Let Them Eat Soap

It was a sunny morning in Filtham, which made a nice change. Usually, it was quite cloudy and glum, but the clouds seemed to have emigrated to sunnier climates to impose their shady ways on other unfortunate cities. The birds were singing and the bees were buzzing, which was probably their way of communicating with each other about how their reputations were being tainted with rumours connecting them to reports of sexual activity together. In truth, the bees had no interest in the birds. The birds secretly fancied the bees a little, but would never engage in any kind of relationship with them for fear of betrayal an getting stung.
Sergeant Suds, Flush and Faucet strolled casually down the streets of Filtham on patrol as part of Faucet’s grime fighting training, keeping a lookout for any signs of trouble. There weren’t often spontaneous bursts of trouble in the city, but Captain Clean thought it necessary as part of their service. Occasionally there would be the odd bout of non-sanitation themed crime, when they would intervene just to give them something to do. The morning was unusually quiet, with the only sound coming from Flush as he slurped at the milkshake he’d picked up from Happy Happy Burger as his breakfast – he claimed it was one of his five a day since it was strawberry flavour. The grime fighters quickly learnt why the streets were so deserted. Silhouetted against the glowing morning sun ahead, they could see a group of people lumbering lazily towards them. As the small crowd got closer, the grime fighters could make out seven or eight people – they were too lazy to count – walking in a zombie-like state towards them, brandishing books, magazines and leaflets in their hands like a hoard of drunken salespeople.
‘Oh no,’ sighed Suds as he caught sight of them.
‘What are they?’ asked Faucet, squinting to get a better look at them. He saw their eyes all had a green tint and their skin looked an unhealthy shade of something. ‘Are they zombies?’
‘Worse,’ Flush said. ‘They’re Avacs.’
‘Avacs?’ Faucet repeated, with a confused look on his face.
‘Anti-vaxers. People who are against vaccinations,’ Suds explained. ‘Only these ones have been brainwashed by an extremist group run by idiots that have started hypnotising people. They use some kind of drug to make them susceptible, but it also heightens their adrenaline and leaves them in this mindlessly aggressive state.’
‘Okay, but how do we stop them?’ Faucet asked.
‘Avac spray,’ Suds said, taking out a few small spray bottles of liquid – the kind that usually have samples of perfume in – and showed them to Faucet. ‘HyJean created an antidote that gives their brain a kick, like clearing the cache on a computer. One spray knocks them out and when they wake up, they’re back to normal again.’
‘I could use some of this after a night out,’ Faucet chuckled
Suds tossed one of the bottles over to Flush, who didn’t notice it. The bottle flew past him and smashed on the floor, expelling the liquid onto the concrete floor.
‘What are you doing?’ Flush cried.
‘Why didn’t you catch it?’ Suds replied.
‘You didn’t tell me you were going to throw it,’ said Flush.
‘I thought that was pretty evident by the fact I was holding them and we’re about to use them,’ Suds argued.
‘Uh guys, they’re getting pretty close,’ Faucet said nervously.
‘Well, I’ve only got one bottle left now, so we can’t risk wasting any,’ Suds explained. ‘We’ll have to round them up first.’
‘How do we do that?’ Faucet asked.
‘The old fashioned way,’ Suds grinned. He held up his fists and Flush held up his toilet chain whip.
As the lolloping group of brainwashed anti-vaxxers reached them, some started slashing leaflets through the air, harnessing the cruel threat of paper cuts, while others threw badges and swung heavy books around. A leaflet proclaiming the connection between vaccinations and the rise in Autistic children flew across the air and plastered itself on Facuet’s face. He tore it off and retaliated by smacking the thrower square in the jaw. Alongside Suds, he managed to contain the group into a small enough circle so that Flush could swing his whip around and lasso them together. Tightening the whip, he called over to Suds, ‘Now!’
Suds pulled out his little bottle of antidote and started spraying each of the Avacs. One by one, they turned dizzy and passed out, until they all slumped down onto the ground.
‘Nicely done,’ said Suds as he eyed up the captured gang at their feet. ‘Come on, let’s move them over to the pavement out of the way.’
Between them, they managed to drag the unconscious group over to the pavement, untying them and propping them up against the wall. Faucet was in an excitable mood following his first eventful patrol and positioned one of the men’s hands in his trousers with a snigger.
‘Faucet, don’t be so immature,’ said Suds as he spotted the setup.
‘Yeah, don’t be so immature,’ repeated Flush with a smirk.
When Faucet turned to reply, he saw Flush positioning an unconscious man’s head so it reasted in the cleavage of an unconscious woman.
‘Honestly,’ Suds sighed as he shook his head.

**

Meanwhile several miles away, The Driver was whizzing through the city, taking Captain Clean to his next mission.
‘Okay, run through it one more time,’ the captain asked HyJean over the phone.
‘I’ve already told you twice,’ she groaned. ‘Have you not been listening?’
‘Yes, of course I have,’ he lied, ‘but just tell me again so that everyone is up to speed with what’s going on.’
‘What do you mean, everyone? You’re on your own.’
‘I’m not. I’m uh… I’m with The Driver, and he’d like to know what’s going on, wouldn’t you?’ the captain said, tapping The Driver on the shoulder and winking.
‘Don’t get me involved with this boss,’ argued the Driver.
‘Alright, whatever,’ said HyJean. ‘A guy calling himself Hugh Bend has been terrorising people at Spendmore shopping centre, hitting people with plastic pipes. Apparently, he was fired from a hardware store in the shopping centre last week and now he’s taking it out on innocent customers. You need to get in there and stop him before it gets too violent.’
‘Right, got it, thanks. I’ll be in touch,’ said the captain, hanging up and pocketing his phone. He chuckled and said casually to The Driver, ‘Women huh.’
Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Captain Clean. ‘Are we here?’
The Driver slowly turned around to face the captain. He’d always seemed a nice chap – friendly, chatty, liked a bit of banter – but now The Driver looked deadly serious, like someone had just spoiled a movie he was watching by telling him who the killer was.
‘Listen Captain, I’ve put up with a lot of crap from you and your guys – late callouts, blood stains on the seats, being shot at – but one thing I will not tolerate in this car is sexist comments. You get me?’
Captain Clean looked a little stunned and felt more than a little embarrassed. He nodded and apologised. The Driver turned back to the wheel and carried on driving.
‘I mean it, don’t be dissing my gal Jean. She’s a good woman,’ he said as he started to drive off again, before adding, ‘and she’s got a nice set of knockers too.’
The taxi pulled up in a side road just down the road from Spendmore shopping centre, and the captain thanked the driver before climbing out into the quiet road. Captain Clean never liked to get out right by the crime scene, as he felt being seen arriving by taxi might lose him some credibility. It seemed surprisingly calm, he thought, as he headed towards the shopping centre.
When he got to the door, he found that the police had already arrived. A young couple caught the captain’s attention. One was a guy in his late teens, dressed in a bright white outfit with a red, white and blue striped mask and matching hair, with an impossibly perfect wispy quiff that looked like it had just been squeezed from a giant tube of toothpaste. The other was a girl who looked slightly younger. She was wearing a white leotard with “Brush ‘Em Baby” printed on the back, long blue boots and matching blue gloves. Her hair was turquoise in colour, shaved short on one side and very long on the other, flowing over her head, down her face and splashing onto her shoulders like a silky, minty waterfall. Some may have mistakenly thought she was on her way to perform at Eurovision, but her demeanour clearly showed that she was not the sort of person that watched Eurovision, let alone perform in it.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Captain Clean. ‘Who are you?’
‘We’re the Dental Duo,’ said the one with the whispy quiff. He had a deep voice, but he was surprisingly charming.
‘I’m Floss,’ said Floss in a surprisingly Scouse tone that suggested aggression even if none was intended, ‘and this is TB.’
‘TB?’ asked the captain. ‘As in tuberculosis?’
‘Huh? No, as in toothbrush,’ said a puzzled TB. ‘Why, what’s a tuberculosis?’
‘Never mind that,’ said the captain, ‘What are you doing? Where’s Hugh Bend?’
‘We stopped him,’ said Floss with a proud smile.
‘You stopped him?’ asked the captain.
‘Yeah, we’re superheroes, just like you,’ said Floss. ‘The Sanitary Squad inspired us.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said the captain. ‘You can’t just decide to become grime fighters.’
‘Why not?’ asked Floss, putting her hands on her hips in a tone of dissatisfaction.
‘Yeah, why can’t we be heroes?’ asked TB, crossing his arms.
‘Because you need training and experience and permission from the council,’ the captain explained. ‘Look, the city already has heroes to deal with this sort of thing, so please just leave it to the professionals.’
‘What about when you go on holiday?’ asked TB.
‘I don’t go on holiday,’ replied the captain.
‘Maybe if you did, you’d be less cranky,’ said Floss sarcastically.
‘I’m not cranky!’ shouted the captain.
‘Good morning, Mr Clean,’ said Chief Inspector Dovedale who had appeared behind them.
‘I’m not Cranky!’ repeated Captain Clean as he turned around.
‘I never said you were,’ said the inspector.
‘Oh, sorry Chief Inspector, I didn’t know it was you,’ said a slightly embarrassed captain. ‘Has Mr Bend been reprimanded?’
‘Yes, he’s on his way to prison as we speak,’ he nodded.
‘Very good. But tell me, don’t you think these kids should be focussing on their studies instead of trying to be heroes?’
‘We finished school 2 years ago!’ pitched in Floss.
‘There are universities!’ hissed the captain.
‘To be fair Mr Clean, they’re doing this in their spare time, and they are pretty good at it,’ said the inspector, adding quietly, ‘There’s certainly less destruction.’
Floss and TB gave a smug smile at Captain Clean, who looked annoyed that the Chief Inspector hadn’t given him the support he’d hoped for.
‘Whatever,’ he said, making a mental note to speak to the council and try to get them stopped. He didn’t fancy calling The Driver so soon after he’d been dropped off, so he went inside the shopping centre to get a drink and have a look in the bathroom store.

