Chapter 1

Jack rubbed his eyes, wiping away the sleep that invaded his subconscious, and the gunk that clouded his vision and glued his eyelids together, probably the eyeliner he never took off. He glanced momentarily at the red glowing alarm clock whose ruby light annoyed Jack to no end, unceasingly reminding him of his insomniatic tendencies. He sighed, Great, four twenty-five, that's a whole two hours of sleep, yay for me. Yawning, he stretched his still sleeping muscles, and pushed away from his computer, eyes closed, sliding across the floor smoothly on his wheeled chair.

"Jack-bots, get me some coffee and the newspaper, and then get me files NM 13 through NM 24." Jack watched with little interest as his robotic servants flew away to fill their commands. Looking down at his black smudged, he scowled slightly. "And a wet towel." Jack scratched his head, ruffling his crimson hair, and looked at the giant brightly light computer screen, quickly forgetting his little dilemma. What was I working on last night again…Squinting his eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden bright light, Jack focused on the infuriatingly brilliant radiance of the monitor, ignoring the way it temporarily blinded him and made his eyes water. In an instant, all the bleariness that fogged his mind disappeared, and was replaced by burning fury that heated his cheeks in an honest anger that he seldom felt. Reading the e-mail on the screen made the resentment in him flare, and blood boil. He felt his hands ball into fists, shaking with the force they were clenched.

Dear Son, As I am sure you know, your mother and I love you very much, but as the business grows, all eyes become trained on our family, as a whole, rather than simply me and my professional business affairs. While I am, and always have been proud of you, it has come to my attention that you are a blatant embarrassment to the name Spicer. It is for that reason we are legally placing you under your own jurisdiction. I believe you are deemed mature enough that you can live without the aid of your mother and me. You may still use the name Spicer, but if asked, you will say that you are unassociated with Spicer Industries. Monthly checks will always be sent, and it will be more than enough for you to live with all the luxuries you are accustomed to, and there will be approximately seven times more money than you currently spend, accompanied by your private trust fund, you will be quite fine. We will always love you, Mr./Mrs. Spicer

Salt water leaked out of Jack's eyes, which he quickly scrubbed away, further smearing the inky material and irritating his eyes even more. He glared at the computer screen past the haze of tears, as if it was its fault that his father was such a hard-ass. And the fact that message itself sounded so…disconnected, like an underpaid, overworked assistance with minimal emotional range had written it so he could finally leave the office after a thirty hour day. He sniffed shakily, a catch in his breath pulled his lungs. Jack had always slightly anticipated a betrayal like this from his father, but the treachery of his mother was what truly painful for him. The mother that had doted him, loved him, held him when he cried, rejoiced with him when he invented. His angry train of thought-albeit tinged with a reflection of happier times -was interrupted as his base began flashing red, startling him out of his reverie. The webpage disappeared, and was replaced by a Shen Gong Wu warning. A loud whine of a siren made him wince and cover his delicate ears, with minimal helpfulness. Sighing, the red head paced to the keyboard, removing his hands long enough to tap a few keys, calming the base, and removing the warning from the display.

"Cancel my previous request, Jack-bots, let's go!" Thinking about it, he refined the command. "Except the wet towel, I'll still need that." The albino activated his heli-pack, flying with little grace out of the opening in his ceiling. Looking at his computerized watch, he read the coordinates out loud, trying to remember where exactly it was, he'd already memorized every continent, state, city, and every basic geographic term that he would possibly need to navigate. A single Jackbot flew ahead of the pack, handing his master the moist paper.

He muttered a quick thanks, before taking it and scoured his face of the offending black, that had begun to run ink rivers down his face. Finally satisfied with his cleaning, he tossed it back to one of the bots, not bothering to look back to see if there was one to receive it, the things were biodegradable, it wasn't going to kill a baby seal, or whatever wasted paper did.

I don't want to do this today…I don't want to get pounded into the ground and laughed at… I don't wanna be called useless, like always. Making a hard left, jerking his body at an uncomfortable angle that did nothing for his already sore body, he continued on his skyward path, watching the scenery roll by beneath him. But it provided little distraction, and his mind started wandering. No, he didn't want to be called useless, but there was a ninety-five percent chance he would be, by the very person he respected most. Thinking of the long haired warrior made Jack sigh hopelessly, like a love sick school girl who fell in love with the bad boy whose sole purpose in life was to ruin the lives of all those around him. Gods, he was a bastard. And rude. Mean. Harsh beyond human recognition. But he made evil an art. A perfectly balanced act of truth and deception where he danced on the fine line of evil and cruelty, often treading on both sides with little concern of who it affected.

