At first, the ruse was going perfectly.
Losers? Distracted.
Ninja-Bot? Nearing the Wu.
Wuya? Hadn't spoken for a solid five minutes.
All that remained was a smooth, sinister sail toward diabolical victory that sunk rock-bottom the moment Ninja-Bot, after having just nabbed the Wu unnoticed, proceeded to plow straight through numerous shops of the open market they were in.
What made it all the better is that this happened far from just that: Far.
The splintering of wood into what sounded to be toothpicks, while certainly A+ destruction, was also well-distinguishable from the battle between those Xiaolin Losers and his Koi-Bots; so if an emergency chopper from TMPD was already on the way, it could only have been expected. The first-comers of circling vultures were surely present for the fallout, but Jack didn't get to check for them, because he was too busy vehemently cursing the Wu's time of reveal whilst eyeing each of the monks for any sign of notice, wondering for the umpteenth time on just why it couldn't have waited at least a few more days - How he was so close to the finalization of Ninja-Bot's stealth protocols, only to yet again have his technological developments interrupted by a Wu's revelation.
'Man, I knew I should have let this one go,' he lamented at the time. 'Now I'm gonna lose all that progress and still have to listen to Wuya's mouth.'
The dull stare she's been giving him as of late was a tangible presence to his left, and he made sure to never look. That was to be saved for the moment the monks caught wind of his Ninja-Bot's noisy escape, followed immediately by blaming her (and that ethereal stink-bomb of a mouth she just can't keep shut) for his every defeat as of late. Then he'd rant rhetorical questions one after the other, and they'd be off to another back-and-forth while he does all the work and she floats around like rising fumes from an open manhole in the desert.
Most of that never happened, though, because to his then-blinking surprise, the monks only continued to fight.
He almost smiled. He felt especially to when Ninja-Bot was in the clear, but shot down the urge by glancing to his left; which was well-timed, since the fight ended not long after his attention returned to it, meaning it was then time to race the monks for the Wu and mirror their disappointment when they discovered it gone.
Evil perfection. How the monks managed to miss all that crashing around, he'll never know, but their collective hardness of hearing was more humorous than problematic.
Unlike the Wu gained from this earlier encounter.
As it stands, Jack has little use for the Zing Zom-Bone. He's an evil genius capable of crafting robots far superior to zombies.
'They definitely win in the intelligence department.' The pale teenager's every booted step down yet another teal-colored hallway sways the ragged ends of his black trench coat. 'And I've got enough mindless people and… entities in my life already.'
Fortunately, PandaBubba gave a call not long after the Wu's retrieval and wished to make trade. Jack, however, was just happy for the distraction, as joy from lying to Wuya was all but annihilated by then.
That's not to say there hadn't been doubt of the offer's evil seal of integrity. New bots are always exciting – particularly when he isn't short on funds for the materials – but as it happens, PB doesn't know a thing about robotics. Such a shortsighted moron can't hope to understand the complex intricacies of designed and manufactured artificial intelligence, which is why it took a long-winded explanation from some stuttering (likely coerced) intelligence on what upgrades have been made to his Koi-Bot design before Jack was pleased. Armor plates of a strong titanium alloy, weapon and system enhancements, and a new menacing design make for one sweet deal, contrary to Jack's then utter lack of enthusiasm.
It's just too bad the meeting location reeks. Why it has to be the Assembly Room #4 Lookout within Tohomiko Electronics Skyscraper, Jack doesn't know; but then again, it's not like he got to ask, either, since the short-sighted freak hung up right after naming it.
The lack of respect for an evil genius such as himself was incredible. Not even an evil chuckle in parting? A "goodbye" or "farewell"? Jack understands they're both evil and all – himself to a much higher extent – but that doesn't mean common evil courtesy has to go out the window.
'That kind of thing should be reserved for the good guys!'
Now he's wandering the gigantic building for some kind of map. Such has been the case for about twenty minutes or so, and, oh, what an enjoyable twenty they've been. The insurmountable pleasure of Wuya's incessant complaining throughout the duration was entirely its own – never mind the verbal bombardment he endured on the way to the place.
As such, it's with utmost caution that Jack's red eyes peer back at the witch-hag following him like a curse. She's glaring off to the side, tendrils crossed as those sprouting from her head twitch erratically. All signs of thorough irritation are present, but what matters most is that she's quiet – that for once, her rancid voice isn't adding to the awful sight of her.
His gaze goes back ahead, but the damage is done. His retinas need a break. However, a man some ways ahead is looking to become another archaic nuisance. Mop in hand, the short, old, blue jumpsuit-wearing fellow is immediately dubbed, 'Janitor Duty' – though it's his persistent frown of disapproval that's grating on Jack's already Wuya-irritated nerves.
The feeling is only bolstered by Jack nearing enough to smell a familiar decay emanating off the man. For though it can never hope to rival the ever-undisputed beholder of offensive odors wafting and floating behind him, the Stench of the Old is still recognizable in the air.
His air.
Janitor Duty's frown deepens. He seems ready to speak, but Jack steps right up to him with an angry sneer and looms over this newest aged annoyance.
The man's expression can't crumble fast enough.
"You want something, Mop-Man?!" the evil genius hollers. He doesn't wish to see or smell Wuya's youth, never mind be lost in it!
It's as if the man's previous expression hadn't been there: curious disapproval one second and wide-eyed fright the next. Yet shocked as he is, Janitor Duty seems to feel his calling in the next instance.
