A/N: The author recommends that the reader read parts 1 and 2 of the story, rather than leaping into the middle. Just a thought.

Also, the author would like to lay the blame for this part of the story on lack of sleep and excessive caffeine. But they are aware that their imagination had a part to play too.

October 5th, 11:55 PM

Dark was the night when our tale was begun, all day the lightning had flashed until it blinded the sun. Down poured the black rain, thunder roiled the earth, shaking rivers from their beds and trees to their very roots. Deep in the forest, beyond all prying eyes, a wolf pack threw back their heads and called to the moon as though they might yet see it this night, in spite of the storm. But of the moon there was no sign, as if it knew that there was something down there which it should not shine its pale ethereal light upon. The world seemed to crack, as if something had broken it open, or perhaps torn its way from the deep flaming interior of the universe, ripping a hole between this world and the next and passing through as if there were no boundary there.

For on this night, a creature came to the forest, shifting the balance of power in the world. There were predators, and there was prey. The hunters and the hunted. The carnivores and the herbivores. And there were also those in between, who ate of both meat and plants. There were eaters of carrion, who would feast upon the highest of the killers should they fall, and there were hunters who would track any who were weaker than themselves, regardless of their culinary preferences.

But on this night, in this place, there was born a creature who was something else. Something... other. The wolf's cry to the moon was not one of longing, but fear of the night. The darkness, which was once their home, now contained a threat to their very existence. Though there were many beasts whom a wolf might hesitate to tackle, there was none in the world he truly feared. Yet now there was, and terrified they were, for the scent which came to their noses through the wind and the rain was not one they recognized, but still they knew it was deadly.

A killer of killers.

The moaning of the trees as whistling wind whipped through their branches, the soft whispers of the grass as the same bluster flattened it, all of nature recoiled from the thing in its midst. The terrible, unnatural thing which had entered into its domain.

A monster from a place much more distant than Hell.

The cries of the wolves, the only sound competing with the wind, rose in urgency as their fear mounted into panic, their frantic eyes searching the night furtively for what they knew not. Licking their lips with anxious tongue, looking for courage from their leader, but there they found none.

For even the great gray wolf who had led the pack for so many seasons, knew nothing of what he heard foretold on the wind. Despite his vast experience and tremendous wisdom, he could think of but one answer to the presence he felt in the night. And that was to run.

As if the thought were sent through the pack like a shock of electric current, they rose as one and fled through the night. A hunt is well-ordered, every wolf in his place, doing a set task. They run, but with caution, ever mindful of their surroundings, always watching their footing and checking with their pack mates to make sure they're where they belong. But there was no sense of order or pattern as the wolves fled. Running flat out, they stumbled over roots and one another, desperate to be the first to escape the menace which they could feel stalking them in the night.

This pack had never laid eyes on man, knew nothing of his helicopter or his gun. They knew of no thing in the world which they had reason to flee from. Even though a furious grizzly was given a wide berth, there was a dignity and form to a wolf's retreat from him. Though they would run from boar or the mighty wolverine, it was only so far as would take them out of harm's way, and then they would depart in their own good time.

But they knew, even as they were faced by the unknown, that whatever it was could get them. No matter how hard or how far they ran, they were still practically within its grasp.

All around them, the forest had come alive with the sounds of other animals fleeing in terror, lunging and scrambling over each other to get away, forgetting their status as predator and prey in the all-consuming fear, much greater even than the fear of fire, which animals are known to fear above all else.

Watchtower

Roughly Nineteen Hours Earlier...

The darkness was alive with sounds, words echoing as though spoken into a tin can, voices familiar but nameless, forms and shadows who had no faces or identity. There was the rasping of quick breaths, the mark of those participating in physical exercise. Slow, deep rhythms of mental activity, slow heartbeats accompanying deep contemplation.

The world was alive with thudding, thundering heartbeats. The sound of blood pumping through the body, arteries and veins, the subtle pulse of the brain at work. Proof positive of life in the dark. Alive, alive... and so very... annoying.

