Disclaimer: Nope, I still do not own Jimmy Neutron or any related characters.

John sat on his floor with his eyes closed. His eyes shot open as he heard some noise from downstairs. Great, dad's making noise again. How am I supposed to train myself if I can't get some peace and quiet?

He stood up and threw some punches and kicks into the air. He went over to his closet and opened it up. He took out his dumbbells and began lifting them. He sighed, even the heaviest of his weights didn't prove a challenge. Well, I guess I've done just about all I can do. He picked a backpack out of his closet. He threw it on his bed as he walked to his door. He stuck his head outside his room and checked the hallway. Once he was sure that his father was nowhere in sight he took a key out from under his pillow.

He went back inside his closet and opened a very large, locked box. Inside were nearly a dozen neatly stacked guns, along with several dozen magazines of ammunition. He loaded all of his guns and threw most of them into his backpack. He put two of them in his pockets. He threw the rest of the ammo into his backpack as well.

Once he emptied out his gun box he walked over to his bureau. He slid a box out from underneath it. He smiled as he opened it and examined its contents. He put two grenades into a side pocket of his backpack, making sure that the pin was still tightly in place. He tucked his cell phone into his back pocket. He took a look at the array of switchblades in his box, but he shook his head and slid it back under his bureau.

He opened the top drawer of his dresser and parted his pairs of socks. Buried underneath them was a rusty, bent switchblade. John picked it up and fingered it for a moment. He pushed the button on it and the blade flew out. He spun around and slashed the knife. He tightened his grip as he thought about the last time he had used this particular knife. It had been two years ago. It was the only fight that he had ever lost. He shook himself out of it and slipped the blade in his last remaining pocket.

He took a deep breath before opening the door to his room. "Well, here I go," he said to himself as he walked down the stairs.

"Where are you going, son?" Mr. Duncans asked his son as he washed the dishes.

John paused for a moment. He had forgotten about his father. "I'm just heading out," he told him as he continued heading towards the door.

"Hang on a sec, John. I could use your help here," his dad calmly told him.

"I really have to go now," John angrily muttered.

"John, stop!" his father yelled as he ran after his son.

John spun around and pulled a gun out of his pocket. His father froze. "I'm going out, ok?" John nastily asked. Mr. Duncans slowly nodded his head. "Good. Don't wait up," John told him as he walked out the door.

John's dad collapsed onto a chair. "God, where did I go wrong?'