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It comes to Doctor Two Brains in the middle of the night in a dream.
He’s in his lab fending off frankenstein cheese monsters. He’s been warned about trying to combine cheeses together before, but he can’t help it. He can’t turn off the incessant cries of his second brain. Cheese! Cheese! Cheese! There’s nothing more important in the world than cheese. Not even his own safety nor sanity.
Even now as he finds his heat ray knocked out of his hand and he’s forced to retreat to the corner of his lab, he’s overwhelmed with the desire to let the creature have its way with him. Because how deliciously evil, would it be to devour the creature from the inside out. That’s so wrong, so sickening, but not as sickening as his cheese withdrawals. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge his topsy turvy gluttony.
The minotaur laughs at him, its two heads out of sync with each other. The cheddar cow giggles and cocks its head to the side, and the pepper jack bull bellows and slaps his hoof on his knee.
“Finish him off already!” A werewolf looking slab of havarti bellows behind the minotaur.
“No sssave sssome of him for the ressst of usss!” A string cheese snake hisses.
“We can kill him now and turn him into a stew later!” A swiss cheese swiss man hollers.
Bickering ensues. As the zoo freaks fight one another, he looks for his ray gun. He spies it under the table that’s to the left of him. He takes a peak at the minotaur, and finds them yelling up in each other’s face. The bull’s face is red, plum full of pepper flakes. The cow rolls her eyes at the bull and grabs his horns. They sway back and forth, as they fight for control over their shared body.
It’s a risk to bolt, as the monster could crash into him. Three hundred pounds of cheese is still three hundred pounds. He doesn’t want to go out like a squashed bug.
He kicks them in the nuts. It’s not fair fighting, but he’s a supervillain so he never fights fair anyways. The bull groans and cups his crotch. The cow rolls her eyes and smacks her other half.
“Get over it!” She scuffs.
“Easy for you to say!” He moans.
Doctor bolts for the right side, as the bull hunches over, too preoccupied to look up at him.
“Hey! You little meat stick. Get back here!” The cow is more observant. She reaches out to him, snatching his lab coat. He pulls away with all this might. The sleeve rips clean off the seam.
He runs towards his work table. He can hear a commotion of monsters, all chasing after him. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off his ray.
A scaly thing slithers up his leg. He nearly crashes to the ground, losing his balance. Fangs pierce his skin. Wetness blossoms from the wonded leg. He's limping now, but he doesn't stop. He's merely inches away from his work desk.
He’s lunges forward, down under the desk. There's a sickening crack as he lands on what he assumes is the snake. The monster's grip on his leg loosens.
As he slides underneath the table, the ray gun and him go smashing into the wall. He hears crashing glass above him. His precious inventions are breaking on the table above him. But he doesn’t care. He scrambles to pick up the ray, nearly dropping it several times.
His head begins to throb. The ground shakes. His stomach twists in hunger. His second brain is growing impatient. No more cat and mouse games.
The snake crushed beneath him tries to wriggle free. He aims and fires. He shoots the thing until it stops slithering.
"He's got the gun!" He hears someone cry.
He blindly fires out from under the table. He grins ear to ear hearing the beautiful cacophony of screams. A laugh bubbles up from his throat. Yes! Yes! Yes! The monsters scatter, but there’s no hope for them. He crawls back out from under the table and hunts them down one by one.
He shoots the swiss man in the chest. The minotaur twice, once in each head. The werewolf doesn't go down until he's more hole than monster.
Once they're all done for he closes his eyes and replays their deaths in his head.
The cheese monsters melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, their screeches morphing into gurgles as they bubble up and explode.
What's left of the abominations becomes American cheese. The goo drips down the walls and pools into the center of the room. The smell of melted cheese hangs in the air.
