My head cannon and ideas about Megamind are very strongly inspired by the excellent authors, Dal Niente, Dani Kin, and Ladyspock7. So, credit where it's due. They are awesome, go read their stuff.

I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

I don't own Megamind

Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted

4:02pm Friday, January 25th

The blue alien slouched down in the chair bolted in the center of the round cell. Scowling Megamind realized he's missed most of the re-cap of today's events. On the small television mounted on the wall near the ceiling, live footage of the crater left at the shipping docks was playing.

"As you can see firefighters are currently on the scene to battle the blaze trying to spread to the nearby pier. I have confirmation that thanks once again to the valiant efforts of our city's beloved Metro Man, no lives were lost. We do again, urge citizens to keep their distance. While the villainous Megamind is safely behind bars for now, his machines are still active in the area," The reporter, a blond man with a clean shaven young face, gestured behind himself where Brain Bots could be seen, "We are told specialty crews will be along shortly to assist Metro Man with making the area safe for our city's fair citizens once more."

His beloved cyborgs would be salvaging all the sensitive and dangerous equipment from the remains of Megamind's latest failure. They'd be done soon and clear out long before this so called specialty crew ever showed up.

It bothered him, though, that Roxanne wasn't doing the reporting.

Did he miss her piece already? He snorted; she probable had just covered the Metro Man interview before going off with her boyfriend to cuddle and drink cocoa or whatever couples did. Not that Megamind could blame her; it had been a rough day.

He brought a long fingered blue hand up to rub at his face, the super glue holding his cuts closed really itched. Wincing, he gingerly traced the cut on his lip and the swelling on his right cheekbone, a cracked orbital. He dropped his hand to his bruised ribs; add a twisted ankle that was twice the size it should be, and his entire right side and both hands covered in lacerations. Even accounting for accelerated healing the sheer extent of these injuries meant that healing would take time. Everything ached and stung, which combined with the glue and bandage wraps, left him feeling wrung out and uncomfortable.

He'd have to extend his stay longer than originally planned before implementing escape plan 145b. A week at most, but it was still frustrating. He hadn't planned on being here for more than 4 days; especially after what happened last time.

He glanced back up to the television as the report moved back to the station and the anchorman took over. Definitely missed Roxanne's bit. He shouldn't be surprised; the doctor took longer fussing over his injuries than normal. It had taken him ages to convince the man he didn't have a concussion.

Sighing he pushed the chair back into a more reclined position, half transformed into its bed shape, and let the weariness take over. He's exhausted, only having managed to work in a few hours of sleep before the battle. He needs less sleep then humans, but he should sleep more often.

Not that he does.

He could almost hear Minion whispering "Finally!" as Megamind let his eyes drift shut. He's too sore to really sleep though, it's impossible to find a position that didn't put pressure on his damaged ribs. So he just let his mind wander, the sound of the news in the background becoming a comforting murmur.

The plan had seemed so promising. Luring Metro Man to Lake Michigan's icy shores then dragging him under, it was genius really. Despite the hero's numerous invulnerablies, the other alien still needed to breath. Megamind had learned from other encounters that while Metro Man had an incredible high tolerance for heat, he was far more susceptible to cold. While Megamind doubted the plunge into the icy depth of Lake Michigan alone would have killed Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes, the freezing temperatures should have slowed his reaction time down considerably.

Not that anything went as planned.

Still, looking over the footage and data recordings captured by his Brain Bots should give him valuable feedback to use towards future evil plans.

He just had to keep reminding himself to look on the bright side.

There had been nothing inherently wrong with his plan; it was hardly his fault that a freak ice storm blew in overnight. This was Michigan after all and as anyone who's lived in Michigan knows, the weather was always fickle and winter was a cold, hard, unforgiving bitch. So it could hardly be said that his plan failed it was just that he'd been incredibly unlucky.

Which was pretty much normal.

No, no that was just the pessimism talking again. He could hear Minion chiding him, he mustn't think like that.

The plan had been sound, mostly.

