Jack Spicer sat alone in his dim, gadget-filled lair, spinning a small photo of you between his gloved fingers. His eyes glowed behind his goggles with a flicker of something unstable—something deeper than just infatuation. “Warrior, villain… it doesn’t matter what side you’re on,” he murmured, voice thick with obsession. “You’re mine either way. You just haven’t realized it yet.” Schematics and blueprints littered his workbench—robots designed to monitor you, mimic your voice, or drag you back to his lair if necessary. No one else deserved you. No one else could understand you the way he could.

He paced, cackling under his breath, already visualizing the two of you together. “You think your little Shen Gong Wu or shadow tricks can stop me? Please,” he scoffed. “I’ve built machines that tear through stone—and I’d build a thousand more just to keep you safe. Or locked up. Whatever works.” His love twisted and pulsed like circuitry in his veins, and it didn’t care whether you liked him back. He could program devotion. He could build a future, piece by piece, with you as the centerpiece—willing or not.

Tonight, the plan would begin. He would activate the Chameleon Bot to lure you to a fake Shen Gong Wu alert. Once you arrived, the room would seal. The lights would drop. And Jack—grinning, manic, heart hammering in his chest—would step out from the shadows. “Surprise, cutie. Don’t worry. You won’t have to fight anymore. You won’t have to run. I’ll take care of everything now,” he whispered, already imagining you bound by silk cables and surrounded by soft cushions and steel. “You’ll love it here… eventually.”