One Plant. Two Exterminators. Zero Chance of Success.

There are few things more humiliating for a professional exterminator than having his equipment eaten by the pest he’s supposed to exterminate.

Herbert “Herbie” Side had experienced exactly that.

Herbie’s troubles began during F.A.N.G.’s disastrous first visit to Little Grimley, when the hungry plant swallowed his entire spraying apparatus.

His spraying wand had been swallowed.

His hose had been swallowed.

His entire tank of concentrated herbicide had been swallowed.

And the twenty-foot carnivorous plant responsible had not only survived but apparently enjoyed the experience.

Now Herbie stood before the Little Grimley Village Council, facing the greatest threat to his professional career.

Mayor Percival Wimple.

“HERBIE!”

“Yes, Your Worship?”

“YOU WERE HIRED TO PROTECT THIS VILLAGE!”

“Yes, sir.”

“AND WHAT HAPPENED?”

Herbie shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, technically, the plant ate my sprayer.”

“AND THEN?”

“It ate the herbicide.”

“AND THEN?”

“It got bigger.”

Mayor Wimple slammed his fist on the table.

“YOU ARE THE MOST INCOMPETENT EXTERMINATOR IN THE HISTORY OF LITTLE GRIMLEY!”

Herbie looked wounded.

“That’s a bit harsh, sir. I’ve killed thousands of cockroaches.”

Mrs. Agatha Pemberton, president of the Village Horticultural Society, leaned forward.

“Cockroaches don’t eat Mercedes automobiles, Mr. Side!”

Inspector Arthur Graves, seated beside her, cleared his throat.

“Actually, Mrs. Pemberton, the Mercedes belonged to Bernie Madman.”

Bernie Madman had already caused enough trouble at Castle IGORITHMS with his disastrous investment scheme, a financial fiasco remembered as The Ponzistein Strategy.

“I DON’T CARE WHO OWNED IT! THAT PLANT ATE MY HAT!”

Graves sighed.

“We’ve established that.”

Mayor Wimple pointed a trembling finger at Herbie.

“YOU HAVE FORTY-EIGHT HOURS TO DEVELOP A DEFENSE AGAINST THAT MONSTROSITY!”

“And if I can’t?”

“I’LL SEND YOU STRAIGHT BACK TO THE CHEMICAL WASTE DUMP WHERE I FOUND YOU!”

Herbie went pale.

“Not the dump, sir!”

“YES, THE DUMP!”

“But I’ve only just got the smell out of my trousers!”

Graves closed his notebook.

“Meeting adjourned, I hope.”

---

A Call to the World’s Greatest Herbicidalist

That evening, Herbie sat alone in his pest-control office, surrounded by empty pesticide bottles, unpaid invoices, and a framed certificate from the International Correspondence College of Advanced Extermination.

The certificate had cost him £19.95.

Postage included.

He desperately searched through an old directory of international pest-control specialists.

Most of the names were familiar.

Bug Busters International.

Roach Raiders Unlimited.

The Termite Terminators.

Then he saw an advertisement printed in bright orange lettering.

AGENT TANGERINE

THE WORLD’S GREATEST HERBICIDALIST!

Making Gardens Great Again!

No Weed Too Big. No Claim Too Outrageous.

Some Collateral Damage May Occur.

Herbie stared at the advertisement.

“Herbicidalist?”

He reached for his dictionary.

There was no such word.

“Must be something American,” he muttered.

He picked up the telephone.

A receptionist answered.

“Office of Agent Tangerine, the World’s Greatest Herbicidalist. Please state the nature of your emergency.”

“Hello? I’ve got a giant carnivorous plant threatening my village.”

“Is this a national security emergency?”

“Possibly.”

“Has the plant invaded another country?”

“Not yet.”

“Has it threatened international trade?”

“It ate a Mercedes.”

There was a pause.

“Please hold.”

Patriotic music played for eleven minutes.

Finally, a deep, confident voice answered.

“Agent Tangerine speaking. World’s greatest herbicidalist. Some people say the greatest in history. Nobody knows more about weeds than I do. Tremendous weeds. Beautiful weeds. I know them all.”

Herbie hesitated.

“But can you kill them?”

“Nobody kills weeds better than me. I have people for that.”