Gaze plummeting, the old geezer hurries to repeatedly dunk his mop into a bucket of cleaning solution, nearly dropping it as liquid sloshes over the rim. He then jerks the cleaning utensil out, plops it on the floor, and mops hastily back and forth.
The man's focus on his life's work gets an amused half-smirk from Jack before he turns on his heel and strides onward, once again surveying his surroundings. There's a snort from behind that he readily ignores, and pretty soon he's approaching a T-junction.
The left turn earns his spontaneous decision.
No need to give the witch hag any clue on how lost he is. How she hasn't made the connection yet, what with how long he's been walking around bickering with her about the "lost" Wu, is unknown, but he's thankful for it nonetheless.
Somewhat.
Kind of.
Not really...
Yet his teeth grind for a different reason.
A map. There are none. Have been none. Two floors thus far and not once have any of the direction signs been useful, their destinations of zero interest.
How's it possible...? 'This place is huge! Who's the com-plete–'
"You're lost, aren't you?" speaks one particularly unmissed voice from behind. Easily, he can picture her irritated expression.
"What?" Feign surprise; don't turn. "I'm not lost." Give a dismissive wave behind. "I'm just… taking the scenic route."
Scenic route indeed. The aimless walk has shown many a robotic invention thus far, some of them being rather impressive. There was even one that holds stark similarity to a creation of his own.
U–Bot.
Able to mimic both the appearance and personality of its owner, memories of Chameleon-Bot's infiltration flooded Jack's mind whilst he took in the smaller robot's silver humanoid design. He couldn't resist an amused grin and didn't feel particularly inclined to, either.
Until...
Wrinkling her nose, the Japanese girl shut her eyes and shook her head. "Evil and creepy. Huh," she scoffed, "what a combination."
That soured his mood, and he tore his sudden glare to the next item of not-as-great interest.
The thing's small anyways. Miniature. It's made of nice materials, got complex internals, and the perfect mimicry of another's personality is nice, but Chameleon-Bot did the job fine enough while instead morphing into a perfect, life-size replica. It also fought, had a two-way video feed, and once-upon-a-time was a loyal automaton.
Really, it's only natural for CB to be the better bot – destruction notwithstanding.
Wuya floats aside Jack's head. "You're a terrible liar," she states. Her ghostly arms cross. The look on her mask-like face is sharpened with annoyance.
"And you're a terrible side-kick."
That gets Wuya angry. He frowns as she nears his face, her ghostly form all but boiling a meaningless rage that courses through trembling tendrils and contracts red swirls into an almost-proper set of irides.
The screeching rebuttal is impending.
Sucking in a breath, Jack shoves it out the corner of his mouth and darts Wuya away as an undulating mess of appendages.
Prompt relief sags the snickering goth's shoulders. His next breath is quick, yet fulfilling, and vitally devoid of the stench Wuya gives off from that mouth of hers – even as a freaking ghost. It's an evil not even Hannibal Roy Bean would dare dabble with, and this evil genius plans on keeping all his five senses in working condition, thank you very much.
Moreover, it would be great for their conversation to end there – he can't think of a better finish, really – but if Wuya's good for anything, it's to endlessly agitate; so she instead growls for a moment, and then speaks. Interrupting his search. Again.
"Are you ever going to at least tell me why we are here?"
Jack groans. All that would do is make her angrier. And louder.
Screw that. It's bad enough she's somehow managed to get naggier since his accepting her back, it half the time being both the beginning and end of his day; and she's already all but completely destroyed his enjoyment of pulling one over the monks. No need to add "ear-splitting screams" to the equation.
So, shrugging lazily, Jack mumbles what can best be described as, "Iunno." After which his steps widen in nigh-conjunction with Wuya's subsequent growl, her fury grinding his nerves just as much as it satisfies his black heart.
Maybe she'll explode from anger at some point. That'd be a great turn of evil events.
'Then again, she just might when she finds out what I'm here for. She's always so gung-ho about getting all the Wu; you'd think she can actually use them.'
A foreboding thought, to be sure, but it ends upon him entering what appears to be an elevator lobby. A few pieces of furniture line the decent space; however, his focus is on what's between the two elevators, embedded into the wall: A large stone slab on which there's a map of the building.
"Finally!"
Running up to it, he jabs a finger over one of its lists of locations and works his way down.
"No, no, nope, nada, nein, negative, não, ne, ugh–"
Another growl, this time much angrier, promptly halts Jack's search.
Blinking at first, he glances at Wuya. Narrow eyes, sharp teeth, and frenzied tentacles meet him. There are even a few electrical currents slowly coursing around her.
'Huh. Haven't seen that one in a while.'
Refocusing on the matter at hand, he this time knocks off each location mentally.
'There we go!' he soon celebrates, having right above his finger nail the name of his destination. He gets the reference number and looks to the map's model of the building. Sections go by, then levels, and his location's found.
'Floor twenty… go right after taking one of these elevators down… and the fourth left turn. Sweet.'
With a content smile, Jack walks to the closest elevator, presses its call-button; and grips a wrist behind himself, even whistling an evil tune as he waits.
The doors slide open.
His approach is with shut eyes, but once he's over the threshold, they blast right back open. A profound sense of nausea has suddenly slammed into his chest. The yelping boy's feet barely leave the ground as it rattles throughout his body amid ominous chuckles.
