First, it was warm. Then hot.
Boomer blinked into a swirl of blue-green flames—chemical flames, the kind that ate through metal as easily as paper. They rose and twisted, forming a shape in the fire. A silhouette. Someone dancing inside it, directing the blaze, commanding it to turn everything around them to ash.
One flame broke off and clung to his leg. It didn't burn. It called to him—beckoning, urging him to give the order, to let it spread, to let it consume everyone.
Boomer kicked wildly, trying to shake it off—and pain shot through his ribs, sharp and real.
"Quit kicking me, Boomer! You'll make me fall." Brick shoved him sideways on the bed, half-asleep irritation in his voice.
Boomer sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Brick sat beside him, yawning, his hair sticking up where the cap had slipped off.
"What are you doing here?" Boomer mumbled.
"You and Butch were out cold. I decided to join you," Brick muttered as he stood and adjusted his cap back into place.
Boomer blinked.
"You could've slept in your own room."
"No thanks," Brick said. "The girls keep invading it like it's theirs."
He stretched, cracked his neck, then nodded toward the door.
"Come on. Let's wake Butch."
But Butch was already awake, stepping out of his room while adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. He opened his mouth to say something—then froze. Something in the air, dense and heavy, pulled his attention forward.
Boomer and Brick followed his gaze.
There it was again.
Joseph's door.
Brick moved first. His steps were steady, but his shoulders had gone rigid. Boomer and Butch caught up quickly, flanking him as he raised his hand toward the doorknob.
"Electric trap," Butch warned.
"Damn it."
Butch ran his palms along the doorframe, then the joints, searching by instinct. He found the ignitor box, wedged into the inner hinge. No time for delicate work—he yanked the wires free.
"Good thing Mr. Thornton taught you circuits," Brick muttered.
"You wanna go in or not?" he replied as he pushed the door open.
Finally, they went inside the room.
Boomer hit the light switch. The room stayed dark.
It was the same white clean room. Three stripes red, green and blue were the only decorations. Butch took a closer look. Furious scratches racked across the paint, some gouging into the metal beneath. In some places, some dark spots show. Then, no more scratches. Just a few more dark spots.
"Mojo must have been really out of his mind when he ripped this", he said softly. He knew claws and blood well enough to tell them apart from rust, even with dim light.
Brick ran a hand across the dust-coated desk. His boot knocked a drawer half-open. Inside lay only a few stray pencils and buckles—things that must have rolled free when the room was emptied in a hurry.
Boomer stood next to the bed. In the middle of its remains, a pile of ashes sat, disturbed for the first time in years. Among the rest of clothes, papers and photos something metallic caught the faint light, glinting from within the dust. Boomer reached in carefully and lifted it.
His brothers joined him immediately.
"What is it?" Brick asked.
Boomer turned it between his fingers.
"A ring. An alliance ring. J & M."
They scanned the room one last time.
Brick exhaled, short and sharp.
"Let's go. There's nothing here".
As Boomer turned, he threw the alliance back to the ashes.
The kitchen was the complete opposite of the dorm corridors—filled with voices, laughter, bright lights, and the warm smell of dinner.
"Hey, Ghosts! What's up? Did you see a ghost?" Box teased as they walked in.
"Come sit and eat," said Candy Blossom, patting the bench beside her.
"Yeah! Hurry up!" added Kiwi; "We think we figured out how to open Joseph's room! Let's try it after dinner."
"Pointless. It's just a dumpster," said Butch Thornton, fully reclaiming his old nickname.
"Wait—you went in there?!" Punk Boomer blurted out.
"Without us?!" finished Punk Butch.
The Ghosts didn't shrug, but they exchanged a look, genuinely unsure why this was causing such a reaction—or why everyone was suddenly grabbing their arms, shaking them in disbelief.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
"We wanted to help solve the mystery too!"
"I even went to the problem of getting a camera to record your faces!"
"Come now, everyone. The Ghosts have every right to explore the room whenever they want," Professor Utonium said calmly, trying to cool the mood.
"That's so unfair," Cheer Bubbles complained, grabbing a toast from the tray Mojo had set on the table.
"Life's unfair," Parra cut in. "Just as it'll be if the Ghosts don't want to tell you everything they found."
"Really, there's nothing there. Just a pile of trash and ashes," Blue Boom explained, blowing on the hot cocoa the Professor had handle him.
Mojo Loud, seated directly across from the Ghosts, leaned forward.
"Is it somehow important for you to know about this so-called Joseph?"
The Ghosts were about to answer No, but the other teens jumped in first.
"Of course it is!"
"What if he was the last heir of some lost royal line?"
"Don't exaggerate, Booms," Buttercup muttered. "But yes — wouldn't it be interesting to know who Joseph was?"
The Ghosts didn't shrug immediately. In fact, they didn't move at all, unsure of what to say.
"Fine," Mojo said, setting his cup down. "The late Mojo Jojo documented everything about this Joseph in his personal blog. From how they met to his… delicate end."
He took a moment to organize the data in a coherent order before speaking.
"Probably the first thing you need to know is that Joseph was a hitman, a bodyguard, and eventuallly this world's Mojo's lover."
"A lover? Mojo never told you about him? But it sounds important!" someone squeaked.
