Jack stood over the girl's unconscious form, the flickering glow of his workstation casting long, wavering shadows across the makeshift medbay he'd cobbled together. His lair, usually a chaotic mess of scattered tools and half-finished robots, had taken on a strange, sterile quality in this corner. A faint antiseptic smell hung in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of oil and metal.
He had restrained her, of course. A mixture of leather straps, chains, and reinforced cables bound her wrists and ankles to the metal table, holding her in place. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up swinging those claws around. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her — really studied her — for the first time since the fight. Now that she wasn't trying to kill him, he had the luxury of curiosity.
Her skin was pale, and streaked with black tribal tattoos that ran along her jaw, ribs, and upper arms. Her short black hair, matted with sweat and blood, framed her face in messy strands, the white bangs a sharp contrast that drew his gaze. But it was her eyes that had haunted him. Even closed, he could remember the piercing crimson glow — predatory, like she was seeing right through him, deciding whether he was worth tearing apart.
He had seen plenty of weird stuff in his time — magic, Shen Gong Wu, mystical warriors — but this… this was something else. There was a feral edge to her even in stillness.
Jack exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked her over. Her body was littered with cuts, bruises, and deep gashes. The fight had taken its toll on her, despite her terrifying strength. He'd done his best to clean and bandage the worst of her wounds, but she was still a mess. Blood stained the straps around her wrists, where her claws had dug in during her unconscious spasms.
She wasn't human. That much was obvious. But… what was she?
His gaze lingered on her claws, still stained with a mix of her own blood and oil from his destroyed bots. They looked like they could tear through concrete without much effort. He reached out, cautiously brushing a finger against one of the sharp talons, testing the edge. A bead of blood instantly welled up on his fingertip. He yelped and yanked his hand back, sticking the finger in his mouth with a hiss.
"Great. Should've seen that coming," he muttered. "Note to self: Don't touch the deadly assassin."
He leaned against the edge of the table, folding his arms as he stared at her, lost in thought. Chase Young hadn't exactly sent amateurs after him before — wildcats, shadow creatures, Wuya's stone golems — but this? This was something else entirely. Whoever or whatever she was, Chase must've thought she was more than enough to get the job done.
Except she hadn't.
Jack's lips curled into a small, smug grin as he glanced around the wreckage of his lair. His bots were trashed, his lair was in ruins, and yet… here he was. Alive. And that made him the winner.
Sort of.
"So… Chase Young sent you, huh?" he mused aloud, wrapping a bandage around her midsection. "To get rid of little ol' me. Typical. I'm guessing you didn't expect me to outlast you."
He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. The more he talked, the more ridiculous it felt. Chase sending someone like this wasn't his usual style. No, this was different. Personal, even.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Jack's smile faded as he let out a heavy sigh. He scratched the back of his head, feeling the weight of the situation finally settle in. Was she some kind of assassin? A mercenary? Did Chase just send her out like a trained attack dog? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers.
He glanced at the restraints again, a faint flicker of doubt crossing his mind. Chase wouldn't have sent someone like her unless he was serious. Which meant the second she woke up, she'd probably try to finish what she started. The restraints wouldn't hold her forever.
Jack sighed, picking up another bandage from the cluttered med kit he'd thrown together. He wasn't a doctor, but years of getting his butt kicked by the Xiaolin monks had taught him how to patch up injuries. Though this was his first time working on someone who could probably rip his head off without breaking a sweat.
Carefully, he dabbed at one of the deeper wounds on her side, frowning at the dark blood that soaked into the cloth. She didn't stir, her face slack, lips slightly parted as she slept through it all, but Jack could still feel the tension. He could tell this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
He stepped back, wiping his hands on his pants as he eyed the chains securing her wrists and ankles. They were tight, and he'd made sure to triple-check every lock, but even now he wasn't entirely convinced she couldn't just break free. He glanced over at his remaining bots — only two functional ones left, standing by just in case.
"Let's hope that holds," he muttered, grimacing.
He let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer, his thoughts swirling. What was her name? Did she even have one? And why, why, hadn't he just finished her off when he had the chance?
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was stupidity.
Or maybe it was the glimmer of something else he'd seen in her eyes. Something that looked an awful lot like his own desperation — the kind of desperation that made someone take orders from a guy like Chase Young, no questions asked. She'd taken hits that should've put her down, but she kept fighting. That kind of determination… Jack knew it well. It was the same drive that kept him going, even when everyone underestimated him, even when he failed.
"Who are you?" he whispered, his gaze drifting across her features. There was something almost tranquil about her now, though he knew better than to believe it for a second. She was a monster — no doubt about that.
But what kind?
Jack shook his head, turning back to his workbench. His tools were scattered across it, along with the few medical supplies he had managed to scrounge up. He grabbed a clean cloth, soaking it in antiseptic before returning to her side. Carefully, almost methodically, he wiped away the blood from one of her deeper wounds.