All of him is shocked stiff in the wake of Wuya's passage through him. The sick feeling dwindles bit by bit, but then comes the ever-growing trembling; for which Jack eventually lowers his arms, takes a shallow breath, and lets himself convulse freely.
Then he's still again.
Much of the horrid sensation is gone. All that remains is a lingering twitch to his fingers, which simply flexing them a few times fixes.
And thus, he can at last raise a hand to his chest and loose a relieved sigh.
After which that hand of his fists. He swipes it down to match its twin and scowls at the smirking witch-hag floating in the elevator.
"Dammit, Wuya, you know I hate it when you do that!"
She suddenly growls and rushes right up to his face. He pulls back, but still meets and returns her scornful glare in full. "And you know that I hate wasting time! You should be searching for the Shen Gong Wu you so stupidly let get away in your usual incompetence, NOT lollygagging in this tower!"
More importantly: "Boundaries." It's muttered pointedly through the hand over his mouth and nose. She's the nerve to narrow her eyes back at him, but thankfully withdraws to a more tolerable distance, allowing him to safely lower his limb, roll his eyes, and finally enter the elevator.
"Well it's not like you had to tag along." Eyeing the control panel, he jabs the appropriate button and glowers at the floor counter. "Seriously, you're even lamer than me with how you follow like a lost puppy." Shuddering, he crosses his arms – is more than ready to repress the revolting experience Wuya just put him through, but not without first giving her a hard sideways glare.
Doing so doesn't reveal a mask of matching vexation, though. It's more like intense amusement. There's definitely a notion of superiority dancing in the half-lidded eyes of Her Horrendousness.
The smiling disaster-piece brings eye-widening realization, followed promptly by him pointing at her and yelling, "That didn't come out right!"
Wuya merely shakes her head and chuckles.
Jack plants a thumb to his nose and sticks his tongue out.
He's HAPPY! he doesn't have to wish she were dead.
But there it goes: Round three million, four-hundred eighty-nine thousand, seven-hundred fifteen.
Leaving silence.
'Finally...'
He backs into the rear wall and pockets both hands.
The seconds tick by. His glum stare ahead dulls, then wanders to the control panel, the wall not in Wuya's direction, the ceiling, and then the floor.
An engraving's there. "Tohomiko Electronics Skyscraper," it reads.
Jack's brow furrows. That name – Tohomiko – is somehow familiar. He just can't place his evil finger on why…
The elevator dings pleasantly, earning Jack's attention to opening doors. He makes a face; but in the end shrugs a shoulder, steps out, and makes his way down the right hall.
There will be time to figure out later.
Entering a wider stretch of hallway has him again surrounded by tech lining the walls. His red eyes move back and forth to take in each displayed item with quickly passing interest, usually in that the showcased item is some form of video game or toy – all of which lack any form of useful innovation. Though from what he's seen thus far, the toys are often-times over-engineered for their purpose.
They've no offensive capabilities, yet possess rather remarkable durability and features. An (incredibly) asinine concept.
Take U-bot for example: It's made of strong, light-weight alloys; running on a fourteen nano-meter, four-point-five gigahertz octa-core processor possessing thirty-eight megabytes of three-leveled cache; got enough low-latency RAM to run an otherwise storage-less computer on, capable of precise personality mimicry, water-proof, yet received an absurd chassis design, at which point every previous feature comes into serious question; as the only thing U-Bot could possibly infiltrate is a society of color-blind primordial dwarves – and even then, there's no way to keep track of the damn thing.
Marginally, it's notable.
But entirely pointless.
The only big aspect to it is the waste of materials and time.
The virtual reality systems, though, are okay. At least those are pushing some form of boundaries.
Nonetheless, Jack's pace slows. Knowing where he is and being distracted from a will-not-be-named atrocity, there's proper time for a proper walk. He begins to hum, can hear his mental readings without ancient interference.
It's a moment of evil serenity. Wicked solace.
That is, until Wuya, unfortunately, speaks: "Look at all this useless junk," the witch-hag hisses. "Don't tell me we're here so you can go shopping?"
Jack's current item of mild interest receives a wry smirk. She's somewhat close to the truth, he supposes. Though when his eyes meet the next display, they suddenly widen.
Ahead, near the wall to his left, are four display cases spread evenly from one another, each with its own respective poster upon the wall.
It's the Goo Zombies series. Parts one through four.
The goth runs straight up to the fourth one and plasters his hands and face of awe to the display case.
"When did this happen!?" He must have been royally preoccupied by his bots and the hunt for Wu to have missed such a major occurrence in the world of gaming.
"Now what are you yelling about?" Wuya grumbles. She floats over his left shoulder to see what's garnered the evil boy genius' attention.
Blinking dully, she quirks a ghostly brow at it.
"...What is it?"
"Only the newest addition to the greatest gaming franchise ever – as far as anything involving zombies goes anyways." His reply's largely muffled by the glass, starting excited and ending in passing casualness.
"A game?" Wuya deadpans. "This is why you've been here for the last twenty minutes wandering around like a lost child? To steal a game?"
The words take Jack a moment to receive, register (whilst ignoring a fed up growl), and then comprehend.
"Wait, what?" Squinting, he pulls away from the display case and gives her a look of incredulous insult. "No!"
What kind of twisted dots led to that conclusion? So he plays a few games on his computer every now and then, maybe even chose from time to time to do so instead of practicing with the Shen Gong Wu. It's never been an everyday thing, never been anywhere near the level of obsession her assumption's trying to slather all over him. Furthermore, he just discovered the damn thing, so how the hell could he have previously planned its theft?
