A Penny Well Spent

Inside Filtham community centre, in a little office tucked away on the second floor, Mary Goldman was busy putting through a purchase order for some new gloves for Captain Clean, who had burnt his last pair by using them to take a pizza out of the oven. His gloves weren’t insulated or anything like that, he just believed that they imbued him with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. As he repeatedly found out the hard way: they did not.

Mary’s work was interrupted as the phone suddenly rang in the disruptive way that phones always do when you’re in the middle of something that you’re trying really hard to concentrate on. Mary answered it before the phone had chance to reach three rings and, in her usual polite tone, said, ‘Hello, Sanitary Squad, Mary speaking. How can I help?’

‘Hello, my name is Tanya’ said a foreign sounding woman on the other end of the phone whose name clearly wasn’t Tanya. ‘I’m calling from Injury Advice Helpline about an accident you or your partner were involved in at work.’

‘Okay, you may have to be a little more specific,’ Mary said, not realising the type of call this was.

‘Was it you or your husband who was involved in the accident?’ the woman on the phone asked, feeling a slight tingle of delight that her caller had not immediately dismissed her.

‘It was probably my husband, Mick. He’s got quite a dangerous job,’ Mary explained.

‘What job does he do madam?’ asked Tanya.

‘He’s a grime fighter.’

‘Crime writer?’

‘No, GRIME. With a G. He’s a grime… FIGHTER. He fights grime, you see,’ Mary explained.

‘He fights grime?’ Tanya repeated slowly.

‘Yes.’

’Oh, um… okay,’ said the woman on the phone. She’d heard many different job titles in her time, but grime fighter was a new one on her, and it threw her slightly. Still, sticking to the script, she continued. ‘Do you remember when the accident took place?’

‘Ooh, I’m not sure. He gets into accidents all the time. I’ll go and ask him. Hold on a minute.’

Mary pressed a button on the phone and a low-quality recording of When I’m Cleaning Windows played over the phone while she went and asked her husband, Sergeant Suds, if he’d been in an accident recently. When she returned, she picked the phone up and her voice changed to a deeper, more serious tone. The room around her seemed to darken, as if the lights had picked up on the change of atmosphere. Even the flies outside the window stopped buzzing to hear what was about to go down.

‘Right, listen dear. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. If you are looking for money, I can tell you we’re funded by the council, so we’re skint. But what we do have is a very particular set of cleaning solutions that we’ve acquired over a very long purchase order. Cleaning solutions that make us a nightmare for stains like you. If you hang up and never call back again, that’ll be the end of it. We will not look for you, we will not pursue you. But if you call back again, we will look for you, we will find you, and we will make you drink bleach.’

‘Y-yes… yes, I understand… I’m sorry!’ the woman cried, before quickly hanging up. Mary put the phone down and looked up at the lights, two bulbs of which had gone out.

She tutted. ‘We really need to get them sorted out.’

 

 

‘Today’s lesson is puns,’ said Captain Clean to his gang of grime fighters, who were all sat around the table in the centre of the base. ‘A good pun can be as effective as any weapon. Puns are our bread and butter; without them we’d be toast. Today we’re going to look at attack puns. When you hit someone, you should be able to deliver a witty remark along with your attack to increase the impact. For example, just before you punch a postman, you might say “Special delivery.” This also gives them a bit of a laugh just before they’re hit, maintaining our friendly image. So, to start off, I’m going to give you each a profession and you think of a witty phrase you could use when attacking them. Let’s start with Flush. A waiter, go!’

‘Order up!’ Flush replied quickly. As the joker of the squad, he was always ready with a quippy response.

‘Very good. Faucet, a pirate, go!’

‘Um… Polly want a cracker?’ he said without a trace of confidence.

‘Needs work. HyJean, a paramedic, go!’

‘Why am I hitting a paramedic?’ she asked.

‘No questions,’ the captain replied, holding his hands up in an X shape to emphasise his point. ‘A paramedic, go!’

‘Oh, I don’t know, uh… clear.’

‘Clear?’ asked a confused captain.

‘Yeah, you know… the defibrillators,’ she explained, miming using a pair of defibrillators.

‘I haven’t got time for pop music,’ the captain said with a roll of his eyes, ‘let’s just move on.’

HyJean turned to the others with a frustrated look, and they gave her sympathetic smiles.

‘Okay, so now you’ve got your puns, you need to think about delivery,’ continued Captain Clean. ‘It is important to remember that you must never laugh at your own pun. They may be hilarious – except for HyJean’s, which was just confusing – but for maximum impact, you must deliver them with a straight face. The easiest way to do this is to imagine something sad. Faucet and Suds, can I borrow you?’

Faucet and Sergeant Suds got up and the captain positioned the two of them facing each other. He handed Suds a pad to hold up and then explained the exercise.

‘Okay, so Faucet, you’re going to throw punches at Mick, and to get you to keep a straight face, I will call out some sad affirmations. Right, both ready? Okay, Faucet, let’s see your punch. Go!’

Faucet wasted no time and threw a punch at Suds’s face, hitting him square in the jaw. Suds was tough and merely recoiled a little, but then reacted instinctively and threw a punch back at Faucet, knocking him to the floor.

‘Stop! Stop!’ the captain cried as he stood between them. ‘I meant hit the pad, Faucet! What did you think he was holding the pad was for?’

‘Oh crap, sorry Mr Goldman,’ said Faucet, realising what he’d done as he pulled himself up. ‘I don’t know, I… I thought it was some kind of fashion accessory.’

‘Never mind, sit down,’ the captain said, waving him away. ‘Flush, get up here.’

As Flush got up to face Suds, HyJean helped Faucet back to his seat and checked he was okay.

Upon Captain Clean’s command, Flush started throwing punches at the pad. He wasn’t the best built of the group, but he was agile and had a pretty strong punch that stood him in good stead. After a few hits, the captain started his heckling.

‘Your phone battery has died!’ he shouted.

Flush tutted and continued punching.

‘Your favourite TV show has just been cancelled!’ the captain continued.

‘Aww man,’ Flush groaned, now punching with a disappointed look on his face.

‘Good, now imagine your cat is dying!’

‘I don’t have a cat,’ replied Flush as he almost clipped Suds himself with an impressive right hook.

‘Imagine you do have a cat!’ the captain growled.

‘Okay… Oh no, the cat’s dead! Oh my god! Oh fluffy!’

‘Okay, that’s good. Tone it down a bit though,’ said the captain, holding up a hand

‘Oh poor fluffy! You were such a kind cat! Why has this terrible fate befallen you? WHY! Take me instead!’

‘Alright stop,’ said the captain, stopping Flush who by this point was now clutching the air with his fists, giving a dramatic performance that was almost Oscar worthy. ‘That was a bit over the top.’

‘Sorry,’ said Flush. ‘I just got into it and now I can’t stop thinking about the poor cat.’

‘It’s fine, just go and sit down,’ the captain replied, dismissing him.

Flush returned to his seat, sobbing a little. HyJean put a comforting arm around him and tried to remind him that the cat wasn’t real and had never even existed.

‘It never existed? Oh god it gets worse!’ Flush bawled. ‘He was never born and now somehow he’s dying!’

 

 

As Captain Clean and Suds were packing away the table of props that had been used during the lesson to demonstrate how objects could inspire puns, one of the computer screens on HyJean’s desk started flashing. Flush was the first to notice it.

‘Hey guys, it’s a video call from Dumbdale,’ he pointed out.

Captain Clean and HyJean went over to the desk and accepted the call. Chief Inspector Dovedale’s haggard face appeared on the screen, jittery at first as the connection was unstable.

‘Hello inspector,’ said the captain.

Chief Inspector Dovedale mouthed something, but they couldn’t hear him.

‘Hold on inspector,’ said the captain, ‘we can’t hear you.’

‘Probably for the best,’ muttered Suds in the background, giving a little smirk to Flush who stifled a laugh.

HyJean fiddled with the computer and pressed a few random keys, hoping that she’d accidentally stumble upon the right key to fix it, as most people do when trying to solve a technical issue.

‘We need to get this fixed,’ whispered the captain. ‘We can’t keep having this happen.’

After the traditional back and forth routine of asking if they could hear each other and trying the same troubleshooting steps several times, HyJean eventually got it sorted.

‘What’s the problem inspector?’ asked the captain.

‘I think my microphone was muted,’ he replied.

‘No, I mean why are you calling?’ asked captain, trying his best to not sound like somebody trying to get information out of a senile elderly relative.

‘Oh right, yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What do you know about the council’s toilets?’

‘I avoid them at all costs, they’re filthy,’ the captain admitted.

‘Not quite what I meant,’ groaned the inspector. ‘Every year the council puts out a tender for a company to manage their sanitation. The company that’s been the provider for the past two years, what was their name… Trev’s Toilets, has mysteriously gone out of business overnight. The only other two companies left are Bathrooms R Us 4 U and Crapp Toilets, but Crapp is refusing to bid for the tender. Probably because of what happened last time.’

‘What happened last time?’ Faucet asked Suds.

‘He installed loads of new toilets that turned out to be faulty,’ Suds explained. ‘Big controversy, his business almost went bankrupt.’

‘This all seems very fishy,’ continued the inspector. ‘The council have asked me to look into it, just to make sure nothing dodgy is going on, but honestly, I think this is more your department. Can you do a bit of digging, see what you can find?’

‘Of course, I’ll look into it right away,’ nodded HyJean as she made a note of the names he’d mentioned.

‘This Trev’s Toilets, have you contacted them?’ she asked as she wrote.

‘We’ve tried,’ the inspector replied with a sigh. ‘Can’t get hold of them. Their website’s down and you can’t find their toilets anywhere, so we’ve got nothing to go on.’

HyJean quickly muted the call and the squad all looked away from the camera as they let out a laugh in unison. Once they’d settled themselves, she unmuted and resumed the call.

‘Sorry about that, the connection went,’ she lied.

‘Never mind,’ said the chief inspector.

Meanwhile, just off screen, someone handed the inspector a note scribbled on a piece of paper. The inspector read it and looked back up to the camera.

‘Also, I’ve just been informed that there’s an old man in a silly costume, calling himself the Commode Dragon, riding around on a commode throwing bedpans at people and spraying them with what we can only hope is yellow coloured water. I don’t suppose you could look into that as well, could you?’

‘Of course, Inspector,’ Captain Clean nodded. ‘Leave it to us.’

‘Thank you, Mr Clean.’

They ended the video call and before the captain could correct him. As he turned around to address the team, Flush shouted ‘Bagsy the old guy!’

He gave Faucet a nudge and he too volunteered to deal with the old man.

‘Fine,’ said Captain Clean with a slight sigh. ‘You go deal with him. But if Faucet’s going out as part of the squad, he’ll need to start wearing a mask.’

The captain opened a nearby drawer and took out a generic-looking blue domino superhero mask that he’d bought as a job lot from a fancy dress shop when it was closing down. He handed it to Faucet as though it were some grand prize he’d just won. ‘We’ll get you a proper one made, but you can use this for now.’

‘A mask?’ Faucet asked took the mask and inspected it. ‘Why do I need a mask?’

‘To conceal your identity,’ the captain explained.

‘Okay, but… I have no identity. Even I don’t know where I’m from or who I really am,’ Faucet replied.

‘Well, that’s true, but what if you develop friendships or relationships outside of work, you won’t want them being targeted, will you?’ the captain argued. ‘And we don’t want people knowing you’re associated with us, because then that puts our family and friends at risk. You’ve got to think about more than just yourself, Faucet.’

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right,’ said Faucet. ‘But how is this meant to hide my identity?’

‘Trust me, put this on and nobody will recognise you,’ the captain explained.

‘Really? With just my eyes covered?’ asked an incredulous Faucet. ‘Won’t they recognise my voice?’

