Warning: extremely long chapter alert! Don't start reading this if you have an important date!!! Okay, I have to explain a little thing about me now…I always do something terrible to my favorite characters. Sometimes I make them sick, sometimes I hurt them very badly, and though it's very rare, sometimes I even kill them. It's the twisted way I show my love… But, don't worry, Jack's just going to get battered up a bit… Actually, he got off pretty easy from me in this fic. They'll be a lot more Shen-Gong-Wu in the story now. I just went Shen-Gong-Wu crazy, and decided to add the Silver Manta Ray and Shadow of Fear into it, because they're really cool! And here's where it gets PG-13 for disturbing images.

I'm sorry, I write super long chapters. That's just me. And if you thought last chapter was long… Anyway, I reiterate, this will NOT be a Jack/Julie! In fact, this is the last you'll see of Julie for a little while. And I really appreciate the reviews, cdfe88, DesiredStorm, Jadebell, TamerTerra, and everyone else! Keep them coming!

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Chapter 5: The Facist Nightmare

Jack stood, frozen, at the center of the brightly lit chamber, trying uselessly to stare down the large men in the doorway. "The Facists? …What exactly does that mean? What are they going to do?"

"Alright, boys," the leader of the Facists yelled to his troop. "Let's break up this rebel party."

"Rebel party?" Jack asked. "What rebel party?"

The men glanced over at each other, and then suddenly burst into laughter. "What rebel party?" one guffawed. "That's the stupidest cover-up attempt I ever heard!" "It's not like we can't tell!" another one near the front cried between chuckles.

"Hey, shut up!" Jack yelled back, without even thinking. "I don't know what the heck you're talking about!"

"Oh, you will," the leader of the Facists replied, narrowing his already very narrow eyes.

"Tangle Web Comb!" a second Facist commanded, stepping out with the Shen-Gong-Wu. The rope-like fibers shot forward and wrapped themselves around Jack and Julie before they could even try to run away.

"Oh," Jack said, forcing his head up to look at the men. "So you think you're all that just because you have the Shen-Gong-Wu? Well, I'll tell ya what…"

"What, do you have a plan?" Julie slithered up beside him, bound tightly by the Tangle Web Comb's strands.

"Uh…no," Jack admitted. "I'm stalling for time. Maybe if we stall long enough, they'll just get bored and go away."

Julie frowned. "I highly doubt that."

The leader stepped closer and bent down to their level. "Ah, another successful day of rebel-napping…" A sinister grin appeared on his face as he stared at them. "We'll take the princess; the Master can decide what to do with her, but you…you're coming with us!"

Jack gulped nervously under his intimidating glare. "Um…can't I just stall for a little longer? Please?"

The Facist man promptly dragged him up by the collar, staring disgustedly into his face. Meanwhile, two or three other Facists rushed over to pull Julienne to her feet. She struggled in her ropes and tried to get into attack position, but it was useless. In this tight bind, it was impossible to get her arms out to form her burning comet. "Comet…Blaze…" Nothing was happening, so she just gave up, hung her head against her chest, and began to silently cry again.

"If you really must know what we're doing…" the head Facist continued, glaring at Jack. "We're taking the princess to the throne room, and we're taking you to the Hilltown electric plant." Hilltown electric plant…? It was strange, but Jack thought he'd heard something like that before.

"Yeah…that's what they do!" Julie yelled over to him, giving up on her attempt at attacking. "You're never supposed to be seen without makeup on! If you are, then the Facists come, and you're either killed or forced into slavery as punishment!"

Jack instantly stopped struggling and just stared, incredulously at her. "Are you serious? That seems kinda…extreme." He turned back to the small group of white-and-black armored men, grinning suspiciously at him and began to struggle again. "Hey, I'll let you in on a little secret… I'm your future Master! You can't kill me! Yeah, I'm the Master from the past! If you kill me, it would be like you killed the Master! You'd all be assassinators!"

"Ha!" another Facist began to laugh again. "That's even stupider than 'what rebel party?'!"

"But it's true!" Jack yelled back at them. "You can ask Julie! You can even ask the Master himself! If I were you, I wouldn't even take the chance…"

"Nah, we're positive you can't be the Master," the head Facist replied, lifted him a little higher to get a better look at his face. "Our Master doesn't have freckles!" The group once again burst into laughter.

"Yes he does!" Jack objected. "He just doesn't want you to know! He must have them because I have them!"

Now, some of the grown men were rolling back and forth on the stone floor in laughter. "Don't worry about it," the leader said, holding back his chuckles. "We weren't planning on killing you anyway. But you certainly made my day with those outlandish claims! Ah…I haven't had a laugh like that in ages!"

Jack struggled in his bindings and tried to tell them not to laugh at him, but it didn't do any good. He glanced over to see the other set of Facists dragging Julie down the hall and out of sight. They were taking her to the Ultimate Master for him to decide her fate…but what would he decide?

"But the next time you try anything like that, I will show you no mercy. You are certainly not indispensable…" Jack's eyes widened. He was going to kill her! "Let me go!!!" he yelled to the giant law-keepers. "I'm not going to let you kill Julie!" He pulled at the strings around him with all his might, but all his might wasn't very much might, and he soon fell to panting and hanging his head.

"Relax," the leader of the Facists told him. "If she dies, we're not the ones that killed her."

…He's right, Jack finally admitted to himself. I am. As he sadly brewed this around in his head, the Facists trooped through the twisting corridors, out the equally twisted iron gates, and stopped just at the entrance.

"Silver Manta Ray!" a third Facist called, throwing the Shen-Gong-Wu into the air and watching it turn into a large ray-shaped vehicle. It seemed like each member of the Facist group had his own designated Shen-Gong-Wu. They dragged him aboard the flying black ship, and plopped him into a steel cage in the back. As if the Tangle Snares weren't enough.

"You know…" Jack called up to the front seat where the group of men was sitting. "If you don't let me out of here, then I'll never get back to the past, and then I'll never take over the planet, and you'll never get your jobs. So basically, if you don't let me free, you're fired!!!"

This time, the Facists completely ignored him; they didn't even acknowledge his presence. Finally, the same Facist as before stood up, calling "Tangle Web Comb!" Jack felt as the scratchy strands slapped themselves around his mouth, choking him and preventing him from speaking.

The other Facists gave their teammate a high five. "Yeah! Maybe that'll keep him quiet for a while."

The large manta ray whooshed through the sky outside. The villagers in Hilltown glanced up in fear as the vehicle appeared once again. They hadn't seen the Silver Manta in a while, and were beginning to regain their hope that perhaps they wouldn't have to see it again. Unfortunately, here it came again, slicing through the stormy brownish clouds with its shiny onyx wings.

"Someone from the castle…" one citizen commented, noticing the direction from which it came. "That's unusual."

