Chapter Text
At first, the ruse was going perfectly.
Losers?
Distracted.
Ninja-Bot?
Nearing the Wu.
Wuya?
Hadn’t spoken for a solid five minutes.
All that remained was a smooth late-night sail toward diabolical victory that sunk rock-bottom the moment Ninja-Bot nabbed the Wu without notice and proceeded to plow straight through stall after empty stall of the closed sea-side fish market located in Tokyo, Japan.
The splintering of wood into what sounded to be toothpicks, while certainly A+ destruction, was well-distinguishable from the battle between those Xiaolin Losers and Jack’s Koi-Bots; so if an emergency chopper from TMPD was already on the way, it could only have been expected. The first-comers of circling vultures were surely present for the fallout, but Jack didn’t get to check for them because he was too busy cursing the Wu’s moment of reveal while he watched the monks for any sign of notice, wondering for the umpteenth time on just why it couldn't have waited at least a few more days.
Seriously: He’d been so close to finishing Ninja-Bot's stealth protocols, only to yet again have his technological developments interrupted by a Wu going live.
'Man, I knew I should have let this one go,' he lamented at the time. 'Now I'm gonna lose all that progress and still have to listen to Wuya's mouth.'
The dull stare she's been more often making at him as of late was a tangible presence to his left, and he made sure to never look there. That, he was saving for when the monks caught wind of his Ninja-Bot's noisy escape. He would blame her (sewer-drain of a mouth) for his every defeat as of late, would rant rhetorical questions one after the other, and then they'd be off to another back-and-forth while he does all of the work and she floats around like rising fumes from an open manhole in the desert.
Most of that never happened, though, because to his then-blinking surprise, the monks only continued to fight his Koi-Bots.
He almost smiled. He felt especially to when Ninja-Bot was in the clear, but he shot down the urge by glancing to his left; which was well-timed, since the monks’ fight with his Koi-Bots ended not long after his attention returned to it, meaning it was time to race the monks for the Wu and mirror their disappointment when they discovered it gone.
Evil perfection, it had been. He’ll never know how the monks managed to miss all the ruckus that Ninja-Bot had made, but their collective hardness of hearing was more humorous than problematic.
Unlike the Wu gained from this earlier encounter.
As it stands, Jack has little use for the Zing Zom-Bone. He's an evil genius capable of crafting robots far superior to zombies.
'They certainly win in the intelligence department.' The young pale-white teenager's every booted step down yet another teal-colored hallway sways the ragged ends of his black trench coat. 'And I've got enough mindless people and… entities in my life already.'
Fortunately PandaBubba gave a call not long after the Wu's retrieval and wished to make trade, though Jack was more happy for the distraction than anything else, as all joy derived from lying to Wuya had been extinguished (by her foul mouth) by the time his watch had rumbled to notify him of an incoming call.
Though that’s not to say there hadn't been serious doubt of PB’s offer's evil seal of integrity. New robots are always exciting – particularly when he isn't short on funds for the materials – but PB doesn't know a thing about robotics. Such a shortsighted moron couldn’t hope to understand the complex intricacies of designed and manufactured artificial intelligence.
No. Couldn’t happen even in Wuya’s life-time.
It was only after a long-winded explanation from some stuttering (and likely coerced) stranger on what upgrades have been made to Jack’s Koi-Bot design that this evil bargain gained any realm within reality. Titanium alloy armored plates; ranged, energy-based weaponry; system enhancements, and a new menacing design make for one sweet deal, though, contrary to the bored tone with which Jack had agreed to it over the phone.
It's just too bad the meet reeks. Jack doesn't know why it has to be the Assembly Room #4 Lookout within Tohomiko Electronics Skyscraper, but then again, it's not like he got to ask, either, since the short-sighted freak hung up right after naming it.
The lack of respect for an evil genius such as himself was incredible. Not even an evil chuckle in parting? A "goodbye" or "farewell"? Jack understands they're both evil and all – himself to a much higher extent – but that doesn't mean evil common courtesy has to go out the window.
‘That kind of thing should be reserved for the good guys!’
Now he's wandering this gigantic building in search of a map – which is how it’s been for about twenty minutes or so, and, oh, what an enjoyable twenty Wuya’s made them. The insurmountable pleasure of her incessant complaining throughout the duration was entirely its own, never mind the verbal bombardment he’d endured from her on the way to the place.
As such, it's with utmost caution that Jack's red eyes peer back at the witch-hag that’s been following him like a curse down numerous teal-colored hallways. She's glaring off to the side, her tendrils serving as arms crossed as those sprouting from her head twitch erratically. All signs of thorough irritation are present, but what matters most is that she's quiet – that for once, her rancid voice isn't adding to the awful sight of her.
His eyes look back ahead, but the damage is done. His retinas need a break.
Oh great… there’s a man ahead looking like he’s going to become another archaic nuisance. Mop in hand, the short, old, blue jumpsuit-wearing fellow is immediately dubbed, 'Janitor Duty' – and boy is that disapproving frown on his wrinkly face seriously grating on Jack's already irritated nerves.
The feeling is only bolstered by Jack nearing enough to smell a familiar decay emanating off the man. For though it can never hope to rival the ever-undisputed beholder of offensive odors wafting and floating behind him, the Stench of the Old is still recognizable in the air.
His air.
Janitor Duty's frown deepens. He seems ready to speak, until Jack steps right up to him with an angry sneer on his face and looms over this newest aged annoyance.
The man's expression can't crumble fast enough.
"You want something, Mop-Man?!" Jack doesn't wish to see or smell Wuya's youth, never mind be lost in it!
