The Idea:

Chase Young was meditating near one of his many fountains when a disturbance showed itself in his palace home. He peered down at one of his jungle cats and turned his attention back to the front door. He allowed the slab of rock to open and allowed his visitors in.

"Hello, young monk." He greeted, golden eyes pinpointed on the small yellow dot at the end of the tunnel into his home. He sneered once the Xiaolin monk walked into his palace home.

"Greetings, Chase Young." Omi said, his dark eyes pointed to the tai-chi sorcerer.

He was still the short: but not too short. He was still shorter than Chase, though. He had grown over the years into a lean man with a slightly less round head. He still had no hair, and he still had his forehead dots, and he still held as much humility as a tree.

Omi pointed a finger at him, "What are you planning, Chase Young!" He exclaimed with a little too much drama.

Chase slowly walked up the winding stairs and took a seat at his throne. "I'm not planning anything, just visiting an old friend." He continued to smile calmly.

Grand Master Omi didn't seem convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at the never aging man.

"Believe me or not, that is simply all I was doing." Young said, voice chillingly cold.

"What friend?" Omi shot, still not believing.

A soft unheard chuckle came from the overlord. His eyes centered on Omi once again, his pupils in slits, "Jack Spicer."

The yellow monk seemed hurt, "Do not tamper with my heart cords, Chase Young. Jack Spicer died many years ago." His voice was low and sad.

"Would you believe me, young monk, if I told you that Jack Spicer was alive?" He questioned, smiling sharply.

Omi blinked, his mouth open very slightly, "This is no lie, is it?"

"Not a word, Omi. I have found the incarnation of Jack Spicer." He stated, "Now leave my home. I must tend to my jungle cats."

---

He was watching the walls spin from the confines of his bed when there was a knock on the door. His fake red eyes were still uncentered as the room continued to spin, but he willed himself to sit up and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the bout of dizziness overcome him. He got off his messy bed and stepped over to his bedroom door. It was probably his 'mom' checking up on him, or maybe one of those maids he almost never saw.

He wasn't expecting to see a tall Brazilian man wearing robes to be at his door. He perked an eyebrow at him, "Eh," He muttered with apprehension.

The man's green eyes widened as he stared down at Jack, his mouth going somewhat slack.

Jack slowly started to close the door, disturbed by the stranger. He pressed his back against the door and pulled out his sleek cell phone. "Y-You better leave! O-O-Or I'll call the cops!" He warned, his voice failing him horribly. Of course, just like him to start stuttering for the first time in years when a messed up stranger is standing outside his bedroom!

"No, no, don't call the cops!" He heard the man call.

"W-Who are you?" He stuttered; his shoulders hunched.

"Raimundo Pedrosa,"

Jack felt his body tense. Raimundo Pedrosa… Raimundo… Rai… It was so familiar! He shifted away from the door and opened it slightly, his red eyes looking at him.

The Brazilian man smiled, "Hay Jack."

He stared. That was all he could do: just stand, half hidden by the door, and stare. He licked his dry lips, "Do I know you?"

Raimundo blinked, "Omi was telling the truth…" He muttered to himself, almost too quiet to hear.

"L-Leave, before I call the cops!" He warned, his voice in a high skirl. He held up his cell phone, ready to dial.

Raimundo held up his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay, dude, cool down. I'm leavin', I'm leavin'."

And he did. Before Jack knew it, the man was turned away from the door and walking down the hall towards the exit. Once he heard the front door slam closed, he finally let out a breath of relief. He shakily pushed the door closed and locked it, doing the same to his window. He wasn't worried about the strange man going into his lab or any other room. His lab was protected by several hidden traps: the cement floor was covered in weight sensitive sensors that were tuned to his weight (he had to constantly watch his weight so it wouldn't plummet under or skyrocket over the weight range) and there were cameras hidden in the walls and ceiling that checked his current features that were in the data banks. While the other rooms were empty of life (with an exception for the many potted plants that he disliked very much so) Jack could have cared less about the objects in them. He sat down in his chair and moved the mouse absently across the screen. He leaned his cheek against his hand and slumped in boredom within his chair and slept…

---

The place where he stood was bright and colorless. Whiter than white that made his eyes water from the endless bright that reflected off of nothing. The light source was unknown, but the light didn't dim or brighten, it stayed at the constant bright that it was at the moment. He squinted, bright dots filling his vision.

There was a smear of darkness far in the distance. It was small and too distorted for Jack to see what it was, but in time, the smear grew larger and more details showed themselves.

Chase Young, his figure deeply shadowed from the light reflecting against his armor clad body and his long black hair framing his face, stepped closer to him. He seemed very regal and proud as he walked closer and closer to him, his face calm but not emotionless. No, no, just neutral.

Even though Chase was not threatening in his physic or facial features, Jack still felt the urge to step back and away from the young man. Some small internal instinct inside him told him not to get too close, to be careful around this creature.

There was a thunderous crack and suddenly he felt like he was surrounded by static. Another crack resounded through the thick air, and a large bolt of blue lightning streaked through his dreamland sky. More and more booms and streaks of lightning preceded, each bolt of electricity absorbing a little bit of the blinding light that filled his dreamland. The light slowly faded away, slowly turning into a colorless dark.

