Dr. Improbable fought tooth and nail to escape the contraption. It had been twelve months since the vicious Mr. Sinister stuck him under the executionosphere, his latest invention. Had it not been for his trusty sidekick Beelzebub periodically feeding him and his arch nemesis’s own incompetence, he’d have died months ago.
Eleven, to be exact.
The executionosphere turned tirelessly, only to stop when Mr. Sinister needed to size up the damage. One day, when Beelzebub was busy filling the Doctor’s stomach with the scorched souls of the damned, taking extra care to pick out any ash and such refuse, the Mister found them, plotting.
“Haha! And to think that the indefatigable Dr. would be lunching on my lunch break! I doubt you expected me. For I know your weakness!” The mister held Beelzebub to eye level and stroked his hair, looking deep into his eyes with an expression akin to that which he wore when killing his pet hamster as a boy. “I DON’T EVEN EAT DINNER!” And with a mighty heave, he threw Beelzebub into the great nothingness.
“Noooooo!” The Doctor tried to scream, crashing endlessly into the barbed walls of the executionosphere. Without Beelzebub’s arcane majjycks, he was defenseless, and forced to act. Emerging in a fit of rage and impractical explosiveness, he axe-kicked the Mister in the shoulder, taking it clean off.
“Oh! How improbable!” Mr. Sinister screamed.
“You mean, Improbable!” Dr. Improbable corrected.
“I’ll insinuate lowercase ‘i’s all I want,” Mr. Sinister cried, wiping his teary eyes with his remaining arm.
“I’ll have you killed for your treason!” the Doctor implied, strangling the man.
And so, the dastardly Mr. Sinister went limp, and the day was saved, at only the cost of (the prince of hell, and) time.
“Good things come, to those who wait!” Dr. Improbable yelled into the heavens, of which inhabitants of all three cried out in all consuming despair.
“Quickly, Beelzebub! To the Improbabillosphere!”
But he could not, for he did not exist.