Jack was at it again. The jack-bots had been malfunctioning, and once again the self-proclaimed evil boy genius had thrown himself into a river of unrestrained anger, punctuated by the careless throwing of his wrench into the nearby conference screen, causing it to crack.
"Oops," said Jack, cooling down, strolling towards the device and removing the wrench, "Can't be too violent."
Jack did not know the causes of these particular bouts of rage. He didn't know what triggered it. All it took was a moment, a blot of annoyance or a pinch of irritability, and something would fly through the air, crashing and eventually breaking.
And there Jack would be, fuming, face slightly blushed, brows furrowed in a dangerous scowl.
"Jack? Jackie dear, are you feeling alright?" his mother called.
Jack, running open-gloved fingers through his striking red hair, called back, "Yeah, mom, just fine."
He could hear his mother's stilettos clap against the floor as she walked away, muttering on about how Jack's 'little tantrums' worried her sick, and god, should she get a counselor. . .?
He shook his head to clear the rest of the burning anger out of his head. The whispering flames of rage now departed still licked against his skin, and Jack shivered. It was just the jack-bots, not that big of a deal, right? So why, all of a sudden, did he feel like he was about to just. . . . just blow the hell up?
'Damnit, Spicer, you aren't the incredible Hulk, are you?' he thought, and of course that was impossible. If anything, his Hulk-form would be a bloody red.
'Heh. . . . . . blood. . . . . . blood. . . . .'
God, that was exactly what Jack needed right now! Hidden deep in his mind, a certain someone whispered in his ears about rivers and fields of blood, rushing and warm and unbearably, blindingly red.
He sunk into the images of pure brutality, of bodies littering the streets, and he, amongst it all, king of it all, orchestrating the world into a deep, screeching abyss of drowning darkness, painting the streets, the sidewalks, the buildings and the forests and the trees; decorating the animals and people and all his thoughts and doubts and fears into a blissful, crimson, RED.
Coming back up again, he leaned against his work table, alarmed with sweat dabbing at his brow. Where in the hell had that come from?
He looked around his lab, glancing at all the piled jack-bots and the tools and his goggles, all strewn about in his basement, hoping the answer would just pop out at him, because damn if he didn't need it right now. . . . . . . .
Jack took a deep, shaky breath, and went upstairs to his kitchen to grab a pudding cup from the fridge. Slamming the door shut, he turned around and saw the glorious form of his idol, Chase Young.
"C-Chase! Chase, hi, what are you doing hear?" said Jack, trying to cover up the fact he was more than a little bit shaken at Chases impromptu visit.
"Come, Spicer, I require your presence."
"Well, see Chase, the thing is. . . . . ." and the unspoken promise of ultimate torture and death glittered in Chase's eyes should Jack ever try to defy him.
Jack gulped and said, "Yeah, sure, Chase. Let's go."
And they disappeared out of Jack Spicer's home and into the grandeur of Chase Young.
"And here," said Chase, "are the Xioalin monks."
Jack gasped in half-delight, half-awe at Chase's accomplishment.
There they all were, Kimiko, Omi, Raimundo, Clay, and that slippery drago known as Dojo, all trapped in a giant box, unable to be seen by either of them.
"You brought LeMime back into the picture?" questioned Jack, glancing at his partner in crime.
"LeMime was never 'in the picture'. I needed him, he wanted revenge. I gave him power, he gave me this." said Chase, gesturing to the trapped and angry Xioalin monks.
"What happened to him?"
Chase sneered at him. "Guess, Spicer."
And suddenly the raw and exposed smell of LeMime's blood beckoned to him. Oh, hell, he was turning into a frickin' vampire. . . .but it smelled so. . . . .God, at this moment, he wanted, above all, to have something cut open, making an exhibit of their innards, and smelling the aroma of freshly spilled blood. . ..
"Jack. . . Jack, you insect, Get off of me!" said Chase, and with a blush, Jack realized he'd been leaning on him, in a daze.
"S-sorry, Chase. . ."
Wiping his arm, Chase said, "Don't let it happen again."
He hoped it wouldn't. He really hoped it wouldn't.
Thanks! Short First Chapter, but I wanted to get this show on the road. There may be Chack later on, I don't know. But for now, review!