**

‘Everything go okay?’ asked HyJean as Captain Clean returned to the base carrying a bag of cleaning products.
‘What? Uh, yeah… great, all sorted’ stuttered the captain as he quickly made for his office. He didn’t want to mention that someone else had caught the villain, as it might make her think less of him. Although, to be fair, she didn’t think all that much of him as it was.
HyJean was sat at her computer as usual. Flush was sat next to her, his feet up on the desk as he munched away at a packet of crisps. He watched as Suds came into the base, gave Mary a bunch of flowers and kissed her on the cheek, before leaving to catch up with the captain.
‘Hello, Casanova’s back,’ muttered Flush. HyJean just murmured as she typed, only half listening. Flush continued anyway. ‘See, that’s the kind of relationship I’d like to have: the romance, the sweetness.’
‘What about that girl you’re seeing, Laurel was it?’ asked HyJean.
‘Oh yeah, her. Well, let’s just say our relationship is more…’ he looked at the packet of crisps and smirked, ‘Hot and spicy.’
‘Ugh, thanks for that image,’ said HyJean, looking around briefly to give him a dissatisfied look.
‘So, here’s a question,’ Flush began.
‘I think I see where this is going,’ interrupted HyJean.
‘If you were to describe your relationship with Dean as a crisp flavour…’
‘Yep, you went there.’
‘What flavour would you be?”
‘I don’t know Flush,’ she sighed, ‘it’s not something I’ve put much thought into, and I’m trying to work.’
‘Come on, it’s just a bit of fun. Is it plain?’
‘No.’
‘Salty? Sweet and sour? Flaaamin’ hot?’
‘No!’ HyJean finally snapped.
‘Alright, fair enough,’ said Flush, holding his hand up in surrender.
Not one to give in, he gradually started eating his crisps a little louder, leaning in to HyJean to make sure she heard every bite. Crunch. Crunch! CRUNCH!
‘Okay, fine!’ she said, throwing aside her computer mouse and leaning back for a few moments to think of an answer. ‘Okay, I’ve got it.’
‘Go on then,’ said Flush, keen to hear her response.
‘We’re salt and vinegar.’
‘Salt and vinegar?’ Flush said with a raised eyebrow. It was not the type of answer he’d been expecting. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Because we both love chips,’ HyJean said with a shrug.
Flush groaned.
‘Oh just shut up and finish your crisps before Cap sees you,’ she said, turning back to her computer. ‘And don’t spill any or I’ll show you hot and spicy.’
Meanwhile, in Captain Clean’s office, the captain was removing his mask and cape while Sergeant Suds leaned against the wall and quizzed him on his morning’s work.
‘How’d it go with the shopping centre guy?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yeah, it was… okay,’ the captain replied, trying to be as vague as possible.
‘I know that tone,’ said Suds, who had worked with the captain long enough to recognise when his boss was hiding something. ‘Come on, what happened?’
‘Well, it was… what I mean is,’ he sat down and sighed. ‘There were these two kids there in masks, they’d already caught him before I got there.’
‘What?’ asked a surprised Suds.
‘They called themselves the Dental Duo, said we inspired them.’
‘Hm, that’s kind of nice.’
‘Yeah, but we’re the heroes, Suds. We don’t need kids running around doing our job.’
‘Have you told HyJean?’
The captain just shook his head.
‘Why not?’ asked Suds.
‘Because, she thinks I sorted it myself,’ he explained with a tone of desperation. ‘I don’t want to admit that two kids are doing the job better than us.’
‘Maybe we should look at recruiting them?’ Suds suggested. ‘Or at least keeping an eye on them.’
‘No, we’ve got enough going on with Faucet it is. I don’t know. Look, let’s go out there or they’ll wonder where we are,’ said the captain, before adding, ‘and don’t tell them about the Dental Duo.’
‘Fine,’ agreed Suds. ‘But I want a week off patrol duty for my silence.’
The captain frowned at him, before letting out a defeated sigh. ‘Fine.’

**

Captain Clean and Sergeant Suds joined the rest of the squad in the main room, where they were now all stood in a huddle looking at something.
‘What’s up?’ asked the captain.
‘This just arrived, slipped under the door,’ said HyJean, turning and handing him a piece of paper with a note that appeared to have been written in blood.
‘Call now before it’s too late. And there’s a number with it,’ the captain read out loud, before handing the note to Suds. ‘Who sent this?’
‘We don’t know,’ said HyJean.
‘Ah, it’s probably just some marketing scam,’ said Flush.
‘Will, it’s written in blood,’ Suds pointed out.
‘Well, you know how desperate they’re getting,’ he shrugged.
‘Do you think we should call the number?’ asked Faucet. ‘Or is it some kind of trap?’
‘Yes, to both,’ said the Captain. ‘But there’s only one way to find out.’
Captain Clean pulled out his phone, which was at least ten years old. It was small and robust, the sort with a keypad that required you to press numbers several times to form letters in texting. With his life so focused on fighting grime, the captain had neglected to keep up with technology, and was perfectly content with using his antiquated phone. However, HyJean had other ideas.
‘Don’t use that,’ she said, waving it away. ‘There’s two sevens in this number, I’m not sure that phone can handle it. I’ll do it through the computer so that we can track the number.’
They moved over to the computer desk and HyJean pulled up her phone recording and tracking software, before dialling the number. It rang for a few seconds and then the screen started glitching, with random numbers and boxes flashing on the screen.
‘What’s happening?’ asked the captain.
‘I don’t know,’ said HyJean, panicking slightly as she tapped keys at random, ‘I think someone’s hacking my computer.’
Suddenly, the screen froze and then a window popped up with a video playing.
‘Hello caller, you’re live on the air,’ said a voice in the video. A young man with dark skin, thick glasses and short, wiry white hair walked into the shot and smiled menacingly at the camera. ‘Thanks for calling. I needed your location so I could access your network and hack this computer. I much prefer talking face to face, don’t you?’
‘Who are you?’ asked the captain. ‘What do you want?’
‘What’s the matter Captain Clean, don’t you recognise me?’
‘No, I don’t, who are you?’
‘Are you sure? Look closer.’
‘I don’t know who you are.’
‘Listen to my voice Cap. Look at my face. You must recognise me!’
‘I keep telling you no! Just stop messing about and tell me who you are!’
‘Well, isn’t that nice. You don’t even recognise your former sidekick?’
At this, Captain Clean was taken aback. Memories suddenly seemed to flash before his eyes like a firework going off inside a microwave. The rest of the squad just looked at the captain, waiting for his reaction.
‘It can’t be,’ said Captain Clean. ‘Tommy Cotton?’
‘Johnny! Johnny Cotton! Even after all these years you still can’t get it right!’ he groaned. ‘Only now I go by the name Bacteria Boy. You’ll see why shortly.’
‘What do you want from me?’ asked Captain Clean.
‘I want revenge!’ shouted Bacteria Boy. ‘I’m going to do to you what you did to me: take away the only good thing I ever had. Which is why the two missing members of your team will be the first to try my new experiment.’
Captain Clean looked around and saw the rest of the squad were all stood around him. HyJean, Sergeant Suds, Faucet and Flush. Even Mary was sat in her office, audibly tapping away at her computer.
‘What are you talking about? All my team are here,’ the captain said, turning back to the computer.
‘Oh really? Then who are these two?’ Bacteria Boy said with a snarl.
Budd turned the camera, revealing Floss and TB tied up in chains, mouth taped shut, and dangling above a large, oversized petri dish filled with bubbling, wriggly clumps of thick, gooey liquid.
Captain Clean turned to his team and whispered, ‘The idiot thinks they’re part of the team. He must’ve seen me talking to them this morning.’
‘Who are they’ asked HyJean.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said the captain, trying to brush it off. ‘The more important question is what are we going to do?’
‘Let him think he’s right,’ suggested Suds. ‘If he doesn’t know about the rest of us, then we’ll have an advantage.’
Captain Clean turned back to the screen and addressed his former sidekick.
‘Let them go, Bacteria Boy’ he said confidently.
‘Very poor choice of words,’ came the reply off screen.
There was a click, and suddenly Floss and TB started hurtling towards the petri dish.
‘NO!!!’ shouted the whole of the Sanitary Squad in unison.
The two young heroes stopped with a jolt mid-air, dangling mere feet above the dish. They continued their muffled screaming and whimpering as they swayed with the motion of the chain.
‘Ooh, that was a close one,’ Bacteria Boy chuckled. ‘They almost fell into my new flesh-eating bacteria. I call it bacterium flesheatium.’
‘How original,’ muttered Flush.
‘Just tell us what you want,’ said HyJean, who was getting fed up with all the theatrics.
‘I want you to send me Captain Clean,’ said Bacteria Boy. ‘If you do, their lives will be exchanged for his. You have until 8 o’clock to make your decision Captain, and then it’s bath time.’
Bacteria Boy gave one last little wave to the screen, then the video went black and the screen returned to its default display of the desktop.
‘What’s the plan Cap?’ asked Suds immediately.
‘Don’t worry, I know him,’ the captain said calmly. ‘I’ll be able to talk him round.’
‘And who are those two kids?’ asked HyJean.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Cap awkwardly. ‘Well, they’re two kids pretending to be heroes. They were at Spendmore this morning trying to help, but I told them to go home.’
Suddenly the screen turned back on behind them and Bacteria Boy appeared once again.
‘I forgot to tell you, I’m in the school sports hall at St Elvis Secondary School. I thought it’d be appropriate. See you soon!’
The video once again switched itself off and the squad resumed their conversation.
‘Why is he in a school?’ asked Faucet.
‘And more to the point, how is he in there without anyone seeing him?’ asked Flush.
‘It’s half term,’ HyJean pointed out.
‘And he’s there because that’s the school he used to go to when I met him,’ added the captain.
‘So how exactly do you know him?’ asked Suds.
Captain Clean paused for a moment, looking at each of their curiosity-filled faces and sighed.
‘I think it’s time I told you all how this whole Sanitary Squad thing started out,’ he said.
‘What about the kids?’ asked Faucet.
‘He said we’ve got until 8 o’clock,’ said the captain. ‘That’s plenty of time. Everyone, take a seat.’
The squad took their seats at the central table. Even Mary had wandered in to join them, sensing an opportunity to do nothing for a while and call it work. HyJean put her hand up, ‘Um, I already know the story, can I be excused?’
‘It was ten years ago to this very day, which is very coincidental,’ began Captain Clean, ignoring HyJean’s request. She sat down with the others and sighed, knowing how much the captain enjoyed telling this story and how long he could drag it out for. ‘I had a relatively normal life working in a biscuit factory, packing boxes.’
‘What kind of biscuits?’ asked Faucet. ‘Was it custard creams? I love them.’
‘No, I was on the plain digestives line.’
‘Wow, living the dream,’ said Flush sarcastically.
‘Anyway, one day I got a phone call. The worst phone call of my life.’
‘Was it one of those accident helpline ones like I had the other day?’ asked Mary.
Captain Clean shook his head sorrowfully. ‘No Mary, it was much worse. The call was from my brother, telling me to come to the hospital urgently.’