Distantly, there came other sounds. Claws scraping on metal flooring, creaking muscles and snapping joints, the low growls of angry creatures locked away behind steel bars.

Robin opened his eyes slowly and found himself looking into the face of Bumblebee. She was working with the Atom, searching for a cure. Not just for the monsters a few levels below, but for Robin as well. Though on the outside he looked no different, Robin could feel the change within him.

At first it had frightened him, but now it was merely tiresome. There was no cure, because this was not a disease. He wasn't sure what it was, but it had heightened his senses, strength, speed, improved his agility a hundred fold. But most importantly, it was altering the very way he thought. The fear that used to be such a part of who he was had fallen away so far that he barely remembered it.

He knew that the way he had begun to think was wrong, but the trouble was that he'd stopped caring. He was not losing his identity, but what made him who he was. The reasons he'd chosen to become Robin in the first place suddenly seemed so unimportant. His humanity, for lack of a better term, was slowly slipping away, to reveal something... other.

The savage nature he had seen in himself used to scare him, but now it only thrilled him. He was no longer certain that he wanted a cure at all.

The change went deeper still. The faces and names he had once recognized were strange to him. He couldn't seem to recall why he trusted these people, or why he should respect them, any of them. It would all be so much easier if they just went away.

They were too noisy, and always intruding. They came and talked to him, did tests on him, asked questions of him. Always at him, always wanting something. Why wouldn't they just go away?. Deep inside, he could feel the change. It was painful now, yes. But soon, very soon, he would have the power to make them all be silent. To make them all just disappear.

"Robin," the name he knew as his own ripped him from thought and he looked up sharply to see Nightwing leaning casually against the door-frame "I need a word with you,"

Bumblebee, recognizing that she was suddenly the intruder here, quickly made her exit. Robin and Nightwing both watched her go, then looked back at each other.

"I know," Nightwing said "I can feel it too,"

"You don't know. You can't," Robin's voice was low, a guttural tone that was barely human "stop talking about things you don't understand,"

Nightwing had become a tormentor to him, constantly present, always reminding him of what he once was. Not only had Nightwing once been Robin, but he too had been "infected". But, according to Atom, he was now cured. And yet... there had formed between them some kind of link that suggested all was not exactly as it seemed to be.

"I do know," Nightwing persisted "and I also know how this will end,"

"Do you?. So why not kill me now, get it over with?,"

"You don't have to let this happen, Robin," Nightwing said "I didn't. You don't have to let yourself become a monster,"

"What would you know?. You're Nightwing, you can do anything,"

"That's not true and you know it,"

"Oh right, still pining for that dead friend of yours?,"

"Afraid for my brother is more like it," Nightwing corrected him sharply "I can't bring back the dead, but you're not dead. Not yet,"

"I can take care of myself," Robin snarled.

"Really?. So how is it that why you were caught?. Why are we in this situation if you can take care of yourself?. You tell me that!," Nightwing's voice had gained a quality not unlike Robin's, a low rattling challenge, daring him to fight.

"Shut up!," Robin sprang to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

Nightwing simply stared at him, his face expressionless, masked eyes unreadable. But his heart rate had jumped, he was taking steadying breaths. He was preparing for a fight. The fight was inevitable.

But Robin sat back down on the edge of the bed and let the tension drain out of him.

Not here, not now. Not yet. Soon though. Very soon.

Closing his eyes, he was welcomed not by darkness, but by a pair of red eyes, whose sinister glow contained a world of pleasure and pain which he had not known existed. He forgot about Nightwing, forgot the world around. The sound was pierced by silence, release into oblivion and relief.

Nightwing saw the change come over Robin's face, and took a step backwards.

He had hoped for a little more time, and neither the Justice League nor the team fully realized what was going to happen. But Nightwing knew, as he had known from the first cut.

The beast had awakened, and the nightmare had begun.