The guy looks like a deer caught in headlights. Eighteen-wheeler headlights. Maybe even train headlights. Yet, shocked into a fright as he is, Janitor Duty seems to feel his calling in the next instant.
Gaze plummeting, the old geezer hurries to repeatedly dunk his mop into a bucket of cleaning solution, nearly dropping it as liquid sloshes over the rim. He then jerks the cleaning utensil out, plops it on the floor, and mops hastily back and forth.
Janitor Duty's focus on his life's work puts an amused smirk on Jack’s face. The goth turns on his heel and continues down the hall, and though he hears a snort come from close behind him, he readily ignores the ugly noise in favor of an upcoming T-junction.
The left turn earns his spontaneous decision.
No need to give the witch hag any clue of how lost he is. How she hasn't made the connection yet, what with how long he's been walking around this building bickering with her about the "lost" Wu, is unknown, but he's thankful for it nonetheless.
Somewhat.
Kind of.
Not really…
Yet he finds himself growing annoyed again for a different reason than the ghostly ugliness that’s trailing behind him.
A map. There are none. Have been none. Two floors thus far and not once have any of the direction signs been useful.
How’s it possible…? ‘This place is huge! Who’s the com-plete–’
"You're lost, aren't you?" speaks the loathsome voice from behind.
The irritated look on her “face” is easy to imagine.
"What?" Feign surprise; don't turn. "I'm not lost." Give a dismissive wave behind. "I'm just… taking the scenic route."
Yeah. Scenic route indeed. The aimless walk has shown many a robotic invention – even one that reminded him of a creation of his own:
U–Bot.
Able to mimic both the appearance and personality of its owner, memories of Chameleon-Bot's infiltration of the monks’ temple flooded Jack's mind whilst he took in the smaller robot's silver humanoid design. He couldn't resist an amused grin as he reminisced and didn't feel particularly inclined to, either.
Until…
Wrinkling her nose, the Japanese girl shut her eyes and shook her head. "Evil and creepy. Huh," she scoffed, "what a combination."
That soured his mood, and he tore his sudden glare from U-Bot, to the next item of not-as-great interest.
The thing's small anyways. Miniature. It's made of nice materials, got complex internals, and the perfect mimicry of another's personality is nice, but Chameleon-Bot did the job fine enough while instead morphing into a perfect, life-size replica. It also fought, had a two-way video feed, and once-upon-a-time was a loyal automaton.
Really, it's only natural for CB to be the better robot – destruction notwithstanding.
Wuya floats aside Jack's head as he walks. "You're a terrible liar…" Her ghostly arms cross, the look on her mask-like face sharpened with annoyance.
Oh yeah?
"And you're a terrible side-kick."
That gets Wuya angry.
He frowns as she nears his face, her ghostly form all but boiling with a meaningless rage that courses through trembling tendrils and contracts the red swirls of her eyes into an almost-proper set of irides.
The screeching rebuttal approaches.
He quickly sucks in a breath of air and blows it out the right corner of his mouth, darting Wuya away as an undulating mess of appendages.
Prompt relief sags the snickering goth's shoulders, his next breath not only calm, but lacking any of the stench Wuya would have given off from that mouth of hers – even as a freaking ghost. It's an evil not even Hannibal Roy Bean would dare dabble with, and this evil genius plans on keeping all his five senses in working condition, thank you very much.
Moreover, it would be great for their conversation to end there – he can't think of a better finish, really – but if Wuya's good for anything, it's to agitate without end; so she growls for a moment, and then speaks. Interrupting his search. Again.
"Are you ever going to at least tell me why we are here?"
Jack groans. All that would do is make her angrier. And louder.
Screw that. It's bad enough she's somehow managed to get naggier since his accepting her back, it half the time being both the beginning and end of his day; and she's already all but completely destroyed his enjoyment of pulling one over the monks. No need to add "ear-splitting screams" to the equation.
So, shrugging lazily, Jack mumbles what can best be described as, "Iunno."
Wuya growls.
Jack walks faster, leaving her behind.
Maybe she'll explode from the anger at some point.
What a great turn of evil events that’d be.
'Then again, she just might when she finds out what I'm here for. She's always so gung-ho about getting the Wu; you'd think she can actually use them.'
A foreboding thought, but it ends upon him entering what appears to be an elevator lobby. A few pieces of furniture line the decent space; however, his focus is what's between the two elevators, embedded into the wall: A large stone slab upon which there's a map of the building.
"Finally!"
He runs up to it and jabs a finger over one of its listed locations before working his way down them.
"No, no, nope, nada, nein, negative, não, ne, ugh–"
Another growl, this time much angrier, halts Jack's search.
He blinks, he stares ahead, and then he glances in Wuya’s direction.
Narrow eyes, sharp teeth, frenzied tentacles – there are even a few slow-moving electrical currents coursing around her.
'Huh. Haven't seen that one in a while.'
He refocuses on the matter at hand, this time knocking off each location in his head, instead.
And… in time…
'There we go!'
Right above the nail of his right pointer finger is the name of his destination. He gets the reference number and looks to the map's model of the building.
Sections go by, then levels, and he finds his location, relative to his destination.
'Floor twenty… go right after taking one of these elevators down… and the fourth left turn. Sweet.'
With a content smile, Jack walks to the closest elevator, presses its call-button; and grips a wrist behind himself, whistling a certain looney tune as he waits.
The doors slide open.
He approaches the elevator with shut eyes and steps over the threshold–
Only to yelp and jump in place for a profound queasiness overcoming him.