‘Nope. The mask gives you total anonymity,’ the captain nodded. ‘It’s a very strange phemon… phemomom… it’s a very strange thing that happens.’

‘Alright, works for me,’ Faucet shrugged as he put the mask on and admired himself in a mirror before leaving.

‘Now, let’s if we can track down this Trev’s Toilets guy,’ said Captain Clean, turning back to HyJean. ‘Interesting name, that, Trev. I wonder what it means. Could be some foreign word that might give us a clue. I’m thinking maybe Russian… or possibly Swedish.’

‘It’s short for Trevor,’ HyJean said dryly as she got to work locating the eponymous toilet retailer.

 

 

Filtham City Retirement Home was home to many of the city’s older generation. Their children were the type of people to chuck their parents in a home out of convenience, so they had more time to do important things like go to football matches and watch reality television. The old folk were secretly quite happy with this arrangement though, as they were fed up with their children’s inane chatter about cancelled celebrities and air fryers, neither of which they really cared about nor understood. And besides, the retirement home was a nice enough place. The staff were friendly and the meals were hot, and on a Saturday night they’d play bingo, which was a popular favourite. Everyone enjoyed hearing ex-bingo caller Mr Riley – they always called him that because he was very formal and never responded to his forename because he’d forgotten it was his – do his bingo calls. He’d always mix it up, so one call might be “3 and 4, 34” but occasionally he’d throw in “5 and 6, 11” which always kept them on their toes. The 80s were a particularly fun set, as he would always describe them as “One fat lady and one thin lady, 81” or “One fat lady and her pet duck, 82”. And if he ever pulled out the number 90, he’d say, “Top of the house?” and they’d all shout back, “The chimney!” Nobody ever tired of the same old jokes, except a woman called Maude who had once tried to steal the 90 ball in a daring Mission Impossible style heist, but her plan was scuppered when Frank, who was wheeling her through on a hoist that she dangled from, hurt his back and had to go sit down, which lead to him falling asleep and leaving her dangling there in a black jumpsuit and balaclava overnight. Despite all the fun of the home, some longed for more adventure, including one old man who had asked his son for a dragon costume for his birthday and decided to cause a bit of mischief.

‘See, you’ve got to know which cases to pick,’ Flush told Faucet as they made their way to Subplot Street, where the Commode Dragon had last been spotted. ‘This old guy will be a piece of cake. Whereas the toilet bloke will be a lot of faffing about, going undercover, creating an alias, interrogating him… it’s just too much work.’

‘True. But surely the big jobs are more rewarding afterwards?’ Faucet asked.

‘I guess,’ Flush replied with a half-hearted shrug.

‘I don’t know if I’m ready for this, y’know,’ said Faucet. ‘I still haven’t had much training. Mr Cane has had me cleaning toilets and spraying things, and I’ve just started karate lessons, but that’s about it.’

‘Hm, yeah, you might need a bit more than that. I know, why don’t you run up those steps over there?’ Flush suggested, pointing to a large set of steps leading up to an important-looking building.

‘Why?’ asked Faucet as he eyed up the steps.

‘We can get HyJean to edit it and put the Rocky music over the top and when you watch it back it’ll feel like you’ve had loads of training.’

‘I mean, that does sound fun. And there’s no sign of the dragon guy,’ Faucet said, eyeing up the steps. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’

 

They headed over to the concrete staircase and Faucet looked up, counting about thirty steps at least. He psyched himself up and then ran up to the top, turning on the spot and running back down again. By the time he reached Flush, he was panting breathlessly.

‘Jeez, you really are out of shape,’ said Flush. ‘Did Cap not do a physical before you joined?’

‘Nope. He kinda… skipped a lot of… things,’ Faucet replied through heavy breaths.

‘Typical,’ Flush said with a roll of his eyes. ‘C’mon, let’s go find this old man. Maybe you can race him instead. You never know, you might win if he’s on foot.’

They walked a little farther down the road and suddenly spotted the old man they were there to find, careering down the road on his pimped-out commode. He was dressed in a red jumpsuit that was a size or two too big for him and a dragon mask that enveloped his wrinkly face behind a set of foam teeth. His commode was a little more impressive. He had created a steering mechanism, added some sort of engine on the back that propelled him forward and stuck some cardboard flames and dragon-scales onto the sides. Despite the mischief it had been created for, the two grime fighters had to admit it was pretty cool.

‘There he is,’ said Flush. ‘Right, you slow him down with your hose pipe hands and I’ll lasso him.’

Faucet nodded and got into place. He was still relatively new to using his powers, but he’d been practicing and was a little more confident. As the old man sped towards them, Faucet jumped out in front of it and sprayed a jet of water from each hand at the commode, soaking the man and causing him to fall back into the seat and let go of the controls, bringing the commode to a halt. Meanwhile, Flush tied his toilet chain whip into a lasso, swung it around above his head like a modern-day cowboy and flung it over the dragon-themed man, pulling him off his vehicle and onto the ground. The old man stumbled to his feet in a dizzy confusion and from seemingly out of nowhere he pulled out a bedpan and threw it at Faucet. It bounced off his head with a clunk and he let out a whine of pain that made him sound less like a grime fighter and more like a young child that had been poked by his bratty younger sister.

‘I am… the Commode… Dragon!’ he shouted in a frail, croaky voice, pausing between words to catch his breathe. ‘Prepare… to meet… your doom.’

‘The game’s up old Dragon,’ said Flush, humouring the man’s senile delusions, ‘we’re here to put a stop to your reign of terror.’

‘Huh? Speak up boy,’ said the old man, whose dragon powers clearly didn’t include good hearing.

‘He said we’re here to stop you!’ shouted Faucet moodily, still rubbing his head.

The old man looked at them, still none the wiser what either of them had said. Faucet turned to Flush and, remembering what they’d learnt that morning, suggested he try a pun. Flush was excited by the idea and, as loudly as he could, he yelled at the man, ‘We’ll be dragon you off to jail now!’

The old man definitely heard this, and upon hearing the pun – if you could call it that – he promptly clutched his chest in shock and keeled over, collapsing on the floor in front of them like a sack of gone-off potatoes.

‘I did it!’ cried Flush. ‘It worked! My pun actually disabled him!’

‘Dude, I think he’s having a heart attack,’ Faucet replied, looking down at the man writhing slightly on the floor.

‘No, it was my pun,’ Flush insisted. ‘They’re more effective than we realised.’

‘No seriously, it looks like he’s dying,’ Faucet said, giving the man a little nudge with his foot.

Faucet was right. The old man’s afternoon of tyranny and the sudden barrage of attacks from the two grime fighters had apparently taken its toll, and Flush’s outburst had seemingly finished him off.

 

 

After a morning of research and phone calls, Captain Clean and HyJean had been able to find someone who knew where Trevor of Trev’s Toilets was. He’d abandoned his house and was currently staying with his wife and kids at his sister’s house on the outskirts of the city. It had taken some convincing, but he’d finally agreed to speak to them. He sat nervously in an armchair, a number of bruises on his face and more on his body that nobody could see but everyone knew were there from the way he winced every time he moved.

‘Thank you for speaking to us, Trevor,’ HyJean said as she sat down on the sofa. Captain Clean preferred to stand, as he’d spotted a tiny ketchup stain on one of the cushions and could not be sure that it was the only one.

‘Trevor, we’d like to know why you closed down your business so quickly,’ asked the captain as he discreetly wiped a gloved finger across a side cabinet to check for dust.

Trevor bit his lip, a little unsure whether he could trust these people with the truth. They weren’t exactly dressed like people he would naturally trust. People he could trust usually wore a suit and tie, or a nice floral dress – though never at the same time. Well, except once. But he later found out she wasn’t a lawyer at all.

‘Don’t worry, you can trust us,’ HyJean reassured him, as if she had read his mind. She did not possess mind-reading powers, but women often have a way of reading emotions that comes across like a mystical intuition in situations like these. ‘We’re here to help.’

‘And if you don’t tell us, we’ll have you arrested and you can tell the police,’ the captain added.

This made Trevor even more nervous, but HyJean gave her colleague a furious glare and calmed Trevor down.

‘I… I had to,’ he said, letting out a deep sigh, as if he’d been dying to tell someone his story for days. ‘He forced me to.’

‘Who forced you?’ asked HyJean, leaning in and looking sympathetic.

‘Bog,’ Trevor replied quite dramatically, and sat still waiting for a response that didn’t come. Captain Clean and HyJean just looked nonplussed. Sensing they didn’t know who he was referring to, Trevor quickly added, ‘I mean Walter Crapp.’

‘Walter Crapp?’ Captain Clean repeated in the shocked tone that Trevor had expected the first time around. ‘But why?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Trevor. ‘He came round in this weird porcelain suit of armour, threatening me. He tried to buy me out, but I refused because his offer wasn’t even half of what the company was worth. He trashed the place and beat me up. Said if I didn’t take the offer and dissolve the company, he’d come after my family. I had to do it.’

‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’ asked HyJean.

‘He said if I told anyone or went to the cops then he’d have me killed.’

‘But why would Crapp want you gone? And why now?’ the captain asked the room as he paced its floor.

‘To try and win the council tender?’ suggested HyJean.

‘But Dovedale said he’s not bidding,’ the captain reminded her. ‘So what would be the point?’

‘Did he say anything to you? Like why he wanted you gone or what he’s planning?’ HyJean asked.

‘Not a sausage. Not even a chipolata,’ Trevor replied sadly. ‘I figured he just wanted to get rid of the competition.’

‘And does he know where you are now?’ the captain asked.

‘I sure hope not,’ Trevor said, with a slightly worried expression.

‘Well don’t worry,’ said HyJean, standing to her feet. ‘We’ll make sure he doesn’t find you and we’ll investigate to find out what he’s up to and get him put away so you can start your business back up again.’

‘Oh, I’m not bothered about that,’ said Trevor, smiling for the first time since they’d arrived. ‘It’s given me an opportunity to pursue my real passion – knitting jumpers for mice.’

He held up an example of one of his tiny jumpers, and HyJean and Captain Clean shared a bemused look, before moving a little quicker towards the door.

‘Uh… right.  Well, that’s good then. One more thing,’ Captain Clean said, pausing at the door. ‘You called him Bog earlier. Is that a nickname or something?’

‘Yeah, that’s what we used to call him, because his toilets were cheap and nasty,’ Trevor explained. ‘Bog standard bogs, we called them. The name just stuck.’

‘Interesting,’ the captain mused.

As they left the house and reached the end of the driveway, HyJean turned to the captain. ‘I think we should pay a visit to the bog.’

‘Why didn’t you go before we left?’ he asked, before suddenly realising what he meant. ‘Oh, I see. Yes, I think that’s a good idea.’

‘But we can’t go like this,’ said HyJean, gesturing to their outfits. ‘He’ll know we’re onto him. We’ve got to be a bit more discreet with this one, he sounds quite dangerous.’

‘You’re right,’ said the captain. ‘Luckily for us, I’ve got something in mind that I think will work.’

 

 

The Commode Dragon still lay on the floor on Subplot Street. He’d stopped writhing about now, which the grime fighters were equal parts relieved and concerned about, but he still looked to be breathing, so he wasn’t dead.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Faucet nervously.

‘Uh… I don’t know,’ said Flush. ‘Haven’t you done the medical training at the hospital?’

‘No. So far I’ve only done how to fight bad guys, not save them.’

‘Ah, okay.’

‘What about you? Didn’t you go on the course?’

‘I did, but… well, I fell asleep.’

‘You fell asleep during medical training?’

‘Hey, I’d been out drinking the night before and it was so boring! Except for the part where I got to do mouth-to-mouth on the bird sat next to me. Boy, that was fun. Until the teacher told me I was supposed to be doing it on the dummy.’

