'I won?'

Amazed, Jack stares at the Wu in his arms, even as the world around him spins faster and faster, a wild array of colors blurring by until an erratic series of flashes heralds their setting's return to normal.

The goth shakes his head.

'I mean, of course I won.'

The feel of victory is admittedly strange after such a long line of losses...

But now's not the time to dwell on such a downer.

'Not when I've got much better things to consider.'

He turns a shallow grin behind himself, the look gaining teeth for PandaBubba's attempt at sneaking off to the exit on the other end of the suspended metal cat-walk.

The mob boss's tip-toe pace is to die for.

Yet there's always room for improvement.

So the goth pockets all but one artifact and, with a wicked smile on his face, holds out the remainder.

"Zing Zom-Bone!"

PandaBubba tenses for one spectacular split second before immediately breaking into a mad-dash. The flowing yellow energy rushing after him from the Wu is quicker, however, and as it gains on him, the tip splits apart into five thin tendrils that curl as if fingers.

Thank goodness PB dares to look over his shoulder, because the moment he does, his eyes look ready to pop out of their sockets with how wide he opens them. The shrill shriek that follows certainly puts a snickering smirk on Jack's face, the effect doubling when the high-pitched noise is cut off by the energy latching onto PandaBubba and encapsulating him in a revolving glow.

Seconds of this pass, after which the energy dies down and clears, revealing PandaBubba to have a slouch to his stand. There's a familiar groan rumbling up his throat now, too, the man turning to show off two more features Jack's seen an abundance of today: a drooling, wide-open mouth and owlish eyes lacking any focus.

Jack can't help it: He bursts with laughter, cackling as he moves to lean on one of his two remaining Koi-Bots.

Doing so brings an abrupt end to Jack's good mood, however, his suddenly blank gaze lingering on his re-skinned Koi-Bot before he wheels around for PandaBubba's idiotic form. The brain-dead look he's wearing does nothing to lessen Jack's piercing gaze. Even the impressive string of drool hanging from PB's lower lip can't improve Jack's mood, though the goth has a pretty good idea for how to help the man get rid of it.

He reaches into his trench coat, gripping the Monkey Staff right as foreign footsteps suddenly sound upon the metal platform.

His head swerves around for a look over his shoulder.

'Manager Dude...' Jack recognizes. He turns bodily, then, eyes darting down for the new addition to the guy's outfit. He's able to restrain laughing outright at the pink apron, though, and simply snickers as the mindless man walks up to him with a tray of but one cup of coffee.

Whatever kind it is, it smells delicious, bringing to mind a proposition that has Jack tossing and catching the Wu with one hand.

"Well, what d'ya say Mister T? Wanna make a trade?"

Walking up to the man, he replaces the coffee on the tray with the Zing Zom-Bone.

"Take that to your quarters." Jack pats the man's shoulder as he walks past him.

After all, why not make this whole situation last a little longer?

And in that case, actually…

He turns to add, "Just stay there."

The Losers will be fine. They have Dojo. He's able to sense Wu. And he's as old as Wuya.

So they'll be fine.

Jack pops open the coffee-cup's plastic lid and gulps it down.

'Oh yeah, cappuccino.' Happy, he eyes the warm brown fluid for a moment, looking up to shove open the double doors and continue out them whilst chugging the stuff.

Without a care, Jack's soon pulling an empty carton from his lips and jamming it in a trash can, whistling a tune and pocketing his hands in his trench coat as he goes.

'What a ride.'

Today has been nothing short of a roller-coaster, but in the face of telling off Wuya and ruining PandaBubba's otherwise successful plans, Jack's feeling rather chipper. He hasn't gotten any new robots out of the ordeal, but he has gained a Shen Gong Wu.

All in all, it's been a pretty good day.

All in all, it's been a pretty disastrous day.

And to think that Jack knew right from the start that tossing Vlad out was the best idea – Had been ready to give the order that would have tested his newest prototype on Vlad for breaking into his lair and scaring the bejeezus out of him, but the idiot just had to go and have a half-way decent, relatively evil plan.