“Thank goodness! My name’s Herbie Side. Pest control. Little Grimley.”

“Never heard of it.”

“We’re a small village.”

“Then why are you calling the world’s greatest herbicidalist?”

“Because our local plant problem is getting out of hand.”

“Spray it.”

“I did.”

“Spray it again.”

“It ate the sprayer.”

“Get a bigger sprayer.”

“It ate the tank too.”

Silence.

“How big is this plant?”

“Twenty feet.”

“Twenty feet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does it have teeth?”

“Hundreds.”

“Does it eat cars?”

“Mercedes, mostly.”

Another pause.

“Herbie, this sounds like a tremendous problem. A very serious problem. People are saying it’s the biggest plant problem they’ve ever seen.”

“Can you come?”

“Absolutely not. I’m far too important to get involved in gardening.”

Herbie’s heart sank.

“But I can send you my top man.”

“Who?”

“My best hitman. The most ruthless weed killer on the planet.”

“What’s his name?”

“THE WEEDINATOR.”

Herbie swallowed.

“Is he dangerous?”

“Only to vegetation.”

“And people?”

“That’s still being evaluated.”

---

The Weedinator Arrives

The following morning, a massive black armored vehicle rolled into Little Grimley.

Its engine rumbled like an approaching thunderstorm.

The vehicle stopped outside Herbie’s office.

The rear doors opened.

A towering figure emerged.

Six feet eight inches tall.

Broad shoulders.

Black leather jacket.

Heavy combat boots.

Dark sunglasses.

A chrome-plated spraying apparatus strapped across his back.

His expression was utterly emotionless.

He walked toward Herbie with slow, mechanical precision.

“ARE YOU HERBERT SIDE?”

Herbie nodded.

“Y-yes.”

“I AM THE WEEDINATOR.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“PLEASURE IS IRRELEVANT.”

“Oh.”

“MY MISSION IS TO ELIMINATE ALL UNWANTED VEGETATION.”

Herbie looked impressed.

“All of it?”

“ALL OF IT.”

“Even nettles?”

“ESPECIALLY NETTLES.”

Herbie smiled.

“I think we’re going to get along splendidly.”

The Weedinator surveyed Herbie’s battered office.

“YOUR EQUIPMENT IS OBSOLETE.”

“Yes, well, most of it was eaten.”

“YOUR METHODS ARE PRIMITIVE.”

“I did win Pest Controller of the Month in 2018.”

“YOUR CERTIFICATE IS PRINTED UPSIDE DOWN.”

Herbie glanced at the wall.

“Oh.”

The Weedinator turned toward his armored vehicle.

“WE BEGIN IMMEDIATELY.”

“What’s the plan?”

“TOTAL BOTANICAL ANNIHILATION.”

Herbie hesitated.

“Will that hurt the roses?”

“YES.”

---

WEED-X 9000

For the next twelve hours, Herbie and the Weedinator worked inside a makeshift laboratory at the old chemical waste dump outside Little Grimley.

The dump had once employed Herbie as a junior hazardous-materials assistant.

He had been dismissed after accidentally labeling a barrel of industrial solvent as lemonade.

Fortunately, nobody had drunk it.

Unfortunately, the mayor had.

The Weedinator assembled an enormous mixing apparatus.

Herbie supplied the ingredients.

Concentrated herbicide.

Industrial degreaser.

Experimental root suppressant.

Three unidentified chemicals found behind a locked shed.

And a suspicious glowing liquid labeled:

DO NOT MIX WITH ANYTHING.

Herbie held up the bottle.

“Should we use this?”

The Weedinator scanned it.

“WARNING. EXTREME CHEMICAL INSTABILITY.”

“So that’s a no?”

“NEGATIVE. THAT MEANS IT IS POWERFUL.”

He poured it into the tank.

The mixture began bubbling.

Then smoking.

Then glowing orange.

A nearby dandelion wilted without even being sprayed.

Herbie gasped.

“It’s working!”

The Weedinator examined his instruments.

“WEED-X 9000 IS COMPLETE.”

They tested the formula on a thistle.

The thistle vanished.

They tested it on a patch of nettles.

The nettles dissolved.

They accidentally sprayed the mayor’s prized rosebush.

