Shadows of the Past
Ch. 1 – Mojo Jojo, Femme Fatale
TW: There are mentions of SEXUAL ASSAULT, RAPE, and SOMEWHAT GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Please be cautious with this chapter.
Townsville, Virginia sat quietly on the outskirts of the nation's capital, Washington, D.C., a charming suburb where the pulse of the city met the calm of suburban life. Known for its proximity to the White House and countless government agencies, Townsville was a haven for federal workers and those seeking an easy commute to the heart of the nation's politics. But beyond its proximity to Washington's iconic landmarks, Townsville thrived as a unique community within the dynamic and ever-evolving District of Columbia-Maryland-Virginia (DMV) region.
The town's location, nestled along the scenic Potomac River, gave it an undeniable charm. Lush parks and tree-lined streets created a stark contrast to the fast-paced life across the river in District of Columbia, yet Townsville's proximity to major highways and Metro lines offered easy access to everything the capital had to offer. Residents enjoyed the best of both worlds: a peaceful suburban lifestyle paired with the excitement of world-class museums, vibrant cultural events, and the limitless opportunities that came with living near the country's political and cultural center.
For young professionals, Townsville offered an escape from the crowded hustle of the city without sacrificing proximity to the growing tech industries in Northern Virginia. The area had quickly become a hotspot for entrepreneurs and innovators, with tech startups flourishing just miles away. Meanwhile, families found the town's top-rated schools, expansive parks, and well-maintained neighborhoods ideal for raising children in a safe, close-knit environment.
Yet, beneath the idyllic picture of suburban tranquility, there was an undercurrent of tension. As more people flocked to Townsville, the once-sleepy town found itself navigating the growing pains of gentrification, rapidly rising property values, and a shifting demographic. Longtime residents, who had known the town's quiet charm for decades, now faced new challenges as developers set their sights on transforming the area into a trendy, upscale destination.
This quiet suburban town—an oasis of calm—was starting to feel the ripple effects of the city's pulse. And for a handful of residents, this was just the beginning. As political tensions in Washington reached new heights, and as secrets buried within the town began to resurface, Townsville might just be the perfect microcosm for the political, social, and cultural shifts sweeping through the nation.
Thanks to the seamless connectivity of the Metro system, residents could easily zip between Maryland, Virginia, and Washington, D.C., making Townsville an incredibly convenient and well-connected place to call home. Over the years, the once-sleepy suburb had evolved into a bustling, vibrant community, largely driven by the economic boom of the DMV region. However, Townsville's transformation could also be credited to its unique, heroic defenders—the Powerpuff Girls; Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup. These beloved superheroes not only kept the city safe from danger but had also become symbols of resilience and hope, uniting the community in ways that transcended ordinary citizens. Their presence imbued the city with a sense of pride and strength, turning Townsville into a beacon of optimism in the region.
Before Townsville launched its pioneering Residential Treatment Program for villains, the city's crime rate had reached alarming heights. With violence and criminal activity escalating at an uncontrollable pace, local leaders grew increasingly desperate for a solution that went beyond traditional punitive measures. In a bold move, the city opted to create a specialized residential facility designed to house and rehabilitate its most dangerous criminals. This new initiative would see villains confined to the facility, where they would undergo comprehensive assessments by expert psychiatrists and behavioral specialists. The goal was not only to neutralize the immediate threat these criminals posed but also to offer a long-term rehabilitation plan aimed at breaking the destructive cycle of violence that had plagued the city for so long.
In March 2021, Mayor George Papenbook of Townsville, Virginia, stood before a small crowd, dressed in his signature navy-blue suit, paired with tan shoes and a blue face mask, the pandemic still looming large over daily life. Though small in stature and advanced in age, George's presence was still commanding. His fringe of white hair framed a bald scalp, and his thick mustache twitched as he spoke in a voice that was a mix of excitement and scattered thought. Beside him, his secretary and deputy, Sara Bellum, stood poised and confident. Sara, a tan-skinned woman with a curvy figure and long, curly orange hair, wore a red pantsuit and black suede pumps that clicked against the pavement.
The Powerpuff Girls—Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup—stood just behind them, their usual bright colors now complemented by fleece jackets and matching face masks, each girl representing her signature hue of pink, blue, and green. The small crowd of curious townspeople gathered to witness this pivotal moment in Townsville's history: the launch of the city's state-of-the-art Residential Treatment Program for Villains. It was a groundbreaking initiative aimed at not just containing but rehabilitating the city's notorious criminals.
Mayor Papenbook, holding a giant pair of ceremonial scissors, looked out at the eager crowd with a sense of purpose. As his hand steadied, he raised his voice, ready to make the announcement that would change the course of Townsville's future.
"To all our valued residents," George began, his voice carrying both determination and a slight tremor, "We are proud to introduce a transformative step forward for Townsville. Today, we officially unveil the new Residential Treatment Program for Townsville's Villains, a bold initiative designed to curb crime and offer real solutions for those caught in the cycle of violence and misdeeds."
He paused, glancing at his deputy, Sara, who gave him an encouraging nod. The Powerpuff Girls stood at attention, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and cautious optimism.
