JMJ

Note: This story will include the villains Mojo Jojo, two OCs with a vendetta between them, the Rowdyruff Boys, Princess Morbucks, the Gangreen Gang, (and a little bit of the Amoeba Boys ;P) I wish I could add more characters in the character section. It's going to get pretty wild in the middle and a little more than Mojo can handle, and as for the Powerpuff Girls, they're gunna have it rough for a while too, along with the poor Professor, but I have already finished it. Just need to edit it, so it's all planned out and everything. The story will also stretch canon a little, especially in regards to certain things about Chemical X, but I don't think it ever quite breaks canon completely. Oh! and one last thing, just a head's up, there's no romance between the PPGs and the RRBs whatsoever. In fact there is no romance at all. This fic is pretty much all based on family or friendship, but mostly family. 3 Hope you enjoy ^-^

Prologue

About one year ago…

The police sirens wailed like a baby with a tantrum down the street.

Ah… my first escape…

A small but perfectly capable figure mysteriously slipped into the opposite direction.

Although mostly concealed in a cheerful long yellow rain coat and soggy rain hat, the face was shielded in such a phantomlike manner that it made the figure more mysterious in a contrary sort of way than if it had been a tall one in an opera coat and cowl. The grin which spread glinted just enough from the nearest street lamp dimmed by the shadows of the alley that the teeth seemed to be cut into triangular dagger tips… or rather, it just simply revealed that the teeth were not human at all.

Before any witness could have gotten a clear enough image, the figure dashed away again like a rat into the depths of the alley. Spray from pooling puddles in the thickening rain dashed like confetti behind the racing steps. Thunder rumbled, covering a stifled but theatrical chuckle.

The first truly daring move into being a permanent fixture of evil, thought Mojo Jojo through this exhilarating night, is breaking out of prison, defying authority in every way. Anyone can commit some old megalomaniacal and heinous crime against humanity and be brought to prison and give up, but only a true visionary of vengeance and retribution of the type of I am and for which I have been thrown into prison can make himself real, proven, and truly hardcore by defying the ones who defied your defiance in the first place. You must free yourself from the bondage of the cage which tries to break your spirit into submission.

Ah! Fools they are, for I myself was born within a cage. A physical cage surrounded my infancy just as much a physical but somewhat more philosophical cage surrounded my small brain in comparison to the one usually found in the cranium of those members of the human race who rarely use their dominance over the earth for anything but more stupidity, but now my brain is bigger than any human's. Because of overcoming the smaller cages, I can more easily overcome any bigger cage. Now I have proven myself to be non-submitting.

I will rebuild! Yes. And little do the fools know that I have not simply escaped for the sake of escaping prison food and the company of moaning petty thieves crying for their mothers on their last phone call to bring them cookies at visiting hours. No. I have escaped to prove once and for all the true destiny of my genius. A destiny I make for myself—me alone, which means that I—

Mojo paused. In fact he nearly tripped right over some great lump in his way.

Frowning, he inspected the unorthodox obstacle. Just for a moment it seemed to have moved. It appeared harmless after the double-take like some forgotten pile of laundry, but the moan which it emitted next proved there was something more suspicious about it than the fact that the pile was topped with a trench coat.

Always a sure sign of deception, thought Mojo.

He wished that he had gotten a hold of the classic noir fashion himself rather than the child's water-ware he had stolen off the body of some absent-minded child.

The silence thickened like smog aside from the rain pelting around him as he stood very still with all animal instinct directed upon that lump. Even in the near blackness of the shadow in which it lied, there seemed to be a very biped-like shape beneath the ragged façade. Was it him, or was it heaving? Breathing… As he neared just a little more, he felt heat radiating from it. Interestingly enough, more heat than a creature should be giving off unless after very recent strenuous activity.

As Mojo circled round with all curiosity, he heard it seething rather than panting. He barely noticed the return sirens, though far more remote now as though from a different dimensional realm and irrelevant to the present before him.

He felt and even somewhat sympathized in some strange way with the passionate hatred, the agonizing rage, the struggling pain of being unable to succeed as quickly as one would like in this living thing. A lunatic or a very sound criminal but in all fashion an artist was sucking in oxygen that it could not get enough of. The passion was cooling quickly, but not from the will of the racing mind or the single-purposed, palpitating heart. Its fire was going out from some unstoppable physical ailment that would lead to only one end.

As lightning flickered from above, he saw what was the most interesting of all about this dying mess— the trickling of a deep and vivid green. Green bodily fluid dripped from a tightly clenched muscular jaw. It was a creature to marvel at. Strength pulsed in its veins still, muscles rippled through the bushy clothing covering it despite the deep wounds inflicted enough to have a lesser creature already as dead as road kill.