Somehow, the Russian moron heard of the Heylin Seed and its fabled power. Though, to no surprise, Vlad's information was incomplete, as his source failed to mention the numerous apocalyptic tales surrounding the damn thing.

Regardless, according to Vlad all they had to do was steal it from those Xiaolin Losers, which Jack laughed at for the fact that it really was the losers guarding the seed and not some bigger one like Guan.

Needless to say, the plan was looking easy enough, and Jack was considering it. Though when the numskull proposed they make a TV series after their inevitable conquering of the world, the deal was sealed. Mostly just to watch Vlad make an idiot of himself (hopefully world-wide). After that got boring, churning out the robotic oppression would have to start, during which Jack supposed he could just tune a monitor on to the proper channel and get some (dumb) amusement every now and then.

There would be seasons of this guilty pleasure – three at most, ending with a gigantic metal hand suddenly crashing through the set and swiping Vlad into a portable jail cell. The attack could very well knock Vlad out, depending on how many obstacles lie between him and the cell, but hopefully not, because the betrayal would be so much more satisfying with Vlad awake for it all. A multitude of angry, teary-eyed expressions that could flash by in Jack's mind every so often during his ruling, losing their humorous edge until all they can rouse is a light chuckle.

However, like just about every other evil scheme as of late, success has been far from achieved, robotic ruling and camera-captured betrayal but a distant dream. No, in its place is Jack's current cacti form, small spikes jutting out from all over himself.

Beside him sprouts Vlad from his very own matching red flower pot. Aligned legs have hardened into light-gray bark that leads up to a body of pink leaves. Arms once of flesh now curve and reach for the sky with countless branches sprouting in all directions, dashes of yellow flowers adding to Vlad's overwhelming vibrancy.

Fortunately, Jack's newest robotic venture managed to scare Gigi off with its dual napalm flame-thrower armament. Just one healthy, wild spray of unquenchable flames and the traitorous plant hightailed it straight over the surrounding wall of his property. Which also made a rather blazing mess of the yard, and while his two last-remaining Jack-Bots are still extinguishing the flames, he's nonetheless utterly relieved the prototype's malfunction and subsequent systems failure came after his enemy left.

The only thing being that Vlad is now free to turn his bushy maw on Jack, expression pointed with anger that makes it oh so clear Vlad is ignoring the very real pros of their situation.

For which Jack gives a spiky glare.

'At least he's gone you ungr–'

"I should have known better than come to you for help," Vlad states.

"Me?" Jack barks. What was once a hand goes to Jack's chest before being thrust out at Vlad's… person? Fauna? "What did you even do? Nothing, that's what!" A mild snarl forms on Vlad's face. "We wouldn't have even gotten that stupid seed if not for my bots, my detector, and my vehicle!"

Vlad snorts with little care for his proven uselessness and turns his grumpy expression away from Jack. "Not surprise, though," he continues on, pink leaves rustling, "since 'evil genius' always Jack up everything. Is no wonder Wuya dump you."

"I left her," seethes the goth, his thorns bristling.

Snorting, Vlad chuckles, "Da, sure."

Jack's teeth grit so hard he tastes chlorophyll.

This is it. This is the final straw – the final indignity in what seems to be an ongoing streak of loss and humiliation. Not even two days ago, he'd been stuck as a monkey thanks to one of Chase's schemes, and already he's enjoying yet another permanent species change.

For the sake of his teeth, Jack shoves that particular recollection out of mind. He's still simmering, though, and can't help scowling at the useless barbarian next to him. At least until his eyes give out and he tears his gaze away.

The downward spiral has officially lost its luster. There is literally a bad taste in his mouth, and with such great company available for each and every crash to loss, evil isn't feeling particular fun.

Jack snarls at such an incredible notion.

That's not possible. It's impossible. It should be, anyways! It's evil for evil's sake! What happened to the spark that used to light in his charcoal heart when he proclaims himself an evil boy genius? The thrill? The malicious glee? When did it fade so far from what it once was… from where it began...

"You sure about that?" The woman smirked, doubling her facial wrinkles. "It's a lonely road, Jack: You won't make any friends."

