Hey, Moddy here. Just some story I found in the dark depths of my computer memory. I liked it, so I decided to fix it up and publish it here. Hope you like.

Please ignore the chapter label. Fanfiction was being dumb.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their respective owners.

Prologue

It was a sunny day at the Xiaolin Temple, the smell of fresh cut grass complimenting the perfect weather. Clay was sparring lightly with Omi, while Raimundo and Kimiko were lounging in the shade of a large and shady tree. The sound of laughter rang throughout the grounds when Omi freaked out over a squirrel and Clay managed to topple the younger monk. No one was worried in the slightest about anything. Why should they, when they had this beautiful day to enjoy?

Not one of them had noticed the pair of glinting mechanical red eyes watching them meticulously, judging their every move from the temple roof. The figure moved stealthily with a newly-acquired grace across the shingles lining the top. He watched the sight of the happy monks with bitter sorrow, flinching when unwanted memories resurfaced into his conscious mind. Those were memories he had pushed to the back of his consciousness, never to speak of again, and yet they were the exact thing that fueled his violent rage, his bitter sorrow, his hateful vengeance. They were the unspeakable torture he had endured three years prior, when he still possessed his innocence and his whole being.

He remembered how fun it was to create his robots and then seeing how they stacked up against the monks' elemental powers. He smiled slightly when he recalled how he dragged the mangled scrap back to his "lair" each time, fueled only by a desire to improve his creations and to prove to everyone that he was not as worthless as Chase had said he was. He remembered each argument with Wuya. He remembered how he had promised Omi that they would one day put aside their differences for a day and go out for ice cream, his treat. Omi had agreed whole-heartedly, nodding his overly-round head eagerly. They had been the closest things to "best friends" that he had had in his entire life.

But now? Now he was a wicked hybrid of killing power and natural inhuman intelligence, a creature that had been inadvertently created by the cruelty of those so called "do-gooders". The ultimate weapon, he supposed. He looked down at his hand, the hand that had previously been severed from his body, blood dripping from the shoulder where a chunk of hard earth had ripped it off. He flexed each finger individually, admiring his handiwork. He brought his hand up to his ear, feeling the soft artificial skin flex under his touch, skin that had formerly been burned beyond recognition. He traced the three deep scars that ran over each red eye, remembering how each of them were formed under the sharp metal of a edged blade. He slowly relaxed his body, counting each heartbeat, each breath he took, breaths that had earlier been painfully stifled by a torrent of rushing water overwhelming his senses, clouding his mind…

He shook his head, clearing away the agonizing recollections. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he composed himself and drew out a weapon from inside his long, ragged, and black trench coat. It was his pride and joy: a large customized pistol, able to shoot rounds that pierced even tank armor. He ran a pale hand lovingly over the firearm, smirking malevolently.

Still fondling the large black pistol, he looked back at the monks. Raimundo was now trying to impress Kimiko by surfing on a large wave Omi had created to douse Clay with. It clearly failed when the surge of water veered off course and Kimiko was drenched. The figure watched resentfully. The monks still acted like themselves, showing not one small shred of guilt or remorse for the heinous act they committed that night when they had all gone too far. The night when he, miraculously still alive, dragged himself and his dismembered limbs back home to attempt a try at bio-mechanics. Even more astounding, he had succeeded. He was now a perfect being, immortal and powerful, capable of so much more than he had been able to before. Before, he was nothing but a boastful, intelligent, and weak young boy. Now, he had the power to back his claims.

Looking down at the happy scene that was unfolding before him, he smiled a cold, cruel, smile that was positively dripping with malice and evil intent. Oh yes.

Jack Spicer was back.

So, if you like, please review. It makes me happy.