Chase didn't stop moving, and he would be standing right in front of him in a matter of minutes.

And suddenly, it seemed like someone turned off the lights. Darkness overlapped everything, blinding him. Two large hands rested on his shoulders, making him tense out of habit.

His dreamland was deathly quiet; he wasn't even able to hear his heartbeat or his breathing. It was chilling.

Another clap of thunder rang through his ears, making him wince. The lightning struck through the sky, momentarily lighting things. He focused his eyes quickly to the person in front of him, his large red eyes going doe when he saw not a man, but a large reptilian monster. He attempted several times to scream and on the third time, a girlish scream ripped from his throat.

His world spun, his eyes unfocused, and he finally awoke…

---

He pulled the hood of his large jacket over his head and sniffled lightly. The rain poured down relentlessly on the small city, bouncing off his hood slightly, and soaked the bottoms of his pants.

He turned the corner and onto another street. Jack shoved his freezing hands into his warm pockets and continued down the street and towards the convenient store. He entered the small shop, the bells on the door jingling weakly against the sound of the rain, and wiped his wet boots against the plastic mat at the door.

Jack walked towards the back of the store (not before nodding a greeting to the cashier) and down the drink aisle. He hefted the glass door open and pulled out a gallon of milk. He lifted the jug up with both hands, the soft hiss of the door closing automatically echoing through the convenient store, and walked towards the cashier. He placed the milk on the counter and pulled out the correct amount of cash out of his pants pocket.

The cashier bayed him a 'thank you' and a 'have a nice day'. Jack nodded to him and exited the convenient store and headed back home. He peered at the large bank that was positioned regally up the street, right at the street corner. He smiled weakly, only to wiggle suddenly when a great chill ran up his spine. A large gust of wind had whipped itself into his jacket by his loose collar and chilled him effectively. He shivered from the cold, his teeth chattering together loudly.

If only his car wasn't in the testing stages… Then he wouldn't have to walk in the pouring rain with a heavy, slightly ripping, plastic bag.

Stupid car and its tendency to blow up…

---

He groaned, rolling around in his bed restlessly. His gray-green eyes were glued on his computer screen, anxiously waiting for the reply box to pop up. He groaned as he noticed the numbers on his digital clock change to three. Three in the morning… He was tired, oh so tired. But he wanted to talk to Chase again. After the chat with that Raimundo Pedrosa fellow and that dream he had, he had the strange urge to ask Chase more questions about him. Yeah, it was horribly nosy, but he was truly intrigued by the young man. He had an air of wisdom but also of danger… Jack laughed. That was really clichéd… But, this mysterious dangerous side of Chase Young could be useful, especially if he could convince him to work for him… He had plans to kick off his start for world domination—

What? Sixteen wasn't too young to be a dictator!

---

By the time of five in the morning (he had only dozed off lightly for about an hour or so,) Jack had had enough. He sat down in his cushiony, twirl-capable, chair and sent a message to him:

Hay, Chase, I need to talk to you… Please reply as soon as possible.

Jack was startled (and slightly spooked) when Chase had replied around three minutes later.

What is it, Spicer?

Jack bit his lower lip and contemplated. What did he want? Well, it was obvious really; he wanted Chase to help him do something criminal.

I want to meet you again. At that café, is that okay?

May I ask why?

Jack huffed: because he didn't want to ask Chase if he wanted to do something against the law with him over the Internet. For all he knew, there could be filters going through these chats, trying to spot out crimes and such. And, for all he knew, Chase could possibly be a cop as well…

Jack shook his head; no, no, Chase couldn't possibly be a police officer… He would have had Jack taken away for owning that particle gun he made…

I have to ask you something very important. And something very personal…

Chase sent a confirming message several minutes later.

---

For some reason, the second time he entered the little café named Le Mime wasn't as scary as the first time. Sure, the malicious looking people in the café still spooked him, but he could deal with it. His faux-red eyes spotted Chase sitting at the same table that they were at the last time they meet, looking completely indifferent from the last time he saw him.

Jack stepped over to him quietly and took a seat at the small circular table. He pointed his eyes earthwards, towards the table, wondering how to start off.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about, Jack Spicer?" Chase asked, looking down upon him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was trapped in his throat for a moment. His heart was pounding and his stomach fluttered slightly. He leaned forward, still trying to get his voice, and looked around quickly, trying to spot if someone was watching them. He swallowed roughly and looked back at Chase. "I want your help…" He muttered weakly, his confidence faltering.

Young motioned for Jack to continue with a movement of his hand.

"Oh, right…" He muttered, "Um, could you, I dunno', help me rob a bank?" He asked, greatly uncertain.

Chase raised an elegant brow and stared down at the Goth teen a little more strongly. "Rob a bank?"

Jack nodded weakly.

A strong hand clapped him on the shoulder, making Jack tense. He stared at the man with large faux-red eyes, looking deeply confused. What was he doing?

"What do you need my assistance in?"