"Where's it going?" a young woman holding a picket sign asked, fearfully. Just as the question entered the atmosphere, the gigantic vehicle began to change direction- it was headed for East Hilltown!

"Oh no…" a worried mother said in sympathy. "I feel sorry for whoever that is."

"Well, they said they were running on a shortage of workers…" one man behind a newsstand stated. "Just be glad it wasn't one of us."

As the terrifying black figure grew smaller and smaller in the dirty sky, the Hilltown villagers resumed their routines. This wasn't living…it was performing tasks…over and over again…like robots.

"Okay, we're almost there!" one Facist at the head of the Silver Manta called happily.

"Mmrrrrrrrmmm!" Jack shrieked, falling to the cold, metal plating for the third time.

"Geez, what does it take to shut this guy up?" a third Facist asked. "Normally when we take people, they might scream and cry for a while, but then they usually get really silent and cold…"

"It's alright. We'll only have to deal with him for a few minutes. Then he can bug the Driver Squadron. Or, should I say, he better not bug the Driver Squadron."

What's the Driver Squadron? Why do I care? If only I could get my hands free… Oh, well. They've probably already killed Julie…

"Alright, don't get too close to the containment center," the Facist leader told his teammate. "You know what happened last time…"

The chauffer nodded and intensely focused on the scene before him. "It's so hard to see with all these blasted cloudbursts… You think I could suggest an amendment to remove some of the clouds? It's dangerous for air travel!"

"Nah, I think that's his point exactly. We're the only ones who travel in the sky. It's discouraging to those who try to escape using some kind of flying device."

"Aaaaugh! Look out!" The Silver Manta Ray lunged to the side as the pilot swerved to avoid something. Jack crashed into the hard bars of his cage and gave off muffled cries of pain. "Today's not a very good day in the neighborhood, folks," the pilot said, looking back at his comrades.

"Never mind that!!!" the leader yelled. "Keep your eyes on the sky, you idiot!"

Thankfully, the rest of the flight went without incident. The warm rumbling of the vehicle felt good against Jack's back as it slowed to a stop at their destination. He longed to be back in his nice, safe laboratory, putting together some new battle vehicle. Instead, he was captive to a bunch of dim-witted men wearing armor fashioned out of his own face paint. I never thought I'd be captive to a bunch of dim-witted men with armor fashioned after my face paint, he thought. I hate being like this…held back…powerless…I need power. I crave power! Well, I am an evil genius, after all…

The Manta Ray settled just above the ground, and a long metal ramp extended from one side, providing an exit for the men. At last, the head man stood up and came to the back to the vehicle, removing the cage, and slicing the ropes from around Jack's body.

"Ha ha!" Jack laughed at him. "Bad move, Facey-guy!" He reached around his body, searching for the button that would activate his HeliPack. It wasn't there. He frantically felt around his back and chest. Ah, darnit! I left my HeliPack in Julie's room!!!

Noticing his hesitation, the leader quickly grabbed his hands, so tightly that he thought his wrists would snap in two. Now his hands were truly turning white in the grip of this unnaturally strong man.

His mind in a whirlwind of thoughts, Jack couldn't think of what exactly he needed to do, but he was sure of one thing- he had to get away from these guys. He gave the man a swift kick in the stomach. Ha, he thought, he's got my hands, but he forgot that I also have feet to attack with!

However, the Facist leader didn't seem injured at all. He smirked, amusedly. "Was that supposed to be kick?" he scoffed. "I didn't feel a thing."

Jack growled in aggravation, but grudgingly let the man lead him to the front and down the ramp of the Manta Ray, along with the other Facists. As soon as he stepped off the ramp, he knew he had entered another completely different world. It was very dusty, the sand whirling in the light breeze and stinging his eyes. Jack wished he could reach up and put his goggles on, but his bloodless hands were in the Facist leader's. Everything seemed so dry and rusty. Several white powdered people were trudging through the sand carrying heavy metal containers, or spinning the wheels of a giant turbine. They all wore the same cream-colored sheets over their skeleton-like bodies and struggled forward, like they would collapse at any second.

Where…? Jack wondered. Why…? I don't get it… Why am I here? Where is "here"? Why does everyone look half-dead?

"Ah! Welcome, welcome, fellow agents!" a gruff, yet relieved voice sang out from the distance. Another one of those Facist guys was running up, a large black feather sticking out of his helmet. "A new worker! Finally! We've been running short on generators ever since we had to dispose of the first group, and I'm afraid we'll have to do another weeding out again. Who is this fellow?"

"We don't know his name," the leader replied, "but he sure is a riot! When we found him with the princess, violating the Face Law, the first thing he answered was "What rebel party?" Then, he started to go on and on about how he believes he's the Master's past self, and that if we kill him, we'd kill the Master, and all this stuff…" he chuckled a little bit again. "You might want to keep him sane for a little while just for the comic relief!"

"My name's Jack…" he tried to say, but when he did, received a mouthful of sand for his efforts. What does he mean by "keep me sane"?! Just what are they going to do to me?!

"…Or maybe not," the feathered Facist replied, his voice growing cold again. "It all depends on his performance."

"Well, he's all yours now…" the other head Facist said, shoving Jack out in front and releasing him. At least he was able to feel the pain of the blood rushing back into his hands for a few seconds before the feathered Facist clinked a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, and then shackles around his ankles, allowing him to walk, but nothing more.

"What the…?! How dare you…!!!"

The feathered Facist ignored Jack's yelling and complaining to speak to his palace operative. "So…you said 'when you found him with the princess…'"

"Yes," the palace Facist replied. "The princess has at last been captured for breaking the Face Law. It had been suspected for a long time, but this time, we finally caught her. I wonder how the Master will take this…"

"Not well," the feathered one answered. "But then again, he's been looking for a reason to get rid of that girl ever since the day she was born."

The long ramp shot out of the side of the manta ray for the Facists to climb back on. "Well, I'll see you around, Bob," the leader of the castle squad called to the feathered one.

"Yeah, hope to see you back here soon," the feathered one replied.

Bob? Jack thought in surprise. This can't be the same Bob that… Nah, it's impossible. There are tons of Bobs in the world…

At last, the shiny Shen-Gong-Wu vehicle lifted into the sky, floating away, and becoming a black dot in the distance.

"Come back…" Jack whimpered in a small, squeaky voice. "Don't go…don't leave me here…"

"Alright, you!" the feathered Facist spoke up, forcefully yanking him forward, and staring threateningly into his eyes. Jack squeaked again in alarm. "Your encampment begins now, so you better get used to it!"

"Encampment?!" Jack cried. "You mean…this is like a prisoner camp?!"

