Work Text:
The lab had the sharp scent of solder and ozone that clung to Petey’s fur. Slightly cracked fluorescent lights flickered overhead, the buzzing making the tapping of his claws against the workbench stand out like a sore thumb. A mess of wires, gears, and partially built contraptions covered the tables and floor like a monument to his own genius… or his obsession with villainy.
Tomato, tomato.
Lil Petey sat on the floor and doodled in a notebook that had a crayon drawing of his dad holding what might be a wrench scrawled on the cover. His tail flicked lazily while he hummed something under his breath. Every few seconds, he’d look up to watch his dad mess with the control panel of a nightmare hybrid between a laser cannon, a camera, and a smoothie maker.
“Uh, Daddy?”
Petey grunted without looking up, doing safety squints as a spark jumped from the panel. “One sec, kid. If I move this relay two millimeters to the left, I can triple the power output. Do you know what that means?”
Lil Petey brightened as he asked, “Bigger smoothies?”
Petey’s whiskers twitched. “It means science.”
The machine whirred, sputtered, and then screamed like a tortured soul getting dragged to its indiscernible fate.
Then it coughed out a puff of smoke and singed the tip of Petey’s tail.
Lil Petey’s pencil froze as he squinted and tilted his head. “…Is that supposed to happen?”
Petey smacked the machine with a scowl before smacking the fire that was starting to catch on his fur. “Of course it’s supposed to happen. That’s a calibration flare. Very advanced concept. You wouldn’t understand.”
Lil Petey tilted his head. “Does OSHA understand?”
The question hit Petey like a wrench to the skull (which he definitely doesn’t have experience with). His claws stilled mid-tap. “What did you just say?”
“You know, OSHA,” Lil Petey said innocently, flipping to a new page in his notebook as he absentmindedly doodled. “I was reading about ‘em online. They’re the people who make sure places are safe! Do you have one of those… um… safety plans?”
Petey laughed. Loud, dismissive, nervous, all of the above, and maybe a little more that he didn’t want to think about too much. “Safety plan? Please. I’m a criminal mastermind. My “plan” is don’t stick your paw where it doesn’t belong and hope for the best.”
“But…” Lil Petey glanced around the lab. “There’s wires everywhere. You got hurt last week tripping and hitting your head with a hammer. There’s also the ladder in that puddle of oil in the corner.”
Petey followed his gaze, grimaced, and immediately turned away. “It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’ve survived worse than a puddle.”
“Yeah,” Lil Petey said softly, his eyes flicking down to the floor, “but I don’t wanna worry about you, Daddy.”
The words landed harder than they had any right to. Petey glanced back down at him holding his sketchbook against his chest. There was no judgment in his tone, only the obnoxiously pure kind of love that made Petey feel like he’d taken a baseball bat to the chest.
He definitely didn’t also have that happen to him.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his muzzle. “Alright, alright. Maybe… maybe I could look into it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t hurt too much, only a little. Just so you don’t have to worry about me. It’s my job to worry about me and I get to slack off.”
Lil Petey beamed. “I can help you make flashcards!”
“Great. Just what I need. Flashcards.”
That night, long after Lil Petey had fallen asleep, Petey sat alone at his desk with his computer. OSHA 10-Hour General Industry Training Course, Hazard Communication Standard, even Machine Guarding Basics. His tail swished furiously as he sighed and started to read.
By midnight, he had started to take notes.
Two hours later, he was muttering to himself, which wasn’t unusual in his case.
“Wait, minimum railing height forty-two inches? My catwalks are thirty-eight! That’s a violation! I’ve been living like an animal!”
At five, he went back over his notes and started reorganizing the entire lab.
It began small.
It started with labeling containers, securing ladders, and checking cords, but soon he was buried in lockout-tagout tags and color-coded safety binders. His lair changed from an evil genius’s workshop to what could be mistaken as an only slightly hazardous factory floor, since his contraption still towered above him.
He even put up a poster of a cat saying “Hang in There!”
He drew a harness rig onto it.
By the next morning, the transformation was undeniable.
When Lil Petey wandered in for breakfast, he nearly walked into a bright yellow floor sign that read “Caution: Wet Floor”, some water still visible where the oil puddle used to be.
“Whoa, Daddy! You cleaned up?”
Petey grinned, sipping room temperature coffee from a mug that had words scribbled in sharpie that read, “World’s Safest Genius.” “Yep, since OSHA is coming by. I’ve enrolled. I’m getting certified.”
Lil Petey blinked. “Certified in… not dying?”
“In preventing dying! There’s a difference. I’m doing this for you. And maybe a little for me… and maybe for an evil plan I have but that’s besides the point.”
Lil Petey hugged him, tail wagging. “I’m proud of you, Daddy.”
Petey stiffened like he’d been caught hugging a cactus, then awkwardly patted his son’s back. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me. Go… draw something or something. I’ve got compliance to achieve and safety to weaponize.”
As Lil Petey wandered off, Petey turned back to his clipboard, eyes narrowing. “Machine guarding… hazard communication… fall protection…”
His claws flexed. His grin widened as he glanced at the picture of Dog Man.
Villainy could wait.
For now.
Petey passed his OSHA certification with flying colors. When the badge arrived in his mailbox a few days later, he stared at it like it was a royal seal.
“Certified Occupational Safety And Health Inspector,” he muttered to himself. “I can finally get started on my evil master plan.”
By that evening, his lair had looked more like a government laboratory than an evil genius’s hideout. Bright yellow hazard tape ran along every floor edge, safety binders sat in neat alphabetical order, and each door even had a printed evacuation plan.
Even the death ray wore a new label reading: “DANGER – Laser Emission Area. ANSI Z136.1 Compliance Verified.”