Looking down shows him Wuya in the process of exiting his gut, ominous chuckles leaving her as she does so.
All of him is shocked stiff in the wake of her passage through him. The sick feeling dwindles bit by bit, but then comes the ever-growing tremble to his body; for which Jack slowly lowers his risen shoulders, takes a shallow breath, and then lets himself convulse freely.
The duration of this terrible shake is one of Jack’s very least favorite things in life. Fortunately, it only lasts a few seconds, and much of the horrid sensation that’d preceded it is gone when he’s again standing still. All that remains is a twitch to his fingers that simply flexing them a few times fixes.
And thus, he can at last raise a hand to his chest and loose a relieved sigh.
After which that hand of his turns into a fist.
He swipes it down to match its twin on the other side of himself and scowls at the smirking witch-hag floating in the elevator.
"Dammit, Wuya, you know I hate it when you do that!"
She growls and floats right up to his face. He can’t help pulling his head back, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t meet and return her scornful glare as she bellows, "And you know that I hate wasting time! You should be searching for the Shen Gong Wu you so stupidly let get away with your usual incompetence, NOT lollygagging in this tower!"
More importantly: "Boundaries." It's said through the hand he’s had over his mouth and nose since the start of her mini-tirade. She's the nerve to narrow her eyes back at him, but thankfully withdraws to a more tolerable distance, allowing him to safely lower his hand, roll his eyes, and at last enter the elevator.
"Well it's not like you had to tag along." He eyes the control panel, jabs the appropriate button, then glowers at the floor counter. "Seriously, you're even lamer than me with how you follow like a lost puppy." He crosses his arms with a shudder – is more than ready to repress the revolting experience Wuya just put him through, but not without first giving her a hard glare from the corner of his eyes.
Doing so doesn't reveal a mask of matching vexation, though. More like intense amusement. There's definitely a notion of superiority dancing in the half-lidded eyes of Her Horrendousness.
The smiling disaster-piece brings eye-widening realization, followed by him pointing at her and yelling, "That didn't come out right!"
Wuya shakes her head, chuckling.
Jack plants a thumb to his nose and wags his risen hand’s other fingers as he sticks his tongue out at her.
He's HAPPY! he doesn't have to wish she were dead.
But there it goes: Round three million, four-hundred eighty-nine thousand, seven-hundred fifteen.
Leaving silence.
'Finally...'
He backs into the rear wall of the elevator and pockets both hands in his trench coat.
The seconds tick by. His glum stare ahead dulls, then wanders to the control panel, the wall not in Wuya's direction, the ceiling, and then the floor.
An engraving's there. "Tohomiko Electronics Skyscraper," it reads.
Jack's brow furrows. That name – Tohomiko – is somehow familiar. He just can't place his evil finger on why…
The elevator dings pleasantly, earning Jack's attention to opening doors.
He makes a face, but, in the end, shrugs a shoulder, steps out of the elevator, and makes his way down the right hall.
There will be time to figure it out later.
Entering a wider stretch of hallway has him again surrounded by tech lining the walls. His red eyes move side-to-side, taking in each displayed item with quickly passing interest, usually in that the showcased item is some form of video game or toy, all of which lack any form of useful innovation. Though from what he's seen thus far, the toys are often over-engineered for their purpose.
They've no offensive capabilities, yet possess rather remarkable durability and features. An (incredibly) asinine concept.
Take U-bot for example: It's made of strong, light-weight alloys; running on a fourteen nano-meter, four-point-five gigahertz octa-core processor possessing thirty-eight megabytes of three-leveled cache; got enough low-latency RAM to run an otherwise storage-less computer on, capable of precise personality mimicry, water-proof, yet received an absurd chassis design, at which point every previous feature comes into serious question; as the only thing U-Bot could possibly infiltrate is a society of color-blind primordial dwarves – and even then, there's no way to keep track of the damn thing.
Marginally, it's notable.
But entirely pointless.
The only big aspect to it is the waste of materials and time.
The virtual reality systems, though, are alright, as at least those are pushing some form of boundaries.
Nonetheless, Jack's pace slows. Knowing where he is and being distracted from a will-not-be-named atrocity, there's proper time for a proper walk. He begins to hum. Can hear his mental readings without ancient interference.
It's a moment of evil serenity. Wicked solace.
That is, until Wuya, unfortunately, speaks again: "Look at all this useless junk," the witch-hag hisses. "Don't tell me we're here so you can go shopping?"
Jack's current item of mild interest receives a wry smirk. She's somewhat close to the truth, he supposes. Though his eyes widen when they meet the next display in line.
Ahead, near the wall to his left, are four display cases spread evenly from one another, each with its own respective poster upon the wall.
It's the Goo Zombies series.
Parts one through four.
The goth runs straight up to the fourth one and plasters his hands and face of awe to the display case.
"When did this happen!?" He must have been royally preoccupied by his bots and the hunt for Wu to have missed such a major occurrence in the world of gaming.
"Now what are you yelling about?" Wuya grumbles.
She floats over his left shoulder to see what's garnered his attention.
The ghost blinks dully at the display and quirks a brow in much the same fashion.
"...What is it?"
"Only the newest addition to the greatest gaming franchise ever – as far as anything involving zombies goes anyways." His reply's largely muffled by the glass, starting excited and ending in passing casualness.
"A game?" Wuya deadpans. "This is why you've been here for the last twenty minutes, wandering around like a lost child? To steal a game?"
The words take Jack a moment to receive, register (whilst ignoring a fed up growl), and then comprehend.