The feathered Facist wagged a finger at him, disapprovingly. "Here's a good opportunity. Rule number one in this place is- no talkback! If I ever catch you talking back to me or one of my other operatives, you're heading for a beating, you understand?"

Jack scowled back at him, but didn't say anything else.

"Good boy."

They traveled through the dusty pathways, as more emaciated, hunched-over people scurried about. This is like a nightmare…Jack thought as he looked around. And my boots are getting all dusty! Oh, the horror!

At last, the feathered Facist stopped in front of something that much resembled a jail cell, only set outside, and filled with hay. Actually, it looked more like a horse stable than a jail cell. "Here we are," he said, grinning sinisterly. "Welcome to your new home."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Jack complained as the man shoved him into the room. "As future ruler of the planet, I demand that you show me some better accommoda…"

SLAM!

"Oh, come on!" Jack yelled back to him. "This is worse than a prison cell! How will you serve me supper? Where am I supposed to sleep?! What if I need to go pee?!"

The feathered Facist continued to ignore him, and became nothing but a bouncing black dot amidst the whirling sand.

Jack sighed and sank onto the scratchy hay ground. "This is ridiculous," he said to himself. "I'm locked up in a horse stable, 30 years into the future, and didn't even get to commit a crime… Well, at least not a real crime. I should have robbed a bank… Are there any banks around here?"

"Well…" a feeble old voice softly spoke up from out of nowhere. "I didn't know they got a loudspeaker…"

"What? Who's there?" Jack whipped around, searching for the source of the voice. At last, he noticed an old man, wearing another one of those cream-colored robes, blinking his overly large red eyes at him.

"Oh…it was you," the man continued. "I thought they had gotten a loudspeaker."

"Get lost, grandpa," Jack replied, turning back around to rest his head against the bars. "Can't you see I'm wallowing in self-pity?" A moment of awkward silence passed.

"Well, Loudspeaker, you can't keep doing that forever. If they catch you spacing out on the job, they'll whip you."

"Stop calling me a loudspeaker! I'm a boy! An evil boy genius, in fact."

"If you're a genius, how come you're sitting in that jail cell with all us normal folk?"

"That's it!" Jack cried, suddenly getting up as a new idea struck him. "I'm not stuck in here! No, not at all! I'll just use my genius mind to find a way out! ……I can't think of anything…" As he sank back into the hay, he could almost feel the old man smirking behind his back.

If I had the Changing Chopsticks, I could walk through the bars… If I had the Serpent's Tail, I could just go through them. If I had the Golden Tiger Claws, I could just teleport out of here. If I had the Third Arm Sash, I could use it to try to grab the keys. If I had the Glove of Jisaku, I could just make them fly to me… Jack began making up all kinds of solutions to getting out of the cell, but none of it would do any good. Let's face it, he sadly admitted. Without the Shen-Gong-Wu, I'm useless. Well…he realized, I could also just call my Jack-bots to come attack the guards, but I don't have any of them either. What's left now…? No Shen-Gong-Wu, no Jack-bots, no HeliPack…just…me. I'm useless without all my gadgets and items… I have no real power. Jack relinquished his hope of escaping and laid his head on his knees as always.

"Get used to it, kid," the gruff voice of the old man told him. "The Facists…this atmosphere…they all tend to get into yer head the wrong way. But that's exactly what they're trying to do…make you truly believe that you're inferior to them. Then, they use you for labor, producing power for the Hill Castle, and when you're all worn out, can't work anymore, or suddenly catch a disease, they burn you for fuel."

Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. "B-Be quiet," he shakily snapped, turning his head to glance at the man. "You're just trying to scare me."

"Oh, you'll be scared, all right. Well, if you don't believe me, that's your choice, Loudspeaker."

Jack turned back around, resolving to ignore this old crackpot for the rest of the time he was here…which turned out to be a very long time indeed. With nothing better to do, he just sat and stared at a black, digital watch on his wrist and literally watched two hours go by. He played with the piles of hay underneath him, making little straw houses, people, and clothing.

"This had to be the worst punishment ever," he grumbled to himself. "I mean, look at me! Reduced to playing with little straw dolls for entertainment!" Glancing down at his watch, he noticed that it was almost eight 'o clock, and they hadn't yet come to give him supper. "Hey…" Jack forced himself to ask the old geezer next to him. "When are they going to give us supper?"

"Supper?" the man asked, raising a thin, wispy white eyebrow in confusion.

"Yeah…you know the meal at nighttime?! They have to be coming soon…c'mon, I'm starving!"

"Meal at nighttime? This is no meal at nighttime. The meals are at the day's start, and after your hours."

"What?!" Jack cried. "You've got to be kidding me! How can you live on only two meals a day?!"

The old man shrugged. "We manage."

"Aaaaugh!" Jack exclaimed in frustration. He flopped backwards into the hay, holding his rumbling stomach. "They've got to let me out of here sometime…" he tried to tell himself. It wasn't the pain of having to go to sleep on an empty stomach, but just the thought that he wouldn't be getting any supper for the rest of the time he was here, which, from the way things looked now, could be forever. "Ugh…" he mumbled, just imagining the future. "I don't feel good…"

"Please…" the old man spoke up again. "If you're going to upchuck, could you kindly do it in a different corner? I've already got three other cells around me, and since you're new…"

"I never said I was going to," Jack quickly replied. He was about to ask what the man meant about three other cells around him, but looking a little further, past the bars of the man's cage, he saw a few other cages on the other side of him. "…And what does being 'new' have to do with anything?"

"See, right now you're all fresh, clean, and wet…" the old man replied, with strange longing.

"Wet?!" Jack asked, scrunching up his face. "I'm not wet…" He quickly checked his clothes, though, just to make sure.

"No, no, what I mean is…I don't know how to put it…squishy…full of fluid…"

Jack raised an eyebrow, confused and slightly disgusted at his strange statement. Just what was that crazy old man trying to imply? He didn't really want to find out…

"…And what they do here is take all the fluid out of you…so you wind up dry and limp…like a rock…lifeless…"

Jack just flipped back over on his other side, away from the man. "Aw, whatever. I don't get whatever the heck you're saying… You make no sense, old man! I think that's what they meant by "keep me sane"…that this place will make me go insane, just like you!"

