Hannibal McFist stared boredly out the large windows of his McFist Industries, his glimpse from his office floor giving him a well enough view of Norrisville below. There wasn't much to see, the setting sun being the only true thing worth noting; however, it was enough to block out the rest of the world's petty annoyances. No smelly old Sorcerer getting on his case, no smart mouthed ninja foiling his plans to kill him, no everyday troubles of balancing evil schemes and a business empire. No stress at all. It was just McFist, the sunset, and his solitude.

Or at least, it would have been if he hadn't been suddenly jolted out of his own little world and thrusted back to reality by his chair being swiveled around violently- his eyesight greeted by a facefull of glasses and the glare of a looming agitated scientist.

"You haven't been paying attention to a SINGLE word I just said," Viceroy accused angrily, before snapping back up to his full height, crossing his arms against his chest. " What's the point of having me explain things to you if you won't even listen?"

The stouter man shrugged his shoulders as he relaxing back into his chair, the darker man's anger not even phasing him.

"Pfft, tell me about it. I just sorta thought that was a thing you do: tell long winded boring stories that nobody cares about."

This earned him a sneer. Viceroy half-turned away from him, his nose in the air.

"Hmph. I was trying to tell you about my latest plan to capture and destroy the ninja. Like you ASKED me to do?"

He gave his boss a side-glare as the shorter man sat up in his chair properly.

"Oooh, yeah, right right. Well, good work, Viceroy! You've really outdone yourself on this one! Yep, we're sure to get that guy this time around!" Mcfist had stood up, and stepped out from behind his desk. Viceroy turned back to him and regarded him suspiciously as his boss stepped towards him.

"Why don't you tell me more about my latest plan tomorrow, hmm?" Mcfist coaxed, placing a big hand on each of his scrawny shoulders, and turning him toward the door. "It's getting late, and Marci's about due home any time now; I should REALLY get dinner started..."

McFist found himself nearly falling over as Viceroy slipped out of his grasp, the scientist sidestepping as he squealed in delight.

"Oooo, dinner- I am absolutely famished! I could really go for food, myself."

The older man watched the younger one walk towards the elevator down the hall, momentarily shocked, before he glared and he chased after him.

"Yeah, kinda meant food for ME, Viceroy. ME! As in numero uno, not… Not more than one!"

Viceroy continued happily, completely ignoring his boss' implications.

"Ya know, it's been AGES since I've cooked for anybody. I think the last time was Easter sunday with mother. Though, you know mothers, they hardly let you actually DO anything for them. So really, I was just stuck with making the salad. A salad, can you believe that? All that money on cooking classes and she had me chopping up lettuce. Technically isn't even cooking."

Hannibal McFist was practically gritting his teeth, frustration building up inside him as he was just mere moments away from picking up the scrawny scientist and throwing him out the front door. Just as he was about to start yelling for the geek to just leave already, he was interrupted by Viceroy suddenly turning around again.

"Oh, I just decided what to make. How does breakfast food sound? I KNOW you can't resist my momma's secret special pancake recipe."

"Viceroy, I'm telling you, I- eeeh did you say 'pancakes'?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Heeey, buddy!" Hannibal clapped Viceroy roughly on the back, causing him to stumble forward. "My home is your home, huh?"

Mcfist flashed his pet scientist a winning grin before grabbing his coat from the corner (summer was on its way, but there was still a nip in the air). He threw it on and headed towards the main doors.

"Just don't be late. Marci HATES that."

She probably didn't.

"Late? I'm ridin' with you." Viceroy replied smugly, following after his boss.

It didn't take too long for the two to reach the McFist Mansion, the residence a mere thirty minute limo drive away from town. McFist had gone back to ignoring the scientist, as he rambled on about something or another the whole way over- and didn't stop talking until they were already inside the house and hanging up their coats in the coat room. The homeowner found himself sighing contently, his ears finally having a break from all the pointless yammering.

It, however, didn't last long as Viceroy started speaking again- this time in a state of disgust.