‘So now what do we do? Should we call an ambulance?’

‘Nah, that’ll take too long. I’ll call The Driver.’

‘Why, do you think he’ll know how to save him?’

‘No, so he can drive us to the hospital,’ Flush said as he took out his phone.

‘Oh yeah, duh. Sorry, I’m kinda panicking right now,’ Faucet said, looking down at the old man lying on the floor. ‘Jeez, my first proper mission and we’ve already screwed it up by nearly killing a guy.’

‘Hey, what’s this “we” business?’ asked Flush.

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Faucet. ‘You screwed it up. I was just being polite.’

Flush called the Driver, who said he’d be there as soon as he could. The two grime fighters stood looking over the decrepit dragon. They watched in silence for a while, tensing up every time he exhaled, wondering if it was his last breath, and relaxing when he breathed in again.

‘I’m not sure about taking him to the hospital,’ Faucet said. ‘What if they refuse to treat him?’

‘Why would they do that?’ asked Flush.

‘He’s dressed as a super villain and he’s been causing trouble all day.’

‘That’s a point. What do you think we should do?’

‘Well, I was thinking we should take his suit off. It’s not good for someone his age to be in wet clothes either.’

They knelt down beside the old man and stripped him of his costume. They were surprised to find under the overall that the man was wearing pink frilly knickers.

‘What the… is he wearing women’s underwear?’ asked Faucet.

‘Yeah,’ said Flush. ‘How bizarre.’

‘But why?’

‘Well, it’s more comfortable isn’t it.’

Faucet gave Flush a curious look. His colleague often said things that made Faucet question his sanity, and he never really knew whether to take Flush seriously or not.

‘I mean I assume it is… I wouldn’t know,’ he added quickly.

‘Anyway, what are we going to do? We can’t take him to the hospital naked in women’s knickers. That’d be embarrassing if he woke up.’

They thought for a while, both of them trying not to stare at the pink underwear. Not because they were embarrassed by it, but because both of them were starting to think if an old man like this could feel free enough to wear them, then maybe it was okay and they could too. And if he was wearing them, there had to be a reason. Were they more comfortable? Did they make him feel sexy? Maybe they should try it out themselves to find out. Just for fun. As an experiment. Maybe. After a brief silence, Flush had an idea.

‘I know, we’ll get him some clothes,’ he said as he stood up.

‘Where from?’ asked Faucet. ‘There’s no shops around here.’

‘I saw one of those clothes recycling bins down the road, I’ll go see if I can fish some clothes out of that.’

‘Okay,’ said Faucet. ‘You do that, and I’ll stay here and wait for The Driver.’

Flush ran down the road and found the clothes recycling bin on the corner of the road. It was quite fortunate that it was there, as there’s not many of them about these days. Meanwhile, Faucet draped the old man’s soggy dragon costume over him. Not knowing what to do with himself, he gently patted the old man on the arm and quietly reassured him that it was okay and they knew what they were doing, which, of course, they didn’t.

Flush opened the flap on the front of the large, green recycling bin and peered inside. It was dark and he couldn’t see much, but he could just make out a small pile of clothes at the bottom. He reached down but couldn’t quite get them. Climbing up the grooves on the outside of the bin, he shuffled further in through the flap, which was just big enough for him to fit through. Flush stretched down to try and reach the clothes, and after a few swings he eventually grabbed hold of a jumper. He tugged on it, but it didn’t budge. Instead, it pulled him down and he fell headfirst into the bin. As his feet slipped through the flap, it snapped shut and he lay on top of the pile of old clothes, imprisoned inside the dark, smelly metal prison.

‘Bugger,’ he muttered.

 

 

‘My name is Bob Holness and you are my wife of 20 years, Janet. We’re originally from Leicester but we moved here a few months ago to open up a patisserie, which we’re looking to furnish with some of their toilets.’

‘That’s good,’ said HyJean, ‘except we’re opening up a hotel, not a patisserie.’

‘Ah, I was wondering why a patisserie would need so many toilets,’ said the captain.

HyJean’s idea was to visit Walter Crapp in disguise – posing as local businesspeople looking to purchase toilets – to try and find out information. They were now running through their back story one last time before they left, with Suds posing as the receptionist. They picked up their false IDs and Suds took off the blonde curly wig he’d been wearing. He was quite the method actor.

They had gone undercover the year before to spy on a company that was selling knock off wet wipes. Whilst working in the factory making them, they had discovered that the company had just been using regular cloths, dipped in water and sprayed with air freshener. The grime fighters were caught out though, when the captain was found cleaning the boss’s office during his lunch break. Cleanliness had often been both Captain Clean’s greatest strength and biggest weakness.

‘I’m still not sure about Bob Holness,’ said Suds. ‘What if they used to watch Blockbusters?’

‘Trust me, it’s a pretty outdated reference; nobody will remember that show,’ the captain argued. ‘And besides, how often do you get to go around pretending to be your favourite television presenter?’

‘Fair enough,’ said Suds, placing his wig on a desk lamp in an unintended case of anthropomorphism.

The captain called their reliable chauffeur, The Driver, but he was busy driving to Flush and Faucet, so instead they had to take the to the Crapp Toilets manufacturing plant in the heart of the city. Fortunately, they weren’t in costume, so it saved them the usual embarrassment. However, the captain had insisted on wearing wildly outdated glasses as part of his disguise and HyJean was almost as embarrassed to be seen with him wearing them as she was in her grime fighting attire.

 

 

‘What do you mean you’re stuck in a clothes recycling bin?’ asked Faucet.

‘Well, I was looking inside a clothes recycling bin,’ explained Flush, ‘and now I’m sat inside it.’

‘Why did you climb inside it?’ asked Faucet, still struggling to understand his colleague’s actions.

‘I didn’t climb inside it! I was looking in through the flap and I fell in. Now come get me out.’

‘Okay. I’ll be round in a minute.’

Faucet turned to the old man, still lying unconscious on the floor. He didn’t want to move him, as he’d heard that moving someone when they’re injured can make it worse. Although, given that he’d been lying on the floor unconscious for at least 15 minutes, there wasn’t much worse it could get. Still, Faucet decided to leave him where he was. He scribbled a note on a scrap of paper saying “Do not touch this man” and left it on his chest. ‘Stay there, I’ll be right back,’ he said, patting him on the arm.

He then ran down the road in the direction that Flush had gone and spotted a recycling bin on the corner of the road. He stopped to watch as a few young school kids walked past the bin. As they grew closer, there was a deep metal thud and a booming, echoey noise from inside bellowed out to them, ‘I am the bin monster, and I am hungry! Give me your clothes!’

The kids all ran off screaming and the bin chuckled a deep, echoey chuckle. Faucet crossed the road and knocked on the bin.

‘Hello hello hello, what’s all this then?’ he said in the poshest British voice he could muster. ‘Have you been swallowing humans, bin monster?’

‘Um… no officer,’ came a more nervous booming voice.

‘It’s me, you idiot,’ Faucet said in his normal voice. ‘Come on, let’s get you out.’

‘Hang on, I think I’m gonna be…’

There was the sound of retching and then a number of articles of clothing shot out the flap in the bin, with a loud, ‘Bleeeeuuurgh!’

‘Very funny,’ said Faucet, pulling a pair of trousers off his head. ‘Now grab my hands.’

He reached in and with a great deal of struggling he managed to pull Flush out. Flush thanked him and as he stretched his aching limbs and dusted himself off, Faucet picked a shirt from the pile.

‘They’re a bit old fashioned, these clothes,’ Faucet remarked.

‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you Gok Wan,’ said Flush sarcastically, ‘but they’d just collected the last of the Ralph Lauren shirts.’

They gathered the clothes and headed back up the road to the old man. However, when they arrived, they were surprised to find that he was not where Faucet had left him.

‘Where’s he gone?’ asked Flush.

‘I don’t know, I told him to stay right here!’ cried Faucet.

They looked around, but there was no sign of the old man. His commode was still there, so he hadn’t driven off, and his costume was in a crumpled pile on the floor, so he hadn’t returned to his villainous ways just yet. As if on cue, a familiar looking taxi pulled up next to them.

‘Alright mate,’ said The Driver.

‘Hey, have you seen a naked old man around here?’ asked Faucet.

‘Listen, what you two get up in your private life is up to you,’ said The Driver. ‘I prefer the more conventional dating sites.’

‘No, he’s the bad guy we’re tracking,’ said Flush, holding up the dragon outfit and pointing to the commode.

‘Oh, that’s a relief. Yeah, there’s one just up the road there,’ The Driver said, pointing behind in the direction he’d just come from.

Flush and Faucet ran down the road, where they found the old man crawling along the pavement. He still looked just as weak as he had done when they left him, although he was now conscious and moving, so that made a nice change.

‘There you are! What are you doing?’ Flush asked him.

‘I’m late for dominoes,’ he said in a frail, weary voice as he shuffled away slowly, crawling on the ground like a wounded soldier trying to subtly escape a battle he had not wished to join.

‘Never mind dominoes,’ said Flush, following along with tiny, slow steps. ‘You need to come with us to the hospital.’

‘Why, are you ill?’ asked the old man, glancing back at them.

‘What? No!’ cried Flush. ‘You’re the one who’s ill.’

‘I’m not ill,’ he said in a very ill-sounding voice.

‘You are sir,’ said Faucet, who by now had walked around to the front of the old man. ‘You’ve just had a heart attack or a stroke or something.’

‘I’m fine. It was probably just indigestion,’ said the old man as he batted Faucet’s leg and tried to carry on crawling down the road.

‘You’re not fine, look at you!’ said Flush, now getting quite angry at the old man’s lack of concern at nearly dying.

‘Quick, grab his legs,’ said Faucet.

‘No, not my legs! I need them for walking,’ cried the old man.

‘You can barely crawl, mate,’ grumbled Flush.

Together they lifted him up and carried him back, with quite a struggle, to the taxi. They sat him in the back and asked The Driver to take them to the hospital. With a curious glance at the semi-naked man in the back of his car, he obliged and set off for the hospital.

 

 

Captain Clean and HyJean – or Clifford and Jean, since they were dressed in everyday clothes to conceal their true identities – entered the reception of Crapp Toilets. It smelled faintly of disinfectant; a smell that Clifford loved. Jean not so much. They walked confidently (but not too confidently, because Clifford believed Bob Holness was quite shy in real life) over to the reception desk. Clifford instinctively pulled his sleeve down to wipe the bell before pressing it, but Jean nudged him and gave him a disapproving look. He stood for a few seconds, nervously trying to pluck up the courage to press the potentially germ-ridden bell. Eventually, Jean tutted and pressed it herself. A blonde-haired woman appeared, looking remarkably similar to how Suds had looked during rehearsals, only with more make up. Clifford contorted his mouth to hide his amusement.

‘Hello,’ said the woman behind the desk, with a half-hearted smile that looked so unnatural it could have been borrowed from someone else. ‘May I help you?’

‘Hello,’ said Clifford, pushing the glasses that he’d worn as a disguise back up the bridge of his nose. ‘My name is Bob Holness and this is my wife of 20 years, Janet. We’re originally from Leicester but we moved here a few months ago to open up a patisserie or hotel, which we’re looking to furnish with some of your toilets.’

Jean’s face sunk and she let out a little whimper at her pretend husband’s unconvincing acting.

‘Forgive my husband,’ she said. ‘He’s very excited. And he always acts like a total idiot when he’s excited.’

‘Of course,’ said the woman sympathetically. ‘Men do love their toilets.’

‘Don’t they just,’ Jean replied with a fake chuckle. ‘We have an appointment at 1pm to see Mr Crapp, we’re a little early.’