"Our city has faced too many years of destruction and chaos," George continued, his voice growing firmer. "But with this program, we're not just locking up criminals—we're offering them a chance to heal, to change, and to be reintegrated as productive members of our community. It's time we break the cycle for good."
The crowd murmured in response, some skeptical, others hopeful. As George raised the scissors once more, ready to cut the ribbon, the moment felt both symbolic and monumental—a new chapter for Townsville, one where redemption might be as achievable as justice.
At the Residential Treatment Program for Townsville's Villains, a wide range of infamous criminals found themselves under the watchful eyes of rehabilitation specialists. Among the many notorious figures were familiar faces like Mojo Jojo, Fuzzy Lumpkins, the Gangreen Gang, Sedusa, Femme Fatale, and a host of others. The program was designed to help these individuals face the consequences of their past actions, learn the meaning of redemption, and ultimately rebuild their futures.
Psychiatrists and behavioral experts at the facility worked tirelessly with each resident, guiding them through the difficult journey of self-reflection. They taught the villains that redemption wasn't merely about asking for forgiveness—it required actively atoning for their wrongdoings, taking responsibility, and making tangible efforts to change their behavior. The goal was not just to rehabilitate but to instill a deeper understanding of personal growth and transformation.
The facility was outfitted with cutting-edge technology, creating a secure and monitored space where experts could closely study each villain's behavior, motivations, and psychological condition. In addition to comprehensive psychiatric evaluations, the program offered a range of services, including individual counseling, anger management courses, and social reintegration workshops. These efforts were designed to help the villains reintegrate into society as law-abiding citizens, giving them a real opportunity for change.
Though controversial, this progressive approach sought to not only address the root causes of criminal behavior but also reduce the long-term financial burden of incarceration. By offering an innovative alternative to the conventional prison system, the program presented a hopeful path forward—one that prioritized rehabilitation over punishment.
Mojo Jojo, once the most infamous enemy of the Powerpuff Girls, became the first villain to enter Townsville's Residential Treatment Program. His journey, however, was far from simple. In December 2020, HIM, the dark and manipulative force behind many of Townsville's most notorious threats, had encountered Mojo Jojo in an unexpected twist of fate.
Before he became the notorious supervillain known as Mojo Jojo, he was simply Jojo, a baby chimpanzee with a remarkably large brain, the result of an accidental mutation caused by the powerful Chemical X. Under HIM's twisted influence, Jojo was transformed into Mojo Jojo, a cunning and destructive villain. Yet, beneath the layers of villainy and chaos, Mojo Jojo's story had started long before his rise to power.
At just two years old, Jojo had left the Utonium household, where he had been raised alongside the Powerpuff Girls. Still, despite his immense intellect, he had never learned to navigate the basic aspects of life—like personal responsibility. He had never been potty trained, and the concepts of self-care and discipline were completely foreign to him. This gap in his development, combined with the early, unstable influence of HIM, shaped Mojo Jojo into the volatile and bitter antagonist he became.
The decision to admit him into the Residential Treatment Program was both a challenge and a gamble. Here, experts would not only confront his criminal tendencies but also help him address the emotional and developmental scars left by a chaotic upbringing. For Mojo Jojo, this was more than just a chance at rehabilitation—it was an opportunity to confront the unresolved parts of his past, including the emotional neglect and instability that had shaped his actions as a villain.
On the first day of Mojo Jojo's detention at the Residential Treatment Program, the scene was tense. The notorious villain, who had long struck fear into the hearts of Townsville's citizens, was cuffed and escorted from his secret lair by a team of security personnel. His once-mighty fortress, filled with advanced technology and elaborate traps, now stood empty, a stark contrast to the fearsome figure that had terrorized the city for months. Mojo Jojo, begrudgingly subdued and restrained, was placed into a secure transport vehicle that would take him to the facility.
As the cuffs clicked into place, a sense of bitter humiliation washed over him. His mind—still sharp and calculating—raced with thoughts of escape, revenge, and manipulation. This wasn't just a setback; it was a personal blow. Mojo Jojo, for all his genius, had been reduced to a mere prisoner—something he had always believed himself far above.
The drive to the treatment center was silent, but the tension in the air was palpable. Mojo Jojo's usual bravado and swagger had been replaced by an eerie calm, as if he were biding his time, waiting for the right moment to break free. His large, expressive eyes betrayed his thoughts: a mix of defiance, bitterness, and confusion. He had always been in control—always the mastermind—yet here he was, handcuffed and powerless.
Upon arrival, the facility's security measures went into full effect. Mojo Jojo was processed by the staff, his personal history carefully examined and noted. For a moment, he felt like just another patient, another villain to be rehabilitated. This was not the grand entrance he had envisioned for himself as a criminal mastermind. His oversized brain buzzed with frustration.
Yet, something felt different this time. The Residential Treatment Program wasn't like any facility Mojo Jojo had encountered before. This wasn't just another high-security prison with cold bars and concrete walls. No, this was a place built with the intent to reshape minds, not merely to punish. It was designed to break cycles, not just lock them away. As he was led down sterile hallways toward the exam room, a sense of unease stirred within him.