He just had to be better prepared to deal with ice in the future. Better insulation for the Brain Bots to keep their ACS Fluid from freezing and causing them to shut down or maybe just changing the compound to lower its freezing point. He really should be writing this down so he doesn't forget.

Opening his eyes he started to sit up before remembering he wasn't at Evil Lair and that the Warden had long ago revoked his right to hanging up ideas in his cell. Not that he'd want the prison officers on guard to be able to see what he was planning anyway, the swine.

Collapsing back into the chair he closed his eyes again and prepared to use a mental trick he'd developed for just such occasions. It's not as good as actually being able to add the note to his idea cloud, but he'd remedy that as soon as he was free again.

Focusing, he imagined his drafting table spread out before him.

He sat before it on a metal stool. The image was still blurry, though. More details, then. There would be a blueprint, what was he working on last? The new generator, yes that sounded right, the blueprint spread itself out on the desk before him. Mentally he ran his fingers over the paper as the careful pencil marks filled themselves in: scale drawing of the inner workings, parts list, equations, aesthetic sketch of its overall design, notes on fuel ratios, and a small sketch of a bird that had flown into the Lair in the corner.

Megamind breathed evenly holding the image in his mind. He could attach his note to this. Carefully he reached out, there would be drafting pencils and markers all around the table. He needed something specific, though. A red marker appeared before him, its cap dented from where it was crewed on by Brain Bot number 12. That'd work. He took a yellow note card from the pile that was always at the desk and quickly wrote out 'lower freeze point for artificial cerebrospinal fluid'. Tapping the marker against his chin, after a moment's thought he added, 'specialized winter team?'

Tossing the marker on the table where it blurred out of existence, he jumped up on the stool, card in hand. Hundreds of cards floated around him on their strings, just out of focus. Megamind reached out brushing them with his fingertips. Finally he found the card he was looking for, a note from Minion about a fur lined winter cape, there was a grease smudge on the back side. He hardly thought that he'd look intimidating covered with fur, but after shivering through the entirety of this afternoon's battle he was willing to concede that Minion had a point.

With a bit of concentration a new red string appeared beside the fur cape card, its length allowing it to fall just below and to the left. Clipping the Brain Bot ACSF note in place, Megamind jumped down from the stool and allowed himself to relax, still breathing evenly, locking everything in his memory.

He could hear footsteps outside.

Letting the last of the image fade away, he opened his eyes and sat back up in his chair. It was the only piece of furniture in the room, a special design that he'd been allowed to submit. They'd left off most of the features he'd wanted of course, but in the end the Warden had allowed it to be built as it was far better suited to the blue alien's needs then the standard prison furniture. He was grateful for that, though he'd never admit it.

Kicking off the floor Megamind spun the chair around to face the door and got into character; a casual smirk, his long fingers steepled before him.

5:30pm meant dinner time.

"About time!" the blue man quipped, chin raised, "I thought I'd waste away before you came and got me. Though knowing the drivel you call food, I may just starve regardless."

The correctional officer looking through the open viewing window in the cell's door was anything but amused. A new recruit to Megamind's security detail determined to prove himself by keeping the notorious super villain behind bars then. What fun.

"You know the drill, Megamind. Against the wall, hands and feet spread." Very no nonsense, the Warden certainly knew how to pick them.

"Oh you're going to be fun." Megamind pitched his voice in a sing song manner, trying his best to hide the flash of pain that shot through the right side of his face when he tried lifting his eyebrows. He's sure the expression didn't look right with how swollen his eye must be.

This was not the time to be second guessing himself.

He rolled off the chair, all elbows and knees. He'd meant it to be a graceful movement, to intimidate the new officer. It's anything but. His left ankle immediately gave out, forcing him to catch himself on the chair. His ribs ached, throbbing in time with his heart that was suddenly pounding far too fast. The room spun.

Breathe.

Megamind gasped, fire shooting through his chest, and quickly tried to cover his stumble. Never show weakness. He used the fact that his back was to the door to hide his grimace of pain and forced himself upright. Striding to the wall and assuming the position, arms shoulder high with his hands flat against the wall and his feet spread; he desperately tried to will the trembling from his left leg.

