Like a good communist, I own nothing.

"Gauntlet: Lies"
Part 5

May 9

Mojo Jojo heard the footsteps coming.

He had ample time to prepare.

In the heart of his most favorite Lab, his robotics facility, he waited and meditated on his current situation, as he always did when a plan failed to come together. He thought back first to the relatively few memories he had in what passed for his childhood - before he had gained sentience and newfound genius in the same accident that had created his greatest enemies, the Powerpuff Girls.

It was a period not so much of thought and memory, but of emotion. But in what few remembrances Mojo had from that time, Professor Johnathan Utonium was paramount. Why Mojo was kept by the Professor, he did not know - it was not for experimentation, it was not for any form of technical assistance in the lab, rather Mojo suspected it was because the Professor wanted someone or something around. He wanted affection, perhaps, and Mojo knew he repaid that need with misbehavior. Maybe, on the times Mojo thought back to it, he had simply not been disciplined. The Professor had, ultimately, been a poor model...

Mojo had run amuck.

Mojo had been bad.

Mojo had been a failure, and like all failures, he had been cast aside and replaced by something better, newer, more worthy. He hated Professor Utonium. He hated him for being smarter, for being more successful in his meaningless little life than Mojo had in his grand pursuits. He hated him for creating the girls, for replacing him... even if he had deserved it.

Such was the law of survival.

Sentience altered the rules slightly, but the dictates remained: 'Out with the old.'

Brick's slow measures footsteps heralded his entrance into the facility.

'In with the new.'

Seeing him, Mojo remembered when he'd first seen his greatest creations: in that respect, at least, he had truly surpassed Professor Utonium. His creations were greater than their creator. His weapons had minds of their own, cunning, ruthless... They would not be dominated, and that was the one thing Mojo had not anticipated when he created the Rowdyruff Boys. They were not automatons, they would not be programmed, they would not be wielded, but would wield themselves how they saw fit. Pandora's box had been opened.

Opened, and blown to pieces.

Nearby, Brick found the Lab's radio on a quiet classical station - it normally helped Mojo concentrate. The red Rowdyruff turned up the volume dramatically, drowning out most noise and making it more difficult to hear. He obviously wanted what was to happen to not be heard outside.

Mojo Jojo, however, had not thought of such things on that day, when, at the height of a 'lucky' dark incantation, he had mixed the needed ingredients, and born witness to the results of his labor. Three boys, in many ways like the Powerpuff Girls, but reeking of malevolence and aggression: living weapons of anger and power. They needed only a small pushing of direction, only a minor persuasion. They had effortlessly broken him out of jail and returned him to his Observatory, where he had filled them in on a great many things they would need to know. Then, too soon, they had been off.

He had worried.

They were unproven, untested, unseasoned.

They were, in the very meaning of the word, 'raw.'

And yet, as he watched the fight degenerate into a grand melee, Mojo Jojo felt his heart rise at his success. The Girls were steadily losing, steadily falling towards the fight's inevitable end, and he didn't have to lift a finger to do it. It was perfect. It seemed flawless. Then... and Mojo would hardly have believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes... the Girls had been crushed. His boys returned.

He had greeted them, still not really believing what had happened.

So he had looked again.

The Powerpuffs were defeated.

For a brief moment in time, he had won. Mojo Jojo was not the old, not to be cast aside, he was, once again, supreme. He was validated! Better still, he had revenge, for Professor Utonium now had nothing, and he, Jojo, the rejected, had everything! He realized, in hindsight, that he had not been so proud of the boys, but rather proud of himself.

That would return to haunt him.

"You underestimated me, father..." Brick was still slowly walking, almost pacing, in a wide circle around his creator. Brick was bandaged and still hurt from the battle he'd endured late yesterday, but there was no mistaking the cold intensity to his eyes and the confidence with which he carried himself. A wounded animal was often the most dangerous.

Mojo said nothing.

"You think... maybe... that I protected you from Blossom so I could deal with you myself?" Brick's pace increased, and the slow circle started to shrink. "I assure you, I have no qualms about letting others bloody their hands for me."

"So do it." Mojo was hurting himself from the blows the Powerpuff Girls had delivered on that same day. "But do it quickly, not slowly, for I do not deserve that. I have not been unkind to you, to your brothers..."

