Shadows of the Past
Ch. 3 - First Day at the Treatment Program
On the first day at the residential treatment program, the villains gathered in the community room, their faces heavy with the fatigue that had followed them into this new chapter of their lives. Femme Fatale, dressed in a loose gray t-shirt, sweatpants, and white slides, slouched in an armchair, her gaze distant and clouded with sadness. The weight of her mental health struggles pressed down on her, and she absentmindedly traced the edge of her sleeve, fighting to keep her emotions in check.
Ace, dressed in identical gray attire, sat nearby with his legs stretched out in front of him, clearly uninterested. His eyes scanned the room lazily, but they lingered on Big Billy and Grubber, who were hunched over a table, completely absorbed in coloring. The two of them, despite their matching uniforms, were lost in their task, oblivious to the tension simmering in the air around them.
Snake, also in the standard gray uniform, paced restlessly back and forth, the intensity of his energy filling the room. His gaze flicked nervously from one person to the next, as if he couldn't find a place to settle, physically or mentally. The stillness of the room seemed to unnerve him, his mind racing even in the quiet.
Sedusa, dressed in her matching gray outfit, sat at the far end of the room, flipping through old issues of People magazine. Occasionally, a faint smile would tug at her lips as she read some celebrity gossip, but it would vanish almost as quickly as it appeared. Boredom hung over her like a fog, and her mind seemed as disengaged as her body, disconnected from both the room and the people in it.
Despite the number of people in the room, it felt eerily empty. Silence dominated, broken only by the scratch of crayons on paper and the occasional soft sigh. None of them seemed to know how to bridge the distance between themselves and this unfamiliar reality. Surrounded by others, they each remained isolated, trapped in their own private worlds, lost in their own struggles. The room, once filled with chaos and unpredictability, now felt rigid and suffocating—a stark contrast to the tumultuous lives they had led as villains.
The silence was abruptly shattered when Mojo Jojo, in his black fur, green skin, and exposed brain, stormed into the room clad only in a diaper. His arrival immediately shifted the atmosphere, as his chaotic energy seemed to electrify the space. His footsteps echoed loudly across the room as he stomped in, tiny fists clenched in frustration, muttering angrily to himself about some grand scheme or injustice he believed had just occurred.
Ace glanced over at Mojo Jojo, his eyebrows lifting in disbelief. "Who is that freak?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he took in the sight of the bizarre, diaper-clad villain storming around the room.
Sedusa, barely glancing up from her magazine, snorted and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I don't know who that freak is," she said with a shrug, her tone disinterested. "But he sure has a flair for the dramatic."
Mojo Jojo's muttered rants grew louder as he paced back and forth, his tiny fists clenched in frustration. Femme Fatale, her gaze still distant, glanced over at the commotion before her eyes settled back on the edge of her sleeve. She wasn't sure what to make of Mojo Jojo, but the outburst brought a slight shift in the room's tension.
"Who wearsss a diaper and stormssss in like that?" Snake muttered under his breath, still pacing restlessly, his eyes flicking toward the newcomer. "This place just got a whole lot weirder."
Grubber and Big Billy, oblivious to the conversation, continued their intense focus on their coloring, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening at all. The room, already thick with silence and uncertainty, felt even more surreal now, with Mojo Jojo's chaotic presence disrupting the strange new routine they were all trying to settle into.
Femme Fatale, her voice soft but tinged with frustration, muttered to no one in particular, "I want to go home... that monkey drove me crazy..."
She slouched further in her chair, her gaze flicking toward Mojo Jojo as he ranted and stomped around the room. His chaotic energy was starting to chip away at her already fragile sense of calm.
Ace shot a glance at her, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Join the club," he said, his voice dry. "This place is starting to feel like a circus, and not the fun kind."
Sedusa, still flipping through her magazine, barely reacted but tossed a glance at Claire. "Oh, honey, you're not the only one. But I've learned one thing—there's no escaping this mess, so you might as well sit back and enjoy the show."
