I know I haven't finished my first story (How It Came To Be) but I will, OK? This is just something I wanted to write now before it got out of my head. This is an AU story (which I'm not a big fan of most of the time) so don't be expecting to see superheroes or anything. This is a boxing story, plain and simple. An alternate title was going to be 'Million Dollar Titans' but I like this one better.

Enjoy and please R&R.

Raging Beast Boy

Chapter One: Picking A Name

Garfield Logan walked through the streets of Jump City on a Friday afternoon after school, with a feeling inside that was telling him that he would be a different person by the end of today.

That's why he was going to this gym. Well, that wasn't the only reason. His mother had been constantly bugging him to join the local boxing club for months now and he figured that he might as well get her off his back ASAP.

It was the middle of November-Garfield felt that it was one of those rare Novembers where the weather resembles itself in the movies-and Garfield's mind was already thinking about Christmas. It was one of the few times that he and his mother would be truly happy.
Garfield and his mother lived in a small two-bedroom apartment, which wasn't very flattering to him. His father had left him when he was less than a year old. He always received letters from him, but never a phone call on his birthday or any other day of any other year.

The wind suddenly picked up and blew an icy chill into his face. He pulled on the straps of his backpack just to make sure they were still secure on his shoulders. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. It wasn't far now. Probably a block or two.

Would have been a lot easier if mom didn't need the car, he thought to himself.

Two blocks later, he arrived at the place that was sure to change his life for the better: Titans Boxing Club.

He had called there about three days earlier asking how much membership was and if he could join. The membership was surprisingly cheap and the man on the phone told him that they were always looking for new boxers.

He pulled open the door and the sound of loud and fast tapping filled the air. It sounded more like a basketball for little kids where for one hour they just practiced dribbling.

Instead it was punching. At the far end of the gym was a boy with black hair in a red t-shirt and black short at a speed bag. The sound that it made was almost like a machine gun rattle.

Another male was at a much larger punching bag and was attacking it with his gloves-both Everlast brand. The male was black and looked like he belonged in a football arena than in a boxing ring.

Then again, he may not be able to catch, Garfield joked to himself.

In the ring itself, which was located in the middle of the gym, two girls were sparring together. One girl had bronzed skin and from what Garfield could see, almost orange hair. The other girl looked pale as a ghost but equally tough. They both had on headgear and gloves and seemed to be handling it very professionally.

This caught Garfield off guard.

Girls? They train girls?

"Can I help you?" an English accent asked the teen.

Garfield turned towards the reception counter where an elderly man sat with a magazine in front of him. His hair was white as was his moustache. He looked one of those clichéd 'old trainers' that you saw in the movies. They were boxers in their youth but something happened to them (physically or emotionally) and now they just trained instead of actually fighting.

Garfield cleared his throat and approached the elderly man. "Hi, I'm uh-Garfield Logan. I called a couple days ago and spoke to a Mr.…ugh-what his name?"

"Wayne?" asked the old man.

Garfield snapped his fingers and instantly pointed his index finger at the man with his thumb extended in the air like it was a gun. "That's it. Mr. Wayne."

The old man extended his open palm to Garfield. "I'm Alfred Pennyworth. I trained Mr. Wayne and now we're both trainers though he seldom competes." He reached under the desk and pulled out an old telephone that looked like it belonged in the Smithsonian rather than here. He picked up the receiver and dialed three numbers.

"Mr. Wayne? Garfield Logan is here to see you." There was a pause. "He says he called a few days ago." There was another pause. "Well, if you talk to him, perhaps you'll remember him." Alfred replaced the receiver on the phone and put it back under the desk. He smiled at Garfield. "Go on up, he'll be expecting you." Alfred pointed to a flight of stairs that led to an office upstairs.

Swallowing the buildup of saliva in his mouth, Garfield sighed and proceeded up the flight of stairs. As he began his slow march he could feel that the boy at the speed bag was watching him while still hitting the bag. Garfield stopped and turned to him. Their eyes met for a second and then he continued his trek up the stairs.

When he came to the top he knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in," said a gruff voice on the other side.

Placing his hand on the knob, Garfield turned it and pushed open the door. It was a small office with two bookshelves on each side of the room. Above the shelves and atop them as well, were pictures, trophies and newspaper clippings. There were probably five books altogether on both shelves. At the end of the room was a large window so that whoever was in there could look down and see what everyone was doing all at once. Above the window was a championship belt, but Garfield couldn't read the small writing on it.

Sitting in the chair at the desk was a very muscular man with black hair. He certainly had the look of a boxer. This must have been the Bruce Wayne he had spoken to earlier. He certainly did look intimidating.

I hope he doesn't know I know that.

"Garfield," Bruce greeted, "please come in."

Garfield gave a small cough and took a step forward when Mr. Wayne said, "Close the door."

Bruce Wayne's voice reminded Garfield of Clint Eastwood's almost except it didn't have that certain rasp to it. Certainly made him sound as tough as he was.

When Garfield returned from closing the door, he saw Bruce turn his chair to the window and drop the blinds.

Inside the teen's body, he could feel his heartbeat getting faster.