**

Clifford Cane arrived at the hospital and after several enquiries, found his brother on ward three. His brother looked very tired and very sad. His eyes were swollen from what had clearly been a long night with a lot of crying. Clifford quietly hugged his brother.
‘Howard, what is it? What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘It’s Sarah, she’s…’ Howard paused for what seemed like an eternity, then finally gave in and admitted in a quiet voice, ‘dead,’
‘What? How? When? Why?’ asked Clifford all at once, looking down at his niece in the hospital bed.
‘She was coming home from school and got hit by a car,’ his brother explained. ‘We rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late, she was gone.’
The two brothers stood in silence for a while, one crying and the other processing the information of his niece’s death over and over in his head, until finally his mind reached the only logical conclusion it could come to.
‘It wasn’t the car that killed her Howard,’ said Clifford in a dark, serious tone.
‘It was Cliff, she was hit by the car,’ said his brother, a little confused.
‘No, Howard,’ said Clifford, shaking his head. ‘The car may have hit her, but she was slowly being killed long before that.’
‘Huh? What are you talking about?’
‘Germs, Howard!’ Clifford said as he punched the palm of his hand.
‘Germs?’ asked a confused Howard, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
‘Yes, that’s what really killed her. Howard, have you seen the state of the school toilets? They’re awful.’
‘What? How do you know?’
‘At one of the school plays I had to go and the boys’ toilets were out of order,’ Clifford explained. ‘But I did some investigating and do you know how many kids washed their hands after using the toilets? Less than half! Half the school kids are wandering around spreading germs.’
‘Wait, how do you know this?’
‘I set up some cameras.’
‘You set up cameras in a school toilets? Cliff, you could get arrested for that!’
‘Not in the cubicles, just by the sink. Look it doesn’t matter, it proved my point. The toilets are riddled with germs. And the school corridors, they’re disgusting. And let’s face it, your home isn’t exactly spotless either.’
‘Is this your deranged way of trying to comfort me?’ asked Howard, who by now was starting to get annoyed at his brother’s bizarre response.
‘And then when she has a little bump, they bring her here, the cess pit factory full of bacteria and sickness and germs. No wonder people keep dying in hospitals; they’re filthy!’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ asked Howard, now visibly angry at his brother’s random tirade. ‘She was hit by a car Clifford, that’s what killed her, not germs!’
‘Well maybe you’ve been brainwashed by the doctors, Howard, but I know the truth.’
He let go of his brother and started pacing around Sarah’s bed, talking loudly so that the rest of the ward could hear. Some of them listened, curious, whilst others closed the curtains around the beds – which anyone who’s ever stayed in a hospital will know is a highly ineffective way of drowning out noise. If anything it seems to amplify the noise from outside.
‘I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Howard, this city is dangerously unclean,’ said Clifford, still pacing around the ward. ‘It’s not just people not washing their hands. It’s all sorts. Littering, spitting on the floor, coughing without covering their mouth, spilling stuff and not cleaning it up. It’s a mess! The world is unclean and I won’t rest until Sarah’s death has been avenged! I will make this right Howard, I will make this city clean!’
Before long, the shouting had alerted the hospital staff, who came marching over and grabbed Clifford’s arms. He pulled away an turned to one of the few people who seemed to be listening to him – a grey haired woman with small round glasses, who was comforting a young boy in the bed next to her.
‘You’ve got to listen to me,’ said the captain, almost pleading with her. ‘The dirt! The germs! The bacteria! It’s going to take over! We need to stop it!’
Before he could say anymore, Clifford was dragged off the ward and thrown out of the hospital into the cold, dark night. Howard’s face was now bright red, matching his weary eyes. He held up his hand and smiled awkwardly.
‘Sorry about him. He’s just in shock,’ he explained, before adding, ‘He’s also an idiot.’

**

There was a moment of silence as those gathered around the table thought about the death of a young girl that most of them didn’t know. It’s often hard for your brain to know how to feel in this situation. While it’s sad that someone has died, it’s difficult to make a connection when it was someone you’d never met and many years ago. It’s like trying to mourn for the passengers of the ill-fated Titanic. The only possible emotional connection you can make is a slight sinking feeling in your stomach.
‘Her death began my obsession with cleanliness and I started going to extraordinary lengths to protect myself and my family – although they wanted very little to do with me after that,’ continued Captain Clean. ‘But the harder I tried, the more I noticed that those around me were ruining my efforts, spreading germs and living unhygienic lives with seemingly no care for other people’s wellbeing. The world was unclean. The world was against me. I knew I was right, and I believed I could make a difference. I created online campaigns, spoke out in the city centre, and wrote countless blog posts trying to make people see just how unclean and unsafe the world was. But they just dismissed me and called me a crackpot and a ‘health nut’ and some other names that I’m not allowed to say until after nine o’clock. That’s when I realised that people weren’t going to change their ways voluntarily. I had to do something drastic. I had to go to Denmark.’
The captain had built it up to a dramatic reveal, and most of the squad sat looking intrigued and eager to hear more, except for HyJean, who already knew the story, and Faucet, who put his hand up.
‘Okay, sorry to interrupt,’ interrupted Faucet, ‘but do you mind if I grab a quick snack to eat while I listen? I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a long story.’
Captain Clean nodded and Faucet went to grab a snack from the kitchen.
‘In that case, I’ll make us all a drink,’ said Mary and left to join Faucet in the kitchen.
The captain sat motionlessly in complete silence, as if on pause, waiting for them to return. After a few minutes, they came back. Faucet had a bowl of cereal and Mary had a tray of tea and biscuits. She placed it down and the team took their drinks, all except for the captain who was ready to continue his story.
‘I had to go to Denmark,’ he repeated to remind everyone where he was in his story. ‘I needed to get away and think how I was going to help make the world cleaner, so I went to the cleanest city in the world.’
‘Isn’t Denmark a country?’ asked Faucet.
‘Yes, that’s what I said, the cleanest country in the world. I didn’t know why exactly, but I believed that if I went there, I would find the answers I was looking for. After a few days of sightseeing and shopping, I found myself in a bar late at night. A man sat at the bar enquired as to why I looked so glum, so I told him what had happened to Sarah, and he listened intently. He understood my pain, having recently lost his pet hamster. When I’d finished my story, and he’d finished his pint, he told me to a cave inside the Helligdomsklipperne rocks on the island of Bornholmand find a man called Sæbemand.’
‘Sæbemand? What kind of a name is that?’ asked Flush.
‘I don’t know. It’s a Danish name,’ said the captain.
‘It says here it translates as soap man,’ said HyJean, tapping away on her phone.
‘Well, that figures,’ said the captain. ‘The next day I boarded a boat to travel to Bornholmand. It wasn’t a great journey. I was violently seasick for most of it. When I arrived, I began searching the cliff for caves, trying to find the man I’d been sent to. I spent hours looking. I now wished I’d asked the man in the bar for more specific directions. But anyway, I eventually found the right cave, illuminated inside by the flickering glow of a flame. I ventured in and found a figure sat by a fire. He was little old Danish man, with an impressive grey beard that made him look very wise and made up for the lack of hair on his head. What surprised me most of all was how clean the place was – despite it being an undecorated cave made of rock, the walls were perfectly smooth and there was not a speck of dust to be seen. He’d made himself a little home inside the cave, with books, food, a working toilet and shower, and a television.’
‘Wait a minute, how did he get electricity out there in a cave?’ asked Faucet.
‘I don’t know, he just did,’ said the captain, now getting a bit irate with all the interruptions.
‘Did Stable Man have an internet connection?’ asked Mary.
‘Sæbemand,’ corrected HyJean. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter, can we just get on with the story? There are two kids being held hostage and a kid who is probably committing crimes as we speak.’
‘Exactly, thank you Jean,’ said Captain Clean. ‘He didn’t say a word as I entered the cave. I introduced myself and he said something back to me. Sadly, he appeared to only speak Danish, which I did not, so I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Luckily, I had an app on my phone that could record and translate what he said. It turns out he’d said “pardon”. I told my story to Sæbemand, via the translator app. I told him how I’d worked in a biscuit factory and how Sarah had died from a supposed allergic reaction, but that I knew the truth, that it was germs that killed her, and how in the hospital…’
‘Cap, we already know all this bit, carry on,’ said HyJean, who was now sitting with her head in her hands, like she was trying to keep her impatience from exploding out of her brain.
‘Right, yes, sorry. Anyway, he told me that he could help. He said he would teach me the ancient art of…’ he paused again for dramatic effect, ‘… sanitation.’
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ interrupted Faucet. ‘Sanitation’s not an artform. Is it?’
‘It used to be, many years ago. But over time it became normal practice and lost its importance. Although, there are those in the far east and certain parts of Wales that still study sanitation.’
‘So, then what happened?’ asked Mary, who by this point was so engaged that she’d let half a biscuit drop into her tea. She leaned in to listen intently to the rest of the story.
‘He said I could stay with him for a week to learn sanitation – well, he said it via translation, but I don’t need to keep saying that or it’ll just make things longer pointlessly. I asked if he could recommend a good hotel, but he insisted I stay in his cave with him – said it was part of the training. Personally, I just think he was bored and wanted some company.’
‘So what is the art of sanitation?’ asked Faucet.
‘I’m getting to that!’ snapped the captain. ‘He said there were three key principles to the art of sanitation.’

