Keep an open mind when reading this, because I have tweaked with their origins a bit. Thoughtful comments only. Flames will be ignored.

Legal stuff: Anything that has to do with the Powerpuff Girls, and all related scenarios, and stuff, belong to Cartoon Network. I own none of this! ________________________________________________________________________

Inner Turmoil-Chapter 1

For some reason she could never run fast enough.

But there she was, trying, running faster than she'd ever thought possible. She was certainly fast enough to outrun anything, but for some reason she could never muster the power to escape this. It was a shadow. A malevolent presence that was so alien, yet so familiar at the same time. It chased her down, only content once it had her in its grasp; whatever "it" was, she didn't quite know

It was a hallway of some kind, long, dark and barren. There was the sickly sweet odor of pain and suffering in the air, but she paid no attention to it at the moment. Her sense of smell was acute, superhuman, but the only thing she focused on was her breathing. Every movement was calculated and thought out, planned meticulously to decide what would get her away from her predator. It was her nature to be precise, yet that could not help her now. The shadow was moving closer, silent but no less deadly. The hallway she was in never seemed to end, and neither did the chase, at least until she was dead.

She never tired. Her body had been made to withstand pressures a normal human being could not, very extreme pressures. Everything about her was designed for ultimate perfection. But there was at least one thing in the world that was stronger, and it was about to kill her.

Her hands grew warm as she focused intense energy into her grasp. The light crackled and presented a dazzling show as it grew in intensity, humming with brilliant life. Lightening was dangerous, but could be used to one's advantage in the right set of hands.

She spun around, hoping to catch whatever was behind her by surprise. She meant to direct the glowing orb of pure electricity at her attacker, but she never did. For the first time in her life, pure fear had set over her like a chill-

-The attacker was right there, fast, getting closer.

She cried out in surprise as a soft, yet strong hand caught her throat. It squeezed. Hard. She couldn't breath. There was so much power in those hands, rivaling her own super strength. There was pain, as the bones in her neck began to split. She was alone, dying.

But just like every other time, she woke up.



The fiery redhead bolted in her bed as the alarm directly next to her began to babble with annoying punctuality. Her head was swimming, for she had been awoken from a nightmare. The same nightmare she'd had every night since moving away from Townsville.

Her body was drenched in a light film of sweat and her heart continued to pound aggressively against her ribs. Lightly she ran her hands across her face in an effort to dry herself. She sighed lightly and turned, letting the fluttering of her heart calm.

She took the digital buzzer into her hand and looked at it with annoyance. Six A.M. Fantastic. It was time for her to get up and face another useless day. The June sun was shinning brightly into her room. A small sliver of golden light had managed to sneak through a slit in her curtains, creating a thin beam of shimmering gold on her bedroom floor.

Sunshine always made her happy, just like the rain had always made her irritable. The same could be said for her two sisters, whose distinctly different mood swings varied dramatically and randomly between the three of them.

One of her sisters seemed like her head was full of rainbows and fairies, the other-well- she seemed like she always had some kind of grudge against the world. Rebellious was the right world. The troubled red head looked at herself as a happy medium between them; a balance between the dramatic fluctuations in the other two. She was a little rebellious at heart, yet she could be sweet when she wanted too.

On her own she was intelligent, and noted for being anal about many things. Everything she did was carefully calculated down to the last detail, so she would never make a mistake or have to face the reality of being wrong.

Shut up Shut up Shut up

With a bit more force than necessary she deactivated the alarm, plunging her room into instant silence. The only sound she could hear were the sounds of the rest of her family, already up and downstairs in the kitchen.

She lazily threw the covers off of her bed and sat up, rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes. She stood and walked over to the mirror on her door, clucking with discontent at the state of her hair.

Running her fingers through her tangled locks, she looked at herself in the eyes and paused, watching her own face that seemed to be clouded with a hidden worry. Something was bothering her, she could sense it, but couldn't quite pinpoint what it was exactly. She always hated when there was something she didn't understand, and went through great lengths to master whatever it was.