The old man just rolled his large, pouched eyes and looked away. "Such denial. I know, I know, I used to be just like you… In fact, you remind me of someone I used to know…but you'll see as time goes on…"

Jack buried his face in the scratchy, poking surface of the hay, and wished he'd go to sleep right then and there. Suddenly, glancing sideways at the abandoned straw village, an idea struck him. He instantly popped back up into sitting position and grabbed several long strips of hay. Perhaps…he could string them together…and make a long hay rope! With that, he could lasso all the freaky Facist guards and grab the keys! Jack snickered, eagerly to himself as he wove the dried pieces of grass together. Hey…sometimes I amaze even myself…

Finally, two hours later, it was completed! Jack stood up and decided to test his new weapon on the innocent straw-woman lying near her rapidly collapsing straw hut. Alright…now how does that big doofus cowboy do it? Well…you kind of swing it around your head like this… It felt awkward, swirling a coil of straw rope around his head, but if this was what it took to escape, so be it. In this kind of desperate situation, Jack was willing to try anything. And then…you just throw it, I guess… At that moment, he lobbed the coils of fake rope out towards the rag doll, and completely missed his mark, the loose rope falling, embedded in the already existing hay. Hmm, this is going to be harder than I thought…

---

Uncomfortably bright sunshine was creeping through every crack of the Facist cells, and unfortunately they were positioned just so that it shone directly into the eyes of every prisoner.

Jack groaned and brushed the bits of hay from his jacket as he slowly sat up. All last night he had spent desperately trying to successfully lasso something. It was useless. After giving up on the lasso invention, he resolved to try to dig his way out of the cell, but that plan hadn't gone very far when he realized that the bars of his cell went down into the earth. It was all useless… He knew he needed to get out of here, save Julie's life, if she was still alive, and find his way back to his own time and place. Long before, he had been glad to be away from Wuya's constant nagging, and now he longed just to hear her screeching voice again.

As soon as he was awake, the grinding noise of metal against metal heightened his hope. Maybe, finally, they were letting him out! Once again, his strengthened hopes were only shattered when a large arm that could only belong to one of the Facists, thrust in, grabbed his skinny wrist and yanked him from the cell.

"Now what?" Jack asked, glaring over at the armored man, painted perfectly white.

"Now what?" the man repeated, a wryly amused smile creeping onto his cheek. "Now what? Now, you're going to work!"

"Work?" Jack said, his nervous voice slightly cracking. "W-W-Work? Who said I had to work? I already told the palace guards, I don't have a job! I'm only fourteen!"

"What does that matter?" the cold man replied. "That you're 'only' fourteen. You're not 'only' anything."

"But…isn't there some law or something that you can't officially get a job until you're sixteen…or fifteen?"

"I know of no such law."

"But…"

"No buts. You're going to work. That is the law. If you break the law, you must pay for your crime with your own labor. Now…no more petty words!"

Jack stumbled across the dusty ground as the forceful Facist man dragged him out to a large, outdoor public area, where droves of those ghastly, otherworldly people sat or stood around, squished together.

Jack once again attempted a kick attack at the Facist operative, but to no avail. The stolid man simply pushed him to the ground among the spidery humans, and scribbled something down on a notepad that he whipped out of nowhere. Jack looked up at the reeking, half-naked crowd around him and crossed his arms, despicably.

"Now this is torture," he decided. "Here I am- Jack Spicer, evil boy genius- sitting in the middle of this crowd of slaves… This is degrading!"

However, all of his disgust fled from his body as a group of Facist workers entered the area holding crates of oranges. Food… Jack shoved his way to the head of the crowd, trying to get an orange, but just as he began to see the couple of Facist workers, several sharp elbows slammed into his chest, knocking the wind, and the motivation right out of him.

"Out of the way, new kid!" several harsh, raspy voices screeched down to him.

"You don't know what it's like yet!" another one of those ghostly human beings yelled over to him. This time, Jack froze and looked up at this creature. Normally, he would disregard the harsh stares and scowling glares of these people…but this one was roughly the same age he was.

The boy creature scampered like a frightened arachnid to the front of the crowd, grabbed an orange from the bin, and shoved it savagely into his mouth. Jack continued to follow the young skeleton with his eyes. He didn't even notice when one of the workers stepped up with the cardboard carton and handed him an orange.

"Hey!" the man snapped. "Kid! You want breakfast or not?"

Jack looked up at the round, juicy orange, snapped back into reality, and snatched it from the Facist's hands. "I hate oranges!" he happily cried as he bit into it.

Only a few minutes later, the same workers reappeared at the rusted double gates, sounding a wailing brass alarm, and the pitiful, deathly crowd around him began to migrate towards them, taking him with them.

"Hey, wait!" Jack yelled, trying to get across to the milling crowd. "Just where are you going, anyway? And why?" He was soon to learn. The various poking, pushing, and prodding of the hard, bony people against his body jostled him back and forth. When they finally parted and let the world in once again, he saw it- something that would define this new, transition world all over again. It was a large, circular clearing, with a giant, column-like cylinder in the very center. It was…a generator! Jack suddenly remembered the strange manner in which all the different people of the world, since Hilltown was the world, called him a "generator".

The crowd quickly scurried to what could only be their old, familiar positions. Jack glanced around awkwardly until another Facist forced him into position next to another of those spidery humans. He glanced around, looking for instructions, and received a few death glares from the Facist guards.

Then, the turbine suddenly began to move, propelled by the force of the hundreds of people pushing its wooden handles. Oh…so that's what they expect me to do, Jack realized. He crossed his arms, defiantly. Well, they're not gonna get me to work some generator machine like a robot…no sir, Jack Spicer, evil boy genius, does not do his own minions' jobs. There's no way I'll…

"Hey, you!" the dreadful, screeching voice of the unidentifiable creature shot at him. "You gonna do some work, or you just gonna stand there all day?"

"If 'e's not going to be of any use, why don't we just cook 'em?"

Jack slowly turned his head back to his partners, eyes wide and unblinking. When he noticed the drooling, murderous looks on those creature's face, quickly grabbed a hold of the brown wooden handle and leaned his body against it.

As he made a half a lap around the giant turbine, passing by the group of guards, he thought he saw them jot something down on their clipboards as well.

His co-workers glanced over at him, mouths wide, but then again, they did seem to have a bit of trouble controlling their saliva. "Why don't we just spare you the trouble…" the one nearest him spoke up. "Yeah…you'll thank us once you get out of this wretched world…"

"Shut up, ya spider monkeys," Jack coldly replied. "I don't know what you're talking about anyway." It's a proven fact. All twisted, poor prisoners speak in riddles.

"Spider monkeys, ha!" the other prisoner rasped. "More like rock monkeys."

Jack just scowled and resolved to try to ignore them for as long as possible.

---

Time had crawled along ever since he'd first taken a hold of that awful handle. Jack bit his tongue and pressed his forehead desperately against the burning material. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it had to be a few hours in the least. Forced labor was so…painful. Jack would have given anything to rip away from the horrific handle and return to the beautiful darkness of Julienne's chamber, but if he even attempted to release the wood, the Facist Driver Squadron would snap to attention and form another sharp whip burn on his back.

The drooling, reeking spider monkey people beside him looked about ready to collapse. In fact, as horrible as he felt, Jack looked to be the most stable of the entire turbine group.