"Geeze, when was the last time you even had this room cleaned? I swear I see a few generations of dust bunnies in the corners."

"Oh, great form, Viceroy. Been in my house five minutes and you're already complaining!" Hannibal growled as he stomped out of the room, his next destination being the kitchen as the other man followed. He continued as he slammed the door shut behind him. " I'll just get one of the house-bots to do it later- unless you want me to make YOU to do it since it's apparently such a big deal n' all."

The darker man wasn't impressed.

"No, I'm good. It's your dust, after all. 'Sides, I got dinner to make."

Viceroy pushed past him and on into the kitchen, plucking Marci's apron from a hook on the wall, humming cheerfully as he tied it around himself.

"Oh, well, just make yourself at home, why doncha." Mcfist mumbled under his breath. He plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table, and immediately slumped forward, elbows on the surface, head in his hands, Boy, was he bushed! He was actually kind of glad he got out of making dinner that night, but as he watched his hired hand flit around the kitchen, he began to question things he'd never really gave much thought to before.

His thoughts were put on hold as Bash lumbered into the kitchen, stopped, stared at Viceroy (who paid the kid no mind), before yelling:

"MOOOM! THERE'S A CRAZY SCIENCE GUY IN OUR KITCHEN AGAIN! I'LL GET THE BROOM."

The yelling caused Viceroy to spin around with a yelp.

"Uhg! Honestly, Bash, what did I tell you about using your inside voice?"

"Uhh, that I should do it, or somethin'?"

"Yeah, or somethin'. Now, I was invited, but grabbing a broom isn't a bad idea." The scientist turned back to the stove. "This place could use a little sweepin' up."

Bash mumbled a confused "Okay" and left, intending on shirking this duty as well as any homework he might have had that night.

Hannibal watched in awe from the table. Huh! Smart, a good cook, AND good with kids! The guy should be swarming with ladies, not cooking his boss breakfast on a Friday night.

"Hey Viceroy?" he spoke up from across the room.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever thought of cooking for, say, oh I don't know, a lady friend? Maybe at your house? Hmm?"

Viceroy raised a brow as he began mixing ingredients together, slightly leaning against the counter as they chatted.

"'Lady friend'? Now why the heck would I want to do that? I don't even KNOW any women." He paused momentarily as he mumbled. "Well, besides mother, Ruth and Marci. And Helen in accounting, if robo-apes count."

"No, robo-apes don't count," his boss replied exhaustively. And neither did Ruth, his mother-in-law, if one was asking his real opinion.

McFist sighed. Oh boy, no wonder the geek was having trouble in the lady department. If he thought a big stupid robotic monkey in a wig was anywhere CLOSE to the sweet alluring curves of a woman... well, then he was certainly having some issues that needed sorting out. Which was just sad, if he really thought about it. It wasn't like Viceroy was getting any younger- what was he, just a mere five, ten years younger than him? That was nothing in adult years! Soon the poor schmuck would be on the verge of a midlife crisis- with not even a wife to help him through it!

Hannibal shook his head sadly, his curiosity turning into genuine concern- even if it was just a small amount of it. Maybe he should think about talking to Marci about this- surely one of her gal pals were desperate enough to want to even CONSIDER the guy as dating material. And if not them, there had to be some other alternatives. McFist could NOT live the rest of his life stuck with his lackey trying to ambush his weekends!

Meanwhile, Willem Viceroy had went back to focusing on dinner- the pancakes weren't going to make themselves, after all. The scientist turned cook had poured the first cup of batter into the frying pan- giving it a quick glance to check that the flames weren't too intense before making his way to the fridge to see what else he could serve with them. Grabbing a few more eggs, Viceroy found himself humming in satisfaction as he saw an untouched pack of apple sausage in one of the drawers. It was obvious McFist let his wife handle the grocery list. Returning to the stove, Viceroy quickly flipped the first pancake over before getting out another pan- no way was he going to let one of the cakes burn. He'd never hear the end of it, otherwise.

The sound of the front door opening, followed by his wife's voice informing him and Bash that she was home, had Hannibal standing up in a flash.