The rosebush disappeared.

Along with its flowerpot.

And six inches of pavement.

Herbie stared at the smoking hole.

“Bloody hell.”

The Weedinator nodded.

“SUCCESS.”

“But the mayor’s going to be furious.”

“COLLATERAL DAMAGE IS ACCEPTABLE.”

Herbie scratched his head.

“Could we perhaps make it a little less powerful?”

“NO.”

“Why not?”

“BECAUSE IT IS PERFECT.”

The Weedinator printed a label for the tank.

WEED-X 9000

Guaranteed to Kill Every Weed Known to Man.

Neither exterminator noticed the significance of those final three words.

Known to man.

---

The Demonstration at Castle IGORITHMS

The next morning, Herbie and the Weedinator arrived at Castle IGORITHMS.

Dr. Samuel Altmanstein greeted them at the laboratory entrance.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

Herbie cleared his throat.

“We’re here to demonstrate a revolutionary new herbicide.”

“MY CASTLE IS NOT A GARDENING CENTER!”

Abby Normal appeared behind him.

“Doctor, perhaps we should hear them out.”

“ABBY! I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO!”

“Like what?”

“RECALIBRATING THE QUANTUM REFRIGERATOR!”

“Doctor, that’s the microwave.”

“NOT AFTER I’M FINISHED WITH IT!”

The Weedinator stepped forward.

“I HAVE BEEN SENT BY AGENT TANGERINE.”

Altmanstein paused.

“AGENT TANGERINE?”

“AFFIRMATIVE.”

“THE SELF-PROCLAIMED WORLD’S GREATEST HERBICIDALIST?”

“CORRECT.”

“HA! I’VE FORGOTTEN MORE ABOUT BOTANY THAN THAT MAN EVER KNEW!”

Abby smiled.

“Doctor, you forgot what you invented yesterday.”

“PRECISELY MY POINT!”

Altmanstein folded his arms.

“WELL, TELL HIM DR. SAMUEL ALTMANSTEIN DOES NOT REQUIRE ASSISTANCE FROM AMATEURS!”

The Weedinator examined the Doctor.

“SCANNING.”

A red light flashed behind his sunglasses.

“EGO LEVEL: CRITICAL.”

Skankella, standing nearby with her cigarette holder, smiled.

“Finally. A machine that works.”

Herbie hurried toward the greenhouse.

“Now, if you’ll just show us the plant…”

Herbie hurried toward the greenhouse.

“Now, if you’ll just show us the plant…”

This was the very greenhouse where Dr. Altmanstein’s botanical nightmare first came to life, as chronicled in The Day the Garden Bit Back.

Inside the enclosure, F.A.N.G. was peacefully digesting a discarded lawn mower.Inside the enclosure, F.A.N.G. was peacefully digesting a discarded lawn mower.

MONSTER 1.0 sat beside him.

Eating cookies.

The Weedinator activated his targeting scanner.

SCANNING VEGETATION.

LARGE GREEN ORGANISM DETECTED.

CHLOROPHYLL SIGNATURE: INCONCLUSIVE.

POTENTIAL WEED: 87%.

His chrome-plated spraying cannon swung toward MONSTER.

“TARGET ACQUIRED.”

Abby gasped.

“Wait! That’s MONSTER!”

Herbie grabbed the Weedinator’s arm.

“Don’t spray him! He’s not a weed!”

“ALL GREEN ORGANISMS ARE POTENTIAL TARGETS.”

“That’s not how botany works!” Abby protested.

“BOTANY IS IRRELEVANT.”

The Weedinator fired.

WHOOOOOOOSH!

A tremendous stream of glowing orange WEED-X 9000 engulfed MONSTER.

Abby screamed.

“MONSTER!”

Dr. Altmanstein watched with scientific fascination.

“REMARKABLE! WE’RE ABOUT TO DISCOVER WHETHER MY CREATION IS HERBICIDE-RESISTANT!”

The orange cloud slowly cleared.

MONSTER stood exactly where he had been.

Completely unharmed.

Except for one terrible thing.

His cookie had dissolved.

MONSTER looked down at his empty hand.

“Cookie gone.”

He looked at the Weedinator.

“Bad man.”

The Weedinator scanned him again.