Dr. Kutz, the program's lead psychiatrist, stood waiting. She was dressed in a white, long-sleeved silk blouse paired with navy blue dress pants and silver flats, her white coat sharply contrasting her professional yet approachable appearance. Her calm demeanor seemed out of place for someone who was about to deal with a villain like him, but Mojo Jojo couldn't shake the feeling that this woman—this facility—was different. This wasn't going to be a simple evaluation. He had the sense that for the first time, he might actually be forced to confront the parts of himself that even he had avoided for years.
As Mojo Jojo nervously sucked his thumb, Dr. Kutz approached him with a measured calm. Her footsteps were deliberate, her presence composed as she spoke in a soothing tone.
"Mojo Jojo," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "I'm Dr. Brenda Kutz. I'll be your psychiatrist here."
The use of his full name sounded strange coming from her, almost clinical in its detachment, yet her tone was patient, offering no judgment—only the promise of understanding. Mojo Jojo's grip tightened on his thumb as his mind churned. He was no longer in control. Here, he was just another patient, another troubled soul in need of fixing. The idea was infuriating, but also, deep down, there was a sliver of curiosity about what she could uncover beneath his layers of bitterness and rage.
He met her eyes for a moment, scanning her expression for any hint of weakness or manipulation. But Dr. Kutz remained unflinching, her gaze steady and unbothered by his scrutiny. Something about her calmness unsettled him. This wasn't just another villain-vs-hero scenario. This was something far more insidious.
"Please allow me to help you get comfortable," Dr. Kutz said in a calm, professional tone. "I'll provide you with a t-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of white slides for you to change into."
Dr. Kutz carefully helped Mojo Jojo remove his supervillain outfit, her hands steady as she worked, despite the strange tension in the air. As she removed the blue tunic and gently removed his helmet, she couldn't help but notice a peculiar odor. She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly.
"What is that...?" she murmured, a faint look of surprise crossing her face as she took in the scent.
It wasn't long before she realized the source of the smell. Mojo Jojo, despite his age and intellect, had never quite mastered basic self-care, having been neglected in his early years. The diaper he was still wearing—likely a remnant from his time in the Utonium household, before he became the supervillain—was filled far beyond what should have been normal.
Dr. Kutz's professional expression remained intact, though the situation was certainly unexpected. Her tone was gentle but firm as she addressed the matter.
"Mojo Jojo," she said, looking directly at him with kindness, "It's important that we take care of your basic needs here. Let's get you changed, and then we can continue with the evaluation."
The moment, though awkward, was a stark reminder of the deep-seated issues that needed to be addressed—not just with Mojo Jojo's behavior, but with his very development and the care he had missed along the way.
Dr. Kutz maintained her professional composure as she assessed the situation. She glanced over at her assistant, Shirley, who had been standing by the door, waiting for instructions.
"Shirley," Dr. Kutz said, her voice calm but precise, "Please contact Mojo Jojo's father and ask him to bring in extra diapers and baby wipes."
Shirley nodded, her expression shifting slightly as she processed the request. "Of course, Dr. Kutz," she replied, reaching for her phone.
The mention of diapers triggered something in Mojo Jojo. His face flushed red with fury, and the defiance that usually defined him began to crumble. "I don't need that!" he screamed, his voice high-pitched and wild. "I am Mojo Jojo! I am the greatest villain in Townsville! I am not some helpless baby!"
He began to throw himself around, stomping his feet and flailing his arms, knocking over medical equipment in his wake. The tantrum escalated as he screeched, "This is an insult! How dare you treat me like this?!"
Dr. Kutz watched him with an unwavering calm, as if she had seen this behavior many times before. She waited for the tantrum to run its course, until Mojo Jojo finally stopped, panting with rage, his fists clenched.
"Mojo Jojo," she said softly, her tone still steady, "I know this is hard. But the first step to healing is confronting the parts of yourself that you don't want to face. You have to let go of the anger."
For a moment, Mojo Jojo stood there, seething, but a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. He wasn't in control anymore. The tantrum had been a desperate attempt to assert his dominance, but deep down, he knew—this time was different.
Twenty-five minutes later, the door opened, and Professor Utonium walked in, his blue face mask securely in place. In his arms, he carried several bags—five packs of Pampers Swaddlers Size 5 diapers, three boxes of Pampers Sensitive Wipes, a tube of diaper rash cream, and a stuffed chimpanzee, its fur a little worn from years of use. Along with these were his old light blue security blankets, a pack of Gerber Baby Puffs, a few sippy cups, and even a baby bottle. To complete the collection, he had an insulin case in tow, a reminder of the ongoing challenges that sometimes came with Mojo Jojo's care.
"I'm here, Dr. Kutz," Professor Utonium said, his voice steady despite the strangeness of the situation. His eyes flickered briefly toward his son, who was still brooding in the corner, but he remained focused on Dr. Kutz.
Dr. Kutz nodded in acknowledgment, her demeanor calm and composed. She had anticipated his arrival, and despite the awkwardness of the moment, she felt grateful for his help. Mojo Jojo, however, didn't share that sentiment.
"Father!" Mojo Jojo exclaimed, his voice laced with irritation. "I do not need all this! I am not some helpless baby! I am Mojo Jojo, the greatest villain of all time!"