He's either going to yell at me, hit me, or do something Michael Jackson would approve of, Garfield thought. His vivid imagination usually got the best of him. It was perhaps his major weakness if you didn't count his undying love for comedy.

"Why are you here, Garfield?" Bruce asked him.

Whew, thought the teen, this shouldn't be so hard.

He shrugged. "I wanna learn how to box."

Bruce nodded. "Yes, that's why you're here. But why are you here?"

Garfield raised an eyebrow. "I-I'm not sure that I follow you."

Bruce leaned back in his chair. "Everyone does something for a reason. You didn't just wake up one day and say, 'Hey, maybe I'll try boxing today'. There was a reason you came here and a reason that it's boxing. There are two karate dojos in town but only one boxing club. So why did you come here?"

Garfield could feel a lump in his throat. This was not something he wanted to do. But he knew that he would probably be here for hours if he didn't answer. Might as well get it over with and never bring it up again for as long as he lived.

"I'm new in town," he explained. "It's been rough making new friends-not that I had a lot in my old town."

Bruce leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, joining his hands together.

"Go on."

Garfield sighed. Bruce Wayne was acting more like Sigmund Freud than himself. "I get a hard time at school cause, you know…my mom and I don't have a lot of money. Like, we make a living…but not like other people."

"Do you ever have enough money for Christmas?"

Don't go there. "Yes," Garfield answered with angry eyes. "Always."

Bruce smiled. "Good. I now understand. You want to learn to box because you're given a hard time at school and you're tired of juvenile crap against you because your family isn't as…fortunate as others. But why boxing?"

Garfield chuckled. "People punch when they fight. I noticed that they don't do ninja chops or anything else. I'm more likely to fight someone like me, than a ninja."

Bruce smiled. "Smart answer. All right, come on down and I'll introduce you to the others."

Back where he was before, Garfield Logan stood next to Bruce at the front of the gym.

"Hey," he shouted to the occupants.

The two girls stopped their spar.

The black teen stopped punching the bag

The boy at the back was still punching the speed bag with the same strength he had shown before.

"Tim," Bruce called in a stern voice.

The boy-Tim-stopped and gave Bruce an annoyed look.

Bruce seemed equally annoyed with Tim as well but quickly shrugged it off. "This is Garfield Logan. He's going to be joining us." He turned to the teenager. "Garfield, go get to know them."

First impressions, thought Garfield, greaaaat. He walked towards the black teen who was at the large bag while the two females exited the ring.

"H-hi," Garfield said with an open hand. "I'm Garfield."

The black teen looked like he wanted to laugh really hard. This didn't surprise Garfield. There were many things like 'Like the cat's name, does that make you a pussy, want some lasagna?' and the list went on and on.

"Garfield?" asked the male.

With an inner sigh, Garfield nodded.

"L-like the cute little kitty cat?" the teen asked before bursting into laughter.

Garfield's open hand dropped to his side.

"I was thinking more of the President," said the girl with bronzed skin who approached from behind, "than the cartoon feline."

"I just think it's a name like any other," said the pale girl. Her voice was monotone like a robot or something.

The last one to come up was Tim. He had a smile on his face. "I don't know Cy," he said to the black teen, "I could see this guy being tougher than any kitty cat."

The black teen smiled and held out his hand. "Sorry, man I just had to get that out of the way," he said to Garfield. "I'm Victor but you can call me Cyborg."

Garfield raised an eyebrow as he shook his hand. "Cyborg?"

He nodded. "Boxing names. I'm Victor 'the Cyborg' Stone."

Garfield turned around and looked at all the teens. "So…you all have boxing names that you go by?"
Tim nodded. "You can call me Robin. Wasn't my name originally but I was allowed to take it."

"You may call me Starfire," said the bronzed girl as she gave a small bow.

"Raven," introduced the other girl with her monotone voice.

"What's yours?" Robin asked Garfield.

Garfield stammered. He didn't know he'd have to come up with a nickname on the spot. It would have to something cool. Definitely not something related to cats. He did have a passion for animals…his father was an animal doctor for the zoo.

"Beast Boy," he replied with a smile.

Cyborg nodded. "Beast Boy, huh? I like it."

"Indeed," replied Starfire.

"Garfield," called Bruce at the front of the gym.

"One minute," said Garfield as he gave a small jog towards Bruce. "What is it?"

Bruce handed him a list. "This is basically the stuff you're going to need to train here. Understand?"

Garfield smiled. "Yes, I do."

"If you can't get it all," began Bruce in a compassionate voice, "the gym can pay for it and-"

"No," said Garfield. "I have more than enough money to buy this stuff." He headed towards the door. "Thank you."

To Be Continued…

Hope you liked this chapter. Please don't review and say, "Oh, but Tim Drake isn't Robin…it's Dick Grayson.' Please…I don't care. It's my story and personally I don't care if somebody has Jason Todd as Robin in a TT story (he was the one who died). Besides, Dick Grayson is going to be appearing in this story as well. So please…no telling me who Robin should be. One thing an author is allowed to do is make his own world and his own characters.