Snake, still pacing, grunted in agreement. "Yeah, but the show'sss getting old real fassst."
Mojo Jojo's rants grew more agitated, his voice rising in volume as he launched into some incomprehensible tirade about his supposed genius and the injustices of the world. The tension in the room felt almost unbearable now, with everyone either lost in their own world or reacting to the new chaos in their midst.
As Mojo Jojo continued his frenzied pacing and muttering, a sudden, unmistakable sound broke through the tension. It was soft at first, barely audible over his ranting, but then unmistakable: a small, squelching noise.
Ace raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the source of the sound. "Did that monkey just—?"
Before he could finish his sentence, Mojo Jojo's face contorted with a mixture of frustration and discomfort. He stopped mid-step, his tiny fists clenching, as he looked down at the ground in horror. "No! Not now!" he shrieked, clearly realizing what had just happened.
Claire covered her face with her hands, groaning in embarrassment. "Oh, great. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse..." she muttered under her breath.
Sedusa, who had been flipping through her magazine without a care, now looked up with a mix of disgust and disbelief. "Is this really happening?" she asked, eyes wide. "A green monkey in a diaper... who can't even—" She cut herself off, shaking her head in disbelief.
Snake, still pacing, muttered under his breath, "Yeah, thisss isss officially rock bottom. We're all ssstuck in here with this mess."
Big Billy and Grubber, still engrossed in their coloring, didn't seem to notice the situation unfolding around them. It was as if the chaos surrounding them had become just another part of the background noise.
Mojo Jojo, now frantic and embarrassed, waddled toward a corner of the room, trying to hide his latest disaster. "This is an injustice! I am a genius, and this—this is beneath me!" he raged, though the frustration in his voice was somewhat dampened by the embarrassing reality of his situation.
The room fell into an awkward silence, everyone unsure whether to laugh, groan, or pretend they hadn't just witnessed the most bizarre moment of the day.
Just as the room lingered in awkward silence, the door to the community room creaked open. Dr. Kutz, the program's primary therapist, entered with a calm, collected demeanor. She was a woman in her early forties, with sharp, intelligent eyes behind her glasses and a quiet confidence in her stride. She wore a crisp, white lab coat that made her look every bit the professional, but her soft voice and empathetic expression made her approachable.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, her tone neutral, though a hint of concern laced her words as she took in the scene before her.
Mojo Jojo, still standing in the corner, looked like a child caught in the middle of a tantrum, his tiny fists clenched, and his face flushed with embarrassment. Ace raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to Dr. Kutz with a faint grin. Sedusa snickered quietly, clearly entertained by the scene. Claire sighed, still covering her face, as if wishing the floor would swallow her whole. Snake stopped pacing for a brief moment, his eyes flicking nervously toward Dr. Kutz, unsure whether to give an honest answer or deflect the situation entirely.
Dr. Kutz's gaze moved around the room, noting the unusual stillness before resting on Mojo Jojo, who was now mumbling angrily to himself, trying to make sense of the mess he'd created.
"Mojo Jojo," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "I think it's time we get you cleaned up. We can talk about this later."
Mojo Jojo, his face twisted in frustration, stomped his foot and growled, "This is an injustice! A genius like me doesn't deserve this humiliation!" But the anger in his voice faltered as he slowly turned to make his way toward the exit, his awkward waddle only adding to his embarrassment.
Dr. Kutz turned her attention back to the group, giving them all a quick but meaningful glance. "Alright, let's all take a moment," she said, her tone shifting toward a professional yet caring manner. "It seems we need to recalibrate a bit. We'll start fresh."
The room still felt heavy with the bizarre energy, but Dr. Kutz's presence had a grounding effect. It wasn't an immediate fix, but there was a sense that the chaos, though undeniable, could be navigated with patience. Even in a place as strange and uncomfortable as this, Dr. Kutz was here to make sure they found a way through it.