Professor Utonium sighed, his expression softening. "Jojo, we've been over this. You're here for treatment, and this is a part of it. I know this isn't easy, but it's necessary."
Dr. Kutz, standing beside Mojo Jojo, looked over at Professor Utonium with a calm but serious expression. "Mojo Jojo did not take care of himself," she said, her voice steady but with a hint of concern. "His diaper is filled, and I'm afraid it's beyond anything I can handle in the moment. You'll need to clean up his mess."
Professor Utonium blinked, his usual calm demeanor flickering for a brief second at the awkwardness of the request. His eyes darted to Mojo Jojo, who, despite his usual bravado, now stood flushed with embarrassment.
Mojo Jojo, flustered, protested loudly, his fists clenched. "I am not some helpless infant! I am Mojo Jojo! I don't need this!"
Dr. Kutz gave him a firm but kind look. "This is part of the process, Mojo Jojo. Everyone has to confront their vulnerabilities."
Professor Utonium, though clearly uncomfortable with the situation, kept his voice steady as he looked at Mojo Jojo. "Don't you want to wear this soiled diaper all day, Jojo?" he asked, a touch of firmness in his tone. "It's important that you take care of yourself, especially now."
Mojo Jojo, already embarrassed beyond measure, seethed with frustration. His usual defiance flared up again, but it was tinged with a mixture of vulnerability. "I am not wearing it!" he snapped, his voice shaky but loud. "I am Mojo Jojo! The greatest villain ever! I don't need—"
Dr. Kutz intervened, her tone calm but guiding. "Mojo Jojo, this is part of the process. It's not about pride right now. It's about taking responsibility for your actions."
Professor Utonium gently placed a hand on Mojo Jojo's shoulder, softening his words. "I know it's not easy, but it's necessary. You can't ignore it anymore, Jojo."
Mojo Jojo hesitated for a moment, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Deep down, he knew that Dr. Kutz and his father were right, even if his pride couldn't yet accept it.
Professor Utonium, seeing that Mojo Jojo was still resisting, took a step forward. His voice softened, but there was a hint of urgency in it. "Jojo, please, this is for your own good."
Mojo Jojo's face twisted in defiance, his fists clenched as he stepped back, glaring at his father. "I told you, I don't need help! I'm Mojo Jojo, the greatest villain in Townsville!"
Without warning, Professor Utonium moved to gently grab Mojo Jojo's arm to guide him toward the changing table, but Mojo Jojo jerked away violently. "Don't touch me!" he shouted, his voice rising with anger and embarrassment. He stumbled back, his face flushed with a mix of frustration and shame.
Dr. Kutz stepped forward quickly, her tone firm yet soothing. "Professor, let's give him a moment. He's not ready to cooperate just yet."
Mojo Jojo stood there, seething with anger, unable to decide whether to lash out further or surrender to the inevitable. His chest heaved as he glared at the floor, the weight of his situation pressing down on him.
Professor Utonium's voice softened as he stepped closer to Mojo Jojo, trying to reach him beyond the layers of anger and pride. "Listen to Daddy, Jojo," he said gently, his words carrying a mix of concern and empathy. "I know what you've been going through. I know it's been hard since your mother, Mona, was shot and locked in that cage in Louisiana. I know it's made everything feel... overwhelming."
Mojo Jojo froze at the mention of his mother, his usual bravado faltering for a split second. His eyes darted toward the floor, his expression shifting from anger to something more vulnerable—grief, perhaps, or a deep, unspoken pain that he rarely allowed himself to feel.
"You don't understand!" Mojo Jojo snapped, his voice quieter now, though still filled with frustration. "She was my everything! And she's gone!"
Professor Utonium's heart clenched at the raw emotion in his son's words, though he knew they were veiled behind anger and bitterness. He took a slow, deep breath before speaking again, trying to guide Mojo Jojo through the pain.
"I do understand, Jojo," he said, his voice steady yet full of compassion. "I know it's been devastating. Losing her, being forced into a life you didn't choose—it's a lot for anyone, especially you. But this... this is a chance for you to heal. You don't have to carry all of this weight alone."
Mojo Jojo's eyes flickered, caught between defiance and the vulnerability he so rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.
Dr. Kutz, who had been quietly observing the exchange, stepped forward with a thoughtful expression. "Professor," she said gently, "maybe Mojo Jojo has been manipulated by more than just his circumstances. His past, the loss of his mother, and the constant need to prove himself—it's possible that these experiences have shaped his actions in ways we can't entirely understand."
Professor Utonium looked at Dr. Kutz, his brow furrowing as he absorbed her words. His heart ached for his son, but he could see the validity in Dr. Kutz's suggestion. He had always known Mojo Jojo's anger stemmed from something deeper, but he had never fully considered the impact of external manipulation.
"Do you mean..." Professor Utonium began, his voice uncertain, "that Mojo Jojo has been influenced by someone else? Perhaps more than just his own grief?"
Dr. Kutz nodded. "Yes. It's possible that figures in his past—like HIM or others—used his vulnerability and grief as tools for control. Manipulating his emotions, turning his pain into anger. It's not uncommon for someone to become a product of that manipulation over time."
