In the city of Gorgothon.
where skyscrapers trembled in fear and heroes retired early out of pure embarrassment, lived the most feared villain the world had ever known: Dr. Malevoxx the Eternally Unforgiving. He had the ability to melt oceans, unwrite memories, and turn your blood into cottage cheese—if he was feeling generous.
Dr. Malevoxx wasn’t born evil. He had simply been forced to eat a turkey sandwich with mayonnaise one fateful lunchtime. He hated mayonnaise. The betrayal hardened him, and the world paid the price. He destroyed five continents before lunch last Tuesday, and the last man who called him “Ed” (his real name) is now an armchair in Idaho.
Governments begged. Armies fell. Superheroes called in sick.
But then… there was Toby.
Toby was six. He was sticky. Not metaphorically. Actually sticky. Nobody knew why. He had fruit snacks welded into his hair, his socks were missing in action, and he had a constant glaze of juice box residue coating his palms like an unholy varnish.
And Toby was pissed.
You see, Dr. Malevoxx had destroyed Pawsville, a small town most famous for its annual Waffle Parade and one aggressively mediocre zoo. Unfortunately for Malevoxx, it was also where Toby’s grandma lived—and more importantly, where she kept her supply of gummy bears. The good kind. The ones dipped in sour powder and love.
When Toby heard what happened, he went very quiet. Then he screamed for 47 minutes. Then he put on his Velcro sneakers and declared:
“I’m gonna tell that bad guy he’s being mean!”
He had a plan. Well, no. He had a lunchable and a plastic sword. But he felt like he had a plan.
So Toby walked straight into Dr. Malevoxx’s fortress—because no one thought to lock the door. Security systems assumed no one would be that bold or that short.
Inside, Dr. Malevoxx was busy broadcasting his demands to the UN.
“SURRENDER ALL TACO TRUCKS TO ME, OR I WILL DELETE FRIDAYS FROM THE CALENDAR!”
That’s when the smell hit him. Sticky. Sour. Kid-smell.
Toby marched in, climbed up on a table (stepping on a doomsday device), and pointed his goo-covered finger at the man who’d reduced a solar system to confetti.
“You’re a doodoo head.”
Silence.
“Excuse me?” Dr. Malevoxx said, blinking.
“You blew up Gramma’s house. She makes me smile. You don’t. You’re not nice. I think you need a nap.”
Then Toby did the unthinkable.
He hugged him.
A full-body, two-arm, juice-glazed hug. It was warm, slightly damp, and deeply confusing.
The hug lasted only four seconds, but for Dr. Malevoxx, it was an eternity of trauma. Nobody had touched him since the mayonnaise incident of '86. His blackened heart hiccuped. His breath caught. His spine cracked just a little.
And then he screamed.
“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”
He flailed, tripped over a laser cannon, landed on his control panel, and accidentally activated the Self-Awareness Protocol—a hidden fail-safe built into his lair by his long-dead therapist, Dr. Linda.
The speakers boomed:
“Analyzing personality flaws… compiling list… estimating number of people you’ve hurt… compiling emotional damage report…”
Ten minutes later, Malevoxx was curled in the fetal position, crying into a blanket he knitted from villain capes. He hadn’t felt remorse since puberty. It hit him like a cosmic wedgie.
Toby offered him a half-chewed fruit snack.
“It’s cherry. Cherry’s the best.”
Dr. Malevoxx took it. Ate it. Wept again.
Epilogue:
Dr. Malevoxx now teaches yoga at a community center in Pawsville. He uses his powers to keep juice boxes eternally cold. He still hates mayonnaise, but he no longer obliterates continents over it.
Toby? Toby went on to kindergarten, where he was feared and respected by teachers and bullies alike. He earned the nickname "The Goo Paladin."
The world was safe. All it took was the power of childlike honesty… and a weaponized hug.
Twisted? Absolutely.
But effective? You bet your fruit snacks.
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