"Wait, what?" Squinting, he pulls away from the display case and gives her a look of incredulous insult. "No!"
What kind of twisted dots led to that conclusion? So he plays a few games on his computer every now and then, maybe having even chose, from time to time, to do so instead of practicing with the Shen Gong Wu. It's never been an everyday thing, never been anywhere near the level of obsession her assumption's trying to slather all over him. Furthermore, he just discovered the damn thing, so how the hell could he have previously planned its theft?
The whole concept's so flat-out ridiculous, he's unable to help a mild shake of his head. "Geez, Wuya, I know I've done a few questionable things in the past, but that's just senseless."
'Albeit tempting.'
Funds are getting kinda low. Maybe after the trade…
Wuya inclines her… body. Red swirls atop their yellow sockets stare at him, though the dull look is brief and ends on a disbelieving scoff that further communicates she thinks he's done way more than just a few questionable things and that they were well beyond questionable.
Jack frowns. "Oi, don't give me that look." He wags a finger at her. "As if you've never made a single bad choice in your..." Trailing off, he searches for a noun of any tongue that would actually fit the glowering disembodied head floating before him, but both the effort and sight of her is steadfastly tiring, so he settles for, "whatever you call your existence these days."
Past her he walks, wheeling a risen hand at her.
"Yes," Wuya sneers, "I'm looking at one of them right now."
"And yet you're still here," Jack grumbles under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing," Jack singsongs; he turns his head around and flashes her a pristine smile.
Her expression turns quizzical. She simply grumbles something to herself, though, thus ending yet another of their wonderful squabbles.
Jack proclaims himself the victor of this one.
Yet, great as that is, he's nearing the left turn at the fourth junction in the hallway, unable to help wondering why he ever took her back. She's ob-so-lete. General location? Pfft! What does he need that garbage for when his Detecto-Bot leads him straight to the artifacts?
'Just look at her now: She's worse than dial-up!'
She may be knowledgeable on all things magical, but outside of Mala Mala Jong and the Fearsome Four, that admittedly extensive understanding never once turned out helpful. Furthermore, he can read, too. All you have to know is where to look for the information.
Only internet searches don't always work with regards to the Wu. Details of myth and legend are hit or miss. Which, from his experience, are more inclined to miss than hit.
So the question is, how much is Wuya's shred of purpose worth?
Making the turn, Jack takes a side-glance at her over his shoulder.
Anger and disgust build fast.
His eyes dart back ahead.
He'll think about it later: Ahead is a teal double door with a white sign above it that reads "Assembly Room #4 Outlook" in red-illuminated letters. On both doors is another sign that says "Staff Only", though in no time, he's shoving one open and seeing PandaBubba's suited form stood on a suspended metal catwalk. The man spares Jack a momentary glance before his gaze returns down below.
Walking on, Jack steps onto the metal catwalk. He looks to the lower level to see what’s so interesting, there, and sees lines of workers stood aside numerous conveyor belts, all diligently assembling toys from a constant inflow of parts.
‘Yeugh.’
His gaze goes back ahead.
"Alright, PandaBubba," Jack calls, "I've brought the Zing Zom-Bone just like you–"
"You've had it this entire time?!"
Jack jerks away from Wuya, grimacing. Her irate question may rattle by as quick as it came, but her signature diatribe leaves a persistent ring going loud and strong in both his ears: Tinnitus that lessens with each passing second, but that he knows (from experience) will only weaken so much before staying for hours.
Needless to say, this insistence of hers to yell in his ear as if he's on the moon has become rather commonplace, long ago arising wonder on how he doesn't need a hearing aid, and the full-body tension readily fades, allowing for both the clench of his fists and jaw to be undone.
His red eyes open, looking sharply at Wuya.
"Yeah," Jack sneers, "and thanks for the ringing in my ears, o' obsolete one."
"Why are we here, Jack?" Wuya seethes through grit… mask. Her red swirls are livid, and the undulation to her extra appendages have gone violent.
Clearly, she's expecting to not like the answer.
'Great. This again.'
Not even five minutes and already Wuya's trying to start another bicker session over some apparent flaw of his. Like she even knows what evil is. Over fifteen-hundred years and she still hadn't known that it's gloating first, then vaporizing. Miss "I wreaked havoc and destruction when the Earth was still young, and mankind was just climbing out of the mud."
Yeah, well at that rate, it's gonna take another fifteen centuries just for her to get the basics down. Even Tubbimura has made it that far in his evil career, and that tub of concentrated lard isn't anywhere near the triple digits – never mind four.
"Could ya just chill for once?" Exasperation coats his complaint. "Seriously, just shut up and you'll see."
Not likely.
"Let. Me. Guess," Wuya grounds out. "You're going to trade another Shen Gong Wu that should be mine for more of your useless junk. AGAIN!" Wuya roars at the end of her otherwise hissed accusation.
Amazing. Just like that – so soon after posing it – he's got the (obvious) answer to his question of what she's worth: not this. If knowing what a Shen Gong Wu does before usage means feeling like he lives in a jet engine, then he's more than happy to give it up. "Ignorance is bliss" never bore more truth in his life than right now.
Finding out shouldn't be too hard anyways. Those Xiaolin Losers – particularly Opi – are always yelling about the Wu and usually blurt out its name. And if not, it'll at least be quiet enough for him to think of something.
The dead hag is taking the fun out of evil, and that's just the wrong kind of wrong.
"Quick question: Why are you here?" Jack's arms cross, agitation and expectancy further sharpening his vermilion knives.