"Oop! Marci's home!" He stopped and leaned in towards Viceroy at the stove, on his way to the front door. "Don't you worry, Viceroy ol' pal; you and me are going out one night soon, and finding you a lucky lady to bring home! To your house. Not mine."

Viceroy stared after his boss, as he went to greet his wife. What had THAT all been about? It was almost as if-

"Oh, are you kidding me," he complained to the sausage as it sizzled in the pan. He flipped one angrily. "After all these years, and he has NO idea I'm- I should knock that lughead upside his big stupid head, is what I should do..." By the end, his rant had turned into nothing more than irritated mumbling. One would think in their day and age people would stop being all heteronormative and junk. Always assuming stuff about people. It was annoying was what it was. Viceroy found himself blocking out the conversation he could hear from the hallway as he went back to pouring another cup of batter into the first frying pan. His good spirits were suddenly sunk, and he really wasn't in the mood to hear the married McFists being all lovey dovey anyway.

Willem scoffed to himself as he tried to imagine what sort of woman the dumb meat head thought he would be into. Probably hadn't the slightest idea what his type was, and was way more likely to just ask any woman he found on the street than actually put an iota of thought into the matter. As if anybody would do. Ugh. Just the mere thought of how awkward that would be sent an unpleasant shiver down the man's spine. Really, he was going to have to do something about that- nip it in the bud before McFist really did try setting him up with some random lady.

Man, he was not looking forward to having that conversation. While Viceroy was fully confident in his sexuality, and had been for years, it was still socially irksome to have to bring up the topic of being gay at all. Stupid McFist, why couldn't he just figure it all out for himself- save HIM the trouble of it all!

Viceroy's eyes widened, as inspiration struck him. Hey, now THERE was an idea. Yes, let HIM figure it out.

"I mean, I'd probably have to make it painfully obvious just for him to even GET it." A pause as he flipped yet another pancake onto the stack with the others. "But it's way better than the alternative."

And with that Viceroy worked on finishing up dinner, as schemes already began to form. Come monday his boss would be more than enlightened.

"...The lab is on fire."

No response.

"We caught the ninja?"

Nothing. Viceroy sighed.

"Is it really too much to ask to-"

"Shhhh!" Mcfist hissed, his eyes still glued to the television screen, situated in his office at McFist Industries. "I am TRYING to watch 'Heidi at School'!"

"Isn't that a show filled with gossip about a bunch of kids?"

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SHUSHING! She's just getting to the juicy part."

Viceroy rolled his eyes, mumbled to himself, and settled for watching whatever dumb show had his boss so entranced. Well that day had been a total bust for his plan of ' improve McFist's gaydar'. Every time he had a moment alone with him, they had been interrupted by one person or another. Phone calls, Sorcerer gripping at them, malfunctions on the assembly lines- it just never seemed to end. How was Willem supposed to TRY anything if people just kept getting in the way? And now his boss was preoccupied by some stupid school made production!

The scientist watched the screen lazily as the young ginger haired teen host filled up the monitor- continuing her reporting.

"And if you thought revealing the mystery in the school's mystery meat was scandalis, then you are going to just FLIP when I give you this week's Romance 411: Debbie Kang, our own editor of the NHG-double T-WDPC was caught sneaking off with her biffer in between bells two and three this morning. But don't worry Principal Slim, they weren't off playing hooky- but Kang and Theresa Fowler WERE caught playing tonsil hockey!"

The screen made way to show a really unfocused cell phone snapshot, but even then it wasn't hard to see the two people in the photo. One being the school reporter, and the other being an obvious feminine body of some purple haired girl. The image then change back to Heidi, with yearbook photos of the two girls to the right of her.

"Sources say this wasn't the first time Kang has been seen in said compromising positions with the baton twirler. Other scenes being the library, Norrisville Pet Park, and even a quick make-out session at the movies. So what's the sitch, guys? New couple of the year, or soon to be DNL (does not last) of the week? Check out the polls to see what your fellow classmates are saying. And with that, this has been H. Wow with today's gossip. I'm outtie!"

