Now, the average person might not know the difference between an assassin and a minion, a henchman and a goon, but they are as different as apples and oranges. Assassins, naturally, assassinate people and are paid incredible sums of money to do it. They wear a lot of black and sometimes have really cool scars on their faces. And they have nicknames like the Scorpion, or Le Tigre, or Black Widow.

The next step down is a minion. In a nutshell, a minion’s job is to fulfill the often impossible demands of his evil boss. If the boss says he wants an army of man-eating gophers, a minion has to get on the phone and track down some of the furry little demons. If the boss says he wants a secret lair on the moon, the minion has to order the supplies of Tang and freeze-dried space ice cream that will be needed in the rocket. Other major responsibilities include praising the boss’s evil plots and feeding his psychotic pet (typically a venomous snake or a tarantula or a horribly mutated house cat). Basically, a minion is a personal assistant—only an evil personal assistant. It’s not as cool as being an assassin, but you get health and dental insurance, and the boss usually pays into your 401(k).

After minions, there’s henchmen. Henchmen are grunts who do all the hard labor. They build the secret fortress and massive doomsday devices. They usually guard the lair and, in a pinch, can be called in to help push the boss’s enemies into the shark tank. All in all, the work is fine. It’s the uniform that stinks. See, henchmen have to wear ridiculous costumes. If your boss is a lunatic obsessed with bears, you can be sure you’re wearing a big furry suit to work. If your boss dresses like the ringleader of a circus, you better buy yourself a pair of stilts or some clown shoes. It’s downright humiliating, and, unfortunately, workers in the crime industry do not have strong union representation.

Goons, however, are at the very bottom of the villain food chain. Most are no more than muscle for mad scientists, corrupt politicians, evil geniuses, and megalomaniacs. They kidnap people, break a lot of legs, and make a lot of threats (all while cracking their knuckles for dramatic effect). Most of them are misshapen, with huge jaws, arms like gorillas, and heads resembling damaged pumpkins. The Hyena did not want to be a goon. Sure, it beat competing in the Putnam County Pancake Pageant, but it would still look terrible on her résumé. It was very easy to get typecast in her business, and once you got pegged as a goon, it was hard to work your way up.

But a paycheck is a paycheck. The Hyena needed the money, so she was doing her best to put her concerns aside and follow a few simple rules: (1) Don’t date the other goons. (2) Get the money up front and in cash (it was tempting to work for free, especially when your boss promised to give you a small continent or chain of islands to rule when he was in charge of the world, but promises don’t pay the bills). And (3) Don’t criticize the boss.

Rule number three was giving the Hyena trouble. Dr. Jigsaw was perfectly pleasant to her. She rarely saw him (which was good because the bizarre perfection of his surgically designed face unnerved her), and he brought in donuts every Friday for the staff. But though he provided a happy work environment, he neglected important details. For instance, he had failed to tell her that some of the scientists on her kidnapping list were world-class athletes. Dr. Hammond was a semiprofessional boxer. Dr. Beldean had once been a Navy SEAL. Professor Church was incredibly fast with a slide rule. A little information could have spared the Hyena a lot of grief and quite a few bruises. When she asked Jigsaw if he was aware that Dr. Banyon had once been a pro wrestler, he nodded and offered her the last jelly donut.

So when the Hyena went after her next target—a Professor Joseph Lunich, who was the world’s preeminent expert on magnetism—she wondered what she didn’t know about him. Jigsaw was obsessed with Lunich’s latest invention—the miniature tractor beam—and not only wanted the Hyena to bag him, but his machine as well. Jigsaw claimed the device was revolutionary and essential to his plans. The Hyena couldn’t have cared less about some goofy machine. She was more concerned about whether Lunich had been an Ultimate Fighter or a defensive tackle before he invented it.

The professor’s lab was in an empty warehouse on the campus of Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York. The Hyena slinked inside and found a good hiding space to wait for the scientist. He arrived hours later and went right to work on his device. The Hyena quickly understood why Jigsaw found the miniature tractor beam so intriguing.

Lunich stuffed a tiny pointed device into a potted plant, pushed a button on the device’s side, and aimed the beam that shot out of it at a pickup truck parked inside the warehouse space. Then he climbed into the pickup truck, started the engine, and floored the gas. The truck’s powerful engine throbbed as its wheels spun in vain. The tractor beam bathed it in a green energy and held it fast. The truck couldn’t move an inch; it was held in place by a device no bigger than a pencil. Then, remarkably, the truck began to slide backward—it was being pulled across the room by the tiny device.

When the experiment was over, the Hyena stepped out of her hiding place. “I have to admit, I think your machine is pretty awesome,” she said to the startled scientist. “So does my boss. He’d like you to show him how it works. So, how about it? Want to give a kid a break and go quietly?”

Unfortunately, the only break Dr. Lunich gave was for the door. In a flash, he was gone, leaving the would-be assassin dumfounded. The Hyena would later learn that Dr. Jigsaw had neglected to tell her that the professor was not only a brilliant scientist, but also a record-breaking sprinter.

What happened next was an exercise in humiliation. Lunich raced across the campus as gracefully as a deer. He weaved through the maze of paths, shouting for help along the way. The Hyena was sure the campus police or some Good Samaritan would arrive at any moment. Worse, she realized, she was never going to be able to catch the doctor in her high-heeled boots. When she fell in the grass for the fifth time, she noticed she had broken a heel. Disgusted, she vowed to track down and kill the people who designed women’s shoes. In her frustration, she pulled the boot off and angrily tossed it in Lunich’s direction. To her utter amazement, it sailed across the lawn and smacked the doctor squarely in the back of the head. He crumpled to the ground and lay still.

It was a lucky break for shoe designers everywhere.

STILL HERE, HUH? WELL, GOOD

FOR YOU. I SUPPOSE YOU’RE

EAGER TO READ MORE OF THE

FILE. FINE, BUT TO CONTINUE,

YOU MUST HAVE LEVEL 4

CLEARANCE, AND TO GET LEVEL

4 CLEARANCE, I’M GOING TO

NEED A DNA SAMPLE. PLEASE

PLUCK A STRAND OF YOUR HAIR

AND PLACE IT ONTO THE

SENSOR FOR ANALYSIS.

UGH … CAN I GET A

STRAND NOT COVERED IN

DANDRUFF! TRY AGAIN.