Mojo Jojo, hearing this, clenched his fists. "I was never manipulated!" he shouted, though the trembling in his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "I made my choices! No one made me do anything!"
Dr. Kutz remained calm, her eyes soft but firm. "It's not about blaming you, Mojo Jojo. It's about understanding the reasons behind your choices and beginning to heal. No one is saying it was easy, but we're here to help you work through it."
Professor Utonium's expression softened, but his voice was firm as he looked at Mojo Jojo. "Jojo," he said, his tone gentle but resolute, "you didn't truly make your choices. You were used by HIM. He took advantage of your grief and vulnerability, turning you into what you are now. He fed into your anger and twisted it."
Mojo Jojo recoiled, his fists trembling as his anger flared. "You don't understand!" he shouted, his voice thick with emotion. "I chose my path! I didn't need anyone to tell me what to do!"
Professor Utonium stepped forward, his face etched with compassion. "Jojo, I know you think that. But the choices you made weren't yours alone. HIM used your pain, manipulated you. He made you believe that your anger was the only way to deal with everything you were feeling. It wasn't your fault."
Mojo Jojo's expression flickered between disbelief and fury. "No! I chose to be Mojo Jojo!" he shouted, trying to regain control over the narrative. "I'm not some puppet! I'm... I'm the greatest villain of Townsville!"
Dr. Kutz, seeing the intensity of the moment, spoke up calmly. "Mojo Jojo, the first step to healing is accepting the truth. Yes, you've made choices, but they were influenced by the people around you. Understanding that isn't a sign of weakness, it's a step toward freeing yourself from the past."
Professor Utonium's gaze softened. "I know it's hard, Jojo. But if you want to move forward, if you want to stop being controlled by all of this, you need to acknowledge how others have shaped you. Only then can you start healing."
Dr. Kutz looked at Professor Utonium with a thoughtful expression before speaking gently. "Professor, there's something important to consider here. Mojo Jojo is only about two years old in chimpanzee years. In primate development, chimpanzee infants are considered 'infants' from birth until about three to five years old, when they're weaned. During this period, they're heavily dependent on their mothers."
She paused, allowing the weight of her words to sink in before continuing. "This is crucial because Mojo Jojo lost his mother during a time when he should have been closely bonded with her. That bond is vital for emotional growth and stability. Without it, especially at such a young age, it's much harder for him to develop healthy coping mechanisms. This is why things have been so difficult for him, Professor."
Professor Utonium's expression softened, a deeper understanding dawning on him. He glanced at Mojo Jojo, who was still trying to hold onto his anger, but the vulnerability was evident beneath his defiant exterior.
"Jojo..." Professor Utonium said softly, his voice full of empathy. "I never realized just how much you lost, how much you were forced to grow up too soon. You were robbed of the chance to grow and heal in a natural way."
Mojo Jojo clenched his fists again, his eyes darting between his father and Dr. Kutz. "You don't get it!" he snapped, but this time, there was less venom in his voice. "I'm not a baby! I'm... I'm... a villain!"
Dr. Kutz stepped forward, her voice gentle yet firm. "It's okay to acknowledge your pain, Mojo Jojo. You don't have to be a villain to prove you're strong. Sometimes, strength comes from allowing yourself to be vulnerable, to heal."
Professor Utonium nodded in agreement, taking another step toward his son. "We can help you, Jojo. We can help you grow, heal, and learn how to be the version of yourself that you deserve to be."
Mojo Jojo, his face flushed with frustration, absentmindedly raised his hand to his mouth. He sucked his thumb, the action so automatic it was almost as if he had reverted to a much younger version of himself. His eyes were downcast, and for a brief moment, he looked small—vulnerable—like a baby trying to find comfort in the midst of overwhelming emotions.
Professor Utonium noticed the gesture immediately. His heart clenched as he realized just how much Mojo Jojo had regressed. This wasn't the angry supervillain standing before him. This was something more fragile, a creature still reeling from the loss of the only nurturing figure he had ever known.
Dr. Kutz gently observed the scene, her voice soft but knowing. "Mojo Jojo, it's okay to let your guard down. You're not just a villain—you're still learning, still growing, just like any baby who needs care and guidance."
Mojo Jojo stopped sucking his thumb quickly, his face burning with embarrassment. He pulled his hand away, quickly wiping his thumb on his arm. "I... I'm not a baby!" he snapped, trying to regain his composure. His voice, however, was far less forceful than usual.
Professor Utonium knelt in front of him, his voice gentle yet firm. "Jojo, it's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay to need help. You don't have to carry everything on your own."
Mojo Jojo stood still for a moment, his face a mix of pride and shame. Deep inside, he knew Professor Utonium was right, but the words still felt foreign to him.
Professor Utonium asked, "Dr. Kutz, do you have the disposable gloves and bedpad?" His voice was still gentle, but there was an unmistakable urgency in his tone. Despite Mojo Jojo's resistance, the task needed to be addressed.
Dr. Kutz, who had been patiently observing, nodded. "Yes, Professor. I'll grab them right away." She turned and walked toward the nearby medical supplies, her movements measured and calm. As she gathered the items, the room remained tense, the silence only broken by Mojo Jojo's shallow breaths and occasional muttering under his breath.