Mojo Jojo, still reeling from his embarrassing moment, stood in the corner, fuming and muttering to himself. But, in a rare display of vulnerability, he brought his tiny thumb to his mouth and started sucking on it, the chaotic energy around him momentarily dampened. His eyes darted around the room, as if to check whether anyone was watching, but the gesture was too late.
Ace, who had been about to say something else sarcastic, froze for a second. His mouth opened as if he wanted to comment, but he wisely chose silence, his eyebrow twitching in disbelief.
Sedusa, who had been watching with a mixture of amusement and disgust, raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that's rich," she muttered, clearly entertained by the sight. "The great Mojo Jojo... sucking his thumb. How dignified."
Claire, still hiding her face behind her hands, let out a groan of frustration. "I can't believe this," she mumbled to herself. "What did I get myself into?"
Snake, his restlessness momentarily paused, glanced over at Mojo Jojo. "I don't know what'sss worssse," he muttered, "the fact that he'sss wearing a diaper or that he'sss actually sssucking his thumb." He shook his head and started pacing again, as if to shake off the weirdness of it all.
Dr. Kutz, though noticing the odd behavior, remained calm. She glanced at Mojo Jojo, her expression one of quiet understanding, but she didn't comment on it directly. Instead, she simply turned back to the group, her voice as soothing as ever. "Alright, everyone. Let's focus. I know today's been… a bit much. But remember, we're here to work through it together."
Mojo Jojo, still sucking his thumb in quiet frustration, didn't seem ready to let go of the embarrassment, but at least for now, the room had shifted—less chaos, more awkwardness. And Dr. Kutz was the anchor, ensuring that everyone could find their footing, even in the most bizarre of moments.
Dr. Kutz, her voice calm but firm, addressed Mojo Jojo with a sense of both authority and compassion. "Mojo Jojo," she said, her tone never wavering, "let me change your diaper and give you a warm milk in a sippy cup. It'll help calm you down after such a stressful day. Your surrogate will be here in fifteen minutes."
Mojo Jojo's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and indignation, the thumb that had been soothing him now hanging limply from his mouth as he processed her words. "I-I do not need a sippy cup!" he stammered, his voice tinged with embarrassment, though his face flushed with the realization that he was in no position to refuse. "I am a genius, not a baby!"
Dr. Kutz maintained her gentle, professional tone, her eyes never leaving his. "I understand, Mojo Jojo. But right now, what you need is comfort, and sometimes that comes in unexpected forms. The warmth of the milk will help you relax. The day has been overwhelming, and a little bit of care might be just what you need."
Ace snickered from across the room, not able to resist. "Yeah, nothing says 'stress relief' like a warm bottle and a diaper change." He exchanged a quick glance with Sedusa, who rolled her eyes in response.
Sedusa, however, couldn't hide the curiosity in her expression as she looked at Dr. Kutz, her mind clearly running with thoughts of this strange, therapeutic approach. "Wow, that's... a bold strategy," she remarked, her voice dry. "I can't decide if it's genius or totally insane."
Claire, her face still buried in her hands, let out a quiet laugh. "This place just keeps getting weirder," she muttered.
Mojo Jojo, still holding onto some of his pride, looked ready to protest further, but Dr. Kutz simply gave him a soft but resolute look. "You can fight it if you want, but sometimes a little comfort is exactly what you need to get through the tough moments," she said with calm authority.
For a moment, the room was still. Mojo Jojo looked like he was about to burst into one of his usual rants, but then he seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping in resignation. He gave a quiet growl but finally nodded, though he couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "This is a travesty... but fine."
"Good," Dr. Kutz replied, with a soothing smile. "Let's get you settled."
As she moved toward him with a sense of calm efficiency, the rest of the group fell silent, each of them still processing the absurdity of the situation. But, in a strange way, it was the first time that day that the chaos had seemed to be under control.
Ace glanced over at Sedusa, his usual boredom replaced by a flicker of curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, what's your name?" he asked, his voice casual, but with a hint of challenge.