"What?" Rather wide-eyed, Wuya's taken aback by his question.
"Why are you with me? AGAIN," Jack mimics. "Last I recall," he jabs a thumb to his chest, "I told you," then thrusts his pointer at her, "to take a HIKE, since I don't need you anymore." Snidely, he tacks on, "Still don't, actually, considering you do literally nothing."
"What, exactly, are you trying to say?" Wuya nears his face with a menacing glare on hers.
"To get lost!" Jack jabs a stiff thumb over-shoulder. "Go give someone else perforated ears," he grumbles.
A thought hits, though, and he’s suddenly leering at her right in her face. "Or better yet: go haunt some abandoned dump, like a real evil spirit."
Wuya yells in outrage, mask-like face tilting up and risen appendages shaking in unrighteous fury.
And then she's punching at his face to no avail.
'Boom,' Jack thinks, smiling with intense satisfaction.
He was going for more of a literal explosion, but this works, too. She's kinda right in his face, and it's not like her shouting can stop the growing glee from further widening his smile.
'Jack Spicer, you've officially reached new heights in evil.'
All he manages to make out – thanks to that breath – from her bout of fury are "–er get my body back, I'll make you PAY for this insolence, boy" and "haunt you until your dying day".
The first bit doesn't matter. She's never getting that back. The second part, however, is kinda dubious. It doesn't remove the smile from his face, but a small part of him wonders if she'll really do that.
But by the time he's paying enough attention to ask, she's gone.
The goth groans. 'Great, now I'm afraid to go home… Lovely.'
Still, he perks up in the next instant. 'However! She's finally gone!'
He only hopes it's permanent this time. Just too bad he'll likely see her during Wu-hunting quests.
'Eh, joyous day nonetheless.'
And with that, the goth looks forward to a relatively Wuya-less future.
Yet he can't help feeling like he's forgotten something… or someone, rather.
Thoughtful, Jack rolls his eyes up, then to the left.
Something enters his peripheral.
He turns his head and sees it's PandaBubba stood a short ways from him on the metal cat-walk. The man’s with a touch of amusement creasing his brow, but otherwise he just seems mildly bewildered. He likely heard the entirety of Wuya's departing words that Jack himself mostly ignored. Though it's a wonder how none of the workers down below are staring up at them. The machinery is noisy, sure, but that hag?
Talk about dedication.
Jack coughs into a hand and clears his throat.
PandaBubba's gruff stare returns.
"So," Jack says, "like I was saying. I've brought the Zing Zom-Bone, just like you wanted." He produces the Wu from his trench coat and approaches PandaBubba as the man smiles just so.
A similar look spreads across Jack’s face. He reaches PandaBubba on the metal cat-walk and hands over the artifact.
The man eyes it in his hand with devious joy.
Jack, however, frowns. "Now where are those state-of-the-art Koi-Bots you promised me?"
The mob boss chuckles, still so focused on his prize.
"Just as we agreed upon, Spicer," PandaBubba replies. He lifts his other hand and snaps his fingers.
Double doors on the other end of the platform they two are standing on fly open, earning Jack's attention behind PB as four hovering Fish-Bots enter upon the cat-walk in a single-file line.
They're bulkier than Jack's version, red-eyed, and are with snake-heads bearing six thick, fang-like teeth protruding from the projected upper-jaw of mouths ajar that get longer as they approach the front of their mouths. Two engine-housing rounded protrusions run along the lower ends of their rounded bodies, a crude attempt at pelvic fins, while at their tops lie a thick, rocket-topped dorsal fin from which dual gatling guns are mounted. Wide black pectoral fins curve down the lengths of their mid-sections, and toward their rear ends, beyond the tapering of their chassis, is a color-matching halved tail fin.
Their black-bronze color scheme with a dash of red here and there has barely any time to mingle with the red of Jack’s eyes before he’s zooming past PandaBubba like a speeding car and giving the first robot in line a tight hug around its bulky snake-head.
"They're… They're beautiful," Jack breathes in awe as he rubs his face against cold metal and, then, takes a deep whiff of that wonderful new robot smell.
His face leaves the robot's. He exhales at length, eyeing the machine with a happy smile on his face. "Gotta love it."
He tries to take in the finer details, but gets interrupted by his evil company.
"So, Spicer, from one evil genius to another, just how did you get this Wu?"
Jack’s smile turns wicked. He stands up straight and turns to face the mob boss. "Funny you should ask, PB." Hand on hip, he points a finger-gun at PB and lowers it before elaborating: "It was simple, really. I disguised one of my robots as a ninja, and while everyone was fighting, it nabbed the Wu and quietly disappeared, unnoticed." He crosses his arms and shakes his head, snorting, "Not even Clown Face noticed."
Okay, so maybe he was fibbing a little bit with the "quietly" part, but it was generally a true story.
Either way, he imagines the once-over PandaBubba’s giving him is out of recognition. It's not every day that one gets to hear the amazing tales of his genius intellect triumphing over those who oppose him. And it isn't because it rarely happens… He just runs into a bit of bad luck sometimes is all.
"Nice work," PandaBubba says. "When we first met, I took you for an incompetent boob."
"Well, I do my best." Jack runs a thumb across his fingernails, before then buffing them against his trench coat.
"Anyways,” the goth sobers, “now that you've got the Zom-Bone, what's up next on your agenda?" Irresistible is the twisted smirk pulling across his face. "Something evil, I hope."
"Of course," PandaBubba drawls. He walks to the edge of the platform, placing a firm hand upon the railing and lowering his eyes to the workers down below. "You see, zombie workers are very good at following orders."