Mojo Jojo may have been a master planner of world-domination first and foremost, but at heart he was infected with the curiosity of infancy, not just as a primate but as the constant observer of the curiosity he had longed so hard to mimic in long-forsaken halcyon days. Then it had been in a manner that his simple mind at the time had not been able to fully understand. It was the methodical curiosity of a scientist. It was the type of curiosity that killed cats and made humans regret tampering for generations afterwards, and it was a curiosity that made Mojo for the moment forget all else as he watched the lolling eyes try to register him back. After the failed effort, the eyelids rolled upwards into that visibly throbbing skull.

Slowly, Mojo cocked his head. He touched the tuft of greenish hair. Though it was no longer visible as the lightning had faded away, Mojo felt the green slimy liquid leaking from the cranium, and he knew it was thicker than normal blood. It smelled different than normal blood.

The creature, that surely at one time had been a human, was not responsive to his touch; though, not quite unresponsive to itself. Mojo rubbed his chin with his unsoiled hand in thought. He made a decision.

He grabbed an old shopping cart not far off that was slammed into an alley wall. The sinewy flesh was a little heavier than Mojo had anticipated, but the Chemical X coursing robustly within his own body gave him more than enough strength to lift him. Even if he was not as strong as the Powerpuff Girls, it was far more the cumbersomeness of the being at hand rather than his all-muscle weight, which gave Mojo a little grunting struggle before the body was clattering into the bottom of the cart like a heavy slab of honeyed ham.

Once the excavation artifact was tucked neatly in place, the voice emitted from it gave a garbled but distinctly angry protest despite its weakness. Mojo was not at all intimidated.

He smiled and said, "Oh, do not concern yourself. If I had left you here, you'd be dead within an hour or so anyway, but I feel we are kindred spirits or at least of kindred blood, which may be of use to me since you won't be needing it anymore. You would be out of the picture without me. I am your savior. As your savior you most certainly owe me. You should be thanking me, but I will not insist. Your thanks is unnecessary and of little use to me. Your involuntary cooperation as you are helpless to resist me is all the thanks I will be needing."

He rubbed his hands together as he began to pile a few more things like old garbage bags and tarps on top of the cart so that now he may be mistaken as an old lady back from braving the storm for the grocery mart if anything.

"Come," he said snidely.

So off he went to his lair, and although most of it was quite in ruins on the exterior parts of the structure, the inner core of the lair was intact enough for scientific study.

More important than the cosmetics of his living space at the moment was the hope for instant access to more Chemical X— the only weapon that was truly worth its weight in gold to the picograms. But more than simply siphoning Chemical X, Mojo wished to know where this person had come into contact with it. Oh, yes, this was Chemical X within this being. There was no doubt in Mojo's mind even though the only known being to possess it other than Mojo himself was Pr. Utonium, the man responsible for the Powerpuff Girls and Mojo Jojo.

"So where did you get it?" Mojo asked more rhetorically than not as the creature now was quite unconscious and Mojo could not rouse him. Again Mojo tapped his chin. "Hmm…"

He did what he could to bring him back to life enough to speak, but it was no good. Every second he wasted was another second that threatened that the creature would take all secrets to eternal rest, but Mojo did not give up.

Chemical X was bound to the muscle-tissue and racing through the nervous system in a far more precise manner than the chemical X which consumed Mojo. Within his own body it was haphazard, really. The experiment on the subject at hand had been purposeful— completely and brilliantly meticulous. His strength at full health would have been more than Mojo's, though not as much as the girls. However, the delicately balanced but resilient self-healing property found in himself and far more-so in the girls was extremely weak in this being. The body was ultimately beyond repair.

Who? Why? How? There was not much time for the body left to answer such questions, but perhaps the brain was still useful in that regard.

The single remaining computer undamaged deep within the angry bowels of the volcanic lair was his key. Mojo wasted no time connecting it to the brain of the creature after a careful lobotomy. That would sustain it as long as it was in a bath of liquid with a touch of chemical X, and Mojo had plenty of that at the moment with the body from which he extracted the potent liquid. Afterwards he disposed of the corpse's remains into the lava of the volcano.

A perfect way to save money on garbage and recycling, he thought to himself, … as well as get rid of critical evidence that could be used against a person later.

When everything else was ready, including the rebuilding of his lair, he returned once more to the computer and gave the brain access to one program: Word.

"Are you aware of my typing into your brain which is rather my typing on the keyboard to my advanced computer into which you are connected thanks to my brilliance?" typed the dexterous fingers of Mojo Jojo.

Mojo paused, folding his hands together and straightening himself as he waited. The curser mocked him. He frowned slowly. His eyes narrowed impatiently. His eyelid twitched.

Just as he was about to lift a finger to type again, the curser jumped to the next line. His eyes leapt.

"The monkey?"

Mojo's blank stare shifted. His lip twitched once and then twice, and then it curled like a cozy snake above his chin into a most diabolical sneer revealing all his sharp glinting monstrous teeth. He did indeed look like a monster now in all respects just as this poor beast had once been before becoming a medical disaster.

He typed back, "Yes."

More Coming Soon...