The whole concept's so flat-out ridiculous, he's unable to help a mild shake of his head. "Geez, Wuya, I know I've done a few questionable things in the past, but that's just senseless."
'Albeit tempting.'
Funds are getting kinda low. Maybe after the trade…
Wuya inclines her… body. Red swirls atop their yellow sockets stare blandly at him, though the look is brief and ends on a disbelieving scoff that further communicates she thinks he's done way more than just a few questionable things and that they were well beyond questionable.
Jack frowns. "Oi, don't give me that look." He wags a finger at her. "As if you've never made a single bad choice in your..." Trailing off, he searches for a noun of any tongue that would actually fit the glowering disembodied head floating before him, but both the effort and sight is steadfastly tiring, so he settles for, "whatever you call your existence these days."
Past her he walks, wheeling a risen hand.
"Yes," Wuya says, "I'm looking at one of them right now."
"And yet you're still here," Jack grumbles under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing," he singsongs, turning to flash a pristine smile.
Her expression turns quizzical. She simply grumbles something to herself, though, thus ending yet another of their wonderful squabbles.
Jack proclaims himself the victor of this session.
Yet great as that is, he's nearing the left turn at the fourth junction in the hallway, unable to help pondering why he ever took her back. She's ob-so-lete. General location? Pfft! What does he need that garbage for when his Detecto-Bot leads him straight to the artifacts?
'Just look at her now: She's worse than dial-up!'
She may be knowledgeable on all things magical, but outside of Mala Mala Jong and the Fearsome Four, that admittedly extensive understanding never once turned out helpful. Furthermore, he can read, too. All you have to know is where to look for the information.
Only internet searches don't always work with regards to the Wu. Details of myth and legend are hit or miss. Which, from his experience, are more inclined to miss than hit.
So the question is, how much is Wuya's shred of purpose worth?
Making the turn, Jack takes a side-glance at her over his shoulder.
Anger and disgust build fast.
His eyes dart back ahead.
He'll think about it later: Ahead is a teal double door with a white sign above it that reads "Assembly Room #4 Outlook" in illuminated red letters. On both doors is another sign that says "Staff Only", though in no time, he's shoving one open to reveal PandaBubba's suited form standing on a suspended metal catwalk. He spares Jack a momentary glance before his gaze returns down below.
Walking on, Jack spares a glance for the lower level. Rows upon rows of workers stand at conveyor belts, working diligently to assemble toys from pieces as they arrive, for which Jack has nothing but a bored frown.
His gaze returns ahead.
"Alright, PandaBubba," Jack calls, "I've brought the Zing Zom-Bone just like you–"
"You've had it this entire time?!"
Her irate question smacks into Jack, having him grimace and jerk away. It may rattle by as quick as it came, but her signature diatribe leaves a persistent ring going loud and strong in both ears. Tinnitus that lessens with each passing second, but that he knows (from experience) will only weaken so much before staying for hours.
Needless to say, this insistence of hers to yell in his ear as if he's on the moon has become rather commonplace – long ago arising wonder on how he doesn't need a hearing aid – and the full-body tension readily fades, allowing both the clench of his fists and jaw to be undone.
Red eyes then open, their pointed glare for Wuya.
"Yeah," Jack sneers, "and thanks for the ringing in my ears, o' obsolete one."
"Why are we here, Jack?" Wuya seethes through her grit… mask. Her red swirls are livid. The undulation to her extra appendages has gone violent. Clearly, she's expecting to not like the answer.
'Great. This again.'
Not even five minutes and already Wuya's trying to start another bicker session over some apparent flaw of his. Like she even knows what evil is. Over fifteen-hundred years and she still hadn't known that it's gloating first, then vaporizing. Miss "I wreaked havoc and destruction when the Earth was still young, and mankind was just climbing out of the mud."
Yeah, well at that rate, it's gonna take another fifteen centuries just for her to get the basics down. Even Tubbimura has made it that far in his evil career, and that tub of concentrated lard isn't anywhere near the triple digits – never mind four.
"Could ya just chill for once?" Exasperation coats his complaint. "Seriously, just shut up and you'll see."
"Let. Me. Guess," Wuya grounds out. "You're going to trade another Shen Gong Wu that should be mine for more of your useless junk. AGAIN!" She roars at the end of her otherwise hissed accusation.
Amazing. Just like that – so soon after posing it – he's got the (obvious) answer to his question of what she's worth: not this. If knowing what a Shen Gong Wu does before usage means feeling like he lives in a jet engine, then he's more than happy to give it up. "Ignorance is bliss" never bore more truth in his life than right now.
Finding out shouldn't be too hard anyways. Those Xiaolin Losers – particularly Opi – are always yelling about the Wu and usually blurt out its name. And if not, it'll at least be quiet enough for him to think of something.
The dead hag is taking the fun out of evil, and that's just the wrong kind of wrong. Just as important, though, Jack aspires to be an evil genius – not a deaf one awaiting retina failure to kick in alongside CIPA disease.
"Quick question: Why are you here?" Tightly, Jack's arms cross. Agitated expectancy further sharpens his vermilion knives.
"What?" Rather wide-eyed, Wuya's visibly taken aback by his question.
"Why are you with me? AGAIN." The final word mimics her wretched voice. "Last I recall," Jack jabs a thumb to his chest, "I told you," then thrusts his pointer at her, "to take a HIKE, since I don't need you anymore." Snidely, he tacks on, "Still don't, actually, considering you do literally nothing."