He poises the Wu at the lower level.
"Zing Zom-Bone!"
Like a clam, the bronze artifact snaps open, and from its yellow-glowing mouth fires a matching flow of energy that surges for the lower level. Before getting there, though, its tip expands, splitting off into countless heads. Some go for the workers in the room, their impact with them encapsulating them in a thick yellow glow; while others ghost through the walls, floor, and ceiling in search of further victims to enslave.
The workers down below do not remain hidden for long. Dissipating energy reveals them standing straight, but with lowered shoulders and gaping mouths from which dull moans are set loose. They’re also with wide-open eyes that just stare ahead of themselves, and some of them are already starting to drool.
‘Yup… no intelligence at all.’
Jack leans on the railing of the suspended metal catwalk with his arms crossed atop it, mildly amused by PandaBubba’s barking of orders at his new lackeys.
That done, PandaBubba faces Jack and says, "With a work force of slave labor, I'll soon control the entire electronics market." His customary evil laugh follows, and Jack joins in with his own, their mean merriment echoing throughout the spacious room.
Laughing evilly is a favorite of Jack’s. The evil genius will take every opportunity to do so.
Yet all evil things must come to an end.
"Nice laugh, PB," Jack chuckles.
'Even if mine's way better.'
PandaBubba may not acknowledge the compliment, but it's nonetheless a fact of criminal life that none possess a better evil laugh than Jack. Except maybe Chase Young. He's pretty cool, even if he did lose to Master Monk Guan.
Though considering the technology PandaBubba now has at his disposal, partnership with the mob boss is far more enticing.
Free.
Robot.
Parts.
"Hey, you know, we should partner up," Jack suggests. The goth's arms raise, a nefarious grin spreading across his features. "Between your access to technology and my genius, we could rule the world!" The proclamation ends right as Jack's arms rest at an arc in front of himself, exposed fingers tense and curled like claws.
"Tempting," PandaBubba retorts.
The evil smile on Jack’s face widens.
The stout man raises a hand to rub at his chin. His eyes wander for a moment, then return to Jack, PandaBubba this time aiming his own finger-gun. "But I'll pass."
Jack gapes, his risen arms plummeting. "Huh?"
"My interest lie in the ruling of Hong Kong, not the world," PandaBubba clarifies.
A frustrated sigh lengthened by exasperation leaves the redhead. "Fine, whatever," Jack grumbles. He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before once again leaning on the rail, this time propping an elbow atop it, dropping his cheek into a hand, and pouting at the brain-dead floor below.
Oh well. It's not like he was going to be a loyal partner anyways, something he's sure would’ve went both ways. Same as before, it would've been a game of "who betrays who first".
Too bad he lost the first time around… but, hey, at least he fooled those Xiaolin Losers that day. The outrage Surf’s Up displayed when his fellow losers chose to trust Jack over him still gives the evil genius a chuckle. He’s with a mild smile on his face, afterward, half-lidded eyes roaming over rows of brain-dead workers.
What a stupid decision the monks had made that day. If it'd been Jack in their shoes, he would have done the polar opposite, or better yet: pretended to go along with it.
Too bad it's a moot thought, even if intensely amusing.
He's no friends to speak of. Never has.
Not that he's looking, either.
Yet his mood's gone South again. What was once a smile on his face is now a neutral line. So he turns his head in his hand to look at the awesome, new, state-of-the-art Fish-Bots he now has thanks to his trade with PandaBubba.
His previous joy returns ten-fold.
He can't wait to take them apart and study their internals – make his own improvements. A tweak here, a tune-up there, and he'll be ready for the replication process.
Excitement spreads across his face.
Then he'll never lose another–
Is that food he smells?
Jack lifts his head out of his hand, looks toward PandaBubba; and, sure enough, next to PB is a zombified worker holding a tray of one burger and soft drink. Yet PandaBubba makes no move for the meal. His focus remains on the idiot workers doing his bidding down below…
Well Jack will eat it if the crime boss isn't going to; Jack hasn't eaten anything since leaving his home for the Zom-Bone, for which a certain absent hag holds fault.
"Hey, PB," Jack calls, not earning the man's eyes, "you gonna eat that?"
"No. I'm vegetarian," PandaBubba replies. The unkind smile on his face changes not at all.
Jack makes a face. ‘Then why did you order it – for the smell?’
He glowers. "O-kay, well–"
"PandaBubba! Stop this!"
Said evil-doer turns to regard the new voice, with Jack leaning to look over PB's shoulder.
There's a rather short, older man approaching them. His dress is casual, upper-wear consisting of a gray shirt underneath a yellow button-up one. An orange happy-face lies in the center of his undershirt, belted brown slacks and brown shoes making up the rest of Four-Eye's outfit.
Jack quirks a brow, incredulous.
"These workers are my loyal employees," the man stresses, coming to a stop before PandaBubba.
Falser words have never been spoken before the evil genius. He almost snorts, but he manages to get a hand over his mouth in time, instead sticking to restrained snickers as he relaxes against the rail to watch things play out.
"No," PandaBubba refutes, "they are now MY loyal employees!"
PandaBubba turns to the enslaved worker beside himself and barks out an order that leads to the worker getting down on all-fours. Four-Eyes may not appreciate this, but Jack is more focused on the food that has fallen quite spectacularly to the metal platform.
Food that the worker then rolls over.
They’re both glaring at PandaBubba by the time he’s ordering the worker to play dead.