As his limbs shook and he pressed his chin against the bar, he managed to glance around the immediate area, and notice the separate worker groups carrying in the last of a pile of metal canisters. A few minutes after they carefully set them back into formation next to an opening on the side of the concrete wall, and the same feathered Facist leader held up his hands to signal the end of the workday.

Jack, along with the various other exhausted captives, immediately let go of the handles. Finally, he was able to get a look at his surroundings again, noticed the setting sun above his head, and felt the cool breeze against his sweaty face. The whole day had been wasted spinning a turbine with these nightmarish creatures. And he used to think sitting around the Hill Castle all day was torture… Jack was too tired right now even to scowl at the disgust of it all. He fell to his knees and disregarded the strangely damp rock pressing against them.

"Get up," the familiar, gruff voice of one of the worker driver Facists commanded him. Jack opened his eyes to see the man's shiny black boots inches away from his nose.

"I…I…can't…" he slowly replied. "I'm too tired…"

"GET UP!" the Facist repeated, in a loud enough tone for the entire field to hear. "If they can do it, surely you can."

The rest of the prisoners were indeed rising from their slumped positions in the rock and lumbering back to their cells/stables. A few of them in the distance didn't get up at all, and a couple of other Facists were placing them in a large wooden wagon. They're dead… Jack realized as he observed the horrific scene.

"Fine then," the gigantic Facist in front of him spoke up again. Jack jerked his head back to the front, recognizing his presence once again. "…Maybe this'll change your mind…" he continued, pulling a long whip out of a holster on his belt.

Jack scrambled to his feet. As much as this hurt him now, he knew it would hurt him even more if he didn't.

"Good boy," the man said, sarcastically, slipping his weapon back into his black-and-white armor. "Now, come with me…"

---

I think I'm dying… No, I don't want to die yet! I wanted to rescue Julie, I wanted to do something important in this world, I wanted to be respected, I wanted to…be…happy… But I guess that'll never happen now… It was no use to even attempt to suppress his tears, and just let them continue to voluntarily slip down his freckled cheeks. Everything felt sore or numb, and his back throbbed with a few fresh wounds.

Apparently, the Facists kept some sort of record of whenever he talked back to an official or refused to work, since they surely did get revenge for it. That exact same Driver Squadron Facist had flung him into a dark back room, where his coworkers proceeded to tie him to a table, read off his list of "offenses" and beat him three times for each offense. They performed this routine task to a handful of other prisoners, and kept them all tied up while the obedient ones sat around in the gathering room, gnawing on pieces of bread.

Jack had scoured the ground area for breadcrumbs, but didn't find a single speck. Now, he had gotten so hungry after missing two meals that he had resorted to chewing on the hay of his own cell. I must look like some farming goober, the back of his mind had snapped at him in disgust, but at that moment he felt so terrible, he really could care less.

The old man in the cell in the back glanced down at him, almost smugly. "What did I tell ya, Loudspeaker? Already, it's starting in on ya."

"Shut up…" Jack mumbled back to him. "I really don't feel like dealing with you." Then, he flipped over to one side, and the old man shook his head, despairingly. It looked like it was going to be another long night.

---

After a week living in nothing short of a labor camp, Jack slowly began to appreciate the little blessings in life that he'd never thought much of before. For instance, today, as he was shaking the pools of rainwater out of his heavy, torn trench coat, he looked up at the foreboding gray sky, and felt grateful that the sun wasn't out today to glare in his eyes. As much as it still hurt and ripped apart his body, Jack had slipped into the labor camp routine, begging for breakfast in the morning, working his butt off all afternoon, and trudging back to his cell in the late afternoon, after mini-lunch.

That one specific day, as he stepped up to his next position on the wooden cranks, an all-too-familiar voice spoke up on the side of him. "Hey, Loudspeaker!"

Jack glared over the same old man he took quarters next to. "Oh, great. Not only do I have to push this stupid cylinder around, but I have to deal with you all day too? I don't think I'm going to survive today…"

The old man noticed a Facist worker driver casting dirty looks at their socializing and quickly snapped back into position at his handle. However, Jack knew this man too well; he couldn't keep quiet if his life depended upon it. Sure enough, as soon as they turned a corner and escaped the worker drivers' watch, he began again in a hushed voice.

"Today they're doing the de-weeding. You should be very grateful, you know, Loudspeaker… You don't have to worry about being weeded out…"

"Weeded out?" Jack replied, throwing a dirty glance back at the man. "Sorry…" he replied between his grunting under the cylinder's weight. "…but I don't see any…weeds…around…here. In fact…I don't see…any vegetation at all!"

"That's not what I mean…" the old man answered, moving his red eyes downwards in his pouching eyelids. If he didn't know better, he would've said that he was…worried.

The day passed as slowly and painfully as ever before. At least now, he had to be grateful for the annoying, yet somehow friendly company beside him. As the turbine slowly creaked around its joint, Jack noticed the Facists of the Driver Squadron once again scribbling down notes on their clipboards. Now, what was he doing wrong? He didn't think there was anything he was violating- he was simply pushing against his wooden crank… However, he had no idea what kind of "notes" they were really making.

Once, as they passed by a certain section of the field, Jack noticed odd streams of fire shooting up into the sky. "Ah," the old man spoke up, observing the fire pillars. "The dragon's having a bad day again."

"Dragon?" Jack asked. Come to think of it, one of the servants at the Hill Palace had said something about a dragon at the Hilltown electric plant.

"Yup," the man answered. "His name's Dojo Kanojo Cho. They locked him up here a long time ago for being a dangerous magical creature. He's been raging uncontrollably like this ever since."

Dojo?Jack wondered. The Xiaolin Warriors' smart-aleck guardian dragon? Well, he has attacked people before… He's probably in that destructive state again…

At last, after what seemed like another lifetime, the Facist leader standing in front of the rusted iron gates held up his arms to signal the end of the workday. Jack leaned his faltering body against the wooden handle. He'd been using this technique for a few days now. It made it look like he was still able to go on, and made it easier to get up and walk afterwards.

The old man next to him, however, didn't know of this strategy, and went crashing to the rocky ground below. For a moment, he actually felt a little concerned. If forced overwork made him feel like he was going to die, what would it do to this seventy-year-old?

The man struggled to his feet and pulled his tattered cream-colored robe around him. "Go, Loudspeaker. Get away from the cylinder. I don't think they'll take you, but…you never know…"

"Take me?" Jack slowly repeated between his gasps of exhaustion.

"As you all know, today we shall be performing the reoccurring weeding rituals," the feathered Facist leader announced, "Bernard, Mercanty!"

Jack stared in awe as another of those spider monkey men was violently pulled from his position at his cylinder handle. What's going on? He asked himself. He remained slumped over the turbine's handle while he watched several emaciated workers being prodded over into a group. Meanwhile, the Facist "collectors" were piling up the dead bodies of the day in the background.

