kicks. Minion One presses one arm across his neck, bearing down with his whole weight.

"Calm down, you filthy animal," he hisses. "And please stop the music."

The gun goes quiet, and at last, Eddie stops squirming. He whines pathetically through his clamped snout, staring up with big, soulful, moon-reflecting eyes.

"Shhhhhh. Stop looking at me like that. No, I don't think you're cute and I don't want your kisses, you attention whore. Now stay the fuck put. And Two, what the fuck! Don't say the p-word in front of my gun!"

"My bad."

Eddie whines softly when Minion One lets him go.

"Stay," he says again, for good measure. Eddie stays. He may be a loathsome animal, but at least he's obedient.

Minion One smooths his hair and shakes himself out, then turns down the volume on his headset. His pulse settles back to its normal pace.

"Okay," he murmurs. "The beast is subdued." He tiptoes to the back door, listening hard for any sign that the struggle was noticed. All is quiet. "Entering now."

He tugs the door open very slowly to minimize creaking. Inside is a dark kitchen. Food-crusted plates pile high beside the sink and on the small table tucked under the window. A faint, sickly-sweet odor of old trash drifts through the air. Muffled laughter floats from further in the house.

Slipping through, he eases the door shut with equal caution. "In," he whispers.

A tiny dining room next to the kitchen hosts an office. Above the clunky old computer and haphazard piles of paper on the desk hangs an enormous corkboard. It's plastered with photos of heroes and villains, printouts of news articles about escapes and arrests, and a huge map of Big City.

"Someone has an obsession."

"You got something?"

"Suspicious, but not proof. Could be something a reporter would have. Or a hero groupie." Pulling out their phone, Minion snaps a few pictures.

Floorboards creak under his feet as he moves into the next room. Beyond the kitchen doorway is the small living room they saw from the front, and on the other side is a short hallway ending in stairs to the second floor. Minion One pauses at the bottom. Two happy voices upstairs, Ishana and Wynter.

On the mat by the front door is a scuffed pair of men's wingtip shoes, and on the coat rack an old-fashioned tan duster far too large for Wynter. At least one parent, then. Wynter isn't totally feral. Or maybe she is and she just likes dressing masculine.

Out back, Eddie barks mournfully.

He speaks in a very low voice. "This place doesn't look big enough to have a lair."

"Basement, maybe?"

Minion One sneaks back into the kitchen, avoiding the squeaky floorboards, and tries the last door. It's locked. A good sign.

The lock is a simple one. A few moments with his lockpicks, and the door swings smoothly open, revealing a narrow staircase of cracked cement. Cool air rushes up to meet him. A green glow shines from below. Something hums gently.

"Bingo."

Lifting his gun, he descends cautiously into the dark, every sense on high alert. The staircase goes a long way down, deeper than an average basement.

HummMMMMM. The soft buzz becomes a rumble. The glow grows both greener and glowier. Minion puts his finger on the trigger. His heart pounds.

He steps off the last step and stops, confused.

Big, black Minion-high boxes covered in blinking lights line either side of a suspiciously long corridor. Well past the property line long. So long he has to squint to see the steel door at the other end. It's cold, but heat radiates off the mysterious machines in waves.

Minion One has no idea what he's looking at but this probably isn't what a normal person's basement looks like. This has to be a hero's lair.

He reaches for his phone.

"ABORT!" Minion Two screams into the communicator. "Abort abort abort oh shit get the fuck out of there, One. You're about to have company. Like right now. Dude's at the door. I didn't mean to fall asleep, I'm sorry--"

By the time Minion Two is apologizing, Minion One has sprinted to the top of the basement stairs. The front door snicks shut. He doesn't have time to lock the basement door again. Gasping, he wrenches the back door open. CREAK. He trips straight over a giant hairy mass and smashes into the ground face-first, gun clattering from his grasp.

Eddie lets out a joyful bark that stinks like he's been eating his own shit and rolls onto his chest, his enormous, filthy, hairy bulk pinning him.

"Fucking animal!" Minion One whisper-screams.

"Hello?" asks a male voice. He's close. He might be in the kitchen.

Adrenaline surging, Minion One slings one arm around the dog and vaults to his feet. Grabbing his gun, he books it into the alley. Blood runs into his eyes.

Behind him, the back door squeals. "Hello? Is someone there? Eddie?"

Eddie pants happily under Minion One's arm, tongue dangling, spittle flying. Minion Two waits on the street with the engine running, side door open. He stares as Minion One races up and throws himself inside in an exhausted tumble of blood and yellow fur, yelling, "Go! Go go go!"

"Why the fuck did you bring the dog?"

"I panicked!" Minion One shouts, wrenching the door shut.

"Did you lose a fight with a dog?"

"Shut up and GO!"

They take off with a squeal of tires. In the alley behind them, a tall man with pale blond hair and tired eyes watches them go.