Jenny and the Cleaner
(Episode 3)
Disclaimer
This is to acknowledge that my good friend Doc Sherwood has graciously given permission to use some of his characters in Jenny and the Cleaner. In fact, it was Doc Sherwood who encouraged me to share this story publicly.
I am not a writer nor am I a scholar like him—just a man who enjoys a good read now and then. These are my own words; ChatGPT was used only for editing, punctuation, grammar and spelling checks. This content is 100% human with the exception of light technical editing.
With Doc Sherwood’s support and encouragement, I humbly present Jenny and the Cleaner.
References to real artists and songs are used fictitiously for storytelling purposes only.
Yours truly,
Danforth Greenwood
Yet still my lips withhold what my soul speaks,
Though his hands move like shadows—gentle, clean.
A killer’s touch, the paradox my heart seeks,
A hidden love I guard, unsaid, unseen.
The Bee spits hatred, sharp as tempered steel,
A cold division carved between us two.
The Cleaner stands, unwavering, grave, and real,
Yet I know his devotion—silent, true.
Then 4-H-N breaks silence, voice forlorn:
“Jenny is in danger—time is running out!”
His circuits flare with warning, fierce and warm,
And I foresee the Cleaner’s path—no doubt.
He searches for me, vow buried yet deep:
“I’ll spill the blood of any who dare keep thee from me.”
Episode 3 — Signals in the Dark
As they stepped into Subsection 2, a strange sound drifted toward them—music, if the word even fit. A man’s voice rode atop the wheeze of a harmonica, loud but muffled by the corridor walls. They followed the noise to a half-open door and paused. Someone inside was singing, off-key and earnest: “Me and my old lady…”
Flashbee tilted his head. “What kind of music is this?”
Jenny frowned. “It sounds like someone might be sick.”
4-H-N knocked—once, twice, a third time. When no answer came, he flipped open the access panel, hit the emergency override, and slid the door aside.
The Cleaner stood in the doorway, finger pressed to his lips, shushing them until the music died away.
“Whew,” he said, exhaling. “Didn’t think I’d survive Hangman’s Jury, but I powered through. Now—what brings you two here? Must be important. I barely see you topside anymore, 4-H-N. Someone must’ve really screwed the pooch to drag you down into my swamp. And I’m guessing…” He flicked a lazy hand toward Flashbee. “It was this little butterfly. What’d he do—release another planet killer? Crash into Ur-anus?”
“Shut up,” Flashbee snapped. “You should be grateful we give you anything to do besides mopping floors and scrubbing bathrooms—though you do those very well. And my name is Flashbee, not ‘butterfly.’”
“Flashbee, butterfly—same thing,” the Cleaner said with a shrug. “Both insects. Both unclean. And I don’t like insects.”
He rose from his desk, expression darkening. “But you, 4-H-N—you saved me. Brought me here from Earth before these Special Program brats ever showed up.”
“Flashbee, wait outside,” 4-H-N ordered.
“Leave you alone with this crazy—”
“NOW!”
Flashbee wilted under her shout, shot the Cleaner one last poisonous glare, and stomped out. The Cleaner smirked after him, gearing up for another insult, when 4-H-N’s voice cut him off.
“Was Jenny here a few moments ago?”
“Yeah. Same as you—walked in looking confused. I figured you botched something and forgot to bring her back to the control room.”
“What did she say? Anything about where she’d been, when she left, or how?”
“Like I said—she looked confused,” the Cleaner repeated. “Asked about the music. Then, like half the times she wanders in here, she’d lost her pants again. So I gave her a new pair—the ones with the Canadian flag.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “She asked about the lyrics, thanked me, then froze. Looked down. Face red. Reached toward me like she was about to say something important… told me I was right… and then—poof. She vanished.”
He folded his arms. “That’s what happened. Now your turn. What’s going on?”
Whatever 4-H-N told him hit hard. His posture stiffened, anger igniting behind his eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll help. It’s Jenny. BUT—I work alone. I don’t need any Special Program spoiled brats slowing me down. Let’s go.”
He swept a bag off his desk, tucked two data chips into a chest pouch, grabbed another pack from the overhead shelf, and turned to leave.
“No weapons?” 4-H-N asked.
The Cleaner paused. His gaze sharpened.
“We’re up against something?” he repeated. “You don’t know. Not yet. But you will—when I’m done. And like I said, it’s just me.”
They were nearly out the door when he stopped again, doubled back, opened a desk compartment, and added something to his pack.
“Changed your mind about a weapon?” 4-H-N asked.
“No. Just grabbed an extra pair of pants. You know how Jenny is.”
4-H-N allowed herself a faint smile. “Right. She’ll need them.”
They headed up two levels to the control room, where Robo-Petunia worked furiously at the slipstream console.
“Are we set?” 4-H-N asked.
“Five minutes,” Robo-Petunia replied without looking up.
“Did Jenny land?”
“Yes. I have her signal—but it’s faint.”
“Good.” 4-H-N turned to the Cleaner. “We need to talk. I talk, you listen.”
He crossed his arms but didn’t interrupt.
“It’s been a long time since you slid. And this isn’t like when you came here—this is different. I can’t guarantee you’ll arrive unnoticed. Jenny’s already there, so once the system’s online, we’ll drop you directly onto her coordinates. They might be waiting.”
“Good,” he said. “Saves me the trouble of hunting them down. And it means I can finish faster. I assume you want a thorough cleaning?”
She nodded.
His voice lowered. “If Jenny is… dead—do you want me to clean it or bring her back?”
4-H-N froze. No one had ever asked her that.
“Clean it,” she said at last. “Clean it well. Out of respect for her. Leave nothing behind.” She handed him a small device. “Your communicator. Talk or listen. And if anything goes wrong, hit the blue button. It’ll lock onto Jenny’s signal.”
“Ready,” Robo-Petunia called out.
The Cleaner stepped onto the platform. As Robo-Petunia entered the last coordinates, he looked back at them, expression carved from iron.
“No one follows,” he said. “I do this alone. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
TO BE CONTINUED
What will the Cleaner find waiting at Jenny’s last known signal—friend, foe, or something far worse?
Will he reach her in time… or will the slipstream drop him straight into a trap?
And when the truth finally surfaces, what secret has Jenny been trying to tell him before she vanished?
About the Creator
Danforth Greenwood
This is my very first story, Jenny and the Cleaner—a reflection on humour, loyalty, and the quiet courage. The idea began with a conversation with my good friend Doc Sherwood, whose encouragement and imagination helped bring it to life.
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