The Professor's Deadly Work

Brilliant Minds Are Best Left Uninterrupted...

A deafening crash of laser fire and the gasp of a hound clutching his gut could only mean one thing: the trap on the fire escape had worked, and Professor Smith’s laboratory was safe at last.

The white-furred vigilante hadn’t counted on revenge double-backing to him after his latest act of community service, but such were the ways of Haven biker gangs, always wanting the last word. Even if the death was just, and the neighbors two blocks down were now safe from the violence and thievery of gang leader Bruce the Butcher, it was clear someone couldn’t stand to see their racket of fear broken up.

Smith straightened his black smoking jacket and walked onto the terrace. As he had expected, the poor chap was limp as rubbish with a hole in his stomach, dead on the pavement after a 50-foot drop. “Only a hundred million more miles down,” the Professor waved. “Hell will suit you fine.”

The white wolf whirled around and strolled back inside. Content in his restored peace and quiet, he could now return to his greatest pursuit: science.