The boy pouted at her teasing jab. "So?" When did he ever need that? What would he need that for when, "I'll have robots. Loads of them! An entire army – and together we'll rule the world!" His fists shot for the air, excitement getting the best of him.

Her hand plopped onto his head; the boy whined as she rustled his hair. "'We' huh? Why would I wanna rule with a snotty brat like you?"

"I meant my bots!"

"Oh really?" Her pointer finger and thumb grab a portion of hair near his neck. Yanking earned a shriek as he pulled away, his hands flying to cover and rub the spot.

She chuckled at the blushing boy. "Well, you're not gonna scare anyone screaming like a dying rabbit."

"You pulled my hair!"

"You were rude," she griped, shrugging a shoulder.

"So were you!"

She shrugged her other shoulder, lips quirking.

The squinting boy's tongue shot out at her. "Want another?" It pulled right back into his mouth. He shook his head.

"Didn't think so. Now, stop your whinin–"

"I do not!"

"And stop interrupting me! I look like some self-righteous goody two-shoes to you?" Her grumpy gray eyes narrowed into faintly blue points that kept his sour pout silent. She moved along. "Have you thought about how you're gonna get around?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"With your robots." Her clarification helped none, though its blunt edge painted a faint smile upon him. She growled in agitation at his otherwise blank stare. "You're not just gonna let them have all the fun, are you?"

He sneered at that, declaring, "No."

Nothing followed. She grew exasperated.

"Well they're gonna move, right, genius?"

"Duh!" She knew that!

"Fast?" His shoulders dropped, the boy rolling his eyes. This nod, however, had her arms crossing. "So how are you going to keep up?" She smirked at his clueless blinks, and slowly, with each passing second of his dawning realization, a devious row of incomplete chops revealed.

"You're thinking too much of them and not enough about you." Her pointer finger darted into his forehead. He grunted in surprise, his flailing arms failing to swat her hand.

"I would have thought of that." Unfortunately, she heard the left out "eventually" loud and clear.

"Sure you would've. Right after you're left in the dust and have to be carried like a child."

Caught red handed already, the boy sputtered indignant denials, each syllable tasting extraordinarily weak.

"Fortunately for you," her index finger briefly wheeled before his returning pout, "your Granny's got just the thing." His interest was already piqued, but then a vile smirk pulled her chapped lips into a crooked line that almost curled on one end, her mean eyes darkening back to a blue-gray. "And it'll go great with the threads."

There's never been any doubt, but unlike then, the gift is all he's managed to keep hold of. Unlike then, their history is avoided, shoved down to the bottom of a cold pit that grieving solitude whittled and cracked into a crater of spite. The memories, the fondness for her every word, her mere voice – they all send a bitter caress along the crevice in his chest that scratches at the ice and sends a surge of burning hell through his head, where it sharpens vermilion knives for the ones that never cared. That he had to learn that of and force himself to somehow accept.

She'd always been right. Always.

He should have known not to hope. He should have... but he'd been… so…

Sick as it is, he was happy when he first met Wuya. He hadn't known exactly what kind of evil to expect from the puzzle box he purchased from some shady dragon at a black market gathering, but an evil spirit hadn't been it, which he'd gotten across with a prompt shriek at her.

"Spooky ghost lady! Jack-Bots, attack!"

She wasn't (and still isn't) kind on either the eyes or nostrils, but she was clearly sinister. The intro chuckle she gave was foul.

He just didn't know yet that the word fits in more than one way.

"Plans for world conquest? My dear boy, we have much in common."

In some strange, demented way, that actually proved true. She showed clear, genuine hatred for everyone and everything on this giant rock. In so many ways, their conversations mirrored a time of the past. Of a time when snarky banter with an unequally aged person lifted his spirit from the grave.

Granny hadn't been nice, but it worked for them... so he figured why not give the witch hag a shot.

Evil camaraderie, a legit path toward world domination, him at last attaining respect for his wicked genius – it was all so enticing. He only betrayed all the other Heylin because he assumed it would always be him and Wuya against the world.