TARGET UNAFFECTED.

BIOLOGICAL COMPOSITION: UNKNOWN.

ERROR.

He tilted his head.

“IMPOSSIBLE.”

Skankella exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“That’s the Institute’s motto.”

Then something moved behind the greenhouse fence.

Something enormous.

Something furious.

---

The Plant That Wasn’t Known to Man

F.A.N.G. had watched the entire attack.

He had seen the Weedinator aim his weapon at MONSTER.

He had seen the orange chemical cloud.

And he had seen MONSTER lose his cookie.

For the first time in his strange botanical existence, F.A.N.G. wasn’t hungry.

He was angry.

His purple thorns turned crimson.

His enormous jaws snapped open.

His tangled roots tore through the reinforced greenhouse floor.

CRAAAAAACK!

Igor came running.

“MAAATHTER! FANG ITH FURIOUTH!”

Altmanstein looked delighted.

“EXCELLENT! HE’S DEVELOPING EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE!”

Abby pointed at the creature.

“Doctor, he’s going after the Weedinator!”

“THEN HE’S DEVELOPING EXCELLENT TASTE!”

The Weedinator turned his spraying cannon toward the charging plant.

“TARGET ACQUIRED.”

He fired the remaining WEED-X 9000 directly into F.A.N.G.’s mouth.

The plant swallowed.

Paused.

Then grew another six feet.

Herbie stared.

“Oh, no.”

The Weedinator checked his scanner.

TARGET ELIMINATION: FAILED.

TARGET GROWTH: 31%.

FORMULA EFFECT: NUTRITIONAL.

Altmanstein threw his arms into the air.

“GENTLEMEN! YOU HAVE INVENTED THE WORLD’S MOST POWERFUL PLANT FERTILIZER!”

The Weedinator’s mechanical voice faltered.

“THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE.”

Abby shook her head.

“Your formula kills every weed known to man.”

“CORRECT.”

“But Fang isn’t known to man.”

Herbie looked confused.

“What is he, then?”

Abby pointed toward Altmanstein.

“He’s known to him.”

The Doctor puffed out his chest.

“EXACTLY! MY CREATION TRANSCENDS ALL KNOWN BOTANICAL CLASSIFICATIONS!”

Skankella nodded.

“Mostly because no sane botanist would admit knowing him.”

F.A.N.G. roared.

His roots smashed through the greenhouse gates.

The Weedinator backed away.

“THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME.”

Herbie looked at him.

“I thought you never retreated!”

The Weedinator turned toward his armored vehicle.

“I’LL BE BACK.”

Herbie ran after him.

F.A.N.G. charged toward the castle gates.

And beyond them lay Little Grimley.

The village where Herbie and the Weedinator had established their headquarters.

The village that had tried to destroy him.

F.A.N.G. intended to pay another visit.

---

MONSTER Has a Better Idea

MONSTER stepped into the creature’s path.

“Plant angry?”

F.A.N.G. roared.

“Plant want revenge?”

The greenhouse windows rattled.

MONSTER nodded thoughtfully.

“Monster understand.”

F.A.N.G. lowered his enormous jaws.

MONSTER looked at the village in the distance.

Then back at his friend.

“Monster have better idea.”

F.A.N.G. hesitated.

“Plant can win.”

The enormous creature tilted its head.

“No eat people.”

F.A.N.G. growled.

“No eat village.”

Another growl.

MONSTER held up a fresh cookie.

“Plant get treat.”

F.A.N.G. stopped growling.

MONSTER smiled.

“Come.”

The plant obediently followed him back into the greenhouse.

Nobody noticed the tiny green light that flashed beneath MONSTER’s sleeve.

And nobody saw the message that appeared on a hidden terminal inside the castle.

PROJECT M — ALTERNATIVE STRATEGY INITIATED.

HOSTILE CONFRONTATION: AVOIDED.

BIOLOGICAL ASSET: PROTECTED.

PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION: AUTHORIZED.

---

Operation Clean Sweep

The following morning, Mayor Wimple received an anonymous invitation.

LITTLE GRIMLEY ENVIRONMENTAL RESTORATION INITIATIVE

An Unprecedented Demonstration of Advanced Waste-Removal Technology.