"You've been an ample role model, father." Brick was right behind him when he spoke, very close. Mojo stood ramrod straight, ready to face evolution's cruel dictates.

"Sit down, pops!" Brick grabbed him roughly, and forced him into a chair. "I must say, I've very disappointed that you chose to confront me on such a hectic day. I'm also disappointed that you thought so little of me that you assumed I wouldn't have anticipated it. No matter. What's done is done. There is a passage from the Bible: 'Honor thy mother and thy father.' I find the notion very quaint in my circumstances."

Mojo realized he'd been holding his breath, and let it out, relaxing slightly.

Brick adjusted his red cap. "You're no fool either, despite what you lack in common sense." He leaned in close behind Mojo, voice level and cool. "I heard on the grapevine that a certain group of mercenaries have resurfaced, better armed than before. But they couldn't do so alone, not without Professor Utonium aiding them, which he is not. Maybe, oh mien papa, you could enlighten me?"

"I do not know what..."

"What a piece of work is a man!" Brick cut Mojo off, and walked in front of him, arms in the air. "How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!"

Brick looked Mojo straight in the eye.

"The paragon of animals..." He repeated. "What does that make me? A clockwork amalgam of ingredients given life... No, I prefer not to think of it in such ways. Am I 'man,' Father? Or am I... a monster...? Do you want to find out?"

Involuntarily, Mojo shivered from the tone in Brick's voice.

"You've made your point. I... I will tell you..." Mojo closed his eyes. He had been defeated before this, yesterday. He had lost face and influence with the other two Rowdyruffs. He had lost control of himself and the situation. And now, now he had been thoroughly cowed. But, at least, he would live to see what he had brought into the world come to fruition.

"Yes. You will tell me." Brick eyes narrowed. "And you will aid me, because after I tell you but half of what I know, you will come to see that there is no other way... but mine."

Boomer sat in the tree, amid the concealing branches.

Pokey Oaks Kindergarten was a small one story building in a peaceful neighborhood, out in the suburbs. This was only the second time Boomer had really left the city and checked them out. There was a measure of tranquility and calm to life here that he hadn't seen before. It appealed to him, in a way.

Down below, he watched the children of the Pokey Oaks work and play. They were a diverse group of boys and girls, and foremost among them were Boomer's enemies... allies... acquaintances...? Regardless of what they were, the Powerpuff Girls seemed to be enjoying themselves, and, additionally, the company of others. They played and learned among the normal children. Children with no powers and no comprehension of the sort of life the Powerpuffs led.

Or, looking at it again, maybe it was Boomer who didn't understand them.

He saw Blossom reading a book near the door. She was listening to a radio, and Boomer's super-sensitive hearing picked up that it was a news station mixed with some light classical. Ironically, it reminded Boomer of the music Mojo tended to listen to while he worked. Butch, obviously, preferred heavy metal and rap to work out to, Brick liked the quiet, and Boomer had no real preference. He didn't listen to much music anyway.

He figured that the pink Powerpuff was waiting for some sort of crisis or breaking news. Boomer had mixed feelings towards her. He'd been the one chosen to fight Blossom, and while he'd held his own and easily kept her occupied while Brick took out Buttercup and Butch manhandled Bubbles, he'd lost, in a way. He'd been taunting her, as he always taunted his opponents, trying to make her sloppy, but in the end he'd gotten overconfident and ended up incapacitated in a block of ice that he should have avoided.

He'd developed a grudging respect for her fighting skills, certainly, and for her willpower. That had only been reinforced when she took command in the last crisis, after Brick been taken out. She hadn't been able to control Butch, but that was no real mark against her. She wasn't as intimidating a presence as Brick, and she hadn't earned Butch's respect yet: of course he wouldn't follow her orders. Boomer had no problem with it, though, and that was something that disturbed him.

Did it make him weak, that he let himself be bossed around by this girl?

By this Powerpuff, who had no right to tell him what to do?