He'd jumped too fast at the rare opportunity to seemingly regain what'd been lost. To prove he didn't have to be alone. In the end, though, there was one key quality missing: Loyalty.

He should have known better when Wuya tried to work with Ashley instead of him, but… he was desperate. Their butting of heads just held such pleasant familiarity that he couldn't help himself. He clung to it until the truth was laid out before him, and even then, he'd gripped until their snarky banter turned caustic bickering finally tore away denial.

She was using him. Pure and simple. May have been all along.

Seething anger cuts through Jack again. He shuts his eyes hard, denying tears, but is unable to clench his jaw hard enough to prevent the low growl rumbling in his throat. Grinding his teeth together helps cut the noise off, though, him breathing through them until his mind reaches a miffed clarity.

Everyone he has ever met on the side of evil has been terrible company. Not one Heylin can he stand being in shared company with. How can he, though, when all of them treat him like second rate trash!?

'Evil. Alliances. You morons! ' Jack seethes.

How else are they suppose to beat the Xiaolin LOSERS!? Heck, even they're beginning to –

No. No no no– Not going there.

Yet for the first time, Jack doesn't latch onto delusional hopes for eventual camaraderie. The anger pulsing in his head tears every vague team-up to the shreds of pitiful, disgustingly desperate wishes they are, leaving emptiness that's almost always been. A scathing chill that seizes every tick leeching off his intelligence, demanding their exile.

So from their every recess, they're wrenched from mind. One horrendous partner and smelly associate by one.

The most horrid of all Heylin is, unsurprisingly, the very first to pierce Jack's psyche, in much the same manner her shrieks do. Never mind her absence over the past week: Nothing gets a migraine going faster than an angry Wuya, and once she gets going, she doesn't stop.

'Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag,' recalls the evil boy genius. Flowers on the ends of his arms shut and re-bloom to accentuate each word.

The only thing worse is when she's yelling and nagging at the same time, effectively taking out both auditory and olfactory functions; because of course she has breath that can call vultures down from the sky.

And kill them.

Jack shudders at the atrocious recollections, thorns rustling again.

Vlad's curious, yet still-agitated look goes ignored.

How that woman hasn't managed to scream his soul from his being, Jack will never know. She certainly screamed at him enough to have made substantial progress by now. After all, the quality of their relations is the one thing that's ever managed to almost match the legendary stench residing in her ethereal mouth. No wonder no one else was at that dragon's stall: The guy was a lying, up-selling snake-oil salesman. "Greatest evil" his left foot. All that came out meeting that description was her breath – backed by that mug she calls a face.

The only schemer to come close to those prime examples of treachery is Chase Young, if only for the shorter duration the boy genius has made the warlord's acquaintance. Of which Jack feels he should be glad for, considering the whole monkey thing was their first real collaborative effort in the name of evil.

The guy just shows up inside his lair, declines all offered food, doesn't share his plan, and expects Jack to be cool with it. Which Jack of course played at, as it's not everyday that such reputable evil breaks and enters into his residence to threaten him into offering his evil expertise.

Honestly, how could he decline? This was his evil aspiration, after all. Well, one of them, anyways... even if Chase always calls him an insect. Which is worse than monkey, for sure, but that's far from the point.

That is no way to treat an evil boy genius. The countless cat-warrior attacks on his person only make Jack doubly happy that his initial goal always has been to eventually double cross him. The only real issue is that the warlord flat-out scares him into undignified screams…

Then again, a number of things do that.

Like giant one-eyed creatures of Greek mythical origin.

Cyclops.

Just one of those baths is worthy of a quarantine, but multiple? Inconceivable even after the fact. The aroma produced by Cyclops' stench mixing with that of the extreme cleaning solutions' is such that Jack's nose was numb for nearly a week after the first time. Though at least he couldn't smell Wuya's yells during this.

Needless to say, any clothing worn during these foul instances were beyond salvageable. Burning them was the only real recourse, and he lost count of how many outfits fell victim a long time ago.

Add in zero intelligence and additional maintenance – feeding him, finding somewhere the beast can fit, toe-nail clipping, cleaning his giant messes – and you've got a towering red recipe for aggravating failure.