Professor Utonium stayed close to his son, his hand resting gently on Mojo Jojo's shoulder. "Jojo, I know this is hard, but it's going to help you feel better. Just trust me for now."
Mojo Jojo remained stiff, his pride still the biggest barrier between him and the help he desperately needed. He glanced up at his father, then back down, a mix of anger, embarrassment, and confusion swirling in his eyes.
Dr. Kutz returned with the gloves and bedpad, her expression kind but firm. "Let's just take it one step at a time," she said, her tone steady as she prepared to assist.
Professor Utonium looked at Mojo Jojo one last time before continuing. "We'll get through this together, Jojo."
Mojo Jojo, feeling overwhelmed by the situation, couldn't help himself. He raised his thumb to his mouth and began sucking on it, the action so automatic that it felt like a reflex—one from a time long before he became the villain he was now. His eyes were downcast, the fierce anger from earlier replaced by a mix of vulnerability and confusion. In that moment, he was no longer the powerful, defiant supervillain, but a small, uncertain creature desperately seeking comfort.
Professor Utonium watched his son for a moment, his heart aching at the sight. Mojo Jojo, despite all his bravado, was still a product of his traumatic past—a young being who never had the chance to properly heal or grow. It wasn't lost on him how much Mojo Jojo had regressed in this vulnerable state, and it only deepened his resolve to help.
He took a deep breath and began preparing for the task ahead, quietly gathering the necessary supplies—disposable gloves, a bedpad, and the other items Dr. Kutz had brought. Despite his own discomfort, Professor Utonium knew this was what had to be done. He could see the deep emotional pain that lay beneath his son's anger and bravado, and he was determined to help him through it, one small step at a time.
Dr. Kutz stood nearby, observing the exchange. She could see the tension in the room and the vulnerability in Mojo Jojo's eyes, but she knew that this was part of the healing process. Healing wasn't linear, and moments like this—though awkward and uncomfortable—were part of breaking through the defenses Mojo Jojo had built up over the years.
Professor Utonium glanced at Dr. Kutz briefly, his expression full of empathy and understanding. "Let's do this," he said softly, his voice steady as he took another step toward Mojo Jojo, ready to move forward with the necessary care.
Mojo Jojo, still sucking his thumb, felt a deep, burning embarrassment but couldn't seem to stop himself. His usual pride felt distant in that moment.
As Professor Utonium carefully attended to the task at hand, his voice was filled with quiet concern. "I feel concerned about the residential treatment program. They may not be prepared to care for villains like Jojo. He's only two years old, the youngest patient here, and I'm not sure if anyone is really paying attention to his needs—potty training, managing his blood sugars, and everything else that comes with his care."
He wiped Mojo Jojo's bottom gently, his tone soft but laden with the weight of his worries. He knew that the treatment program was focused on rehabilitation, but Mojo Jojo was still a young chimpanzee with complex, unique needs. His past trauma, his health issues, and his emotional struggles made him more vulnerable than most.
Mojo Jojo, still embarrassed by the situation, flinched slightly as his father continued with the task. He wasn't used to being taken care of in such a vulnerable way, and the feeling of being so dependent on someone else made him seethe internally.
Dr. Kutz, who had been standing by quietly, stepped forward to offer her insight. She could see the genuine concern in Professor Utonium's eyes and understood the depth of his worry. "Professor, I agree that there are some unique challenges here with Jojo's care," she said softly. "The program isn't specifically tailored for individuals like him. But we can make sure he receives the proper attention. It's important that we track his blood sugars carefully, make sure he gets proper nutrition, and help with potty training as much as we can. There are specialists who can be consulted to help with his medical needs, and I can ensure the staff is aware of the additional support he needs."
Professor Utonium nodded slowly, his heart heavy with the responsibility. He'd always been the one to care for Mojo Jojo, and seeing him so vulnerable and dependent on others was hard for him to accept. "I just... I don't want Jojo to fall through the cracks. He deserves care that's as thorough as anyone else's. He's not just some villain who needs to be 'fixed.' He's a young, lost soul who needs help learning to care for himself—he needs to know that he's safe, that someone is looking out for him."
Mojo Jojo, despite the discomfort of the situation, listened to his father's words. The usual anger was replaced with a confused vulnerability, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe—just maybe—his father wasn't abandoning him. His fists unclenched, and his thumb, still in his mouth, lowered slightly.
Dr. Kutz smiled gently, offering reassurance. "We'll make sure he gets the right care. I understand your concerns, Professor. But with the right support, Mojo Jojo can learn to heal and take better care of himself. It's not going to be easy, but he has a chance to make progress."
Professor Utonium glanced at Mojo Jojo, his eyes filled with both love and a deep sense of responsibility. "I just want him to be okay," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Mojo Jojo, for once, didn't argue. He stayed still, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected tenderness in his father's words.
Professor Utonium's voice was soft, almost to himself, as he finished cleaning Mojo Jojo. "Maybe Emily and I can work here..."
