Disclaimer: I do NOT own Jimmy Neutron, or anything associated with said franchise.
Author Announcement(s): I know, I know. Those of you who read my second Jimmy-Neutron-FanFic, are probably all like, "At LEAST Post A CHAPTER of "GTNG," BEFORE You Update THIS Story!" I am going to post a chapter of "GTNG" TODAY! I promise. But I just HAVE to finish Part I of THIS story quite soon, because I just HAVE to get the character intros OUT of the way! …Anyways, here is Part I, Chapter II, of "Fight To The Finish." I hope you all enjoy!
II. The Other Neutron
He regained consciousness—only to lose it again. The paddle came swinging towards his skull with such speed and precision that he barely had time to register what the item was before it made contact with his cranium. He was out—out like a light.
The boy stood there, in front of the Marine guards—one of which held the bloody paddle—while both of his hands were bound at the wrist and strapped to a taught nylon cord, which fastened him to the wall behind him. He had nowhere to go, just as he had nowhere to go for the past four years.
The boy's face was bleeding profusely, more so than the two Marine guards knew their superior would be grateful for. Just as the two guards had conjured a thought of their dear general, the steel door to the "containment" chamber slid open to reveal the tall, sturdy, robust figure of General Michael Harlan-Fitch.
He looked less than pleased, as his large, muscular, face was contorted in a fashion similar to that of disgust. The large scar across his face showed only anger and resentment; those were the only two emotions that the scar was ever good at showing. All else was useless to the general. The general sighed deeply, and this time, he seemed to accept the utter stupidity and incompetence that his two subordinates seemed to exude.
The two guards saluted the general crisply, and then, once he returned the gesture—albeit in a languid and uncaring fashion—the two Marines began to catapult themselves into their usual song and dance about what had happened, what went wrong, and how it was anything but their fault. The general raised his hand. They stopped. He didn't want to hear it. With every passing word that the two men in front of him uttered, his temper visibly flared and raised, almost to a point of no return. Thankfully, at least for the two guards, he stopped them before they could anger him any further.
They stopped talking and stood in front of their superior at attention, awaiting his words, and ready to cringe at the harshness of it. The general scanned the general surface area of the room, and his eyes finally settled on the boy who was fastened to the wall directly opposite him. He sighed, and once again, the two well-trained Marines took a step back and cringed slightly. The general eyed the boy in front of him very carefully. The boy's head was hung, limply, while the rest of his body was supported by nothing more than the tightness of the cords that bound his body.
The boy had wounds, gashes, and marks—marks that told a violent story—all across his body, and now, with the boy's shirt completely torn off, the extent of the injuries that he had sustained were now clearly visible. Although the numerous wounds he had sustained were very visible, it was also quite clear that the boy was very physically fit, and had a well-defined physical physique. He looked to be about the age of sixteen, perhaps slightly older, but not by much. It could even have been hypothesized that, had he not been beaten and battered so much, he would have made quite the threat.
The boy had lost noticeable amounts of blood, but his valuable body fluid had not traveled far, and one could easily see where his blood had ended up. The white walls of the room around the four men were splashed with the occasional red stains, and the white contrast of the background walls only made for a ghastly sight, as the bright red blood spatters seemed to jump out at anyone who dared to even glance at them.
The general approached the boy and grabbed his chin. The swiftness and viciousness of the act sent the two Marines another few steps back. He raised the boy's head to his own eye level, and he saw that his eyelids were closed, yet not shut tight. He looked quite unconscious. The general was not convinced. He had seen what the boy was capable of. Even before he had been "inducted" into the "program," he had extraordinary gifts, which is what made him an excellent candidate for the program in the first place. He knew what the boy could handle, what he could take, and how much of it he take.
He had known this for four years. He had the boy in his custody for four years and he not once seen even the slightest sign of his breaking point. So then, why had he chosen now? What was different about this time? He went unconscious from a "little" whack to the head? 'Hmph, not likely.' thought the general. He chuckled as he thought of all the ways he could convince the boy to give up his charade of feigning unconsciousness. The general grabbed the boy's dark auburn hair and yanked it—hard—pulling the boy's head into the general's own personal space.
"Wakey, wakey, sunshine." he said mockingly as he spat his comment in his vehement breath, which reeked of tobacco. The boy did not budge. The general chuckled once again, but this time it had far more malicious tinge to it. He turned his attention the two guards—which were now quite a distance behind the general. "Take him the 'Repair Room,' and once he's 'all better,' bring him back here for round two." the general ordered his men.
The two Marines saluted their superior and, just as Fitch was preparing to leave the room, he heard a sound, an unmistakable sound. He smirked. He turned around to see the boy starring directly into the general's eyes, as his own hazel eyes burned with a sort comical disdain. The boy had smirk on his face as well. "Well, well. Finally awake, are we?" the general inquired, looking directly into the boy's hazel eyes. The boy chuckled. The general stepped forward and, in a swift and hastily executed motion, he grabbed the boy by his neck, and uttered his violently vicious words. "…And just what the hell is so damn funny?" he asked the boy, making his comment seem more like a command then a question.
