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Ivan paced a bit as he waited on the elevator to reach his floor. It was only minutes past midnight, so he knew things were really happing at Evil Empire, Inc. They did their best work after dark.

Hired nearly five years ago, Ivan Frankel, Minion #12568, was certain that he was part o the last generation of minions to even see Our Great Leader, or OGL as he is known around the compound. Even with that brief glimpse at employee orientation of the old fat aging panda in an Armani suit, the gray wolf was certain he wouldn't be able to point him out of a lineup of other old fat aging pandas. OGL had become more paws off in running the vast organization specializing in world domination, leaving the day to day duties to his trusted mangers, Minions with single digit numbers, who have been with Evil Empire, Inc. for decades.

The elevator dinged, the door opening, revealing an empty car. Ivan stepped inside, grateful that the floor of the elevator was carpeted. His footpads were cold from waiting on the bare concrete outside. He pushed the button for floor number 5 and by habit the door close button as well, even though no one else was waiting or approaching the car. He bated riding the elevator with others. Just being inside by himself made him claustrophobic enough.

The door closed and the car moved downward. Only the very to barely legal operations of EEI were housed in buildings above ground. All other departments had vast underground facilities, and the Research and Development Department was no exception. It wasn't nicknamed the Mad Scientist Hall for nothing.

Ivan was surprised when he received a memo in his locker this evening from a Dr. Elaine Twitter demanding his presence in her lab as soon as possible. He was just a loading specialist from the docks. His only contract with anything scientific was making sure the flammable contraband and the toxic contraband where delivered to their proper departments quickly and quietly.

But there it was, on company letterhead with the intertwined gold and silver dragon logo, matching the one on his ID. Even the paper felt official, a bit stiffer than the normal copier stock. He wouldn't be surprised if a copy of this same wasn't sitting in his personnel file as well.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the elevator car reaching its destination. Dr. Twitter's lab was in room 514, down the hall and around the corner.

"Come in," a female voice chittered as he knocked on the correct door.

Ivan stepped into what looked like a small metal cage with a door ahead of him and two frosted windows. One window to his right was partly open with a brown paw sticking out of it. "Your identification, please?"

Ivan unhooked his ID and placed it right on the the lady's pawpad. He hoped that would be enough to release him from the security cage. It was smaller than the elevator.

"Ah, 12568, perfect. Come right in."

To his relief, the door hissed and opened.

Dr. Twitter's lab looked liked the ones Ivan remembered from high school, only far, far bigger. Glass tubes swirling and spiraling into beakers, dozens of bottles of chemicals lining the walls. The sharp scent of disinfectant hung in the air, making him sneeze. Beyond him was a desk cluttered with files and notepads, and beyond that was another door, marked "Authorized Personnel Only".

"Ahem..." Ivan turned his head as the aforementioned scientist brushed past him, a short brown squirrel, frizzy blond hair piled up on her head in a messy bun, fluffy tail twitching as she put his badge on her desk and picked up a thick folder. Spinning around, Ivan noticed her huge gray eyes framed by white cat's eye glasses. Her body was mostly covered by the white lab coat that went from her chest fluff to just above her knees. The badge attached to her lower pocket declared her Minion #7821.

For a moment, she simply flipped through the folder, humming a frantic little tune, her eyes flicking up to look at Ivan for a few seconds before returning to the folder. Squirrels were always so manic, Ivan thought as her silence was starting to make him even more nervous.

Dr. Twitter then snapped the folder shut and walked to Ivan, looking all over his body. "Mr. Frankel, I see that you haven't changed much since your last physical. That's good." She poked a bicep, then both pecs before squeezing the matching bicep. "Be a dear and flex this for me, please?"

Puzzled by the request, Ivan tensed the muscle, Dr. Twitter's satisfied chitter confusing him all the more as she poked at the hardened lump. Muscles like his were not that big of a deal; you had to be stacked to keep up with the oxen, horses and bears working the docks. He hoped the rather personal touches she was giving him had a point.

He felt her paw on his rear and yipped in surprise. "Dr. Twitter..."

She ignored him, squeezing the other cheek and then cupping his groin. "A perfect specimen. You'll do wonderfully!"