Clifford had called up straight after the videocall with the inspector and managed to book an appointment under the false name. The woman tapped away at her keyboard – her long fingernails click clacking on each key – and read what was on the screen.

‘You’re very early,’ she said. ‘The appointment’s not until tomorrow.’

‘Oh, husband dearest, you really are the world’s biggest moron,’ Jean said as she slapped Clifford on the back of his head.

‘Ow,’ he said, flinching from the stinging slap and rubbing his head.

‘As it happens, Mr Crapp has no appointments this afternoon,’ the woman behind the desk said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. Let me just give him a ring.’

The woman turned away to her phone and called her boss. Neither Clifford nor Jean listened to the woman talking, but had they have listened, they would’ve heard her say ‘Hello. Yes, I’ve got a Mr Bob Holness in reception… yeah, I think so… well he looks a lot younger than he does on the television.’

Instead, Clifford turned to Jean and said, ‘That hurt y’know.’

‘Sorry, I was getting into character,’ she replied. ‘See, I imagine Bob Holness is married to a strong woman who gets very annoyed when he messes up a perfectly simple plan.’

‘Duly noted.’

The woman turned back and informed them that Mr Crapp would indeed see them, and that they should head to his office on the third floor. The only-fictionally-married couple thanked her and left to meet Mr Walter Crapp. As they did, the receptionist returned to her computer, humming the Blockbusters theme as she tapped away on the keyboard. Little did she know that she’d one day go on to not only appear on the show, but to win it. Sadly this would happen in a dream though, so nobody else would see it.

 

 

Filtham General Hospital had a reputation for being quite good. They had once boasted the best-looking doctors and nurses in the county, topping the polls in some questionable magazines and putting out a saucy calendar at the end of every year. However, this led to many people feigning injuries just so that they could see one of these hospital hotties, which wasted a lot of important time and resources that could’ve been used to help treat patients who were actually ill. So, one summer, there was a major reshuffle, and many staff were transferred to neighbouring hospitals (though sparingly to avoid the same mistake) and the hospital advertised for less appealing staff. To nobody’s surprise, the job advert’s headline “Wanted: Ugly old trouts to work in Filtham General Hospital” garnered very little response and a media backlash, so the message was toned down and the management were more discreet in their choosing of less attractive staff. One of these nurses of average appearance was currently patrolling the ward, tending to the various patients and attending to the patient whims that required the least effort. In one of the beds lay an old man who’d once been dressed up as a dragon but was now wearing a hospital robe.

‘Where am I?’ asked the old man in a panic as he woke up and looked around at his surroundings.

‘Calm down,’ said Faucet, reaching out to settle him back down into bed. ‘You’re in a hospital. You had a stroke, so my friend and I brought you here.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ the old man nodded, looking around the ward. ‘There was another young man, he hit me with his sex whip. Where is he?’

‘It’s not…’ Faucet stuttered, glancing around awkwardly and lowering his tone, ‘It’s not a sex whip. That was Flush, he had to go to work, so I said I’d stay with you.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, thank you, young man,’ said the old man, lying back down on his bed. ‘Did you bring me any grapes?’

‘Um… no, sorry. We were kinda focusing on getting you hear. We didn’t have time to stop for fruit.’

‘Pity, I like grapes.’

‘I can go get you some if you like?’

‘No, don’t bother,’ he said, waving the offer away with his hand. ‘You’ll probably get the wrong ones anyway.’

‘So, what’s your name, mister?’ Faucet asked as they both settled down in their respective bed and chair.

‘George,’ said the old man, as if he were reluctant to give the information away.

‘Nice to meet you, George,’ Faucet replied. ‘I’m Faucet.’

‘That’s a ridiculous name,’ said George with a slight laugh. ‘Your parents must’ve been loopy.’

‘It’s not my real name. It’s my grime fighter name. I’m not allowed to tell you my real name,’ Faucet explained. ‘Anyway, why have you been driving around in a pimped-out commode causing trouble?’

‘Something to do,’ the old man shrugged. ‘Have you any idea how boring it is being an old man stuck in that retirement home? The most excitement we get in there is when someone loses their dentures. I needed more, so when my grandson came round with his new dragon toy and water pistol, it gave me the idea to become the commode dragon.’

‘That’s fair, I guess,’ said Faucet with a shrug, finding the man’s story to be pretty compelling.

The hero and the old man sat in silence for a while. Faucet watched the nurses walking up and down the room, attending to their patients and chatting amongst themselves. At one point he left the old man to sleep while he went and got a sandwich for himself. As he returned to the ward, a patient bumped into a young nurse, causing her to drop the jug of water she was carrying and fall over. The patient apologised profusely, but the nurse assured him she was alright and that it was an accident. Faucet rushed over and helped the nurse up, while one of the patient’s family members took him back to his bed.

‘Are you okay?’ Faucet asked the nurse.

‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you,’ she said with a friendly smile.

She looked at the big pile of water on the floor and began to panic a little, glancing round to see if any other staff were watching. She’d only recently started working at the hospital and was worried about making a bad impression so early on.

‘Oh no, I need to go find a mop,’ she said, looking around a bit flustered.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Faucet, ‘I’ve got it.’

He bent down and put his hand on the small puddle of water. Slowly but surely, the puddle began to shrink as Faucet absorbed the water.

‘There you go,’ he said with a proud smile.

The stunned nurse stared at him for a few seconds, then said ‘Eww, get away you freak.’

She rushed away from him, and Faucet let out a deep sigh. He returned to the old man’s bedside and slumped down into the chair. For the first time since becoming a grime fighter, he suddenly realised that his new biology and abilities had their downsides. Whilst it was useful in grime fighting, it was hardly an attractive quality to need to wear bracelets on his wrists and ankles to prevent himself leaking all over people. He couldn’t really remember if he’d been successful with the ladies before he was experimented on, but he definitely thought it would hinder his chances now. He sat and contemplated this aspect of his life for a while and was grateful when George woke up and provided him with a distraction.

‘Want to see something cool?’ Faucet asked, hoping he could entertain the man with some of his powers and feel a little better about them.

George nodded, and Faucet turned to face the bed on the opposite side of the room. He shot a droplet of water from his hand that flew across the room and landed perfectly in a plastic cup on the patient’s bedside table. The noise of the water hitting the cup caused the woman in the bed to suddenly jump.

Faucet grinned at George, who just groaned, ‘Bloody millennials.’

 

 

Walter Crapp was a big man; almost 7ft tall with a big beefy body and the kind of face only a mother could love – and it wouldn’t be his own mother. He looked like someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a supermarket, let alone a dark alley. He walked with a slow stomp, resembling an elephant marching through the African wasteland. And with his huge figure, rippling muscles and aggressive demeanour, Crapp could probably beat an elephant in a fight.

‘This is where the toilets are assembled,’ said Walter Crapp as he led Clifford and Jean down a production line.

They’d managed to convince Mr Crapp to give them a tour of the factory floor, hoping that they might spot something that could give them a clue as to what he was up to. So far it had all been pretty standard stuff, interesting only to Clifford, who had always had a unique fascination with anything to do with toilets. Jean lagged behind, looking around for signs of anything usual. After a while she found something.

‘What’s behind that door?’ she asked, pointing to a door with several locks and warning signs plastered all over it.

‘Nothing,’ grumbled Crapp in his rough East London accent.

‘Awful lot of security for a door leading to nothing,’ Clifford said, verbally poking their tour guide to reveal more.

‘Awful lot of questions for a hotelier,’ he said gruffly as he turned away and continued to walk.

Clifford and Jean followed. As they walked Clifford gestured towards the mysterious door with his eyes. Jean nodded. She knew what to do. Having worked together for years, they were now at the point where they could communicate silently, through eyebrow raises and other facial gestures. Though, like most forms of communication, there were the occasional misinterpretations, such as the time Clifford had something in his eye and HyJean thought his rapid series of winks were instructing her to open a trap door that subsequently led to hear being drenched in syrup.

The rest of the tour of the Crapp Toilet factory was just as uninteresting, culminating in a return to the owner’s office. It was a large room that he probably looked quite nice once. Like its owner, it was bigger than it needed to be, with very little in the way of furnishings, save for a desk, a few chairs, a bookcase with only one book (a toilet catalogue from several years ago) and a water cooler that appeared to have been filled with beer. Clifford and Jean sat in two old chairs facing a desk that had a little plaque on it reading “Walter ‘Bog’ Crapp”. Presumably, he had accepted his nickname and decided to own it. The boss was clearly not in the habit of entertaining visitors, as the chairs were the kind of cheap, plastic seats you keep in the shed in case you have an unexpectedly large party of guests over at Christmas. Walter Crapp sat on the other side of the desk. Clifford couldn’t decide if the businessman was in a bad mood or if his face always had the same unpleasant expression.

‘I must say, it’s a fine place you’ve got here, Bog,’ said Clifford, gesturing towards the sign on his desk.

‘Only my friends call me that,’ Crapp grunted.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Clifford apologised, feeling a little embarrassed and more than a little intimidated.

Crapp’s face turned very serious, as he leant forward ever so slightly and added, ‘And my enemies.’

‘That must be very confusing for you,’ Clifford pointed out.

‘So, what do you want?’ Crapp said, ignoring the remark and changing the subject without a shred of politeness to his words. ‘Well, we’re opening up a new hotel in the city and we need a number of toilets installed,’ explained Jean. ‘We’ve heard excellent reviews about your products, so we thought we’d come to you direct to discuss a deal.’

‘We were going to go to Trev’s Toilets, but we heard that closed down,’ Clifford added, watching for any kind of reaction from the toilet mogul. ‘Very strange how he just went out of business like that, don’t you think?’

‘Not really,’ Crapp replied bluntly, before turning back to Jean and speaking in a well-rehearsed tone that didn’t suit him. ‘I’m sure we can do you a good deal.’

‘Also, do you have any toilets?’ asked Clifford. ‘As in… you know… I know you’ve got toilets, because you make them… I mean ones my wife can use.’

‘I need to spend a penny,’ HyJean added with a faux embarrassed shrug.

Crapp slowly looked at Clifford suspiciously and then turned back to Jean. Sensing his tone, Jean gave a smile that begged for sympathy.

‘Of course. Downstairs, end of the corridor,’ he said with the faintest hint of… it wasn’t a smile, but more of a patronising look of contentment.

Jean thanked him and swiftly left. But she wasn’t going to the toilet. She carried on down the stairs, back down to the factory floor to investigate the secret door. She snuck into the production line room and scanned for any signs of employees. There were a few dotted around, but the big, noisy machinery meant she was able to sneak over to the door unnoticed. She got a little tool out of her pocket to pick the locks. Within seconds she was in. Back in the office, Clifford sat nervously trying to expand on the hotel story, talking Crapp through their made-up plans for the fictional rooms in the unbuilt hotel and what sort of coffee machines they planned to install. After a while, Crapp gave up the pretence. He sat up from his slouched position and addressed his guest with a menacing stare.

‘That’s very interesting,’ he said in a calm but sinister voice. ‘Because you see, while you’ve been sitting there wittering on, I’ve worked something out.’

He leant in a little closer and lowered his voice to a threatening whisper.

‘I know who you are… Captain.’

Clifford was stunned. The game was up. Crapp had somehow seen through his incredible disguise and figured out who he was. He said nothing. Crapp’s mouth twisted into a smirk as he reached forwards and slowly took the captain’s old glasses off and crushed them with one hand.

‘Now, I don’t know what you and your friend are doing here,’ he said, pausing to turn his computer screen around to show CCTV footage of Jean being escorted off the premises by one of his men, ‘but I don’t want to see you or any of your cleaning crew around here again. Understand?’

Clifford got the message, but he had a message of his own and he wasn’t afraid to deliver it. He leaned in himself to get closer to Crapp’s face.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘But know this: I will find out what you’re up to, and if I don’t like it, then I will stop you.’

