The box was the wrong size. It was so obvious. You didn't have to be a genius or supervillain to notice, although Mordin was both. He worked hard at it. Graduating with a double major in Villainy and Economics, completing an internship in the Doomsday Department at Superweapons Incorporated, and maintaining himself as a self-employed supervillain were just a few of his achievements. But none of these qualifications were helping him get past the obvious - that the crate before him could not possibly be used to transport a rare Tiberian Roc. For starters, it was about an eighth of the size it should be, was made of cardboard instead of inflammable detra-steel, and seemed to be silent instead of growling and emitting smoke from the box's various air holes.
       Mordin circled the box once, then twice. His standard-issue evil supervillain cape swirled around him. He stared at the box accusingly, tapping his boot in indecision. Finally, he turned to his underlings.
       "Who placed the order?"
       Mordin's right-hand man (whose name, ironically, was Lefty) stepped forward. He was at least two heads shorter than Mordin but made up for it in his breadth. Unlike everyone else in the room, who was wearing some shade of black, he was in a blue suit and glasses. He also, unlike everyone else, seemed to have no apprehension towards his employer.
       "I did, sir," he said, "I called them directly three days ago."
       Mordin didn't seem convinced. "And you're quite sure you placed an order for a Tiberian Roc."
       Lefty knew what the answer was but made a small show of checking his clipboard anyway. "Yes, I'm quite sure. I have the receipt."
       Mordin didn't ask to see it. Instead, he pointed to three of his underlings, all wearing their standard-issue black jumpsuits.
       "Open it."
       Three underlings approached the box carefully. It wasn't long before two of them pushed the third one forward, forcing him closer. Whatever was in the box seemed to realize that someone was drawing near because the box bumped forward with a small squeak.
       Mordin frowned. It was definitely NOT a terrifying Tiberian Roc. Rocs, the last time he checked, did not squeak.
       The underling that had been shoved closest to the box was named Humdrum. He had been with the Master the longest, but this fact did little to make him braver than anyone else. He stood very still, trying to stop the trembling in his knees from reaching the hump on his back. In one swift move, he flipped open the lid, tipped the box, and ran back to his companions.
       Something rolled out of the box. Everyone jumped back. Mordin waited for a long moment, then stepped forward to get a closer look.
       He could not have been more disappointed.
       It was one of the most sickeningly adorable things he had seen in his lifetime. It looked like some kind of Jurassic armadillo. It had a square jaw and nose, a mouthful of teeth, and two big, ebony eyes that shone cheerfully up at Mordin. It was leathery, its skin lined with triangular plates that lined its legs. Mordin realized that what he saw rolling out of the box was in fact the creature, having tucked in its legs and head for protection.
       Furthermore, and without a doubt the most suspicious feature, the creature had wings. A pair of them, made up of a mesh substance similar to that of dragonflies, poked out from its back. They weren't exceptionally large -- only about the size of the creature's head -- and Mordin doubted that they were enough to lift the creature, much less suspend it in flight.
       The creature lay on its back like a turtle, still stunned from the sudden roll out of the box. It rubbed its eyes with stubby paws and looked up at Mordin again. Whether excited to see someone or enjoying its new freedom, it squeaked and rolled over. It ran over to Mordin and stopped at his feet, where it sat down carefully, wagging a tail that Mordin had previously missed. It squeaked again.
       If he weren't so focused on what it wasn't, Mordin might have found it slightly tolerable. But the mistaken delivery had left him too dispirited. Mordin turned on his heel and headed for his lab.
       "Find out what happened to my package," he said, passing Lefty on the way, "And find somewhere to store that thing."
       "Yes, sir," said Lefty.
       Mordin sighed as the steel doors to his lab opened. "Honestly, the trouble people have to go through to get a homicidal pet. It's ridiculous," he said as the doors closed behind him.

       As if inheriting a strange pet through a temporary accident wasn't bad enough, it was beginning to get worse. What had started as mere disappointment with the creature had cycloned into anger. The adorable quadruped had made himself right at home. Over the next few days, Mordin found it underfoot and in the way. On top of that, it had helped itself to Mordin's secret snack cupboard, cried all night in its enclosure, repeatedly wreaked havoc on various rooms, and had even relieved itself on the first rough draft of Mordin's tell-all biography, "You're Only as Evil as Your Wardrobe."
       It wasn't until Mordin had gone to change into his favourite pair of lounging moccasins and found the heels missing that he'd finally hit his breaking point. With a yell that would crack fine china, he called for Lefty.
       He appeared almost instantly, completely unruffled. "You bellowed?"
       "That thing has got to go! Immediately!"
       Lefty nodded. "Of course, sir," he said, waiting a beat before adding, "And how do you plan on doing it?"
       Mordin stopped at that. "What?"
       "Well, obviously, as a master villain, you would want to maintain your reputation and take care of the creature yourself," Lefty replied, "As such, how do you plan on disposing of the creature? Is there anything I can prepare? Some special gloves, perhaps?"
       Mordin deflated slightly, suddenly queasy. "Well, perhaps we needn't be that drastic. Maybe we can just... let him go?"
