Disclaimer: I do not own Jimmy Neutron, any affiliates, or any rights to the show, movies, literature, or merchandise.
Before-You-Read Background: This BOLD, "Pre-Story Pretext," is my important, intrinsic, "Before-You-Read Background," and these "Before-Chapter-Author-Notes," will almost ALWAYS contain UPPER-CASE Letters, of SOME sort. Proper grammar, and other things are used CORRECTLY in these "Pretext Prologues," though. …And while you should know that, you should also know that the ACTUAL STORY WILL contain GREAT spelling, grammar, punctuation, usage-and-mechanics, syntax, and semantics. Reading/RETAINING the NEXT portion of BOLDED text of IMPORTANT INFORMATION is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!
Author Announcements(s): Okay. I know I haven't finished my other JN FanFic, "Genius: The Next Generation," BUT, I won't finish THAT one, for, approximately, another few YEARS [Because "Genius: The Next Generation," Abbreviated "GTNG," Is, And/or, WILL-Be My MASTERPIECE (Longest, And/or, HOPEFULLY, My Greatest) Jimmy-Neutron-FanFic (Although I May Have OTHER "MASTERPIECES," In OTHER FanFic FanDoms). HOWEVER, I WILL be updating, BOTH, THAT, AND, THIS, FanFic (AND, EVERY OTHER FanFic, That I Have Going), very FREQUENTLY, until ANY AND ALL of my FanFics are finished. This idea just popped into my skull, and, I was like 'I Just HAVE To Do THIS!' Now, this story will have a few twists, turns, romance, some medium fluff (Although The Main Couple/Paring Will NOT Be JimmyXCindy, OR, SheenXLibby), ACTION, violence, great one-liners, awesome quotes, and a very well-thought-out plot.
IMPORTANT INFORMATION: This story takes-place, AFTER the series-finale, of the show, "Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius," and it takes-place in a DIFFERENT Universe/Timeline, than my OTHER Jimmy-Neutron-FanFic, "GTNG."
*WARNING!*: The plot-points in here may blow your mind! …Also, I know that my OVER-Used CAPS-Lock has probably given the voice in your head (The One Reading This Back To You) a throbbing throat-ache, but please, note that these UPPERCASE "spaz-attacks" will NOT appear anywhere in the story…
Author's Amendment: …So, I suppose that I have nothing more to say, other than: "Please, read, review, and ENJOY!"
Fight to the Finish
A FanFic By: D. Raj David
Part One: The Way Things Were
I. A Million Miles From Home: The Prisoner's Predicament
The boy bashfully awoke with a start. His face was wet and cold. He wanted nothing more than to check his appearance, although he already knew what gave him the feeling of moistness. He was bleeding, as he often had been bleeding over the past two years. This fact, although demoralizing, was not what had stopped him from checking the current state of his face.
No matter what he knew—or rather, what he assumed he knew—about his current condition, he always wanted to physically check himself, to see how badly battered he truly was, but he was always prevented from doing so—mostly by the metal cuffs that bound his wrists behind his back. He sighed deeply. It hurt. It always hurt.
The pain was a constant thing now, and he was used to it, as the feelings of intense discomfort, pain, and tenderness had become a mundane normality to him. He was currently kneeled down, as he often was, and he had slept with his knees on the cold, dark, damp, concrete floor, with his cheek resting on the floor in front of him. As he raised his head up from the cold concrete—which took quite a bit of the small amount of energy that he had left—he felt the intense soreness in his neck that his precarious sleeping position had left in him. He must have gotten at least an hour of sleep—or so he assumed—for the pain to be this severe.
It was so severe that he actually focused more on that sensation, rather than his old wounds—the wounds had sustained over a long period of being beaten, bashed, abused, and tortured. A good number of those wounds were fresh, some open, others sealed—some cauterized. He had long since stopped caring what he looked like though—or, at least he had stopped caring what his biological half looked like. They could do little to threaten, intimidate, or berate him completely using the techniques that worked so well on other humans, mostly because he was no longer entirely human.
He looked down at the metallic plate that composed the outer face of his left shin. It still had its sheen. Granted, two years of abuse, periods of being submerged in water—and whatever other chemicals they saw fit—constant water drips, and general attempts to render his bionic parts useless had some effect, but not much. He was thankful to the Zorians for their competence, and for their work on him.
The Zorians. How long had it been since he had even seen another human? Would he ever—No. He couldn't allow himself to think like that. He had to remain strong, if not for himself, than for her. He sighed once again, and this time the pain that he felt could be identified as coming from a single source: his chest. He inhaled sharply. He knew what was wrong. His ribs were broken, or so he assumed, as he currently was—as he often was—unable to verify his theory.