Crapp leaned in further, ‘No you won’t.’

Clifford leaned in a little bit more, ‘Yes I will.’

Crapp leaned in again, so their faces were almost touching. ‘No,’ he said and spat in his face, ‘you won’t.’

‘Yes, I will,’ said Clifford, and then, unsure what to do he licked Crapp’s face.

Crapp banged his fists down on the desk with an almighty crash, causing Clifford to fall back in his chair and stumble to his feet in panic.

‘Lew, get in here!’ Crapp called out.

A short, skinny man came running into the office. Lew Roll, to give him his full name, looked rather timid, like he used to be an accountant and had somehow been forced into working for Walter Crapp unwillingly. Around his neck he wore a tie that appeared to be made of toilet roll paper.

‘See our friend here out, will ya,’ Crapp said, relaxing back in his chair that let out a little creak at the weight being put on it.

Lew grabbed Captain Clean by the arm. He was surprisingly strong for such a short, amiable looking man, and locked the captain’s arm in a position that he couldn’t escape from.

‘Ooh, a friend,’ Lew remarked as he led the captain out of the room and down the corridor. ‘He doesn’t have many of those.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ Clifford said with a roll of his eyes. ‘Nice tie by the way.’

‘Thanks, I made it myself,’ Lew replied. ‘It’s just toilet paper with some PVA glue to make it firmer, but I could do with something better.’

‘I’ve got some micro-fibre material you could use, it’s anti-tear and anti-stain,’ Clifford replied, almost giving away the secret nature of his mask. ‘I could drop some round if you like.’

‘That would be brilliant, thank you,’ said Lew.

‘Stop flirting and just get rid of him!’ Bog shouted after them.

 

 

Captain Clean, HyJean and Sergeant Suds gathered back at the base to swap stories, sat on the big table in the middle of the main room of their base. A few strands of synthetic blonde hair poked out of Suds’s pocket. Whether he had brought the wig in case they needed to roleplay again, or he had been wearing it again while he was out, none of the other grime fighters would ever know.

‘What was that Crapp guy like?’ asked Suds as he sipped a cup of tea. He’d had quite an easy afternoon with little action and was enjoying a nice rest.

‘I’m not gonna lie, he was a bit scary,’ admitted the captain.

‘He’s also very rude and unpleasant,’ added HyJean, cupping her coffee like it was an emotional support object. ‘And so tall! I swear he was like a giant.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ said Suds.

‘Oh, and he goes by the name Bog as well,’ said the captain.

‘Why? ‘Cause he’s so full of crap?’ asked Suds.

HyJean spat out some of her coffee and wiped her mouth as she laughed. ‘Sorry, that was a good one.’

She spotted Captain Clean’s wide eyes staring at the drops of coffee on the table and quickly wiped them up before he could tell her off. They all shared some more insults about Walter “Bog” Crapp and then moved on to what they’d discovered in his factory.

‘So, what was behind that door?’ Captain Clean asked HyJean.

‘It was pretty surprising, actually,’ she said with a little dramatic pause. ‘It was toilets. Loads and loads of toilets.’

‘What’s so surprising about that?’ asked Suds. ‘I mean it is a toilet factory.’

‘Yeah, but why keep them behind such a heavily guarded door?’ she replied, drumming her fingers on the coffee cup as she thought. ‘Does he think someone’s going to steal them? Are they special toilets? He’s not exactly known for making great toilets.’

‘Maybe he’s got a big order with an important client?’ suggested Suds. ‘That would explain why he’s not bidding for the council tender, if he’s too busy.’

‘Hm, I don’t think so. He’s definitely up to something dodgy, I can feel it. But what? What could it be?’ said the captain, staring off into the distance as he wracked his brain. He let out a sigh of defeat and shook his head. ‘I need to get a closer look at those toilets, find out what’s so special about them.’

‘I doubt he’s going to let you anywhere near his factory again,’ said HyJean. ‘Let alone give you a tour of his secret stash.’

‘I wasn’t planning on asking for an invite,’ the captain explained. ‘I’ll have to break in while he’s not there. Lure him out somehow.’

‘No, we’re not doing a break in,’ HyJean protested loudly with a slight whine to her voice. This was another of his plans that she knew would not have a good ending, and she was fed up with going along with them by now. ‘This guy’s clearly dangerous and he already hates us, we’ll find another way. Let’s get some sleep and we’ll come up with a plan tomorrow.’

‘Fine,’ the captain agreed, although he had no intention of waiting till morning. They said their goodbyes and Captain Clean waited until the others had left and he was alone. Then he went to his office to get a toilet-roll mask from his dispenser and pick up his toilet brush themed mace.

 

 

Filtham by night wasn’t much different to Filtham by day, except the darkness hid some of the dirty walls of the buildings that lined its usually busy streets. But in other areas, lampposts shone a spotlight on them, as if to highlight particularly grubby patches like a criminal under scrutiny. The walls were unable to plead their case, due to the unfortunate fact that they couldn’t speak, and even if they could, they’d probably have more pressing issues to discuss, such as the dogs urinating on them or people covering them with posters for sickeningly twee pop stars that contrasted against the wall’s bad boy image. Still, it was a good job that there were no sentient bricks around this night, as Captain Clean was trying to remain as hidden as he could. In the dark shadows of the night, the captain slowly made his way over the metal fence surrounding the Crapp Toilet factory. He managed the ascent with some ease, but he wasn’t so good at the getting down part, landing with a thud like a sack of overweight potatoes falling off a truck.

‘Ow, my back,’ he muttered as he stood up. He crept up to a door at the back of the factory, glancing around as he went to keep an eye out for any guards or security cameras. It was pretty hard to see anything in the darkness, so even if there was any kind of security, he wouldn’t have noticed anyway. He successfully arrived at the back entrance door without being spotted, and pulled out HyJean’s lock-picking tools, which he’d “borrowed” when she wasn’t looking. He didn’t often take her things, as she was very possessive of them and he sometimes broke them accidentally, but he felt this was important enough to warrant risking it. After a long while of fiddling around, jabbing and twirling the tools with no idea what he was doing, he finally gave up and resorted to plan B. He took out his toilet brush with the mace on the end and gave the lock a good whack. It smashed and crumbled, falling helplessly to the ground like a slightly smaller sack of potatoes – like those baby new potatoes, which sell a lot better than the baby old potatoes, despite the fact that people are still eating something with baby in the name – allowing the door to swing open a little. The captain opened the door with a self-assured grin. He slipped inside, closing the door after himself. Inside, the lights were out and the whole factory was filled with an eerie silence. If there had been a violinist nearby, they would have definitely been playing quietly to accentuate the tension in the moment. Though he’d only been there once, the captain managed to find his way around, wandering in and out of rooms until he recognised the factory floor. He slowly made his way through the room, but stopped when he heard a noise. Nearby, he spotted a figure coming out of the very door he’d been planning to go through himself. He hid behind a large metal machine and watched as another figure walked over and met his shadowy companion. As they walked away from the door, they passed a window that illuminated them briefly, and the captain immediately recognised one of them as Lew, Bog’s assistant – he’d know that toilet paper tie anywhere. He listened intently as they spoke.

‘Alright Jon,’ Lew said as he saw his colleague.

‘Everything ready?’ the other man asked. His full name was Jon Lavvy, the other half of Bog’s trusted duo of personal assistants. Captain Clean recognised him as the one from the computer screen who had ejected HyJean from the building earlier that day.

‘Yep,’ Lew nodded. ‘Bombs in every toilet ready. Did you put the trigger in his office?’

‘Sure did, locked away in his drawer,’ Jon said proudly. ‘I wonder why there’s only one trigger. There should really be a series of them so you can’t accidentally set them off.’

‘Good point,’ Lew nodded. ‘You’ll have to tell them at the lab. Hey, they might give you a job there.’

‘Doubt it,’ chuckled Jon. ‘Anyway, wanna grab a beer?’

‘Sure, I think we’ve earned it.’

Their voices trailed off as they left the room. Captain Clean kept his eyes on the mysterious door.

‘Bombs?’ he whispered nervously to himself. ‘Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap.’

This was all getting a bit much now. The intimidating toilet manufacturer was one thing, but the thought of explosives made him feel like he was in way over his head. He decided to abandon his mission and follow HyJean’s suggestion of concocting a plan of action together in the morning. He slipped back through the factory, now with a more urgent gait, still repeating his new chant of “oh crap” quietly as he went, and made his way back out of the door. He closed it and tried to piece the broken handle back together. He managed to slot it back in, and tried it to check it worked. As he did so, he heard a loud clunking sound.

‘That’s odd,’ he thought. He pressed the handle down again and another booming thud rung out. He tried the handle a few more times, but then noticed the wall in front become darker as a large shadow loomed over him. He span around and was greeted by a huge, hulking figure, towering over him like a very tall tower. At least 7ft in height and glimmering in the moonlight, the monstrous being slowly leaned down. As he moved into the brightness of the security light, the captain saw that it was in fact Bog, wearing a suit that appeared to be made of the same material as his toilets, including some familiar parts, like a seat that was attached to the helmet and framed his face. The porcelain armour glistened, lighting up the face of the very tall man. The light did nothing to accentuate his features, but merely showed how very angry the very tall man was.

‘I told you I didn’t want to see you here again,’ said Bog.

‘I uh… I left my pen in there… thought I’d retrieve it without bothering you,’ the captain lied pathetically.

‘You were snooping,’ Bog replied. ‘I don’t like snoops. They make me get all… punchy.’

At which Bog lunged forwards and punched Captain Clean in the face with his hard, porcelain glove. The captain fell back against the wall. He quickly pulled out his toilet brush mace and swung it at Bog’s suit, but it merely bounced off with a clang. Bog snatched it off him and snapped it in two, throwing the pieces behind him. The captain tried to escape, but Bog reached out and grabbed the grime fighter by his cape, swinging him around and flinging him like an old ragdoll into a large row of metal bins on the wall opposite. Bog was not only very tall and very angry, but he was also very strong. Captain Clean had gone up against many strong fighters in his time, but Bog’s strength was like nothing he’d come across.

As Bog lumbered towards him menacingly, the captain looked around, surveying his surroundings for any slight advantage. There were the bins; he could hide in one of them. There was the metal fence all around; he doubted he’d be able to climb it quick enough. There were a few trucks, most with Crapp’s Toilets printed on the side, but one with Bathrooms R Us 4 U graphics instead. That seemed odd. Why was his competitor’s truck parked amongst his own? His thoughts were interrupted as Bog swung his porcelain-clad leg and gave him an almighty kick, thrusting him back and denting the bin with an almost too perfect impression of the captain’s torso.

The ever-resilient captain managed to compose himself, pulling himself up slightly and mumbling with a feeble attempt to sound confident, ‘Is that… is that all you’ve got?’

Bog gave a little chuckle. ‘O Captain my Captain, you ain’t seen nothing yet. After Wednesday you’ll see what I’m really capable of.’

‘Why? What’s happening Wednesday?’

‘Uh…. Nothing. Forget I said that,’ said Bog, realising he’d let a bit of important information slip. This was a habit of criminal masterminds that the captain was grateful for, as he was often able to get them to reveal information just by getting them talking. But Bog was not about to give up any more information quite so easily. ‘In fact, let me help you forget.’

Bog then threw another porcelain punch at the captain’s face, and in an instant, everything went black. Captain Clean lay on the ground, unconscious, unaware of Bog carrying his body down the road to dispose of him in a ditch like a broken vacuum cleaner.

 

 

Captain Clean stumbled into the base the next morning, covered in blood stains and bruises. Sergeant Suds and HyJean had already arrived for work and rushed over to help the captain over to a chair, into which he slumped down.