'And a mutinous one at that,' Jack scathingly tacks on. The bumbling oaf not only got slobber all over the Wings of Tanabi that day, but body-freaking-slapped Jack straight out of the air and into a painful slide along the ground. And that was their first day together. And the monks saw it.

Still, he'd take that over-sized buffoon over Ashley any day of the year. Why, just the thought of her disgusting whiskered face brings forth an all-encompassing shudder. Jack's pot even rattles, a few thorns coming loose.

Yet another glance of Vlad's is ignored.

No one breaks into Jack's lab more than Ashley. His well-established hate for cat-puns attests to this fact. As well as the stolen Wu, damaged (if not utterly destroyed) inventions, cat litter, paw prints, and the sometimes-bonus of a fur ball or three.

She even smells like cat litter sometimes. Cat. Litter. Not once has he allowed himself to rationalize it. What he does wonder, however, is just why, exactly, the cat-freak had to go and free Wuya from her re-imprisonment within another puzzle box. That hadn't been easy to accomplish even with the Losers' help – to no surprise – and for that putz to just go and…

It's Ashley's fault he had to further endure that hag's loathsome presence. Never mind his agreement with said hag to renew the flimsy alliance.

'It wouldn't have even been possible if not for Ashley,' seethes Jack.

He regrets ever forming any sort of alliance with her. As well as this Soviet barbarian, Jack now directing his ire at Vlad. His nose turns up at the sight of Vlad taking in his new leafy appearance.

This one has mental retardation written all over him. The kind that needs several layers of electric tape wound over their mouth.

All they had to do was leave that underground cave after they'd collected the treasure trove of Shen Gong Wu. Just leave. That's all! Laugh at the soaked monks a bit, depart from the cave, and enjoy the haul. But no, the brawny idiot couldn't do that. Instead, Vlad opened his big, stupid mouth, ignored Jack's order for silence, and taunted the losers with exactly how he'd tricked Omi.

He should have known Vlad was a lost cause when he saw the five-dollar haircut and those bushes growing over his eyes. Not to mention the body proportions that scream Vlad skimps on leg days.

...

'Can this guy do anything right!?'

NO! Everything is partial with this communist moron. That's why the monks were able to find Omi after Vlad's particularly cruel method of subtracting Chrome Dome from the equation: The idiot left the one Wu that could undo all the evil work he'd somehow managed to accomplish.

'A little common sense is just too much to ask for!'

Seething seconds pass, Vlad eyeing a couple new flowers on his chest with gloomy displeasure. The Russian's frown tugs down on one end at a few more sprouting there. Little joy is to be found in the brute's drooping shoulders. Though just when Jack's about as visually nauseated as he can bear to be…

It's amazing that he can manage to feel good about anything right now, but his cacti form suddenly doesn't seem so bad.

A bouquet of pink and yellow flowers have abruptly sprouted from the soil in Vlad's pot, the gawking brute's saucers glued to them as Jack's evil grin makes its first appearance since their species change.

'Now that's what I'm talkin' about.'

It only earns a gentle chuckle from Jack, though, a miffed snort leaving him whilst his dulling eyes drift to the singed ground.

The conclusion his caustic thoughts are reaching is obvious.

Overwhelming failure is all that awaits him on this road. Once again, he's tried his hardest, put all his heart into something, and come out on rock bottom. It's nothing new, yet it spites him all the same with one irrefutable fact: 'Nothing's changed...'

He's right back where he started: A life as empty as the mansion he's been living in for most of his life. All these years of perfecting his Jack-Bot design, of mastering his brand of evil, of finding a group made up of mutually-aligned freaks, have made no impact. He's still the exile. The tolerated presence. Any Heylin he rounds up seem to only gather for the sake of belittling him together, sharing all his recent losses while past victories are long forgotten, but, oh, they're all more than happy to lay claim to parts of the world should they succeed.