"What are you trying to say?" Glaring menacingly, Wuya nears his face.
"To get lost!" Jack jabs a stiff thumb over-shoulder. "Go give someone else perforated ears," he grumbles, wholeheartedly returning her glare. A thought hits, though, him suddenly leering right in her face. "Or better yet: go haunt some abandoned dump, like a real evil spirit."
The moment those words fly free, Wuya yells in outrage, mask-like face tilting up as her risen appendages shake in unrighteous fury. And no sooner than the piercing bellow fires, she's punching at his face, limbs passing through harmlessly.
'Boom,' Jack thinks, smiling his intense satisfaction.
He was going for more of a literal explosion, but this works, too. She's kinda right in his face, and it's not like her shouting can stop the growing glee from further widening his smile.
'Jack Spicer, you've officially reached new heights in evil.'
All he manages to make out – thanks to that breath – from her bout of fury are "–er get my body back, I'll make you PAY for this insolence, boy" and "haunt you until your dying day".
The first one doesn't matter. She's never getting that back. That second bit, however, is kinda dubious. It doesn't remove the smile from his face, but a small portion of him wonders if she'll really do that.
Though by the time he's paying enough attention to ask, she's gone.
The goth groans. 'Great, now I'm afraid to go home… Lovely.'
Still, he perks up in the next instance. 'However! She's finally gone!'
Hopefully it's permanent this time. Just too bad he'll likely see her during Wu-hunting quests.
'Eh, joyous day nonetheless.'
And with that, the goth looks forward to a relatively Wuya-less future.
Yet he can't help feeling like he's forgotten something… or someone, rather.
Thoughtfully, his eyes roll to the left.
Something enters his peripheral.
It's PandaBubba a short ways from him, a touch of amusement creasing his brow. Otherwise, he seems mildly bewildered, having likely heard every one of Wuya's departing words that Jack himself mostly ignored. Though it's a wonder how none of the workers down below are staring up at them. The machinery is noisy, sure, but that hag?
Talk about dedication.
Coughing into a hand, Jack clears his throat.
PandaBubba's gruff stare returns.
"So," Jack says, "like I was saying, I've brought the Zing Zom-Bone like you wanted." Reaching into his trench coat, he produces the Wu, at which PandaBubba's lips curl upward just so.
Jack smiles with mutual cruelty as he reaches PandaBubba and hands over the artifact.
The man eyes it with a devious smile on his face, during which Jack's eyes suddenly narrow.
"Now where are those state-of-the-art Koi-Bots you promised me?"
The mob boss chuckles darkly, eyes remaining on his prize.
"Just as we agreed upon, Spicer," PandaBubba replies. He lifts a hand and snaps his fingers.
Double doors on the other end of the platform fly open, earning Jack's attention behind PB as four Fish-Bots enter in a line.
They're bulkier than Jack's version, bearing red-eyed snake-heads. Six thick, fang-like teeth protrude from the upper-jaw of mouths ajar, those in the front longest. Serving as propulsion systems are two rounded protrusions that run along their lower bodies as pelvic fins, aided by a thick, rocket-topped dorsal fin from which dual gatling guns are mounted. Wide black pectoral fins run down their mid-sections like curved wings of a plane, leading to a color-matching, halved tail fin.
Other than their ink-encircled optics, their make is bronze, keeping in-line with Jack's signature color-scheme, though it has barely any time to mingle with the red of his eyes before he's darting past Pandabubba for them, blowing the man's clothes like a passing vehicle.
The first in line receives a tight hug around its head.
"They're… they're beautiful," the evil genius praises, rubbing his awed face on cold metal before taking a deep inhale of that wonderful new robot smell. His face leaves the bot's, and he exhales at length, eyeing it with a wicked smile. "Gotta love it."
His eyes wander to take in the finer details, but are interrupted by his evil company.
"So, Spicer, from one evil genius to another, how did you get this Wu?"
Jack turns a wicked smirk on him. "Funny you should ask, PB." Hand on hip, he points a finger-gun for the crime lord and lowers it before his elaboration: "It was simple, really. I disguised one of my robots as a ninja, and while everyone was fighting, it snagged the Wu and quietly disappeared, unnoticed." Crossing his arms, he shakes his head with a snort and says, "Not even Clown Face noticed."
Okay, so maybe he was fibbing a little bit with the "quietly" part, but it was generally a true story.
Either way, he imagines PandaBubba is quite impressed. It's not every day that one gets to hear the amazing tales of his genius intellect triumphing over those who oppose him. And it isn't because it rarely happens… He just sometimes runs into a bit of bad luck is all.
"Nice work," PandaBubba says. "When we first met, I took you for an incompetent boob."
"Well, I do my best." Jack smugly runs a thumb across his fingernails, then buffs them against his trench coat. "Anyways, now that you've got the Zom-Bone, what's up next on your agenda?" Irresistible is the twisted smirk pulling at his mouth's edge. "Something evil, I hope."
"Of course..." PandaBubba confirms. He walks to the edge of the platform, placing a firm hand upon the rail. His gaze lowers to the workers on the lower level. "You see, zombie workers are very good at following orders."
He points the Wu for down below.
"Zing Zom-Bone!"