**

Inside the cave, Clifford sat on the immaculate floor cross legged, since there was only one chair, listening to the old man – or rather the app’s translation of his words.
‘There are four principles to sanitation,’ Sæbemand explained. ‘The first is: clean toilet, clean mind.’
‘And what are the other three?’ asked Clifford, impatiently.
‘All in good time,’ the old man said with a gentle nod.
Sæbemand stood up and gestured for Clifford to follow him. They walked down the cave, which was surprisingly spacious and through an alcove into a room which housed a dirty old toilet in the centre of it. It looked ancient, with layers of grease, dirt and mould all over it.
‘Clean,’ said Sæbemand.
‘Doesn’t look clean to me,’ said Clifford.
‘No, you clean,’ the old man replied. He pointed to a tap on the side of the wall, with a toothbrush and a bucket of soapy water next to it.
‘You can’t be serious?’ said Clifford. ‘That’ll take ages to get all that crap off.’
‘Clean toilet, clean mind,’ said Sæbemand, turning away and walking off, as if he knew Clifford would not question him again.
‘Can I at least have a sponge?’ Clifford called after him, but there was no reply.
Clifford sighed and moved forward for a closer look at the toilet. It was so caked in filth that the toilet itself was barely visible. It looked more like someone had made a sculpture of a toilet out of mud and dirt. He knew it was pointless to argue. He’d come here to learn, and who was he to question the man’s methods. He picked up the bucket and toothbrush and took it to the toilet. Kneeling down, he started work on scrubbing the toilet. It was not an easy task. He scrubbed for minutes and barely seemed to make any difference, but after a while the grime started to give and the white of the toilet started to poke through. He had no idea how long he spent cleaning the toilet, but he was sure it was over an hour. Scrubbing, refilling the water, scrubbing some more. By the time he’d finished, he was sweating and his arms were aching. But it was clean.
‘I’m done!’ he called out, though even he wasn’t sure if he meant done with the toilet or the whole sodding journey.
Sæbemand returned, sipping a cup of something that vaguely smelled like tea as he came to inspect Clifford’s work. He took one look at the toilet and without any hesitation, he said ‘Mind not clean yet, still dirty.’
Clifford looked back at the toilet he’d just spent ages scrubbing tirelessly. He could not see any dirt on it. If anything, it seemed like a miracle that it was so shiny.
‘What? But you haven’t even looked at it properly, it’s clean, look!’ Clifford protested.
‘Not clean, still dirty,’ the app translated in what Clifford found to be an annoyingly deadpan tone.
Before Clifford could argue any more, Sæbemand simply turned and walked away. Clifford let out a heavy sigh and looked closely at the toilet, inspecting every inch of it. He found a little patch of dirt on the underside of the toilet and gasped.
‘But how could he… he didn’t even… grrrr,’ he lathered up his toothbrush and got back to work, wiping away the crusty patch of dirt. He then inspected the toilet again, looking intently at every curve, joint and angle to make sure it was clean. Once he was satisfied, he called the old man back. Again, he looked at the toilet and without any hesitation, proclaimed ‘Mind not clean yet, still dirty’ and walked off. Clifford was starting to get angry now. He looked over the toilet as thoroughly as he could, leaning in and scanning every inch of it. He found a few small specs here and there that were barely even visible. He huffed and wiped them off, before giving the toilet one last careful look over. Satisfied that there wasn’t a millimetre of unclean surface, he called the old man back.
‘Good. Very clean,’ said Sæbemand as he looked down at the toilet, much to Clifford’s relief. ‘Now come, eat.’
Sæbemand invited Clifford to sit with him at a small table in a corner of the main part of the cave. There was only one chair, as he was clearly not used to visitors, but he had placed an upturned wooden barrel for his apprentice to sit on. Clifford was just glad that it wasn’t a toilet. If it weren’t for nature’s call, he would have sworn off toilets for a long time. It was a small kitchen area, with a few cupboards and a rudimentary pieces of cooking equipment – a small camping gas burner, a mini fridge and a slightly larger freezer. Clifford wondered how Sæbemand got his food, and for that matter, how he got any supplies, as he never seemed to leave the cave and the locals had made him out to be quite the hermit.
‘What do you for food?’ he asked as he sat down on his barrel.
‘I fish,’ Sæbemand explained as he finished cooking some fish on the gas burner. ‘And I have a young man that brings me fruit and vegetables once a week.’
‘I see,’ said Clifford.
The scent of the fresh fish cooking filled the cave and Clifford began to realise how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten much while he’d been there, just a few biscuits and a sandwich he’d packed. All the cleaning had distracted him from his hunger, but now he felt it in his stomach. Sæbemand plated up the fish, along with a small portion of potatoes and vegetables, and placed it down on the table.
‘Thank you. It looks delicious,’ said Clifford, who wasted no time in tucking in.

**

‘I don’t know what kind of fish it was; he didn’t seem to know either, just kept telling me it was a fish from the sea,’ the captain continued, anticipating their question. ‘He made a little room up for me in a corner of the cave, with a mattress and a blanket. It wasn’t great, but still better than a Travelodge. The next morning, he set me to work on cleaning his bath.’
‘Wait, if this guy is so big on sanitation, why does he have so many dirty appliances?’ asked Flush.
‘I think he’d dirtied it during the night,’ the captain replied. ‘Anyway, I knew what I was doing now, or at least I thought I did.’

**

Clifford stood up and stretched his legs, looking down at the sparkling bathtub and smiling proudly at his work. It had taken him over an hour, but he’d cleaned every inch and was proud of the effort that he’d put in. He was sure Sæbemand would be impressed with his work. He walked into the main part of the cave, where the old man was sitting staring at a picture that he’d drawn on the wall, and announced he was finished. They both returned to the bathroom and Sæbemand looked down at the bath, inspecting it closely.
‘Very good,’ the app translated as he stood up and nodded. ‘Very clean.’
‘Excellent,’ smiled Clifford. ‘So, what’s lesson two.’
‘Wait,’ said Sæbemand, turning and leaving.
He returned a few seconds later with a large bucket full of thick, foul-smelling mud. Without a word, he swung the bucket towards the bath and the mud gushed out, completely covering the pristine tub, half staining the outside of the bathtub while the rest sloshed around the inside and removed any trace of having been cleaned. Clifford let out a pained gasp as he looked at the bathtub that he’d been working on for over an hour, now covered in a slimy, muddy mess, with bits of leaves, grass and who knows what else stuck to the surface.
‘Wh… but… I just cleaned it!’ he cried.
‘Lesson two, nothing is ever clean,’ said the app, as Sæbemand turned away and walked off back to his cosy part of the cave.

**

‘You’re not serious?’ asked Flush, sitting with his jaw hanging down like a broken ventriloquist dummy. ‘Did he really do that?’
‘He certainly did,’ the captain nodded. Surprisingly, there was no anger or frustration in his voice. ‘And so, I had to clean the whole thing again, that took probably another half an hour. Then he came back and did the same thing again. And again. Eventually, I decided to go and find where he was storing the buckets of mud and hid them. I probably should’ve done that earlier on, thinking about it.’
‘So, what was the point of all this?’ asked Faucet. ‘Did he explain?’
‘Eventually,’ the captain nodded. ‘But first I had another lesson to learn, which thankfully didn’t involve cleaning anything.’
‘Then can we please hurry up and get to it so we can go and save these kids,’ muffled HyJean, whose face was now planted face down on the desk in frustration.
‘That afternoon, he taught me the third lesson, which was by far my least favourite,’ the captain continued.

**

Clifford stood just outside the cave and shivered a little in the cold morning breeze. Rather than admiring the view of the gleaming sun casting its warm glow over the Danish town, his focus was instead on covering his nose and mouth as he looked down at a line of faeces that Sæbemand had laid out along a stretch of rock during the night.
‘I really need to find him a hobby,’ Clifford muttered to himself as he waited for his instructor.
Sæbemand emerged from the cave and smiled at his student.
‘What’s this for?’ asked Clifford. ‘I don’t have to eat it do I?’
Sæbemand shook his head.
‘Walk from one end to the other,’ he said, if it were the most normal request in the world, the app translating his words as usual.
‘You want me to walk over a line of poo?’ asked a stunned Clifford.
Sæbemand nodded happily. He had the usual hint of a grin that made Clifford think the old man was enjoying watching him complete these challenges a little too much.
‘What’s the purpose of this task?’ he asked.
‘Become one with faeces,’ Sæbemand explained. ‘Learn to conquer fear.’
‘I’m not afraid of poo,’ explained Clifford, ‘I just don’t like stepping in it all that much.’
‘Only when you can confront the unclean without fear can you truly conquer it,’ the old man said, pointing once again to the trail of faeces on the ground.
‘Look, I get that this is part of some programme, but I don’t see how this is going to help me fight against unsanitary people. When am I actually going to learn how to fight?’ Clifford asked.
‘You are fighting! Fighting germs!’ Sæbemand replied. ‘More important than fighting person!’
Clifford sighed and looked down at the brown trail at his feet. ‘Well, can I at least have some shoes to do this in?’
Sæbemand shook his head. Of course he wouldn’t allow shoes, thought Clifford, that would be too kind. He stared down at the lumpy brown path, a few metres in length. The smell rose up through the air and infected his nostrils. Tempting him. Taunting him.
‘Well, here goes nothing,’ he said with a grimace. He raised his left food, but then stopped in mid-air. ‘Wait, where did you get all this poo anyway?’
‘Local cows,’ was the reply. ‘And grass flavour laxatives.’
Clifford pulled a disgusted face and shook his head to try and get rid of the image in his head. He put his left foot out and stood on the poo. It was warm, which was somewhat of a relief given that the rest of his body was quite cold. But the warmth was marred by the lumpy, slimy texture and foul smell. After a brief hesitation, he put his right foot a little farther out the poo and slowly made his way along the faeces, each squelching step soaking his feet in the dirty brown sludge. He held his breath and tried to imagine it was custard or mashed potato, something less disgusting, but the pungent smell kept reminding him of the reality. He tried to occupy his mind with other thoughts, but it all lead back to poo. Eventually he got to the end of the path and stepped onto the rocky floor and exhaled wearily.
‘Thank god that’s over,’ he sighed.
He then heard Sæbemand shout something from the other end of the line and the app translated what would quickly become his least favourite word.
‘Again!’
‘Really?’ said Clifford. He tried to protest, but Sæbemand just kept shouting at him to do it again. He reluctantly complied, spending the whole filthy walk thinking of excuses he could use to not have to do the walk again. However, when he got to the other end, Sæbemand continued to bark at him to go again, refusing to let his apprentice speak. He did the walk again, and when he got to the other end, he came back again. This carried on again and again.
As much as he hated doing the walk, Clifford soon came to realise that he was now actually more frustrated at Sæbemand than he was disgusted by the poo. With each trip, he found that he was less and less troubled by the thought of what he was doing. He was slowly becoming immunised to the filthiness of the poo. Suddenly, it all seemed to make sense. He was no longer put off by the faeces, it was just like walking on snow or wet dirt – a bit awkward, but ultimately quite satisfying. He had done it. He’d overcome his “fear” and was now perfectly happy to subject himself to faecal matter.
He tried to explain this to Sæbemand when he got to the end near the cave, but the old man insisted he carry on. Again! Twenty more times.