Boomer then focused his attention on Buttercup. He hadn't had much experience with her, but she was definitely Butch's counterpart. Strong, bold, aggressive... except that she seemed to have better control over herself now than Boomer's olive-eyed brother. She was currently involved in a game catch football, throwing the ball weakly (given that a strong throw would put the ball in low earth orbit) to some other kid. There was a small team going, all boys.

Boomer got the feeling that Buttcerup liked being the alpha of that pack.

Did she like lording over the mundanes that surrounded them? She was, without a doubt, the best player on any team that they could have, and it couldn't be kept secret that she was dominating and leading the game. Boomer had a good deal of experience reading people, and there was something about her posture and voice that made him inclined to believe that she wanted to be a leader. This, too, was much like Butch. Butch, indeed, had the traits for a bold tactical leader, but he had no strategic comprehension. That was where Brick, and apparently Blossom, drew their power.

Boomer spent a few more moments thinking about the green siblings.

Butch and Buttercup. They were like the fulcrum. The Girls were sugar, spice, and everything nice. The Boys were snips and snails and puppy dog's tails. Buttercup was the spice, and Bubbles was sugar, and it made sense that Blossom was 'everything nice.' Was he 'snips,' then? What did that say about him? Butch must be the snails: a hungry loner. What did the puppy dog tail represent? ...Cruelty? Everything bad and opposed to everything nice - was that Brick? It couldn't be. Brick cared deeply for his brothers; he couldn't be 'everything cruel.'

Sighing, Boomer saw Bubbles sitting under a different tree, in the shade, drawing on a pad of paper with a large box of crayons. Sugar. Bubbles, more than her sisters, was a mystery, difficult to read and understand. She seemed so... innocent, so untouched and unaltered by the power that she wielded. Or that wielded her. She was happy, content with simple things, simple pleasures. She loved the light, the sky, the world, somehow, she had managed to not even hate or fear him. How could that be? Boomer couldn't fathom her thinking at even a shallow level.

Suddenly, she looked up at him.

He flinched. She couldn't see him. No one could. Yet, she was staring intently right at him. Boomer didn't move. He wasn't afraid, but he was embarrassed. As Bubbles picked up her box, closed the lid, and floated up towards him, notepad under her arm, the blue Rowdyruff was tempted to bolt for it. Instead, he kept still, trusting in his own ability to blend in and be ignored amid the foliage of the old oak tree.

"Hello?" Bubbles got closer, looking back and forth. "Is someone there?"

There was a tiny hint of fear in her voice. Was she afraid that he was there, Boomer wondered... or did she think he was someone else? When she landed on his branch, he made a decision. He tapped her shoulder, and she yelped before quickly turning around.

"Boomer?" She said, surprised. He had, after all, appeared literally out of nowhere.

"Yo." He sat down on the branch.

"What... what are you doing here?" She sat down next to him, holding her crayons and picture over her chest.

"'Was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd see where you girls hang out."

There was a quiet moment, and a rustling of leaves all around them.

"Are your brothers here, too?"

"Nah." Boomer shrugged. "Butch is still laid up and sleeping off after yesterday. Brick's up and around, but he's not totally one hundred percent either. ...If you girls ever wanted a good chance to take us out, now's the time."

"We wouldn't do that." Bubbles looked down, shyly.

"Why not? I would."

She looked him in the eyes. "No you wouldn't."

Boomer grimaced. She was right, of course. Slowly, carefully, almost reverently, she held out her crayons and paper.

"Do you... want to draw something?" She asked.

"I can't draw," Boomer stated, simply. "It'll come out bad, and I'll look stupid."

"You don't know that..."

"Yeah, I do." Boomer stressed. He looked down at the pad of paper: saw the drawings. "Is that...?"

She pointed at the red figure. "That's Blossom." The green one. "That's Buttercup." The blue one. "Me." The tall black and white one. "And the Professor. And that's our house in the back."

Boomer slowly nodded. "How come... you call him Professor, and not dad or something?"

"I dunno." Bubbles gave him a small smile. Boomer found it stupidly ironic. She had a real father, and she didn't even call him one.

"So... don't you want to do something?" Bubbles prompted.

Boomer shook his head.

He was content just sitting and watching.

"Hey!" A voice called out from below. "Look!"

