The night was black and starless over Jump City. The residents of Titans Tower were sleeping soundly, save for one young man who sat up in bed, restlessly. Robin, their leader, threw the covers off of himself with a sigh. He couldn't sleep. He almost never stayed asleep. He woke up at sunrise almost every day. That was depression for him. He went over to his desk and sat down, flicking the desk lamp on and pulling a folder from his file cabinet. He opened it, and a newspaper article came to the forefront. The headline "WHO IS SLADE?" Was bolded in thick black lettering. He pulled a piece of blank white paper out from a drawer and a pen. He tapped it on the desk. Slade had always been a demon in his life, but there were many more demons than any of his friends would know. They never knew that the cheer and optimism he exuded was a façade. The truth was, he didn't feel anything anymore. He'd been numb and sad every day since the day his parents had died. He remembered his time in Gotham's orphanage- though it was enough to scar him for life. He was a liar-

And a good one at that. He'd managed to lie to everyone around him and convince them that he was happy.

Everyone, that is, except for Batman.

His adoptive father had been the only one to see through the mask. Robin had been put on antidepressants from the time he arrived at Wayne manor. Between the watchful eyes of Bruce and Alfred, he could never get away with not taking his medication. His loathing of it had grown to a dull acceptance. He'd gone to school, done his homework, and had gotten good grades. But when he hadn't known who Bruce was, he'd had plenty of time to brood. It would have been so easy to die. He could have easily used Bruce's razor to meet his demise while taking a bath. Or he could have jumped from one of the many balconies around the house. The night he'd planned to commit his suicide, however, was the night he'd found out that Bruce Wayne was really Batman. When he'd been made Robin, it had given his life purpose again. After his falling out with Batman, however, he'd felt lost. More lost than he'd have liked to admit. Sure, Batman could have a new Robin, and he could go out on his own. But what about Bruce? Did Bruce still have a son? After he'd moved to Jump, he'd cut all ties with his father. He stopped taking his medication, and he'd done his best to move on. But, there were still nights, not unlike tonight, where his past came back to haunt him. When the Titans had formed, he knew he would have enemies. That came with the territory of being a hero. What he didn't expect was Slade becoming an obsession. Becoming like Slade was everything he'd feared. He'd turned on his friends, stolen from his father, and was driven to near insanity, even after his rescue. It was enough to bring up the concept of suicide into his mind again. It was that concept that brought him to his desk. He tapped the pen away at the desk, contemplating how to even begin a letter like this. He wasn't even sure who to address it to. He decided it would be best to write to his team. He finally began scribbling on the paper.

"My life is a lie. I am broken. I hurt. More than anyone knows. Those I love always leave- or Something about me makes them go. I'm not normal. I'm not happy. I mean nothing. I wish someone had cared, but no one does. Not really. I'm not enough of a fool to believe anyone who says they do. I've been dead for the past seven years. My parents died during their trapeze act, and I wish I could have gone with them. I went to an orphanage for a little while. The people there were abusive. They hit me. That was when I started self-harming. I stopped for a little while when I moved in with Batman, but when I was stressed out I'd always do it. I could make excused for it as happening on the job. It was simple. Easy. Batman never officially found out. I think he knew, though. He was, after all, the world's greatest detective. When I came here to Jump I thought I would find the freedom I lacked in Gotham. Instead I've been held captive to my own thoughts. I tried to be happy. I tried to find a better way. That all ended when Slade made me his apprentice. I realized the person I despised was more like me than I could have imagined, and that was the final straw. Not all broken things can be fixed. I'm sorry. This is my last goodbye." In a neat scrawl, he signed his name at the bottom. He stared at the letter. It wasn't his time yet, he knew. He hid the letter in a safe he kept in his closet, and crawled back into bed.

Different ways of ending his life flashed through his mind. Bleeding to death? Too messy. And it would take too long. Gunshot to the head? Nope. The tower didn't allow firearms. Carbon Monoxide poisoning? The T-Car didn't produce enough fast enough. He knew he couldn't light himself on fire. Drowning? Yes, he could do that. It takes five minutes to drown and twenty to die of hypothermia. He could easily pass off taking a bath for that long without being unnoticed. Satisfied with his chosen method of execution, he fell into a deep sleep.