Jack’s certain of it, now: The food was meant to tick him off. Had he gotten to ask for it, he’s sure he'd have gotten a solid no – all without even a single glance in his direction.
"You lied to me about who you were," Manager Dude says. His reproach is obvious. "If I had known that you were the infamous PandaBubba, I never would have let you into my company."
"Your company?" PandaBubba laughs.
'Aaaaaannnnd...'
PandaBubba thrusts the Wu at Manager Dude and calls out its name.
The artifact opens, energy shooting out for and hitting Manager Dude before he can even react.
And thus, PandaBubba receives yet another mindless servant.
Right on schedule.
"Now, where's my coffee drink?" PandaBubba asks.
The man groans, which must have been some form of recognition, because he then turns and walks off.
Jack snorts and rolls his eyes, them going past a set of double doors. Yet no sooner than they do, he performs a double-take, just barely seeing a door shut.
He blinks, staring.
'Did I just imagine that or...?'
His expression dulls.
‘Ah, what do I care? This is PandaBubba’s operation, not mine. Besides, it probably was my imagination.’
The evil genius shrugs.
"Well, it's been fun, PB, but I'll be on my way now. Evil plans to act upon and all."
PandaBubba's eyes remain on his work force down below. "Very well, Spicer."
Clearly, he's still bathing in the glory of his evil machinations paying off.
"Right," Jack mutters.
Past the broad man he walks, Fish-Bots following behind.
Though once he’s cracking open the door, the self-proclaimed evil genius is given pause.
His eyes widen, their epiphanous stare blinking twice.
'Where am I going…?'
He has no clue. No clue at all.
Loud and gruff is the groan that precedes him shoving the door open and stalking out toward yet another bout of senseless wandering.
'Great. Right back where I started. All because that damn witch couldn't keep her trap shut.'
Maybe if he found Manager Dude, he could ask him which way to go. 'Then again, would that even work now that he's technically a mindless zombie…?'
Probably not. It doesn't matter, anyways, since he doubts he'll be able to find the damn guy in this mess of a skyscraper.
So after what seems like an hour of hopeful turns, swung open doors, and building aggravation, Jack pauses when he stumbles upon a staircase. He blinks at it, remains where he is for a moment, and then shrugs. 'Why not?'
He descends the steps, and as he does so, numerous enslaved workers trudge their way past him: Constant reminders of that it's PandaBubba's fault he's in this stupid situation.
Each worker receives a nastier side-glance than the last, such that upon him exiting the stairwell and making his way down another teal hallway, Jack's unable to help wondering (again) just why the heck he and PandaBubba had to meet up in that damn room. If they'd met at the entrance, it would have been quicker. If they'd met in the back, it would have been quicker. Hell, if they'd met on the roof, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN QUICKER. There was no reason they had to–
A muffled yell reaches his ears. Jack pauses for its vague familiarity. 'What the...?' He leans toward the sound’s direction of origin and hears it again. '...That's Manager Dude!'
Holy crap– Jack runs. He darts around corners, zips past stretches of hallway, and is almost at the final T-junction when another voice speaks loud and clear.
"Papa, I'm not leaving without an explanation!"
That is Kimiko.
Distraught as she sounds, Jack squeaks to an abrupt halt, throws himself against the nearest wall, and keeps wide eyes glued to the hall's end.
Nothing follows. Not a peep.
The goth creeps his way to the corner and slowly peeks around it.
A nearby office has its door open. From inside emanates indiscernible speech. Last he saw, though, all the monks were together, meaning it's likely the other losers in training are in there, too.
'Man, can't I ever catch a break? What the heck are these losers even doing here anyways?'
More yelling. He pulls his head back a bit.
"I want you all out of here now!" Manager Dude shouts.
Jack's lone eye looking around the corner narrows. 'Seriously, just get lost already… wait, did she just call him 'papa'...?'
…
Woah… That's why the name Tohomiko seemed so familiar: It's Kimiko's last name! Her father is– was the owner of this company. 'Surprise, surprise… No wonder she's so tech-savvy. She's had an unlimited supply her whole loser–'
"GO!"
The demand's so harsh, so loud, that it actually echoes down the hall Jack's in, for which he can't help grimacing with a smile, the thought of it having been directed straight at Kimiko largely attractive.
Hopefully that's the case. Either way, it's finally not him on the receiving end, and who better to be than the Xiaolin Losers? See how they like it for a change. Maybe not literally – at least not yet – but hearing is believing, too, and boy did he ever. In fact, he keeps a wide open ear just in case another comes along.
Instead, he hears footsteps approaching the door-way and, frowning, pulls his head back around the corner the moment one spec of a loser is revealed.
The door shuts. It's silent. Still, he's ready to bolt should they approach and taps anxiously on the wall, counting up to ten seconds before he ever-slowly peeks around the corner again.
Sets of slumped shoulders and frowning mouths slice a smirk across Jack's face. There may as well be a miniature storm brewing above the Xiaolin Losers, the weight of defeat's so apparent.
'Must be what their prime looks like.'
It's certainly a perfect match. Tells clearly of their title. And has him all the more excited to swerve his unkind eye straight to the target-hopeful of Mr. T's aggression.
His mean expression morphs into one of utter shock.
Kimiko is… crying. Kimiko, the feisty, fiery, iron-willed Dragon of Fire that's always held her head high now has it hung low as she takes miserable interest in the floor. Shoulders usually squared and firm heave in an obvious attempt to withhold a sob, it nonetheless tearing clean free as a hand of deceptive delicacy darts over squandered baby blues; and despite the girl's jaw clenching, her chin scrunches more and more...