"Damnit." Boomer silently cursed. He'd been sitting and talking with Bubbles out in the open, in plain sight. He hadn't wanted to be seen.

"Whose that?" "How'd he get in that tree?" "Isn't that one of those Rowdyruff Boys?"

"Come on!"

Boomer suddenly found his hand in Bubbles' and she jumped down, taking him with her. Leading him closer to the group of children, he felt nervous. This wasn't what he'd wanted. Brick was charismatic and confident enough to never feel nervous or inadequate around people, and Butch was vicious and proud enough to stand tall in any occasion, but Boomer wasn't as comfortable as his brothers around groups of people he didn't know.

"This is Boomer!" Bubbles said, cheerfully introducing him.

"One of the Rowdyruff Boys." Boomer added. The title usually carried a measure of fear, respect and awe with it in Townsville. Just saying it there got him whatever he wanted, and let him go wherever he felt like it.

"Hi!" "Hey!" A chorus of voices greeted him. He was starting to attract a crowd, but he forced himself to keep calm. He was a living war machine, just like Butch, he had no reason to fear or feel nervous around these mundanes. One by one, the kids said their own names. It was a flurry of information, and Boomer couldn't follow even half of it. A part of him wondered why he should even bother trying.

"So..." One kid asked. "What do you do?"

"What do you mean, what do I do?" Boomer growled, suddenly defensive.

"I was just... do you draw, like Bubbles?"

"No." Boomer crossed his arms. "I'm a fighter."

"Like Buttercup?" Someone else asked.

"...No." Boomer shook his head. He was a fighter, yes, but that's where the similarities between Buttercup and himself ended. He could also feel that Bubbles' sisters were approaching the gathering.

"So you don't do anything but fight?" A large girl asked.

"I... can tell jokes."

"You can?" Another girl piped up. "Let's hear some!"

Floating over to the front of the gathering, Blossom suddenly had a bad premonition about the immediate future.

"Sure thing..." Boomer smiled, and thought for a few seconds. "Ok, kids, step back... gimme some workin' room..."

Blossom nudged Buttercup. "This is a bad idea..."

"Hey..." Boomer walked up to Mitch, looking at his clothes. "Nice fashion sense there, pal. You shop out of a dumpster? This kid's so cheap, if he had to pay to take a dump, he'd vomit!"

"HEY!!"

"That's all right, pal! Don't feel too bad." Boomer then went up to the two twins behind Mitch. "Hey, lookie here: Which one of you is 'with stupid' and how can you tell the difference? Man, you two dudes are so ugly that when ya go into the woods, the trees piss on you!"

The two instantly broke into tears.

"Oh yeah, how could I forget my friend Red?" Boomer gave Blossom a quick wink and leaned in her direction. "Whose big idea was it to make her leader, anyway? Putting her in charge is like putting Janet Reno in the running for Miss September!"

"WHAT?!"

"HEY! No one insults us!" Buttercup raged.

Boomer held up his hands and stuck his tongue out. "I was just kidding! Just kidding! Whew! Geez, B-cup, didn't you take a bath last night? I tell ya, if I smelt that bad I wouldn't even play with myself! It's damn near strong enough to curdle plastic...! Didn't you guys hear? A recent study found that Buttercup was the leading cause of air freshener sales in Townsville! B-O! You'd have to be the toughest Powerpuff... to stand the smell!"

"I'm going to KILL YOU!!"

"I kid! I kid!" Boomer gave her a flashy smile and saw their teacher walking over. He took a moment to remember the name he'd overheard. "Well, here comes the walking dead... Oops! That is to say: Miss Keane! Now, I don't want to go around calling Miss Keane old, but she's got more toes than teeth! When she was born, the Dead Sea was only sick! I mean she farts dust! Fwoosh!"

By this time, Miss Keane was a seething cauldron: steam was rising out of her ears. Buttercup was ready to explode. Blossom was grounding her teeth in rage. Three kids were crying. Bubbles was chuckling nervously, and most of the other kids were either on the floor, laughing their asses off, or in total shock.

"What? What?" Boomer looked back and forth between those he'd offended. "Hey, can't ya take a little roasting? I tell ya what, now you guys can rip on me! Come on! Shoot away!"

"You... jerk!" Blossom yelled.