Sedusa looked up from her magazine, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow. She took her time, as if deciding whether or not to entertain him. Finally, she set the magazine down with a soft sigh, her lips curling into a slight smile. "Sedusa," she replied coolly, her tone laced with both confidence and a touch of playful mystery. "And you're Ace, right? Not that it matters much."
Ace chuckled, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Yeah, you got me. Not that you seem like the type to care." His eyes danced with amusement, but his curiosity lingered. There was something about Sedusa's laid-back attitude that intrigued him, even if she was clearly more interested in her magazine than engaging with the rest of the group.
Sedusa smirked, her gaze flicking briefly to Mojo Jojo, who was still awkwardly sucking his thumb in the corner. "I don't care about much these days, to be honest," she said with a shrug. "But you've got to admit, this place is... interesting. Too bad we're all stuck here."
Ace snorted. "Interesting? I think 'weird' is a better word for it." He shot a look at the rest of the group, the odd assortment of villains trying to adjust to the strange routine. "But hey, I guess we're all in the same mess now."
Sedusa's lips quirked upward. "Mess is one word for it. But I have a feeling it'll get worse before it gets better."
Ace smirked again. "That's the spirit."
Ace, still lounging with a bored expression, shifted in his seat and glanced over at Femme Fatale, who was slouched in her armchair, her gaze distant and far away. With a smirk, he leaned forward a little, his voice casual but with that signature edge of teasing. "What's your name? Don't be shy, blondie."
Femme Fatale didn't immediately respond, her fingers still absently tracing the edge of her sleeve. For a moment, she didn't even seem to register the question, as if lost in her own thoughts. But then, slowly, she turned her head towards him, her eyes cold but with a hint of curiosity.
"Femme Fatale," she replied flatly, her voice soft but laced with an almost bored intensity. "And I'm not shy." She paused, letting the words hang in the air for a beat. "I just don't find most people worth talking to."
Ace raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her attitude. "Well, I guess that makes two of us. Though, for the record, you could use a little more 'talking to' in this place." He smirked, eyes glinting. "It's not like we have anything better to do."
Femme Fatale gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just getting used to being surrounded by idiots."
Ace let out a low chuckle. "Touché. But hey, we're all in this mess together, so might as well make the best of it."
Femme Fatale turned her gaze back to the sleeve of her shirt, the brief interaction clearly enough for her. "We'll see," she murmured, her voice trailing off.
The air between them was thick with a kind of unspoken understanding — two people who didn't necessarily need to connect, but who also recognized the odd kind of camaraderie that was slowly forming in the bizarre reality they now found themselves in.
Snake ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated as he paced the room. His voice was low, but laced with frustration. "I need a vape... I can't deal with this place. That freak wrecksss this place..." He gestured toward Mojo Jojo, who was still fumbling with his diaper in the corner, mumbling angrily to himself.
Ace, leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow and smirked. "A vape? Really? You think that's gonna help?" he said dryly. "We're stuck here with a bunch of weirdos and no way out. The vape's the least of your worries."
Snake shot him a glare, his teeth gritted. "You don't get it, Ace. This place is driving me nutsss. And that... thing," he pointed sharply at Mojo Jojo, who was now sucking his thumb in a bizarre mix of frustration and embarrassment, "just makesss everything worssse."
Femme Fatale, still slouched in her armchair, glanced over at Snake, her eyes half-lidded with indifference. "You're not the only one who's losing it," she said, her voice flat. "But we're stuck here. Complaining about it won't change a damn thing."
Sedusa, flipping through an old magazine with a bored expression, chimed in, "Yeah, Snake, welcome to the club. We're all stuck in this mess together."
Mojo Jojo, hearing the conversation, shot them a furious look. "I am a genius, not a freak!" he shouted, though the words were muffled by his thumb in his mouth. He kicked the ground in frustration, but no one seemed particularly moved by his outburst.
Snake, his agitation mounting with every step, paced faster, his hands clenched at his sides. "This is insssane... I can't take it anymore!" he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.