**

‘He really made you walk on poo?!’ Mary exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ the captain nodded, without an ounce of shame.
‘Jeez, thank god you didn’t include that in my training,’ Faucet said with a sigh of relief. It then occurred to him that his training still wasn’t over. He looked around the group. ‘Wait, did you guys have to walk on crap?’
The others shook their heads, equally thankful that the captain had not subjected them to such disgusting training.
‘No, I didn’t. And I wouldn’t have joined if he’d made me,’ HyJean replied.
‘I didn’t either, though I’ve walked on faeces before when I was in the army,’ said Suds. ‘Actually, talking of poo, I’m just going to nip to the loo.’
He got up and left the room, while the others continued to mutter about the captain’s story, each expressing how disgusting they found his third task and how they would’ve gotten out of it. The captain cleared his throat, clearly having more to talk about, and they returned their attention to him. He sat silently with a slight smile on his face and the others glanced around, unsure what was happening. Finally, HyJean broke the silence.
‘Someone ask him what his next lesson was so we can finish this god damn story,’ she groaned.
‘Oh, right. What was your next lesson, Mr Cane?’ asked Faucet.
‘Well, it happened at supper time. But that night, there was no fish,’ he continued.

**

‘What’s this?’ asked Clifford as he looked down at the pearly white lump on his plate.
‘Soap,’ said the app on Clifford’s phone, as it translated Sæbemand’s single word.
‘Okay… and what do you want me to do with it?’ asked Clifford with some trepidation in his voice.
‘Eat,’ said the old man as he sat down opposite him.
‘You’re joking, right?’ asked Clifford. ‘I’m not eating that.’
‘Clean inside, clean outside,’ the app translated.
He wasn’t forceful, but something about the way the old man spoke and sat staring at Clifford told him that he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. He’d seen Sæbemand eating soap a couple of times since he’d been here, and the locals had talked about it a lot in the town, so he knew that eating soap really was a practice that his new tutor genuinely did himself. He looked at the lump of soap for a while and then let out a heavy deep sigh. Trying not to look at it, Clifford picked up the piece of soap and put it in his mouth. His mouth contorted as he tried not to be sick and spit it back out. He closed his eyes and began chewing quickly to get it over with, and when he’d swallowed it all, he opened his eyes and was surprised to see Sæbemand giggling like a mischievous schoolboy.
‘What? Why are you laughing?’ Clifford asked.
‘I can’t believe you actually ate it,’ chuckled Sæbemand, but this time in perfect English that the app didn’t bother to translate. ‘Nobody has ever eaten the soap before.’
Clifford didn’t know what he was angrier about; the fact that Sæbemand had made him eat soap as some sort of prank, or the fact that he seemingly spoke fluent English.
‘You speak English?’ Clifford asked as he took a big gulp of water to wash the taste of soap down.
‘Hm? Oh, yes,’ Sæbemand nodded happily.
‘You never told me you could talk English,’ said Clifford, crossing his arms.
‘You never asked,’ he shrugged.
‘Well… but… it should’ve been obvious!’ Clifford replied frustratedly. ‘You’ve been stringing me along for days, making me do all these ridiculous tasks and pretending your Danish.’
‘I am Danish. But I do get quite bored out here in the cave, so please, forgive my bit of fun,’ the old man said, waving it away with his hands as if that pardoned him of all sin. He saw Clifford begin to stand in frustration and gestured for him to stay seated. ‘Please, sit. I will make real supper and explain what we have been doing.’
The old Dane served up more fish with potatoes and vegetables. Clifford wondered if he ever got bored eating the same thing every day, but he didn’t think it polite to ask. He was just grateful he didn’t have to eat any more soap.’
‘The first principle of sanitation, do you remember what it was?’ asked the old man as he placed the plates down on the table.
‘It was something about a clean mind, I think,’ replied Clifford, tucking into his food.
‘Clean toilet, clean mind,’ Sæbemand replied with a smile.
‘That’s the one. Sounds like a slogan for Toilet Duck,’ Clifford said with a slight chuckle.
‘By spending those hours cleaning the toilet, you cleared your mind and were able to see the tiny specs of dirt that anyone else would miss,’ Sæbemand explained. ‘You will never get anything truly, one hundred percent clean. But by training your mind, you can see the dirt that others cannot. You must open your mind and open your eyes to the unsanitary world around us and recognise what you can do to change it.’
‘Okay, I think I see,’ said Clifford as he nibbled on his fish, still not quite buying what he was being told. ‘That sort of makes sense.’
‘And didn’t it feel good knowing you had cleaned it so well?’
‘Yeah,’ Clifford said, pausing to think how satisfied and proud he had felt looking at the pristine toilet, ‘Yeah, I guess it did.’
‘Now, the second principle, what was it?’ Sæbemand asked as he ate.
‘Oh, that was when you kept making the bath dirty again,’ Clifford remembered. ‘I’ll be honest, I was pretty hacked off by that point, so I wasn’t really listening.’
‘Second principle: nothing is ever clean,’ Sæbemand reminded him. ‘No matter how clean we get something, it will always get dirty again. That is just the way of life. But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t clean it anyway. You must have the strength and will to clean something whilst knowing that it will just get dirty again. No making excuses. If more people thought like this, then there would be less to clean.’
‘Right,’ Clifford nodded slowly. He was beginning to understand the Danish man’s way of thinking. But there was still something bugging him. ‘And the third principle, walking on the poo. What was that all about?’
‘Third principle: to get clean, you must get dirty. Some dirt is disgusting and foul, so many will not clean it. You must have the strength in your stomach and strength in your mind to fight through any discomfort or smell and clean it anyway. Only with great courage, will you clean that which others dare not.’
‘And the soap, was that part of it or was that just a joke?’ Clifford asked, with a look that showed he still hadn’t forgiven his tutor for that one.
‘Yes, very important. Fourth principle. Clean inside, clean outside,’ said Sæbemand. ‘A clean world starts with you. We cannot always rely on others to clean; we must do it ourselves and lead by example. Likewise, we cannot clean the whole world, it is impossible, so we clean what we can. If you are clean, others will notice. Some may copy by instinct; some may be inspired. That is all we can do. Clean inside your own world, outside world becomes clean.’
‘But why did I have to eat soap to learn that?’ asked Clifford, still not sure of the meaning behind the task. ‘Why couldn’t I just clean inside the cave?’
‘Cave is already clean,’ Sæbemand said with a slight frown of offence. ‘But again, you had the courage to do what was asked of you. What was necessary. First three principles mean nothing if you do not have the courage to put them into practice. And once you do, that is what inspires others.’
‘Okay, so they’re all metaphors. I get it now,’ Clifford nodded. ‘The training is about training the mind, rather than the actual cleaning process. But, could you not have explained all this to me as we went along?’
‘Yes, I suppose I could have,’ Sæbemand nodded. ‘But I was fed up with hearing your electronic voice.’
‘So, all these lessons, these principles, is this something you’ve come up with yourself?’ asked Clifford.
Sæbemand shook his head. ‘No. It is ancient knowledge, from many years ago. People used to be very clean, but as time went by and life changed, they became less clean. Some people noticed this and wondered why. This is where the principles come from. They are the reasons people lose cleanliness. They do not see it, or do not want to; they are lazy and feel it is pointless; they fear it and will avoid it at all costs; or they expect others to do it for them. Exercises were put in place to teach people and train their minds to become clean again. If you can conquer all four principles – which I believe you are on the way to doing so – then it will change your life and the way you see the world, helping make it a cleaner place for us all. And in time, more people will follow, and the world will become clean again. But for now, I think you have earned some ice cream.’
‘Really?’ said Clifford, his face lighting up. ‘What flavour have you got?’
‘Soap flavour,’ said Sæbemand. He chuckled at the sight of Clifford’s horrified face and patted him on the shoulder. ‘I am only joking. It is raspberry.’