Dr. Kutz looked at him thoughtfully, sensing the weight of his words. "You're considering taking on a role here? That could be beneficial. Your knowledge of Mojo Jojo's history and needs would be invaluable in making sure he receives the specialized care he requires."
Professor Utonium sighed, glancing over at Mojo Jojo, who was still unusually quiet, his thumb still in his mouth. "I've always done everything for him. But I'm starting to wonder if I can't do more here... if Emily and I could help shape things for the better. I don't want him to feel lost or forgotten. Maybe if we were more involved, we could make a difference for him and others like him."
Dr. Kutz gave a small nod. "Your involvement could be crucial, Professor. Not just for Mojo Jojo, but for the other patients who might not have the support they need. It's clear that you care deeply for him, and your understanding of his complex needs could help guide the treatment program in ways that will benefit everyone. But, of course, that would also mean being prepared to handle the difficult moments that come with being that close to the care process."
Professor Utonium nodded, his gaze still on his son. "I understand that. And I'm prepared for the challenges. I just want him to have the best chance he can get. I know he has his pride, but deep down, I think he needs to heal. And maybe... maybe I need to heal too."
Mojo Jojo, still lost in his thoughts, glanced up at his father. His defiance hadn't quite vanished, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. It was clear that he, too, was struggling with his own vulnerability, but hearing his father speak about working together to help him left him conflicted—part of him didn't want to admit he needed that help, but another part of him longed for it, even if he couldn't yet bring himself to admit it.
Dr. Kutz gave a small, encouraging smile. "If you decide to take that step, Professor, we'll be here to support you. And so will Mojo Jojo, in his own way, even if he's not quite ready to show it yet."
Professor Utonium reached out and gently patted Mojo Jojo on the shoulder. "What do you think, Jojo? Do you think Emily and I should stick around a little longer and help?"
Mojo Jojo, still embarrassed but no longer shouting, simply looked at his father for a moment. There was hesitation in his eyes, but also a quiet longing for things to be different, to be better.
"Maybe…" Mojo Jojo muttered, his voice almost too soft for anyone to hear.
It wasn't a definitive answer, but it was the first sign of something closer to acceptance. Professor Utonium smiled, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "We'll take it slow, Jojo. But we'll figure this out together."
Femme Fatale, whose real name is Claire Horentech, grew up in Alexandria, Virginia, in an upper-middle-class family. A well-rounded individual, she was actively involved in various clubs and organizations at her local high school. Claire served as President of the Student Government and dedicated time to community volunteer work. She graduated as the Valedictorian of the Class of 2012. After high school, she committed to attending the University of Virginia, located about two hours and twenty minutes away from her hometown of Alexandria.
In the spring of 2014, Claire Horentech was attending the University of Virginia. At the time, she was a tall, fair-skinned woman with an hourglass figure, long straight blonde hair, and a bold swipe of coral lipstick. On one particular evening, Claire wore a coral tank top paired with a mint-colored mini skirt, completing the look with mint platform pumps and a statement necklace she had bought from Forever 21 with her sorority sisters.
One night, as her second year at the University of Virginia was nearing its end, one of Claire's sorority sisters convinced her to join them at the frat house. Initially, Claire hesitated at the thought of partying with the fraternity members, but she didn't want to miss out on the final moments before the semester ended. So, she grabbed her Instax camera to capture memories with her sorority sisters. When they arrived at the frat house, the night quickly descended into heavy drinking and wild partying. Eventually, one of the fraternity members approached the intoxicated Claire, grabbing her elbow and attempting to pull her away from the group.
After that, one of the fraternity members attempted to rape her, but she had to attack him outside of the frat's house. Claire punched him, kicked his groin, and slapped his face. Claire continued to get sexually assaulted by a fraternity member until the campus security officers arrived at the frat's house. There were sirens around the surrounding area.
The next day, after the incident with the fraternity member, Claire was wrongfully expelled from the University of Virginia, accused of assaulting one of the fraternity members. The university's decision was to give the fraternity member a second chance while unfairly punishing Claire—victimized simply because she was a woman. After she was dismissed, she discovered she was pregnant. She was terrified. Alone. The test came back positive. The decision was one of the hardest things she had ever had to make, but she chose to have an abortion. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't a decision she took lightly.
After Claire was wrongfully expelled and underwent the abortion, she reinvented herself as Femme Fatale. She turned to bank robbery, viewing it as a form of rebellion against the injustice she had endured as a woman. Despite her deep misandry, Femme Fatale was, in many ways, a hypocrite. Her actions contradicted the message she sought to convey—she stole Susan B. Anthony coins from a female bank manager, broke a policewoman's arm, and even copied the hairstyle of a teenage girl.
At the residential treatment program, Femme Fatale was cuffed, wearing a blue face mask, an old gray t-shirt emblazoned with "University of Virginia," light blue and cream plaid pajama pants, knockoff Ugg slippers, and her worn black Columbia fleece jacket. Her appearance was a stark reflection of her circumstances: a tall, fair-skinned woman with an hourglass figure, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, and no makeup to conceal the weight of her emotions. She appeared distant, her expression clouded with a deep sense of depression.
She walked slowly toward Dr. Kutz, the program's lead psychiatrist. Dr. Kutz stood up as Femme Fatale approached, her expression calm yet attentive.