Acting on instinct, the Doctor gets on his hands and knees. He’s going to lap up the puddle of ooey gooey deliciousness. How could he not? He scoops up a handful of the cheese concoction and takes a deep sniff. Rich. Tangy. Smelly. It’s like all the cheese in the entire world has come together to create the ultimate american cheese. He brings the golden goo up to his mouth, and as he takes a bite, he finds his cravings die.
Nothing. It takes like nothing. He might as well be eating air. And he’s not upset about it. His insatiable hunger is replaced with numbness.
He looks down at the concoction and finds it’s gray. Everything is gray. From the spilled beakers to the ray gun to the walls to the goo on the floor. He walks over to his hand washing sink and looks at the tiny mirror hanging above it. He is gray, too.
Then it hits him. How quiet it is. He’s alone. There’s no one in his head other than himself, Steven Boxleitner.
He searches the face of the man in the mirror. He knows it is him. But it’s different. Or is it really just the same as before… He reaches up to feel the scuff on his face. He runs a finger along his square jaw. He traces the curve of his roman nose and the line of his bushy eyebrows. He gingerly tousles his hair, the hair upon his head without a second brain poking out of his skull.
“It’s nice isn’t it?” A disembodied voice whispers in his ear.
He jumps, twirling around. There’s nobody in the room with him. Yet, he hears someone chuckle.
“Shame when you wake up it won’t last. That mouse–Squeaky, isn’t it– he never gives you a break, does he?”
“Who are you?” Steven demands.
“Me?” The voice asks, coyly. “Well, let’s just say I’m… The Director, and I have a proposition for you."
"The Director? You mean like that Narrator guy?"
He scratches his head. He's no longer afraid, but he is confused. The Narrator is just a voice. He never has any say in the show, you know, just being a disembodied voice. He is really annoying. He always states the obvious, and he makes fun of him– well, of Doctor Two Brains.
What did a fourth dimensional being want with him?
"Let's just say I'm better than the Narrator..." The smug aura of the Director sends shivers down Steven's spine.
"I can help you rid of that pest once and for all. Wouldn't you like that? To no longer be trapped with that mad rodent?"
Steven had heard this spiel before. He had heard it from Wordgirl. The sweet, naive Wordgirl. She had made it sound so simple. As if he could go back to the way things were before. It was depressingly ignorant she believed it was only his mouse side that needed to be defeated.
"What makes you think I want to be separated from him?"
"Don't tell me you enjoy your talents being squandered on cheese heists. You could be so much more than the mad scientist obsessed with cheese." He said the last part as if it was poison.
"What's wrong with cheese?" Steven demanded. He put his hands on his hips. He glared at his reflection as if the Director could be hiding in it.
"... Oh you know, it's just so… so childish. A super villain that steals cheese. Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"
"Hey! How dare you. I'm the number one supervillain in the city! You can watch the news if you don't believe me. They have a segment on ranking us every week. I've been number one every time."
"My apologies. I don't mean to hurt your pride." The Director said without a hint of remorse.
"What I'm trying to say is that you could be so much more evil than that. Don't you want to take control of your schemes? Create inventions beyond horror? Don't you want to push the limits of science instead of playing it safe, making cheese?"
Well, maybe cheese making rays were starting to get old…
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because we want the same thing: a change. It's time for a new story. Forget Dr.Two Brains and his silly crime sprees. Now's the time for Professor Boxleitner and his reign of terror!"
A beautiful wickedness fills Steven's chest. He can picture the chaos already. No more inventions left to dust in favor of Squeaky's plans. For once he would get to be in complete control.
It sounds too good to be true.
He doesn't trust this disembodied voice, but he'll play along until he gets what he wants. He is evil after all: betrayal is never out of the question.
"Alright, I'm listening… tell me about this plan of yours."
He leans into the mirror as the disembodied voice whispers wonderful atrocities in his ear. A simple plan with boundless possibilities.
He promises himself he will remember everything in the morning. He promises he will hold off Squeaky just long enough to fulfill his plans.
He promises. He promises. He promises.
Then he wakes up.