‘Looks like someone had a fun night out,’ said Suds, trying to lighten the mood a little. He could see how sore the captain was and hoped, like many do, that a light-hearted remark would somehow ease his discomfort. Which it didn’t. Because it rarely does.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ asked a more bluntly concerned HyJean. ‘You look awful.’

‘I had a bit of a run in with our new friend Bog last night,’ Captain Clean admitted with a sore twinge in his voice. ‘He must’ve known I’d go back.’

‘What?’ cried HyJean. ‘What did I say about not breaking into his factory alone? I swear you never listen to me!’

‘Jesus, what did he do to you?’ asked Suds as he inspected the captain’s wounds closer.

‘Well, he punched me. Then he kicked me. Then he punched me some more,’ explained the captain. ‘I think there was some more kicking at some point, it all went a bit fuzzy after a while.’

‘And did you actually get anything out of your ridiculous adventure?’ asked HyJean, adding, ‘Other than a severe beating.’

The captain nodded weakly, ‘He’s got bombs… I heard that… Lew guy talking… and he’s planning something on Wednesday.’

‘Wednesday? That’s tomorrow,’ said HyJean.

‘Which is why we need to be ready,’ said Cap, standing up determinedly and then instantly collapsing back down into the chair again.

‘Cap, you’re in no state to go up against him again,’ said HyJean.

‘Ah, I’ll be fine,’ he replied, waving away her concern. ‘I just need a few hours is all. Some of my scars will probably heal up by then too so they won’t be visible anymore; it’s amazing what a bit of rest can do for you.’

He pulled himself up once again and limped across the room to head to his office, but as he reached the desk in the centre, he could no longer hold himself up and collapsed down into a chair with a breathy grunt.

‘Ugh… it doesn’t make sense though,’ he mused aloud. ‘Why would he make a ton of toilets with bombs in? If he’s going to blow up his own factory, that seems a ridiculous waste of materials.’

‘Maybe he thought he was going to win the council contract and he was planning to blow them up then?’ suggested Suds.

‘But he didn’t put a bid in,’ HyJean reminded him. ‘He knew there was no way he’d win it.’

‘Or maybe he didn’t want to win it,’ the captain said, a weak lightbulb flickering on hopefully in his battered brain. ‘Think about it, he knew the other company would win. In fact, he made sure of it by taking that other company out of the race.’

‘Maybe he’s setting them up?’ suggested HyJean. ‘He’s going to frame them?’

‘Of course!’ the captain said, banging his hand down on the desk and then immediately wincing in pain and rubbing his hand. ‘The lorry. The competitor’s lorry at his factory. It all makes sense now.’

The assembled squad members turned to their captain, waiting for him to explain his sudden revelation. He sat grinning at them while they waited, until eventually HyJean gave a little shrug to prompt him to explain and he remembered the others hadn’t been with him when he saw the lorry.

‘There was a Bathrooms R Us lorry in with his lorries at the factory. I bet he’s going to drive the lorry into his factory, which will set off the bombs and destroy his factory. Then he can claim on the insurance!’ the captain said excitedly, holding his hands up with a look of total pride, like he’d just announced a mind-blowing scientific theory.

‘What?’ asked Suds. ‘What would be the point in that?’

HyJean shook her head. ‘I think the more likely plan is that he’s going to interrupt the shipment, delivering his booby-trapped bogs in the other lorry instead. They get installed, he sets them off, takes out the competition and causes chaos for the council.’

‘Pffft, don’t be ridiculous Jean,’ the captain chuckled. His laugh soon died down though as HyJean folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. There was no confusing what this facial gesture meant. ‘Okay, so maybe that plan does sound more plausible. I still prefer my idea though. Have Mary call all the insurance companies in Filtham to warn them just in case. And call me a doctor, I think I’ve got a ruptured spleen.’

 

 

A few hours later, Faucet returned to the base and informed the rest of the squad about what had happened with the Commode Dragon. Captain Clean had been cleaned up, had a shower and changed into his everyday clothes. The ruptured spleen turned out to be cramp, but he still looked the worse for wear.

‘They said it was just a small stroke and he’ll be alright in a few days. I would’ve been back sooner, but one of the doctors saw me use my powers and asked if I’d go to the children’s ward and entertain the kids,’ he said as he entered the base and took off his mask. ‘Oh, and you may get a letter saying they’re suing us for water damage, sorry.’

In the background, a loud groan came from Mary’s office. A familiar groan that she’d recorded and had Flush save as a message alert on her phone for when HyJean messaged her – it was always bad news.

‘What?’ asked HyJean. ‘Why? What happened?’

‘It totally wasn’t my fault,’ said Faucet, using a phrase that is very rarely true. ‘This annoying little kid said I couldn’t hit the sign next to the alarm system from the other side of the room, and –’

‘Alright, I can see where this is going,’ said HyJean. ‘Anyway, we’ve got more important things to discuss.’

‘Oh yeah, the Crappy guy,’ said Faucet as he took a seat at the central table. ‘How did that go?’

HyJean and Suds filled Faucet in on their encounter with the evil businessman, from the Blockbusters-themed undercover story, to being thrown out by a man named after toilet paper, to being beaten up by a man in a porcelain suit. Once Faucet was caught up and convinced several times that the story was in fact a hundred percent true, they then moved on to their plan of attack.

‘He already knows we’re on to him, but hopefully he doesn’t know how much we know,’ HyJean explained. ‘In any case, we need to get in there before he has chance to move the bombs.’

‘Wait, us?’ asked Faucet. ‘What about the police, can’t they get involved?’

‘Not really, we’ve got no evidence, other than our word on what we saw when Cap here illegally broke into a factory. I don’t think that’d go down to well,’ she explained.

‘Yeah, fair point,’ Faucet replied.

‘I spoke to Dovedale and the council are expecting the first delivery at lunchtime tomorrow,’ she continued. ‘So that gives us a small window of opportunity to stop him tomorrow morning.’

‘Today,’ said Captain Clean wearily.

‘What? We can’t go today, you can barely stand,’ HyJean pointed out.

‘No, I’m fine, look,’ said the captain as he pulled himself up and started doing star jumps, although he only managed one before wincing in agony and falling back down into his seat whilst clutching his ribs. ‘On second second thoughts, I think we’ll go tomorrow morning.’

‘Thank you,’ said HyJean, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. ‘So, here’s the plan: Cap, Suds and I will go to confront Bog. Faucet, you and Flush will need to get everybody out of the factory, just in case.’

‘I can do that,’ Faucet nodded.

‘And how exactly are we going to stop Bog from detonating the bombs?’ Suds asked with a concerned tone in his voice.

‘I’ll talk to him,’ said the captain, raising a hand.

‘You’ll talk to him?’ said Suds with a hint of frustration in his voice. He’d heard this plan many times before and it rarely worked. The captain was convinced that he had an ability to talk criminals round, but the linguistically challenged captain generally struggled with speeches and, more often than not, only made things worse by provoking the very people he was trying to win over.

‘Trust me, I know his type. He’s got a tough exterior, but it’s all just a front,’ the captain explained. ‘He’s a typical misguided soul desperate to succeed. He’s probably an orphan as well or suffered some sort of tragedy or abuse as a child. You just need to find out where it went wrong and help them to see that they can be better.’

‘Yeah, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who just needs a cup of tea and a nice chat,’ said HyJean.

‘Look, I know what I’m doing and when we go there, you’ll see,’ the captain insisted.

‘Hang on,’ interrupted Faucet. ‘How do we know that’s where he’ll be?’

‘Oh, don’t you start,’ groaned the captain as he slumped down onto the table face first, the conversation wearing him out almost as much as his injuries.

‘He’ll need witnesses that he wasn’t around when the bombs go off,’ explained HyJean. ‘It makes sense that he’d stay in his factory to give him a good alibi.’

HyJean asked Mary to book The Driver to escort them to factory in the morning and provide a quick getaway should they need one. She also asked her to call Flush and ask him to be in early so that they’d have time to explain and prepare for the mission. Captain Clean, meanwhile, retired to his office to rest and prepare himself both physically and mentally. The captain had faced many mutated monsters, crazy criminals and barbaric businessmen in his time as a grime fighter, but Bog seemed more intimating and scarier than any of them. He didn’t like to admit it, neither to the team nor himself, but he wasn’t sure how the afternoon would go, and hoped his years of experience and loyal squad would help him succeed.

 

 

‘So let me get this straight,’ said Flush, pinching the bridge of his nose and bowing his head. ‘You want me to go into a building that we know will be full of bombs, with a lunatic ready to press the trigger at any moment, and risk my life to save a bunch of strangers?’

The captain hesitated for a moment, only now realising what he was asking of his fellow hero. With a tentative sigh, he replied, ‘Yes.’

‘Bostin!’ Flush grinned. ‘Let’s go then.’

The Sanitary Squad suited up and gathered their weapons, heading out to The Driver to try and squeeze 5 people into his car that seated 4 passengers. It was tricky, but eventually they all clambered in, and then they were off. After years of using the Driver’s services, it still amazed the Squad how he could get anywhere in seconds. He didn’t even seem to drive particularly fast; the world outside just seemed to slow down around them, allowing him to spot all the gaps that he could whizz through. They never questioned how he did it; they were just grateful he did, today more than ever. They arrived at the end of the road, away from the factory so they didn’t draw any attention to themselves. As they fell out of the car like clowns in a circus, they all stood and stretched their limbs, which were sore and squished after the uncomfortable ride. Captain Clean was now in much better shape – the rest had done him the world of good, and his scars were remarkably well healed, with just a few stitches to reassure people that he definitely had been involved in a fight recently. As they walked down the road together, they gradually separated into their two groups, each with their own mission.

They climbed the fence and slipped into the front entrance of the factory. The two grime fighters walked up to the reception desk, where sat the receptionist whose real beauty was buried deep beneath layers of make-up. She looked like she had been put there as a punishment, as she scrolled through an article about her favourite reality TV show on her computer whilst pretending to greet the visitors in a professional manner. Flush went to speak, but Faucet pushed him to one side. Flush rolled his eyes and picked up a pamphlet off the counter to browse while his colleague took charge of the conversation.

‘Uh… hi,’ Faucet said, leaning in a little to try and catch her attention.

‘Hello, welcome to Crapp Toilets, can I help you?’ she said in a well-rehearsed monotone friendly voice.

‘Yeah, I’m here to save your life and possibly take you out for a drink after,’ Faucet said, leaning on the counter and giving her his most charming smile. After his recent encounter with the nurse, he found himself even more determined to prove to himself that he could still win the ladies round.

‘Have you got an appointment?’ the girl said in the same monotone voice, as if she’d not even listened to Faucet and was just reading off a script.

‘Of course I don’t have an appointment,’ Faucet said, waving to try and get her attention. ‘This is a rescue mission, you’re in serious danger and we’re here to save your life.’

‘Then I’m afraid you’ll have to ring up and book an appointment sir,’ she continued, unphased.

‘Ah, forget this. You can keep your appointment,’ said Faucet, knocking the little cardboard stand on her desk over and walking away in frustration. He called back to her, ‘And that drink’s off as well!’

The receptionist finally looked up from her screen to see Faucet walking off and Flush still reading the pamphlet, surprisingly engrossed in the list of toilet specifications.

‘Gee, what’s his problem?’ she asked.

‘He was trying to warn you that the building is going to be blown up in about 20 minutes,’ Flush said casually as he looked at the photos of the various models of toilets.

‘What? Oh my god, you’re terrorists? Security!’ she cried, and before Flush could stop her, she lunged for the phone to call security.

‘No!’ shouted Flush, leaning over the counter trying to wrestle the phone from her hands. ‘We’re not terrorists, we’re superheroes!’