‘Ha! What a pathetic loser!’ Jack's bladed smile has returned in far sharper form upon his face, him this time shaking with silent laughter.
Twenty Gallons and Surfer Boy place a hand of comfort on Kimiko's defeated shoulders. Some foreign oddity nibbles inside the redhead, though it's unappreciated, unneeded presence is easily stomped, ground, and skid across the proverbial curb, his enjoyment of the moment only spiking as Omi approaches Kimiko.
Covering his mouth keeps the humor at bay, but when his muted chuckles threaten to burst through his fingers, Jack has to pull back and use both hands. Good thing, too, because if not, he'd be doing his damnedest to not bang on the wall he’s pressed to.
Though that’s exactly what his head does when he throws it backward.
His eyes widen. He waits with baited breath, smiling as he’s met with nothing but silence.
The return of his peek around the corner is slow-going, as is the furthered rise of each end of his smiling lips as Opi gently pulls Kimiko's hand away from her eyes. Cueball's sad sympathy is unseen by the girl, though, as her leaking eyes are shut tight.
''Creepy,' huh? Well look at you now, Kimiko, crying your eyes out for precious Daddy.' He almost snorts. 'Peh, like that's gonna make a difference.'
Omi starts speaking to her – something about her father holding no fault and evil being afoot ('No duh, Cheeseball') – but Jack's mirth goes critical again and forces him to scurry off.
Down numerous halls he sprints, bent over partially and shaking with hardly-muffled glee. It's only after the fifth turn that he finally drops his hands from his mouth and lets free resounding laughter.
What an evil while it is. Attempted speech degrades right back into utter hilarity. Straightening his posture just sends it toward the ceiling. Mental replays of the moment help this, but there's also the immeasurable stupidity of Kimiko's father ('PandaBubba! He partnered up with PandaBubba! What an idiot!') to get over.
Neither happens timely. Though the moment he can manage proper speech…
"What a riot! Did you see the looks on their faces?" The Fish-Bots merely stare. "I'll bet they never even find out what's going on! Too busy coddling little miss Dragon of Misery over there." Jack snickers, raising his hands, then, and clasping them together as he flaps his eyelashes. "'Papa, I'm not leaving without an explanation.' Pfft. Start crying your way back to the temple already. Get on that trail of tears, sister."
Maybe the pity party will get her somewhere. Boy, what he's missing out on. Better jump on that friendship train Omi's always trying to get him aboard.
Yeah. Right. Like Jack wants any involvement in their stark incompetence; spectacular as it is, he's actually going places.
Evil places, that is. He's gotten so far down that now the evil just happens without him knowing, let alone trying. It's literal coincidence. Serendipity.
(Heavy on the pity)
They may as well hand over the Wu, because they're out of their league – especially if still all it takes are simple diversions. "Honestly," Jack chuckles, "I might as well start using dummies. Movement seems to be the key factor, never mind actual weaponry."
By the time they actually figure out what's going on here, he'll be–
Wait a second. Hold the hilarity.
If all this is going on, then that means, "They're busy…"
Jack's smile widens.
"This place is crawling with zombie-workers, and they have no idea where PandaBubba is." He directs his building excitement at a Fish-Bot. "Meaning all that's left at the temple are a bunch of geezers."
Ominous chuckles leave him. The goth walks for the opposite end of the hall and pauses at it, smirking at the wall that’s a moderate distance from himself.
Left and right turns are of no interest anymore. "I think it's time for a test drive." He crosses his arms, expression hardening. "Starting now: Blast through this wall – and any other here that gets in our way!"
The Fish-Bots immediately take to his front, creating a single-ranked line formation. Their rotary canons perform their namesake, buzzing to a collective high pitch right before rapid-firing an onslaught of blue-white orbs that burst against the wall to a sizzling aftermath.
The assault persists… yet little changes. The wall's blackened and on its way to becoming charred – eventually – but is still standing.
Jack's nefarious smirk flat-lines.
There's not even a single hole yet... The damn thing's just denting little by little…
In other words, this. is taking. forever. He should be walking through a nice-sized gap right now. Maybe even whichever wall follows this one. What's it even been, forty seconds? Checking his watch shows – Oh, would you look at that: one whole minute. And how's the wall doing?
Still standing.
In his way.
Like it belongs there.
"Alright, alright – that's enough!" The robots' weaponry click to an abrupt halt and go silent as the barrels fume. Jack wrinkles his nose at the steaming wall, and then at them. "What was that? I said blast through, not whittle it down!"
At the rate they were going at, properly walking the halls would have gotten him further. At least then he'd have been moving.
Jack glares at the nearest Fish-Bot to himself and growls, "Get over here."
The robot complies, and Jack looks over its chassis. He runs his hands along it until he finds a thin gap in the metal. Tracing the square cut-out reveals no way to open it, though. No screw, no button, nothing. Digging his nails in and pulling makes no difference.
Jack's glare intensifies. "How the hell do you open this damn thing!?" His frustration mounts. He curls his fingers into tight, shaking fists, and lifts one in the air before slamming it down onto the square panel’s cutout.
Pop!
The goth blinks. He grabs at each end of the square opening and leans forth for a peak inside.
Confusion pinches at his brow for but a second before his expression warps into a livid scowl. The boy's hands clench and pull at the ends of the square cut-out, as if to rip away the facade, but achieve only a trembling to his arms whilst roiling anger sends a growl up his airway.
He sends an angry bellow toward the ceiling. It escalates with every passing second.
And morphs into a name:
“PandaBubbaaaa!”