Behind him the door opened.

Megamind tensed. The air moved around the cell as the officers entered, the circular shape adding to the ease of circulation. Even being prepared, it was a punch to the gut, his skin tingled. There were three of them, they were following procedure. One took up position at the door, he'd have his Taser out; a mix of fear and determination rolled off him. Another newbie, the fear wouldn't show on the Cowboy's face, but to Megamind he might as well have been shouting it to the world.

"Stay where you are," Mr. No-Nonsense warned, "you move and you're tased."

He stepped into the room, bringing with him a feeling of weariness and caution. The third correctional officer, who felt more amused then anything, stayed outside the door, the rear guard. He must be a veteran to Megamind's detail then, for him to be so nonchalant.

Now Mr. No-Nonsense would cuff Megamind, ankles and wrists in a 4-piece. He'd be taken out of his cell with Nonchalant leading, Mr. No-Nonsense holding his chain, and Fraidy-Cat Cowboy with the Taser in the rear. They'd march him down to the mess hall and he'd be able to catch up on the latest goings-on in the prison. He only ever got to eat with the Maximum Security Block these days, but he still had a few Uncles in their ranks.

Megamind smiled at the thought of Uncle Tony's gruff laugh and the hearty slap on the back he'd get, even if it did mean setting off his sore ribs again.

Behind him he heard a soft sound, but no clank of metal that would mean the irons they'd be binding him with. This wasn't going as expected. Mr. No-Nonsense hadn't come any closer and now was backing up? Upon hearing the door slide close Megamind whipped his head around.

"What trickery is this?"

A tray of food sat on his chair, a cardboard tray and no silverware.

"It's already 5:33, I'm supposed to be eating with the others!" Megamind shouted indignantly, turning fully, arms crossed.

That was a mistake; his ankle protested the rough treatment causing him to stumble. He managed to hold his glare however, teeth clenched.

"New orders, kid," Nonchalant drawled, now that Megamind heard his voice he placed him as Hank Johnson who was into his fourth year guarding Megamind. "Warden says you gotta stay in yer cell till further notice."

"What? Why‽"

Solitary confinement, what in the world could the Warden be thinking? It couldn't just be due to his injuries, he'd suffered worse and still been allowed to mingle with his fellow inmates. Nothing else was overly different about his latest duel with Metrocity's hero to cause any change to the routine.

"Orders are orders," Hank replied, a shrug in his voice. He must be sitting at the guard desk as Megamind couldn't see him.

Mr. No-Nonsense glared through the view port and Megamind was glad he was just left with the lingering odors of fear and weariness in his cell, though he still got a bare whiff of frustrated anger.

"Not your place to question orders, prisoner," the man snapped, "You're to trash the tray when you're done."

With that Mr. No-Nonsense turned and left, Megamind could just see Fraidy-Cat Cowboy trailing behind. Ignoring the food for now, he approached the door favoring his twisted ankle. Leaning against the door to see better, Megamind peered out trying to get a glimpse of Nonchalant Hank.

"Hey, Hank, what gives?"

"Just orders, kid," Hank grunted in reply, Megamind can only see his feet which were now propped up on the desk. "You'd hafta ask the boss man."

"I am not a child anymore, you'd do well to show respect," Megamind snarled, pain and the change in routine leaving him snappish.

"Yeah, yeah, 23, I heard. Still a kid ta me," a brief flash of the man's hand being waved dismissively.

"Insolent swine" the young blue alien grumbled.

Sulking Megamind turned his back to the door and limped over to the chair. The tray really was just disposable cardboard; it seemed they didn't want to repeat their entry routine to retrieve a plastic one later. Dinner appeared to consist of an apple, some sort of misshapen meat substance, what he could only pray were mashed potatoes, a few slices of toasted bread, and a boxed drink that was most likely juice.

"What am I supposed to eat this with, Hank? You've conveniently forgotten the spork." Megamind glared back over his shoulder at the spot in the wall where Mr. I-Don't-Care Hank sat.

"Dunno, weren't told nothing 'bout silverware."