At last, the black feather in the Facist man's white helmet flicked its airy fibers as he turned his head in their direction. "Henry Spicer," he called.

A shot of terror ran through Jack's heart. He means me! Henry's my father's name, and my middle name…they probably have me mixed up with him!

"It was…nice knowing you, Loudspeaker…" the old man grunted as he rose fully up on his feet again. "It'll be nice to finally get off this wretched planet…"

Jack gaped as the group of Facists rushed over, forcefully seizing the old man and carting him away towards the waiting group of workers in front of the gate. That could only mean…

"…Dad?!" Jack slowly whispered. As he observed the old man's face, he began to notice more features that were strangely similar to his father's. This can't be… I would think I'd… All this time… He couldn't sort out all of these confused, contradicting thoughts weaving throughout his brain, but there was one thing he knew was very clear- his father was in danger!

"Let him go!" he suddenly yelled, thrusting the grinding handle out of his hands. Now, he suddenly had something else to be thankful for- his boots, which enabled him to sprint across the rocky ground.

A few Facist workers separated from their herding or collecting groups to try to restrain him, but Jack was too fast for them. He slipped right under the reader's nose, and emerged next to the beefy men that held the frail old man. "I said let him go!" he yelled at them. "That's my father you've got!"

The Facists just stared, dazedly at each other before bursting into laughter. "What are you some 'long-lost brother' or something?" one worker joked.

"Oh, just ignore that one's yammering," the feathered Facist leader advised them. "Remember what Gerald said when he dropped him off? He's got some mental illness. Thinks he's the Master from another life or something…"

"Dad!" Jack called to the slumped-over elder. "I know…you and I haven't really been friends, but…I want to save you!"

"L-Loud…speaker?" his decrepit father replied, lifting his head a bit. "Well…I always thought that you were a lot like my son when he was young…"

"I am your son!" Jack tried to explain to him through the tumults of Facists and prisoners. "I'm your son from a time and a world before this! I came through a dimension portal, and…"

He never got a chance to hear or see a reply from the man. The three Facist guards around him closed in and pushed him off towards a small building in the distance.

Jack quickly turned around, and yelled to the feathered Facist man, "You can't do this! You can't just kill him! He's my father- the Master's father! Without him, I wouldn't have been born, and the Master wouldn't even be alive today!"

The stern-faced man didn't so much as glance over at him. "We're not the one that's killing him… Our jobs are simply to carry out the Master's orders. All workers in this Hilltown electric plant not working to a full, healthy potential shall be executed for our benefit."

There it was again. Jack stood, dumbfounded after hearing the sentence. I took Kimiko's soul…I want to kill Julie…and now, I'm killing my father… Why? Why would I do that? I don't…want any of them to die!

The Facists took this opportunity, while he was paralyzed, to grab him and hold him in a restraining grip. As much as he kicked and screamed, they wouldn't let go.

The feathered leader scowled over at him. "You're digging your own grave, child," he stated. "Do you realize how many offences you've tallied up in the last five minutes alone?"

Jack shot a dirty look back at him, deciding to ignore him for as long as possible. He squinted into the distance, where the Facists were prodding his aged father with a poker of some sort. Just from the look on his face, he could tell that he was crying.

"No!" his distressed, wavering voice suddenly cried out. "How could I not have realized my own forthcomings! What have I been fostering this entire time… To feed the bank of my own destruction! I wish I could start over now. I know what I did wrong! Spirits, forgive me!"

He's talking about me…Jack realized. How he raised me wrong, and now I'm destroying him… He's asking for my forgiveness… For a second, he felt a choking pain in the center of his throat. It's not all your fault… I forgive you, Dad…

And then, the Facists creaked open a round metal door on the clay building in front of them. A blazing inferno crackled loudly inside. Judging from the heavy lock on the iron door and the pipes and wires connected to the building, he realized what this had to be.

"…and when you're all worn out, can't work anymore, or suddenly catch a disease, they burn you for fuel." Everything Mr. Spicer had said so far was horrifyingly true. They were going to burn him to death…alive.

Mr. Spicer turned his head up to the sky, desperately one last time before the Facist workers prodded him into the oven, and quickly slammed and locked the door behind him.

Jack blinked, his red eyes the same hue as the inside of that hellish inferno. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he managed to twist his body in the exact right position, smacking his captors in the jaws. Stunned, the ones holding his arms back dropped them for a moment. That moment was all he needed. Jack ran straight over the collapsed Facist, and although he had no idea where he was going, he headed for the back of the turbine, where he knew there weren't as many Facists on duty.

"After him!" the bedecked leader commanded.

Something was appearing just ahead…more fire. This time, it was giant bonfire. The murderous, thin points licked the dirty, clouded sky above. As much as he tried to shut out the terrible world around him, he couldn't help noticing when the group of collectors slid one of the dead workers out of the wagon. They heaved it straight into the orange glow, embers scattering as it hit the rest of the bonfire- it was all a pile of dead bodies.

Jack jerked his head away from the disturbing sight. He felt sick, and he'd never been so afraid in his entire life, the panic and adrenaline racing through his body. The Facists behind were gaining on him, but he spied another building in the immediate area.

Soon, he slammed against that door, unable to slow down his pumping legs or heart. Jack fumbled with the handle of the door and at last thrust it open, slamming and locking it immediately behind him.

For a moment of respite, he leaned on the other side of it, gathering the stale air of this room into his lungs. When Jack had at last calmed down a little, he opened his eyes and noticed the surprising interior. A dusty, old stone table stood in the center of the room, covered by a white, cobwebbed cloth.

Slowly, his dusty, dented, yet durable boots made their way forward towards that table. As strange as it was, there was something comforting, and soothingly familiar about this room. As he thought deeply on the obscurity of it, at last arrived at a fuzzy estimate. This…can't be… I think this used to be…my basement. This is the table I work on when I create my robots…

Still shaken, Jack glanced around the room, making sure there were no violent fiery Facists hiding in the dark corners. At last, he was right against the table and could easily observe the objects on its top. Oh…so that's where they went…

Various, familiar, magical objects sat on the white cloth. The Shen-Gong-Wu… There were a handful missing, those belonging to the Facist palace and exterior guards, but most were still gathered in the center. The Monkey Staff, the Two-Ton Tunic, the Sapphire Dragon (locked safely away), the Ring of Nine Dragons, the Crystal Glasses, the Changing Chopsticks, the Mind Reader Conch…

Jack bent over the table and sifted through the items. "Where is it? Where is it?" he muttered as he searched through the pile. At last, his hand bumped into something long, and coldly metallic. With a bit more effort, he carefully yanked the Shen-Gong-Wu from the pile of others that held it down. "Yes!" he called in victory. "The Sands of Time!"