The screen went to the show's logo before disappearing as the broadcast went off, instead going to a McSquiddles product placement commercial. Viceroy sighed, happy that the teenaged drama was over with, as he turned back to his boss.

"THERE, are you happy now?"

McFist grumbled.

"Not really. Debbie Kang could totally do so much better- I don't even know who that Fowler girl is!"

"Whatever you say." Viceroy mumbled. He began to turn away from the television and HOPEFULLY get back to explaining to McFist just what he'd need to do in order for their newest ninja-thwarting scheme to work, when a commercial advertising an upcoming movie caught his attention.

It seemed like your typical action movie; screeching cars, shooting guns, explosions, and of course snappy and slightly cheesy one-liners. But what really caught Viceroy's eye, was the main protagonist. Sweaty, muscle bound, and maybe not completely his type, but he smirked nevertheless as an idea occurred to him.

"Mm-mm!" he hummed, leaning over McFist's desk, a pleasant smile on his face. His boss glanced back at him, briefly, before his attention was back on the television screen.

"Now that's what I call a hunk and a half!"

McFist used his robotic arm to scratch his head, obviously confused.

"Eh, you mean Chris Rothrock? Isn't he sorta a C-lister here? I thought he only got the part because his father owned the movie studio, or something."

The scientist scoffed.

"I wasn't talking about the villain, I was talking about Lance Martin- aka Pete Prowess: kicker of butts and stealer of hearts." Viceroy took off his glasses to clean them, giving an overly dramatic smitten sigh as he hoped his acting was as good as he thought it was. "I wouldn't mind being alone with him, if ya catch my drift, baby."

Mcfist snorted, and waved a hand dismissively at the television.

"What, that guy? Pfft. That's not the kind of guy you should be looking up to, Viceroy. Not exactly a great role model, you know?"

The TV was switched off (at long last), and McFist stretched and stood up, wrapping an arm around the scientist, and ignoring the glare he was receiving.

"Excuse me? I was NOT talking about that kind of-"

"Besides, so what if Mr. Muscles makes you look like a soggy twig? You've got the brains! You could think circles around that guy."

"But I'm tryin-"

"Sheesh!" The arm was retracted. "You really need to work on your self esteem, Viceroy, if you're looking up to guys like that." Hannibal was already walking away, and completely missed his hired hand glaring disbelieving holes into the back of his head.

"That is NOT what I said! I SAID-"

"Work on it!"

And with that he was gone from the room, leaving a very frustrated scientist in his wake. Willem straightened himself up, pulling a comb out from his labcoat pocket as he noticed his hair had been untidied from the exchange with his boss. He groaned, it was going to take him forever just to get everything back into place. Running the comb through his thick hair, he mumbled to the empty office.

"Stupid McFist, he's so oblivious he makes obvious look subtle. Alright, Willem, he ain't gonna get it with words alone- it's time to up your game and put on a REAL show."

The question was… what to try next?

Wednesday, same week and early morning: Hannibal McFist smiled to himself contently as he walked inside McFist Industries. Filled with caffeine, a warm meal, and kisses from the misses- it was easy to appreciate the fact that the work week was halfway over. Not that he couldn't blow the day off whenever he wanted, he was the boss after all; however, there was some satisfaction in getting to yell at his employees and keeping up appearances of being a hard working, dedicated business man.

If only people knew he mostly sat at his desk all day and drew crude doodles of all the people he didn't like.

The elevator chimed with a seemingly chipper tone as the blonde man made it to the top floor of the building. Hannibal even managed to smile politely at the robo-ape receptionist as he made his way back to his room- where no doubt his hired help was waiting for him.

"Gooood morning Viceroy," he sang jovially, eyes closed as he strutted the familiar walk towards his desk. He plopped into his chair, spinning a full three sixty degrees before feeling satisfied that he was good and comfy. McFist continued. "SO, what's on the agenda today, hmm? Does it involve annihilating the ninja and/or puppy-like in nature?"