       Lefty smiled. "Excellent idea, sir. I'll have a cage prepared for transport. And I believe that the target in question is currently with Humdrum in the cafeteria."
       As they made their way through the concrete passageways of the lair, Mordin's finely tuned ears were picking up something. Something that sounded like laughing. It echoed in Mordin's ear like a flat piano key.
       Entering the cafeteria, they found the source. And, with it, the chaos.
       The underlings were in a large and crowded circle and appeared to be playing a rousing game of frisbee. The only problem was that they weren't passing it to each other but rather kept continuously throwing the frisbee up into the air, only to have it come crashing back down.
       Finally, one of the underlings threw the frisbee up so high that it caught in the small alcove that ran along the rim of the ceiling. As soon as the frisbee remained stuck, everyone cheered.
       As he and Lefty approached, Mordin noticed that something had begun to glow in the center of the circle. At first, Mordin thought it was the discounted fluorescent lights that were tricking his eyes. But as he drew closer, he realized what it was. The creature was in the center of all the commotion, and at that moment, its wings had started to sparkle very slowly and subtly. Mordin was about to ask Lefty for his confirmation when a strange thing happened. The creature waddled over to the wall, opened its wings, and flapped.
       Mordin's calculations had been wrong. Not only was the creature able to lift itself up from the ground, but it was able to flap its way up to the ledge and dislodge the frisbee with its teeth. Spreading its wings wide, it glided down slowly in large, widening circles before landing with a gentle bump.
       Mordin watched the creature with more interest now. Perhaps he had been hasty in writing off the little creature. Maybe he could use it as a delivery pet around the office, moving memos from one place to another and collecting that extra piece of cake from the kitchen when Lefty refused on the grounds that it was bad for Mordin's blood sugar level.
       While a few underlings resumed the game of trying to lodge the frisbee into the alcove again, the others showered the creature with affection and pats. The creature was loving every minute of it and even rolled over to encourage more belly scratches. After a moment, it spotted Mordin. Jumping up excitedly, it ran over and wagged its tail in greeting. This time, Mordin didn't resist. He leaned over and carefully picked it up, tucking it against his chest with one arm. It seemed perfectly content to stay there.
       "Shall I cancel the cage, sir?"
       Mordin opened his mouth to respond to Lefty. Unfortunately, an alarm sounded instead.
       Security breach in the North Wing. Security breach in the North Wing.
       Mordin swore under his breath. The North Wing was the weapons wing where all of his prototypes, both successful and unsuccessful, were kept. With a swing of his cape, he headed for the control room.
       Mordin stepped onto the control room's circular platform and quickly scanned the wall of screens laid out before him, each showing one of the many cameras placed around the secret base.
       Choosing to stand, Mordin placed the creature on the very intimidating control room swivel chair and stepped up to the console. "Pull up Camera Seventeen," he said. The computer did so. Mordin's eyes narrowed as he carefully watched the footage. It wasn't long before he saw the intruder, dressed in a familiar black wrap and silver katana.
       Ninjaman.
       Mordin frowned. Ninjaman, real name Roger Arthur, was a regular proverbial thorn in any number of Mordin's body parts. He wasn't a real superhero by any means. Mordin thought Roger was about as threatening as an elementary school textbook.
       Bored at the sight of the superhero and more annoyed than anything, Mordin turned to Lefty. "Will someone please go and get him so I can get back to..." He stopped. His swivel chair was empty. Frowning, Mordin pointed to the chair. "Where's the... thing?"
       Lefty's eyes flickered up to the screen behind Mordin. "Sir?"
       Mordin turned to the screen and found Ninjaman crouched down, rubbing the creature's tummy. Mordin's face fell. "You have got to be kidding me."
       The creature jumped back up and squeaked, then started to waddle down the hall. It stopped after a moment to look over its shoulder. Mordin watched Ninjaman stand up.
       "You want me to follow you?" he asked.
       "No!" Mordin yelled at the screen.
       The creature squeaked and continued down the hall. This time, Ninjaman followed.
       Mordin gritted his teeth. "What is it doing? Where are they going?"
       Lefty glanced at another screen that had the schematics of the building. "It seems to be escorting him to the weapons vault, sir." He was right. If the two continued their course straight down the hall, they would arrive at the weapons vault door.
       Mordin growled. "Get someone down there--."
       "Sir," said Lefty.
       "--And get that thing--"
       "Sir."
       "--taken care of!"
       "Sir," Lefty shouted, "They've gone right."
       Mordin spun on his heel. "What?"
       Lefty motioned to the schematics. Sure enough, the little creature had turned down a hallway, Ninjaman following close behind. Mordin blinked in surprise and looked ahead at the pair's current course. Lefty did the same.
       "He's taking him to the Pit of Despair," said Lefty.
       The pair came to the end of the hallway. Mordin pulled up the camera on the screen. He watched the creature paw at the door and heard him squeak.
       "This room?" said Ninjaman, "This is the room I need?"
       The creature squeaked again. Mordin sprang into action and began punching buttons and flicking switches on the control panel. He heard the 'whoosh' as the door opened and watched as the little creature scampered in. Ninjaman followed behind him into the dark room.