"For what?" he squeaked, barely daring to breathe at the impromptu intimate exam.

"Oh well, almost perfect anyway." She released him, returning to the folder and flipping more pages. "I've been looking over your file, and I just want to verify one thing. Do you still identify as bisexual?"

Ivan felt his eyes bulge out of his head. "Excuse me?"

If the scientist noticed his distress, she did not let on. She sighed impatiently, glaring at him like one would a naughty schoolpup who didn't answer correctly. "According to these reports from the Observation, Surveillance and Security Department, you've been closely involved with Minion #13501 as of late. I need to know do you still find females sexually attractive. This is important!"

The fact that the OSS Department knew of his and Joseph Castile's relationship didn't surprise him in the least. It was their job to keep close tabs on the personal lives of every business contact, government official, and EE, Inc. personnel. Homosexual relationship were were accepted like their heterosexual counterparts, equal domestic mate rights and all, as long on such dealings didn't interfere with one's duties. In fact, such relationships between co-workers were encourage, if one must answer the call to mate, and the offerings in the company brothel were unsatisfying.

"Yes, yes, I still do!" Ivan was at his wits end already. "Now what's going on?"

A smile crossed her muzzle, and she closed the folder and kicked a chair to over to him. "Oh, thank goodness. You were my first choice for this very sensitive assignment. It took weeks of going through employee records to get someone who fit my needs precisely. Now, have a seat. Would you care a drink while I explain?"

Ivan caught the chair with one paw and slumped into it, grunting a positive answer. Part of him realized that it wasn't very wise to accept drinks from some who probably made poisons and sleeping potions for a living, but he needed a drink badly. He watched Dr. Twitter flutter over to a mini bar tucked into far corner of the room. As she bent over to open the fridge, Ivan noticed how the split in the back of her lab coat not only gave room for her bushy tail, but a rather blatant view of her wide rump, covered by the purple cloth of the rather modest skirt she wore. For a moment, he thought that the assignment would involved doing "sensitive" things to the good doctor herself, given all the questions and the gropes. At least that would explain the offer for alcohol.

Dr. Twitter quickly returned with a sniffer of scotch, handing it over Ivan. He sipped the strong liquid slowly, watching her circle the desk and sit, pulling out several forms and an ink pad.

"I'd hoped you'd agreed to this, so I took the liberty of filling out your consent and privacy forms for you. In triplicate, just the way HR likes them. I'll just need a pawprint here and here, and oh, here too, so we can update the permissions on your badge."

Dabbing at the proffered pad, Ivan marked each appropriate page with a light tap. Dr. Twitter them gave him a santiwipe to clean up.

"Now, is the moment you've been waiting for - the details. As you may well know, Our Great Leader," at this point she and Ivan both salute, as was protocol whenever OGL was mentioned, "has in his retinue hundreds of concubines. Some are paying off debts to EE, Inc., others are gifts, some are involuntary guests. All could be handed over to business associates as bribes or gifts at His command. This practice of "gifting" has work very well for a very long time, but I have the theory that a part of it can be improved, specifically the concubines. Last year, the Department of Negotiated Compliance heard by theory and wanted me to acquire and train a girl for the High Minster of Bruneau whose sole purpose is to be ever ready, ever willing. No more whiny, crying virginal damsels plotting to escape or be saved by the Hero of the Day."

The Hero of the Day was the all purpose term for the seemingly endless horde of plucky young upstarts who insist upon making life difficult or OGL and Evil Empire, Inc. As per company policy, they are barely acknowledged with a few hundred Redshirt Units and a climatic tour of one of EE Inc.'s many decoy compounds. Once they are convinced that they won, the operations are sent completely underground for a some time before kicking in fully as usual. Ivan usually cashed in some of his vacation hours during that downtime.

Dr. Twitter continued, eyes shining in excitement. "So I got first pick of the newest brothel catch last year and found a female that was perfect. I've spent the year behavior training her, prepping her for duty, brainwashing, some neural alterations and so on, until she is ready to go. Trouble is, I haven't actually tested her on a red blooded male. The Minister is a wolf, and I simply can't let her go without see how she takes a real live knot inside of her. That, Mr. Frankel, is where you come in."