A bot flew in through an open window.

It was another one of Spicer's creations, a smaller version of the attack robots he used, and it carried a white rectangle underneath it. Doubtlessly yet another letter from the self proclaimed 'evil genius', making that the fifth letter in as many weeks.

This was no longer an abnormal occurrence, but what happened next was. Normally, the little thing would hover nervously around the edge of the room and slowly approach the dragon, delivering the envelope. Instead, it flew right up to the warlord, completely unafraid. As per normal, he took the letter, crushed it with a single gloved hand, then dropped it carelessly to the floor.

At this point the machine would rush out again looking terrified (as terrified as a machine could look, anyway), but instead, it merely retrieved the paper, turning it over to the dragon as though nothing had happened.

Experimentally, the immortal repeated the same procedure, and was faced with the same results. Accepting that it would continue this until it was either crushed or ran out of power, the dragon consented to read it.

Hey Chase, it read,

Jack Spicer here, but you probably knew that already. The warlord snorted.

I've been trying to get you to pay attention to me for- well, since I met you, really, but I only recently started writing letters, which, I might add, you never bothered to read. Now I don't blame you, most people aren't worth your time. I'm not worth your time, either, but this is pretty important. Enough that I took out the AI chip and programmed this robot to get you to read this no matter what. I know they aren't real, but stripping one of it's identity seems cruel, so I just deactivated the rest. Had to, otherwise they'd stop me from- well, we'll get to that in a sec, I guess. I'm gonna get right to the point here.

I'm dead, Chase.

I know I am, because you're reading this, and it wasn't programmed to be sent to you unless I killed myself, exactly one day after my death, to be precise. I checked, and that's the limit for bringing a soul back, not that I think you'd bother. That's why I had to disable the robots, they would've stopped me.

I just have a couple things I'd like you to do, can't deny a man his last request, right? And if you really don't want to, you can always ask the monks. First of all, in the basement, there's a giant red button, can't miss it. It'll reactivate my robots. I can't just leave them like that, it'll be like they died too, and they're the closest I've ever been to having actual friends. Pathetic, right?

The second thing, find my body. It's so weird thinking of it like that, but I guess that's all it is now. Just call an ambulance or something, doesn't matter, but it's in the nearest bathroom to the basement, just exit and turn left, third door down. My parents are in South America for another few days, and I don't want my mom to be the one to discover it. She's kind of a b- not really nice to me, but she's still my mom, and what I'm going to do- what I did do- it isn't pretty.

So, this is a suicide note. I guess now we get to the 'why' part, huh?

I guess the standard reasons, mommy and daddy didn't love me, I don't fit in anywhere, blah blah blah blah blah. You know how it is, the whole emo thing.

I'm not good enough to be a monk, but at least they tried for a little while. I'm not evil enough to fit in on the Heylin side either. I could have just dropped out of the Xiaolin-Heylin conflict, but I still wouldn't fit in. Hey, I'm dead, why bother sparing my own feelings? I'm a freak. I know it, you know it, the whole goddamn world knows it, anyone with working eyes can tell.

Anyways, you and Wuya and Hannibal always push me around, and I know for a fact that you think I'm too stupid to know when I'm being manipulated. But see, the thing is, I don't care that you use me. You could do whatever you wanted to me, torture me if you wanted to, and I'd just sit there and take it, just because you were actually paying attention to me for once, and I'd keep coming back like the pathetic little lapdog I am.

I freaking love you, Chase. I said it, finally. But I got tired of... being ignored, I guess. I'm really scared to go through with this, now that I'm putting it all in writing.

I'm not even sure which is more cowardly, killing myself, or being afraid to. I think I'm too scared of life to keep living, but to afraid of death to do anything about it. I guess we see which fear won out, huh? I really hope you at least tell the monks about where I- my corpse is, if you don't do something about it yourself.

I guess this is a ploy for attention, in some bizzarre, twisted way, and I really hope it works, that I'm not so completely worthless to you that you'd even ignore my suicide note, because this is literally, if you're still reading this, the longest amount of time you've ever spent listening to me.

Well, you're immortal, so chances are I won't be seeing you in hell for a really long time, but goodbye seems too final, so... See you later? Well, you might see me, or... what's left of me, anyway.

See you around

~Jack Spicer, 'Evil Genius'

The letter was dated nearly five months ago. By the /gods, all the times he had seen Spicer since then- and he was planning to- for this long!? He had seemed perfectly fine! He hadn't thought- he hadn't wanted to actually hurt the boy!

All of those insults he had thought nothing of, all the times he had injured Jack purposefully or even accidentally, they had caused this.

He had caused this.

He, Chase Young, master of the Heylin, most vile thing in existence, had driven Jack Spicer to suicide.

Worse still, he regretted it.