Her skin was cold to the touch, but her pulse was steady. She'd recover. And when she did… Jack wasn't sure what would happen.
More importantly, what was he supposed to do with her? He couldn't exactly call up Chase and return her, like, "Hey, your assassin broke into my lair and tried to kill me. You want her back?" That wasn't happening. But keeping her around wasn't exactly a smart move either. If she woke up and decided to finish what she started… well, Jack didn't have enough robots left to survive round two.
He sighed, slumping into his chair, propping his boots up on the edge of the medbay table. "Alright, Spicer. Think. You've got a deadly assassin in your lair, tied up and bleeding all over your equipment. What's the play here?"
He glanced at her again, this time taking in the softer details — the curve of her face, the smoothness of her skin beneath the blood and grime. She almost looked peaceful like this, the harshness of battle stripped away, leaving something more vulnerable.
Not that he was getting soft or anything. Jack didn't do the whole "compassion" thing. It was just — well, there was something weird about seeing someone who was moments away from killing you look so… human.
He glanced back at her face, frowning slightly. "You're not gonna make this easy, are you?"
Of course not. Nothing ever was.
Far from Jack Spicer's chaotic lair, the air in Chase Young's domain was eerily still, like the calm before a storm. Dark stone walls loomed high, casting long, ominous shadows in the dimly lit chamber. It held the ambiance of an ancient fortress — ornate, regal, and cold. Silent.
Wuya sauntered across the room, her long, black robe trailing behind her. She was a striking figure: tall, sleek, with sharp green eyes that gleamed with a dangerous curiosity. Her lips curled into a sly smile as she approached Chase, who sat cross-legged on an elevated stone platform, surrounded by flickering braziers of green fire.
"Still brooding, I see," she drawled, her voice a smooth, venomous purr.
Chase didn't bother to look at her. His golden, reptilian eyes were half-closed, meditative, focused on some inner contemplation that she couldn't quite grasp — nor did she care to.
"Is there something you want, Wuya?" He asked, his voice calm. He barely moved, his posture as statuesque as ever.
She smirked, tilting her head as she came to stand before him, her presence as serpentine as her tone. "Oh, nothing much. I was just wondering about your latest little... project." She let the last word hang in the air, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "You sent something after Jack, didn't you?"
Chase's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, but he remained silent.
Wuya took that as a yes.
She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting in a grin. "I sensed something... otherworldly, something powerful. You've been dabbling in ancient magic again, haven't you?"
Chase nodded, though the gesture was slow and deliberate. "It's from the depths of the void," he replied, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the cavernous chamber. "A realm where only the strongest survive, where lesser beings are consumed without mercy." He glanced at Wuya, his golden eyes gleaming with a cold, predatory light. "I called forth a beast — an abomination forged in the endless cycle of death and carnage. A perfect weapon. One that requires no persuasion, no manipulation."
Her smirk deepened, though there was a glint of admiration in her eyes. "Impressive," she purred. "So, what kind of... beast did you bring into our little world?"
His voice carried an eerie calmness. "A creature with no name. A monstrosity that exists only to consume, destroy, and obey." He paused, his gaze hardening. "It will eliminate Spicer. Permanently."
She let out a soft laugh, her expression one of wicked delight. "You're so confident. No pesky human emotions to get in the way. No chance of betrayal. You truly think it'll succeed?"
"Nothing can stop it," He replied coldly, his eyes narrowing. "It is a creature bound by the ancient magic that summoned it. Once unleashed, it will not stop until its target is eradicated. Jack Spicer will soon be nothing more than a memory."
Wuya let out a satisfied hum, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "A beast summoned from the void... So, what does it look like? Does it have a face? Or is it just all fangs and claws?" Her tone was playful, but there was a genuine curiosity beneath it.
Chase gave the slightest inclination of his head. "It is not its form that matters, but its function. It is a tool, a weapon forged in the fires of its own survival. Its power lies in its ferocity, its inability to feel anything but the hunger to hunt and destroy." He glanced at her briefly. "It has already been set upon its prey."
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what if — just hypothetically, of course — this beast of yours fails? You said so yourself, Jack is resourceful."
His expression darkened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "It will not fail."
She laughed softly, her voice a whisper of malice. "Well, here's hoping your little monster lives up to your expectations. It would be such a shame if he managed to weasel his way out of this one."
Chase's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting like a blade. "He won't."
It would destroy Jack Spicer.
Or die trying.
Several hours later. . .
A low, guttural growl reverberated through the lab, snapping Jack out of his thoughts. He turned slowly, eyes widening as the girl's body shifted ever so slightly on the steel table. Her fingers twitched, her claws scraping against the cold metal, and her breathing became more ragged, more deliberate.
Jack's heart skipped a beat. She's waking up.
He took a cautious step back, gripping the edge of the workbench behind him as if it could somehow protect him from the impending storm. Her crimson eyes fluttered open, their eerie glow flickering like embers in a dying fire. For a moment, she seemed disoriented, her gaze unfocused as it roamed the room, taking in the blinking lights, the scattered tools, and the towering robots standing sentinel.
