"QUIET!" bellowed Lord Hater as he thumped his podium, handily illustrating the exact opposite of the word's meaning.
The watchdogs' chatter ceased immediately as Hater's command echoed through the great hall. Within a split second the now-silent army had assumed its formation.
Hater was impressed. Mostly at his own power, that was, but also at how disciplined his minions had become over the past few months. All he had to do was shout a single word - 'quiet', usually, or sometimes 'minions', and on one memorable occasion 'mommy' - and there they were, in perfect rows and columns, sorted alphabetically by name. From Aaron at the back left to Zoltan at the front right, none dared move a muscle or blink a singular eye.
This was just what Hater needed. He absolutely had to be the center of attention, and if this was achieved out of fear rather than respect, so much the better.
He cleared his throat and began his speech.
"As you all know from our newsletter," he said, "I am leaving today for the annual Supervillains Convention. It's Earth's turn to host and they have picked the most nefarious lair on their entire planet: Clearwater, Florida!"
There were gasps and yelps from the assemled Watchdogs. A few fainted, being helped to their feet by their neighbors. Hater waited a few seconds for the commotion to subside before continuing.
"As the most important guest it's vital that I get there early, so I'll be leaving as soon as Peepers finishes packing my bags. This brings me to my next point."
Hater thumped the podium once more for emphasis. "Peepers is in charge until I get back! I want you to treat him exactly as you'd treat me. If he says jump, you say how high. If he says blink, you... actually, don't blink. It creeps me out when you do that. Ugh."
He began to pace the stage, hands crossed behind his back. "I can't miss this convention. It's a chance for me to show all the other supervillains how incredible a job I'm doing trying to take over the universe. But leaving you behind is the hardest thing I've ever had to do." A few Watchdogs in the 'H' column began to sigh and say 'aww', only to be interrupted by Hater.
"That's because I trust you about as far as I can throw a handful of you, which because you lost my good arm last week when you took it to the cleaners, isn't very far at all! My only hope is that Peepers, as your trusted mentor and guide, can knock some sense into you!" The 'H' column said 'aww' again, this time in a sad voice.
"I will return in three days' time, and when I get back I expect this place to be spotless."
Right on cue, Peepers appeared at the side of the stage, dragging an immense suitcase and lugging on his tiny frame a carry-on backpack several times his height and weight.
"Lord Hater, sir!" he gasped. "Your clothing is arranged just as you like it. I've ensured each day's underpants are correctly labeled so we don't have a repeat of last year's problems-"
"ENOUGH!" said Hater, grabbing the suitcase. "Your only job now is to keep this rabble in line," he said, waving a hand towards the still-assembled army. He grabbed the backpack off Peepers and slipped it over his shoulders. "I'll be back in three days. Until then... watchdogs: get to work!"
The assembled army cheered in unison as Hater stormed off-stage for his flight to Earth before immediately settling back into their silent rows and columns.
Peepers nodded, saluted, then skittered to the very front of the stage. "You heard Lord Hater!" he cried. "It's time to get to work!"
The very front of columns G through T gave Peepers some polite applause.
"You... you heard me! It's work time!"
A hand from near the back of column C tentatively rose into the air.
"Cameron? What do you want?" said Peepers.
The hand kept waving.
"CAMERON! CAMERON! WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?"
"Um..." said a small voice at the very front. "I don't think she can hear you."
Peepers leaned over the stage and gesticulated in frustration. "Cameron's a boy!"
"Yes, but that's Camilla. Cameron's three behind."
"Don't get smart with me, Luis!"
"What did I do!?" squawked an indignant voice from behind. Luis stood, fists balled on his hips, behind the one who had spoken.
"I'm Luke, Peepers," said the original voice.
Peepers narrowed his eye in concentration. He was a little rusty at names these days.
"Cut Peepers some slack," said a sarcastic, female voice two rows to the left. "It's not like he'd remember who any of us are, now that he's Lord Hater's special faaaaavorite."
"Augh! Amanda, how dare you!" screeched Peepers, clutching his heart with wounded offence, but Amanda paid him no mind as she chuckled and exchanged high-fives with Amethyst and Blake.
There was chatter now, rising in little bursts from isolated pockets of the room. Over in row 12 a game what looked to be a poker game was well underway; at the back of column D Peepers could have sworn that Daria and Daryn were making out. He didn't even want to know what was happening in column X-Y-Z.
Things were getting out of control. Nervously he looked from side-to-side, his eyes drawn to Hater outside as he threw his luggage carelessly into the back of his private spacecraft before climbing in himself. As his chaffeur took him away, Peepers knew that, more than ever, he was on his own.
In desperation he scrambled to the top of the podium and tapped the microphone. Good - it still worked. Hater never used it, preferring the natural timbre of his voice, which never failed to command respect from the minions. But Peepers needed all the help he can get.
"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP!" he screamed at the top of his tiny lungs. Coupled with some screechy feedback from the antique microphone, it at least had the effect of restoring order.
"I know how it is. I don't like you and you don't like me."
"You got that right," said Amanda with a chuckle. Peepers glared at her and silenced the little ripple of laughter around her.
"... but with Hater away, I'm in charge around here!" continued Peepers. "And I don't care what you think. You can't walk all over me. Hater picked me because I'm the best one. Don't believe me? Try me."
From some of the quieter rows, Peepers could have sworn he heard a few gulps. From everyone else... silence. Precious, fearful, scared-stiff silence.
Maybe the next three days would be easier than he thought.
Maybe he was on to something.
Maybe he liked being in charge.