The handheld hourglass shined a little when he called its name. That's weird. How come it didn't transport me… "Sands of Time!" he called, holding the magical time-traveling item up. Nothing happened. Jack quickly dusted the hourglass off with his sleeve, and tried again. "Sand of Time!" Still nothing. He hoped that this Shen-Gong-Wu would be able to send him back to the present and his own world. Nothing had happened at all. Is it because I didn't come here through the Sands of Time? Or is it because this isn't really a time period- it's an alternate dimension… Just as he was about to grab the Wings of Tanabi, thinking maybe he could fly out of the camp with it, a crackling, splintering noise slammed out of nowhere.

A long, heavy pole came smashing through the wooden door, as the Facists found his hiding place. "Step away from the Shen-Gong-Wu!!!" the feathered leader cried in fury. "It wasn't bad enough that you attempted to save a doomed victim, challenged our officials, and tried to escape from the premises, but now you are trying to steal the magical items of our authority!"

" I was just trying to get back to my own world!" Jack snapped back at them.

"And not to mention talkback!"

Jack struggled backwards and tried to grab a Shen-Gong-Wu to help him get away, but when he looked back, all he had was the Falcon's Eye. The Facists quickly surrounded him and much to his dismay, carted him back off to his little stable cell.

---

Something slammed into Jack's back again, and it took him back to the day he had first arrived in Julie's room. That suddenly seemed a long time ago. It had been ages since he'd been in his evil laboratory, creating evil henchmen, or cooking up new ways to steal the Shen-Gong-Wu. And now, as he observed the clay brown dome around him, he realized that this would be the end of it.

The Facists had mauled him pretty badly after they had captured him, and then thrown him back into the stable, he was sure of that. This is a dream, he finally recognized. I must have gone unconscious after they threw me in…but I've never had this dream before. Normally, Jack dreamed about ruling the planet, random things popping up, or flashbacks from his childhood, but this strange brown dome didn't seem to fit into any of those categories.

Glancing back, he saw a closed and bolted-down arch-shaped door. It was fuzzy, like everything else in a dream, but it was clearly recognizable from earlier that day. That looks like…the door to the fuel burner!

As soon as the words came into his unconscious head, a furious blaze sprang to life in every corner of the domed room. It can't hurt me, Jack told himself within the dream. It's only a dream; it's not real. But the flickering, stabbing points advancing on him certainly seemed very real. They were large, hungry flames, eager to swallow him alive.

The end of Jack's trench coat finally caught fire, and he quickly slipped it off, throwing in to the bottom of the room and trying to stamp the flames out. However, in this process, he exposed himself the other walls of flames, and they anxiously burst forth, engulfing the rest of his body in their glowing heat.

Jack screamed as a terrible feeling pricked his skin, like someone stabbing him all over his body at once. He fell forwards, slamming sideways up against the solid coolness of the clay door. Desperately, he banged his flaming fists and forearms against it. "LET ME OUT!" he shrieked as loud as he could. "HEEEEEELLLLP!!! PLEASE!!!" His useless cries were just as easily swallowed and lost forever in the satisfied roar of the inferno.

Suddenly, he lost all feeling and control over his arms and legs; he went flopping helplessly to the solid, eternal ground. No…I don't want to die…there's still so much I want to do… Well, at least if I die, none of this will ever happen… The dancing flames grew as they blanketed him, easing him into death.

Just then, Jack managed to turn his decaying head upward to see something…someone looming over the bonfire. It was another Facist man, grinning sinisterly at him. He was enjoying this…he was enjoying watching him burning to death.

The man slowly changed shape…now, he was Ultimate Master Jack Spicer…his future self, smiling and chuckling at his destruction. But wouldn't that be destroying himself? …Destroying…myself…

Slowly, the master extended his hand. There was a handheld golden object clutched in it…the Soul Scepter? No, this was no scepter.

Jack's eyes widened through the flames as he saw what it truly was. The Shadow of Fear… That sparkling golden hawk could easily mean his death, if used now. "No!" Jack called, suddenly regaining his ability of speech. "No, put that thing back! Put it back!!! Put it back!!! Please, please put it away…"

---

A large man turned his black-and-white painted face to check on the boy. The Facist crossed his muscular arms and smirked amusedly at the sight. That same rebellious youth that they had sent him to keep watch over was now tossing in his unconscious sleep, obviously having some kind of nightmare. The amusing part was, he was also talking, or rather, yelling as he writhed in the piles of straw. "Put that thing back!!! Put it back, put it back!"

The guard broke into full-fledged deep laughter as he imagined just what he wanted put back. At last, to add to the hilarity of it all, he finally yelled so loud, his own screaming woke him up.

Jack's upper body shot upright as soon as he was conscious again, still unsure of what actually had happened. "Put it back…" he panted. "Put…it… Huh?" Jack shook his head and looked around him. Thankfully, he was back in the old familiar stable-like jail cell, surrounded by hay, but when he got a look at what was standing outside his cage, another flicker of terror shot through his chest. "Wh-what do you want?" he timidly asked the Facist man. Maybe…his dream was actually a premonition!

"I'm just here to keep an eye on you," the Facist answered, suppressing his chuckles. "Boss's orders. They decided you need to be placed under constant surveillance after that stunt you pulled yesterday."

Jack gulped, quietly. "Um…if you don't mind me asking… Each of you Facist guys have your own Shen-Gong-Wu, right? …Which one do you have?"

The man grinned again, and held up a golden hawk statue sitting on its golden pedestal. Jack's heart skipped a beat.

"…The Shadow of Fear."

Jack quickly pulled his coat close over his body, protectively, and scrunched back down into what he now considered his hay sanctuary. Those horrid flames burst back into existence within his mind. It's not so strange to be thinking like that, he reasoned. My father died this way… I killed him. That was the worst thing I've ever felt in my life…feeling your own body melt to pieces, and knowing that in a few minutes you're going to be dead, and there's nothing you can do about it… The more he thought about it, deep in the forbidden inner sanctums of his mind, he came to terms with this strange new emotion now building a foundation in his soul. I wouldn't wish that…on my worst enemy. I don't want anyone to have to go through something like that again…

---

Days…weeks…months…how long had it been, exactly? There was no way of telling…the world seemed to fade into one everlasting cycle of monotony. Now, Jack knew exactly what his father meant when he had said he'd become like a rock…everything felt hardened over; he was dead inside… The prisoner camp was like the underworld, full of half-dead, half-alive monsters, performing their task. There was a difference between the human robots of the Hill Castle and the zombies of the electric plant. They were completely different species. And now, he had become one of them.