Dr. Kutz calmly walked toward Mojo Jojo, her movements measured and steady despite the chaos in the room. She gently lifted him up, her grip firm but not unkind. "Your surrogate father is here," she said, her voice soothing but authoritative. "He'll change your diaper now."
Mojo Jojo, who had been sulking in the corner, glared at her, his face a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "I am a genius! I do not need—!" But his protest was cut off as he realized he had no choice but to comply.
Dr. Kutz gave him a reassuring look, her tone unruffled. "It's just part of the process, Mojo Jojo. We'll make it quick."
The room fell into a strange, tense silence as the rest of the group watched, some with curiosity, others with barely suppressed amusement. Snake, still pacing, muttered under his breath. "This place isss a nightmare…"
Ace, who had been watching the scene unfold with a mix of boredom and amusement, leaned back in his chair and glanced at Snake. A sly smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I know, bestie..." he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mock sympathy. "This place is like a bad dream I can't wake up from."
Snake shot him a frustrated look, but there was no denying the truth in Ace's words. The whole situation felt unreal, like a twisted joke they couldn't escape.
Ace leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and resignation. "But hey, if we're stuck here, might as well enjoy the chaos. It's the only thing keeping me from completely losing it." He gave a quick glance at Mojo Jojo, who was still being lifted by Dr. Kutz with the same resigned expression on his face.
Snake just sighed, pacing even faster. "Yeah, sure. If you consider insanity 'enjoyable.'"
In the sterile, white exam room, Mojo Jojo sat uncomfortably on the exam table, his tiny thumb stuck in his mouth as he sulked. His eyes darted around nervously, still humiliated from earlier. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of his muffled sighs, and the distant hum of fluorescent lights.
The door opened with a soft click, and in walked Professor, carrying a small pile of supplies—disposable gloves, a fresh diaper, baby wipes, and diaper rash cream. His expression was unreadable, but there was an air of professionalism as he stepped toward the table.
"Jojo," Professor said, his voice calm but firm. He stopped in front of Mojo Jojo, who looked up at him, eyes wide with a mix of dread and embarrassment. "It's time to take care of this."
Mojo Jojo's face twisted in frustration, his thumb still in his mouth, but he knew there was no escaping this. He huffed, his voice muffled, "I am a genius, not some… infant!"
Professor didn't react to the outburst. He simply began putting on the disposable gloves, his actions steady and practiced. "I understand, Jojo," he said gently. "But right now, you need comfort and care. We'll make this quick."
Mojo Jojo crossed his arms, still defiant, but the embarrassment was clearly getting to him. "This is an injustice..." he muttered under his breath.
Professor continued with calm efficiency, as though the situation was entirely normal, despite the absurdity of it all. "We all need help sometimes," he replied, and though there was no judgment in his voice, there was a quiet understanding. "You're no different."
Mojo Jojo's eyes shifted to the side, unwilling to meet Professor's gaze, his thumb still in his mouth as his thoughts swirled in frustration. It wasn't the way he'd imagined being treated. He wanted to be feared, respected—anything but this.
"Let's get you taken care of," Professor said again, beginning his task, moving swiftly but respectfully. The tension in the room, heavy and awkward, seemed to settle slightly as the professor worked. Mojo Jojo's protest was silent now, his eyes still flickering with frustration, but he didn't fight it. It felt like one of those moments where even a genius couldn't escape his current reality.
Professor's voice was calm and steady as he stood over Mojo Jojo, who was still perched uncomfortably on the exam table, his thumb now out of his mouth but his eyes still wide with annoyance. "Lay down, Jojo," he instructed gently, his tone offering no room for argument.
Mojo Jojo's brow furrowed, his pride clearly bristling at the request. "I—" he began to protest, but the words caught in his throat. The awkwardness of the situation, combined with the reality of his helplessness, made him hesitate. He didn't want to comply, didn't want to submit to something so degrading. But deep down, he knew there was no point in resisting any longer.