This was different though. There was something nagging at the corner of her brain that baffled her. Whatever it was, it was familiar, like a distant memory that she couldn't quite get a good grip on.

You're sensing things. That's always happened to you. It's just the chemical in your system trying to tell you something is wrong in the world and you should be out there fixing it.

But she couldn't. Not anymore at least.

Besides, she told herself, there's probably bad stuff happening all over town. That's what's bothering you. It has to be. It's the fact that you should be out there doing something, but you can't.

That was probably the truth. That was probably why she felt lost every morning, like she had some sort of task that needed to get done but she couldn't remember what it was.

Her and her sisters had been made to fight the evil in the world, but they'd given up that job a long time ago. It had gotten too dangerous, and it had become apparent to them all that they were causing more trouble than good. Evil seemed to be drawn to them, and they were just putting too many innocent lives at risk. What was bothering her just had to be the fact that her and her sisters weren't putting their crime-fighting skills to good use anymore. Had to be.

But what if it's worse than that.her mind chided. She shook her head briskly. No. There's nothing to worry about.

She ran a finger under her lower eye-lid, looking into her own eyes with a sense of wonder. Pink. It wasn't enough that she had secret abilities; she had to practically announce the fact that she was strange by the mere fact that her eyes were pink. Nobody had pink eyes.

She sighed inwardly, dismissing that thought entirely because it wasn't worth brooding over. She took a brush from the small table next to her and ran it through her hair, finally settled that it was as brushed as it was going to be. Finally fully calm, she turned to exit her room; hoping one of her sisters hadn't seized the bathroom for the morning.

A half an hour later she found herself walking briskly downstairs, now in a considerably better mood because she felt fresh again. Her days always started the same; troubled right when she woke up, but cheerful once she was ready to greet the outside world.

The dreams she kept having were slowly clouding her mental stability when she was awake, but she never wanted to admit that to anyone. She'd become jumpy in public and very irritable, and moody, but that had only begun to happen in the last few weeks. Perhaps the stress of finals had also played a role in that.

The fact that the dreams were always consistent and frightful was tiresome, and she hadn't been sleeping very well in a long time. But never the less she made it a point to always look her best and to look strong. She couldn't bear to think about what people would say if she was letting a silly old dream trouble her. She always tried to remind herself that it was a dream, and couldn't possibly be reality. There wasn't anything harmful about a stupid dream, anyway. It was just the lack of quality sleep that was damaging her psych.

When she walked into the kitchen, her two sisters were already sitting at the table eating breakfast, as was their father, whom they affectionately called "Professor". For some reason they'd began calling him that when they were born and it had stuck. His name was actually James Utonium, Professor Utonium for short, but they never called him by his first name. Occasionally they even called him "Dad" if the mood called for it, despite the fact that he wasn't biologically their father.

He was sitting at the table reading the morning paper, his thin reading glasses sitting gently on the bridge of his nose. When she entered the room he looked up just slightly from his paper,

"Morning Blossom, honey," he said cheerfully. She gave him her best smile.

"Morning Professor. Umm, thanks," she said as she sat down at her own already-prepared bowl of cereal. He certainly spoiled all three of them, and would often go through great lengths to make sure they were happy.

He wasn't married, but a horrible lab accident, which he refused to speak of, had brought Blossom and her sisters into his care. He was single, raising three teenage girls with super-powers, and always seemed to feed them this cock-and-bull story about how they were born.

Blossom had the right smarts to know he was sugarcoating the actual situation in order to keep them safe. Blossom couldn't help but feel sorry for him, but respectful at the same time. Except for the light graying at his temples, he seemed to be handling the pressures of solo fatherhood fairly well.