**

‘Over the next few days, he taught me not only how to clean toilets, but how to clean my mind,’ Captain Clean explained. ‘I started eating bits of soap for breakfast, I had to scrub the toilet or bath for 4 hours a day and learnt all about the different chemicals that make up cleaning products. On the fourth day I spent two hours staring at a pool of water, which helped me to connect with the elements and find the purity and the calmness that I needed. It also made me really need a wee. On the fifth day he got me to wax a car and paint a fence. It later transpired he’d forgotten to prepare the next lesson and just stole ideas from the film The Karate Kid. On the sixth day, we ventured outside the cave and up the cliff, both of us in nothing but our underpants, battling the freezing cold weather to trek across the cliff face and find a tree, which he called the tree of health. From it, he took a single leaf and stapled it to my forehead, removing it when we got back to the cave. Come to think of it, he never actually explained the purpose of that. It was a gruelling week of tasks, but by the end I knew it was worth it. On the last day, he said we could relax, so we spent it reading a history of toothbrushes, meditating and watching reruns of Mr Bean on the television. For someone so wise and strict, he sure loved his British comedy. At the end of the week, as I was about to leave, he told me that his course cost four thousand Danish Krone – about four hundred and fifty quid at the time. I was a bit surprised by that, because he’d not once mentioned that I’d have to pay. Either way, I didn’t have that much money on me, so I had to work in the bar that I’d frequented for a few weeks to pay for it. And that was where I met Frederik. Once I’d got a bit of money, I decided to look for some martial arts training so that I could –’
‘Hold up,’ said Faucet, cutting the captain off. ‘Who was this Frederik guy?’
‘We don’t have time for this subplot,’ groaned HyJean.
‘Frederik was a regular at the bar,’ Captain Clean continued. ‘He came in most days, and we got chatting. He’d never been to England and was fascinated to hear my stories. And my accent.’
‘Now there’s a novelty,’ muttered HyJean.
‘After my shift, I’d stay, and we’d talk for ages. He was such a good listener. I told him all about Sarah and how it had led me there and what I’d been doing with Sæbemand. And he told me about his life, his family, and his job as a fishmonger. Then one night he invited me to his place for dinner. We had a lovely evening – he made stegt flæsk, which I’ve never had better – and without going into too much detail, we um… expressed our feelings for each other with a small physical gesture.’
‘You mean you kissed?’ said Flush.
‘Oh, how romantic!’ said Mary, clasping her hands together with delight.
‘So, what happened?’ asked Faucet.
‘We spent a lovely week together, getting to know each other and seeing the sights. And then at the end of the week, we shared a night together. Details of which I won’t go into. But it was at this point I knew it couldn’t last and I had to leave him.’
‘Because your mission was more important?’ asked Mary.
‘No, because he started cutting his toenails in bed. Do you know how much fungi, bacteria and dead skin is found under your toenails? One in ten people suffer from Onychomycosis.’
The squad all looked baffled by this revelation. They knew the captain was obsessed with cleanliness and that meant he rarely showed any interest in other things, including romantic relationships, but they had never realised the extent to which he cut himself off from the rest of the world in favour of living a clean life. They looked at one another, exchanging surprised glances, but the captain himself seemed unphased by this part of the story, and just continued.
‘Anyway, while I was there, I signed up to do karate – or rather I thought I did. Because of the language barrier, I accidentally signed up for karaoke. I couldn’t fight, but you should’ve heard me belting out Sweet Home Alabama. At the end of the night, I found someone who spoke English and they gave me the details for the karate lessons that took place two doors down. I went to the dojo the next day and started training straight away. Thinking about it, I probably could have come home sooner if I didn’t spend half my earnings on karate lessons. Still, it got me fit and taught me how to defend myself against the worst kind of germ: humans.’
‘Oh, thanks very much,’ said Flush sarcastically.
‘Who was your karate teacher?’ asked Mary.
‘He was a man called Bruce Payne.’
‘See, now that’s a cool name!’ said Faucet.
‘He was a few years older than me, but very disciplined and as hard as a rock. He taught me how to defend myself and how to use my opponent’s strength against them. Which was good, because I didn’t have much strength of my own. And he stapled leaves to my forehead too. I still don’t know what that was about, must be a Danish tradition. After a few months, I’d earned my yellow belt and had earned enough money to pay Sæbemand and come home.’
‘So then when you came back, you started grime fighting,’ said HyJean, trying to move the story along so they could go and rescue Floss and TB.
‘Not quite. Despite my karate lessons, I was still not a great fighter. For the next year, I committed myself to training myself up in as many martial arts as I could. I travelled the world and trained in karate, ju-jitsu, kung fu, boxing, wrestling, Taekwondo, kendo, judo, sumo, tai chi, chi tea, shin kicking, and Mongolian toe wrestling. I also took lessons in archery, fencing, rock climbing and parkour. I lifted weights, I ran, I jogged, and any time I had left, I studied chemicals, bacteria, the human body and anything else I thought was relevant.’
‘Bloody hell, was doing all that good for your health?’ asked Faucet.
‘Oh no, it was a terrible way to live. I had 2 heart attacks, broke several bones and sprained nearly every muscle in my body. But that only made me stronger… eventually.’
‘Right, so after all this, then you became Captain Clean?’ asked an exhausted HyJean, now leaning back, sprawled out in her chair and staring at the ceiling.
‘Yes. Inspired by the art of sanitation, I realised the four principles applied to crime as much as grime. Think about it,’ he said, pointing to a small whiteboard on which started writing the four principles and began explaining them. ‘People aren’t aware of how much crime there is out there, or they just ignore it. That’s the first principle. People don’t bother to fight crime because they know there’s always going to be more criminals coming along later – the second principle. They’re afraid of getting hurt, or they expect someone else to do it… it all relates back to those four principles. But these reasons shouldn’t stop us from fighting grime or crime. If we overcome those barriers and follow the principles – we’re aware of the crime, stop it even though there will be more crime, not being afraid to get hurt and to inspire others to fiht crime – then we can do something positive. We can stop crime – or at least reduce it.’
There was a moment of silence in the room as they all took this in. Faucet then leaned in to address his fellow grime fighters. ‘Is it me, or did that actually make some sense?’
‘It did,’ Flush nodded. ‘I think I get it now.’
‘So, inspired by the comic books I’d read as a child,’ the captain continued, ‘I fashioned myself a costume and became a vigilante, using toilet roll as both a symbol of my cause and a means to conceal my identity – and dignity. I reduced my hours at the biscuit factory – which wasn’t hard because they’d installed a robot to do my job whilst I was gone and didn’t think to reassign me to another position – and I started patrolling a number of local public toilets that were particularly well known for their low hygiene standards. I hid mostly, waiting until someone committed an offence so that I could jump out and have a go at them. I also adopted a deeper, rougher voice that I’d heard in a Batman film to make me sound more intimidating. I angrily encouraged people to wash their hands, pick up litter, flush the toilets and stop making out in the cubicles.’

**

Clifford sat on the toilet cubicle, his face completely wrapped in toilet roll, looking down at the gap at the bottom of the cubicle door. He watched the feet walking in and out of the toilets, studying their routes and keeping an eye out for any that didn’t go near the sinks. He’d set up some inconspicuous mirrors at the bottom of the door so he could survey the whole of the room at once, but carefully placed so as not to intrude on anyone’s privacy. It was a long, boring task, but he knew it was worth it. After what felt like hours, he spotted a pair of converse that headed straight from a cubicle towards the door, going nowhere near the sink. It was his time to strike. He kicked open the door and jumped out, pointing dramatically at the owner of the wandering converse.
‘You didn’t wash your hands!’ he shouted in a deep, gruff voice.
The room erupted in a chorus of high-pitched screams and squeals of several startled women. Some ran back into cubicles, while others started attacking Clifford, throwing things at him and batting him with their handbags to chants of ‘Pervert! Disgusting Pervert! Call security!’
The teenage girl in the converse stood frozen at the door, completely baffled by what was going on. Clifford pushed past the hysterical women and managed to get closer to her.
‘You didn’t wash your hands,’ he repeated. ‘You could be spreading untold germs around. Now go and wash your hands!’
‘Or what?’ said the girl.
‘Or I’ll cut your hands off!’ Clifford growled.

**

In the base, this moment was met with several gasps.
‘Woah, woah, wait… you cut someone’s hands off?’ asked Facuet
‘No,’ the captain replied, ‘Well, maybe once. Not her. And just the one hand. Look, it was a different time, I was in a very bad place back then. Plus, I had to assert my authority, and it worked. People take you a lot more seriously when they think you’re crazy.’

**

Back in the toilets, the teenage girl nodded and whimpered in panic and ran over to the sinks, washing her hands as thoroughly as she could. Once she was done, she held up her hands to show the masked man.
‘Good,’ Clifford nodded, ‘Now remember to always wash your hands.’
He pulled himself free of the women who were now piling themselves on him with some force and escaped out of the toilets. As he did so, he was greeted by a tall, heavyset security guard and a shorter, bespectacled police community support officer. Neither of them looked very pleased.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said the security guard. ‘Please come with us.’
Clifford was apprehended and led away before he had chance to protest. Every time he did try to speak, they cut him off and told him there’d be plenty of time to talk later. After a short walk through the shopping centre, they went through a door tucked between two shops, down a corridor and into a small office, barely big enough to fit the three of them in. They gestured for Clifford to take a seat, which he reluctantly did. The PCSO squeezed himself behind a desk and sat down, while the security guard perched himself on the edge of the desk.
‘Would you mind telling us, sir, what you were doing in the ladies’ toilets with toilet roll wrapped around your head?’ asked the PCSO in a voice that tried to be friendly but was clearly bewildered by never having said those words in that particular order before.
‘I was making sure that people were washing their hands,’ said Clifford, as though that made everything sound not at all creepy. ‘The toilet roll is a mask to hide my identity.’
‘I see,’ said the PCSO, even though he didn’t see at all. ‘Would you mind removing your… mask?’
‘I can’t,’ said Clifford, thinking quickly. ‘I wear it for religious reason.’
‘And what religion is that then?’ asked the security guard with a smirk, keen to hear the response.
‘Sanitation,’ said Clifford.
The two men look a little surprised by this response and muttered to each other quietly, questioning if sanitation really was a religion that they didn’t know about or if the mad man was having them on. They decided it was safer not to get involved with disputes over religion and just take his word for it.
‘Very well, you can keep the mask on,’ said the PCSO. ‘But this is a very serious matter. You can’t go round ladies’ toilets dressed like that.’
‘Is there a law against it?’ asked Clifford quiet confidently.
‘Well… no, I don’t think so,’ admitted the PCSO. ‘But it’s certainly frowned upon, and there’s the obvious risk of sexual harassment claims.’
‘I don’t think they were harassing me, they were just hitting me,’ said Clifford.
‘Not from you!’ said the security guard. ‘They could claim you were spying on them or up to something dodgy.’
‘But I’m not, I’m just trying to get people to understand the importance of washing their hands,’ said Clifford innocently.
‘Well, there’s better ways to go about that,’ said the PCSO. ‘Hand out leaflets or something. Put up a poster. Just don’t go stalking people in public toilets dressed as a mummy.’
‘Why not?’ asked Cliford.
‘Because! It’s… it’s weird. And creepy,’ the PCSO replied.
‘Fine,’ Clifford nodded, even though he had zero plans to end his crusade. ‘Am I free to go now?’
‘Yes, yes, you can go,’ the PCSO said, shooing him away.
‘But we’d better not catch you around the toilets again,’ added the security guard. ‘Or we’ll take this matter to a higher authority upstairs.’
‘God?’ asked Clifford.
‘What? No, the police,’ said the PCSO.