"Little freak!" Buttercup added.

"Where did you learn language like that, young man?" Miss Keane growled.

Boomer quirked an eyebrow. "You guys ain't very good at this, are ya?"

"What? Insulting people?" Blossom calmed down a tiny bit. "No. We're not."

"No surprise there! This from someone so stupid she thinks 'innuendo' is Italian for getting la..." Boomer never got to finish his sentence. Miss Keane had her hand clamped over his mouth. He looked up at her curiously.

"Not another word!" She demanded, and cautiously removed her hand. Boomer frowned a bit, took a few steps back, and started moving his hands. It looked like sign language, except he had no fingers.

"What's he saying now, the little jerk?" Buttercup still had her fists clenched.

"He says 'what's the problem? I was just joking around.'" Bubbles translated. How she understood fingerless sign language, no one dared guess.

"Those remarks were very hurtful." Miss Keane stood up straight and pointed at Mitch and the Twins. "Just look at what you did to them!"

Boomer's hands moved again.

Bubbles sighed. "He still doesn't understand." She shook her head. "Miss Keane, he doesn't think like we do! Blossom, remember why he was made..."

Boomer scowled.

"He was made... to destroy us..." Blossom trailed off. Boomer was built to be a murderer. A killer. Of course he wouldn't understand, or even care, that his words could do as much damage as any blow.

"That's no excuse!" Buttercup crossed her arms, tightly. "I do not smell! I took a bath last night!"

Of course, she hadn't wanted to take the bath, but that was aside from the point.

"Listen little boy..." Miss Keane rarely sounded so angry. "You can't go around hurting peoples' feelings like that."

He moved one hand. "Why not?" Bubbles translated.

"Because it's not nice!"

His hands moved again. "He says... that he isn't a nice person. He's a Rowdyruff Boy."

"You shouldn't do it..." Buttercup walked up to him and shook a fist in his face. "Because sooner or later you'll get what you deserve!"

"Exactly!" Blossom agreed. "What comes around goes around!"

Boomer snickered and his hands moved very quickly. Bubble gasped.

"Boomer!" She nudged him.

"What?" Buttercup demanded. "What did he say?!"

Boomer was still chuckling. Bubbles hesitated.

"On second thought, I don't want to know." Buttercup grumbled.

After a few seconds, Boomer sighed.

"Sorry," He said and kicked the ground once. "I guess I wasn't thinking. Blossom. Buttercup. Their teacher."

"And those three?" Miss Keane motioned towards his other three victims.

"Nah. I was telling the truth about those three stooges."

She frowned. It wasn't perfect, but it seemed about all they were going to get.

Boomer approached the older woman. "Miss Keane, you are proof that the flower is most beautiful in full bloom." Then to Blossom. "Red, I'd follow you anywhere. You saved out butts yesterday." Then to Buttercup. "And you smell like roses. ...And beef. But mostly roses!"

"Er, why thank you!" "I did, didn't I?" "Hmf!"

"As for you three..." Boomer addressed his last three targets. "I can only say this: I foresee a lot of loose black clothing in your future, and years of painful corrective surgery in your two circus freak buddies..."

Boomer winced as someone hit him upside the head.

"You had that coming!" Bubbles whapped him again with her notepad for emphasis. "No more insults!"

"Violent maniac..." Boomer mumbled under his breath. The bell rang from inside, and just like that, recess was over and the children flooded back into the school. Miss Keane even managed to rouse Mitch and the Twins enough to get them inside. Boomer watched them go.

"You can... sit in..." Bubbles started to say. "If you want to..."

Boomer found his frown, and set it in place.

"I'd... rather not." He turned to leave, but hesitated, looking over his shoulder at her and the school. "Bye."

"Bye." Bubbles waved. Boomer took one last look at the place, and at the drawing in her notebook, before taking off. A part of him had wanted to stay, wanted some taste of a normal and healthy life, but it wouldn't have been his. It couldn't be his. He was right when he'd drawn the stark contrast between Powerpuff and Rowdyruff. Heading back to the heart of the steadily rebuilding Townsville, he closed his eyes, reveled in the feel of the wind in his hair.

Bubbles had her home.

He had his.