Parasites, all of them. No different than the annoying children that copied off him in what early grade school he managed to get by. It's bad enough he had to play some pathetic sort of heroic role alongside those Xiaolin Losers when Wuya suddenly conquered the world with a wayward Loser of Wind, but now he's found himself with less and less time for his passion: robotics. Repairs are too frequent, his funds are heading for rock bottom, all would-be cohorts belittle him at every chance – and then there's the Shen Gong Wu revelations.

It's no surprise his win-loss ratio in Showdowns has plummeted. It's too much all at once – tiring just to think about, and he can't bear to do so about these morons any longer, even if he did leave out one jarring gastropod of a ninja, a short-sighted panda-freak, and a thankfully gone mime – all of which are pests in their own unique right.

'This sucks…'

He's in a rut. It's clear as a non-evil day. But it's a giant rut: One that expands with no end. And there's no way he is ever, 'that's ever,' going to go with the other option.

He'd never waste his time. The monks' opinion of him is well-known, and… it just flat-out wouldn't work. Though they do seem to rank lower on the scoreboard than the Heylin.

Admittedly by a lot, he now realizes.

Snorting, Jack manages a muted smile, watching his two Jack-bots put out the last-remaining flames left on the expansive front yard. 'Still, screw that,' he decides.

There are other reasons of course. Like screw Surfer Boy, sayonara Twenty Gallons, see'ya Chrome Dome, peace Master Fungus… bye Dojo?

'Eh, he's alright enough,' concedes the boy with as best a shrug as he can manage. He did try to run Dojo over with his Evil Transforming Bot in that subway station, so Jack supposes he can forgive the whole getting eaten by Dojo thing. Besides, that was Omi's fault anyways.

'See'ya Chrome Dome, and goodbye Kimiko…'

Oh yeah, that's going to be a great subtraction. Both of them, really. It, like so many other things, is just his luck. On the one hand is a small boy with a somehow mountain-sized ego to match his head that for some sure-to-be-idiotic reason seems to have taken a liking to him. Why the boy is so adamant on him joining the loser crew, Jack will never understand, but it's never happening. Good is lame – simple as that – and even if it weren't, that's one out of… four? Five? Six?

'Do we count Dojo and Fungus, or...' ponders Jack.

Nevertheless, it's never happening. He's simply been too bad a villain.

Which brings him to the other gloved hand: A girl with a smart (and sometimes equally as hot) head who manages to have it in the latter state more often than not when she's near him. He has no doubt that every fiber of her being resents him, and if that hadn't been accomplished with his stupid attempts at impressing her during the whole Chameleon-Bot scheme, all his evil deeds that followed since then have certainly done it.

Really, he wouldn't be surprised if she still held a grudge for him sending Omi back into the past without a way to get him back. Even though it was a genuine mistake. Honestly, he'd only been able to go back two seconds before the losers came along with their Eye of Dashi, so of course nothing ever went past beta-testing!

So the girl he possibly considers... not... such a... loser... border-line hates him. No biggie. She's going to have to get in line, though.

'Evil boy genius here,' Jack reminds. Just too bad its punch is weaker...

Nonetheless, the punch she gave him to the face for her father is solid evidence of his evil status. And wow did she hit hard. She always does, but damn if that time hadn't been harder. Just further proof of whom is really the strongest, he figures.

'Certainly the scariest...'

In hindsight, he shouldn't have been surprised when she knew of his presence for her father's turn to a zombie, but, hey, it's a stride in evil nonetheless. The lights-out hit having been the end to a showdown is completely beside the point: She knows nothing. No important details. Only that he'd been there.

Good. Because he'd even settle for plain old "boy genius" any day over…

Yet another audible shudder shakes his plant body. Once again, motions resultant of disgust are running though him. What's that add to the depressing equation? STRESS! Most closely attributed to a back-stabbing, smelly, tentacle-bearing, screaming, ugly witch-hag of an apparition.

Sighing, Jack's eyes wander over toward his vine-covered home. He blinks dully, orbs trailing over the vine-y mess covering its entirety. His lips thin out.

In contrast to before, all this place has made him aware of for the last six years is just how alone he really is. No friends. No family. The only one to care is gone, and his parents want nothing to do with him. The latter absence, though, is his choice. He made it right on that grave day, right after their utter ignorance had him glaring so hard at the back of their seats as they rode to yet another mansion of theirs that they'd be hosting a party at.