---

Darn, another stupid morning. Jack knew he would have to get up in a few minutes to avoid another lashing, but his body simply felt incapable of moving. He could feel the grime as it gathered over him, caked over his heavy eyelids, under his ears, crunching against his gums. He was too sick to throw up, and too sad to cry. There was no energy left for complaining, whimpering, or even screaming. There was nothing he could do.

There's nothing left… Jack still managed to find his thoughts lost somewhere in the dusty eternity. …all I can do is lie here and wait…for Death…

As Jack heard the faint crackling and lurching of his own body, he closed his eyes and delved deep into the world of his inner mind. His body numb to the searing of the worker driver's whip, he at last managed to reach a destination…a slow, fuzzy realization…

---

"Hey, carrottop!" a little boy's snotty voice pierced out, as if from nowhere.

"You're an alien!" another sarcastic voice struck a blow.

"Ew! Stay away! It's the science freak!" A one-two punch, this time straight to the face.

A female voice…screaming, "I hate you!!!"

And finally, the all-too-familiar lines of a loving father… "Get it yourself." "Shut up, now." "Go away, I don't need you here bothering me all the time…" "I wish I had a real son…not this chicken who likes to call himself a son…" And, the most terrible of them all…silence. The dense, cold silence that surrounded everything.

---

At horrible memories like these, Jack would normally cry or shiver in fear, but now, in this numb, half-dead state, he could finally step back and look at the whole picture. "You must never use your powers…" It was a little late for that…

…I will survive, Jack finally set in his head. …I will go on. Just like I always have. I got here, didn't I? Yes, I'm still here… It doesn't matter…what they do to me…

Without even noticing his external actions, Jack was beginning to struggle to his feet. Though those brutal attacks had formed a wall around him, at that moment of relation with Julie, he had blown those solid brick walls to bits. "It doesn't matter…what they do to you. There's no reason you have to keep in hiding…forever." All it takes…is for one person to truly believe in you…before you can begin to believe in yourself. I will carry on…there is nothing to fear…I will carry on…

At last, Jack broke from his cold, death spell, rushing to the door of the quarters. He couldn't trip over his feet now…because they were his feet.

A group of worker driver Facists appeared at the end of the tunnel, ready to block this resistant young worker and place him back where he belonged.

Jack closed his eyes again, listening to the music of his own heart, fluctuated breathing, and pounding footsteps. I will carry on, he focused, driving any shreds of fear out of his body.

The sturdy men in armor grew closer…another obstacle…another hurdle to jump…and jump it he would, even if he had to knock it down in the process.

The armored guards all bent inwards to catch the troublemaking youth. Then, Jack slipped in, and as if moving in slow motion, burst through the blockade of stunned guards, clutching something shining gold within his fist.

At the sound of the victorious uprising, the droves of prisoners immediately stopped where they were and dropped their cranks. "…It's him!" they hissed to each other in hushed voices. After that 'weeding day', word had gotten around about how Jack had nearly staged a successful escape, and had struggled to save one of their kind. A few workers that had worked alongside him beforehand were still stunned. Who would ever believe that this cowardly boy would be the one to finally…

"Don't just stand there!" Jack called, looking strangely compelling and determined. "Now is your chance!" With a swift flick of the wrist, Jack tossed the keys into the closet prisoner's hands.

He stared at the sacred items for a moment in disbelief, but then snapped to life, commanding his coworkers to a fever-pitch revolt. The righteously angry mob of prisoners swarmed towards the workers' quarters, bravely taking on Facists they found in the way. Even the Shen-Gong-Wu couldn't protect the villains now.

Jack turned his head and smiled back at them as he fled the scene. He had successfully passed on his own fire and determination. He wished them luck with all that he had.

It wasn't until he reached the other side of the turbine until he realized that he had no idea where to go. He could wait until the mob unlocked the exit gates and charge out with them, but somehow he thought that would be waiting too long and risking recapture.

By this time, his fierce motivation was starting to wear off, and slowed his pumping legs to a complete stop. After all this time, however long it had been, Jack's boots had worn down, and were now filled with dirt and sand and had gaping holes in their sides. All of his clothes were tattered and stained, and his coat just barely clung to his bony shoulders, since it had now become sleeveless. His hair was sticking out at odd angles, and parts of it were matted down with dirt.

Jack leaned his hands against his knees for a minute or two to rest, but soon a team of Facist worker drivers spotted him in the distance, and came careening after him.

He frantically glanced back, and broke into a run again, praying that neither of them had the Shard of Lightning. Jack fought against the air currents pushing him back and ignored the stinging of the rocks against the bottoms of his feet.

Suddenly, columns of fire began shooting up towards the dreary gray sky. They came from different angles and at different times, some more powerful than others. Dojo, Jack remembered from that experience before. It looks like everyone's disturbed by this uprising.

The Facists were gaining on him, so he closed his eyes again and put all his effort into running. If he didn't…if they caught him this time, he'd most likely be killed. Trying to save his father from burning alive was one thing, but starting a criminal revolt was in a totally separate league.

A tall brick wall stood in his way just ahead. If only he had some way of getting over it… If I had my HeliPack… no, I've got to think of some way of getting over this thing myself. I don't think that's possible… Just as he began to give up all hope, his red eye fell upon a long metallic beam the workers had abandoned at his appearance. A crazy idea crawled into his mind, and he figured he'd most likely kill himself if he tried this, but it was worth a shot. If I don't try it, I'll end up dead anyway, he reasoned.

As Jack sped towards the brick barricade, he reached downwards and wrenched the metal beam up beside him. Then, just before the wall stopped his escape, he thrust the pole down into the ground and flung his body upwards with all his might. Jack closed his eyes and prayed again for this to work. He was suspended in the middle of the air, with only this thin pole supporting him…then, he began to dip downwards again, falling forward over the top of the brick wall.

The protective spikes at the tip scratched at his legs and ripped off a good portion of his coat, but that was when he knew that he was going to make it. Yes! He said to himself in relief. A perfect pole vault! And I've never done one before in my life!

The three Facists came to a halt on the other side. "Did you see that?" the first one asked. "That crazy kid just vaulted over the fort wall!"

"We all saw it," the third one replied. "Boss isn't going to like this…"

"So?!" the second one objected, turning to his partner on the left. "Can't you just use your Serpent's Tail and go after him?"

"No," the fourth answered with a sly smile. "That kid may have thought he'd escaped, but he's got no idea where he's just vaulted into." The others nodded and uttered signs of assent, and they all sauntered back towards their quarters.

Meanwhile, Jack landed roughly on the other side of the wall. He got up and brushed himself off. Blinking confusedly, he looked around at his surroundings. "Where's this?" he asked himself. "It doesn't look like that old, creepy town…" He simply scratched his head and stepped forward into the unknown…and straight into the lair of the captured dragon Dojo Kanojo Cho.