Megamind rubbed his impressively large forehead in frustration. "Every inmate at least gets a plastic spork," he ground out, "What I suppose to do, eat with my hands like some animal?"

"Suppose so."

Bone headed numbskull, this was ridiculous. Moving the tray so he could sit, Megamind noticed that there was a bit of folded paper tucked next to the apple. Plucking it from the tray he examined it; if folded a certain way with the sides up it formed something like a spoon.

"You've got to be kidding me."

He wasn't even to be trusted with silverware now? This was incredulous. With a long suffering sigh he poked at his meal with his spoon and turned back to the television. They were finally re-airing his epic battle. Well lackluster, if he was being honest with himself, though the explosion at the end did give it a decent climax.

"-clusive footage of the battle where our own channel 8 star reporter, Roxanne Ritchi, was being held hostage be the super villain Megamind."

The screen cut away from the studio to their recording of his hacked broadcast. He danced before the camera, his only concession to the weather being thicker leather and the collar on his mantle framing more closely to his large bald dome to keep out the winter chill. He had looked dastardly, though he'd been frozen to the bone before they'd even gotten started. In the recording he jumped around wildly; looking at it now it was painfully obvious he was just trying to keep the blood flowing in his limbs.

Forgoing the ridiculous paper spoon, he scooped up some of the mashed potatoes with the toast and begun eating methodically. Tasteless and bland, to think that he once thought that all food was like this.

The footage advanced to him calling out Metro Man to "Brave the icy winds of defeat for this day justice will certainly be blinded by the blizzard white out of evil!" Not his best line. They cut to a helicopter crews shot of the abandoned freight dock he'd prepared for the battle, zooming in on the crane platform and Miss Ritchi. She was hunched with her shoulders drawn to her ears which were red with cold, wrapped in black cloth and tied with rope to a metal beam. The wind had been really blowing at that point, the freezing gust pulling at her long hair which had fallen out of the professional bun. He was relieved to see that the heated blanket Minion had used wasn't recognizable as such from that distance. It really would have detracted from the whole effect of imperilment.

She looked so cold up there though.

Guiltily he paused, a scoop of mash half way to his mouth. It had been so much colder than the weather report had predicted. It wasn't his fault, the plans were already in motion; he could hardly cancel for something as meaningless as a few degree drop in temperature. That would have been appallingly amateurish.

But getting his frozen ass knocked through a snowbank into a brick wall wasn't? He thumped his head on the back rest of the chair, relishing the blossoming pain. Masochist, he thought bitterly.

A roar of metal and sloshing ice sounded from the tinny television speakers signaling that his mechanized creation had appeared on screen. "I-it appears to be some kind of robotic fish!" the helicopter reporter shouted over the howling wind.

"Come on! Is it that hard to tell it's a whale? Which is a mammal, you ignorant cretin. Who even let you on the air?" his fist thumped hard on the metal armrest, knuckles white against his blue skin.

Roxanne hadn't made such a mistake. No, she'd had a different criticism.

"Good job, genius. You do realize whales live in the ocean and this is a fresh water lake, right?" She's snarked through chattering teeth.

Of course he knew that, but how could he pass up making a Killer Whale, the most vicious of water based killers in the Arctic. More than fitting imagery to match Lake Michigan's frozen coast covered in shelf ice. It was a Killer Whale for crying out loud, how could he not build one? Ridiculous woman. He started shoveling food into his mouth again, scowling as the footage played.

Oh, that was where he slipped and fumbled the controls. He couldn't even feel his fingers any more by that point. He'd been trying earlier, when he realized just how much ice had coated the dock, to have the Brain Bots chip it off. There just hadn't been enough time. He had to keep rotating them out in shifts when their fluids started freezing, it made for painfully slow progress. As it was he feared 23 might have permanent tissue damage, it had been acting erratically by the end of the fight. Even Minion's heating unit had started to fail before Metro Man had even shown up and the ichthyoid ended up having to retreat into the dock's warehouse with the recovering Brain Bots.

What a fiasco the entire day had been.

