Looking in the mirror, his paunch made obvious by skin-tight latex; once impressive cape now faded and tatty, Doctor Lucian Super-Evil IV sighed.

Thirty years had passed since he’d first put on his Super-Evil Laser Gloves, and practiced his Super-Evil laugh – a laugh which had struck terror into the hearts of millions. Back then, he’d even scared himself.

Now… Reduced to this.

Since the powers-that-be had found some teenage upstart to terrorise his nemesis, Protectus, what use did they have for a middle-aged chain smoker with a conspicuous lack of biceps and a nut allergy?

‘Super-Evil’s Final Battle’, they’d call it. History books would hail it as the end of one of the longest-lasting careers in the business – but that didn’t stop this last indignity hurting more than any past defeat.

From somewhere, one of his loyal minions called him to action.

As he stepped on set, the live audience gave him a half-hearted collective boo, and then without further ado, Alan Smith launched into his last script.