Jack gnawed the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out what he needed Chase to do again. The only thing that he could think of was to help him bail from jail. If that were even possible… Wait, did teens go to jail? He could have sworn they went to juvie or something…

He'd have to research that before doing anything drastic.

He swallowed down that stubborn lump in his throat and looked Chase straight in the eye, trying his very best not to burst in hysterics. (He didn't even want to think about what he'd do when he'd be standing at the bank entrance with a gun at hand…) "If the police nab me, I would like your help getting me out of jail… Or juvie, whichever they use for sixteen-year-olds." He muttered several syllables of nonsense to himself afterwards, eyes pointed towards the small display of coffee container sizes.

Chase looked at him with interest, "Would it not be easier on yourself if I went with you? I do know some very useful techniques that would be very helpful in thievery."

He grinned brightly. There was one more reason why Jack Spicer liked Chase Young.

"Really?" He asked in a skirl. Even though his pitch was high, the volume was still controlled.

"Correct," He confirmed in a drawl.

---

If only his car's engine wouldn't keep on overheating! He was so damn frustrated with that— very handsome, very sleek, very cool and technically advanced— piece of junk. Man-oh-man; if he could get his futuristic car to work, he would look so cool in it. But the piece of crap always blew something not long after he started its lovely engine.

He patted its black exterior lovingly, pouting slightly as his fake red eyes scanned over the car's overall body build. All was black, making it very sharp looking, and the overall shape was aerodynamic. The whole body of his biggest (and most challenging) project was coated many, many times in a special wax coating that prevented dirt sticking onto it. (This wax was not created by his genius, but he used it anyway.) Dirt and grime on black cars were never incognito. Ever. The seating inside was made of tan faux-leather that he took from the couch in his living room (his father was greatly unamused. His father never did learn where he put the leather from the couch.) And, of course, there were many, many little accessories he just had to add. (Such as his car shooting out oil slick or metal thorns from the small ejectors that were placed where the exhaust pipe would be. Or music player accessible ports in the dashboard, or even a mini-refrigerator which held his pudding cups; banana flavored, of course.) He loved his car; it was so cool.

Jack scratched his chin, sitting down backwards in his chair and stared at his gorgeous car. The only way to get his car to stop overheating was to put exhaust pipes in near the engine to help filter out all of the hot air and to allow colder air in. But, he didn't want to put grates at the front of his car (they caught way too many bugs) but he didn't want to have a bunch of pipes and/or holes sticking out of his car's hood.

Jack sighed and stepped out of his lab and towards his bedroom. There were still things that he and Chase had to talk about.

---

He was going to rob the local bank on a Friday: a day right after payday, and just before the weekend. There would be new money within it, and many people there to be witnesses. It would kick start his career as a criminal/bad guy, while earning him some extra cash.

Yeah, his family already had large sums of money. And sure, he was able to take out as much as he wanted. But he needed to do something that would make his name famous and fast. What could be more newspaper worthy than a sixteen-year-old robbing a bank all by himself and succeeding? (Well, that depended on whether he decided to have Chase's help or not, and he was greatly considering Chase's assistance…)

It had taken him a total of two weeks to figure out a better way to keep his car's engine cool, but he had gotten it. Sleek gill like slots! It gave his car that extra 'cool' look while it still served a purpose! He was so happy.

The plan for his robbery attempt was clearly documented in his mind. Every detail of his plan memorized. No paper or digital evidence at all.

Everything was ready…

He could feel his stomach squirm already, and it was only Tuesday. This was bad.

Jack clumsily stepped through his dirty bedroom, almost tripping on a pair of knotted socks, and plopped down on his swivel chair roughly. His willowy fingers ran across the keys, the small dips in his keyboard made the calloused skin on his fingertips tingle.

I want your help. Friday, the same café, is that okay?

Chase's responses were always fast; they didn't startle him any more. Okay, that was a lie. They only startled him slightly. Just slightly!

That's perfect.

Jack blinked as he stared at the screen.

---

Thursday night was one of the hardest nights Jack had ever experienced in his whole life. His mind was plagued with thoughts of dread, uncertainty, and paranoia… What a great bad guy he was.

All the real bad guys (Like the real Chase Young, Black-beard, his eighth grade English teacher; Mr. Roth, and all the others) would call him soft; he could literally see it happening in his mind's eye. The real sad part was that he himself knew that it was true. His heart was soft and squishy (like normal hearts were supposed to be like!) while hearts owned by Chase Young and Mr. Roth were hard and steely (like how villain hearts were supposed to be like!)

Maybe this whole bank-robbing thing was a bad idea— No! It was a brilliant idea, one that would be recorded in history books as the first villainous act of Jack Spicer the genius…

'Jack Spicer the Genius' wasn't very catchy. He'd have to have a really good name, one that would catch people's attention.

Jack Spicer, evil genius— Overused…

What then?

Jack Spicer, evil boy genius! Yeah! It was the perfect title; it said his name, his evilness, and the fact that he was a genius and still in only within the early stages of puberty!

He grinned from ear-to-ear and curled up under the covers of his bed contently. Tomorrow, Jack Spicer, evil boy genius would kick start his career as an evil-doer by robbing a bank…