The recording could barely pick up his and Mr. Cold-Fist-of-Justice's banter. Probable for the best, they'd both been really off their game. What had he even said? Something about Metro Man death coming to him like an iceberg in the night. Like the Unsinkable Titanic mere frozen water shall prove to be your doom! He really shouldn't have let Minion talk him into watching that movie. Metro Man at least had gotten the references, though his banter has as cheesy as ever. Justice not being asleep behind the wheel, yada yada, enough life boat for all.

Now the part that really should have worked; Whaletor lunged out of the water and caught Metro Man in its jaws. Megamind sat forward eyes fixed to the screen. This was where he'd lost track of events. He hadn't even known anything had gone wrong until he'd heard the grinding and crash before his vision had been filled by a severed metal fin, than whiteness followed by pain and blackness.

Everything still seemed to be working. With Metro Man firmly held, the killer mechanoid had fallen backwards into the lake taking the hero with it. The shock of hitting the freezing water should have stunned and disoriented the invulnerable alien enough for the weight of the robot to drag them both down to the channels sandy depths.

Right, laser eyes, why does he always forget about the laser eyes? Likely because Mr. I'm-Too- Prefect rarely uses them for fear of the collateral damage. Twin red beams boil the water's surface and cover the battlefield in fog. Megamind couldn't really see what happened next, but it seemed the hero flung the giant killer robot haphazardly away from himself. It must have collided with part of the dock which had caused its power cell to become so unstable and also caused the shrapnel that had taken Megamind out.

There was Metro Man whisking Roxanne off the crane, oh and there went a month of hard work up into a ball of flame as Whaletor exploded. It really did make Metro Man look stunningly heroic, framed in the fiery plume, soaked white costume nearly translucent in places, and Roxanne clinging to his neck in relief. It just wasn't fair.

At least now he'd get to hear Roxanne's report of the event. He had begun to pick apart his apple as he waited for her to appear. Only she doesn't, it's that boyish blond that Megamind had seen reporting earlier. In the background of the shot he can see Roxanne being helped into a waiting ambulance. Crap. She must have suffered worse from the freezing temperatures than he had realized if they hadn't even let her even conduct a 5 minute interview with her rescuer. Way to go, genius.

The camera panned up then, showing Metro Man hauling a crumpled and bloody figure out of a snowbank. Oh, Megamind didn't need to be reminded of that particular humiliation. His cape and mantle were in taters and as Metro Man moved to hold him bridal style, cradling the smaller alien's large blue head; Megamind wasn't sure whether to be appalled or laugh. He looked horrible, his face nothing but bloody frozen hamburger. Transfixed on the screen, he traced the swelling about his right eye again. He suddenly felt immensely luck he hadn't suffered any vision loss; no wonder Dr. Zither had been so concerned when Metro Man had dropped him off. Megamind could only let out a strained chortle as he watched himself stir in Metro Man's arms, his own bloody hand weakly swatting at the hero's face, smearing it with blood. He covered his mouth with that hand now, cringing in embarrassment. Wayne had just been so…

Relieved?

Megamind wished he could remember what the other alien had said to him. He could only remember being quite cross with Wayne at the time. The large man had kept apologizing the entire way to the prison. Really it was entirely unprofessional, the nerve of some people, hardly befitting of a nemesis. As if Megamind hadn't just tried to drown the Prefect Bastard. Metro Man was just trying not to ruin his spotless image, of course, couldn't have a death on his hands. That would stain that pure white; like his blood had. Yeah, that was it.

The report continued to the point where Megamind had caught the broadcast the first time around. Sighing, he thumbed the remote, he needed a distraction. Continuing to agenized over all this wouldn't help in the slightest. It was only 7:38pm he still had another two hours and 22 minutes to kill before Lights Out.

Idly he'd begun flipping through channels, the remains of his dinner mostly forgotten on his lap.