Like a clam, the bronze artifact snaps open, and from its yellow-glowing mouth fires a matching flow of energy that surges for the lower level. Before getting there, though, it's tip expands, splitting off into countless heads. Some go for workers in the room, encapsulating them in its thick glow; while others ghost through the walls, floor, and ceiling in search of further victims to enslave.
Dissipating energy reveals those already caught, heralding dull moans and sets of eyes popping wide open. Yet not a shred of focus lies in the workers' dead expressions. Some are even already drooling.
'Yup, no intelligence at all.'
Mildly amused, Jack leans on the rail with arms crossed atop it as PandaBubba barks a plethora of commands.
Then he faces Jack. Menacing black eyes narrow to match the sinister curl of PB's lips.
"With a work force of slave labor, I'll soon control the entire electronics market," PandaBubba declares. His customary evil laugh follows, and Jack joins in with his very own, their mean merriment echoing throughout the spacious room.
Laughing evilly is a favorite past time. The evil boy genius will take every opportunity to do so. Yet all evil things come to an end, unfortunately.
"Nice laugh, PB." Jack's own ends on trailing chuckles.
'Even if mine's way better.'
It's a fact of criminal life that none possess a better evil laugh than himself. Except maybe Chase Young. He's pretty cool. Even if he did lose to Master Monk Guan. Though considering the technology PandaBubba currently has at his disposal, partnership with the mob boss is far more enticing.
Free .
Robot.
Parts.
"Hey, you know, we should partner up," Jack suggests. The goth's arms raise, a nefarious grin spreading across his features. "Between your access to technology and my genius, we could rule the world!" The proclamation ends right as Jack's arms rest at an arc in front of himself, exposed fingers tense and curled like claws.
"Tempting," PandaBubba retorts.
Jack's grin widens. The stout man seems to think on it and raises a hand to rub his chin. His eyes wander a moment, then return to Jack, PandaBubba this time aiming his own finger-gun. "But I'll pass."
Jack gapes, arms plummeting. "Huh?"
"My interests lie in the ruling of Hong Kong, not the world," PandaBubba replies.
A frustrated sigh lengthened by exasperation leaves the redhead. "Fine, whatever," Jack grumbles. He waves a dismissive hand before once again leaning on the rail, this time propping an elbow atop it and dropping his cheek into a hand.
Sourly, he pouts at the brain-dead floor below.
Well, it's not like he was going to be a loyal partner anyways – something he's sure goes both ways. Just like last time, it would've been a game of "who betrays who first".
Too bad he lost the first time around… but, hey, at least he fooled those Xiaolin Losers that day. Surfer Boy's outrage at his fellow losers choosing to trust Jack over him still gives the evil genius a chuckle. As such, the recollection turns Jack's frown upside down. He's positively smiling, eyes roaming lazily over rows of brain-dead workers.
It really was stupid on their part: Trusting him over their own friend/teammate. His ensuing little chortle can never be dark enough.
If it'd been him, he would have done the polar opposite, or better yet: pretend to go along with it.
Really, though, it's a moot thought, if intensely amusing. He's no friends to speak of. Never has.
Not that he's looking, either.
Yet his mood's going South again. What was once a smile is now a neutral line. So he turns his head in his hand to look at the awesome, new, state-of-the-art Fish-Bots he now has thanks to the trade with PandaBubba.
Previous joy returns. Ten-fold.
He can't wait to take them apart and study their internals so he can make his own improvements. A tweak here, a tune-up there, and he'll be ready for the replication process. The very concept fills him with gleeful excitement.
Then he'll never lose another–
Is that food he smells?
Lifting his head, Jack looks toward PandaBubba; and, sure enough, next to PB is a zombified worker holding a tray of one burger and soft drink. Yet PandaBubba makes no move for the meal. His focus is still zeroed in on the idiot workers doing his bidding down below…
Well he'll eat it if the crime boss isn't going to; Jack hasn't eaten anything since leaving his home for the Zom-Bone, for which a certain absent hag holds fault.
"Hey, PB," Jack calls, not earning the man's gaze, "you gonna eat that?"
"No. I'm vegetarian," PandaBubba replies. The unkind smile on him changes not in the least.
Jack makes a face. 'Then why did you order it – for the smell?'
He glowers. "O-kay, well–"
"PandaBubba! Stop this!"
Said evil-doer turns to regard this new voice, Jack leaning to look over PB's shoulder.
There's a rather short, older man approaching them. His dress is casual, upper-wear consisting of a gray shirt underneath a yellow button-up one. An orange happy-face lies in the center of his undershirt, belted brown slacks, and brown shoes making up the rest of four-eye's outfit.
Jack quirks a brow, incredulous.
"These workers are my loyal employees," the man stresses. He comes to a stop before PandaBubba.
Falser words have never been spoken before the evil genius. He almost snorts, but manages to get a hand over his mouth in time, instead sticking to restrained snickers as he relaxes against the rail to watch things play out.
"No," PandaBubba refutes, "they are now MY loyal employees!"
PandaBubba's attention goes to the enslaved worker beside himself. Orders are barked out, to which the worker complies by getting down on all fours. Jack, however, is more focused on the food that has fallen quite spectacularly to the metal platform.
And then the worker rolls over it.
By the time PandaBubba's ordering the man to play dead, Jack's eyes are glued to him in a harsh, withering glare.
He's more convinced than ever: The food was meant to tick him off. In fact, had he gotten to ask, Jack is one-hundred percent certain he'd have gotten a no – all without even a single glance in his direction.