With a sharp exhale, Mojo Jojo slowly sank back onto the exam table, his posture stiff and uncomfortable. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared up at the ceiling, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "This is beneath me," he muttered, but the words were more for himself than anyone else.
Professor, undeterred by the outburst, nodded as if this was just another part of the routine. "I know this isn't easy, Jojo," he said with quiet understanding, "but sometimes we all need a little care."
Mojo Jojo didn't respond, still too proud to let his guard down completely. But as the professor prepared to change him, there was a momentary silence, a strange quiet that seemed to encapsulate the absurdity of the situation. It was as if everyone in the room—except for Mojo Jojo—had accepted it for what it was. But for him, every second felt like an injustice.
As the professor continued his work with professional efficiency, Mojo Jojo closed his eyes, silently wishing for this to be over, wishing he could escape back to his former life where he was feared and respected, not lying on an exam table like a helpless baby.
When Professor finished changing Mojo Jojo's diaper, he gently lifted the little villain from the exam table and set him back down on his feet. The room fell into an odd, heavy silence as Mojo Jojo stood there, still sucking his thumb, his face flushed with both frustration and embarrassment.
Professor, seemingly unaffected by the awkwardness of the moment, adjusted the supplies in his hands and gave a small nod. "All done, Jojo," he said calmly, almost as if he were addressing a child, but his voice held no judgment—just an air of professionalism.
Mojo Jojo, now feeling utterly humiliated, glared up at him with a mix of anger and disbelief. "This is... beneath me," he muttered, his voice muffled around his thumb. His pride was in tatters, but the frustration he felt was palpable. The thought of being reduced to such a state, after everything he had once been, burned in the back of his mind.
Professor didn't react to the outburst. He simply folded the used diaper and cleaned up the area with practiced efficiency. "You'll feel better now," he said, looking at Mojo Jojo with an almost caring expression. "We take care of ourselves here, Jojo. It's part of the process."
Mojo Jojo didn't answer. He just shot a venomous look toward Professor and quickly turned away, desperate to escape the situation. As he waddled to the corner, still sucking his thumb, he felt the sting of his own vulnerability and defeat, his genius mind too humiliated to even attempt to make sense of it all. It was a dark moment, one he would never admit out loud, but one that sat heavily in the back of his mind.
Professor, maintaining his calm and professional demeanor, picked up a soft gray t-shirt and gray sweatpants from the shelf. He gently held them out toward Mojo Jojo. "I am putting a gray t-shirt on you, then gray sweatpants," he said, his tone neutral.
Mojo Jojo, still feeling humiliated and angry, shot a glare at him. "I don't need this!" he snapped, his thumb momentarily out of his mouth as he huffed in frustration. "I'm a genius, not some… baby!"
Professor remained unfazed, his movements steady as he helped Mojo Jojo into the clothes. "It's for your comfort, Jojo," he replied, almost as if repeating a mantra. "This is part of the process."
Mojo Jojo's pride was in pieces, but he reluctantly allowed the professor to dress him. The soft fabric of the t-shirt settled over his chest, and the sweatpants were slipped on next. The gray outfit, simple and unremarkable, made him feel even smaller, like a petulant baby instead of the brilliant villain he once was. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to keep his composure, but every move of the professor made the humiliation sink deeper.
Once the professor finished, he stepped back, nodding in approval. "There. You're all set," he said, his voice kind and matter-of-fact.
Mojo Jojo stood there, staring down at the gray sweatpants and t-shirt, his sense of dignity shattered. He wanted to scream, to demand respect, but instead, he felt utterly trapped—stuck in this absurd new reality, where he had no control, no power, and no way out.
Professor, after finishing the task of dressing Mojo Jojo in the gray t-shirt and sweatpants, calmly picked up the soiled diaper and threw it into a white Genie diaper pail, the soft clunk echoing in the otherwise quiet room. He glanced at Mojo Jojo, who was still standing stiffly, his posture tense with frustration.