"What's wrong with me?" Small words, desperate for an answer.

When his spiteful plan was done, he got exactly what he wished for.

"Whose opinions matter to them?"

Exile. Freedom. Finally , he was free.

"When's the last time they took you somewhere other than one of those parties?"

Free of opulent parties filled to the brim with snobbish, repugnant people literally enjoying themselves in droves, dressing in their suits and ties, high heels and extravagant dresses, their expressions prim and condescending.

"Do they ever give you one?"

Free of their droll topics that were such that Jack could feel himself losing intelligence with every word he was forced to endure, to listen to, for the sake of keeping the family name in a good light – to keep these horrid people coming back.

"But they want you to smile at theirs, right?"

Free of children that managed to be worse than the parents.

"They make you go to others', don't they?"

Free of attires he wouldn't want to be caught dead in.

"Do you recognize yourself when you wear them?"

Free of that damned wig that shamed his natural head of flames.

"Does that make you happy?"

Free of childish hopes that always fell to reality.

"Have they ever tried to make you happy?"

Free of them .

"Then why should they matter to you ?"

He was free and it felt GOOD! He didn't need them! Granny always took care of him, even in…

Her squeeze suffocates him in solace. "H'what's wrong with you..." If her voice broke, the boy wasn't sure, but nor did he care. "What kind of stupid question is that? They're the ones with the problem." She wiped his slate clean of its trails. "Their kid's a genius, and they had nothing to do with it."

...She left him everything he'd need to make it on his own, to make his dream a reality. Money, a place to live, contacts he'd need to gain invitation to black market gatherings. He was thankful – always has been - just far from happy.

They're needs, to be sure, especially for his hobby, but... They don't tell mean jokes. Don't stay up late to watch cartoons and root for the villain, offer a helping hand on crude blueprints, listen to what you have to say, or give advice on life – and it certainly doesn't practice its evil laugh in the mirror beside you...

Ever since… and for the rest of his life… he'll miss–

"Aww, is evil genius crying? Little Jack need Mommy and Dadd–"

His crying eyes widen with an infuriated growl cutting right out of his throat, his flared nose twitching. Intense pupils slice for his creations. "Get rid of this moron now! "

The two Jack-Bots halt their actions, their startled optics swerving to Jack.

"NOW! "

They soar past Jack. "Aye aye, sir! "

Though Jack doesn't see it, they grab onto a branch each of the sputtering Russian boy, him looking from one bot to the other in quick succession. "Wait, I tak–!"

Whatever lie he's about to utter is cut off by the Jack-bots soaring up into the air with him, Vlad screaming as he trails right behind them. Jack glares at them. They're nearly over the property's surrounding concrete wall when they suddenly stop, swing their arms forward, and let go, sending Vlad soaring from the property. A messy trail of vibrant leaves and flowers trail the screaming moron.

Jack scowls, though when his bots return beside him, he still thanks them, if a bit gruffly.

This may very well be the end of his Heylin career, but not evil. It's just time to go back to his roots is all. A purer form. Jack's never forgotten Granny's last words for him, and he has a plan. One that will work. It's already in the makings, and once it's finished, he'll be blasting off.

The idea's been considered before, but never dwelled on for the sentiment this mansion holds and insufficient time for such a project between Shen Gong Wu revealings. But he's found himself working on the blueprints for it anyways, the urge just raw. He doesn't recall when he started losing enough to stop caring about the present, and he's not looking to recall, because he's always wanted a real lair.

The Air-Capable Base Package will be large even before it's finished, so he'll have to work on it outside for a time. He'll miss a few Showdowns before finishing it, he's sure, but since his only remaining Shen Gong Wu since losing everything else to Gigi is the Monkey Staff, Jack figures little interference from the losers will come. Or the Heylin, considering Wuya's lack of interest in that particular artifact.

So when he's finally returned to his original species out of the blue, he goes straight to the house's basement, intent on finishing Project A.C.B.P.