"Yes, and yes." Viceroy replied. Hannibal clapped, joyously.

"Oohh! I like 'and'!"

"I thought you might. And this plan is simple!" the scientist said. "So simple, even you should be able to follow along with it." he added under his breath.

Hannibal watched, for once looking forward to a rundown on a plan, as Viceroy procured a metal stand from the closet. A click of a button from a remote in his hand, and it flickered to life, producing a hologram screen that looked much like a small whiteboard. The hologram showed a crude drawing of a robot. Viceroy pointed to the robot with a short plastic pointer.

"This is a robot. Followin' so far?" he asked, smugly. Alright, so he was still pretty agitated with his boss. But Mcfist didn't seem to notice at all; he just nodded. With another push of a button, the screen changed again, this time to a doodle of five puppies. "And these are cute, innocent puppies."

"Puppies? They look like rats. With horribly deformed heads."

"Just pretend!" Viceroy snapped. "I'm a scientist, not an artist, alright? Now pay attention for two seconds!"

"Fine, sheesh, I'm paying attention." It dully occurred to Mcfist that Viceroy seemed a little on edge lately. And then it was promptly forgotten, as the screen changed again, and Mcfist frowned deeply. The screen showed that same robot, covered in puppies. Hannibal suddenly wasn't sure he was completely thrilled with this idea.

"If the ninja is all about protecting the innocent and whatnot, then he can't hurt puppies. Therefor, my robot will be immune!"

Hannibal stared for a long time, Viceroy stared back. There was a long, awkward silence between them. Finally Mcfist cleared his throat and shattered it.

"Wow, really? Puppy armor, that's uh... huh. Yeah doesn't really seem that thought out, you know? Kinda... not very good, there."

"Guess my mind's been on other things." Viceroy replied, sharply. He stood, arms crossed, glaring accusingly at his boss, waiting. Waiting for his actual plan for the day to kick in. So far, it wasn't looking so good.

The man stood clad in a short sleeved, light pink blouse, brown short-short overalls, purple leggings, and bright pink cowboy boots. A purple plaid scarf hung loosely around his neck. It had been the most stereotypically homosexual getup he had in his closet.

"Ehhh..." Mcfist fumbled, vaguely knowing that look from his wife. "Like what?"

Viceroy's glare hardened.

"Oh, just personal stuff, I suppose. Nothing you'd care about, apparently."

Okay, the conversation was REALLY beginning to sound like a silent argument with Marci. One of those ones where he usually forgot something that was important, and if he didn't solve it he would NOT be sleeping in his bed that night. Not that the scientist had the power to kick him out of his own bed, nor was he married to the guy. And yet… still that same foreboding marital woe hung over his head like a ticking timebomb. The older man pouted slightly, as he stroked his glorious mustache with his robotic hand.

"Uh… am I forgetting something, here? Let me guess, it's your birthday?"

The darker skinned man gasped in shock.

"You don't even know when my BIRTHDAY is?!"

Eh, okay, so that was obviously the wrong answer. Alright, Hannibal, gotta save this before it got any worse.

"Whaaat? Of COURSE I know when your birthday is! I can't know a guy as long as I've known you and NOT even remember his birthday… heh. I was… I was just playing around, is all. GEEZE, you need to lighten up and learn to take a JOKE, Viceroy! Stick in the mud really isn't a good look on you."

Viceroy sighed, and clicked off the hologram. His boots clacked on the tile floor as he made his way toward Mcfists' desk.

"So you're tellin' me," he reached the desk, and his boss recoiled slightly as he sat on it. "that you don't notice ANYTHING different about me?"

Hannibal made a face when the scientist lifted a foot up and placed that on his desk, too. What was he DOING? Getting his muddy shoes all over his-ohh! Mcfist eyed the boot in front of him, a glint in his eye.

"Oohh! Nice shoes!" without thinking about it, the robo-armed man grabbed for the boot- with Viceroy's foot still inside- and yanked it, causing the scientist to scream and tumble off of the desk.