**

‘For a while, they branded me as a looney and fought back,’ the captain continued. ‘But once they saw I was serious about my mission, I started to grow a bit of a reputation in the area and soon began appearing in the local news as “masked madman cleans up public toilets”. One newspaper referred to me as “Captain Clean” and the name stuck. It was lucky really, because I already had a few shirts with my initials embroidered on, so I could use them as a uniform. Several companies approached me to appear in commercials for their washing up liquid or be the face of their toilet cleaner, but I refused to be turned into a celebrity. I was on a mission, not commission. I was making Filtham a cleaner place and that was a good thing.’
‘Cap, do we really need to go into this much detail?’ asked an impatient HyJean. ‘Those kids have been captured and you still haven’t got to the part where you explain who the kidnapper is.’
‘Look, the more you lot keep interrupting, the longer this is going to take,’ said the captain.
‘Fine,’ sighed HyJean, ‘carry on.’
‘It was seven years ago today – another coincidence – when I first met Johnny Cotton,’ Captain Clean continued. ‘Our meeting went a little like this…’

**

‘Go away kid, I’m busy,’ said Captain Clean between punches to the face.
He was currently in the public toilets of a local leisure centre, taking a beating from an angry father who did not approve of a man with toilet roll wrapped around his head shouting at his 6-year-old son to wash his hands again as he hadn’t done a thorough enough job. Meanwhile, Johnny Cotton stood by, trying to get a conversation with his hero, Captain Clean.
‘Come on Captain, the school said I have to do work experience and I want to do it with you,’ the boy begged.
‘No. It’s not safe,’ said the captain, taking another thump as if to prove the point.
‘It is. You wouldn’t hurt a kid, would ya mister?’ asked Johnny.
The father stopped mid-punch and considered the question, leaving Captain Clean dangling as he pondered. After a few seconds thought, he shook his head. ‘Nah, I wouldn’t.’
‘See,’ said Johnny with a smile. He pulled out a sketchbook from his bag and continued his appeal, holding it up to show the captain. ‘Look, I’ve already drawn the costume and got the gimmick and everything. I can…’
‘Wait, what?’ interrupted Captain Clean. ‘A gimmick? Is this just some silly comic book game to you?’
‘What? No, not at all. I just meant it’s like my ‘thing’ y’know. Like how you’ve got the toilet roll mask and the toilet brush.’
‘What we do is not a joke. This is a serious campaign; we’re saving lives.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put down what you’re doing. I think it’s amazing what you guys do and that’s why I want to be a part of it.’
‘What’s your gimmick?’ asked the father, who by now had relaxed his grip on the captain.
‘You stay out of this,’ said the captain, releasing himself from the man’s grip.
‘My superhero name is… Budd.’
‘Is that because you look like a cotton bud?’ the man asked.
‘Uh, no. It’s because my name is Johnny Cotton.’
‘Oh, that makes more sense.’
‘Yes, and it’s less offensive,’ added Captain Clean.
Captain Clean stepped in between the father, who had seemingly forgotten about his anger, and Johnny Cotton.
‘Look kid, you’ve got spirit, you look quite clean and to be honest I could do with someone to drive me around the city,’ said the captain. ‘So, here’s what I’ll do. You get a letter from your school okaying it and I’ll let you shadow me for a week.’
‘Awesome! You won’t regret it Cap.’
‘That’s Captain to you.’
‘Yes sir, Captain sir,’ said Johnny as he made his way to the door to leave. ‘Oh, also, I can’t actually drive. But Josh at school said his dad knows this taxi driver who’s allowed to drive super-fast, like crazy speeds – so I’ll try and get his number for you.’

**

Back in the base, the squad watched as Captain Clean finished acting out the scene with two pens and an eraser.
‘So, what happened? Did he get the letter?’ asked Mary.
‘Yes. He found me the next day and showed me a letter from the school saying he had permission to join me. He’d already put together his costume – a black jumpsuit, a domino mask, and a white afro wig – so he followed me around on my crusade for the rest of the week. I tried to keep his involvement to a minimum, but he actually turned out to be a really good fighter, and pretty clever too. He helped me take down a group of thugs known as The Masticators – they were a horrible bunch. They’d learned how to huck up ridiculous amounts of saliva, so they used to go around spitting great globs of spit at people and drenching them.’
Everyone round the table groaned and pushed away their biscuits.
‘He also saved my life once,’ he continued, but he trailed off, remembering that fateful day. A little sigh escaped him as he recalled a time when he felt some kind of responsibility and affection for the boy.

**

Inside an abandoned clinic, Captain Clean lay strapped to a metal table that was colder than a politician’s heart. It rattled as he stirred and slowly woke, blinking his eyes as the blurry room slowly came into focus. He looked up and above him he saw the sharp points of at least a dozen large syringes – several times bigger than any he’d ever seen – suspended from the ceiling. The light caught them and highlighted just how sharp and pointy they were, as if to tease him. Despite how deadly it looked, the captain couldn’t help thinking that it would make an interesting modern art installation. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a voice that was just as cold as the table he was lying on.
‘Ah, you’re awake,’ came a woman’s voice as she stepped towards the table and into the light. She looked thin and pale, her wrinkled skin making her look like a Sphynx cat with a mop of greasy, wiry hair. ‘I like my subjects to be awake when I begin the experiment.’
‘You’re insane!’ the captain blurted out as he wriggled and writhed against the restraints that held him down.
‘Come now, that’s no way to talk to your lover,’ said the woman with a strange smile that looked like she was trying to enjoy eating a lemon.
‘I’m not your lover!’ the captain cried. His face then dropped. He gulped and his eyes widened in horror. ‘Wait, we’re not… you didn’t… while I was unconscious?’
He instinctively looked down and was relieved to find his trousers were still on.
‘No, no,’ said the woman casually as she walked over to a desk that was filled with test tubes containing liquids of all colours, files and paperwork spread out in an untidy fashion, a phone and an old (or at that time, relatively new) box-shaped computer monitor that took up over a third of the desk. ‘But once I’ve cured you, I’m sure we’ll become lovers.’
‘Cured me? But there’s nothing wrong with me!’ the captain said, still struggling with the restraints ‘I mean I’ve got a bruise on my head from where you hit me, but that’s certainly not something a dozen needles can fix.’
‘I am going to cure you, Captain. And then I’m going to cure the world!’ the woman said dramatically as she turned back to face the captain, bending down so their faces were mere inches from each other. ‘Once I perfect my vaccine and prevent all viruses, the world will be cured, and everyone will remember me as Vicky the Vaccinator. They’ll probably build a statue for me outside the hospital, which they’ll turn into housing for the homeless. But first, we need to test out my formulas, and the quickest way to do that is all at once.’
She patted the captain on the cheek twice and then stood up, walking around the table to a machine on the other side that had several tubes coming out of it and into a row of beakers. More tubes led from the machine to the syringes. She switched it on and started pressing buttons and turning dials. The captain watched as different coloured liquids started to travel up the tubes and into the machine in sequential order. As each one reached the computer, a matching coloured light flashed and the machine dinged.
‘I love that little ding,’ Vicky giggled. ‘Such a fun noise.’
Captain Clean was in no mood for laughing. He’d given up trying to break free and was feeling his utility belt to see if he had anything he could use to escape. He managed to prise open one of the compartments and pulled out a small wipe. He flung it to the side with a triumphant ‘Ha!’ and watched as it floated slowly down onto the floor. Vicky turned to see what he was ha-ing at and saw the wipe.
‘Uh… could you pick that up for me please,’ said the captain, hoping he’d think of the next part of the plan while she was distracted.
Vicky nodded and picked up the wipe, stuffing it inside his pocket, before turning back to continue her work. Out of options, the captain looked up at the syringes, trying to work out if he could contort his body to at least avoid some of them when they dropped. As he twisted his torso, he suddenly heard a knocking sound. Both he and Vicky turned their heads to the door. Vicky checked her watch and mumbled something incoherent before going over to the door and opening it.
‘Dr Victoria Mildew?’ came the voice of a young boy that the captain immediately recognised.
‘Yes,’ Vicky replied in an uncertain tone.
‘I’m here to rescue Captain Clean and I’m going to hit you now,’ the boy’s voice.
This was immediately followed by a loud “thunk” as something hit Vicky over the head, and she fell back into the door and collapsed down onto the floor. Once she was out for the count, the boy stepped into the room. Captain Clean was beyond relieved to see his young apprentice, Budd, standing in the doorway holding a long metal pole with two white volleyballs attached to either end so that it resembled a giant cotton bud. He quickly put down his weapon and ran over to the captain, undoing the restraints.
‘Sorry I’m late, I stopped off to buy a sandwich,’ he said as he undid the wrist straps and moved onto the ankle straps.
‘Not to worry, you got here just in time,’ said the captain. ‘That’s often the way when fighting grime. It’s rare you have time to spare, but I guess it makes it more dramatic.’
‘I guess so,’ Budd shrugged as he finished undoing the. As he pulled Captain Clean up, the captain bumped his head on a few of the syringes above the table, which made several tears in his toilet roll mask.
‘Oops, sorry,’ said Budd, carefully manoeuvring the captain out of the way of the rest of the needles.
‘Careful, watch it,’ said the captain. ‘And also, when you confront your opponent, it’s best not to announce what you’re going to do before you do it. The element of surprise, remember?’
‘Yeah, sorry Captain Clean, I forgot,’ said Budd, helping the captain to his feet before retrieving his giant cotton bud. ‘What should we do with her?’
‘Tie her to the table and I’ll call the authorities,’ the captain instructed. He went to the desk and picked up the phone, dialled and waited as it rang. He looked around and groaned. ‘Not to the top of the table! I meant tie her to the leg.’
‘Oh, sorry Captain Clean,’ said Budd as he pulled Vicky back off the table. As he did, she slid out of his grip and fell, banging her head on the floor. Budd winced. ‘Sorry doc.’

**

‘That’s such an exciting story,’ said Mary. ‘What a brave young boy.’
‘Hey, I was the one strapped to the table,’ the captain pointed out in a jealous tone.
‘Yes, yes. You’re very brave,’ said HyJean. ‘But you still haven’t explained why Budd hates you.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said the captain. ‘Well, Budd was always very keen and, dare I say it, I enjoyed having him around – so much so that I lost track of time, and he was with me for nearly two months. I did question a couple of times, but he said the school had agreed for him to continue since he was doing so well.’
‘So, what happened?’ asked Faucet.
‘Well, it turned out that the school actually had no idea what he was doing. He’d forged the letter and had been skipping school. Eventually they found out and he got into a lot of trouble. He tried to get me to fight for him to stay with me, but I told him that his studies were more important. And I never saw him again… until today. He’s obviously bitter about me letting him go, so I’ll go and have a chat with him, try and sort this mess out.’
Captain Clean got up to leave, but Mary still wanted to hear the rest of the story.
‘No, wait, don’t go. I want to hear how you set up the squad,’ said Mary.
‘But these kids need my help,’ said Captain Clean.
‘No, they’ll be fine. You said yourself that they’re capable enough to look after themselves. And this Bacteria Kid won’t hurt them because he needs them as bait for you.’
‘Fair enough,’ said the captain as he sat down to continue his story, much to HyJean’s dismay.
‘Before long, the city had grown wise to my agenda,’ he continued, ‘and there was much less for me to do. People were washing their hands, picking up their litter, flushing the toilets and not making out in toilet cubicles. However, not everyone was in favour of my motives; some thought that I was being too pushy, and that people should have a right to be as clean as they want to be. Groups formed to protest against Captain Clean and some corners of the media used this in their favour and turned against me.
‘Soon, the threats became more violent and people started acting out. Some people tried to physically assault me, whilst others made grand unhygienic gestures in public; smashing toilets, flooding places with sewage water and deploying stink bombs in crowded areas. Luckily, I was there to fight against these “toilet terrorists” and had most of them arrested.
‘Although it was a bit of a vicious circle, the local council quickly recognised the positive effects of what I was doing. Since I was saving them thousands of pounds in keeping the city clean, they offered to fund my work and support me financially. I was able to leave my job in the biscuit factory and set myself up in a secret base in the back of a chip shop. As my influence and responsibilities grew, I soon found myself in demand in other surrounding areas and the stress of the work began to take its toll, both physically and mentally. I sent the council a proposal, suggesting that my jurisdiction be expanded to include the other local towns and cities and for me to recruit a small team of people to help with the ever-increasing workload. The proposal was accepted and so the Sanitary Squad was formed. The name was chosen from suggestions sent in by local schoolchildren.’
‘Right, there we are,’ said HyJean, standing up. ‘Now let’s get going.’
‘No, wait,’ said Mary, grabbing her arm and pulling her back down, almost aggressively. ‘I want to hear how he recruited everyone.’
HyJean sighed and sat back down. ‘I was working as a chemist at a local research centre and he came and hired me, that’s it.’
‘Oh no, there was far more to it than that,’ said the captain. ‘You were a brilliant chemist and quite the inventor. I’d heard some interesting things that piqued my interest, so I came to see one of your presentations one day.’

