Henchman 96

There was a time when Sheila would welcome every new henchman into the Monarch's crew. Tall or short, big or small, she'd be the one to put the stamp of approval on them. Naturally, only the most 'gifted'...or those possessing some special talent...would earn the right to wear black and marigold.

As time progressed, however, Sheila had to learn to be more selective. Thanks in no small part to Dr Venture's bodyguard, that Swedish murder machine and all-around slayer of henchmen, she found herself welcoming far too many. One or two per week was plenty to keep the ranks filled, but every time they stormed the Venture compound, she'd find herself wading through a huge influx of new recruits. A dozen or more bright-eyed and eager minions every other week was enough to overburden even the hardiest of talent acquisition specialists.

This, however, was looking to be a light week...Dr Mrs only has one new henchman to put through his paces.

Henchman 96, fresh out of a bad breakup and a dried-up factory job, happened upon a recruiting pamphlet while standing in line at his local employment resource center. At first, he thought it was a joke, some kind of prank left behind by bored college students. "Is henching right for you?" it asked. Medical, dental, weapons training, and...a flying cocoon? What the hell is 'Mighty Monarch' anyway?

On a whim, he emailed the address on the pamphlet...and within minutes was inundated with information about the advantages and benefits of 'costumed aggression'. The tiny, backwater town he lived in didn't have anything left to offer...his girlfriend was long gone...and any link he had to friends and family was tenuous at best. "Fuck it", he thought...a paycheck is a paycheck.

A week later, and he was a henchman in the service of...a guy dressed up like a butterfly. It couldn't be real, but here he was, dressed up in the worst-fitting thing he'd ever worn, complete with utility belt and red-tinted goggles. All of the other henchmen had a set of cosplay-looking wings on their backs...of which, being the 'new guy', he hadn't earned yet.

And, like any new guy, he'd draw the short straw...now pulling a graveyard shift to watch over the cocoon's control room. A giant magenta colored room full of consoles, endless rows of screens and buttons...what they were for or how to use them, he had no idea. The senior henchmen weren't much help either, the outgoing shift only telling him that his 'evaluator' would come around at some point...and not to touch anything.

An hour into his six-hour-long shift, and he was already bored, his eyelids heavy as he began to nod off...the constant drone of faraway anti-gravity motors only pushing him further toward slumber. One of these consoles has gotta have internet access...a television...anything to help keep him awake. A look around to see if anyone is there, the new henchman reaches out for the most innocuous-looking button he can find...every single switch and button in the place is unlabeled.

Sheila: Don't touch that! That's the self-destruct button for the entire cocoon!

The henchman nearly jumps out of his chair, startled by the husky voice behind him. Spinning around, he's met with...what with the voice, he was expecting to see a man...a short-statured brunette staring back at him, a wisp of a smirk in the corner of her mouth. His...evaluator? She couldn't be...the henchman's alarmed reaction now fading, he notes that she's only wearing a fluffy, pink bathrobe.

...and as far as he can discern, aside from a pair of patent black stilettos, she isn't wearing anything beneath it.

Sheila: I'm just messin' with yuh. That turns on the popcorn machine over in the break room.

Sheila rounds his chair, the henchman swiveling back towards the console as she does so. The brunette turns, nonchalantly leaning back against the desk to face him. The smirk is gone, replaced with a rather serious-looking expression as she eyes the new-hire, giving him the once-over.

Sheila: I'm Dr Mrs the Monarch, second in command here. As executive officer, one of my many duties is to assess the abilities of new-hire candidates. Your 'performance' during my evaluation will directly affect your placement within our little family.

The Monarch's number two abruptly pulls the knot of the bathrobe's belt. The pink terrycloth garment slips open to confirm that, yes, she is in fact nude beneath it. Petite, natural d-cups, and a body looks like its come straight from a Pilates workout...she knows his eyelids are flickering behind those red-tinted goggles. Glancing downward, Sheila can see that she's already made a profound impression upon the would-be henchman, a forearm-size column of flesh rising to attention beneath his ill-fitting uniform.

Her eyes narrow, the serious look on her face changing to a purely lecherous, cheek-raising half-smile. To add an exclamation point, the curvaceous woman lifts her leg, her shaven nethers in full view as she props a heel-clad foot onto the henchman's armrest.

Sheila: So, let's see what 'special skills' you have to offer Team Monarch.

Download them here here here and here.

Original Sketch by Henshin Tiger

Colors and Edits by Phillipthe2