"You lied to me about who you were," Manager Dude replies bitterly. His reproach is obvious. The forced doings of his "loyal" employee must have greatly irked him. "If I had known that you were the infamous PandaBubba, I never would have let you into my company."
"Your company?" PandaBubba raises a brow, then laughs.
There's a sinister smoothness to it.
'Aaaaaannnnd...'
The moment his laugh ends, PandaBubba thrusts the Wu straight at Manager Dude. Its name leaves the mob boss' lips, the artifact opens; and energy shoots out, hitting Manager Dude before he can even react facially.
And thus, PandaBubba receives yet another mindless servant.
Right on schedule.
"Now, where's my coffee drink?" PandaBubba all but demands.
The man groans, which must have been some form of recognition, because he then turns and walks off.
That over with, Jack at last snorts and rolls his eyes, them going past a set of double doors. Yet no sooner than they do, he performs a double-take, just barely seeing a door shut.
He blinks, staring at it.
'Did I just imagine that or...?'
His expression dulls.
'Ah, what do I care? This is PandaBubba's operation, not mine. Besides, I probably did just imagine it.'
The evil boy genius shrugs.
"Well, it's been fun, PB, but I'll be on my way now. Evil plans to act upon and all."
PandaBubba's eyes remain on his work force. "Very well, Spicer."
Clearly, he's still bathing in the glory of his evil machinations paying off.
"Right," Jack mutters. Past the broad man he walks, Fish-Bots following behind.
As soon as he cracks open a door, though, the self-proclaimed evil genius suddenly pauses. His eyes widen, their epiphanous stare blinking twice.
'Where am I going...?'
He has no clue. No clue on where to go.
Loud and gruff is the groan that precedes him shoving the door open and stalking out toward yet another bout of senseless wandering.
'Great. Right back where I started. All because that damn witch couldn't keep her trap shut.'
Maybe if he found Manager Dude, he could ask him which way to go. 'Then again, would that even work now that he's technically a mindless zombie…?'
Probably not. It doesn't matter, anyways, since he severely doubts that he'll be able to find the damn guy in this mess of a skyscraper.
So after what seems like an hour of hopeful turns, swung open doors, and building aggravation, Jack pauses when he stumbles upon a staircase. He blinks at it a moment, then shrugs. 'Why not?'
He descends the steps, numerous enslaved workers trudging their way past him: Constant reminders of that it's mostly PandaBubba's fault he's in this stupid situation.
Each worker receives a nastier side-glance than the last – Such that upon exiting the stairwell and making his way down another teal hallway, Jack's unable to help wondering (again) just why the heck he and PandaBubba had to meet up in that damn room. If they'd met at the entrance, it would have been quicker. If they'd met in the back, it would have been quicker. Hell, if they'd met on the roof, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN QUICKER. There was no reason they had to–
A muffled yell meets his ears. Jack pauses for its vague familiarity. 'What the...?' He leans toward its direction of origin and hears it again. '...That's Manager Dude!'
Immediately running, Jack darts around corners, zips past stretches of hallway, and is almost at the final T-junction when another voice speaks loud and clear.
"Papa, I'm not leaving without an explanation!"
That is Kimiko.
Distraught as she sounds, Jack squeaks to an abrupt halt, throws himself against the wall, and keeps wide eyes glued to the hall's end.
Nothing follows. Not a peep.
The goth creeps his way to the corner and sluggishly peeks around it.
A nearby office has its door open. From inside emanates indiscernible speech. Last he saw, though, all the monks were together, meaning it's more than likely the other losers in training are in there, too.
'Man, can't I ever catch a break? What the heck are these losers even doing here anyways?'
More yelling has him pull back a bit.
"I want you all out of here now!" Manager Dude shouts.
Jack's lone eye remaining in watch narrows. 'Seriously, just get lost already... wait, did she just call him 'papa'...?'
…
Woah… That's why the name Tohomiko seemed so familiar: It's Kimiko's last name! Her father is– was the owner of this company. 'Surprise, surprise... No wonder she's so tech-savvy. She's had an unlimited supply her whole loser–'
"GO!"
The demand's so harsh, so loud, that it actually echoes down the hall Jack's in, to which he can't help grimacing with a smile, the thought of it having been directed straight at Kimiko largely attractive.
Hopefully that's the case. Either way, it's finally not him on the receiving end, and who better to be than the Xiaolin Losers? See how they like it for a change. Maybe not literally – at least not yet – but hearing is believing, too, and boy did he ever. In fact, he keeps a wide open ear just in case another comes along.
Instead, he hears footsteps approaching the door-way and frowns. His head pulls back the moment one spec of a loser is revealed.
The door shuts. It's silent. Still, he's ready to bolt should they approach and taps anxiously on the wall, counting ten seconds before ever-slowly peeking again.
Sets of slumped shoulders, and frowning mouths slice a smirk across Jack's face. There may as well be a miniature storm brewing above the Xiaolin Losers, the weight of defeat's so apparent.
'Must be what their prime looks like.'
It's certainly a perfect match. Tells clearly of their title.
Has him all the more excited to swerve his unkind eye straight to the target-hopeful of Mr. T's aggression.
What's seen, however, morphs his expression into shock, the boy's brow hauling up.
Kimiko is... crying. Kimiko, the feisty, fiery, iron-willed Dragon of Fire that's always held her head high now has it hung low as she takes miserable interest in the floor. Shoulders once squared and firm heave in obvious attempt to withhold a sob, it nonetheless tearing clean free as a hand of deceptive delicacy darts over squandered baby blues; and despite the girl's jaw clenching, her chin scrunches more and more...