The Professor had graduated from Townsville University with a Masters in molecular biology, and had his own laboratory in their home. That was pretty much the extent of what the girls new about his past. He claimed he created them in his own lab using various household condiments and girly objects (with of course a dash of Xantium, Chemical X for short), but Blossom knew that was bunk. It was simply a scientific impossibility, and she figured there was more to his story that he didn't want to tell them.

There was a few times where she even knew the professor was lying when he talked about his past employments. He'd once said he'd been teaching Bio physics at Pokey Oaks High school in Townsville, but all three girls had visited the school once, and simply knew he'd never been there.

Right now he was a Bio Professor at the University of Washington, but he had had some other job when the girls were born. That was all they knew, but they had the sickly feeling that this job had something to do with them.

He still had a laboratory. The girls had tirelessly helped him move everything when they'd come to live in the new house, but they noticed he never really used it that much anymore. His employment at the University took up a great deal of his time, and when he wasn't at school he was usually grading papers, or dealing with some sort of argument amongst the sisters.

Blossom sat next to her blonde sister, who was currently deeply engrossed in a cartoon she was watching on the small kitchen TV. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with glee as she tangled a finger into one of her fluffy pigtails. Bubbles could be considered the airhead sister, but she had more than once proven she had more toughness in her than she normally led on. Everything magical and beautiful seemed to fascinate her. In other words, she was the girliest of the three of them, and often let things emotionally bother her more than they should. She cried a lot, and always had since they were born.

Blossom figured it was just the way Bubbles responded to stressful situations, in the same way that she herself would try to come up with some convoluted plan to deal with it. Bubbles didn't actually notice her sit down, but gave a small giggle at something that had happened on the TV. Her half eaten cereal sat swirling in her bowl creating a mushy swamp of sugar.

"Um, can we turn this shit off?" her other sister said bitterly, slamming her piece of toast onto the plate, sending crumbs in every direction. Professor Utonium merely flipped the page of the newspaper.

"Buttercup, please don't use that language at the table." he trailed off, obviously deeply engrossed in an interesting science article, acting as if this sort of behavior was common practice in their household. Buttercup snorted.

"Give me the remote!" she said testily.

"No! And it isn't poooo, you are," Bubbles said in defense, emphasizing the word poo as if challenging Buttercup's use of profanity.

"Augh, this is lame!" Buttercup cried and proceeded to wrench the remote out of Bubbles's grasp. She fought back, pulling in the opposite direction, and for a good five minutes they fought over the remote, screaming random insults at each other. Blossom rolled her eyes and continued peeling her orange. The Professor didn't say a word, but Blossom could see a faint smile cross his lips.

With an angry cry that signaled Bubbles losing the remote, Buttercup finally managed to seize it from her grip. Bubbles folded her arms in protest, throwing an angry glare at Buttercup before tearing up. Thankfully she didn't full-out cry, because Blossom felt her sisters were already testing her sleep-deprived patience. Feeling satisfied, Buttercup began flipping through the channels furiously, letting less than a second pass before changing.

"I don't know how you can actually see what's on TV when you don't take the time to look," Blossom said casually. She was deeply involved with a crumb on her place mat. Buttercup didn't respond, and Blossom risked a glance up. Buttercup had finally settled, to Blossom's amazement, on the news. "Ah, something intellectually stimulating for a change," she said with a sly smile.

Buttercup turned to her with a slightly irritated expression. Her shoulder length black hair was styled in its customary layered flip that she always wore, and her clothing resembled that of a girl who was emotionally tragic. She always wore dark colors, mostly black or dark green to match her brilliant emerald eyes.

Blossom had always been slightly disgusted of her appearance, because she always looked as if she belonged more in the shadows of alleyways than in their overly bright suburban home. She had multiple piercings on her ears and always wore an abundance of strange, punkish accessories. Blossom met her fiery stare, because it was hard to avoid. Her eyes stood out ridiculously against the dark eye-makeup she always wore.

To Blossom's amazement, Buttercup had no nasty retort to throw at her. Something on the news caught her attention-

"Another tragedy today at the US Bank. A gang robbery resulted in two people dead-" That was all Blossom was able to hear because Buttercup interrupted.