"Stay here while I wash my hands," Professor said, his tone steady and impersonal, as if nothing unusual had just occurred. He turned and made his way to the sink without waiting for a response.
Mojo Jojo stood motionless, his cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and simmering anger. His thumb returned to his mouth without thinking, though the act felt almost like a concession to the situation. He looked down at the soft gray outfit he was now wearing, the humiliation of it all seeping in deeper. This was not how he envisioned himself—reduced to this state, no longer in control.
He wanted to lash out, to break free from this absurd reality, but the silence in the room only made him feel more isolated. The clinking sound of Professor's hands under the water was the only noise that filled the space. For a moment, Mojo Jojo could only stand there, feeling completely stripped of his usual defiance.
After what felt like an eternity, Professor returned, his hands freshly washed, and gave Mojo Jojo a quick glance. "We'll move on to the next step shortly," he said, his voice calm and routine. Mojo Jojo wanted to scream, but instead, he stood silently, too humiliated to protest any longer.
Dr. Kutz's voice echoed through the door as she called out from the hallway, her tone both authoritative and calm. "Professor Utonium, bring Mojo Jojo to my office for our first therapy session," she said, her words precise and unhurried.
Professor Utonium, who had just finished washing his hands, looked up and nodded, as if this were just another part of the routine. He turned to Mojo Jojo, who was still standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed in stubborn defiance. "It's time for your therapy session, Jojo," he said, his voice still composed and matter-of-fact. "Follow me."
Mojo Jojo's eyes narrowed. The last thing he wanted was to be subjected to yet another humiliating process, and therapy was something he didn't believe he needed. "I don't need therapy," he muttered, his voice low, but the weight of the situation was undeniable. His thumb had returned to his mouth, and he sucked on it absentmindedly, frustration swirling inside him.
Professor didn't react to the protest. Instead, he gently guided Mojo Jojo out of the exam room, walking at a measured pace as they made their way to Dr. Kutz's office. The walk felt longer than it was, with Mojo Jojo trailing behind, the gray sweatpants feeling even more like a prison as each step made him more aware of how much control he had lost.
When they arrived, Dr. Kutz was sitting behind her desk, her posture professional and inviting, yet there was a quiet intensity in her gaze. "Mojo Jojo," she said, her voice warm but firm, "come in, and take a seat." She gestured to a comfortable chair across from her.
Mojo Jojo hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly shuffled over to the chair, still glaring at the ground as he slumped into it. His thumb remained in his mouth, but even he could feel the weight of the moment—this was real. No more villains and schemes. Just him, in a chair, facing his own struggles. The idea made him more uncomfortable than he was willing to admit.
Professor Utonium remained by the door, watching the interaction quietly.
Dr. Kutz glanced at Mojo Jojo and smiled faintly. "We'll begin when you're ready," she said, though her eyes held a knowing look, as if she understood just how difficult this first step would be.
Dr. Kutz's voice broke the silence, calm and authoritative. "Professor, take a seat," she instructed, her gaze shifting toward Professor Utonium, who had been standing by the door, watching the exchange between her and Mojo Jojo.
Professor Utonium, ever the obedient professional, nodded and pulled up a chair beside Mojo Jojo, settling into it with a small sigh. His posture remained straight, his demeanor calm as always, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes about how this session would unfold.
Mojo Jojo, still sulking in his chair, shot an irritated glance at Professor Utonium. "You're staying too?" he muttered, his thumb still lodged firmly in his mouth, though his words were muffled.
Dr. Kutz glanced over at Mojo Jojo with a slight smile, her tone calm yet authoritative. "Yes, the presence of your support system is important," she explained, looking at both of them. "Sometimes, the first step in therapy is not only recognizing your own struggles but understanding the impact of those around you as well."
Mojo Jojo didn't respond, but his glare deepened. His thumb shifted slightly as he sucked on it in frustration, still unable to fully process the reality of being in this situation. This was a far cry from his days of plotting world domination, and he could feel the weight of his helplessness pressing down on him.