He let his head slide back down to the cold, hard floor. He would have to wait. He always had to wait. That was a simple fact, and he had gotten quite used to it. But he found solace in one simple notion: the notion that one day—one day soon—his patience, his waiting, would pay off and he would be free, and with that freedom he would be able to return home, and see her face again. So, with his usual amount of resolve, he waited, his head listening to the ground beneath him, wondering when they might come—or for that matter, if they might come.
He waited for what seemed like an eternity, and then, without warning, a door—one fairly close by—flung open, and through it came a loud, heavy bank of footsteps. There were four sets of footfalls in all, but something was wrong, because the boy knew, for a fact, that there were five—not four—people in the group that coming towards him. The fifth was being dragged.
He could see nothing outside of his blindingly dark cell, and the dimly lit—if one could even call it that—corridor beyond did little to help his eyesight. Although he could not see the approaching group, he knew now, mostly by experience—experiences that had taught him what pain truly was—that this was the usual routine around here. The group of five stopped short, a few feet in front of the cell next to him, and while he could not see what was transpiring, he heard the deafening sound of a body hitting the floor, an armor-clad body—one of the guards.
In the seconds that followed, a struggle—a great struggle, one that seemed to last for a large amount of time—was carried out. The prisoner that he had thought unconscious was giving the four guards quite the trouble. Until a new group of guards approached, and "subdued" the prisoner, she seemed as though she had the upper hand.
There were too many footsteps for him to count how many guards had now entered the struggle. With one final shriek—one that sounded far too female, and far too terrified for that matter, to be coming from her—the prisoner stopped struggling. He sighed. He knew it was only a matter of time now. With the sound of her cell door closing, she was securely in her place. She could not be a nuisance any longer. It was his turn now.
The door to his cell clanged open, and the guards stood there, clad in black metallic armor, waiting for him to move. He did not.
"Get up, boy." one of the guards commanded him, in a voice that seemed to evoke its own sense of reproach.
The boy chuckled and smirked. "Make me." he replied defiantly.
"Every day, it is the same thing with you. Why do you not learn? Why do you not submit?" the same guard asked the boy, as he entered the boy's cell, his hands now in a position that seemed ready to "make him" get up.
"You're right. It is the same thing. Same shit. Every damn day. I have learned that. Why haven't you? You should know by now that I am not doing anything you order me to. And, believe me, it is not because I dislike you—although I don't particularly want to kiss you—but because your words mean nothing to me. Your words are exactly like the torture you put me through: it has no effect on me. …And while we're on the subject of 'learning new things,' why don't you learn to speak English properly, or is your ability to learn new things just as feeble as your ability to understand what I'm saying right now?" the boy responded, the last part of his statement uttered in an aggressive alien dialect.
The guard was shocked—for multiple reasons. That was the most he had spoken in the entirety of the time he had spent there, and also, besides the boy's usual "make me" comment, he had not said a word to anybody there before—especially his captors. Something—something crucial—was different today, but like many things before, the guard simply shrugged it off and continued his duties.
He dragged the boy, chains, cuffs, bracelets, and all, down the corridor, and as he was walking, he caught a glimpse of the female in the cell next him. Her battered blue skin made for a terrible sight, and as he was marched down the long hallway, she averted her eyes from his gaze, but not before she saw a deep rage enter his bruised, bloodshot eyes. This was a change. She was usually the one with a spark—anger, revenge, contempt—but, today, something had changed in her, just as something had changed in him. Things were not the same. Things were not the way they were, but he was determined to correct that.
The green Gorlockian girl sat in the cockpit of her ship, as her craft flew endlessly—at mind-splitting speeds—through the deep void of space. A monotone alert alarm rang-out in her small craft, and with that, she flipped a switch, and a holographic view of an anchored structure came into view. She smirked. Her pearly white fangs were now clearly visible. She was one step closer to her goal: to finishing it. The words of the monster echoed in her head: 'That's right, honey do what your daddy tells you. Run.' She was running alright, running across the universe to find him, to kill him. That monster attacked her world, her home, her family. He was wrong about so many things, cruel in the way he did things, and remorseless about the terrible atrocities he had committed on countless worlds before her own. He was right about one thing, though: this was a fight to the finish.
A/N: …Well… …There it is. The first chapter has been posted. This story WILL be pretty LONG, granted NOT as long as "GTNG," but, still, pretty long. Who's the boy? Who's the girl? Where's Jimmy? What did the description of my story even mean? What the hell is a E/B Pairing? Who ARE those characters? OCs? Nope. There is only one way to answer all of these questions: stay tuned for the next update. …OH, and PLEASE R&R!