‘You don’t look like superheroes,’ the girl argued, still trying to get the phone.

‘We can’t afford proper suits… look, just put the phone down and listen will you!’

After much persuading, the girl eventually relented and put an announcement out on the tannoy system to start an evacuation. Meanwhile, Faucet had found a staff room full of people working at computers. He ran inside and shouted ‘The building is in danger! Quick, everybody out!’

A few people jumped up from their seats and ran out of the room, but others were not so easily convinced. Faucet was a little confused, as this wasn’t how it usually happened in the films that he’d seen.

‘Who are you?’ asked a balding man in thick glasses and a tie with cats printed on it. His name was probably something like Gerald or Gordon. He was the office know-it-all who thought he was superior to everybody else because he knew how to change the password on the photocopier, though he was totally oblivious to the fact that the girls who sometimes made him tea often added sugar instead of sweetener like he requested.

‘I’m the guy who’s trying to save your life,’ said Faucet, ‘now move!’

‘What’s your name?’  the man asked.

‘Faucet,’ he said proudly.

The man chuckled, ‘No, what’s your real name?’

‘I’m a grime fighter,’ Faucet explained. ‘I’m not supposed to tell you my name.’

‘A grime fighter?’ the man snorted. ‘A load of rubbish. Come on, what’s your name? I’ll report you to HR.’

‘I don’t work here. And like I said, I’m not allowed to tell you,’ Faucet said, rolling his eyes, ‘Look, why does it matter anyway?’

‘Well how can I trust you if you won’t even tell me your real name?’ the man replied, crossing his arms confidently like he’d somehow won the argument.

Faucet was beginning to get fed up of these people refusing to co-operate. ‘I’m a grime fighter, trying to help people. You’re supposed to just trust me, that’s how this works.’

‘Well then, I’m not going. I’ve got work to do,’ he said, turning back to his computer.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ sighed Faucet. ‘I haven’t got time for this.’

Faucet aimed his arm at the man’s computer and sprayed a jet of water straight at it. The computer was sent crashing back into the wall, where it smashed and erupted in sparks as the screen glitched and turned itself off. The man in the cat tie jumped back in his chair and almost fell out of it, letting out the wimpiest of squeals.

‘There, now you can’t do your work,’ said Faucet, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him up off his chair. ‘Anyone else want to stay here?’

Nobody did.

 

 

‘Sir, you can’t go in without an appointment!’ called a timid young woman as she chased after Captain Clean, HyJean and Sergeant Suds, who were all quickly striding towards Bog’s office.

‘Sergeant!’ called the captain without taking his eyes off the door to the office.

Suds lifted his gun, apologised to the receptionist, and shot a small pink blob at her feet, which fixed her to the ground. She struggled and stumbled over, clawing at the blob of goo, but the unique substance that had come from Suds’ gun was too strong for her to break free. They reached Bog’s office and knocked on the door.

‘Go away!’ came a disgruntled voice from inside.

‘What do we do now?’ asked HyJean.

Suds swiftly stomped his foot on the door, his heavy boots smashing it open and almost off its hinges.

‘That,’ said the captain with a smirk.

Inside the office, Bog was midway through assembling his porcelain suit, with only the legs and torso piece on so far. Evidently, he had heard the tannoy announcement and was preparing himself for battle, with the help of his two henchmen Lew Roll and Jon Lavvy

‘I thought you might show up,’ grunted Bog with a sneer.

‘You know you’re really taking the phrase “dress for the job you want” a little too seriously,’ said the captain as the three heroes strode confidently into the office.

‘I warned you before -’

‘And I didn’t listen, never do,’ the captain interrupted. ‘Hello again, Lew. Another great tie.’

‘Thanks,’ said Lew with a little smile that was clearly a rarity in his life. ‘It’s double quilted.’

‘Shut up and pass me my helmet,’ grunted Bog, smacking his henchman on the back of his head.

‘I know what you’re planning Bog,’ continued the captain. ‘But you don’t need to do this. Blowing up your factory for insurance purposes or blowing up toilets in council buildings will kill lots of innocent people.’

‘Innocent? Ha!’ laughed Bog. ‘Nobody’s innocent, Captain. Especially not the council. Those scumbags almost ruined me. They made up lies about the toilets being faulty and put it all over the news. My reputation was ruined. I nearly went out of business. I had to diversify into… bidets.’ He shuddered at that last word, as if it were a disrespectful word that he dared not speak. He shook his head and sneered. ‘It’s time they got what was coming to them.’

‘Mr Crapp, just stop and think about this, please,’ the captain begged. ‘We can speak to the council, explain your frustrations. You don’t need to hurt anybody else.’

‘Enough talk,’ Bog grunted. ‘Lew, Jon, restrain them.’

Lew Roll and Jon Lavvy stepped out from behind the desk and rushed quickly over to the heroes. Lew grabbed HyJean while Jon grabbed Sergeant Suds.

‘The captain!’ Lew called over to his fellow henchperson. Jon let go of Suds and grabbed hold of Cap who was stood in the middle.

‘What about the army guy?’ asked Jon.

‘I’ll get him,’ said Lew, who let go of HyJean and ran across to grab Suds.

‘They’re really not the brightest are they?’ Suds whispered to the captain.

‘Nope,’ Suds replied.

HyJean quickly grabbed one of her spray bottles and sprayed Jon Lavvy in the face, causing him to stumble back and rub his eyes. This distracted Lew Roll enough for Sergeant Suds to be able to give him a whack and temporarily knock him out. Now free of henchmen, the three grime fighters marched towards Bog, HyJean and Suds flanking him either side while Captain Clean approached him face on.

‘You just don’t learn, do ya?’ Bog sneered as he finished putting his helmet on and adjusted it. He stepped forward and swung at the captain, who managed to dodge his attack. Suds took the opportunity to get a punch in, but his fist merely bounced off the porcelain armour, doing more damage to his hand than it did to Bog, who kicked him out of the way. Captain Clean grabbed a tall lamp from the corner of the, swinging it at the armour but doing little more than leaving a few small dents. Bog needed no weapons other than his fists, which he swung in carefully considered paths to deal blows to both men.

While the men fought, HyJean took the opportunity to sneak behind Bog’s desk to a safe she’d spotted on the wall. She sprayed one of her acidic sprays on the door and made a hole in it big enough for her to fit her hand through. She felt around and finally felt what she was looking for. From the small safe, she pulled out a small rectangular box that had a little clear plastic case covering a red button in the centre. She looked around and saw the captain had been thrown back a good distance from Bog.

‘Cap, catch!’ she shouted as she tossed the device over to the captain.

‘What’s this?’ he called back, holding it up with a confused look.

‘It’s the trigger for the bombs!’ she replied.

This caught the attention of Bog, who threw Sergeant Suds down on the ground and turned to them, his face a mixture of worry and anger.

‘Gimme that,’ he roared and started to walk towards Captain Clean, though his movements were slow, as his suit weighed his already hefty bulk of a body down.

‘Ah ah aaaah,’ the captain teased, flipping the clear case up and revealing the button. ‘Lots of bombs down there, all in one place and ready to blow, I’d stay back if I was you.’

As the captain paced around the room backwards, avoiding Bog, the two henchmen slowly came round and stood up.

‘Hey boss, he’s got the trigger,’ pointed out Jon.

‘I’m well aware of that,’ grunted Bog as he continued to edge towards the captain.

‘Shall we get him?’ asked Lew.

‘No!’ snapped Bog.

The porcelain giant knew he had to do something, but he couldn’t risk lunging for the trigger in case the captain dropped it and it went off. He decided instead to try and talk Captain Clean into giving it to him instead by using his one weakness against him.

‘Be careful Captain, there’s a lotta germs on that trigger,’ he said with a slight smirk. ‘It’s very dirty. Give it to me, I’ll look after it.’

Suds and HyJean both looked at each other with wide eyes, knowing that Bog’s words would trigger a reaction from the captain. And it did. He looked down at the trigger and gasped. There were indeed a few specs of dust and dirt on it, which Captain Clean could not stand.

‘You’re right,’ he said, pulling out a wet wipe from his utility belt and giving it a quick wipe. It should have been obvious to him what would happen, but his obsession about cleanliness often masked everything else in his mind.

‘Noooo!’ shouted everyone in the room as the captain rubbed the trigger with the wipe. And sure enough, within a few rubs, the wipe hit the red button, which glowed red and started a beeping noise in the device. The captain just looked up with wide eyes and a worried look. ‘Oops.’

The room shook as the toilets below exploded in unison, sending a raging blast throughout the whole factory. Windows smashed and walls collapsed as balls of fire burst out in every direction. The machinery in the factory floors below joined in the explosive action as they exploded and flung metal everywhere. Carefully stored chemicals added to the chaos, fuelling the fires even more. As the whole lower ground burned and crumbled in the fiery blaze, the floors above began to give way. On the third floor, Bog’s office – which was thankfully one of the farthest away from the source of the blast – began to shake and give way.

‘You idiot!’ shouted Bog as he ceased keeping his distance and lunged towards the captain, his arms flailing around.

‘Run!’ shouted HyJean, running over to help Suds up.

Lew Roll and Jon Lavvy, who were nearest to the door, quickly escaped, fleeing the office as swiftly as they could. Captain Clean, HyJean and Sergeant Suds followed, rushing to the exit with a furious Bog stomping behind them. The two henchmen ran through the door at the end of the corridor, but the staircase was engulfed in flames. They were trapped.

 

 

‘We’ve got to go in and help them,’ Faucet cried over the roar of the flames as he ushered the workers away from the blaze.

‘We can’t,’ Flush replied, squinting from the bright red glow of the burning building. ‘We’ll be burnt to a crisp.’

Faucet shook his head and held up his arms, ‘I can clear us a path.’

‘No, I can’t, I…’ Flush replied, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Until this point, Flush had always seemed to relish the idea of a bit of danger, but as the fire burned its red glow on his face, it was clear this was too much. ‘I can’t go in there, I’m sorry, I just can’t.’

‘Why not?’ asked Faucet.

‘I don’t like fire, okay!’ Flush growled.

‘Dude, it’s okay, I’ll be with you,’ said Faucet, trying to reassure him.

‘No, it’s not that… you don’t understand,’ said Flush, wrestling with his emotions. ‘My brother… he burned down our house. Almost killed me and my parents. We survived and he was arrested, but since then…’

‘Oh jeez. No wonder you don’t like fire,’ said Faucet. ‘But dude, you can do this. I know you can.’

‘What? Based on what? We’ve only known each other a week,’ Flush snapped back.

‘Well yeah, but y’know, you seem pretty cool,’ Faucet shrugged. ‘I mean you took down that dragon guy with just a pun.’

‘He had a stroke, Faucet,’ Flush replied, his usually light-hearted tone now more serious, the jokes gone in favour of a realistic view.

‘Because of your pun!’ said Faucet, desperately trying to reassure him. ‘Look, we can’t stand around here debating it all day, our friends are in there and they need us. I can’t do it on my own, I’ll have enough trouble keeping the flames back. So, are you gonna come and help me or are you gonna stand here like a wimp and be scared?’

‘I’m not being a wimp,’ Flush replied. ‘It’s a rational fear based on genuine childhood trauma.’

‘And the only way you’re ever gonna overcome that fear is to face it head on in a high-pressure environment with a friend by your side,’ said Faucet.

‘Alright, fine,’ said Flush with a heavy sigh. ‘But if we die in there, I’ll kill you.’

They made their way cautiously towards the building and Faucet raised his arms. As they got to the fiery entrance, he set off two jets with his hands. It blasted through the fire and created a hole in the flames. He turned back to Flush and nodded, and his fellow grime fighter simply nodded back.

‘Stay close,’ Faucet warned as they took a few small steps into the building.