       He heard the sounds of mild confusion that soon developed into frantic shouts. Quickly, Mordin released the door lock. It slid shut, but not before the creature rolled back into the hallway. It seemed almost pleased with itself. Mordin was surprised as it turned and looked up at the camera as if trying to see Mordin.
       Mordin leaned forward and flicked the switch that turned on the hallway's P.A. system.
       "Very satisfactory," he said, "I don't suppose you can find your way back here, too, can you?"
       The creature squeaked in response. Then, bending over, Mordin watched with some amusement as it curled up into a ball and began rolling back the way it had come. Flicking off the P.A. system and muting the confused sounds coming from The Pit of Despair, Mordin smiled.
       Over the next few weeks, other heroes also tried to break into Mordin's secret lair. Typhoon Boy. Sonic Lady. Road Rager. The Incredible Sprinkle. And each time, they were led by the creature to The Pit of Despair (with the exception of The Incredible Sprinkle, who miniaturized himself in an attempt to escape and was immediately eaten). Mordin could not have been more pleased.
       That was, until a few days later.
       Mordin's mind ticked as he sat at his giant walnut desk. He was meant to be checking the report of damages he had inflicted on the nearby metropolis that month. Instead, he was listening to the small, soft squeaks of the creature as it slept by the window, comfortable in the small dog bed that Humdrum had made for it. Mordin's mind was uneasy, the gentle hum of his particle accelerator chandelier doing little to help.
       Mordin was still in the same position an hour later when there was a knock on the door.
       "Enter," he said, although not sounding like he meant it.
       Lefty entered, an unusual expression on his face. It took Mordin a moment to realize it was a genuine smile since Lefty showed the expression so rarely and openly.
       "What are you so cheerful about?" Mordin snapped. Lefty's expression turned to surprise.
       "What am I... you got the memo, didn't you?" Lefty said, "You'll be getting the Tiberian Roc after all."
       Mordin blinked. "Oh?"
       "Yes, sir. They were most apologetic and are more than happy to make an exchange. They're in the process of sending us an adequate containment unit."
       "I see."
       An awkward silence settled on the room. Lefty knew his master well enough to know that this, for some reason, was not good news.
       It was during the next moment of silence that Lefty realized that the papers he'd left Mordin with yesterday were still the same pages on his desk. He also noticed how affectionate the creature sounded as it rolled over in its sleep.
       "Unless," Lefty broke through the silence, "you can think of a reason why we shouldn't make the exchange?"
       Mordin's gaze shot up at that. "What do you mean?"
       Lefty tread carefully. "Forgive my assumptions, but it seems that you have become attached."
       Mordin sputtered. "That's absurd. I do not get attached to... things."
       Lefty smiled. "Well, it's either that or you've developed a conscience."
       Mordin shuttered at the thought. He conceded. "I suppose I have become a bit... attached," he said, sounding out the word with a wince as though it was a sour candy. He looked over at the sleeping creature. "It's just that it shows promise... intelligence. It's unfortunate that I can't simply keep both."
       "If it's any consolation, you're not the only one who's disappointed," said Lefty.
       Mordin looked up. "What do you mean?"
       Lefty motioned over his shoulder from the direction he'd come. "I passed Humdrum on his way towards the cafeteria. Apparently, he and the other underlings have started a collection. It seems they feel the best way to keep that little creature is to raise enough money to buy him from you."
       For a moment, Mordin didn't know how to respond. He was flattered at the thought of the underlings working together to try and keep the creature but also mildly insulted at the thought of merely being bought off. But the more Mordin thought about it, the more he realized that the solution was so very, very simple. It forced him to give a few quick pounds on his chest. All of this emotion and feeling was beginning to give him indigestion.
       "Well then," he said, "I guess there's only one thing to be done."

       They were all collected in the cafeteria. Although Lefty had made the announcement only a few moments earlier, every underling knew the seriousness of a staff meeting. They were rarely called for and were seldom positive. It made everyone very punctual.
       Mordin stood up on one of the tables, the creature under his arm. There was no need to call for order. Everyone waited in silence for him to speak. Clearing his throat, he began.
       "As most of you may know, I had placed an order not so long ago. Instead, I was sent something else entirely.
       "I know that all of you have developed a certain level of fondness for this little creature. I know that some of you have even gone to great lengths to try and keep it." Mordin turned to Humdrum, who appeared terrified.
       Mordin continued. "Since I see no reason in having two creatures in the base, I'll make a deal with you," said Mordin, "If you let me name him, he's yours to take care of whenever you'd like."
       Humdrum, completely overwhelmed at the thought of anyone giving him anything, much less time with an adorable pet, agreed. "Of course, sir. What's his name?"
       Mordin grinned, something he hadn't been aware that he could still do, and held out the creature. "Decoy," he said, "I'd like to name him Decoy. I think he's more than suited to it."
       Humdrum nodded and took the creature. "I think it's a fabulous name, sir," he said, "It's the perfect name."
       Mordin had to agree. After all, he had come up with it himself.