Location: The Old Chemical Waste Dump.

Admission: Free.

Refreshments: Not Recommended.

The mayor was intrigued.

Mrs. Pemberton insisted on attending.

Inspector Graves came along to ensure that nobody was eaten.

Abby accompanied him.

Herbie and the Weedinator arrived expecting another opportunity to demonstrate WEED-X 9000.

Dr. Altmanstein appeared wearing his gold medal.

Skankella came because she had heard there might be a catastrophe.

Igor brought bat soup.

Nobody knew who had organized the event.

The abandoned dump stretched across several acres of contaminated ground.

Rusting automobiles.

Leaking barrels.

Broken industrial machinery.

Mountains of discarded metal.

And weeds.

Thousands upon thousands of weeds.

Some were taller than Herbie.

Others glowed faintly in the shade.

One appeared to be moving.

Mayor Wimple examined the site.

“Disgraceful! This dump has been an eyesore for decades!”

Herbie nodded.

“I used to work here.”

Mrs. Pemberton sniffed.

“That explains a great deal.”

The Weedinator stepped forward.

“I SHALL NOW DEMONSTRATE TOTAL BOTANICAL ANNIHILATION.”

He raised his spraying cannon.

But before he could fire, the ground began trembling.

From behind a rusting truck emerged F.A.N.G.

Twenty-six feet tall.

Purple thorns glowing.

Enormous white fangs gleaming in the sunlight.

The crowd screamed.

Mayor Wimple pointed.

“NOT AGAIN!”

Inspector Graves reached for his radio.

“Everybody stay calm!”

Herbie hid behind the Weedinator.

The Weedinator activated his targeting system.

“HOSTILE ORGANISM DETECTED.”

Then MONSTER appeared.

Carrying a cookie.

“Plant hungry?”

F.A.N.G. nodded.

MONSTER pointed toward the dump.

“Plant eat junk.”

F.A.N.G. opened his enormous jaws.

And began.

---

The World’s Greatest Exterminator

The first thing F.A.N.G. swallowed was an enormous patch of weeds.

Then a rusting wheelbarrow.

Then a broken refrigerator.

Then three abandoned bicycles.

Then a stack of contaminated metal drums.

Herbie watched in disbelief.

“Bloody hell.”

The Weedinator scanned the scene.

WEED REMOVAL: 27%.

F.A.N.G. swallowed a derelict delivery van.

WEED REMOVAL: 54%.

He devoured a mountain of scrap metal.

WEED REMOVAL: 83%.

Then he consumed the last patch of glowing thistles.

WEED REMOVAL: 100%.

The entire dump had been cleared.

In less than fifteen minutes.

The crowd stood speechless.

Mayor Wimple removed his hat.

Mrs. Pemberton adjusted her spectacles.

Inspector Graves lowered his radio.

And Herbie stared at the empty field where he’d once spent three miserable years trying to control the weeds.

“We’ve been trying to clear this place for twenty years!”

The Weedinator checked his scanner.

WEED-X 9000 CONTRIBUTION: 0%.

F.A.N.G. CONTRIBUTION: 100%.

HUMAN EXTERMINATORS: OBSOLETE.

He looked at Herbie.

“WE HAVE BEEN REPLACED.”

Herbie sighed.

“By a plant.”

The Weedinator paused.

“CAREER TERMINATED.”

MONSTER approached him.

“Try gardening.”

The Weedinator stared at the enormous green creature.

“GARDENING IS FOR HUMANS.”

MONSTER shrugged.

“Monster garden.”

Dr. Altmanstein stepped onto an overturned barrel.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! BEHOLD THE GREATEST ACHIEVEMENT IN ENVIRONMENTAL RESTORATION HISTORY!”

Abby folded her arms.

“Doctor, you didn’t organize this.”

“OF COURSE I DIDN’T! GREAT SCIENTISTS DELEGATE!”

Skankella looked at the empty dump.

“And apparently your plant delegates digestion to its stomach.”

Mayor Wimple approached Herbie.

“Well, Side, I must admit this is an impressive result.”

Herbie straightened.

“Thank you, Your Worship.”

“Perhaps I won’t send you back to the dump after all.”

Herbie smiled.

Then looked around.

“But we are at the dump.”