The red head was snapped out of his daydream when he heard a familiar, high pitched voice, making him come to a screeching halt in midair.

"You are soon to be buried, Jack Spicer!" A short, bald monk shouted and pointed to Jacks hovering form, waving the raised arm erratically, like he was trying to bat away the non-existent flies that threatened to tread upon his sacred little head. Evidently, the short boy had decided to forego the pleasantries of even a hello. It seemed the effects of early dawn were nonexistent on the monk, and he retained his usual youthful vigor.

"Uhhh…yeah, I think he's trying to say you're going down…" A messy haired Brazilian scratched his brown head, looking slightly confused with a lopsided grin hanging on his darkly tanned face, while green eyes gleamed with playful mischief. But it was obvious he was tired, as he stifled a yawn. Evidently, the boy wasn't an early bird.

"Yes and that too!" Omi continued pointing and looking and waving at Jack, though there was little malice in his high pitched voice. His tiny body was red robe-clad, as always, and his head cast a sunlit gleam that highlighted the odd pattern of dots on his forehead.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, I honestly don't care Xiaolin losers, can we please just get this over with?" Jack landed on the ground-without stumbling he was proud to note-retracting his helipad into his backpack. He flexed his shoulders, trying to work the usual kinks out that often accompanied his brief trips through the air. Flying was never too comfortable, and coupled with the fact that he'd spent the night hunched over a giant keyboard, his back and shoulders were beginning to protest against their unusually rough treatment. It was moments like these that Jack wished he would spend money on the luxury of a chiropractor rather than new machine parts…then again, he could just build one…Ugh, no, getting side-tracked. Wu now, wellbeing later.

"What, the unceasingly annoying Spicer-vermin doesn't want to play villain today." A cold, mocking voice leaked out from the shadows. A black haired, armor clad Hay-Lin warrior strode out smoothly. With his olive toned skin, and long hair, it was unmistakable who he was, though it was doubtful anyone would forget him after even just one encounter. On his face was plastered a mocking grin, exposing abnormally large canines hanging threateningly from his top row of teeth, and his slitted, reptilian yellow eyes held a predatory need for blood and violence.

"C-Chase, hey I, uh… you know what, never mind." Jack clamped his jaw firmly shut. He wasn't in the mood for the usual game of insult Chase always decided to play with him, maybe just shutting up would spare him the typical emotional abuse. Earplugs, gotta put that on the list of things to build next…super earplugs…

Chase cocked an eyebrow. This was unusual. No fanboy-ish demure, no declarations of undying devotion, no begging to be tutored in the way to true evil, nothing. Narrowing his eyes fractionally, Chase carefully took in the sight of the peculiarly uncharacteristic Jack. The boy looked terribly fatigued, his eyes rimmed heavily with dark circles that weren't attributed to his choice in makeup, and they looked puffy like he'd been crying. He seemed to have gone without his signature black eyeliner today…morning. His alabaster skin had taken on a sickly hue more gray than glowing white, though his cheeks had a pink hue, as if they'd been slapped, or maybe rubbed raw. Mahogany hair, habitually gelled to perfection, fell limp around his thin face. A tongue darted out constantly to wet dry, chapped lips. And every move he made was accentuated with a crack of unused bone, or the smallest wince. Overall, the youth had fallen pathetically out of health.

"Let us get his play to the street!" Chase's attention was redirected to the voice of the tiny monk, who proceeded to point and yell at the swaying form of Jack.

"Wow, that one's pretty tough…um, I'm gonna say, get this show on the road. But it's open to debate."

"And that as well! I challenge Jack Spicer and Chase Young to a Xiaolin Showdown, I wager my Orb against Jack's Monkey Staff, and Chase's Two Ton Tunic."

"Hey, wait, Xiaolin los-…uh, monk, what Shen Gong Wu is this anyway?" Jack reserved the question of how the little cue-ball monk knew what Wu her currently had for later. Anyway, there was a little voice inside him saying he really didn't want to know.

"It is the Raya-Clip, now, let the festivities begin!"

"Geez Omi, you just never stop, okay, that one was, let's get this party started."

"Why on earth would I want to have a party right now? Really Raimundo, at times, your tom-foolery is so foolish, now, let us begin, Xiaolin Showdown!"