Then her eyes locked onto him.
The growl deepened, a sound so primal it made the hair on Jack's neck stand on end. She bared her sharp teeth, lips curling back in a snarl. The chains rattled as she tugged against them, her muscles straining, but the restraints held firm.
"You," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Let me go."
Jack blinked, his initial fear melting into something else. Amusement. Relief. The rush of adrenaline faded, and he couldn't help the smirk that crept onto his face.
"Wow, look who's awake!" he said, his tone dripping with mock surprise. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning casually against the workbench as if he hadn't just nearly died fighting her. "You were out for a while there. I was starting to think I might have to put you in a coma ward or something."
Her response was another feral growl, her body twisting violently against the chains. The muscles in her arms and legs flexed, claws scraping against the metal in an attempt to break free. But every movement was sluggish, labored — her injuries still too severe to let her fight at full strength. Dark blood seeped through the fresh bandages Jack had applied, staining the pristine white gauze.
Jack raised an eyebrow, watching her struggle with a mixture of fascination and smug satisfaction. "Oh, don't strain yourself too much. You're still pretty banged up. Trust me, I'd know. I did just spend the last couple hours patching you up."
Her eyes flashed with fury, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it. Confusion. She glanced down at the bandages, and the crude but effective stitching along her side. For a moment, it seemed to register. He'd kept her alive. He'd helped her.
But just as quickly, her expression hardened again. She snapped her gaze back to him, pupils constricting into slits. "I don't need your help."
"Yeah, you're welcome," Jack quipped, pushing off the workbench and taking a step closer, though still keeping a safe distance. "This is the part where you say, 'Thanks for not letting me bleed out on your floor, Jack. You're a real lifesaver!' But, hey, no need to rush the gratitude. I can wait."
She sneered, her voice dripping with barely restrained violence. "When I get out of these chains, I'm gonna rip your throat out."
Jack let out a short, nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, see, that's not exactly helping your case. If anything, it's making me want to tighten those restraints a little more." He moved closer, leaning over the table with that infuriating grin plastered across his face. "Besides, you're not exactly in any condition to be making threats right now, are you?"
She suddenly snapped her jaws at him, a feral, vicious movement that made him screech and flinch backward. She grinned, baring sharp teeth despite the pain searing through her body. "Scared?"
"Scared? Me?!" Jack puffed out his chest, regaining his smug composure. "Please. I let you live. You really should be thanking me! And let's not forget who's restrained to a table right now." He gestured to her bindings, his voice dripping with mockery. "So, y'know, you can stop with the big bad wolf routine. It's kinda not working anymore."
She glared at him, her breathing ragged. The pain was making it hard to think, hard to focus, but her rage kept her going. "Enjoy your last moments," she snarled, her voice cold and venomous. "When I get out of here, I'll make you suffer."
"Uh-huh," Jack replied, unfazed. "Real scary stuff." He crossed his arms, looking way too pleased with himself. "But here's the thing — you're not getting out of here. You've got, like, what? Three broken ribs? That cut on your side's pretty deep, too. Not to mention the whole being-tied-down thing. So I'm thinking… maybe you should focus on not bleeding out instead of making threats you can't back up."
Her eyes narrowed, her tail twitching faintly against the table. "You have no idea what I can do."
"Well I know you're some sort of attack dog Chase sent after me," Jack said, leaning casually against the workbench behind him. "And I gotta say, as far as assassins go, you're impressive. I mean, most of my bots didn't even make you break a sweat." He tilted his head, smirking. "But, uh, looks like I still won in the end."
"I'm not finished with you yet," she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice filled with quiet fury.
"Yeah, well, good luck with that." Jack gave a dramatic sigh, turning his attention back to the workbench as he began to pack away leftover supplies back into his makeshift kit. "But until you're, you know, less beat up and more terrifying, I think I'll just enjoy the fact that for once, I'm not the one getting pounded into the ground." He shot her a smug grin over his shoulder. "Feels kinda nice, actually."
She growled, tugging against the chains once more, but her strength was still sapped, her body too injured to break free. "You think this will stop me?"
Jack turned, folding his arms with a grin. "Oh, I know it will."
For the first time, silence hung between them, thick and charged. Her breath came in shallow, angry bursts, her eyes burning with hate. Jack, meanwhile, kept his grin in place, but there was a glint of something in his eyes — a mix of curiosity and wariness. He wasn't as confident as he pretended to be, not really.
She growled again, louder this time, but it was less of a threat and more a growl of frustration. Jack was toying with her, and she couldn't stand it. But her injuries left her trapped, her body betraying her instincts to fight.
"Enjoy this while you can," she spat, her voice low and venomous. "You won't be gloating for long."
"Sure, whatever you say." He leaned in one last time, grinning down at her. "Sweet dreams, little monster."