Dr. Kutz, sensing his discomfort, softened her expression just a little. "Mojo Jojo," she began, her voice gentle yet firm, "this is a safe space. No judgment here. We'll take it one step at a time. Let's start with how you're feeling."
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all Mojo Jojo could do was stare at the floor, his thumb still in his mouth, unsure of what to say or how to even begin addressing the mess of emotions inside him.
Dr. Kutz's voice softened as she addressed the room with a level of calm authority that contrasted the tense atmosphere. "Professor, Mojo Jojo is two years old," she said, looking over at Professor Utonium with a hint of concern in her expression. "Chimpanzee infancy typically lasts from birth to around 3 to 5 years, during which they are nursed and carried by their mothers, and they are weaned at around 3 to 5 years of age." She paused, giving Mojo Jojo a thoughtful look before continuing. "This is crucial for Mojo Jojo because he lost his mother when he was just four days old."
Mojo Jojo stiffened at the mention of his mother, his eyes narrowing as old wounds were reopened. His thumb instinctively slipped out of his mouth as he turned his gaze to Dr. Kutz, though he remained silent. The loss of his mother, something so deeply ingrained in his history, was not something he liked to revisit. But hearing it spoken out loud, in such a clinical way, stung deeply.
Dr. Kutz didn't miss the change in his demeanor. She allowed a moment of silence to pass, letting the weight of her words settle. Then, her voice lowered, almost in a whisper, as if sharing something confidential. "I heard the news about what happened in Louisiana," she added. "The events you were involved in… it must have been incredibly difficult for you."
The mention of Louisiana stirred something in Mojo Jojo's chest—a flare of anger, of shame, of memories he didn't want to revisit. But instead of speaking out, he just clenched his fists, his body tense, as if bracing himself against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. His pride was still there, but it was chipped away, piece by piece, in the face of everything he had lost.
Professor Utonium shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure of what to say. He had no words of comfort, not for Mojo Jojo. He could only watch as the room seemed to close in on them, the weight of Dr. Kutz's observations heavy on both of them.
Dr. Kutz's gaze remained steady as she looked at Mojo Jojo, her voice soft but firm. "Mojo Jojo, everything you've gone through—losing your mother so young, the trauma you've experienced—it's affected you in ways that no one can fully understand except you. But you're not alone. Not anymore."
Mojo Jojo's lip quivered slightly, but he refused to acknowledge it, instead turning his head away as if the words didn't matter. He sucked in a deep breath and fought to maintain some semblance of control.
Dr. Kutz's voice was gentle but persistent as she asked, "Mojo Jojo?" Her eyes were soft with understanding, but there was a quiet insistence in her tone, as though she was inviting him to respond, to let the words out, if only for a moment.
Mojo Jojo flinched slightly, his posture stiffening even further. He had been trying to hold it together, trying to keep his emotions locked away, but something in Dr. Kutz's tone made him hesitate. He didn't want to admit it—didn't want to show any weakness—but there was a soft, vulnerable part of him that was beginning to feel the weight of everything that had happened. His thumb hovered near his mouth, but he stopped short of sucking on it, choosing instead to bite his lip and look away.
Dr. Kutz, sensing his struggle, leaned forward slightly in her chair, her gaze kind but unwavering. "I know this is hard for you, Mojo Jojo," she continued. "But sometimes, talking about what's happened… it can help. You don't have to do it alone anymore."
Mojo Jojo's fists clenched as he tried to fight back the flood of emotions rising within him. The memories of his mother, his loss, his painful past—it all felt like a dam about to break. His throat tightened, and he wished he could escape the moment.
But instead of speaking, he simply turned his gaze toward the window, his breathing shallow, his thumb returning to his mouth for comfort, though it felt more like a desperate attempt to hold himself together.
Dr. Kutz waited, giving him the space he needed without pushing too hard. The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thick in the air. Mojo Jojo may not have been ready to talk yet, but Dr. Kutz knew that, in time, he would.