The Ghosts shrugged this time. The Mojo they had known was not the type to share personal details — not even with the only people who had been around him all the time.
"According to the records," Mojo Loud continued, "Mojo Jojo hired him to access places that required human fingerprints. Their relationship grew from professional to personal. And when Mojo Jojo conceived the idea of countering the girls' power with the boys', he asked Joseph to be in charge of their training. Mojo knew from Mirror's reports how chaotic the Rowdyruffs could be. He needed someone disciplined."
"What?! He wanted these three to become hitmen?! We already have enough of them as they are!" Green Buttercup shrieked.
"Buttercup, shut up!" called her older sister, who was really digging this story.
"Extra disciplined, I'd say," another Buttercup muttered.
"Buttercup, don't interrupt," the same Blossom scolded her too.
Mojo gave a small nod of thanks and continued.
"As I was saying — Mojo wanted the boys to reach their full potential, and he saw their unpredictability not as childhood but as a problem. Discipline, tactics, and calmness were Joseph's strengths. Only one issue remained: after a mission he was presumably infected by a virus under research."
"Damn oligarchic pharmaceuticals!"
"Buzzercup, seriously—shh!"
Mojo took advantage of the interruption to steady himself. The next part was delicate.
"With Joseph's condition deteriorating, creating the Rowdyruffs became secondary to Mojo Jojo. His priority became finding a cure."
He paused and glanced at the Ghosts. They didn't seem disappointed, but it was clear they were working hard to make sense of everything they were hearing.
"Still, Joseph encouraged Mojo to finish the project, filling his mind with hopes of a future where both would train the boys. According to the logs, Mojo Jojo even considered using the Ruffs' innate healing abilities to synthesize a cure for Joseph. But everything fell apart when Mojo discovered the required amount human DNA needed for success –it surpassed that of any regular donor. He needed the entire marrow of an adult."
Gasps spread around the table.
"Joseph knew this," Mojo Loud said quietly. "And he knew Mojo would do anything to obtain it — even something he had never done before."
He looked again at the Ghosts. They understood.
"So Joseph did the only thing that would force Mojo Jojo accept him as the sole donor."
"What? What did he do?" Candy Bubbles asked, wide-eyed.
Everyone turned to her — then to her sister, who whispered the answer in an inaudible, horrified breath.
"Oh… no."
"After that, there are no more personal records, only about the process and results of the experiment." Mojo Loud finished the explanation, as silence fell over the warm smell of food.
"Hey, Ghosts, you okay?" Flannel looked at the Ruffs, showing more concern than he intended.
"Yeah, why wouldn't we be it?" asked Red Uto, distracted, but definitely not down.
Punk Boomer joined.
"If you need to share something. Or a hug…"
Punk Butch shrugged. "I mean… yeah? Probably? You look like you're gonna pass out."
"What? No. Absolutely not," Red Uto said instantly, straightening in his seat. "We don't need—"
Blue Boom shook his head as well.
"It's fine. Really. We don't—"
"Group hug!" Box declared.
"No—wait—!" Thornton barely managed before all the Blossoms, Buttercups, Bubbles, Ruffs and even the PPB and RRG surged forward like a pastel-and-neon tide.
The Ghosts tried to phase through the bench.
They failed.
Arms wrapped around them from every direction. Someone's elbow jabbed Uto's side; someone else's hair got in Blue Boom's mouth; Butch Thornton found himself crushed between two Buttercups and a Candy.
"This is unnecessary!" Uto protested, muffled.
"You're making it worse!" Thornton insisted.
"Stop resisting! It's love!" Box shouted.
"We don't need love—!" Thornton began, only to have Blossom squeeze him tighter.
"Too bad," she said. "You're getting it."
"Parra! Mojo! Professor! Do something!" Begged Blue Boom.
Parra immediately joined the hug.
Mojo Loud sighed, stood up, and placed one large arm around the entire vibrating pile of teenagers.
Professor Utonium, holding a pot of soup, looked at the scene, resigned.
"…Should I… join?"
"Yes!" half the room yelled.
"No!" all three Ghosts yelled.
He joined.
By the time the chaos settled, the Ghosts were disheveled, red-eared, and indignant — and unmistakably less tense.
Boomer, still trapped under two Candies, muttered,
"We said no hugs…"
Candy Blossom grinned and ruffled his hair.
"Yeah, and you were wrong."
"So... you could say the Ghosts are like Mojo and Joseph's sons?" Cheer Bubbles asked, her voice dropping into a soft, dramatic whisper of realization.
"In a way, I guess they are," Loud Brick managed to answer, rubbling the back of his neck uncomfortably.
"That's so romantic!" cried every girl in the room in a simultaneous, high-pitched chorus—even the Powerpunk Girls joined in, their eyes glimmering.
"What?! How can you even say that?!" was the unanimous explosion from the boys, the Rowdyruffs and Powerpuff Boys recoiling as if they'd been hit by a sonic blast.
The Ghosts shared a long, weary look. They watched the chaotic scene: the girls sighing over the "beautiful tragedy" of their origin, and the boys looking absolutely horrified by the biological implications of it all.
"Are you really sure we are the ones who are abnormal here?" Thornton muttered, his voice dry as bone.