Without the consent of either Chase or Jack, Omi lifted his Orb of Tsunami above his head and water gushed out in a thick jet. The field began shifting; Omi, Jack, and Chase were being lifted on thin platforms, while the sleepy looking Clay, Raimundo, and Kimiko had a miniature island devoted to themselves. Water filled the space in-between them, and stone tablets lifted into the air, water spilling over the sides. The smooth stone glistened in the warm afternoon sun, and the water cast light in every direction, distorting it and making small rainbows appear everywhere. Finally, the water stopped rising, though mysterious waterfalls that seemed to have no origin persistently rained water around the unmoving monks. Jack was trying to keep his balance on the uneven stone, while Chase and Omi remained stationary, perfectly at ease on the irregularly tilting ground.

Experimentally, Jack leaned to one side, and the platform tilted as his weight was displaced, not a dangerous dip, but a gentle roll that gave him enough time to right his form before falling to the murky depths below. Okay, maybe I can do this. He looked around, searching for a Shen Gong Wu he'd never even seen before. Finally, his eyes rested on the highest point of the field, a good fifty yards up, hovering in the air. From this angle, he couldn't see anything aside from the underbelly of the slab, but judging by the way the two other warrior were making their way up , it was fairly obvious that that was his destination. He looked around, and saw a floating block near him; he jumped, skidding on the slick stone, nearly falling, but the grip on his shoes preventing him from doing so.

"Better watch your step Spicer, god knows how much we'd miss you if you were to meet your untimely demise. And what would any of us do without the brilliance that is your mind?" Heavy sarcasm was laced in Chase's voice, mocking the Goth teen.

And with that sentence, something in Jack snapped. A combination of anger, sadness, sleeplessness, and hunger was built up within him, and it all decided to burst out then. No longer caring for his own safety, Jack jumped from platform to platform. He crept higher into the air, spinning on his toes occasionally to better position himself for another leap, maneuvering and contorting his body to suit his needs. One good thing Mom did for me, ballet…Running across a particularly long strip, he jumped early, missing the next slab completely. But, oddly enough, in his state of anger, his strategic nature came out, he calmly reached out a gloved hand, catching the edge, and swinging underneath, releasing it when he'd made a complete swing forward, spun in the air, and landed lightly, not so much as stumbling when finally upright.

"Geez, when did Jack get so…not sucky?" Kimiko stared, wide-eyed, at the still moving Jack, and watched, in an emotion between wonder and horror, as Jack neared Omi and Chase. Her rainbow colored fingers twitched as if she was going to jump in at any moment, with neither weapon or plan of action.

"Well, guess that partner ain't such a varmint after all." Adjusting his hat, Clay stared up at the suddenly nimble red head, twiddling his bandana in leather gloved hands absent mindedly. He watched passively, blue eyes at half mast due to sleep deprivation.

Jack could finally see two figures ahead of him and his acrobatics became even more frenzied. Now, there were no pauses in his bounds, and his momentum often made his landings very precarious, often teetering just on the verge of falling off the edge.

Glancing over, Chase nearly stopped to stare at what he saw. There was the loud, annoying, un-athletic albino boy, who's ability to completely ruin any good plan was unmatched, gracefully maneuvering his body through the air with all the elegance of a trained acrobat. And the look of intense concentration mixed with livid anger was so well suited for his face, an expression that lacked his usual timidity and made him glow with an obviously burning rage.

Jack was finally near his goal, he didn't even glance at his personal hero and the little cue-ball as he passed by them, at one point even landing on the same platform as Chase, though even then, he blatantly ignored the man. His sole focus was the Wu that was practically at his fingertips. As he neared the top, an errant thought passed through his head, Hmmm…wonder where Wu-Ya went, usually she's fawning over Chase…or trying to kill him. He was surprised when he realized he landed on a sturdy, unmoving surface. Looking down, he saw what looked like a hair clip with a flower curling around the ribs, wrapping around the whole thing almost sensually. Bending down, he picked it up, and held it up to the light, watching as it shined as it caught the morning light that was just beginning to creep onto the horizon. Huh, not really as amazing as I thought it'd be I kinda expected something didn't look like my little cousin would wear…But he'd definitely gabbed the Wu, because the environment was already changing back to how it'd previously been. But as Chase and Omi were lowered, Jack's platform remained hovering. Every warrior, Hay-Lin and Xiaolin alike, was staring at Jack, most of the looks incredulous, and…full of pride? He looked at the Wu and shrugged, tossing it over the edge, to the startled faces of the monks. He just couldn't find it in himself to care about something that suddenly had no value, emotional or otherwise.

He heard a cackle behind him, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over the field.

"Not the person I'd ever expected, but a thorn in my side none the less, good-bye Jack."

He felt a forceful push, accentuated with long, sharp nails that dug into his back without mercy or care, and Jack was falling.