Even 80-HD got reflective tape pressed to his chest and back to make sure it maintained visibility.
Lil Petey wandered in wearing a tiny hard hat Petey had “gifted” him. “Woah, this place looks so cool!”
Petey smirked proudly. “Safety is the ultimate flex, kid. Now nobody can tell me my machines are dangerous. They’re regulated.”
“Does that mean you’re done being a bad guy?”
Petey snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m still a villain. Just the kind of villain that people hate more than the crime kind. Do you know how much power comes from knowing every single regulation? I can weaponize safety.”
Lil Petey blinked and tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Weaponize… safety? That doesn’t even make any sense”
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
Petey didn’t waste a second before scheduling his first inspection. His target.
Dog Man’s precinct.
He arrived midmorning in full uniform. High-vis vest, clipboard in paw, safety glasses perched crookedly on his muzzle. The whole shebang. The badge clipped to his chest shined with authority that he absolutely shouldn’t have.
Dog Man was standing by the front desk, a few doughnut crumbs still on his muzzle. His tail wagged briefly at he registered someone walking in before stopping dead. His pupils narrowed.
Petey’s smile widened.
“Morning, Officer,” Petey purred. “I’m here for a routine workplace inspection under municipal safety jurisdiction 29 CFR 1910. Don’t act surprised, since public facilities are not exempt from compliance.”
Dog Man frowned, giving him a deadpan glare.
“Oh, I can see it now,” Petey said. “That look says, ‘Petey, what fresh nonsense is this?’ Don’t worry, Fido. I’m not here to fight.” He flashed his clipboard. “I’m just here to help.”
Dog Man’s fur bristled.
Petey stepped past him and pulled out a tape measure. “Now, let’s talk egress routes.” He dropped to one knee, measuring between two desks. “Aha! Thirty-four inches of clearance. The minimum is thirty-six. That’s a violation of 29 CFR 1910.37(c)(4), since it’s an inadequate exit access width.” He clicked his pen dramatically. “That’s a citation, Officer.”
Dog Man’s eyes narrowed further.
Petey strutted toward the breakroom. “Oh, boy! Look at this mess. Coffee machine plugged into a chain of extension cords. Tsk tsk. That’s a textbook violation of 29 CFR 1910.305(g)(1)(iv), improper use of flexible cords.”
Dog Man facepalmed.
“Oh no, what’s this over here?” Petey crouched beside a mop leaning against the wall, pointing with exaggerated shock. “No secondary container labeling on this bottle of cleaner. That’s 29 CFR 1910.1200(f)(6), improper hazard communication.”
He scribbled another citation, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face. “Honestly, flea bag, I expected more from a publicly funded police department. You’re practically a walking case study in noncompliance.”
Dog Man tried to grab the clipboard, but Petey spun away with a grin. “Would you look at that, an officer attempting to tamper with inspection materials. That’s obstruction under 29 CFR 1903.7(b).”
Dog Man let out a low, rumbling growl.
Petey leaned closer as his voice dropped to a whisper. “Go ahead, Goody-Two-Paws. Bite me. I’ll just file an incident report and cite your department for workplace violence.”
Dog Man froze, paw twitching. He hated how right Petey was.
Petey loved how right he was.
Petey strolled onward, humming. “Let’s check the evidence room, shall we?” He flicked on the lights and gasped in delight. “Oh, this is rich.”
He pointed dramatically. “Unsecured shelving, violation of 29 CFR 1910.176(b). Improper stacking of items above six feet without restraint, 1910.176(a). And would you look at that? No emergency eyewash station near the chemical locker. 29 CFR 1910.151(c). I could spend all day in here.”
Dog Man’s tail lashed, hitting a filing cabinet. Papers fluttered. Petey slid a “CAUTION: SLIP HAZARD” sign under the pile without missing a beat.
“See? Already making your workplace safer. You’re welcome.”
Dog Man exhaled sharply through his nose.
Petey finished his round, adjusting his vest. “Well, Officer, this was… enlightening. I’ll be submitting your report to the City Safety Commission.” He flipped through his clipboard, reading aloud from the summary sheet.
Official Citation Summary, Ohkay City Police Department, Main Precinct
- 1910.37(c)(4): Egress route width. Noncompliant (34 in. observed).
- 1910.305(g)(1)(iv): Improper cord usage. Noncompliant.
- 1910.1200(f)(6): Secondary labeling. Missing.
- 1910.176(b): Unsecured shelving. Noncompliant.
- 1910.151(c): Eyewash station. Absent.
- General Comments: Facility safety culture needs improvement. Recommend remedial training and signage.
Filed by Inspector P. T. Cat, Certified OSHA Compliance Specialist.
He tore off a pink copy and handed it to Dog Man like it was a trophy, since it felt like one. “There you go. Read it and weep, flea bag.”
Dog Man didn’t take it. He just stared, shoulders loose as he glared.
Petey shrugged and pinned the citation neatly to the bulletin board beside the precinct rules. “Display of official inspection results is mandatory under 1903.16(a). You’re welcome… again.”
He tipped his hard hat and walked toward the exit with a pep in his step. “I’ll be back next week for your reinspection. Maybe by then you’ll have cleaned up those electrical hazards.”
Dog Man let out a strangled bark of frustration, claws digging into the desk.
Petey paused in the doorway and smiled, that infuriatingly teasing smile. “Don’t take it personally, mutt. I’m just doing my job.”
And with that, he walked out into the sunlight with the clipboard under his arm and his tail flicking with pride. For the first time in his career, Petey didn’t just feel powerful. He felt untouchable.
Who knew safety could be so evil?