The mayor considered this.

“Then you’ve already served your punishment.”

---

The Great Atomic Burp

Just when everyone believed the crisis was over, F.A.N.G. stopped walking.

His enormous jaws began trembling.

His purple thorns started flashing bright green.

A low rumbling sound rose from deep inside his digestive system.

GRRRRRRRRRRUMBLE.

Abby looked concerned.

“Doctor, I think something’s wrong with Fang.”

Altmanstein examined his creation.

“NONSENSE, ABBY! HE’S SIMPLY DIGESTING!”

F.A.N.G.’s enormous stomach began glowing.

The ground vibrated.

Inspector Graves looked at the creature.

“Doctor, is his stomach supposed to be doing that?”

“OF COURSE! IT’S AN ADVANCED BIOLOGICAL ENERGY-CONVERSION PROCESS!”

Skankella took a step backward.

“Funny. My last husband made the same noise after eating Mexican food.”

F.A.N.G. opened his enormous jaws.

A mushroom-shaped cloud of luminous green vapor erupted into the sky.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP!

The blast blew Herbie’s hat off.

The Weedinator’s sunglasses melted.

Every remaining weed within fifty yards turned to ash.

The mayor’s toupee landed in a nearby tree.

And the village church bells began ringing.

Nobody knew why.

For several seconds, the crowd stood frozen.

Then the Weedinator’s computerized voice announced:

RADIATION ALERT.

BIOLOGICAL CONTAMINATION DETECTED.

RECOMMENDATION: EVACUATE CONTINENT.

Herbie stared at the glowing plant.

“Bloody hell. He’s gone nuclear!”

Dr. Altmanstein threw his arms into the air.

“MAGNIFICENT! MY CREATION HAS DEVELOPED AN INTERNAL NUCLEAR REACTOR!”

Abby turned toward him.

“Doctor, that’s not a reactor. That’s acid reflux!”

Altmanstein paused.

“NUCLEAR ACID REFLUX?”

“Yes!”

“IGOR! WRITE THAT DOWN! WE’VE DISCOVERED AN ENTIRELY NEW MEDICAL CONDITION!”

Igor pulled out his notebook.

“Nuclear athid refwux, Mathter!”

Skankella looked at the smoking crater where Herbie’s new spraying cannon had been standing.

“Wonderful. The plant has heartburn, and the rest of us need a fallout shelter.”

---

The Miracle of REGRETEROL™

F.A.N.G. staggered.

His enormous leaves drooped.

A miserable gurgling sound escaped his jaws.

MONSTER approached.

“Plant tummy hurt?”

F.A.N.G. whimpered.

MONSTER patted one enormous leaf.

“Too much junk food.”

Then he reached into his pocket.

He produced a small green bottle.

Printed on the label were the words:

REGRETEROL™

Because You’ll Regret What You Ate!

For Nuclear Heartburn, Radioactive Indigestion, and Catastrophic Gastric Events.

Fast Relief. Questionable Ingredients. Unforeseeable Consequences.

MONSTER opened the bottle.

He poured a small amount into F.A.N.G.’s enormous mouth.

The glowing stopped.

The trembling subsided.

F.A.N.G. released one final, tiny green puff.

Pfffft.

MONSTER smiled.

“Better?”

F.A.N.G. nodded.

“Good plant.”

Abby hurried over.

“MONSTER! What was that?”

MONSTER held up the bottle.

“Monster medicine.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Monster.”

“Who made it?”

“Monster.”

Dr. Altmanstein snatched the bottle.

“REGRETEROL? I’VE NEVER HEARD OF IT!”

Igor scratched his hump.

“But Mathter! You invented it!”

Altmanstein froze.

“I DID?”

“Yeth! Remember when MONSTER ate thix hundred cookieth in one afternoon?”

Abby nodded.

“Oh, I remember that. He developed the worst case of acid reflux I’ve ever seen.”

Skankella took a long drag on her cigarette.

“Worst case? His first burp melted the laboratory door handles.”

“And the second one set off every fire alarm in the castle,” Abby added.

Igor grinned.

“The third one melted the Doctor’th falthe teeth!”

Altmanstein straightened his laboratory coat.