The boy laughed as he responded, seeming to be somewhat amused by all that was transpiring. "You are, general. You're a real comedian, you know that?" the boy laughed. The large amount of blatant disrespect boiled the general's temper to new-found heights.
"You little insolent fool. You talk to me like that again, and I'll cut your useless little vocal cords out." The general spat, and as he did so, he unsheathed his combat knife that was strapped on his upper left lapel. He waved the steel blade in front of the boy, and he smirked again.
"Sounds like fun." the boy responded, looking very serious this time.
"Get his ass out of here." the general commanded of the two Marines before him. They nodded and saluted him. They grabbed the boy. They performed a very intricate ritual to ensure that the boy could not be a threat to them; these actions included shackling his feet together, binding his hands and arms together, and holding him at gunpoint. As he was being escorted out of the white-walled room, he turned to the general and addressed him directly.
"…Oh, and general?" the boy started, addressing his captor.
"What?" the general responded, now incredibly irate, as his hastily-spat response blatantly said exactly that.
"Don't ever touch my hair again." the boy responded, and as he finished his statement, he spat a well-prepared wad of saliva directly into the general's already angry face.
The general took his sweet time in wiping his face clean of the boy's saliva. He now addressed the two Marines, who were now once again frozen in place. "When you bring him back here, make sure you let me know. I want to be here to greet him, personally." the general said menacingly. He now looked at the boy and talked directly to him. "We're gonna have some fun tonight, Eddie." he said, and as he was walking out of the room, he made one last comment: "Oh, and I almost forgot, I still have to visit the other Neutron. Anything you'd like me to tell your dear cousin for you?" he asked, and as he did so, the boy's face contorted in a clear combination of anger, fury, and hate. The two Marines escorted the boy out of the room and down the long, brightly lit, corridor, allowing him no time to respond. The general exited the room a few moments later, making his way towards the other Neutron.
Cindy Vortex stormed up to her room and slammed the door. She slammed herself on her bed, her anger far superseding her emotion of pain. She wanted to cry, but she wanted to kill far more. She took her pillow and began to pummel it with well-placed punches and, as she did so, her pace, her fury, and her violence increased with every blow, until the pillow no longer existed, and in its place, remained only a pile of feathers.
She breathed deeply. It did not help. She looked at her hands. She clenched and unclenched her fists to get a proper view of her hands' current condition. Her knuckles were covered in blood, but it was not her own.
It was Butch's blood. She smiled at this oddly comforting fact. She walked into her adjoining bathroom and washed the body fluid off her hands. Just as she was walking back into her bedroom, her cell phone, which was currently housed in her pocket, began to ring. She sighed and reached her hand into her pocket, and came out with the phone in her hand. She sighed once again and answered the call. She was the first to speak, allowing the other participant of the call no time to talk.
"Ugh, Libby, I already told you. I don't want to talk about it." Cindy shot, and while to the untrained ear she might have sounded angry and spiteful, Cindy knew that her best friend knew better.
"It's not Libby. Don't you check your phone before you answer it?" a voice, one Cindy recognized almost immediately, responded.
"…Betty?" Cindy replied questioningly. Cindy was somewhat surprised, but considering what had transpired over the past few years, the past few months especially, she was not entirely too surprised to hear Betty's voice.
"…Um, yeah. Look, I know you probably don't want to talk to anyone right now, but after what happened today, I just felt like I had to call. Are you alright?" she inquired, and her voice was just as sincere as she meant it to sound. She truly wanted a genuine answer to her question.
"Listen, I appreciate the call, but I really don't feel like talking about it right now." Cindy responded, sounding a little more harshly than she intended to. She cringed at her tone, after she registered it in her own ears.
Betty, however, seemed to be completely unfazed by her tone. That was something one got used to—and very fast—when one was a friend with Cindy Vortex. "I get it. Still, I think it'd be a good idea if you came over." Betty replied, still wanting to help.
"…Betty...—" Cindy started, but trailed off and was also simultaneously interrupted by Betty's voice.
"I already called Libby. She's on her way. Seriously, Cin. Please?" Betty now pleaded.
Cindy chuckled at Betty's efficiency. "Ha, alright. I'll be over in a few."
"Okay, cool." Betty replied, seeming a little more hopeful.
"You and Libby, both, are so damn persistent. You'd think that at this point, I'd get pissed off by it." Cindy said, chuckling slightly.
"…Or, at least, get used to by now." Betty responded, chuckling herself.
"…Hey Betty?" Cindy started.
"...Yes?" Betty replied.
"Thanks." Cindy stated, and it was clear that, for the first time in a very long time, she was sincere.
"…Welcome Cin. Anytime. See you in few." and with that, Betty hung up, and ended the conversation.
Cindy gathered some her belongings and prepared to leave her house, but not before noticing something—the same thing that she noticed every time she left her room in the past four years. It was a newspaper clipping that she had tacked to her wall. The headline of the article read: "Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius, Dead at the Age Of 12."
A/N: Well, there is chapter two. …See what I mean about the plot points? There are far too many questions to type here, so just let them circle around in your head, and let them grow there and fester, and drive you insane with the suspense (*Cue EVIL Laugh: "MWAHAHAHA!"*)! …Ahem… …Anyways, stay tuned for the next update, and PLEASE R&R!