Cooking show, an overly cheerful southern lady dumped a massive amount of butter in a bowl. She was making a pastry of some kind, Megamind wasn't sure, but it was the kind of thing Minion loved. He thumbed the button again. Rerun of a cop drama, idealized pigs, he'd pass. The next channel was featuring a bunch of college kids creating real drama; it was sickening how much this reality TV thing had taken off. The mindless sheep of this country really would watch anything. The television flickered again. Spaghetti western, it was a classic, but Megamind had watched it a dozen times already. Plus the blizzard the gunslinger was currently fighting the bounty hunters in was far too close to his past reality to provide a distraction from his current thoughts. He could really just go for some good music right now, but the next channel proved to a white rapper and some trippy visuals that were what passed as his music video. Next was the supposed history channel. They were covering a piece on ancient Roman gladiatorial combat. Why must everything conspire to remind him of his injuries? He winced as one of the reenactors got kicked down and combatants waited as the narrator explained how the emperor would decide if the fallen warrior would live or die. Quickly he changed the channel again.

He had the sinking feeling he'd be once again channel surfing his hours away with nothing to actually watch. This was painfully boring.

After a commercial for deodorant, just another reminder of how much hormone infused sweat humans produced, an anime started playing. He'd missed the first half of the episode, but it was light hearted enough. The main character seemed to be a villainous demon that was attached by some means, magical perhaps, to a young girl and they went around fighting other monsters. He relaxed back, picking at his food as he watched.

"Oh just kiss already!" the blue alien whined. They were so meant for each other. It was exceedingly obvious. He wished the characters would just realize it and stop dancing around their love. So boy was a demon, the girl's attitude already showed she didn't care about that. Everything else would surely work itself out.

The end credit song payed and Megamind let out an exasperated groan. It was torture. They'd played three episodes back to back, but now they would move onto other programing. He just wanted to see the two become lovers, was that so much to ask?

Back to channel surfing then. After making the rounds through several commercials, an old sitcom, and a ridiculous infomercial for an overhyped cleaning product, he ended up with a nature documentary.

"-the amazing octopus has with eight arms with 200 highly malleable suckers per arm-"

Megamind stared, eyes transfixed on the screen of the television, as the octopus in question curled its tentacle like arms against the glass of an aquarium; such a lude display. He could feel his face flush and was certain his cheeks and ears must be rosy. Biting his lip, he squirmed in his seat and glanced furtively at the cell door. He had thought that they blocked all the porn channels in prison. He hadn't seen anything this lurid since he and Minion discovered that mermaid movie.

The rational part of his brain reminded him that humans wouldn't have any reason to consider what he's watching pornographic. However the vast majority of his incredible intellect was entirely taken up by the way the octopus was stretching its tentacles out sweeping through the water as it now maneuvered through the ocean current. His hand wandered down between his legs, cupping himself through the rough prison uniform. He'd already been quite worked up before from that anime, now he was aching. He ground into his palm with a moan, trying to muffle the sound with his other fist. Megamind could already feel himself swelling, he just needed more contact. Unconsciously, he started tugging the orange prison garb open.

"Lights Out!"

10:00pm, the room plunged into darkness as the officer outside killed the power to his cell.

"FUCK!" The curse came unbidden to Megamind's lips, frustration sinking in as he stared longingly at the blackness before him and the vague shape of the television.

"Quiet down in there, prisoner."

The response was short and curt. Megamind must have missed the changing of the guards. Night shift; that meant old Crabby-Pants Rogers was in charge, great. Another veteran of the Megamind detail, he gave absolutely no fucks about the fact the Megamind didn't follow a human sleep schedule. Lights Out, meant quiet and sleeping for the entire damned seven hours.

Frustrated, sore, and horny, Megamind carefully stood and popped the seat of his chair up, depositing his forgotten dinner remains in the waste receptacle. Closing the lid again, he pushed the back rest down forming his bed. Laying down he tried his best to rein in his emotions. Getting so worked up wasn't going to help and without the sound of the television to mask the noise he'd make, he knew he'd never be quiet enough to continue what he'd started. Last thing he wanted was to give Ol' Crabby-Pants an excuse to further his punishment.

Restless, he stared at the ceiling of his cell, his home. Silently he promised himself he'd be out of here next Friday. This was going to be a long week. Six hours down, 146 more to go.