**

In a lecture hall at the Filtham Academy for Research in Technology and Science – or FARTS as it was affectionately known – Jean Wilkes was presenting her latest invention to an audience of industry professionals, academics and people who had managed to sneak in, like one Clifford Cane. He sat at the back and watched as Jean tried for the third time to demonstrate her new formula working.
‘I’m sorry, bad batch,’ she said, blushing as her hopes of funding dwindled down in front of her. She held up a new plain white t-shirt and sprayed it with her special liquid. ‘So now if we squirt the ketchup at the shirt, it should…’ and sure enough, the ketchup seemed to bounce off the shirt as it hit, and what did stick to it was effortlessly wiped off by Jean after. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the audience. ‘Just a thin coating is enough to prevent most common stains.’
The floor was opened to questions and a director from a cleaning products manufacturer was quick to pick up on the last thing she’d said.
‘You said most common stains. Could you be more specific as to the types of stains that this spray prevents?’ said the director in the fourth row – a large, bald man who looked like he regularly used his own products to polish his shiny head.
‘Well, so far it’s been tested with sauce, wine and soups,’ Jean replied, ‘but this is what I’d like the funding for, to develop it further and test it on more substances.’
There were a few more questions from the audience, but nobody in attendance really showed any kind of enthusiasm for her creation. Some said they’d seen similar, better versions of it, while others said that the failed demonstrations and limited testing gave them little faith in it. A crestfallen Jean stood totally embarrassed as the interrogation wound down and her boss stepped forward beside her to address the audience.
‘Well, I think what we’ve seen today shows um… some promise,’ he said, giving Jean a sympathetic look. ‘But there is still much to be done before it can even be considered for funding. So, unless there’s any further questions, I think we’ll-‘
‘Why did you invent this?’ came a voice from the back of the room. Several members of the audience turned back to see who had asked such an odd question. It was nobody they recognised; some strange man who was dressed casually and had a bad haircut.
‘Why? Well, I uh… it’s my job, to do these sort of things,’ she shrugged. She was too disheartened to think of a better answer.
‘But what inspired you to create this particular product?’ Clifford continued, clearly digging for a certain response.
‘I guess… it’s a common problem, isn’t it? Our clothes get stained, and they’re ruined. This would help prevent them getting ruined.’
‘And is that important to you?’ Clifford asked. This question provoked murmurs and confused mumbling from the crowd.
‘I… I suppose it is, yes,’ said Jean. ‘If I can help keep people’s clothes clean, that’s a good thing, surely.’
Before Clifford could offer any further questions, Jean’s boss stepped back in to take over.
‘Yes, well, that’s all very interesting, but as I said, this idea won’t be getting any funding from ourselves or our partners today, thank you Jean.’
The audience was dismissed, and everyone swiftly filed out of the room whilst Jean packed away her things into a case. Everyone, that is, except for Clifford Cane, who lingered at the back until the room was empty and he was able to approach Jean.
‘Doctor Wilkes, may I have a word?’ he said as he stood on the stage.
‘You? You were the one asking those questions at the end, weren’t you?’ she asked as she scrunched up her notes and tossed them into the case.
‘Indeed, I was,’ he nodded. ‘I think your work is very interesting, despite what that lot said.’
‘Well, thanks,’ said Jean, doing that little smile with a corner of your mouth that makes it look like only half of your mouth got the memo about your happiness.
‘In fact, I would like to offer you a proposition,’ he continued. This made Jean stop what she was doing and focus her attention on him.
‘What kind of proposition?’ she asked. ‘Financial I hope?’
‘Um… sort of. I’d like to offer you a job,’ he explained. ‘You see, I’m putting together a group of people to fight sanitation themed crime in Filtham city, funded by the council, and I would very much like you to be part of the team.’
Jean lifted up one of her spray bottles and gestured to it. ‘Do you think I’ve been drinking this? That is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard.’
‘So that’s a yes?’ asked a hopeful Clifford.
‘Of course it’s not a yes! I’m a scientist, not some low-budget crime-fighting superhero,’ she laughed as she put the remaining items in the case and picked it up to leave.
‘I could train you,’ Clifford continued as he walked after her. ‘I’m well trained in several martial arts.’
‘The answer is no, sir,’ said Jean as she picked up her speed and left the room.
‘We get free parking!’ Clifford called after her as he watched her walking quickly down the corridor. But it was too late, she was already gone.

**

‘So not a great first introduction then,’ chuckled Faucet.
‘Sadly not,’ said Captain Clean. ‘But I couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had more to give the world than just stain resistant sprays. I was determined to work with her, so I was persistent.
‘You followed me around for weeks,’ said HyJean.
‘I was keen to work with you,’ the captain replied with an awkward smile.

**

‘Come on, please? I really want to build a team of grime fighters – see, I’ve even given us a name – and you’re miles ahead of everyone else I’ve spoken too,’ Clifford said as he lay spread out on top of Jean’s car bonnet in the FARTS parking lot. He looked at her with puppy dog eyes, ‘I can’t do this without you.’
‘For the last time, no!’ HyJean shouted, then sprayed a jet of water on the windscreen and turned on the wipers, flicking water at the mad man’s face and keeping him away. ‘Now get off my car and leave me alone, or I’m calling the police!’

**

‘So wait a minute, how did you end up on the team?’ asked Faucet.
‘I fell pregnant,’ HyJean explained. ‘I left my job at the research centre to focus on raising my son, with a plan to go back when he was older. When I eventually got round to it, they didn’t want me back. So, I decided to take Cap up on his offer, with the plan to work part-time until I could get back into a proper job. Safe to say that didn’t turn out and I’m still here.’
‘And you wouldn’t have it any other way, right?’ said the captain.
HyJean hesitated for a moment, then just said, ‘Why don’t you tell them how Will joined.’
‘Right, yes,’ the captain nodded. ‘Well, after I hired Jean, I put an advert out in the local paper looking for another recruit. I got a few responses from the advert, but most of them were graduates looking for something to do while they tried to make it big as Instagram influencers.’
‘I didn’t think Instagram was that big back then,’ said Faucet.
‘It wasn’t. There was no such thing as an Instagram influencer, that’s why they all failed. Anyway, I knew they weren’t really interested in keeping the city clean, so I dismissed them. All except one. I read Will’s application and thought there was something more to him.’
Flush smiled at everyone around the table with a huge grin, like a child who’s just been given a gold star in class.
‘He turned up to the interview drunk,’ continued the captain, ‘and spilt coffee on me… twice.’
Flush’s smug grin quickly turned into a look of embarrassment.
‘But it was the way he cleaned up the coffee that really impressed me. He was quick, efficient and had the guts to tear a piece of my mask off to wipe it up. So, I hired him.’
‘I already had a part-time job at the time, and I didn’t want to leave, so Cap agreed to let me work part-time,’ Flush explained. ‘Thanks again, Cap.’
‘Thank you, Will,’ the captain nodded.
‘And what about Mick?’ asked Faucet, turning to the empty seat where Sergeant Suds had been sat. ‘Mick?’
‘Hey, where is Mick anyway?’ asked Flush.
‘He went to the toilet, didn’t he?’ said Mary.
‘That was half an hour ago,’ Flush pointed out.
As if on cue, Sergeant Suds appeared at the door. He had a few bruises on his face and his clothes looked a little torn.
‘Ah Mick, we were just talking about you,’ said Captain Clean, turning to greet the fellow grime fighter as if he hadn’t noticed his absence. Which he hadn’t.
‘Where’ve you been man?’ asked Faucet.
‘Oh, I went to rescue those two kids,’ said Suds casually as he sat down, putting his soap gun, which was now half empty, on the table.
‘What? Really?’ asked Mary, hugging his arm tightly.
‘Yeah,’ he nodded, patting her arm.
‘What about Johnny?’ asked the captain.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t be hearing from him again.’
‘Wait… you killed him?’
‘What? No, I meant he’s been arrested.’
‘Oh, thank god.’
‘So, what did I miss in the story?’
‘Ah, I’ll tell you another time,’ said Captain Clean. ‘I’m not repeating it all again.’

**

Not too far away, in Rottenhell prison, Johnny Cotton sat on the cold, hard bed, wearing his new orange jumpsuit that was just a little too big for him, and looking around at his new home. It was far from pleasant, but the saving grace was that he was not alone. A man who looked a few years his elder and a few brain cells his dimmer, sat opposite, his feet up on the bed and leaning against the wall, his full figure covered by the shade.
‘So, what you in for?’ the cellmate asked.
‘My genius plan to destroy the Sanitary Squad and get my revenge on Captain Clean was, most unfortunately, thwarted,’ he explained, trying to make it sound as dramatic as possible, hoping that he might earn a reputation for being a criminal mastermind early on in his sentence.
‘Oh yeah?’ said the cell mate, a hint of interest in his voice, but remaining quite still.
‘Yes indeed,’ said Johnny. ‘It all started eight years ago at the Filtham leisure centre when I first met-‘
‘Oh no you don’t kid,’ the cellmate interrupted. ‘I ain’t got time for boring stories, I need my sleep.’
And with that, the cellmate rolled over and went to sleep, and Johnny Cotton was left staring through the bars of the cell window at the night sky, reliving his time with Captain Clean just for himself and plotting the next scheme to get his revenge.