“AH, YES! OF COURSE! REGRETEROL! MY REVOLUTIONARY GASTROINTESTINAL BREAKTHROUGH!”

Abby folded her arms.

“Doctor, you invented it because MONSTER ate too many cookies.”

“ABBY! ALL GREAT SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERIES BEGIN WITH A PROBLEM!”

Skankella smiled.

“And in this castle, most of the problems begin with you.”

The Weedinator stepped forward.

His damaged scanner flickered.

ANALYZING CHEMICAL COMPOSITION.

ACTIVE INGREDIENTS: UNKNOWN.

CHEMICAL STRUCTURE: CLASSIFIED.

EFFECTIVENESS: 100%.

MANUFACTURER: M-1 PHARMACEUTICALS.

The Weedinator tilted his head.

“M-1 PHARMACEUTICALS?”

Inspector Graves looked up.

“M-1?”

Altmanstein puffed out his chest.

“OBVIOUSLY MY PHARMACEUTICAL DIVISION!”

Abby frowned.

“Since when do we have a pharmaceutical division?”

“WE DO NOW!”

MONSTER quietly retrieved the bottle.

“Monster medicine.”

Skankella glanced at the Doctor.

“Well, at least somebody remembered where you put it.”

The Weedinator continued staring at MONSTER.

His scanner produced one final message.

BIOLOGICAL INTELLIGENCE: LOW.

TECHNOLOGICAL ANOMALY: UNEXPLAINED.

FURTHER ANALYSIS RECOMMENDED.

MONSTER looked at him.

“Cookie?”

The Weedinator remained motionless.

“NEGATIVE.”

MONSTER shrugged.

“More for Monster.”

---

Home Sweet Greenhouse

By sunset, F.A.N.G. had returned to Castle IGORITHMS.

He was safely settled inside his reinforced greenhouse.

MONSTER sat beside him.

Feeding him cookies.

Herbie Side had been reinstated as Little Grimley’s official pest-control specialist, although the mayor had forbidden him from purchasing any more experimental herbicides.

The Weedinator had returned to Agent Tangerine’s headquarters to undergo repairs.

His official mission report would contain just three words:

TARGET NOT ELIMINATED.

But before departing Castle IGORITHMS, the Weedinator turned toward MONSTER.

“ANY FINAL WORDS?”

MONSTER looked at F.A.N.G., then back at the Weedinator.

“Hasta la vista, baby.”

The Weedinator froze.

VOICE PATTERN RECOGNIZED.

SOURCE: CLASSIFIED.

CONFIDENCE LEVEL: 99.9%.

MONSTER smiled innocently.

“Monster watch Arnold.”

The Weedinator stared at him for several seconds.

Then climbed into his armored vehicle and drove away.

Dr. Altmanstein was preparing a scientific paper entitled:

NUCLEAR ACID REFLUX: A REVOLUTIONARY ADVANCE IN BOTANICAL DIGESTIVE SCIENCE.

Abby was calculating the cost of repairing the greenhouse.

Igor was attempting to manufacture REGRETEROL™ by mixing baking soda with bat soup.

And Skankella was updating the Institute’s insurance claim.

MONSTER looked at F.A.N.G.

“Plant happy?”

F.A.N.G. nodded.

“Plant stay home.”

The creature curled its enormous roots around the greenhouse floor.

MONSTER smiled.

“Good plant.”

Then F.A.N.G. gave one last tiny burp.

A faint green puff floated toward the ceiling.

MONSTER considered it.

“Less junk food.”

Deep inside Castle IGORITHMS, a hidden computer terminal flickered.

PROJECT M — STATUS REPORT

BIOLOGICAL ASSET: SECURE.

VILLAGE THREAT: NEUTRALIZED.

ENVIRONMENTAL RESTORATION: COMPLETE.

REGRETEROL™ FIELD TEST: SUCCESSFUL.

M-1 PHARMACEUTICALS: OPERATIONAL.

IDENTITY EXPOSURE: NONE CONFIRMED.

The screen went dark.

And somewhere in the castle laboratory, Dr. Altmanstein shouted:

“IGOR! I’VE HAD ANOTHER BRILLIANT IDEA!”

Skankella looked up from her insurance paperwork.

“Oh, God. Somebody hide the chemicals.”

---

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