‘Yeah, like I’m gonna wander off,’ Flush replied, but Faucet didn’t hear his words over the noise around them. The flames crackled and roared, while machinery hissed and roared all around them in a cacophony of clangs and crashes.

As they walked a little farther inside, Faucet suddenly started to feel hot. Not just from the flames. He felt hot inside. Like his insides were burning. And then he realised, he was boiling. Literally boiling. With so much water in his body, it was being heated and was starting to boil. His body felt weak, and his head was spinning. His jets faltered and started to die down as he stumbled on his feet.

‘Faucet? What’s going on? What’s happening?’ asked Flush, speaking quickly and moving in closer as the flames began to reform around them. ‘Faucet? Oh crap. Come on, mate, we’ve gotta get out of here.’

He pulled at Faucet, who understood what was going on and what they needed to do. As much as he wanted to continue to try and save his fellow grime fighters, there was no way they’d make it through reception, let alone up to the office. He focused his energy on keeping the jets of water going so that they could turn around and make it out safely. Once they were out of the door, Faucet let out a pained groan and fell forward. Flush caught him and wrapped one of Faucet’s arms around his shoulders, carrying him away from the building.

‘Cap… the others,’ Faucet whimpered, glancing back at the crumbling factory.

‘They’ll be okay,’ Flush replied, though his words sounded uncertain.

As if on cue, there was a faint smashing sound from high up, and then a stream of pink goo came pouring out of the broken window, like a bubblegum waterfall. It landed on the floor and built up into a large, bubbly mound of goo.

 

 

‘Okay, I think that should be a thick enough cushion to land on,’ said Suds, looking down from the window above at the pillow of goo below.

The captain looked back and saw Bog getting closer. He was advancing towards them with a rage almost as fiery as the flames around them. The porcelain armour was his undoing though, as he moved slowly, and his heavy footsteps stomped down on an already weakening floor. Within a few steps, the floor gave way, and Bog was dragged down into a hole as the floor crumbled away. He dropped down, clinging onto the floor in desperation, the roaring flames coming up through the floor around him as he roared out himself. Captain Clean wrestled with his conscience and then made a decision.

‘We have to go back for him,’ he said.

‘What?’ said a surprised Suds.

‘If he dies, that’s on us,’ said the captain. ‘You two get out, I’ll follow you once I’ve got the big guy.’

Suds paused, wanting to protest, but knowing it would only be wasted on the stubborn captain. He just nodded and said, ‘Good luck.’

Suds jumped out the window and HyJean looked from Bog to the captain.

‘Please try not to die,’ she said as she swiftly followed suit and jumped out of the window.

‘Gee, I thought at least one of them might have tried to stop me, or at least offered to help,’ said the captain. ‘Still, no time to monologue.’

He ran back to where Bog was still struggling to hold on. He had slipped down further and was now barely visible; only his arms and head poking up out of the hole. The captain held out his hand.

‘Grab my hand,’ he shouted over the roaring flames and crumbling structure.

Bog stared at him for a few seconds, weighing up his options. Should he fall to his fiery death or give in to his enemy? Or should he try and pull the captain down with him? What would the captain do if he did survive? Would he be arrested, or could he still complete his plan? He probably should have spent less time thinking all of this, because the floor finally gave way and he didn’t have chance to make the choice. He fell. The flames pulled him down to his doom.

‘Nooooooo!’ the captain screamed out as he watched the giant bulk of a man fall, almost in slow motion it seemed, and disappear into the red light below. He paused for a few seconds, trying to think of something he could do but too stunned to move. The rising flames quickly brought him back to reality. He stood up, ran back to the window and jumped out, landing safely on the big pile of pink goo. He regrouped with HyJean and Suds and the three heroes watched on with the crowd of employees as the factory gave in and finally went up in smoke.

 

 

In the noisy bustle of the employees discussing what had happened and the fire engines and police arriving, the squad managed to slip away, reuniting as they walked back to the taxi. The squad didn’t usually stick around for the aftermath of their victories, mainly because there was usually a lot of damage and chaos that they’d be blamed for.

‘You didn’t even think to check we were out safely?’ asked a disgruntled Flush.

‘I knew you’d be out,’ the captain said, confidently.

‘No, you didn’t,’ argued Flush.

‘Okay, I didn’t, but I wasn’t planning to set the bombs off,’ the captain admitted. ‘I was just going to use it to keep him back and talk.’

As they reached the taxi, one thought lingered in all of their minds.

‘Do you reckon he survived?’ HyJean finally asked.

‘I doubt it,’ said the captain with a defeated sigh. ‘Nobody could’ve survived that. The fall alone would’ve killed him if the fire didn’t.’

‘You tried to save him though,’ HyJean said, touching his arm comfortingly. ‘There’s nothing more you could’ve done.’

‘Except y’know, not blowing his factory up,’ Flush pointed out.

 

 

The next day in the roof of the community centre, Faucet was sat scrubbing an old toilet with so much force that he almost scraped the shine off the porcelain. He’d been quiet since their epic showdown with Bog, not really saying much to the rest of the squad the following day, instead retreating to the roof to be alone with his thoughts and a toilet. He was so focused on cleaning that he didn’t even notice HyJean come out onto the roof.

‘Hey, how are you doing?’ she asked, causing him to jump a little. She quickly added, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘No, it’s all good,’ he said, glancing up at her briefly before returning to the toilet. ‘I’m okay, thanks.’

‘This one of Cap’s training exercises?’ she asked, moving an empty box over to where he was working and sitting on it.

‘Nah, I just… I need to do this,’ he replied, quietly.

‘Nelson, whatever you do, please don’t resort to cleaning instead of talking to people,’ said HyJean. ‘We have enough of that with Cap.’

Faucet slowed down scrubbing and then stopped, putting the sponge in the bucket and letting out a heavy sigh.

‘I failed, Jean,’ he said, finally looking up at her. ‘I couldn’t get past the fire to get in and save you guys or Bog. It was boiling me up inside and I thought I was gonna die, so I ran. I’m the only one who could’ve helped put it out and I couldn’t do it. I won’t let that happen again. I need to train. I need to get better.’

‘And you think scrubbing a toilet is going to make you impervious to fire?’ HyJean replied.

‘I… I dunno… I just had to do something,’ he said quietly.

‘Nelson, being vulnerable to fire isn’t something you can overcome,’ said HyJean, leaning in a little and placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘You can’t help what they did to you. But it’s okay to not be able to do things. You can do so many things that nobody else can. You’ve just got to play to your strengths and if you can’t do something, that’s why we’re here, to help. And the fact that you tried, despite it nearly killing you, shows what a hero you are.’

‘I just… I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this,’ Faucet sighed. ‘I mean, I like beating up bad guys and spraying things and stuff, but I’m not a cleaning expert. I don’t know all the chemicals and cleaning techniques. I didn’t even know what a scourer was. I’ll never be at Mr Cane’s level.’

HyJean let out a loud laugh. ‘And you think we are? Nelson, nobody’s going to be as OCD about cleaning as Captain Clean, especially not us. But that’s not what it’s about. Clifford isn’t trying to get people to be as anal as he is. He just wants people to have a good basic level of hygiene. Washing their hands after the toilet, wiping up if they spill something and putting litter in the bin. If people did basic things like that, there’d be less germs about and the world would be a cleaner place. You don’t have to be Captain Clean Junior, just be you, do what you can and inspire others.’

‘Really?’ asked Faucet. ‘But what about you guys?’

‘We’re the same. We’re not super clean people, we’re just more experienced,’ HyJean replied. ‘Suds worked as a cleaner, I studied science and Flush – god knows what he does, but he seems to know his stuff. So yeah, we want to help make the world a cleaner place and we know our stuff, but we still eat sticky ribs with our hands and open doors without wiping the handle. Anyway, you’ll get there. Hell, it’s still only your first week. I think you’re doing great, and so does Cap.’

‘Aww, thanks Jean. I appreciate that,’ he replied, a smile now forming on his face as the weight on his shoulders became lighter. But another thought that had been weighing heavy on his mind returned, and his smile dropped again. It clearly showed on his face, as HyJean continued to look concerned.

‘It’s not just about the fire, is it?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he replied, returning to a quiet state. ‘A nurse in the hospital saw my powers and called me a freak. I mean, I don’t blame her or nothing, but it’s just… am I ever gonna have a normal life like this? What woman’s gonna want a man with this condition?’

‘Nelson, trust me, there will be someone out there who will love you for who you are,’ said HyJean. ‘And I don’t just mean that in a cliché sentimental way, I mean there’s girls out there who would love to date a superhero. Yeah, some of them will be messed up fans thinking it’s cool, but there will be some who see past it and love you for a fact that you’ve dedicated your life to helping people. If Spider-Man and Superman can get a girlfriend, I’m sure you can too.’

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right,’ said Faucet, his smile returning once more. ‘Can I… can I give you a hug?’

HyJean passed for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay, but try not to leak on me. This is a new top.’

The two grime fighters hugged, a little awkwardly at first, but melting into a friendly embrace of support. As the hug lingered a little too long, HyJean patted him on the back. ‘Come on, Cap wants us downstairs.’

They broke the hug and HyJean returned her box as she made her way to the door.

‘What for?’ asked Faucet as he gathered up his sponge and bucket, knowing that Captain Clean wouldn’t be happy if he left them lying around upstairs.

‘I don’t know, just come on,’ said HyJean impatiently.

Faucet followed her down and put his sponge and bucket away before joining the others. Unusually, they weren’t sat at the central table, they were standing in a line, all looking like they knew something he didn’t. He looked at them curiously, but each one just smiled back at him.

‘What’s going on here?’ he asked with a hint of trepidation in his voice.

‘Nelson Spigot, you have completed your initial training to a satisfactory standard,’ said Captain Clean.

‘Oh, okay’ said Faucet, tilting his head a little. ‘Just satisfactory?

‘Yes,’ the captain replied, unwilling to elaborate, for the sake of time, into the many errors that Faucet had made during his training. ‘The only thing left now is to take the pledge.’

‘Okay. What does that involve?’ he asked.

From behind his back, the captain pulled out a bottle of Pledge surface cleaner and handed it to Faucet, whispering, ‘Other brands of surface cleaner are available.’

Faucet held up the bottle and looked at it curiously, then back up at the captain.

‘I ain’t gotta polish the whole base, have I?’ asked Faucet, the trepidation returning to his voice.

‘No, no. Nothing like that,’ said the captain, motioning for Faucet to put one arm across his chest. ‘On the back of the bottle is the pledge – the code that we live by. Please read it out loud.’

‘Um, okay let’s see,’ said Faucet, holding the bottle up and reading from it. ‘Hydrochloride benzodiazepines, polysulphate…’

‘No, no, below that,’ the captain snapped.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he said as he cleared his throat. ‘I promise to make the world a cleaner place and fight against those that attempt to soil it with evil. Clean is clever. Clean is kind. Clean is good.’

Captain took the bottle and presented Faucet with a belt, featuring a buckle in the shape of a teal circle with a blue water droplet in the middle – the insignia of the squad that all of them wore on their belts.

‘Congratulations, you are now officially a grime fighter,’ said the captain proudly.

‘That ain’t a very glamorous job title,’ Faucet replied as he took off his belt and replaced it with the new one.

‘It’s not a very glamorous job,’ said the captain.

As Faucet put his belt on, he smiled for many reasons. He was happy that he had found a bunch of people whom he could consider friends, or at least acquaintances. He was happy that he’d completed his training and joined their ranks. He was happy that the colours of the badge happened to compliment his suit. But most of all he was happy that he’d found an exciting and interesting job that allowed him to do some real good. The belt buckle may have been cheaply made, but it stood for something special: a promise to keep the city clean, not only of germs, but of crime and evil. And that’s just what he intended to do.