"Claire Horentech," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "I'm Dr. Brenda Kutz. I'll be your psychiatrist here."
There was a pause as Femme Fatale stared at her, lost in her thoughts. Dr. Kutz sat back down, carefully observing her.
"Claire, have you been bothered lately?" Dr. Kutz asked, her tone gentle but direct. She watched Claire's eyes, searching for any flicker of emotion behind the mask she wore. "Anything on your mind that you'd like to talk about?"
Femme Fatale stood still for a moment, her gaze lowering to the floor. Her hands trembled slightly in the cuffs, and for the first time in a long while, she felt the weight of everything pressing in on her.
"Claire?" she said, her voice almost coaxing, "Don't be afraid. Feel free to talk with me comfortably. Whatever you're feeling, it's okay to say it here."
Femme Fatale hesitated, but something in Dr. Kutz's calm demeanor seemed to ease the tension in her chest. For a brief moment, Claire thought maybe, just maybe, she could let down her guard.
Femme Fatale sat down slowly, her eyes still fixed on the floor. The weight of Dr. Kutz's gentle words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, she felt a flicker of something—maybe hope, maybe exhaustion—but she couldn't place it. She swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words.
"It's... hard," Femme Fatale finally murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She clenched her fists, the cuffs digging into her wrists, but she didn't seem to notice. "Everything feels... like it's crumbling. Like nothing makes sense anymore. I... I used to be someone. I was smart, I was strong, I had a future. Now... I don't know who I am."
Her voice cracked as she continued, the vulnerability breaking through her usual deflection. "I did everything right. I worked so hard, and it all... fell apart. And now I'm just... this."
She looked up at Dr. Kutz, her eyes clouded with a mix of anger and sadness. "Why do I feel like the whole world is against me, just because I'm a woman? Why does everything always fall on me?"
Dr. Kutz sat quietly for a moment, allowing Femme Fatale's words to settle in the room. She studied Femme Fatale's face, her eyes filled with empathy but also with a steady professionalism. Slowly, she leaned forward, her voice calm and measured.
"Claire," she began softly, "I can hear how much pain you're carrying, how heavy everything feels right now. It's not uncommon to feel like the world is against you when things go wrong in ways that don't seem fair or just." She paused, giving Femme Fatale time to absorb her words.
"But just because you feel that way doesn't mean it's the whole truth," Dr. Kutz continued. "Life can be incredibly unfair, and it's easy to internalize that pain and feel like it's somehow your fault. But I want you to remember this: what happened to you, how you were treated, that's not a reflection of who you are or what you deserve. It's not about being a woman, Claire. It's about the systems and people that failed you, and those failures don't define you."
She offered a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes remained serious. "You're here now. And that's something. We're going to work through this, together. You're not alone in this."
Dr. Kutz nodded thoughtfully, her expression still gentle. "Claire, I understand that this is overwhelming. In order to help you feel more comfortable here, I'm going to give you a gray t-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of white slides to change into." She paused, making sure Claire was following her. "I also need to conduct an evaluation to understand where you're at emotionally and mentally. Based on what we talk about, I may be able to prescribe something like Lexapro—a medication that can help manage depression."
She looked at Femme Fatale with calm but direct eyes. "This isn't about rushing into things, but about giving you the tools to start feeling better, to start healing. You don't have to go through this alone."
Femme Fatale glanced down at her hands, still trembling slightly from the intensity of the conversation. She didn't immediately look up at Dr. Kutz, the weight of the situation settling deeper in her chest. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Lexapro... medication?" She repeated the word, as if tasting it. "I don't know if I want to take something... to just numb everything. I've spent so long feeling like I had to be in control, you know? But I don't... I don't know if I trust anything anymore."
She ran a hand through her messy blonde hair, her gaze drifting to the floor as she tried to make sense of her own thoughts. "I'm not even sure if this is going to help me... or if I'm just stuck. But... I guess I'm willing to try anything at this point."
Dr. Kutz nodded, her expression softening. "I completely understand your hesitation, Claire. Medication isn't a quick fix, and it's not meant to numb you. It's about helping to balance things, to make it easier for you to work through everything you're feeling, without it feeling so overwhelming." She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle.
"You're not alone in feeling unsure about taking medication. A lot of people feel that way at first. But we'll monitor everything closely, and we'll talk through how it's affecting you. The goal is always to make sure you're feeling more like yourself, not less."
Dr. Kutz offered a reassuring smile. "We'll take this one step at a time, Claire. You're here, and that's the first step toward feeling better. Whatever you decide, we'll work through it together."
As Femme Fatale sat in the sterile room, her mind a whirlwind of uncertainty, something inside her shifted. For the first time in a long while, the weight she carried seemed a little lighter. Maybe it was the calm reassurance from Dr. Kutz, or maybe it was the faintest glimmer of hope that, just maybe, things could change. She wasn't sure what the future held, or whether the medication would help her find some sense of peace, but for now, she was willing to try. With a deep, shaky breath, Femme Fatale made the quiet promise to herself: this wasn't the end. It was the beginning of something new, something that might, just might, bring her back to the woman she once was.