"Well I'll be. I bet that wouldn't have happened if we were there."

That did it. That struck the nerve. There was instant silence at the table as Blossom threw her napkin down in front of her, staring out the kitchen window. Bubbles had suddenly become very interested in her soggy cereal. The professor once again turned the page of his newspaper, but was obviously waiting for the explosion.

"Oh, struck a nerve, have I sis?" she said mockingly.

"Buttercup, stoppit'," Bubbles said forcefully, still watching her cereal float aimlessly.

"I thought we've been through this before. We don't do that stuff anymore," Blossom said calmly.

"Bullshit! I know just as much as you do that we should be! You know it bothers you! I hear you crying at night-"

"SHUT UP!" Blossom cried angrily, jumping from the table and heading towards the door.

"Girls!" the professor cried in alarm. Blossom stopped in the doorway as if she was planning on saying something.

"Look, things, aren't the same." she trailed off.




"GIRLS!!!" the professor was now getting angry, despite the fact that fights between Blossom and Buttercup were as regular as breathing.

"First of all, we can't fly anymore-"

"So?" Buttercup snorted. "We still can a little-"

"I would hardly call being able to jump off a skyscraper and land safely on the pavement flying!" Blossom said.

"That's certainly a hell of a lot better than some people-"

"STOP FIGHTING" Bubbles shrieked, jumping up from her own seat, yet still looking down at the table.

"I know you agree with me Bubbles-" Buttercup began to say.

"ENOUGH!" the professor had suddenly thrown his paper onto the table and looked at all three of them angrily. The three girls fell silent, watching the professor with an awed horror. He was not fun when he got angry with them.

"There will be not another word of this. Blossom is right, there will be no more crime-fighting for you," he said calmly, but the veins were still throbbing in his temples.

"Ha," Blossom said curtly.

"But Professor! I need to put these muscles to good use-"

"Buttercup." He said very simply, and she took that as her cue to shut up. It was a good few minutes before any of them spoke. "Do you remember what happened when you first used your powers in Townsville?"

"Yes, but that was different! They. eventually liked us." Buttercup argued.

"That was Townsville Buttercup, nobody knows about Townsville. This city is much too commercial for that-" Blossom began to say but the Professor threw her a glance that she couldn't quite read.

"I'd rather you three lived like normal girls. This city, well, they may not react the same. I don't want anything happening to you girls," he said. He was slowly calming. Bubbles finally managed to look up from the cereal bowl and gave the professor a huge watery stare. Buttercup looked positively livid.

"Besides, Townsville wasn't as widely known as this city is. In Townsville we were more secluded. Here? Let's just say you three may catch the attention of someone you may not want to be watching." strangely enough, as the professor said this he suddenly acted as if he'd lost interest in the entire conversation. He began to busy himself with folding the paper, making it seem like nothing had just happened, but the three girls threw glances at each other. There was something important about his last sentence, but what it was exactly, they could only guess at this point.

"I'm going to school," Buttercup said forcefully, standing from the table with such force she nearly knocked her chair to the floor. As she walked past Blossom she paused, and looked up at her red headed sister standing in the doorframe. She didn't say anything, but sighed, and then continued walking.

"Bye Professor!" Bubbles said quickly, jumping up and leaving enough time for her to give him a huge hug and kiss on the cheek. She flew past Blossom in a flurry of blonde hair and giggles, finally leaving her and the professor alone.

"Erm- Professor?" Blossom asked meekly.

"Hmm?" he responded, grabbing his workbag that had been sitting on the floor next to him.

"Well, what exactly did you mean by-"

"Just remember what I said Blossom. I want you three to stay out of the spotlight."


The Professor walked towards her, landing a hand gently on her shoulder.

"My you girls have grown so much," he said softly, and then he moved past her to leave. Blossom was left standing in the doorway alone, more miserable then she'd ever felt in the morning.