"Looks a little small, though. These come in, say, a five or six?... Oh, and in men's."

The bruised scientist clambered his way back up the desk, glaring at his boss who was still holding onto his foot. Viceroy was about to snipe at him, when they were interrupted by the phone on the desk going off. McFist blinked slowly, before dropping the foot in his hand as he pushed the speaker button.

"This better be important, Susan: I was just in the process of getting Viceroy to spill the beans on where he got his sweet shoes!"

A metallic voice replied through the speakers, much more feminine than many of the other robo-apes that worked for him.

"Sorry, Mr. McFist, but I thought I should inform you that you have a Mr. Sorcerer on the line for you. Should I put him through?"

The blond man sighed.

"Of COURSE put him through! I don't need the guy getting cranky on me."

"Right away, sir."

Hannibal, momentarily forgetting about acquiring new footwear, stood up from behind his desk as he made his way towards the large tube in the middle of the room. Viceroy followed behind him, though rubbing the sore spot on his bottom where he had fallen. He grumbled, not exactly in the mood to get chewed out by some wannabe rotting corpse. Couldn't he just call back some other time?

Apparently not, as the next moment the tube was filled with the horrible visage of the ancient evil magic wielder. The green demon looked displeased, even more than usual. McFist laughed nervously, as he greeted him.

"Heeeey, Sorcerer, buuuuddy. What, eh… what can I do for you?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me you infuriating buffoon- you KNOW why I'm calling!"

Viceroy scoffed.

"Oh, trust me, he ain't playing dumb, baby."

McFist turned around to growl at his hired help, glowering up at him as he caught the meaning of the younger man's comment. He was about to retort back when the Sorcerer spoke up once more, stealing away his attention.

"What in the WORLD are you wearing?" The demon asked Viceroy, his voice laced with confusion and disgust. The man didn't get to answer, as his boss squealed happily.

"I know, right? Aren't those shoes great? I swear I'm not going to sleep until I get a pair!"

The Sorcerer squinted, and wrinkled his lip, exposing a line of mismatched, rotting teeth.

"They look a bit garish if you ask me. But what do I know about fashion; I've been wearing these same old robes for over eight hundred years." he replied, forlornly.

"Eugh." Mcfist made a yuck face.

"Anyway..." the Sorcerer sighed, suddenly put into a melancholy mood, as he'd been reminded just how long he'd been trapped in that hole. "I've noticed a lack of chaos and disdain, that sort of thing, this week. Are you guys even TRYING anymore? Need I remind you fools just WHO you work for?"

"Uh, no!" Mcfist blurted. "Nope, no reminding necessary! In, in fact, Viceroy here," said scientist was grabbed and shoved in front of his boss, like a human shield. "just came up with a brilliant plan! Didn't you, Viceroy?"

"'Brilliant'? I thought you said it was, and I quote, 'not very good'."

"Ix-nay on that, Viceroy, ix-nay!" The stouter man laughed a bit nervously as he turned back to the unimpressed looking Sorcerer. "That guy, always the kidder! I swear, one of these days his jokes are going to get him in serious trouble."

Throwing a quick warning glare to the man next to him, McFist was all smiles as he continued.

"Nope, It's all good here. I can assure you that this plan is one hundred percent ninja-proof. The guy won't see what's coming!"

"See to it that he doesn't!" the Sorcerer growled. "I am quickly losing my patience with you two!"

Mcfist let out a hefty sigh of relief when their boss disappeared in a puff of green mist.

Meanwhile, the Sorcerer sat slumped over, his melancholy mood evident. His rat friend patted him, comfortingly, on his knee. The Sorcerer glanced down at it.

"What do you think?" he enquired, opening his arms, and gesturing to his robes. "I still look good, don't I? This outfit was in style a mere eight hundred years ago..."

The rat gave its best smile, a double thumbs up, nodded and squeaked its approval. But the Sorcerer had been alive, or something akin to alive, long enough to know a forced smile and a lie when he saw one. He scowled and went back to pouting.

"Oh, what do you know."