'Ha! What a pathetic loser!' Jack's bladed smile returns far sharper, him this time shaking with silent laughter.
Twenty Gallons and Surfer Boy place a hand of comfort on Kimiko's defeated shoulders. Some foreign oddity nibbles inside the redhead, though it's unappreciated, unneeded presence is easily stomped, ground, and skid across the curb, his enjoyment of the moment only spiking as Omi approaches Kimiko.
Covering his mouth keeps the humor at bay, but when his muted chuckles threaten to burst through, Jack has to pull back and use both hands. Good thing, too, because if not, he'd be doing his damnedest to not bang on the wall.
His head, on the other hand, rears back and thuds against it.
His eyes pop wide open. A breathless, yet still-smiling moment of listening passes.
The return of his peek around the corner is slow-going, as is the furthered rise of his smile for Opi gently pulling Kimiko's hand away from her eyes. Cueball's sad sympathy is unseen by the girl, though, as her eyes are shut tight.
''Creepy,' huh? Well look at you now, Kimiko, crying your eyes out for precious Daddy.' He almost snorts. 'Peh, like that's gonna make a difference.'
Omi starts speaking to her – something about her father holding no fault and evil being afoot ('No duh, Cheeseball') – but Jack's mirth goes critical again, this time forcing him to scurry off.
Down numerous halls he darts, bent over partially and shaking with hardly-muted glee. It's only after the fifth turn that he finally drops his hands and lets resounding laughter break free.
What an evil while it is. Attempted speech degrades right back into utter hilarity. Straightening his posture just sends it toward the ceiling. Mental replays of the moment help this, but there's also the immeasurable stupidity of Kimiko's father ('PandaBubba! He partnered up with PandaBubba! What an idiot!') to get over.
Neither happens timely. Though the moment he can manage proper speech…
"What a riot! Did you see the looks on their faces?" The Fish-Bots merely stare. "I'll bet they never even find out what's going on! Too busy coddling little miss Dragon of Misery over there." Snickering, Jack clasps risen hands and flaps his eyelashes. "'Papa, I'm not leaving without an explanation.' Pfft. Start crying your way back to the temple already. Get on that trail of tears, sister."
Maybe the pity party will get her somewhere. Boy, what he's missing out on. Better jump on that friendship train Opi's always trying to get him aboard.
Yeah. Right. Like he wants any involvement in their stark incompetence; spectacular as it is, he's actually going places.
Evil places, that is. He's gotten so far down that now the evil just happens without him knowing, let alone trying. It's literal coincidence. Serendipity.
(Heavy on the pity)
They may as well hand over the Wu, because they're out of their league – especially if still all it takes are simple diversions. "Honestly," Jack chuckles, "I might as well start using dummies. Movement seems to be the key factor, never mind actual weaponry."
By the time they actually figure out what's going on, he'll be–
Wait a second. Hold the hilarity.
If all this is going on, then that means, "They're busy..."
Jack's smile widens.
"This place is crawling with zombie-workers, and they have no idea where PandaBubba is." His building excitement goes to a Fish-Bot. "Meaning all that's left at the temple are a bunch of geezers."
Ominous chuckles leave him. The goth walks for the opposite end of the hall and pauses at it, smirking at the wall before himself.
Left and right turns are of no interest anymore. "I think it's time for a test drive." He crosses his arms, expression hardening. "Starting now: Blast through this wall – and any other here that gets in our way!"
The Fish-Bots immediately take to his front, creating a single-ranked line formation. Their rotary canons perform their namesake, buzzing to a collective high pitch right before rapid-firing an onslaught of blue-white orbs that burst against the wall to a sizzling aftermath.
The assault persists… yet little changes. The wall's blackened and on its way to becoming charred – eventually – but is still standing.
Jack's nefarious smirk flat-lines.
There's not even a single hole yet... The damn thing's just denting little by little…
In other words, this. is taking. forever. He should be walking through a nice-sized gap right now. Maybe even whichever wall follows this one. What's it even been, forty seconds? Checking his watch shows – Oh, would you look at that: one whole minute. And how's the wall doing?
Still standing.
In his way.
Like it belongs there.
"Alright, alright, that's enough!" The bots' weaponry click to an abrupt halt and go silent, barrels fuming. Jack wrinkles his nose at the steaming wall, then at them. "What was that? I said blast through, not whittle it down!"
With the rate they were going at, properly walking the halls would have gotten him further. At least then he'd be moving.
Jack glares at a Fish-Bot. "Get over here," he growls.
After its compliance, Jack looks over its chassis. His hands run along it until finding a thin gap. Tracing the square cut-out reveals no way to open it, though. No screw, no button, nothing. Digging his nails in and pulling makes no difference.
Jack's glare intensifies. "How the hell do you open this damn thing!?" Mounting frustration curls his fingers into tight, shaking fists, one lifting to slam down on the panel.
Pop
The goth blinks. He leans forth for a peak inside, grasping the opening's sides.
Confusion pinches at his brow for but a second before the expression warps into a livid scowl. The boy's hands clench and pull as if to rip away the facade, achieving only a tremble to his arms whilst roiling anger growls up his airway.
The angry bellow breaks free for the ceiling. Escalates with every second.
And morphs into a name:
"PandaBubbaaaa!"